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caesium-55 · 11 months ago

Text

—seven days. [ vi.i ]

pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader.

summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.

tags: @whatamidoingwithmylife-ramdom @eugene-emt-roe @bellezaycafe @barnestatic @theseerbetweenus @wcnorris @notyouraveragemochii @lpab @vildetry06 @a-beaverhausen @formula1mount @loloekie @alucardsdaddyissues @juky-ps @cassianswh0reeee @devotedlycrookeddonut @amberpanda99 @supermaxv1 @evie-119 @spideylovin @harianaswhore

author's note: i dunno if this is good cuz i have to delete a lot of scenes to make everything fit djsjjj. AND pls listen to two weeks notice by leanna firestone. 🐝 anon shared it to me and AAAAAAAHHH it captures the main vibe of the fic

masterlist.

"New shoes?”

The shoes come in black and it features a sleek silhouette with a pointed toe and a golden heel that is shaped as the letters Y, S, and L. Max is no expert in shoes but he knows how to recognize a luxury shoe if he sees one.

“Pretty lil things, aren't they?” you bring your foot forward to flaunt it.

Max doesn't know if it’s the heels that makes your feet look pretty or if the heels look pretty because you have pretty feet. Contrary to popular belief, Max does not have a feet kink. He just knows how to appreciate the aesthetics of a body part.

“Three years of savin’ and I finally got ‘em.”

“Good for you?” Is that an appropriate thing to say to a woman who just bought nice-looking shoes?

Max sees Daniel hug you after the Azerbaijan GP. You have twinning smiles on your face. Max's curiosity grows. You pull away from the hug and wave goodbye, returning to the garage, to where Max is standing and waiting for you.

“What did you and Daniel talk about?” he asks and if he sounds like he’s demanding, he doesn't mean it.

You stop walking, finally noticing Max's presence. The smile on your face fades a little but it doesn't completely disappear. “Oh, hi? Congrats on the podium today, big guy.”

“What were you and Daniel talking about?” Max asks again.

“‘s not important.”

“I want to know.”

You give Max an odd look, probably questioning why he wants to know so badly. He doesn't know why either. He just wants to know.

“Renault has an open spot in their engineering team,” you finally say, smile growing wide. You’re literally vibrating in excitement as you say it.

Max feels like someone just poured a bucket of iced water over his body.

“Engineer? Why would you even apply in Renault’s engineering team?” he sees your face shift and he wonders if his question is offensive. It does not seem like it is. For Max anyway.

“I’m an engineer, Max,” you're gritting your teeth, Max notices.

Oh, Max realizes. This was why Christian mentioned moving her to the engineering team. He thought you’re going to be their manager or something. Do engineers get managers, too? Max doesn't know.

Max’s world shifts off its axis when he realizes the bigger meaning carried by your words. You want to leave.

“No.”

You make a weird face, “No?”

“No, stay.”

He is perfectly aware that he is in no position to ask this of you. If you want to be an engineer and chase your dreams, you can. No one has the right to stop you. That's your dream. That's your life.

But do you really need to leave?

Suddenly, this becomes like the Daniel situation all over again.

Max isn't sure the exact time you begin holding this much importance over his life that he’s suddenly afraid of your absence. Max still won't consider the two of you friends per se, but he does not want you in Renault. He wants you here, behind him, following him at all times. You don't have to follow Daniel to fucking Renault.

Renault just keeps taking everything from him. First, it’s Daniel, his best friend and teammate. Max will not allow himself to lose you over to Renault and their sucky cars.

“Funny how you think you got a say in this,” you do the thing where you shift your feet lightly so you’re facing Max fully, one hand on your waist while the other rests limp on your side, your head slightly tilts to the right. There's a bulge on your cheek, where your tongue is pressing inside it, and one of your brows is cocked.

“You don't have to go to Renault. You can stay here,” he adds and it almost sounds like he’s pleading.

“And what Max? Let all the money I spent in engineering school go to waste?”

“Do you not want to be my manager anymore?”

“No offense, buddy, but I’ll choose being an engineer.”

Fair point but Max is still hurt anyway. Why are people always leaving him? Is it that hard to choose him and love him? Is he not a good enough reason to stay? Maybe it's because he's not a world champion yet. Maybe it's because he's not someone praiseworthy yet.

“I will win next year. When I become a world champion, I’ll ask Horner to move you to the engineering team.”

Max hopes you believe him.

The 2019 season ends with Lewis Hamilton at the top. Valtteri Bottas is close behind him. After Bottas stands Max Verstappen.

He’ll understand if you're making your application letter to Renault at this very moment. And yet, you come knocking on his hotel door.

“You’re trashin’ the room again,” you say, not ask but say, when Max opens the door and this is like 2018 again when he trashed his entire hotel room for coming in fourth. You even wear the same clothes as last year—a Red Bull polo shirt and a black pencil skirt with the same cream tote bag with peach prints but the shoes are different. “Sour loser much?”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you, too,” you reply in a nonchalant tone, not even taking offense that Max has cursed you out. “Lemme see your hands. I have a cold canned beer.”

“I didn't punch the wall.”

Not yet at least. He’s definitely planning to, before you have decided to knock on his door.

“Well then,” you thrust the beer towards him. “Good thing’s beer has multiple purposes. Bruised knuckles? Beer. Bruised ego? Beer.”

Angrily, Max takes the beer in your hands. He really can't deal with you right now.

“Don't worry, man. You’ll be world champion one day. You have the makings of one,” you assure him and your words are too unexpected that Max stiffens. “Not this year but one day.”

“Why can't it be this year?” he asks after a few seconds' pause.

You shrug your shoulders, “Not your time yet, I suppose.”

Then, you turn around and walk away, the loud clicks of your black and gold heels echoing in the hotel hallway until it fades into silence, while Max stands there at the open door, a cold canned beer in his hand.

He’s trying (emphasis on the word trying) to prepare himself snacks so he can eat while sim-racing. It's the off-season right now and his mother and his sister have decided to visit his place in Monaco and stay for a few days before they fly together to Belgium and spend the holidays there. Daniel’s name appears on the notification bar of Max’s phone.

daniel: is [name] in monaco rn or did she go home for the off season

max: why would she be in monaco right now

daniel: she lives there

max: [name] lives in monaco?

daniel: you didn't know??

daniel: she’s been living there since last year

daniel: ever wondered why she comes by our building a lot?

max: how am i supposed to know

daniel: she's your manager

max: well we don't exactly talk about where we live

daniel: i cant believe you

daniel: shes been living there since she was my manager

max: that long???

daniel: i cant with you sometimes

daniel: neways do u have her number?

daniel: i think she got it changed a month ago and i forgot to ask her

daniel: she's not answering my messages in ig

max: yeah yeah i do

daniel: great

daniel: can u call her and ask if she’s in the country?

max: ok

daniel: cool cool

daniel: appreciate it,, man

You answer the phone on the second ring.

“Need anythin’, man?”

When will he hear you call him Max rather than man, dude, bro, big guy, big boy, darlin’ (teasingly), or loser?

“Hi [Name]. I’m calling because, uh, Daniel messaged me,” he begins. “He said you’re not replying to his messages on Instagram.”

“Oh, my bad, my bad. I’ll check it out later, still out playin’ ball right now.”

“He’s asking if you're in Monaco right now.”

“Yeah, yeah, I am. Flight’s still next week. Why’s he askin’?”

“Okay,” he doesn't know what else is there to say. “I didn't even know you live in Monaco.”

“Well, I do,” he hears someone yelling your name. “Aight, anythin’ else you wanna know?”

“Nothing. Nothing else.”

“Okay. Stay safe out there, my guy.”

“You, too.”

The call ends and suddenly, the world feels too silent.

max: yeah she's here

max: she said her flight is scheduled next week

daniel: perfect

daniel: i have her christmas gift with me rn she better be there when i land

daniel: i have to wrap this up on the plane

daniel: do you know how hard it is to gift wrap smth during a flight

Max’s brows furrow. Perhaps he has underestimated the depth of their friendship. They're close enough that they give each other gifts. Or at least, she’s close with Daniel enough that he buys her gifts.

max: safe travels daniel

Daniel arrives a day later, which coincidentally is the same day Sophie, Max’s mother, and Victoria, his sister, landed in Monaco as well. Max’s mother adores Daniel, which is not surprising because everyone adores Daniel.

“Join us for lunch, Daniel,” Sophie invites him. Max and Victoria stand behind her. The three of them are heading out for lunch when they come across Daniel, who is also heading out, at the lobby of the apartment building.

“Sorry, Sophie, but I have an appointment today with [Name],” Daniel scratches his nape and smiles apologetically. Sophie perks up at the mention of [Name].

“Max’s manager?”

“Yes, Max’s manager,” Daniel nods enthusiastically.

“Invite her, too! I’ve always wanted to meet her. She sounds like an amazing girl from what Max has told me.”

Max groans, “Mom, please.”

He may or may not have talked about [Name] during his calls with his mother. Mostly, it's complaints. His mother has laughed at him, used to hee son's constant complaining. Despite that, she still thinks [Name] is good for her son. It's good that someone is able to rein you in when needed, she said.

“Oh, I’m sure she’ll love it. How about I call her and we’ll meet you at the restaurant in a few?” Daniel says.

Everything is settled. Max has reserved a private room for the whole lunch meeting so he can enjoy the privacy of lunch with his family. Less than an hour later, you arrive with Daniel.

Max almost drops the fork when he sees you walking towards them, just a few steps behind the grinning Daniel.

You look different than usual. Max is yet to decide if it's a good type of different or not, because when his eyes land on you, he feels like a thousand elephants have begun a violent rampage in his chest.

You’re not wearing the usual Red Bull polo shirt—perhaps that's why Max feels odd because he’s so used to seeing you wearing it—and instead, you were in a bustier jumpsuit with a white long-sleeved button-up shirt under it.

It looks a little too tight in Max’s opinion, hugging your body in a way that Max thinks you cannot breathe. He can't even breathe when he looks at you right now.

Daniel and you stop in front of the table and Max’s mother stands to kiss you both on the cheek. Max then notices that you’re carrying two bouquets in your hand. Funny how they're so huge and colorful but for some reason, he hasn't noticed them since you walked into the room.

“For you, Ma’am,” you smile as you hand the bouquet to Max’s mother, who gasps in delight. “Welcome to Monaco.”

Then, you turn to Victoria and hand her the other bouquet, “For you, too, Miss Victoria. Welcome to Monaco.”

“Please, have a seat, you two. We’ve already ordered for you," Max's mother says. You and Daniel sit down.

You and Daniel quickly engage in conversation with Max’s mother. Victoria elbows Max, leaning over his ear to whisper, “You have a good manager, Max.”

“You just like her because she got you flowers," Max whispers back.

Victoria chuckles and the Verstappen siblings join in the conversation.

Lunch is a pleasant event. Everyone loves the food. Everyone laughs. Everyone is having a good time. However, good things always come to an end. Daniel has to leave early because he has an appointment. Max is supposed to drive Victoria and his mother to the department store because they planned on shopping together as a family and buy gifts for their relatives in Belgium. But since Daniel left and he was your ride going to the restaurant, that means you have no ride going home.

You insist that you can hail a cab or even walk to your apartment since it’s “just three streets away” but Max notices that your smile looks too forced and Max calls bullshit. Max may not know where you live but he knows you're lying. Thankfully, his mother seems to share the same sentiments and push you towards Max.

“Don't worry, honey. He’s a good driver. You're in safe hands.”

“I’m really fine, Ma’am,” you try again.

“Call me Sophie,” she says, her hand comes up to your shoulder and you flinch a little. “You take good care of Max. It's the least he can do for you. Also, I’m a woman, honey. I know the pain of walking a good distance in heels. Don't subject yourself to that pain.”

You don't protest any further and the four of you hop into Max’s car. Max drives Sophie and Victoria to a department store and drops them off. He kisses his mother’s cheek as they bid a temporary goodbye. Afterwards, he instructs you to type down your address on the GPS so he can drive you to where you live.

When he reads the address you input, he snorts. You whip your head around to give him a dirty look.

“Three streets down,” he says, amused. “Really?”

“Shut up, ‘s just on the other side of the city.”

“It's still far.”

The first few minutes of the drive is silent. You sit on the passenger seat with your earbuds in and legs crossed, leaning most of your weight against the car door so your back posture sort of resembles a person with mild scoliosis. Max hears you hum along the song you’re listening to, your fingers tapping along the rhythm.

Max taps your shoulder. You turn to him, pulling off one of your earbuds.

“Somethin’ wrong?” you ask.

Why do you always assume something's wrong when he calls your attention? Does he really only talk to you when he has a problem?

Max gestures to the AUX, “You can connect your phone to my car.”

You gasp dramatically, a hand pressing on your chest, “You’re givin’ me AUX privilege? Truly honored.”

Max rolls his eyes.

“But I don't think you’ll like what I listen to,” you add.

“Try me.”

El Alfa songs have electrifying and infectious rhythms and Max may not understand the lyrics but not understanding the song lyrics can't stop a person from enjoying a song. El Alfa songs are the type of songs that you’ll hear in parties and in the streets.

“By the way,” Max begins. The song changes into something else—Sofia, the title reads, sung by Alvaro Soler. It's a whole different vibe from the previous song. “Thank you for giving my mum and sister flowers today. That was very thoughtful of you.”

“Just trynna be nice,” you say nonchalantly. “Glad they liked it.”

“Also, you look nice today.”

You slowly turn to him. You have this weird expression on your face like you have an aneurysm but also indigestion and mild stroke.

“Did you eat somethin’ weird at the restaurant?”

“No, I didn't.”

“Then why are you playin’ nice?”

Max rolls his eyes, “I can punch you if you want.”

“Yeah, right, as if you can. Your mother raised you too well to throw hands to the ladies.”

Max closes his mouth.

“See? I’m right,” you continue. “You’ll fight any man on the grid but you won't fight me even though I annoy you every day. You're not like your father, Max.”

Max clears his throat awkwardly. He does not know how to respond to you. You're too… too… honest.

“But thank you,” you say. “Borrowed this from my roomie ‘cuz I don't own any nice clothes.”

You wear branded clothing way too well for someone to think otherwise.

The song switches. Danza Kuduro starts playing. Max knows this one. He watched Fast Five.

Max stops the car outside the apartment building, but instead of hopping off, you rummage through your tote bag—still the cream-colored one with peach prints, it looks so worn down now—and pull out a….it looks like a beaded bracelet but it's not closed on the ends.

“What's this?” he asks when you hand it to him. Red and navy blue beads—the color of Red Bull.

“Consider this as my gift for the holidays. I made Daniel one so it makes sense that I give you one as well.”

Oh. Max blinks at you then glances down at the little thing in his palm. Something warm blooms in Max’s heart.

“That's very thoughtful of you.”

Panic follows. His head snaps up.

“But I haven't bought you anything.”

“That's okay, man,” you smile and open the door. “Thanks a lot for today.”

You step outside and close the door after you before Max can even utter another word. Max watches as you jog inside the building. He shakes his head when you disappear from his vision, hangs the beaded keychain with his keys, and drives back to where he drops his mother and sister off earlier.

Sophie notices the keychain and compliments it. She asks his son if he got into the hobby of creating things out of beads. Max shakes his head and tells her that the keychain is a gift from you.

His mother visibly lights up, “You should get her a gift!”

Max gets into thinking. Yeah, he should.

He meets you a day before your flight to Texas in the lobby of the building where you live. You gave him a keychain. It's only appropriate that he gives you keys. (You don't seem very happy with the gift though for God knows what reason but Max is adamant on giving it to you and will not stop at a no.

“I want you close,” he says, surprised by the sincerity that exited his mouth.

“Well, I don't.” Your words sting a little. Max ignores it.

He ends up giving you a different key. You say the other key is too expensive. Max is not thrilled but it's still a key and this certain key, you accept. So Max is happy.)

Max flies to Belgium a few days after you and celebrates the holidays with his mother's side of the family. He calls your cell in the middle of the night, Belgium is six hours ahead of Texas so Max is sure it's around four in the afternoon from where you are. He does not expect you to answer as quickly as you did.

“Somethin’ wrong?” your voice sounds rough like you’ve been asleep.

“Hi, uhm,” Max clears his throat. He’s a little tipsy right now and his words are flying around in his brain. “Happy holidays.”

There's a pause.

“You called me for that?”

“Can you stop being mean? It's the holidays.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Kinda?”

“Well then,” Max hears a ruffle of sheets and suddenly, he feels bad for waking you up. “Happy holidays to you, too, bud. Appreciate the effort and the money you spent on making this call. International calls are expensive as fuck.”

They're not. At least, Max thinks they're not.

“Can I get your Instagram? The one you use to talk to Daniel?”

“My priv? Why?”

“Because I just want it.”

“Brat. You can’t follow that account usin’ your public account. PR has access to your account and they’ll see my shit. I don't want them to see my shit.”

“Then, I’ll make a private account and we’ll follow each other.”

He hears you sigh.

“You promise not to give PR access to that account?”

“Hm. I promise.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever. Send me the details and I’ll follow you when I wake up, aight?”

Max giggles, “Okay.”

“Anythin’ else?”

“Nothing, nothing.”

“Aight, I’ll continue my nap. You enjoy yourself there.”

“Okay.”

Then, COVID happens.

#mv33 x reader #max verstappen x reader #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula one #max verstappen #max verstappen x you #f1 imagines #manager!reader #mv33 #mv1 #mv1 x reader #mv33 x you

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catssluvr · 5 months ago

Note

Hello I’m not sure where you wanted requests at so I’m Just going to do it here! Can you write a fic where reader is secretly in love w Emily and one day decides to wear a more revealing outfit (maybe like tighter to show off curves?) and notices that Emily is looking at her more often and when Emily confesses her feelings to reader, reader feels like she only did it for her body because r has been used for her body before and then Emily like states all the cute things r does and why she fell in love with her. Sorry it’s not very detailed or doesn’t make sense😓

tysm for requesting luv 💌 i added a few things, hope that's okay!! sorry for taking a bit <3

𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖, emily prentiss

emily prentiss x fem!reader

emily confesses to you on a night out and what you believe to be the reason behind it makes you insecure.

warnings: insecurities, jealously, derek being flirty asf (platonically <3)

·˚ ༘₊·꒰➳: ̗̀➛

You take one last glance at yourself on the reflection of the car window. A black mini skirt that feels like it barely covers your thighs, tight burgundy cap sleeved top with a low cut and a bit more of makeup than usual. It's a bit more extra than what you're used to. After all, you work at the bau so the usual is either a suit or jeans and a sweater.

You can't help but feel a bit reluctant now that you're standing right outside the bar. You feel pretty, it's definitely nice to dress up once in a while. But in the back of your mind, you know you also want Emily to think you look pretty. The choice of color of your top might have been because you know it's one of her favorites.

You've had a little crush on her ever since she joined the team. Which was a good while ago so you don't think you can really consider it just a little crush anymore. You catch yourself looking at her way more than you'd like to admit. It's really hard not to look when she always looks so good.

But it's just a night out after all, everyone is going to be dressed up. You don't expect anything to happen, just to have enough drinks to make you tipsy but not too drunk because unfortunately work calls for you in the morning.

With a breathy sigh, you push the door open. Your gaze catches them immediately, sitting in a table in the middle of the bar with drinks in hand. Emily sees you first, waving you over to them.

"Hi! Oh- you look amazing, angel!" Penelope is the first one to throw a compliment that comes with a bright smile.

"Yeah, i really love your shirt. Nice color." JJ adds teasingly. She's known about your feelings for Emily for as long as they exist. And she obviously doesn't miss one single opportunity to tease you about it.

"Thank you, guys." You take the empty seat between Pen and Emily, your cheeks turning pink once you feel the raven haired eyeing you.

"You should wear that color more often, JJ is right." Emily states, only loud enough for you to hear while the other two girls start chattering about something you can't quite focus on. Not when she's leaning slightly towards you so you can hear properly over the music, the only thing you can actually focus on is her lips that are covered in pink lipstick.

"Oh- Thank you, Em-" Before you can say anything else, or better, stutter out something else, you're interrupted by Derek.

"Well hello, hot stuff." He hands you on of the two drinks on his hands, playfully checking you out. "Looking good today, uh?" He chuckles, pulling a nearby chair and squeezing between you and Emily. You almost scowl at him for interrupting whatever was happening before.

"Yeah, don't get too excited." You play along, not the slightest bit surprised by his flirty antics. You fail to notice the way Emily's shoulders slump at the interaction.

"Can't help it, pretty girls are like magnets to me." You roll your eyes but chuckle once again, he does have quite a way to cheer people up.

Conversation and laughter fill the table soon after, all of you enjoying the rare night out. After all, it's not all the time you get to all be together to talk about something that isn't work.

You notice Emily seems awfully quiet today, barely exchanging words with anyone after your conversation was interrupted by Derek, keeping herself busy with the drink in her hands. You try to gather the courage to small talk with her, but everytime you glance at her, she's in fact already looking at you. And you can't help but feel too embarrassed to actually say anything. Besides, with Morgan sitting between you two you can't really talk to her without getting teased in a not so merciful way. He's also very aware of your pining over eachother. You're pretty sure everyone's aware of it by now. Only making it worse for your embarrassment.

"So, does the pretty girl dance?" Derek asks once he notices you're done with your drink

"Don't you have like loads of other girls in this bar for that?" You retort. You don't exactly feel nice for wanting to dismiss him somewhere so you can talk to Emily, but you really are starting to get worried.

"Sure, but i have the prettiest one of them right here." He insists, not resisting to laugh at his own horrible attempt to fake flirt. You sense he's got something up his sleeve but decide not to question it.

You look at her once more, frowning at the way she looks at the glass in front her, not acknowledging your gaze this time.

"Sure." You sigh, giving in rather quickly. You just didn't want to have the face the awkward silence that would settle between you and Emily if he left. Worst part is you don't have a clue to why she would be upset.

Derek drags you away from the table as soon as the answer leaves your lips. He twirls you once you reach where there's other people dancing, a surprised gasp leaving you before you wrap your arms around his shoulders.

Meanwhile Emily sits at the table with an almost sad frown on her face. This was supposed to be the day she was going to confess her feelings to you, but Derek was rather quick to ruin it. She doesn't remember how long she's been waiting to do it. And now she's pretty sure she's closer to losing her chance with you. You're perfect, it's just a matter of time until someone else realizes it and steals away her chance.

She watched the way he holds your waist and can't help but feel jealous, wishing it was her in his place. Emily knows you're merely friends but she envies the way he can flirt with you so easily without turning into an absolute mess. The most she got herself to do was compliment the color of your shirt. It's not usual to see you dressed up and she wish she could have the courage to tell you how pretty she thinks you look. Not just today, but every other day.

"You're drooling." JJ chuckles but only receives a cold glare in return. Emily can't actually focus on how pretty you look when there's someone else touching your waist and dancing with you. She is looking, nevertheless.

"You know he's doing it on purpose, right?" JJ asks with raised eyebrows.

"What?" Emily finally looks at the blonde girl beside her.

"He's just flirting with her to get on your nerves. Thought you were a good profiler, Em."

"Why would he do that?" The raven haired asks with furrowed brows.

"Maybe cause you're both idiots who don't realize you're in love with eachother. Jesus, everyone else knows but you at the point." JJ answers easily, as if she'd been wanting to say it for a while.

"I know i do, it's not a secret. But i'm pretty sure she's not interested, she would've say something if she was. If anything, she thinks i'm creep for looking so much tonight." Emily gulps down her drink, trying to act the least bothered possible. She is in fact very bothered, it's eating her up that she hasn't had the courage to approach you the whole night.

"It's not like you say anything either." She retorts before adding, "Besides, it wouldn't hurt to try asking her out."

Emily hums in response, not really sure what to think of JJ's suggestion. It is true that she can't be sure about your feelings towards you, but she doesn't think she can be more obvious with her own feelings.

Then again, she could at least try for once before it gets too late. Just maybe not tonight, she thinks as she sees you now sitting by the stools drowning down the second shot with Penelope.

She gives you and Garcia a ride home later that night. Occasionally looking over at you in the passenger seat, deciding what would be the best way to ask you out. It can't get past tomorrow, that's the only thing she's sure about.

·˚ ༘₊·꒰➳: ̗̀➛

You let out a frustrated sigh as you reach for some paper towel, cleaning the spilled coffee on the counter. Everything seems to be going incredibly bad today. You woke up with a bigger hungover than you had intended to, resulting in a bad mood that worsened once you started thinking about the previous night.

You don't mind Emily looking at you. In fact, you wish she would look only at you forever. The biggest highlight of the whole night was probably when she told you about how good you look in red. You had flushed red quite a few times once you realized she had her eyes on you for most of the night.

But overthinking got the best of you, as usual. It started to feel weird that she would look at you specifically yesterday, the day you decided to dress up. You know it's bad to jump into conclusions, but it's the only thing you can think about. Your stomach turns at the thought of it, disappointment creeping over you. Why wouldn't she want to look at you in any other day?

"Hey, everything okay?" Emily walks into the kitchenet with a small smile on her.

"Yeah. Just spilled some coffee, Em." You murmur, avoiding her gaze at any cost. You move to leave but she's quicker to speak up.

"Do you- i was hoping to ask you something." She says, fingers nervously fidgeting with her blazer.

"Sure, what is it?" You turn back to her, trying to hold yourself together.

"Would you like go grab some food after work?" She asks tentatively.

Your stomach drops, a million of thoughts running through your head. You want to say yes, desperately. But you don't want to end up getting hurt either.

"As a date." She adds quickly. It doesn't help at all that she's looking at you so hopefully.

"I like you, i really do. But maybe it's not a great idea. I mean, i know i usually don't wear clothes like that but i wasn't expecting you to be interested in me just because of it and-" You stop yourself from rambling on.

"What? That's not why i'm asking you out." Emily looks more confused than ever, mouth open in surprise.

"You don't have to say that." You mumble, growing nervous under her gaze.

"It's the truth. I'm asking you out because i've been in love with you pretty much since the day i started working at the bau." She admits, way more straight forward than intended. But it hurt her to know you'd think that of her. "And i do think you're pretty, the prettiest actually. But i could list out a hundred other reason to why i love you that are way more important than that."

"Em..." You cam feeling yourself starting to grow hot. It was indeed a bad idea to just into conclusions, you know she isn't like that.

"No, wait. In fact, i will list it out." She adds while reaching for your already clammy hand. "I love the way you were the only one to support me since day one, i love it when you fall asleep on my shoulder after a case because you feel safe enough to do it, i love how you bring me coffee in the morning almost everyday without expecting anything in return and i love how you're the most caring person i've ever met. I love you for you, not your body. And i was trying to find the courage to ask you out yesterday, i'm sorry if i made you feel that way." She lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding, an incredibly heavy weight being lifted off her shoulders.

"Is that date offer still up?" You ask with a breathy laugh, feeling stupid for it the second after. You expected anything but a love confession today. It was the first question that came to mind.

"Of course." She answers gently with a chuckle, thumb rubbing against your hand just as gently.

"Em?" You say slightly above a whisper.

"Yeah?"

"I love you too." You can't hide the smile (neither does she) that forms on your lips, pressing a smiley kiss on the corner of her lips.

·˚ ༘₊·꒰➳: ̗̀➛

love you,

cat 🤍

#emily prentiss #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x female reader #emily prentiss x you #fluff #wlw #emily prentiss x y/n

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doctorbitchcrxft · 9 months ago

Text

Hell House | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, unwanted sexual advances toward reader (nothing crazy, just uncomfortable flirtation)

Word Count: 6125

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After leaving John and the Daevas behind, you and the boys began heading to Texas to investigate a potential case.

Sam slept in the front seat of the car as Dean cruised down Interstate 35. He looked at you suspiciously, smirking in the rearview mirror.

“What?” you whispered.

“Watch this,” Dean told you, grabbing a plastic spoon from the backseat next to you and put it in Sam’s mouth. Snickering, he took a picture with his phone before turning the music up loud. You rolled your eyes and laughed as Sam jerked up waving his arms and trying to spit the spoon out.

“Ha ha, very funny,” the younger Winchester said un-amusedly.

Dean gave what you could only describe as a giggle. You thought it was adorable. “Sorry, not a lot of scenery here in East Texas; kinda gotta make your own.”

“Man, we're not kids anymore, Dean. We're not going to start that crap up again,” Sam stated.

“Start what up?” you asked.

“Prank stuff. It's stupid, and it always escalates,” Sam explained to you.

Dean mocked, “Aw, what's the matter Sammy, scared you're going to get a little Nair in your shampoo again, huh?” replied Dean.

“Alright, just remember you started it.”

“Ah ha, bring it on baldy.”

“Guys, I am not going to mediate or participate in a prank war,” you jumped in.

“Nobody asked you to, sweetheart,” Dean flippantly responded. “But don’t be surprised if you get caught in the crossfire.”

“Dean—!”

“Where are we anyway?” Sam cut you off.

“A few hours outside of Richardson. Gimme the lowdown again?” Dean asked.

“About a month or two ago, this group of kids goes poking around in this local haunted house.”

“Haunted by what?” you asked.

“Apparently, a pretty misogynistic spirit,” he answered.

“Oh, great,” you grumbled.

Sam laughed. “Legend goes, it takes girls and strings them up in the rafters. Anyway, this group of kids see this dead girl hanging in the cellar.”

You scoffed. “Oh, even better.”

“Anybody ID the corpse?” asked Dean.

“Well, that's the thing. By the time the cops got there the body was gone. So cops are saying the kids were just yanking chains.”

“Maybe the cops are right,” the older brother suggested.

“Maybe, but I read a couple of the kids' firsthand accounts. They seemed pretty sincere,” Sam shrugged.

“Where’d you find those?” you asked.

The brunet hesitated, seeming a little embarrassed. “Well, I knew we were going to be passing through Texas. So, um, last night, I surfed some local… paranormal websites. And I found one.”

“And what's it called?” Dean prompted.

“HellHoundsLair.com.”

“Lemme guess, streaming live out of Mom's basement.”

Sam grinned. “Yeah, probably."

“Yeah. Most of those websites wouldn't know a ghost if it bit 'em in the persqueeter,” Dean quipped.

“Look, we let Dad take off. Which was a mistake, by the way. And now we don't know where the hell he is, so in the meantime, we gotta find ourselves something to hunt. There's no harm checking this thing out.”

“Agreed. But not on the mistake part— I’m not getting involved in that argument,” you said.

“Good call,” Dean responded. “So where do we find these kids?”

“Same place you always find kids in a town like this,” Sam said. He directed his brother to a fast food outlet called “Rodeo Drive.”

You interviewed all of the kids who had been involved in the incident, and the only detail they could agree on in their story was that a teen named Craig had been the one to introduce them to the house.

***

The next day, you went to the record stop Craig worked at and posed as interviewers trying to get his side of the story on a paranormal feature you were writing. Sam had asked him about the house he’d taken his friends to.

“You mean the Hell House?” the teen answered.

“That’s the one,” answered Dean.

“I didn't think there was anything to the story,” Craig shrugged.

“Why don't you tell us the story,” Sam told him.

Craig quieted his voice and looked around for eavesdroppers. “Well, supposedly back in the '30s this farmer, Mordechai Murdoch, used to live in this house with his six daughters. It was during the Depression, his crops were failing, he didn't have enough money to feed his own children. So I guess that's when he went off the deep end.”

“How?” you questioned.

“Well, he figured it was best if his girls died quick, rather than starve to death. So he attacked them. They screamed, begged for him to stop but he just strung 'em up, one after the other. And when he was all finished, he just turned around and hung himself. Now they say that his spirit is trapped in the house forever, stringing up any other girl that goes inside.”

‘Oh, that’s just great.’

“Where'd you hear all this?” Dean questioned.

“My cousin Dana told me. I don't know where she heard it from. Ya gotta realize, I— I didn't believe this for a second.”

“But now you do,” the younger brother finished for him.

“I don't know what the hell to think, man. You guys, I— I'll tell you exactly what I told the police, ok? That girl was real. And she was dead. This was not a prank. I swear to God, I don't wanna go anywhere near that house ever again, okay?”

***

You and the boys headed to the Hell House. It was more like a dilapidated shack at this point; it looked like it had been made with wooden boards that were probably rotting and hollowed out by termites. The path up to the house was muddy, and the house itself was in the middle of nowhere surrounded by woods. Add “woods” on top of “misogynistic ghost,” and you were thoroughly worried about this hunt.

“Can't say I blame the kid,” Sam commented, taking in the appearance of the house.

“Yeah, so much for curb appeal,” quipped Dean. “You gonna be okay, sweetheart? You look like you’re gonna hurl.”

You looked up at Dean. “Well, misogynistic ghosts that kill any girl who goes inside don’t exactly tickle my fancy.”

Dean’s tone became a little more sincere, but still filled with his typical sarcastic charm. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m fine. I’m a big girl; I can handle myself. Just uneasy, that’s all.”

“Hey, (Y/N)?” Sam asked. “I realized something back in Chicago.”

“What’s that?” you asked while you ducked under the police tape blocking the door.

“You never told us where you’re from. You know we’re from Lawrence, so, what’s your story?”

“Honestly, Sammy, I have no idea,” you responded. “My parents never told me. I don’t have a copy of my birth certificate either. If it weren’t for my mom using my middle name when she was mad at me, I wouldn’t even know what it was. Don’t know my social security number, either. I’m not even confident the government has record of my existence.”

“Huh,” replied Sam. “How’d your mom even have time for a kid if she’s been hunting since you were born?”

You took out your flashlight and continued looking around while you talked to Sam. “That’s the thing, she didn’t. My mom was never really a mom to me, and she certainly wasn’t to my little brother. Even though he was only two years younger than me, I kind of had to fill the role of ‘mom’,” you explained.

Sam looked at you sadly. “I’m sorry.”

“Meh, it’s whatever,” you shrugged. “You got something?”

Dean was looking around with his EMF meter. It was beeping, but not making sounds indicative of a usual reading. “Ye-ah,” he sounded unsure. “The EMF’s no good.”

“Why?” Sam questioned.

Dean looked at the power lines just outside the house. “I think that thing's still got a little juice in it. It's screwing with all the readings.”

“Yeah that'd do it,” Sam sighed.

“Looks like old man Murdock was a bit of a tagger here in his time, though,” Dean stated, looking at the symbols covering the walls.

“And after his time too. That reverse cross has been used by Satanists for centuries, but this sigil of sulfur didn't show up in San Francisco until the '60s,” Sam informed.

You and Dean stared at Sam for a moment before the older brother quipped, “That is exactly why you never get laid.”

You patted Sam’s shoulder. “I think it’s cool,” you assured him.

He returned your smile. “Thanks, (Y/N).”

Dean moved to another wall with a cross with a dot in the middle. The bottom piece of the cross looked almost like a fishhook. “Hey, what about this one? You guys seen this one before?”

Sam shook his head, but you felt a sense of vague recognition, too. “Somewhere, I think.”

“Yeah, me too,” Dean said.

Sam rubbed the symbol. “It's paint. Seems pretty fresh too.”

Dean sighed. “I don't know, Sam. You know I hate to agree with authority figures of any kind, but... the cops may be right about this one.”

A sudden noise had you on high alert. You and Dean flanked one side of the door, guns drawn, and Sam took the other. Dean nodded, and the three of you burst through only to be met with blinding lights in your eyes.

“Oh, cut. It's just a coupla humans,” a nasally male voice said.

The two men before you both donned backpacks and baggy cargo pants. They were around your height and seemed like complete involuntarily-celibate nerds to you.

“What are you guys doing here?” the same guy asked. He held an electrical device in one hand while the other man held a video camera.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Dean’s gruff reply came.

“Uh, we belong here; we're professionals?” the man said matter-of-factly.

You scoffed. “Professional what?”

The man eyed you up and down before answering, and you fought the cringe crawling up your spine. “Paranormal Investigators.” He handed you a business card. “There you go, take a look at that, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that,” you gritted through your teeth.

Dean took the card from you, saying, “Easy, tiger.” He read it and muttered, “Oh, you gotta be kidding me.”

“Ed Zeddmore and Harry Spengler? Hellhoundslair.com. You guys run that website,” Sam noted.

The man who had been looking you up and down who’d identified himself as Ed nodded proudly.

“Oh, yeah, yeah, we're huge fans,” Dean grinned.

“And ahh, we know who you guys are too,” Ed said confidently.

You shot a sideways glance to Dean. “Oh yeah?”

“Amateurs.”

You and Dean immediately lost interest.

Ed continued, “Looking for ghosts and cheap thrills.”

“Yep. So if you guys don't mind, we're trying to conduct a serious scientific investigation here,” Harry finished.

“Really? What have you got so far?” you asked.

“Harry, why dontcha tell 'em about EMF?”

Sam played dumb, too. “EMF?” You could tell he was fighting a smile.

“Electromagnetic field? Spectral entities can cause energy fluctuations that can be read with an EMF detector. Like this bad boy right here.” Harry gestured to the machine Ed was holding, who turned it on.

“Whoa. Whoa. It's 2.8mg,” Harry noted.

“2.8. It's hot in here,” Ed grinned.

Dean whistled in mock admiration. “So you guys ever really seen a ghost before, or…?”

“Once. We were, uh— We were investigating this old house and we saw a vase fall right off the table—”

“By itself,” Harry finished.

“Well, we, we we we didn't actually see it, we heard it. And something like that… it, uh… it changes you,” Ed said solemnly.

“Yeah. I think I get the picture. We should go, let them get back to work,” Dean broke their stupor. “C’mon, (Y/N).”

He led you and his brother out of the room with the two guys in it. Dean stood behind you protectively.

“What?” you asked him as he led you out of the house.

“Didn’t like how he was looking at you,” he grumbled before seeming to realize what he had just admitted. “And… uh, misogynistic ghosts, and all.”

A smile spread across your face. “Thanks.”

***

You and the boys headed to a diner for some cheap burgers and beer before you decided to hit the road. You couldn’t find any missing persons matching the description of the Jane Doe that had been in the house, nor could Sam find anything on a Mordechai Murdoch. The real man had existed under a different name. You ruled the case a bust, and just wanted to relax a little before leaving town.

“How’s that thing on your leg healing?” Dean asked you, referencing the deep gashes you’d received in Chicago.

“Meh, it’s okay,” you shrugged, taking a sip of your beer. “It’s way better than it was a few days ago.”

“Good,” he nodded before clearing his throat. “So? Sammy, you got anything?”

His brother was scrolling the internet in search of a new case when something caught his attention. “Dude.”

“What?” you and Dean asked in unison.

“The Hell House.”

***

Emergency vehicles and officials hurried about, interviewing witnesses and wheeling out a stretcher with a body bag on it. The sinking feeling you got from the Hell House returned to your stomach as you and the boys approached it.

“What happened?” Dean asked a bystander.

“A couple of cops say a girl hung herself in the house,” explained the bystander. “She was a straight A student with a full ride to UT, too. It just don't make sense.” He walked away from the two of you.

“I don’t understand,” you started. “How could we’ve missed something?”

“I don’t know,” Sam shook his head.

“Back to the drawing board, I guess,” Dean sighed.

You waited for the emergency vehicles to clear out and allow you and the boys the ability to get another look at the house. Two cops remained guarding it, though, to which Sam commented, “I guess the cops don't want anyone else screwing around in there.”

You and the brothers were crouched in the bushes, trying to plan how to get in the house. You then heard whispers that caught your attention, and turned to see Ed and Harry clunkily approaching with cumbersome backpacks and gadgets covering them from head to toe.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Dean grumbled. “I got an idea.”

You shot him a confused look while he stood a little taller and cupped a hand to his mouth. “Who ya gonna call!”

You almost burst out in giggles at his stupid reference.

“Hey, you!” one of the cops called and took off running in the direction of Ed and Harry. The two guys turned and sprinted away. Well, sprinted as much as they could with their heavy packs.

You and the boys rushed into the abandoned house, passing each other weapons from the duffel bag. Dean was transfixed by the symbol on the wall. “Where have I seen that symbol before? It's killing me!”

“Yeah, me too, but we don’t have much time,” you urged him, slapping a shotgun in his hand and pulling him further into the home. You headed down to the basement and took in your dust-covered surroundings. You could feel your allergy beginning to get aggravated while you looked around.

“Hey, Sam. I dare you to take a swig of this,” Dean grinned, holding up a jar he found on one of the shelves.

“What the hell would I do that for?” scoffed the younger brother.

“...I double dare you.”

Sam just shook his head and continued walking.

You flinched and grabbed Dean’s arm at a sound coming from within a cabinet. Dean looked to you and back at the cabinet before the two of you took either side of the cabinet’s doors. At Dean’s nod, you threw the door open. Rats inside it squeaked and scurried away from the light of Sam’s flashlight.

“Arghh!” Dean yelped. “I hate rats.”

Sam scoffed. “You'd rather it was a ghost?”

Dean considered, but nodded. “Yes!” Dean suddenly looked up at something above your head, and you shrieked at the sight of an ax nearly hitting you squarely on your forehead. Dean yanked you away just in time and shielded you with his body protectively. He shot at the ghost of the tall farmer wearing a colorless straw hat that wasn’t at all deterred by the rocksalt. He shot once more, but it was still there. And then the final time, Mordechai disappeared.

“What the hell kind of spirit is immune to rock salt?” Sam questioned frantically.

“I don’t know! Come on, come on!” Dean urged you and his brother.

You ran toward the stairs, and Mordechai smashed his ax down through the shelves right next to your head. You raised your gun at him and shot multiple times, praying it would work. Nothing worked, and you narrowly missed another swing of the ghost’s ax before you fled.

“(Y/N), let’s go!” Sam called, running ahead of you. You and the boys sprinted out of the door of the house, only to be met with flashlights and a camera in your face.

“Get that damn thing outta my face,” Dean commanded before hurrying away again. You and the boys left the Hell House in the dust.

“You okay?” Dean asked you when you returned to the car.

You tried to catch your breath, slumping into the backseat. “Holy shit,” you muttered. “I think so. You?”

He nodded. “Fine.”

“But Dean.”

“Hm.”

“You’re sweet, but I don’t need you to protect me. I can hold my own,” you told him.

Dean scoffed. “It’s a misogynistic ghost, (Y/N). I’m obviously gonna be a little concerned.”

You smiled fondly, but held your position. “I know. Just… I can handle it. You don’t have to worry about me.”

He just grunted in response.

***

The next day, you and the boys were hanging out in their motel room. You and Sam were at your laptops researching while Dean sat on his bed scribbling in a notepad.

“What the hell is this symbol? It's buggin' the hell outta me. This whole damn job's buggin' me. What was with those slit wrists? I thought the legend says he hung himself.”

“That’s what you’ve been scribbling all this time?” You looked up from your laptop. “That symbol?”

“Yeah,” Dean answered. “But seriously, what the hell is going on here?”

Sam jumped in, saying, “And the ax too. I mean, ghosts are usually pretty strict, right? Following the same patterns over and over?”

“But this mook keeps changing,” Dean added.

“Exactly. I'm telling ya, the way the story goes... wait a minute.”

“What?”

“Someone added a new post to the Hell Hound site. Listen to this. 'They say Mordechai Murdock was really a Satanist who chopped up his victims with an ax before slitting his own wrists. Now he's imprisoned in the house for eternity.”

“What the fuck?” you questioned, sliding Sam’s laptop over to yourself. “How the hell is he changing?”

“I don't know,” Dean broke in, “but I think I might have just figured out where it all started.”

***

Your next stop was the music store Craig worked at.

“Hey Craig? Remember us?” Dean asked the teen who was organizing records.

“Guys, look I'm really not in the mood to answer any of your questions ok?” Craig answered.

“Oh, don't worry. We're just here to buy an album, that's all.” Dean flipped through a stack of records, and you looked over his shoulder. You suddenly realized where he was going with this. He picked up a Blue Oyster Cult album, and you nodded in acknowledgment as you put together the symbol had been the logo for the band.

“You know, I couldn't figure out what that symbol was, and then, I realized that it doesn't mean anything. It's the logo for the Blue Oyster Cult,” Dean said, putting the album on the counter across from Craig. “Tell me Craig, you, uh, you into BOC? Or just scaring the hell outta people? Now why 'n't you tell us about that house. Without lying through your ass this time.”

Craig sighed. “Alright, um. My cousin Dana was on break from TCU. Ah, I guess we were just bored, looking for something to do. So I showed her this abandoned dump I found. We thought it would be funny if we made it look like it was haunted. So we painted symbols on the walls; some from some albums, some from some of Dana's theology textbooks. Then, we found out this guy Murdock used to live there so we— we made up some story to go along with that. So they told people, who told other people. And then these two guys put it on their stupid website. Everything just took on a life of its own. I mean I, I thought it was funny at first but... now that girl's dead! It was just a joke, you know. I mean, none of it was real, we made the whole thing up. I swear!”

You knew he hadn’t meant any harm. “Okay. Thank you.”

You and the boys left an emotional Craig standing at the counter.

“If none of it was real how the hell do you explain Mordechai?” Dean asked.

“I have no idea,” you responded.

***

The next morning, you and the boys headed out to get some breakfast and coffee. Sam was shifting uncomfortably every few seconds in his seat. “What’s your deal, dude?” you asked.

His response was a grimace before he explained he thought Mordechai might be a Tulpa. “Okay, so there was this incident in Tibet in 1915. Group of monks visualized a golem in their head. They meditated on it so hard they brought the thing to life. Outta thin air.”

“So?” Dean said.

“That was twenty monks. Imagine what ten thousand web surfers could do. I mean, Craig starts the story about Mordechai, then it spreads, goes online. Now there are countless people all believing in the bastard,” Sam replied.

“Now wait a second. Are you trying to tell me that just because people believe in Mordechai, he's real?”

Sam shifted again. “I don’t know, maybe.”

“People believe in Santa Claus— how come I'm not getting hooked up every Christmas?” Dean remarked.

“ ‘Cause we’re bad people,” you remarked. Dean seemed convinced by your answer.

“And because of this.” Sam turned his phone to you and Dean to show you a photo of a symbol on one of the walls of the Hell House. “That's a Tibetan spirit sigil. On the wall of the house. Craig said they were painting symbols from a theology textbook. I bet they painted this; not even knowing what it was. Now, that sigil has been used for centuries, concentrating meditative thoughts like a magnifying glass. So people are on the HellHounds website, staring at the symbol, thinking about Mordechai… I mean I don't know, but it might be enough to bring a Tulpa to life.”

You shrugged. “That would explain why the bastard keeps changing.”

“Right, as the legend changes, people think different things, so Mordechai himself changes. Like a game of telephone. That would also explain why the rock salt didn't work.” Sam shifted at least five separate times in his chair as he spoke.

“Yeah, because he's not a traditional spirit,” the older brother continued. “Okay. So why don't we just, uh, get this spirit sigil thingie off the wall and off the website?”

“Well, it's not that simple. You see, once Tulpas are created they take on a life of their own,” Sam explained.

“Great. So if he really is a thought form, how the hell are we supposed to kill an idea?”

“Well, it's not gonna be easy with these guys helping us. Check out their homepage.”

Sam showed you and Dean footage from two days ago. “Since they've posted the video, their number of hits have quadrupled in the last day alone.”

“Great,” you muttered. “But I have an idea. C’mon.” You got up from the table and began heading away.

“Where we going?” Dean questioned.

“To find a copy store.”

Sam got up and began to follow you. “Man, I think I'm allergic to our soap or something.”

Dean laughed and walked after you.

“You did this?!” Sam called.

The only response he got was a laugh from his brother.

“You're a friggin jerk!”

“Oh yeah!” Dean pumped a fist in the air.

***

After you hit the copy store to carry out your idea, you and the boys found Ed and Harry’s trailer park residence and rapped against the door loudly.

“Who is it?” Harry’s voice called.

“Come on out here guys, we hear you in there,” Dean called back. When the door opened, Dean looked over the two men’s shoulders. “Ah, would you look at that! Action figures in their original packaging— what a shock.”

You snickered,but nudged him. “Be polite.”

“Guys, we need to talk,” Sam said.

“Yeah, um, sorry guys. We're ahhh, a little bit busy right now,” Ed responded. “But pretty lady, if you’d like to stay—”

Dean cut him off, gruffly saying, “Okay, well, we'll make it quick. We need you to shut down your website.”

Ed laughed. “Man, you know, these guys got us busted the other night, spent the night in a holding cell—”

“I had to pee in that cell urinal. In front of people. And I get stage fright,” the other goon chimed in.

“Why should we trust you guys?”

“Look, guys. We all know what we saw that night; what's in the house. But now, thanks to your website, there are thousands of people hearing about Mordechai,” the brunet explained.

“That's right. Which means people are gonna keep showing up at the Hell House, running into him in person, somebody could get hurt,” Dean continued.

“Ed, maybe he's got a point, maybe—”

Ed cut his friend off. “Nope.”

“No,” Harry said despite his position moments earlier.

“We have an obligation to our fans, to the truth,” Ed stated.

“Well I have an obligation to kick both your little asses right now—” Dean’s face hardened, and you could see Ed and Harry nearly shit themselves.

You pulled his arm back. “Just forget about it,” you told him. “You could bitch slap ‘em both, I could tell them that thing about Mordechai, but they’re still not gonna listen. Let’s just go.” You turned away.

“Whoa! Whoa!” the guys called after you. “What’d you say about...?”

“Hang on a second here,” Harry said. “What thing about Mordechai, you guys?”

“Don’t tell ‘em, (Y/N),” Sam said.

“But if they agree to shut the website down, Sam—”

“They're not going to do it, you said so yourself,” Dean chimed in.

“No wait. Wait. Don't listen to him ok? We'll do it. We'll do it,” Ed said, stepping closer to you.

You sighed. “Look, it is a really big deal, alright. And it wasn't easy to dig up. So only if we have your word that you'll shut everything down.”

“Totally,” Ed nodded.

Dean handed over some paperwork you’d doctored at the copy shop reluctantly. “It's a death certificate. From the '30s. We got it at the library. Now according to the coroner, the actual cause of death was a self-inflicted gunshot wound.”

“That's right, he didn't hang or cut himself,” added Dean.

Ed’s eyebrows shot up. “He shot himself?”

“Yep. With a .45 pistol. To this day, they say he's terrified of them,” you said.

Dean continued explaining. “Matter of fact, they say if you shoot him with a .45, loaded with these special wrought-iron rounds, it'll kill the son of a bitch.”

Ed and Harry snickered gleefully. Harry spun around and bolted back to the trailer. Ed followed more slowly.

Once they were out of earshot, you held up crossed fingers to the boys. “Here’s hoping.”

***

You and the boys were waiting for Ed and Harry to put out the bogus story you’d given them at a diner later that evening. You sat in the booth between Sam and the wall, and looked over at his laptop while he reloaded the page repeatedly. Dean sat across from you and his brother, pulling the cord of a plaque on the wall of a fisherman holding a big fish. The fisherman’s mouth moved up and down when Dean pulled the cord.

You pulled it again to stop it. “If you pull that damn cord one more time, I’ll kill you.”

Dean sent you a challenging look and pulled the cord again. You pulled it again in response.

“Come on, sweetheart, you need more laughter in your life. You know, you're way too tense.”

“What! I do laugh!” you pouted.

“Not as much as this guy.” He pulled the cord again.

You pulled it to stop it for a final time. “Don’t try me.”

Dean sighed. “They post it yet?”

Sam turned the laptop around to Dean. “We've learned from reputable sources that Mordechai Murdock has a fatal fear of firearms. Alright. How long do we wait?”

“Long enough for the new story to spread,” replied Sam, “and the legend to change. I figure by nightfall, iron rounds will work on the sucker.” Sam lifted his beer and you and Dean lifted yours as well. The three of you tapped them together.

“Sweet,” Dean said. He took a long swig of his beer and Sam grinned. The older of the two tried to put his beer down, but it was stuck to his beer.

Sam cracked up, as did you, and Dean stared at his brother incredulous. “You didn't.”

Sam continued to laugh and held up his tube of super glue. “Oh, I did!”

Dean shook his hand trying to get the beer off and turned his aggravation to you. “You knew about this?”

You felt guilty, but said, “Hey, I told you, I’m Switzerland in this prank war.”

“Oh, it’s on, sweetheart.”

“Dean! I didn’t even do anything! I’m Switzerland! Look, I’ll even help you get it off your hand, okay? Stop pouting.”

Dean grunted, “Fine.”

***

Dean bought the laughing fisherman from the diner and brought it to the woods beyond the Hell House later that night. You wrapped the cord around a rock to weigh the pulley mechanism down to lure the cops away from the house.

You entered the house on alert with your gun drawn, Dean trailing just behind you. “I barely have any skin left on my palm,” he said snarkily.

“So you think Mordechai's home?” you asked as you entered another room.

“I don't know,” Sam answered.

“Me either,” a voice said from behind you.

You wheeled around and pointed your gun at the source of the sound.

“Whoa! Whoa!” Ed said.

“What are you trying to do, get yourself killed?” you yelled.

“We're just trying to get a book and movie deal, ok?” Harry said.

“Motherfucker—” You were cut off by the sound of knives being sharpened coming from the basement. Your guard immediately went back up.

“Oh crap,” Ed said. “Don’t worry (Y/N), I’ll protect you.”

“Oh, get off me, dickhead.” You shrugged his hand off your shoulders.

He crowded way too closely behind you and followed you and the brothers to the basement door.

“Ah guys, you wanna— you wanna open that door for us?” Ed grinned uncomfortably.

“Why don't you?” Dean turned to him, shooting daggers at him.

Mordechai burst through the door at that moment, holding an ax and screaming. You and the boys began emptying your gun chambers into his stomach, but the guns had no effect on him. You then swept the other rooms in search of Ed and Harry.

“What the fuck, didn’t you guys post that bullshit story we gave you?” you asked them when you found them.

“Of course we did,” Ed scoffed.

Sam and Dean appeared behind you.

“But then our server crashed,” Harry explained.

“So it didn't take?” Dean asked rhetorically.

The two men exchanged looks and murmured to themselves.

“So these, these guns don't work.” Dean laughed coldly and raked a hand through his hair. “Great. Sam, any ideas?”

“We are getting outta here,” Harry said. “Come on, Ed.”

Harry and Ed ran past you and Dean to the other room. You noticed Mordechai’s apparition following them before you heard two girlish screeches coming from their direction.

“Hey! Come and get it, you ugly son of a bitch,” you told the ghost.

“Gladly,” Ed said, not realizing you were talking to Mordechai.

You grabbed the hilt of the ax as he tried to take a swing at you, pushing against him with all your might. You were then pinned against the wall, the ax across your throat and constricting your airway,

“Get out of here, now!” you told Ed and Harry. They sprinted out of the door as you struggled against Mordechai, who lifted you up in the air by the ax.

“Guys! Help!” you screamed.

Moments later, Dean appeared. He held up a spray bottle and lit it, making a plume of fire appear.

“Get out of here, now!” Dean told you. You ran past him. You met Sam in another room, clutching your throat.

“You okay?” Sam asked you. He stooped to get eye-level with you.

“Yeah,” you choked out. “Peachy.”

Dean sped into the room next to you. “Mordechai can't leave the house, we can't kill him— We improvise,” he said. He held up his lighter, flicked it, and threw it back into the room behind you. It burst into flames, and you ran after the boys outside.

“That's your solution? Burn the whole damn place to the ground?” Sam asked incredulously.

“Well, nobody will go in anymore. I mean, look, Mordechai can't haunt a house if there's no house to haunt. It's fast and dirty, but it works,” Dean replied simply.

“Well, add arsonists to our rap sheet,” you said.

“What if the legend changes again and Mordechai is allowed to leave the house?” questioned Sam.

“Then we'll just have to come back,” Dean shrugged.

You turned back to the house and watched it burn.

“Kinda makes you wonder. Of all the things we hunted, how many existed just cuz people believed in them,” said Sam. You looked back to him, amazed at how he could be profound in the midst of your situation.

***

You and the boys made one last pit stop by Harry and Ed’s trailer park before you were planning to head out of town. The two guys in question came over to your picnic table carrying grocery bags.

“I was thinking that Mordechai has a really super high attack bonus,” Ed said. “Man, I got the munchies right now.” He turned to the boys. “Gentlemen. And m’lady.”

You cringed.

“Should we tell 'em.” Harry could barely contain his gloating.

“Hey, might as well, you know, they're going to read about it in the trades,” Ed smirked.

“So this morning we got a phone call from a very important Hollywood producer.”

“Oh yeah, wrong number?” Dean snorted.

“No, smart-ass. He read all about the Hell House on our website and wants to option the motion picture rights. Maybe even have us write it.”

They put grocery bags into their completely overloaded car.

“And create the RPG,” Harry added.

“The what?” Dean asked.

“Role playing game,” came Ed’s simple reply. “A little lingo for you. Anyhoo, ah, excuse us, we're off to la-la land.”

“Well, congratulations guys. That sounds really great,” Sam nodded.

“Yeah. That's awesome, best of luck to you,” you said.

“Oh yeah, luck. That has nothing to do with it. It's about talent. Sheer unabashed talent,” Ed grinned. “And you…” he sauntered up to you. “...Call me. You could have a bright future in film.”

You forced a smile at him.

“Later, baby,” he grinned. He got in the car next to his buddy and sped away.

“I have a confession to make,” Sam said as the three of you watched them drive off.

“What's that,” prompted Dean.

“I, uh… I was the one that called them and told them I was a producer.”

You and Dean laughed. “Yeah, well, I'm the one who put the dead fish in their back seat,” the latter snickered.

“And I may have been the one to put the cops on ‘em about the Murdoch house fire. And the fact that they don’t have a license plate on that car. Or on their camper.”

Dean and Sam burst out laughing at you. You joined in with them.

“Truce?” The brunet turned to his brother.

“Yeah, truce,” he answered. “At least for the next hundred miles.”

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @davina-clairee @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @stephshaww @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @here-for-the-extravaganza @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @rei0812 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @more-espresso-less-depresso-og @mysticmyth

a lot of my tags are broken which makes me very sad. if you see that i've misspelled your tag, please let me know! and make sure you have my post notifs on so a broken tag doesn't stop you from seeing the next chapter!!

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester #supernatural #spn #supernatural series rewrite #spn series rewrite

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dsireland86 · 11 months ago

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Take Me First

Tag list: @philomenie @supersquirrel1996 @foliosgirl @angelmarie89 @fadingintothegrey @thisbicc @lma1986 @dominuslunae @shayzillaaaa @mrsnoahsebastian @flowery-mess @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @stardustsirenmelody @romanreigns-supreme @anything-more-than-human @into-the-grey @rumoured-whispers @myownthoughts12 @sister-sebastian @nyxthedestroyerofworlds-deactiv @missduffsblog @bngurngheart @somebodyllelse @xxkittenkissesxx @fadingangelwisp @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard

“I wanna be someone you used to hate without the memory of the pain/I went too far and now we can't restart./ It's like we cut the breaks, tore ‘em off the car ninety miles inside the dark familiar scars, and electric hearts”

“Why! Why would you! How could you? What did she give you that I don't, Noah?”

She screams at me, tears running down her face, the pain I caused her destroying every good memory of me she has. I couldn't believe I pushed her this far; that I pushed us to this point in our relationship. I couldn't give her the answer she wanted because the truth was I didn't have one. I fucked up. Bad. I fucked someone else, in our bed, when she was away at her parents. Granted I was drunk, but that wasn’t a good enough excuse at all. Jolly told me not to do it. Folio said I'd lose her if I did. Nick just shook his head and walked away when I took the fifth shot given to me. Matt was refusing to speak to me.

What the fuck happened? How could I be so over taken by a girl whose name I couldn't even remember? She sits on the ottoman holding her head in her hands. Her shoulders are shaking and the only sounds are her quiet sobs. I want to comfort her. I want to go to her, take her in my arms and apologize over and over until she believes me. I know she won't. I know she fucking hates me. The cuts I've made so recklessly on her heart are too deep. I reach out to touch her, but she pulls away.

“Don't you fucking touch me, Noah,” she screams, making me cringe. “Don't ever touch me again.”

She looks at me with so much distaste for the first time ever since we've been together. I can't stand to see her like this, so I make the choice to leave.

“No, you asshole! You don't get the benefit of walking out on me when you're the one who made the wrong choice. I'm the one who gets to leave.”

She stands up grabbing her keys and purse that are still on the floor where she dropped them a bit ago.

“No, please baby,”

“Don't you fucking dare, Noah. Don't you call me that. You do not have the privilege of calling me that anymore. I'm nothing to you now.”

She glares at me with so much hurt, so much anger in her blue eyes. My body goes numb. The slamming of the front door makes me cringe as it signals the end of us and the glow of her headlights as she backs out of the driveway says it's for good. I run into the kitchen and find the trash can just in time.

“I know I'm gonna die in the bed I made and I'm drowning in a dream that I can't escape, if I could wake up I'd hesitate.”

My eyes snap open from the vibration against my leg, and I squint as they try to adjust to the light. I realize I must have fallen asleep after sitting on the couch for I don't know how long after she left, with her No Face hoodie still clenched in my hands. It's her favorite, and when I saw it laying on the back of the chair, a spark of hope ignited in me. Maybe if I give her a few days we can talk. I reach into my pocket to answer the call and when I look at my phone I see nine missed calls from Matt and seven from Jolly. I answer before it becomes the eighth.

“Where the fuck have you been? Why haven't you answered any of my calls, or Matt’s!”

Jolly's voice is loud and his bitter tone tells me something bad has happened.

“I fell asleep, Jolly, sorry man.”

Jolly scoffs.

“So fucking typically, Noah! You go around and break your girl’s heart, causing her to do something drastic that plays out like a fucking horror movie and you get to fall asleep. Yeah, fuck you mother,”

“Whoa! Slow the fuck down, Jolly! I didn't intentionally fall asleep. I've been sitting here on my couch, crying for the past hour. What in the hell are you talking about?”

“Are you sure? You didn't invite what’s her face back for a second round the moment she drove away?”

There was dead silence. I clench my jaw, running my hand over my mouth, thanking god Jolly's not in front of me as my hand closes into a tight fist.

“Fuck you, Jolly! Fuck you!” I yell into the phone. “It wasn't supposed to happen, okay? I had no intention of hurting her! I love her and I know if I give her some space and some time we can work it out.”

There was dead silence again.

“Noah,” the way Jolly says my name is one-eighty from just a second ago.

Something bad has happened. I can feel it.

“She’s been in an accident. She was hit head on by a drunk driver. It took the E.M.T’s almost an hour to cut her out. Once they did; there was no pulse. Her blood was everywhere, Noah. After a few tries of resuscitation they finally got a pulse, faint, but it was there. I followed them to the hospital. That’s where I am now. Matt, Folio, and Nick are, too. We're all here. Everyone but you. Please come, Noah. Your girl needs you.

“But it’s too late to turn back now, Oh God, I tried but I don’t know, if I could escape it, I’d trade in the blame, you can take it. If it doesn’t take me first.”

I don’t know how I’m able to make it to the hospital in one piece, but I do. I text Jolly to find out where everyone is and follow the directions he gives me. My knees are weak. I’m shaking and can’t stop the tears that keep falling. She means everything to me; more than the band, the job, the money, fuck, even my own life. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to protect her. If I lose her; if he takes her from me, I swear to...

“Noah!”

The sound of my name distracts me from my thoughts. I realize I’m right where Jolly said to meet them, seeing Nicholas waving to me up ahead. Drying my face, I proceed to the waiting area. I’m greeted by fists bumps from both Folio and Nick, but Jolly only glares at me, while Matt refuses to even look at me. I know they had a thing for each other before we started dating, but somehow I was the one who managed to grab her attention enough for her to say yes when I asked her out for the first time. The way her whole face lit up when I asked her gave me butterflies for the longest time and I found myself, once again, wondering what the fuck I was thinking when I cheated on her. I wasn’t; that's the whole problem.

“Any update?” I ask.

Jolly just shakes his head as he continues to stare.

“What?’ “Don’t fucking “what” me.” “Yeah, Jolly, I am. I know you hate me right now, okay.” “Hate doesn’t even begin to cover it.” I look over at Matt who’s finally acknowledging my presence. “I know,”

My gaze drops from him to the floor, unable to look at the pain in my friend's face.

“How can you live with yourself right now, Noah?” Matt stands up and walks up to me. “How can you,” but he doesn’t finish, just continues to stare, making me uncomfortable.

Matt begins to cry a little harder than he probably means to, and finally walks away towards the bathrooms, giving me some room to breathe. I wipe my eyes, erasing the guilt that’s started to seep again, taking a seat next to Folio who’s pretending to read an outdated motorcycle magazine.

Hours pass, making the unknown feel like hell. My hell. The hell I deserve along with all of it's slow, agonizing torture of my soul as the seconds turn to minutes and minutes turn hours. I’m so anxious that I’ve bitten down all my nails and my left leg is aching from bouncing for too long. Laying my head back, I let myself drift back into one of my favorite memories of us; that time in Virginia.

“If you even think about touching me while I'm walking down this fucking muddy trail you so desperately wanted me to come on with you, I swear to the Lord above, Noah Sebastian, I will make you suffer. I hear you and Jolly back there!”

“Babe, I have no idea what you're talking about. You must be hearing things.”

I was trying my hardest to hide the snicker in my voice, but I knew she was already on to me. When she turned around and looked at me, giving me her best angry face, I melted even more for her than I already had. God she was fucking beautiful and sweet, and such a badass, and she was all mine. I smiled down at her, moving in a little closer and sliding my hand behind her head, bringing her in for a long kiss. I felt her body relax into mine, the same way she always reacted whenever I kissed her.

“You already make me suffer; every moment that you're away from me.”

She pulled away from me, gazing into my eyes.

“Awe, Noah,” she said, her bottom lip, that I desperately wanted to bite and suck on, protruding.

The overwhelming way she made me so hard in a matter of seconds and yet feel like I was the richest, luckiest guy in the world was something I would never get used to. I was falling in love with her; and I wasn't afraid to admit it.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

I chuckled at the sheepish grin that swept over her face and reddened her cheeks.

“No reason. I just really love looking at you.” I kissed her one more time before taking her hand. “Come on. If you go down, then I'm going down too, how's that?”

Her face brightened.

“I like that,” she grinned. “Dude, this shit is fucking gross. I usually don't mind mud, but this,” Folio, groaned, lifting up his boot that was covered in thick, greenish, brownish mud.

“Whose fucking idea was it to take this particular trail, anyway?” “Matt,” She, Jolly, Nicholas, and I said in unison. “What the fuck ever! You know you could've said no,” Matt hollered, walking a little further ahead of us.

Just when I thought everything was good, the very next step she took was our demise. Down she went, ass to the mud, slipping and sliding a few inches down the hill, dragging me with her. Her squeals were all that could be heard but stopped once we reached the bottom. She laid on her back, soaked in nothing but the god awful muck. I held my laugh, suppressing it as much as I could even though Matt and Folio had already busted out laughing.

“Babe? Baby are you okay?”

Even though my ass was wet and muddy, I knew it was nothing compared to hers.. Nick helped me up, wishing me luck and I carefully made my way down the path to help her. Her eyes were closed and for a second I thought maybe she was seriously hurt.

“Babe, are you hurt?”

I saw her grin before I felt the sting of the mud hit me in the face, slapping me unrelentlessly.

“Shit!” I cried, wondering if this was how bad her ass felt every time I spanked it during sex. If so, maybe I should find a different kink.

“Fucking hell, that hurt.” “Yeah? Well so does my back, fucker,” she lashed out even though it was through a laugh. “Fair enough.” I squatted next to her, offering my support, only to have her tackle me and push me into the mud. “There, now we're even,” she giggled, leaning over top of me.

She kissed me, slipping her tongue slyly into my mouth, sending all kinds of signals through my body. But the bad boy side of me wanted revenge as I grabbed a handful of mud and smashed it in the side of her face. A look of horror flashed across her face as her eyes widened. I had a feeling I was going to regret that later on, but knowing how fucking amazing intense rough sex could be with her, I gladly welcomed it with open arms. Pretty soon, after a few more handfuls of back and forth mud throwing, she and I were pretty much completely covered in mud. But we were happy; she was the perfect image of what my happiness was.

“If you two children are finished, the rest of us grown-ups would like to finish our hike.” “Fuck you, Karlsson,” I said, holding up the middle finger to Jolly who playfully smiled as he passed us, refusing to help either one of us up. “What the fuck ever, I guess it's you and me Babe,” I announced, looking over at her. “Yeah, just like always.”

The love we made that night was some of the best we'd ever had. I fucked her slowly at first then harder each time she cried out for more, taking my time to make sure she felt every part of me while I tried to commit to memory every way she felt while I was inside her. It was the first time I'd ever made her cum more than twice. She fought with me at first, telling me she wasn't letting me anywhere near her because of what happened earlier.

“Me withholding sex from you is your punishment,” she said.

So, I wrestled her, showing her just how dominant I could be when she chose to be a brat, and I won in the end, obviously. I left my handprint on her ass, caring nothing about the way it might have felt, like I did earlier. She was mine; and she needed to be reminded that she was. She paid me back by digging her nails into my chest as she rode me, hands pressed hard against my chest as I watched her enjoy the pleasure she was getting from me.

Her breasts filled my hands as she took what she wanted from me, crying my name like an innocent prayer. I came so fucking hard that I left scratches down her thighs. I don't think another night has ever topped that; not even the night that has led to this fucking hell I'm now sitting in. Deciding to take a walk, making Nick promise me he'll text me if there's news, I find myself wandering the Emergency Room halls.

“I lie to myself like it's not too late, convinced the past can still be changed/ We know it's gone, but I can't move on/ I wanna rewind, but it just replays/ Jumping on a hand grenade, but it won't go off , no, it won't go off."

Overwhelmed by the memories and emotions, I enter the chapel that's here to bring whatever comfort a person longs for in their time of need. It's empty; just an altar, a cross, a lot of chairs, and a few dim lights. I take a seat closer to the front, wiping my eyes again, though this time I'm not ashamed of the tears. I deserve them. I fucked up so bad and now I'm left in her wake to deal with the guilt and heartache that will haunt me for the rest of my life. I bit my knuckles while slowly rocking back and forth, letting the tears of anger, tears of hurt and pain, tears of fear, run down my cheeks and fall to the floor below. Then I begin to do something I haven't done since I was a kid; something my grandma taught me to use in the moments when I didn’t know what else to do; I pray.

“I know you're listening; I know you can hear me. My girl’s fucking innocent. She doesn't deserve to pay for the crimes I've committed.”

I squeeze my eyes closed, releasing more tears, sniffling.

“I know I've fucked up and I'm guessing I've made you pretty angry if you think an innocent girl deserves to take my place in death. But, I'm telling you now,” stopping as my voice starts to break apart.

I'm sobbing, falling to my knees as my hands drape over the back of the chair in front of me.

“God, I'm fucking begging you, take me first. Switch our places, somehow, some way and fucking take me first. I can't live with this pain, God! I need her here!”

I drop down seething through my teeth.

“Ughhh, fucking shit, motherfucker! It hurts too much, do you hear me!”

I push the chairs in front of me so hard they go flying and hit the bottom of the altar. That's all it takes before I'm lifting chair after chair and throwing it across the room.

“I'm sorry I hurt her, I'm sorry I broke her heart, just please, I'm fucking begging you, don't take her from me. Take Me First.”

My shoulders slump and my arms fall to my sides. I'm out of breath, crying in between each one. I’m emotionally drained and feel uncomfortably numb, so numb that I don't feel the vibration of my phone at first. I pull it out not expecting what I see.

Today 4:32am

Ruffilo: SHE’S AWAKE!!!! GET HERE NOW!!!

Everything around me stops. A loud ringing echoes in my ears, piercing the very inner and making me cringe. This can’t really be how it works is it? I get pissed off, through a fit, and my prayer is answered; there’s more to it, right? My eyes drift upwards, and I’m suddenly feeling a little ashamed. Especially when I take a look around the room and see the mess I’ve made. Fuck. I’m going to have to clean this up before I leave the hospital. But first I need to go see her.

“Thank you,”

I whisper as I walk toward the door to leave, but before I do I turn around and focus on the simple cross sitting in the middle of the table at the foot of the altar. Suddenly, hope doesn’t seem impossible. I believe more now than before, that she and I might be able to fix this horrible broken mess. All the guys are in the room surrounding her. She’s lying in the hospital bed, hooked up to all kinds of machines with tubes and cables going everywhere. One of her legs and arms are in a cast, and a huge bandage is wrapped around her head. Bruising is visible on her face along with a busted lip. Seeing all of this shatters my heart into a million pieces, destroying what little bit of it was left.

I stand outside the room, gazing in on her. Matt’s at her side, holding her hand, talking to her about god only knows what. Probably anything to distract her from reality, and she’s partially smiling at whatever he’s saying. Despite everything, she looks happy, yet when her eyes shift to look at me, I swallow hard. The emptiness I see is deep. The lack of emotion that resonates from them makes my heart stop for a moment. Everyone turns and looks my way. Nicholas comes out wearing a grave expression that chills every part of me. I know what he’s about to say isn’t easy, so I brace myself for it. He takes me by the arm, pulling me off to the side, out of her sights.

“What is it Nick? What’s wrong? She’s dying isn’t she? She’s not going to make it, shit, oh my god,” I run my hands through my hair as I turn back around and stare back into the room at her.

I’m shaking so bad I can barely stand, so I brace myself against the wall for support.

“Hey, hey chill the fuck out Noah, just for a minute, and listen to me! She’s not dying. She’s going to be okay. She has a lot of injuries that are going to take a lot of time to heal, but she’s going to be fine.”

I exhale, looking Nick in the eyes for the first time.

“Really?” I ask, through blurry eyes.

He smiles at me, throwing his hand on my shoulder.

“Really, bro. She’s good. But there is something you’ve got to know. She said she didn’t want to tell you herself because you might not believe her.”

My forehead creases as I frown.

“What do you mean, something else?”

Nick licks his lips, looks over into the room, and takes a deep breath.

“Nick, what the fuck dude, what is it?”

His green eyes meet mine and in absolute seriousness he says, “Your girl’s pregnant, Noah.”

#noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian fanfic #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens cult #nicholas ruffilo #nick folio #jolly karlsson #bad omens #bad omens band #matt dierkes

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jensensitive · 8 months ago

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It's not always an easy thing to make breakfast in the morning when there's so many people around. Jostling for what exactly everyone's individual tastes are wanting that morning, or not wanting, or just how much coffee is left, or where the tea went, or who did the dishes last night and why there's stuff on your favorite mug. It's good though, he likes it. It feels right, having his family so close to bug him. He doesn't really like peace and quiet as much as he does the people he loves making themselves known in his life and routine. And the smell of coffee and feeling like it's a new day worth waking up for because everyone's there and alive. Right now it's just him and Sam in the kitchen, but your little brother being annoying is all just a part of it.

"You're like a middle aged divorced guy obsessed with his car, but without the excuse of ever actually having been married."

"Who wouldn't be obsessed with my Baby, she's hot as hell."

"She's never gonna love you back, Dean."

"Hey, that's not nice, I treat my girl right. Take her out on the town. Just last night, she and I went for a nice long drive, real romantic like."

Sam snorts.

Mary walks into the kitchen.

"Hey, mom, there's coffee if you want some. I'm doing pancakes, whether Sam wants 'em or not, you up for pancakes?"

"Always. I'm not gonna say no to pancakes."

"See, that's the right answer, Sam."

"Whatever, I just don't wanna throw up in the middle of my run."

"Seems like there's an easy solution to that where you still get pancakes," Dean quips.

Mary makes herself a cup of coffee at the kitched counter and grabs the milk beside Dean to put some in her mug.

Dean turns back from flipping the pancakes to look back at Sam. "Are you just bugging me about this because you've finally got a girlfriend so now you've got some kind of leg to stand on in how much of a loser I am?"

"Oh, I always had that leg to stand on."

"Sam." Mary chides.

"Sorry, Mom, I'm just messing around."

Dean smiles at Sam getting talked to. "He's just jealous of me and my girl and our long and loving commitment."

"Yeah, real jealous." Sam rolls his eyes. Dean is drinking his coffee, but he knows Sam is rolling his eyes.

"I took her out last night. " Dean offers a low whistle. "You should have seen her, man. Making heads turn left and right, she's still got it."

"Yes, she's so pretty, she's so hot, she's so stunningly blah blah blah, you understand how weird you sound, right?"

Mary smiles. "I think it's sweet. He really likes her. What did you guys do together last night."

Sam groans. "Not you too, come on."

"Took her out for a nice dive-in dinner, curly fires and a burger, with the tray that clips to the window of course, only the best for my girl."

"How romantic." Sam deadpans.

"Then we went for a nice long drive, just us and some Zeppelin, yknow. You gotta have some quality time."

Mary nods. "Your father and I used to do something very similar," Mary answers with a gleam in her eye.

"Yeah, see she gets it." Dean gestures from Sam to Mary.

"It's weird, you both are weird and I'm not participating in your perverse afflictions."

"Zeppelin never sounds better than on my Baby's tape deck."

"Yeah we know you really love a big deck." Sam snorts at himself.

"Yeah whatever." It's Dean's turn to roll his eyes.

Mary turns to him. "So what's her name, when am I gonna meet her?"

Sam starts coughing somewhere in the background.

Dean is just lost. "Huh? Who?"

"Your girlfriend. No pressure or anything, but I'd love to meet her, see who's stolen my son's heart."

Sam barks out a laugh. Dean just blinks. "Huh?"

"She thinks you were talking about an actual human woman, you weirdo." Sam spells out like he's a complete idiot. He might feel his ears turning bright red at the realisation.

"Oh," he chuckles awkwardly. "No, no woman."

"No, he doesn't date actual women anymore, only personified objects that he gives female pronouns."

"Dude, shut up, it's not that weird."

"He was talking about his car."

He should just say it. "Actually." Why shouldn't he just say what he's thinking. "Well, it wasn't just me and Baby, we might have drug Cas along, heh." He huffs at himself awkwardly. " I mean why would I need a girlfriend, I have Cas," he says it like he's joking, so he is. "And my Baby. What more could I want than that."

Sam just sighs deeply like he does when he doesn't think one of Dean's jokes is funny. Well, to be fair, it wasn't.

Mary just lays a hand on his on the counter. "You sound like you're happy." She smiles at him. "And I've already met Cas and Baby, so you don't even need to introduce me."

Sam is just shaking his head as if they're still joking, but Mary is looking at him, and actually seeing what he's saying. And he has to give her hug and try not to cry. "Thanks, mom."

#my fic #ficlet

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mcflymemes · 7 months ago

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PROMPTS FROM BEVERLY HILLS COP * assorted dialogue from the 1984 film, adjust as necessary

did you see that shit?

i can describe all of them.

please move to the side of the car.

what's with you guys?

you heard what he said.

do it right now!

what kind of shit is this?

i got thrown out of a window!

this thing's nicer than my apartment.

don't you think i realize what's going on here?

who do you think i am?

before i go, i just want you to know something, all right?

it was working... and you just messed it up.

you fucked up a perfectly good lie.

you know, it says here that by the time the average american is fifty, he's got five pounds of undigested red meat in his bowels?

why are you telling me this?

what makes you think i have any interest in that at all?

i was wondering how much something like this went for.

get the fuck out of here!

have you ever sold one of these?

gimme the keys! i'm gonna follow them.

have you ever driven a mercedes before?

you do that again, i'll shoot you myself!

lower your voice, for christ's sake!

can i stay for a while, 'cause i ordered some pizza?

you mind telling me where the fuck you come off going undercover without authorization from me?

what the fuck is this all about?

don't you wanna hear my side of the story?

what's your fucking side of the story?

i'm not taking anymore of this shit from you.

you're damn right, wise ass.

i tried to tell you.

[name], this is none of your fucking business.

no more of these set ups, you understand?

you got great potential, but you don't know every fucking thing.

i'm tired of taking the heat for your ass.

do you understand me?

don't fuck with me, [name].

you know what he said? this is your worst fuck up ever.

personally, i don't think that's true.

what are you driving now?

you know what i keep thinking about?

i was minding my own business.

you guys believe that?

you watch your mouth.

hey, don't push me!

i think you should be more worried about what we're going to do with you.

you keep it as a souvenir.

is your supervisor here?

what's the problem?

is this your car?

in beverly hills, we just take whichever car is closest.

if something happens to her, i'll kill you.

that would be a neat trick.

you don't have to be embarrassed if your dick gets hard. your dick is supposed to get hard.

get outta here, man!

get your hands on the table!

what's all the hostility, [name]?

how did he know we were here?

you know what this stuff is used for?

you expect me to believe that report?

don't be unreasonable.

what the fuck do you think i'm trying to do here?

you saved my life. i don't think i'll ever be able to repay you.

i will say this. you guys are extremely polite.

if you wanna be a fucking asshole, you can take the whole load and smoke 'em yourself in the park.

if you decide to butt into this case, it'd be the longest vacation you ever had.

stay away from this case.

#mcflymemes #rp meme #rp memes #rp prompt #roleplay memes #rp starters #roleplay prompt #ask meme #ask memes #roleplay meme #roleplay inbox prompts #rp inbox meme #inbox prompt #inbox meme #sentence starter #sentence starter prompt #sentence starters #my brother's fav movie :)

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deerlysacred · 3 days ago

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ཀ while you were torn apart, i would still wait with you there . . . widow's hill 🕷️

𐂂 𝄢 { s1 dean winchester x nymph fem!reader } {with sammy}

𖣂 𝄢 plot : original case storyline, some angst, eventually fluffy.

♫ 𝄢 concept song : strangers - ethel cain

‼️ 𝄢 i do not own supernatural or any of its characters; all rights belong to their respective creators. this is purely a work of fan fiction for entertainment purposes only, with no intention of profit.

🦌 — the last draft rip 😔

The Impala hummed softly under Dean's hand as it rumbled down the empty road leading to Widow's Hill. The morning sky was heavy with clouds, casting a gray pall over the dead trees that lined the way. You sat in the backseat, your journal open on your lap, twirling your pen as your eyes flickered between the pages and the passing scenery. Sam, riding shotgun, was scrolling through notes on his laptop, his brow furrowed with concentration.

"Okay," Sam began, breaking the silence, "the legend says the villagers were slaughtered right after the sacrifices— rumor is, the girls' spirits went rogue and wiped them out."

Dean scoffed, one hand resting casually on the wheel. "Good. Sounds like they got what was coming to 'em. But if those ghosts are snatching up innocent women now, they're not exactly innocent anymore." The tension in his jaw hadn't eased all morning. It wasn't hard to guess why — his dad was still missing, and every passing day was a reminder that they weren't any closer to finding him.

He flicked his gaze at you through the rearview mirror —just for a second— but it was enough to make your insides tingle. You pretended to be very, very interested in the half-doodled sigil on your journal page. Dean didn’t make a habit of trusting supernatural creatures, and you didn’t make a habit of being trusted as a nymph. Yet somehow, here you were, you carved out an exception. Not that he'd admit it outright, but you still knew he was starting to trust you.

"Alright," Dean grumbled, pulling to a park near the broken iron gates of the churchyard. The building stood crookedly against the gray sky, its windows shattered and vines crawling like veins up the crumbling walls. "We start with the records inside. Find those girls' names —Georgia, Clara, and Mae. Burn their bones, and we're outta here."

"Easy enough," Sam muttered as he swung the door open. "Except for the part where they'll probably try to kill us."

The cold february air hit your face as you stepped out of Baby, boots crunching on the frosty gravel. You instinctively tightened your coat around you, eyeing the eerie church in front of you like a bad omen. It was straight out of one of those haunted house movies Dean loved quoting.

"This is gonna be fun." Dean said sarcastically, slamming the car door. He grabbed the salt rounds and shotgun from the trunk. "Stay close," he muttered, not looking at you. "I'm not in the mood to scrape you off the ceiling if one of these lady spooks decides to make you her new doll."

"Wow, Dean," you said dryly, falling into step beside him. "Thanks for the visual. That's comforting."

He smirked, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I aim to please."

You hesitated, glancing up at him. He looked… tired, more than usual. You could clearly see the eyebags under his slightly bloodshot emerald eyes, like he hadn't slept in a while. "Hey, uh…" You fiddled with the buttons of your coat, your voice dropping slightly. "You okay? I mean… you seem kinda…" Gruff? Angry? Sad? Words failed you again, so you gestured vaguely in his direction like that explained everything.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Kinda…?"

Oh, good, now he's making me finish the sentence. Fantastic. "I don't know… just… are you okay?" you asked, your voice barely above a mumble by the end.

His smirk softened into something closer to a smile. "I'm fine," he said, a little too quickly. Then, after a pause, he sighed and added, "Let's just get this over with."

The interior of the church was worse than you expected. Pews were overturned, their wood rotting and splintered. Shattered stained-glass windows let in weak gray light, casting patterns on the dust-covered floor. The broken stained-glass windows painted jagged, ghostly reflections across the walls— saints and angels distorted by time. It was the kind of place that made you shiver before anything abnormal even happened.

Dean clicked on his flashlight, the beam cutting through the dimness. "Alright, let's find the records and get the hell out of here before one of our new ghost girlfriends decides to play tag."

"Not it." you muttered under your breath.

Sam made his way towards the back of the church, where a set of double doors hung slightly ajar. "If there are any old records, they'll probably be in an office or storage room." He pushed open the doors with a creak, revealing a hallway lined with more doors. The air back here was even colder. You rubbed your arms, trying to shake the growing unease settling in your stomach.

Dean must've noticed, because he nudged your arm as he passed. "Relax, Bambi. It's just a creepy, abandoned church full of vengeful spirits. What's the worst that could happen?"

You shot him a glare. "You want the full list, or just the highlights?"

"Smartass." he muttered, but the corner of his mouth twitched up.

The three of you split up, searching through the various offices and storage spaces. You found a cabinet stuffed with crumbling papers and old books, flipping carefully. Your breath caught when you finally landed on something useful.

"Hey…" you called out, pulling out a thick, yellowed ledger. Sam and Dean were at your side in seconds, looking over your shoulder as you flipped through the names.

"Georgia Lindsay, Clara Dalton, and Mae Treece." Sam read aloud, pointing to the neatly penned names under a list of burials. "Looks like they were buried under the weeping tree in the village cemetery. Georgia and Clara at least… Mae's got a question mark next to her name."

Dean frowned. "What does that mean? They lost her body?"

You stared at the eerie little mark on the page, a sense of dread curling in your gut with the sudden possibility that crept inside your mind. "Or they never buried her at all."

"Not… necessarily," Sam murmured, his eyes scanning the page. "The question mark could mean a number of things— maybe they had trouble identifying her body, or maybe—"

Dean cut in.

"Or maybe they just chucked her in a ditch and called it a day. Either way, we gotta find out where she ended up. If we don't, burning her friends ain't gonna do squat."

You exhaled, rubbing your arms against the chill seeping into your bones. There was something about Mae that unsettled you more than the others. But you didn't know why.

"So," you said. "Graveyard first, then we play hide-and-seek with Mae?"

Dean shot you a look. "Yeah, except if Mae finds us first, the game ends with us getting turned into human confetti."

Sam ignored him, flipping through another set of records. "Georgia and Clara's graves should be towards the back of the cemetery. There's a map here— looks like the cemetery is split into sections."

Dean rolled his shoulders like he was trying to shake off a bad feeling. "Alright, let's go dig up some bones."

You three went out of the building, the broken church doors groaning behind you like something reluctant to let you go. The sky was still heavy with clouds, the air was chilly. You walked beside Dean, hands tucked into the sleeves of your coat, while Sam studied the graveyard map like it was a damn treasure hunt.

Dean glanced over at you, then down at your boots with a small smirk. "You know, for someone who's half-forest fairy, you sure aren't great at walking on actual earth."

You blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Yesterday, you tripped over a completely flat sidewalk."

"That was one time—"

Dean huffed, his breath misting inthe air, he nudged you lightly with his elbow. "Oh yeah? What about last week? When you tripped over air and took me down with you?"

Your face warmed at the memory. "That was… a coordinated fall."

"Coordinated my ass. I had a bruise the size of Kansas on my back."

You bit your bottom lip, crossing your arms. "Oh, sure, let's all pick on the clumsy person."

"Hey, I think it's adorable," Dean teased, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly tone that always made your heart flutter. "Real cute when you get all flustered, too."

You opened your mouth to throw out some witty retort but the universe had other plans. The ground shifted beneath your foot, your boot catching on a hidden tree root, and before you could even process what was happening, you were weightless— then not.

A strong hand shot out, catching your arm before you could fully faceplant into the frozen ground. Dean's grip was firm and way too warm compared to the chilly Widow's Hill air seeping into your skin, his laugh was immediate. "See? Case in point."

Your face was approximately the temperature of a furnace. "I hate you."

"Nah, sweetheart," he drawled, still holding onto you, his grip firm and warm. "You love me."

Sam sighed. "Can we focus?"

You pushed away from Dean, ignoring the heat creeping up your neck. "Yes, please." You three kept walking, and you finally thought that you were finally from Dean's teasing. But of course, while Sam had his nose buried in the map trying to make sense of the disorganized burial plots, Dean seemed more interested in smirking at you.

Maybe if I stay really quiet, he'd just let it go.

Nope.

"So, Bambi," he drawled, nudging you lightly with his elbow again. "What's your over-under on falling again before we torch these bones?"

You rolled your eyes, adjusting your coat around you. "Oh, ha ha. Very funny."

"Hey, I'm just sayin', if you wipe out again, I might start carrying a leash."

A leash? Oh my God. Nope. Not acknowledging that. Not picturing that. Absolutely not thinking about Dean Winchester, holding a—

NOPE.

Sam snorted, and you shot him a betrayed look. "Et tu, Sam?"

"He's got a point," Sam muttered, not even glancing up from the map. "You do fall a lot."

"That's it," you huffed, stepping ahead of them. "I'm leaving you two to the ghosts."

Dean chuckled, the warmth of it curling around your ears. "Oh, sweetheart, you wouldn't last ten minutes without us."

You ignored him, focusing on the graveyard ahead. The further you walked, the quieter the world became. The usual forest sounds —chirping birds, rustling leaves— had disappeared, swallowed by an unnatural stillness. Even the wind seemed hesitant, whispering through the trees instead of howling.

You shivered. Something felt… off.

But you weren't about to give Dean the satisfaction of freaking out over nothing.

Unfortunately, the universe had other plans.

One moment, you were walking. The next, the world tilted. Your stomach lurched as your foot caught on something unseen, and you were falling— again.

Oh, for the love of—

The impact never came. Instead, a cold, unseen force yanked you backwards, your breath vanishing from your lungs as you were dragged through the dirt.

For a split second, your brain tried to rationalize it. Maybe you had tripped, maybe you just—

No. No, something had grabbed you.

Panic flared in your chest, raw and instinctive. Your hands clawed at the ground, boots digging into the dirt as you struggled. "DEAN—!"

Dean's laughter died in an instant. "Y/N?"

You barely had time to hear the confusion in his voice before you were pulled even harder, your body sliding through the grass like you weighed nothing. Your fingers scraped at the frozen earth, desperate for something —anything— to hold onto. The grip was cold. So cold.

It felt like icy hands wrapped around your ankles.

Something unseen —someone unseen— was dragging you.

Dean's voice snapped from playful to deadly serious in half a heartbeat. "What the hell— SAM!"

You caught a glimpse of their figures rushing toward you before the force jerked you violently to the left. The world blurred around you as you were yanked between trees, your scream lost in the wind.

Your back hit something solid suddenly, breath whooshing from your lungs. A rotten, collapsed wooden structure surrounded you —the remnants of an old wood— cutting shed. Rusted tools littered the ground and hanging down the walls. A collection of knives and axes gleamed dully, their edges wickedly sharp. Your breath fogged in the cold as you turned your head, the shadows between the ruined wooden beams thickening. The air shifted. Like someone had just stepped forward.

Then, she appeared.

Clara Dalton.

Her figure flickered, a torn white dress clinging to her like wet paper. She had rain boots on, cracked and faded yellow, squelched with every slow step, leaving faint, wet prints. The edges of her face blurred in and out, shifting between the hollow-eyed corpse she'd become and the girl she had once been. Her long blonde hair hung in limp, lifeless pigtails, the strands dull and stringy, as if they'd never known the warmth of the sun. Her eyes, black as the deepest parts of the ocean, locked onto yours. A small smile stretched across her pale lips.

"You fall a lot," she whispered, tilting her head like she found that funny. "Just like I did."

You didn't want to ask. You really didn't. But your mouth moved anyway. "You fell?"

A giggle, breathy and sharp. Her body jerked, her head snapping at an unnatural angle. Like a puppet with its strings tangled.

"Down the well," she cooed. "Down, down, down— so dark. So cold. I screamed, but no one came."

A chill prickled your skin, nausea twisting in your gut. "I'm… I'm sorry."

Clara's smile faltered, her black eyes flickering, something fragile breaking beneath the surface. "Are you?" she whispered, her voice soft now. Childlike. "Would you have come for me?"

Your breath felt tight in your throat. You didn't know how to answer that.

Clara swayed forward, her fingers twitching like she was resisting the urge to reach out and touch you. Her presence brought the smell of damp earth, something old. "I used to braid my hair every morning." Her voice wobbled. "Mama said I had the prettiest hair in the village."

Your stomach twisted, knowing exactly where this was going.

"But the water—" Clara's breath hitched, her voice taking on a wet, gurgling edge. Her fingers suddenly curled into the ends of her stringy, tangled locks, frustration and grief flickering across her half-decayed face. "It ruined it. Stole all the shine. Now it's just—just…" Her voice trembled towards the end, jaw clenching. Then suddenly, her dark gaze snapped up, landing on you with something desperate. "Braid it." she commanded.

Your blood ran cold.

"W-What?" you stammered, glancing wildly towards the trees, Dean and Sam were still not in sight, probably still searching for you. "I don't think—"

"Braid my hair," she repeated, stepping closer. Her body flickered between solid and mist, her bottom lip quivered. "Please." Her voice wobbled as she turned her back to you and sat on the ground. "Please, please, please."

The way she said it made your stomach knot. It wasn't just a request. It was an echo of something she used to say in her past, something she must've begged for when she was still just a girl and not this… vengeful thing.

You cursed everything as you sat down too, your fingers shook as you reached out.

Clara let out a sharp, shuddering breath as you gently took a handful of her damp, brittle hair. The sensation sent a ripple of unease down your spine— it wasn't the worst thing you'd ever touched, but it was close. Cold, stringy, weak, almost like old river weeds. But Clara sighed like you had just given her something she hadn't had in decades.

"I liked French braids best," she murmured, swaying slightly. "Mama used to do them so tight it made my eyes pull."

Your fingers worked automatically, twisting the strands as carefully as you could. "That sounds… painful."

Clara giggled. "Maybe a little. But it meant she cared, you silly goose." Her voice softened. "That she saw me."

You swallowed. Something about this brief moment of calmfelt like holding your breath before a storm. "What happened to your mother?"

Clara's fingers clenched into the folds of her lacey dress. "She left."

You froze. "Left?"

Clara's thin body tensed up for a second, you couldn't see her eyes but you guessed that her gaze zoned out.

"She thought I ran away," she murmured, her voice distant. "The town told her I ran away." Her lip trembled. "She didn't come looking."

Your hands stilled.

Oh.

Oh, Clara.

"You remind me of her." she whispered.

Your throat closed up, feeling your breath hitch.

She turned her head just enough for you to catch the pale curve of her cheek, the dull gleam of her lifeless eyes. "Not my mother," she added. "My sister."

Your hands, still caught in the strands of her hair, trembled. "You had a sister?"

Clara gave a slow, almost dreamy nod. "She used to braid my hair, too. Just like this. She was more patient and gentle with it though. That's why I'd always asked from her first." Her fingers twitched in her lap. "She was older than me, by six years. Always said I'd grow up to be beautiful and strong."

You swallowed against the ache growing in your throat. "She sounds like she loved you."

Clara didn't respond right away. When she finally did, her voice had turned raw. "She left first. Married a man from another town. She wanted to take me with her, but—" A soft, shuddering breath left her lips. "Mama wouldn't let her."

Your fingers curled around her hair instinctively, you blinked away the tears that filled your eyes.

"She never knew what happened to me," Clara murmured. "I wonder… if she ever thinks about me. If she misses me."

Your heart clenched. "I'm sure she does." you whispered.

For a long moment, Clara said nothing. Just sat there, letting you finish the braid in silence. You were careful, treating her fragile hair gentle, even though you knew it was too late. The moment you tied off the end with a loose scrap of lace from your sleeve, she lifted a shaking hand to touch the plait. Her fingers ran over the neat pattern, hesitant, almost happy.

"It feels nice," she whispered, reaching up to touch it with delicate, ghostly fingers. "Like when… my hair was still warm."

You swallowed thickly. "Clara, I—"

Her head jerked suddenly, snapping towards the trees outside the cabin. Her black eyes widened, her hands clenching into fists. A heartbeat later, you heard it, too— Dean, calling your name with urgency.

Clara twisted back around, gaze boring into you, filled with something raw. "They're coming," she said, but there was no malice in her voice. Just… melancholy? Acceptance? She reached out, the tips of her cold fingers skimming over your wrist. "You're not like the others, you listen."

Your breath hitched.

Then before you could say another word, she disappeared like a candle in the wind.

A shudder wracked through your body. You exhaled sharply, dragging a shaky hand down your face. That was— well. That was something.

Leaves crunched behind you. "Y/N!"

You turned just as Dean and Sam burst through the trees, Dean's shotgun was raised, Sam's expression knitted with worry. The moment Dean saw you, his green eyes darkened. "Jesus, sweetheart, you okay? What the hell happened?"

He pulled you up to your feet, his calloused thumbs caressed your cheeks as he checked if you were all right. "I—I'm okay, I guess…" you stammered. "She—She asked me to braid her hair, and if I said no, I think she would've—"

"What? You braided her hair?" Dean repeated, incredulous. His hands shot through his already-messy hair, like he was trying to physically restrain himself from yelling. "Jesus, Y/N! You didn't think maybe, I dunno, running the hell away was the better option?!"

Your stomach twisted. "I was buying time!" you argued, your voice smaller than you wanted it to be. "She wasn't attacking me, and I—I thought if I kept her calm she—"

Dean let out a humorless laugh and took a step back, licking his lips. "Oh yeah? And what was the plan if she didn't stay calm? Huh?" His eyes were wild with frustration. "What if we hadn't gotten to you in time? What if she'd—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Damn it, Y/N, you can't just—"

"Alright, enough." Sam interrupted, stepping between you both with a firm look. "We're all in one piece. Let's focus on getting those bones burned before she decides to come back for round two."

Dean clenched his jaw, his nostrils flaring. For a second, it looked like he might keep arguing. But then he just ran a hand down his face, exhaling hard. "Fine…" he muttered. "Whatever. Let's just get this over with."

He turned sharply and stalked ahead, his shoulders tense. You stayed back for a moment, watching him go, your heart tight in your chest, feeling guilty. You understood why he was upset. Hell, you would've been just as mad if the roles were reversed. But it still hurt. Sam sighed, giving you a knowing yet soft look. "You okay?"

You nodded, even though you didn't even believe it yourself. "Yeah."

Sam gave you a small, reassuring pat on the back before the two of you followed Dean towards the weeping tree in the graveyard. The branches curled above like skeletal fingers, the air thick with an unnatural stillness around the tombs. Even the bugs had gone quiet.

Dean was already digging, the shovel cutting into the damp earth with angry thrusts into Georgia's grave. His jaw was set, his face unreadable. Sam grabbed the other shovel and started digging Clara's grave.

You shifted uncomfortably, wrapping your arms around yourself as the tension between the brothers thickened with every scrape of metal against dirt.

After a few minutes, Sam let out a long breath, pausing to rest his weight on the handle of his shovel. "You know, we shouldn't even be wasting time on this." His voice was tight, restrained. "We should be looking for Dad."

Dean's shoulders stiffened, but he didn't look up. "Oh, here we go again." he muttered under his breath.

"I'm serious, Dean." Sam's voice grew more heated. "Every case we take is just another distraction. We're running in circles when we should be tracking Dad down. You know he's out there looking for that demon—"

Dean threw his shovel aside with a loud clank when it finally hit something hard, probably the coffin. "And what the hell do you think we're doing, Sam?" He turned to face his brother, his green eyes flashing. "We're following his damn trail, same as always. But we can't just ignore people who need help along the way!"

Sam scoffed, shaking his head. "That's the excuse you keep using. But you and I both know that we're no closer to finding him than we were months ago! Meanwhile, the thing that killed Jess is still out there, and we're just— what? Digging up old graves? Burning bones?" His voice cracked slightly when he mentioned Jessica. "I don't care about this hunt, Dean. I care about finding Dad so we can finally take that son of a bitch down."

Dean took a step closer, his face twisting with barely restrained anger. "Yeah? And what if we do find him, Sam? What then? You think he's just gonna tell us everything, hand us the demon on a silver platter?" He let out a bitter laugh. "Dad's been doing this for a hell of a long time. If he's not answering our calls, there's a damn good reason for it."

Sam opened his mouth to argue, but you quickly stepped between them, standing in the middle of two graves as your hands raised in an attempt to de-escalate the situation. "Guys, come on," you pleaded, your voice soft and urgent. "It'not the time for this, you can talk about it when we go back to—"

Dean's eyes found you you so sharp it made your breath catch. "This isn't your damn business, Y/N! Know your place." he snapped, his voice raising. The words hit you like a slap. You flinched, your heart plummeting into your stomach.

Dean's face was still set in anger, but the moment the words left his mouth, something flickered in his eyes. Regret, maybe. Not enough to take it back, though.

Your throat felt tight. "I was just trying to help." you murmured, barely above a whisper.

Dean exhaled harshly, dragging a hand down his face. But he didn't apologize. He just turned away, crouching down to push the last remaining dirt on the coffin away with his hands.

Sam shot you a guilty look, his expression softening. "Y/N…"

But you shook your head quickly, blinking back the sting in your eyes. "Whatever."

You swallowed the lump in your throat and focused on the task at hand. You'd deal with the ache later. Right now, you needed to burn these bones before the girls come to get you.

Dean finally wrenched open Georgia's coffin with a grunt, the old wood splintering under his force. The smell hit first— stale earth and something worse, something rotting beneath the years. What remained of her body was the brittle bones wrapped in the tattered shreds of her burial dress, strands of lifeless hair still clinging to her skull. Muggets and worms everywhere.

You wasted no time, grabbing the salt and pouring it over her remains. Sam followed, dousing her in gasoline. Dean flicked open his lighter—

A giggle, chillingly sweet, curled through the noon air.

"Oh, boys… burning a girl without even saying goodbye?"

Before you could react, something slammed into you with force. The ground met you hard, damp earth seeping through your coat as the breath tore from your lungs. You gasped, dizzy, as the lighter skidded from Dean's fingers, landing uselessly in the dirt, his eyes widened with worry. "Y/N!"

Georgia's form shimmered into existence a few feet away. Even in death, she was striking— long, raven dark curls framing porcelain skin, her deep red lips twisted into a smirk. But it was her eyes that unsettled you most— hollow but hungry.

And right now, they were locked onto Dean.

"My, my," she purred, stepping towards him, her gaze sweeping over him like a predator sizing up its next meal. "You're even more handsome up close. I've been watching you, you know…"

Dean's jaw tightened, his fingers flexing around his shotgun. "Yeah? You should've taken a picture then." He cocked the gun, smirking. "What's the term? Necrophilia? Yeah, sweetheart, I don't swing that way."

Georgia laughed, a sound that slithered under your skin like a slow-moving poison. "Oh, that sharp tongue of yours— it's delicious." She reached out, fingers barely grazing his jaw, but it was enough. A thin layer of frost crackled over his skin, the cold spreading like veins of ice down his throat. Dean's body stiffened, his breath coming in short, visible bursts.

Your stomach lurched. She was freezing him.

"Let him go!" You scrambled to your feet, your fingers finding the iron crowbar strapped to your belt.

Georgia barely spared you a glance after she threw Sam, who tried to get to her too, away, her lips curving into something almost affectionate. "Oh, but he likes it," she murmured, her touch trailing down Dean's chest, the ice following in its wake. "Don't you, Dean?"

Dean's face twisted in pain, but he couldn't move.

Enough.

You didn't think— you just moved, swinging the crowbar with everything you had. It cut through Georgia's form like mist, but the effect was immediate. She shrieked, her body flickering, stumbling backwards as her grip on Dean broke. She threw Dean away against a tombstone harshly lastly.

Dean staggered, sucking in a sharp breath, his hands shaking as feeling returned to his limbs. "Jesus Christ." he rasped, shaking out the lingering cold.

No time to check if he was okay.

Sam was already raising his shotgun, he fired— the rock salt blast slammed into Georgia, sending her sprawling back with a cry, her form shattering.

"That won't hold her for long!" Sam yelled.

You didn't hesitate. Heart pounding, you dove for the lighter, fumbling as you flipped it open. The small flame flickered, and then you tossed it.

The moment it hit the gasoline- soaked bones, fire erupted in a furious blaze. Her scream tore through the graveyard.

She materialized one last time, writhing in agony, her hands clawing at the air as if she could undo what had already begun. Her face twisted with fear. Then, just like that, she was gone.

But you weren't done yet.

You turned, glancing at Clara's grave. The coffin was opened by Sam, the skeletal remains waiting for their turn in the fire. Your stomach churned, swallowing hard as you knelt by the grave. You repeated the process— salt, lighter fluid, the flick of the flame. But this time, your hands shook more. You couldn't explain it. Maybe it was exhaustion, maybe it was Clara's childlike presence lingering in the back of your mind. The lighter fell from your trembling fingers, landing atop Clara's remains. Fire bloomed instantly, swallowing her bones in a hungry, orange glow. And just like that, Clara was gone too.

A groan pulled you to stand on your feet. You turned, your heart lurching as you spotted Dean still slumped against the headstone where Georgia had thrown him. His face was twisted in pain, one arm wrapped tightly around his ribs.

"Dean!"

You rushed to his side, dropping to your knees. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, and for a second, you thought he was about to make a snarky comment. But then he winced as he tried to shift upright, and the smartass remark died in his throat.

"Shit," he muttered. "ghost bitch had some strength."

"Yeah, no kidding." You bit your lip, scanning him for injuries. His breathing was shallow, his jaw clenched like he was trying to play it off. "You hit the headstone hard. You could've broken something."

Dean scoffed. "Please. Takes more than that to— ah, damn it." He hissed when he tried to move again.

Your heart squeezed. You hesitated for only a second before your instincts kicked in. "Hold still." you murmured, shifting closer.

Dean blinked, watching as you reached out, your palms hovering just over his chest. "What are you—"

A soft, golden glow radiated from your hands, illuminating the deep bruising forming under his shirt. The moment your fingers brushed over his ribs, warmth spread through him, sinking into his bones.

Dean's breath hitched. "Whoa."

The pain in his expression slowly melted away, his body relaxing beneath your touch. His green eyes widened slightly, filled with something unreadable as he stared at you. You swallowed, keeping your focus. The bruises faded, the ache dissipating until all that remained was a lingering warmth. You exhaled softly, finally letting your hands drop.

"Better?" you asked, voice quiet.

Dean flexed his fingers, shifting his weight cautiously. His brows furrowed when he didn't feel pain anymore. "Yeah," he admitted, sounding almost surprised. "Better."

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you hung thick, charged with something tense. Then Dean cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. "Guess I owe you one, huh?" His voice was teasing, but there was something else beneath it too— something softer.

You smiled faintly. "I'll add it to your tab."

Dean huffed a small laugh. His eyes lingered on you for a second before Sam's voice cut through the moment. "I found something." You both turned to see him kneeling near the backpack, flipping through the notes you'd gathered from the library and church records earlier. His brows were furrowed, his expression focused.

"What is it?" Dean pushed himself to his feet, extending a hand to help you up. You took it, your fingers brushing against his for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

Sam sighed, holding up a page. "Mae Treece. We know there's no record of her burial. But I cross-checked the village's old property records, and guess what? Her family home is still standing, just outside the village limits."

"So, what?" Dean crossed his arms. "You think the bones might still be there?"

"It's possible." Sam stood, tucking the papers back into the bag. "From what I read here, her mother refused to accept her death. If she never gave Mae a proper burial, she might've kept her remains in the house."

A chill ran down your spine at the thought.

Dean huffed. "Great. So we get to break into a creepy abandoned house on a 'casual' Monday. Awesome."

Sam ignored him, slinging the backpack over his shoulder. "It's our only lead. If the bones are there, we finish the job."

You nodded, shaking off the lingering unease. "Then let's go."

The road leading to the Treece house was cracked and overgrown, weeds poking through the sidewalk as the afternoon sun cast long shadows over you three. The old house loomed in the distance, its windows dark and boarded, its paint peeling from years of neglect. It was the kind of house kids dared each other to approach on a Halloween night.

You and Dean walked side by side, trailing slightly behind Sam as he checked the map.

For a while, there was nothing but the sound of birds and the occasional rustling of wind. Then, Dean glanced at you. "So…" he started, his voice lighter than before. "Are we gonna talk about the whole magical healing hands thing?"

You sighed, rubbing your arm. "I—It's just part of my nymph abilities… It's complicated.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Complicated how?"

You hesitated, chewing your lip. "It… drains me. A little. And I can't heal major wounds. Just small injuries. I don't use it much because, well…" You exhaled. "It makes me feel too much. I don't know how to explain it. Like… I feel the pain I take away, even if just for a second."

Dean frowned. "Wait— you felt that?"

"A little," you admitted, looking down at your hands. "Not as bad as you did probably, but… yeah."

Dean's jaw tightened. "That's not fair."

You blinked, caught off guard.

He shook his head. "I mean, you already put yourself in danger, and now you're taking on pain that's not even yours?" His lips pressed into a thin line. "That's bullshit, Y/N."

Then he cleared his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Anyway. Next time, just let me suffer. I can take it."

You rolled your eyes. "Yeah, sure, because suffering in silence has worked so well for you in the past."

Dean opened his mouth to argue— then paused, giving you a half-smile instead. "Touché."

Up ahead, Sam stopped, looking up at the looming house.

"We're here."

The Treece house stood before you like a silent, waiting thin. And whatever or whoever in it, was waiting for you too.

The front porch creaked as the three of you stepped onto it, dust curling up from the floorboards like the house was exhaling its own breath.

Dean tested the front door, rattling the handle. Locked. He sighed, then threw his shoulder against it, but the wood barely budged. "Figures. Feels like something's blocking it from the inside.”

Sam tried one of the ground-floor windows, but as expected, most were boarded up with thick, splintered wood, nailed in. "Whoever did this really didn't want anyone getting in,” Sam said, peering through a tiny gap between the planks. "Can't see much, but this place looks trashed."

You glanced around, scanning the perimeter of the house. The old iron gate surrounding the yard was rusted, nearly swallowed by overgrown weeds. A broken stone angel statue leaned against the side of the house, half its face missing, moss growing in the cracks of its wings.

Then you spotted it.

A small, dirty bathroom window near the back of the house. It wasn't boarded up like the others, just slightly out of reach. Big enough for you, but too small for Sam or Dean.

You pointed. "I can go in through there."

Dean's head snapped towards you. "What?"

You pointed up again. "That window. I can squeeze through and unlock the door from the inside."

Dean's brows furrowed, and his jaw immediately clenched. "Hell. No."

"Dean—"

"Nope." He turned back towards the door, rolling his shoulders. "I'll break this damn thing down if I have to."

You sighed. "You just said there's furniture blocking it. Even if you bust it open, you'll probably just make more of a mess."

"Yeah, well, maybe we move the furniture when we get inside, genius."

You crossed your arms. "Or, maybe I just go in through the window, and we avoid making a bunch of noise that'll gather possible ghost guests?"

Dean opened his mouth to argue back, but Sam cut in, glancing between you both. "She's not wrong, Dean. It's the safest way in."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Dude. What if she gets stuck? Or worse— what if something in there grabs her before she gets the damn door open?"

You sighed. "Then I'll scream really loud, and you can break the door down then."

Dean still looked reluctant, but Sam was already crouching near the wall, interlacing his fingers. "Come on, I'll boost you up."

Dean clenched his jaw, looking between you and the window. His hands were on his hips, his fingers tapping anxiously against his belt.

"Fine," he muttered. "but if anything happens—"

"I know, I know," you said, holding onto Sam's broad shoulders as he lifted you higher. You grasped the windowsill, your fingers curling around the dusty wood.

Dean exhaled sharply. "Just— be careful, okay?"

You glanced down at him and smiled. "I will."

Then, with a small push, you hoisted yourself through the window.

The moment you landed inside, the air changed. The air smelled of mildew and something sickly sweet, like rotting flowers left too long in a vase. The house wasn't just abandoned; it was preserved in decay, like time had stopped inside its walls.

You stood in what must've been a bathroom, but the sink was cracked. The mirror above it was shattered. A rusted claw-foot bathtub sat in the corner, its curtain half-ripped, revealing something inside— a rotting bouquet of dead lilies. Your breath misted in the air as you gasped. It was too cold for noon, even colder than outside.

Slowly, you stepped out of the bathroom and into the main hallway.

The wallpaper was faded damask, peeling at the edges, revealing black mold creeping up the walls like veins. The wooden floorboards groaned under your weight, each step disturbing a layer of dust.

Framed portraits lined the walls, their gilded edges tarnished, their subjects watching you with blank, hollow eyes. A young girl you supposed was Mae was there in a family portrait, she had short brown hair and big blue eyes full of life. Smiling widely with her dimples. The moment you looked at the girl's figure, you heard it.

Soft whispering.

Your breath hitched. It was distant, just at the edge of your hearing, slithering through air like a lullaby sung through broken teeth.

Nope. Nope. Nope.

You swallowed hard and moved towards the door, stepping carefully around a puddle of something that looked suspiciously like dried blood. The thing that was blocking the door was a big old grandfather clock, its face cracked, its hands stuck at 3:17. You pushed it aside carefully, trying not to make much noise. The door lock was rusted, but after a few sharp turns, it finally clicked open. Without hesitation, you yanked the door open.

Dean and Sam were already waiting, both of them looking tense. Dean's eyes scanned you from head to toe, his hand immediately resting on your shoulder. "You good?"

You nodded, swallowing. "Yeah."

The three of you moved cautiously through the decaying halls of the house, it felt wrong and unsettling. Dean led the way, shotgun raised, his sharp gaze flicking to every shadowed corner. Sam followed behind, his flashlight sweeping over old furniture covered in white sheets, their shapes looming like silent ghosts. You stayed in the middle. The moment you stepped into a bedroom at the end of the hall, your stomach clenched.

The room was eerily preserved. Faded floral wallpaper of lilies, a vanity covered in dust, and an old wooden rocking chair sitting beside the canopied bed. A dollhouse rested on a small table, the tiny figurines inside still standing upright. But their faces… Their eyes had been scratched out.

Dean approached the dresser, pulling open a drawer with a loud creak. "Nothing but old clothes."

Sam crouched by the vanity, shifting through moth-eaten papers and dried-out ink bottles. "There has to be something here, some kind of clue."

Your gaze flickered to the bedside table, where a small wooden box sat, its lid slightly ajar.

Carefully, you reached out and lifted the top.

Inside, beneath layers of old lace and dried flowers, was a letter. The paper was yellowed and fragile, the ink slightly faded but still readable.

"Guys, I think I found something."

Sam stood and peered over your shoulder as you unfolded the letter with delicate fingers.

My sweet Mae, I can still hear you crying at night. I can still feel your little hands clinging to my dress, begging me to take you away. I should have. I should have run far, far away and never looked back. But I was too weak. I let them take you. I let them hurt you. I let them kill you. And for that, I will never forgive myself. I kept you here because I thought, somehow, if I held on long enough, you wouldn't be gone. But I know now that I was wrong. I see the shadows moving at night, I hear you whispering in the walls, clawing them. My baby, my poor darling, I trapped you here. I hope one day, someone finds you. I hope one day, someone sets you free. Because I can't, I won't. I am so sorry. - Mother

The room was silent as you finished reading.

Sam exhaled, rubbing his jaw. "She must've kept Mae's body after the sacrifice. That's why there were no burial records."

You looked at him. "But if she didn't bury her, then…"

Dean's expression darkened. "Then Mae's still here."

A sudden thud echoed from somewhere below. All three of you whipped toward the sound. Dean's fingers flexed around his shotgun. "Basement."

You swallowed. Of course it was the basement.

The three of you moved as one, pushing through the decayed house until you reached the basement door. It was ajar, revealing a staircase that disappeared into darkness. The air that seeped from below was cold, thick, suffocating— like walking into an open grave.

Dean flicked on his flashlight, casting long shadows across the crumbling walls. "Stay close."

Step by step, you descended, each footfall groaning against the ancient wood. The basement was worse than you imagined.

Old wooden beams sagged under years of decay. The walls were cracked and damp, the floor covered in a thin layer of dirt. Rusted tools hung from the walls, their shapes twisted and jagged in the dim light.

But it was the far corner of the room that made your breath hitch.

A makeshift bed —little more than a rotting mattress— was pushed against the wall, surrounded by candles long since melted into waxy puddles. At its center, barely visible beneath a tattered blanket, were the remains of a young girl.

Mae.

Her bones were frail, her skull still tangled in remnants of dark, brittle hair. The scent of old death and sorrow lingered in the air.

SLAM!

The basement door slammed shut, throwing the room into utter darkness except for the trembling glow of flashlights.

And then, she appeared.

Mae's ghost manifested at the far side of the room, standing in front of her remains with her head tilted at an unnatural angle. Her face was frozen in a twisted snarl, her mouth stretched too wide, her eyes hollow black pits leaking streams of dark, inky tears.

She lunged.

A blast of cold wind knocked Dean's shotgun from his hands. Sam barely had time to react before Mae clawed into him, her bony fingers like rusted hooks as she slammed him against the wall with inhuman force.

"Sam!" you cried, stumbling back.

Sam gasped, his feet kicking helplessly as he was lifted into the air, Mae's grip tightening around his throat. His face twisted in pain, his hands clawing at invisible fingers.

"Salt!" Dean barked, reaching for his rock salt rounds.

But Mae was too fast.

She turned sharply, her banshee-like scream tearing through the basement. The force of it sent Dean flying back, slamming into the wooden beams with a pained grunt.

That left only you.

Your pulse hammered as Mae whipped towards you, her mouth parting to unleash another ear-splitting shriek.

But this time, you were ready.

You threw up your hands, summoning a burst of nymph energy. The air around you rippled, dust swirling as a sharp gust of wind knocked Mae back thanks to your element control power.

She hissed, her head twitching unnaturally, before she came at you again— fast.

You barely had time to dodge, throwing yourself to the side as her clawed fingers swiped inches from your throat. Your foot caught on a rotting floorboard, sending you crashing hard to the ground. A sharp, searing pain shot up your ankle. You bit back a scream, your vision blurring.

You tried to push yourself up, but your ankle throbbed viciously, refusing to hold your weight.

Mae's shadow loomed over you, her jaw unhinging grotesquely, ready to tear into you —

BAM!

A gunshot rang out, salt and iron tearing through Mae's form. She shrieked, her body flickering violently like a illusion. Dean stood behind you, shotgun still raised. His eyes burned with fury.

"Get away from her, you bitch."

Mae whipped toward him, but it was too late. Dean had already grabbed the lighter and threw it. The moment the flame touched Mae's bones, they ignited, the fire consuming them with unnatural speed.

Mae let out a bloodcurdling scream, her form twisted and thrashed, her face contorting between rage, sorrow, and something almost human.

Then—

She was gone.

Dean exhaled, shoving the lighter back into his pocket. "Jesus. I hate ghosts."

Sam was coughing, rubbing his throat where Mae had grabbed him, but he gave a weak thumbs-up. "I'm… I'm good." he rasped.

Dean turned to you— and froze.

"Sweetheart." His voice dropped, eyes flicking to where you sat, clutching your ankle with a pained expression. He was beside you in an instant. "What happened?"

You winced. "I—uh… might've messed up my ankle when she threw me."

Dean knelt down, hands hovering near your leg like he wanted to touch but was afraid of hurting you.

"Dammit..."

Sam crouched beside you. "It looks swollen. Probably twisted it bad."

Dean shook his head. "Screw this. You're not walking."

Before you could argue, he scooped you up like a bride, one arm under your knees, the other supporting your back.

"Dean—"

"Shut up. You're injured."

You huffed but didn't fight it. His body was warm and solid, you felt safe in his arms.

Not exactly complaining... You held the urge to blurt out; Wow your shoulders are huge and I think I might be in love with you.

Sam sighed. "Let's get the hell out of here."

Yes, Sam. Please. Before I self-combust.

As Dean carried you up the stairs, you let your head rest lightly against his shoulder, the exhaustion finally setting in as you rested your eyelids... Just for a sec.

A dull throbbing in your ankle was the first thing you felt as you stirred awake later. The second was the cool press of an ice pack against it.

Blinking, you slowly adjusted to the dim lighting of the motel room. You were on the motel bed, your foot propped up on a pillow, an ice pack resting gently against the swollen skin. The soft weight against your leg made you glance down—

Dean was sitting at the edge of the bed, leaning forward with his forearms on his knees, watching you with an unreadable expression.

"You're finally awake, Sleeping Beauty." he muttered, his lips twitching.

You stretched slightly, wincing when your ankle throbbed in protest. Dean immediately reached over to adjust the ice pack, his fingers brushing your skin gently. "Careful, it’s still swollen."

You sighed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. "How long was I out?"

Dean checked his watch. "About two hours. Sam took Baby out for a wash, so it's just you and me, sweetheart."

Your lips curled into a sleepy smile. "Didn't peg you as the caretaker type, Winchester."

He scoffed. "Yeah, well, don't get used to it." But despite his words, he didn't pull away, his thumb absently rubbing small circles against your shin.

A comfortable silence settled between you for a moment.

Then, you realized John's Journal settled beside him on the bed that you guessed he was probably reading for the billion time before you woke up, you muttered. "You okay?"

Dean let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "You're the one who got tossed like a ragdoll, and you're askin' if I'm okay?"

You didn't laugh. Instead, you just kept looking at him.

Dean sighed, rubbing a hand over his face before leaning his head back against the wall. His jaw tightened, something unreadable flickering across his expression.

"John. You're worried about him, aren't you?"

His silence was your answer. Dean exhaled sharply. "Sam's right. We should be looking for him. But I… I dunno. The bastard left us behind again. What if we're chasing someone who doesn't wanna be found?”

Your heart clenched. He never admitted things like this.

Carefully, you reached for his hand, your fingers tracing his knuckles gently. "You know that's not true. He loves you."

Dean's jaw ticked. "Yeah? Has a funny way of showing it." He shook his head, a bitter chuckle escaping. "Whole damn life, it was always about the job. Hunt first, everything else second. Even us."

You squeezed his hand. "That's not fair to you."

Dean let out a slow breath, staring at where your fingers rested against his. "Yeah, well. Life's not fair, sweetheart."

You wanted to say more, to tell him that he deserved more than scraps of affection from a father who had made him a soldier before he even had a childhood.

But before you could, Dean's fingers suddenly tightened around yours. When you looked up, his green eyes burned into you. A beat of silence stretched between you, thick with something electric, something undeniable.

Then—

Dean moved fast.

One second, you were breathing; the next, his mouth crashed against yours, hot and desperate.

His fingers buried in your hair, pulling you closer, his body pressing into yours, as if he couldn't get enough. He tasted like whiskey and well... Dean. And it made your head spin.

You gasped against his lips, but he only deepened the kiss, his other hand gripping your thigh, careful of your injury but still possessive, wanting. When he finally pulled back, his breathing was uneven, his forehead pressed against yours.

"Damn it," he murmured, voice rough. "I've wanted to do that for way too long."

Your lips were swollen, tingling, and you found yourself smiling. "Took you long enough."

Dean let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head before leaning in again— slower this time, like he wanted to memorize the way you two fit together.

And yeah. Yeah, I was definitely not complaining.

#𐂂 𝄢 syl's fics #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fic #supernatural

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teaboot · 2 years ago

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you mentioned you worked security and now i’m in emotional pain because i feel deprived of feel-good security anecdotes (this was a not so subtle request for some if you have the time and/or energy, please and thank you). hope you’re having a wonderful day today!!

It's mostly confidential but if I'm vague and change details for privacy I can give a few examples of times I really enjoyed my job!

Got a vague call that someone someone "having a freakout". Arrived to find someone having a panic attack. Cleared a place for us to sit down and stayed with them. Once they calmed down they told me they'd just found out a family member had passed away. Exchanged some old stories and got to see them smile a bit before their friend arrived to drive them home.

Someone I'd removed from a place before recognized me on the street. Thought they were gonna kick my ass. We wound up talking instead- turns out they were homeless and had some addiction issues they were working through. I split my lunch with them and hung out till we went different ways.

Concerned passersby reported someone sitting under a service dog, ha people freaking out bit. Got to verify they were okay and make sure they weren't disturbed till they were ready to move on. It was nice to make sure someone could do what they needed and continue about their business without it being a big deal.

Found someone unconscious and unresponsive. Got them paramedics, paramedics took them to the hospital.

A very small child very politely informed me that they were lost, and asked if I could please help them find their mother thank you very much. Absolutely delightful kiddo, got them sorted out.

Saw a kid being absolutely reamed out by their parent for doing nothing particularly odd or rude or out of the ordinary. Asked if everything was good, and parent exhausted informed me that "Oh, sorry, they're Autistic". Looked to the kid and went, "Eyy, Twinzies!" And flashed the jazz hands. Parent looked horrified, couldn't believe I was "allowed to work there". Kid lit up like it was christmas. Spent the next few minutes making faces with the kid back and forth behind their parent's back. Hope they're doing okay.

Person I talked to fairly often, who was homeless and regularly camping around behind the property, approached me after two months away with clear skin and clean hands and informed me that they were four months clean. I don't see them around anymore. Last I heard they were moving into a new apartment.

Someone who was breaking it off with an abuser told me they'd seen them in the parking lot and asked for an escort to their car. We arranged it so I could walk with them when they left whenever they went home. Super nice person, too.

At one outdoor property with regular patrols, I'd regularly come across dead birds who'd hit the windows and fallen. Boss said to toss them in the dumpster but instead I'd take em out to the woods. Doesn't feel right to put a thing that breathed in the trash. Wasn't part of the job, but... I dunno. Brought some peace.

Dude was ripping me a new one one day, going on about my "tough guy" attitude, accusing me of harassing him, saying I'd never be a man so I should check myself. Told him "I'm sorry for your bad experience with me today. Here is my employee identification. If you'd like to place a complaint, please feel free to contact my district manager", and handed him my boss's business card. Reported the incident to my boss afterwards. He never received any calls. Felt fucking stellar

#Animal death #Abuse mention #Drug mention

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8-rae-rae-8 · 2 months ago

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[OCs - precanon]

He's not a bad man.

At least, he tells himself that a lot. More than he should if he truly was a good man. The lines between morals and orders blurred, though the guilt always sat heavier no matter what order they brought out.

Lukas likes to think he's different. That there will be something on the other side of war and he'll simply be a man, not a soldier. If he's lucky, he'll have everything he's ever wanted. A wife, a child, a gorgeous house out in the countryside where he'd spend time in the garden every morning.

Family is the reason he's where he is now; his shoulders hunched over himself as his fingers tap desperately at his side. He was UA—unauthorized absence—from a single call that made him race to a hospital too damn far away. Flight tickets, rental cars. Whatever the price, he was there.

His brother was reckless, he's known that his entire life. But Lukas couldn't imagine being in this situation. Walking fearfully into a hospital room where his brother looked half alive with bandages covering his face. The guilt for that burns more than anything else. The wound wasn't his fault, but it was his fault that his brother joined the military.

Wesley, what a fucking idiot. How could he be so stupid to get injured like this? And Lukas doesn't even have the clearance to know what his brother and his team were doing—he wasn't in the army anymore.

"Wes," He hated the way his voice chokes up as he stands over his brother in the hospital bed. Under the bandages over his face, he knows there have to be deep stitches. He's lucky, Luke thinks, that his nerves were intact still.

"'m okay..." Wesley, despite exhaustion and pain, mutters to comfort his brother. He's gentle, calm. It's happened before, this, all this. Except Lukas couldn't make it before. And Wesley had the scar on his throat to prove that he made it out regardless; Lukas' eyes glance at the scarred skin.

He's ruining his brother by letting him hurt like this. Wesley got the idea that the military was a good option from him. He was inadvertently causing him so much pain. After all of his best efforts, at forty years old, he's still failing his brother.

"You're in the hospital, again, Wesley..." Lukas struggles with any attempt to keep his voice level. He's always been calm, he's supposed to be calm, but he can feel the flame beneath his skin. Guilt, anger, fear, all simmering.

"They were gonna kill 'em, I did something." Wesley's eyes convey the emotions his face can't. Tears sparkling in his brown eyes, trying to meet Lukas' green ones and failing.

Painfully, Luke knows he would've done the same thing in his brother's position. But he can't stop the way his hands shake as he tries to breathe. He made a bad choice. He got hurt. Just to save someone else.

"You need to protect you first!" His throat already feels raw from the lack of water, but he still strains for each word, falling from his mouth in a mess of vowels and consonants that he wasn't quite sure made sentences. "You almost got yourself killed, how many times can you almost die before you get it??" He looks anywhere but Wesley's face, heart pounding in his ears.

"I'd do it again." Wesley whispers to the air around them, barely containing the wince at moving his face too much. It hurts, breathing, eating, sleeping. God forbid he needs to yawn.

"That's the problem! You're too reckless, this isn't just the corps anymore, you're specialized! I don't even have the fucking clearance to know what you were doing out there!!" Lukas' voice shook with each forced syllable.

He's not a good man.

But his stomach drops as he sees the look on his brother's face. Not the physical pain, but the tears forming in his eyes, the tensed shoulders, the rise in heart rate. Fuck, fuck.

"Wesley.." Lukas murmurs, head hung low as he grabs his brothers open hand—as if he was waiting for it to be over to hold onto him—it hurts to still be wanted when it gets too much.

"I know..." Wesley sighs, trying to blink away tears. "I know it's stupid... I do- I just.. they were gonna die. 'n' I knew I wouldn't." A calculated risk is still a risk. And his life on the line- Lukas doesn't want to meet his eyes again.

"You take too big of risks an' you're gonna die next..." Lukas' hand interlaces their fingers, supportive and gentle where his thumb strokes the side of Wesley's hand. His chest hitches with each full breath.

"Don't count on it. Got plans to make it where you are.. Prestigious PMC, good pay, insurance, time off." His inhales are pained, but he breaths out as he speaks almost annoyingly calm for the tears still in his eyes. Wesley squeezes his hand.

"As if..." Lukas half-heartedly scoffs.

"'m not fifteen anymore, that ain't working.. C'mon, you know the commander. Can't you put in a word for me? When 'm better and not in a hospital bed?" That would be the next day, if the wounds were looking okay enough. A precaution.

"You'd make it in, know it. Just don't wanna see your dumb face all the time." Lukas teases, as if he'd ever hate to see his brother. But he hopes it's enough to make Wesley smile, a playful tease.

"You fly here just to mock me... Bastard." But it does make him smile. And that's all Lukas hoped for. Even if the shaking doesn't go away. Even if his heart hurts as he stares at his little brother.

He's not a bad man. He's promised before and he'll say it again; his family will always come first. And Wesley was all he had right now.

#OC - Lukas James Withers #OC - Wesley Liam Withers #idk how long this is but we'll see #Shadow Company oc #shadow company ocs #call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #sc ocs #sc oc #cod oc #cod ocs #call of duty ocs #call of duty oc #cod mwii #hurt/comfort #family

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hellsite-yano · 8 months ago

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STEAM NEXT FEST DEMOS I PLAYED:

>500 CALIBER CONTRACTZ Highlight of this list. Literally Super Mario 64 x Cruelty Squad with a Suda51 coat of paint. Highly recommend.

>Antishoot / Morn FPS games that feel terrible to play. Avoid.

>SAEKO: Giantess Dating Sim Title says it all. Pretty solid and unnerving writing.

>Mother Hub Like if the abandoned vaults in Fallout 3/NV were the whole game. Your enjoyment of this depends entirely on your tolerance for slavjank. I liked it tho.

>Year Unknown Good so far - if you've played games like Manifold Garden and NaissanceE you know what you're getting here. Combine that with the terminals from The Talos Principle and you get this game.

>Elation For The WonderBox 6000™ This is SHORT (less than 5mins) but I've had my eye on this for ages. The writing is very online but in a good way.

>Skyward Dream Kinda boring first-person platformer.

>THRESHOLD Another short one. Kinda reminds me of Pathologic but on the PS1. The grimy aesthetic is nailed down perfectly. If you liked Paratopic check this one out.

>Galaia Dev describes it as TUNIC x Enter the Gungeon but it's not really. Gameplay reminded more of Geometry Wars if anything. Was kinda fun but don't think I'll get this.

>BRUTAL JOHN Been seeing this around on twitter and avoided it due to it seeming bland. And I was right!

>Kitsune Tails SMB3 with a traditional japanese aesthetic. Solid and the characters are cute.

>Sparedevil A 'shooter' where you're in a bowling arena and need to knock down as many pins as possible. Couldn't really get the hang of this.

>I Am Your Beast SUPERHOT / Hotline Miami fans will want to check this one. I liked it but the story is presented pretty obnoxiously.

>Bloodless Beat 'em up where you play as an old samurai who doesn't use a sword (anymore). Gameplay takes a bit of getting used to but it's fun and the story's intriguing.

>Poke ALL Toads Puzzle game structured like Baba is You with really good and expressive art. Liked this one a lot.

>Caravan SandWitch One of those slow exploration-focused games like Sable. Liked the aesthetic and music but dialogue was a bit long-winded.

>ODDADA You play with toys to make music (and you can even save your creations offline). Very nice.

>B.C. Piezophile Control a weighty mech looking for a lost ship or something like that, the encyclopedia (yes, there's an encyclopedia) is written pretty esoterically so it's hard to figure some things out. Requires patience but got my eyes on the full release.

>Old School Rally PS1 styled racing game, takes a bit of getting used to the feel of the car, PROTIP: it's better to pump the brakes instead of holding them.

>Goblin Cleanup Viscera Cleanup Detail except you're a sexy goblin maid cleaning up a dungeon. Was pretty fun, especially online.

>Scarmonde Final Fantasy 1 but it's a dungeon crawler. Not my sort of game but if you're into this genre you'd probably like this.

>Bedrotting You're stuck in bed and got to keep yourself sane by eating, smoking, and not looking at the horrific abominations. Good stuff.

>Blue Prince You inherit a mansion and need to find the secret 46th room. Won't say too much about this because it's best discovered by yourself. Was very good though.

>Stardust Demon Didn't like the physics on this. Pass.

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yumiis · 1 year ago

Text

｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡ﾟ。 get home safe ; isaac

　ﾟ･｡･ﾟ

prompt; A and B hang out at a common friend's house, and B chooses to leave earlier than A. Before they go, they make sure to tell their friend, "please make sure A gets home early and safe." | credit to @akawrites000

genre; fluff

type; drabble

read below!

Isaac was always one to randomly invite you to hang out, whether it be at his place or a party, he always wanted to be around you. It was a lazy Sunday afternoon, both of you were pretty bored. Nick was over staying at a friend's place, so he'd invited Isaac over.

"Isaac! I'm hangin' out at Schlatt's, you wanna come over?" Isaac intently listened to Nick over the phone, nodding his head. He thought for a moment. "Can I see if Y/n wants to come?" Nick very audibly sighed, not because he didn't like you, but because Isaac was a pussy and refused to tell you how he felt. "Dude. Isaac, when are you gonna tell them you like them? Ask them out!" Isaac rolled his eyes, "Uhh.. Soon, soon! I'll ask soon. So can they come or not?" Nick nodded to himself, "Yeah, that's fine. Hurry up!"

Isaac ended the phone call, quickly pressing your contact and hitting your name. He started typing away, 'hey y/n nick invited me and you to go hang at schlatt's, you wanna come?' He waited a couple minutes for your answer, then it finally came. 'yea sure! let me throw on sm clothes and ill meet u there'

You and Isaac pulled up at pretty much the same time, he'd just gotten out of his car when you pulled up. "Isaac! Hey!" You hopped out the seat after turning off and locking your car, closing the door behind you. Isaac smiled, "Hey! I missed you!" You tilted your head, "Didn't we hang out like two days ago?" He shrugged his shoulders, "So? I can't miss you?" You hummed in response.

You two got comfortable at Schlatt's, he'd offered you guys some whiskey when you walked in. "Nah, I'm good man! I gotta drive home later, so I can't." Isaac spoke, then plopping down on his couch. He playfully patted the spot next to him, looking at you. You smiled, walking over and putting your bag down, then sitting next to Isaac. He yawned, then rested his arm around your shoulders. Your face burned, "What're you doing?" Isaac moved his arm, throwing his hands up in defense. "What? I can't stretch?" Nick sighed at the both of you.

After a couple hours, Isaac and Nick remembered they needed to go home to finish up some editing and work stuff. "We gotta go! C'mon Nick," Isaac sighed, getting up. You'd been drinking a little bit, but you weren't even buzzed, however Isaac was still worried about you. He smiled at you, "Bye! I'll text you, okay?" You nodded, giving him a thumbs up. "Okay!"

Isaac walked up to Schlatt while Nick walked out the door. "Hey, make sure they get home safe, alright? Don't give 'em anymore to drink." Schlatt nodded, "Yeah, I know. They gotta drive home too."

Isaac walked out the door, catching up with Nick. Nick looked at Isaac, "You gotta tell 'em." Isaac whined, "I know, I know! Just.. Give me time! Tomorrow. I'll do it tomorrow."

would ya'll want a short part 2? :3

#alex's writing #tgc x reader #tgc #tgc x you #tgc x y/n #the group chat #the group chat x y/n #the group chat x you #the group chat x reader #isaacwhy #isaacwhy x y/n #isaacwhy x you #isaacwhy x reader

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ddejavvu · 2 years ago

Note

Ok since you brought it up about the episode “Riding the Lighting” maybe a scene like the hotch and jj one but with reader instead? Hotch has to take a moment after leaving the room because he’s really mad 👀 I’m obsessed with possessive hotch ;)

mmmmmutual pining with bau!reader because it's my fave <33

"There's three more girls we need to know the location of," You speak calmly and slowly, meeting the unsub's wicked gaze with your own confident one, "Megan Walsh, Casey McMillan, and Monica Chen. If you can tell me where those girls are," You flatten your hands over the table, fingers spread over each one of the girls' portraits, "We'll tell the court you cooperated."

"That's not going to matter much," The man laughs, evil seeping from his lips, "They're not going to repeal the death sentence, are they?"

"No, but they might not slam you into the door on the way out," Aaron spits from behind you, more venom in his voice than you've ever heard before. "And you might want to stop staring at my agent and start taking a look at those photos, because they're your only hope."

"They don't matter anymore," The man shrugs, jumpsuit baggy over his emaciated frame, "They're over and done with. You, however," His eyes trail down your face, examining the features he'd sought out in his victims, "You would have made a nice Number 9."

"That's it," Aaron snaps from behind you, his hand falling heavy on the back of your chair and yanking you out from the table, "You had your chance, and you wasted it. Now I'm going to tell the guards you perpetuated your behavior, and I won't look back if I hear a thud."

Aaron's careful not to hurt you as he pulls you out of your chair, the hand on your arm firm but gentle. He leads you by your bicep out of the room and leaves behind you, blocking the unsub's view of you from behind with his broad frame.

Once you're out of the unsub's sight Aaron rounds on you, keeping his hand on your arm and staring at you with a concerned glance, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," You nod, though you have to admit you're more shaken up by Hotch's reaction than by the creepy comment, "That's just... what they do, right?"

He stares at you for a second too long. Eyes against yours, searching for any lingering uneasiness. When he finds only resignation, he nods, registering your words late.

"Yes," He nods, letting go of your arm and starting down the hallway, "Unfortunately, that's just what they do." His jaw is tight, his steps heavy as he leads you back to the guards waiting for you by the entrance to the cell block, "If you'll excuse me, I need to make a private phone call. Y/L/N, you can wait for me in the car."

The officers are kind enough to walk you back to your SUV, pitching into tense conversation with questions about the unsub. You answer all that you can, shutting the passenger's side door to the SUV and glancing at the clock, wondering what time Hotch will be back to drive.

When your gaze falls from the clock it locks onto a small black device on the center console; Hotch's phone.

A comment he'd made earlier pops into your head five minutes too late, something about their being no outside cell service in the prison, so he was going to leave his phone in the car. No use carrying around dead weight.

But he comes back from his mystery outing with a droplet of water by his temple, soaking his hair that looks damp around the line. So he went to the bathroom, but to wash his face? Why did he need to lie about a phone call?

"Sorry," He apologizes, setting his suit jacket over the center console and effectively burying his phone, "I've been wrestling with the cable company for weeks now, we can't ever reach each other. I felt my phone buzz in there, figured I'd try reaching 'em."

You nod, silent, observant, "Funny, I didn't know you had a second phone."

"Hm?" He glances over at you, hands poised on the wheel. You peel back his suit jacket, one eyebrow raised as his eyes lock onto his phone.

"You're a good liar," You commend him and his years of profiling work, "Next time, just make sure there's no evidence."

"Alright, so I wasn't on the phone," He sighs, bracing his hand on the back of your seat to pull out of the parking lot, "But the cable company has been messing with me, I think."

"They're conspiring against you," You tease, "They don't want you to downgrade from the HD channels. Is that why you had to splash your face? Just so frazzled from the cable company?"

"Jesus," He hisses, rubbing at the wet spot against his temple with his sleeve, "You're new here but you don't act like it."

"So?" You try holding back the pride that threatens to burst from your chest, "What was it? What had the great SSA Aaron Hotchner losing it in the prison bathroom?"

"It was the way that guy talked to you," He admits, keeping his eyes on the road as they scrunch in disdain, "He was out of line."

"He's a serial killer," You laugh humorlessly, "There isn't a line, not anymore."

"Regardless. It's still not fun to be told you'd make a good murder victim. Are you really alright, Y/L/N?"

He takes the few seconds that a red light grants him to stare over at you questioningly. Although you'd felt uneasy at the man's comment, you'd been far more affected by Aaron's response, and the protectiveness he showed over you. You appreciate the fact that he seems to care about you already, even though you're a recent addition to his team.

"I'm alright," You decide, lifting your chin towards the green light so that he doesn't miss it, "Thank you for stepping in. I wasn't really sure what to say."

"I wouldn't have told anyone if you'd decided to punch him in the teeth," Hotch grumbles, "I'll have Morgan go over there tomorrow, and see if he can get it out of the guy. And if not..." He hesitates, glancing up quickly to clock a speed limit sign and slowing the car slightly, "I might tell Morgan to punch him in the teeth."

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner scenario #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner one-shot #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner headcanon #aaron hotchner headcanons #aaron hotchner hc #aaron hotchner hcs #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner dialogue #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x reader fanfiction

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808airsoftbros · 2 years ago

Text

Under The Red Hood (S) (BXG) (Natty)

Author: This one is hella long just so you know and I just love Red Hood. Also if you want to check out more of my fics have a look at the Masterlist.

Y/N's POV

People say they know the definition of suffering... But what they don't know is feeling the end of it. I was abandoned by my parents and the one I looked up to as a father figure for that clown to torment and use me as his ragdoll.

I was left rotting in that abandoned wing of Arkham City for a damn year with that bastard. He beat me, stabbed me with a hot iron to mark that I forever belong to him, you name it.

Foolishly, I kept faith that Bruce would someday come to rescue me someday but that day never came.

"Tell me kid what is your name?"

My name is Jason Todd...

"Who do you hate?"

Batman

"Hahaha... Good... You hear that Bats? The kid is not yours anymore!"

"Hey, I never asked... Who is the big bad bats?"

Of course sir... His name is-

*bang*

That was the day Joker put my lights out and I thought finally after all that hell he put me through, it would be all over. But no. There was more.

After my death, the League of Assassins recovered my dead corpse and took me back to their underground lair.

Ra's Al Ghul has always used the so-called reviving gooey shit, the "Lazarus Pit, " which allowed him to live for over a thousand years, but he had a theory...

The Lazarus Pit doesn't just revive or recover an hosts injuries but it also has the power to bring life to the deceased.

However, when I was dropped into the pit, I wasn't myself, I was confused, forgotten who I am, and all I felt was agony. I became a monster.

I killed and destroyed everything that came my way, but eventually, I regained my composure and my memories and came back to a city absent of the so-called hero Batman.

To my surprise, Dick Grayson, Barbara Gordon, Tim Drake, and Damian Wayne were all gone too. Curious to find out what happened to them, I interrogated Gotham's street criminals and did some research on the internet.

Breaking News: Bruce Wayne Confirmed Dead in Fatal Car Accident

Turned out that the others were apparently with him during that accident but I knew better... It wasn't a car accident that killed them. It was something elise.

Luckily, I managed to get some information from Harley who was working at an adult entertainment restaurant and she didn't bother resisting since her beloved Mister Jay is dead too.

"You live under a rock or something? Bats and the whole gang were going all out in Ace Chemicals and Mister Jay as a result blew the whole facility taking not only his life but everyone present in the plant." She explained and I sighed.

"Thanks alot, Harleen," I thanked her and she rolled her eyes.

"Just the hell out. I don't want to see you again," She replied and I chuckled.

"Don't worry, you won't be seeing anytime soon," I assured as I got up from the table and exit the restuarant.

With that clown bastard gone, crime actually plummeted and the GCPD was able to finally handle themselves without Bruce assisting them everynight.

There wasn't much for me to do besides just watch over the city as my new identity the Red Hood. I don't exactly follow Batman's moral code of no killing.

Not every criminal is redeemable like the Joker, so I cannot fight crime without bashing some skulls in.

*bang*

"Where is Black Mask?" I sternly asked as I point the barrel of my gun at his forehead.

"I've got nothing to tell you!" And I bashed his skull using the bottom of the grip making him grunt in pain.

"Last chance," I warned as I pull back the hammer.

"Fine! I'll tell you! He's holding up at his tower east of Gotham! But you won't get to him!" He confessed.

"Thank you," I replied before knocking him out cold.

Calling in the Batmobile to my location, I jumped high in the air and landed in the cockpit, and drove off to Black Mask's tower.

Seeing that Bruce won't be needing his car or any of his assets anytime soon you mind as well put 'em to good use.

With the fast mobility and maneuverability to do sharp turns and drifts I got to the location of Black Mask in no time but I parked it into an dark alleyway to avoid losing the element of surprise.

Grappling onto the rooftop, I activate detective vision on my mask to see the inside of the building to get a recon on the number of goons.

"Great, this is going to be a massive waste of ammunition," I said to myself.

Using the line launcher to infiltrate the building I ride the ropes and broke through the massive glass window and catching Black Mask and his goons off guard.

"W-What the?! Who the hell are you?!" Black Mask asked as he drew out his pistol.

"Your worst nightmare," I answered as I smirked under my mask.

Swiftly drawing out my pistols, I shot the gun off his hand and in just a blink of an eye, neutralize the guards leaving him defenseless.

Grabbing Black Mask by the collar, I held him out of the broken glass window at my mercy and it pleasures me to see the look of fear in his eyes.

"P-Please I-I'll do anything you want! I can give you territory! Drugs! Money! Guns!" He begged.

"How about you go to hell?" I proposed and let go of him to fall to his death making him scream as he quickly descends to the streets.

"Say Hi to Joker for me," I said as I turn around to exit the building as my job here is done.

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

Meanwhile...

???'s POV

Walking down the streets of Gotham City, it was surely more peaceful and quiet ever since the death of the notorious criminal Joker.

But that doesn't mean that all crime and corruption didn't stop lurking and hiding in the shadows.

This city needed a change or otherwise, it needs to be cleansed. There are so many orphaned children helpless in the streets and not even our full efforts is enough to save them.

How cruel humanity can be? Batman is no different... Even though he fights crime every night his ridiculous code doesn't solve the roots of the problem.

I did hear that the caped crusader along with his assistants are now gone after Joker suicide bombed Ace Chemicals. Good riddance to that evil doer.

However, just as I was sitting on the bench on the lookout for any orphaned child I heard a scream coming from above the building and soon after a man plummets on the streets to his death.

Everyone was shocked and screamed in horror as they were confused as to what was going on. Looking up I see a shattered window and what seemed to be a silhouette of a hooded figure.

Unfortunately, I was only able to get a glimpse of the figure until he disappeared into the building.

With police and EMS arriving at the scene, I decided to vacate the area for the night as I was unsuccessful to find any orphan children for the clan.

Utilizing my super speed abilities, I got back to my clan's hideout, I unlocked the door using my key and walked inside the house.

"Welcome home, Sister Ahnatchaya Suputhipong~!" Mother Kwon Eunbi greeted as she gently hugged me and I return the hug.

"Thank you, Mother Eunbi but just call me Natty. I've told you that how many times already?" I jokingly replied and she giggled.

"It's still a courtesy to greet you by full surname, sister," Eunbi-Unnie said and I nodded.

"From what I can see, you were not successful to bring a child," She mentioned.

"That may be true but I did see something of interest," I replied and she raised an eyebrow.

"Is that so?" She asked.

"Yes, mother," I simply answered.

"In that case, please do tell me every detail," She insisted as she guides me into the living room.

Recalling and explaining my encounter with this strange hooded figure and the falling-dead criminal Black Mask, she was intrigued by my encounter and wanted me to tell me more.

"Do you perhaps know what he exactly looked like?" She asked and I shook my head.

"I'm afraid no, he was too high up so I couldn't get a good look. All I could make out was that he was wearing a black and red leather jacket." I answered.

"Oh, that gives me an idea of who this mystery vigilante could be... There had been rumors going around in the criminal underworld that there is an anti-hero who calls himself the Red Hood." Julie-Unnie explained.

"Anti-hero? What's the difference between him and Batman?" Hanuel asked.

"Well, Red Hood actually kills criminals if he sees it necessary while Batman's righteous code forbids it," Julie-Unnie answered and she nodded.

"He could be a huge help for us, IF he agrees to that," Belle pointed out.

"In that case, we shall recruit Red Hood into our cause, but Natty seeing that you saw him first, you may claim him as his wife," Mother Eunbi settled and we all agreed.

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

Y/N's POV

Heading into the Batcave, I parked the Batmobile on the platform, seeing the cave once again brings back memories of when I used to fight crime alongside Bruce and Dick.

Those were more simple times, until I was kidnapped by the Joker and tormented to death. Now, it's all lonesome with just myself and the bats lurking around the cave.

All the artifacts, souvenirs, and trophies were all still here like the giant robotic dinosaur that the museum owner gave to Bruce as a thank you present, the giant penny from battling two-face aka Harvey Dent, and the big ass clown card.

There was still some work to do in the Batcave and make some adjustments to the gadgets to my liking and come up with new tech.

*alarm*

"Who the hell could that be?" I wondered as I went to the bat computer to check the surveillance cameras.

Looking at the footage coming outside Wayne Manor, I see a woman in a black coat with pale milky skin, with black high heels, and what I could tell she was concealing two katanas.

Suddenly, she busts the front doors open and walked around the manor like she owns the damn place.

Deciding to confront the uninvited guest, I went to the elevator and ascend to the study room and quickly made my way into the ball room where the intruder is located.

Getting visual of the woman, I draw out my gun and fired a warning shot.

"Who are you? And what are you doing in Wayne Manor?" I sternly asked.

"Are you what they call Red Hood?" She asked and I raised an eyebrow.

"Are you fucking stupid? I asked you a question! Now answer it!" I angrily replied and she sighed.

"Now that is not how you greet your future wife~," She mentioned as she takes off her coat and sunglasses revealing her thicc figure.

"What's the matter~? Do you like my body that much~?" She teased and I shook my head.

"I have no time for games lady! Get the fuck out of my house!" I barked and her eyes turned a crimson red.

"Oh will be fucking soon, darling~. But first, will you cooperate?" She asked and I fired another warning shot.

"I guess not," She replied before drawing out her katanas.

Leaping in the air she dives toward me but I blocked it using the fins of my gauntlet. Attempting to shoot one of her kneecaps I missed as she misdirected the barrel of my pistol.

Giving me a turning kick in the stomach I stumbled back and in response I threw shurikens but she avoided them by leaning back.

"Silver ninja shurikens? Did you perhaps knew I was a Vampire?" She curiously asked.

"I'm always prepared for anything but I have a question..." I paused and she gave me a smuggly smile.

"I'm all ears," She replied.

"Do you bleed?"

Loading in hollow point incendiary silver 50 AE into my pistol, just one of these is enough te kill a Vampire and meet an unpleasant death.

Preparing a shock blast from my gauntlet, the Vampire charges toward me and once she was close enough I let her have it.

Taking this as my chance with her senses blinded I fired a shot and landed a direct hit on her knee causing her to scream in pain as she feels the burning sensation in her body.

"Hurts doesn't it? Just one bullet should've killed you already but you seem to be more persistent," I said before chuckling.

"Alright, darling, I didn't want to do this but it seems that I'll have to force you to submit to me," She angrily said and I smirked.

"I'd love to see you try, sweetheart," I replied.

Drawing out my combat knife which is also made of silver, I used my close combat knowledge against her whilst using my gun.

Indeed she's a tough cookie but I've faced tough opponents before and not once have I lost.

But she was starting to get more quicker and aggressive with her swings and even cut parts of my jacket. Which is hella expensive btw.

"Someone trained you well," She complimented.

"I can say the same for you," I replied.

Throughout our duel, I could catch a glimpse of her massive tits and ass. Clearly she takes care of her body and outshines any woman I've met in my life.

Starting to lose stamina and energy to fight while she was still energetic and vigilant. I knew I wasn't win this one so I have to come up with a plan.

"Just give up baby, there is no point in fighting," She insisted.

"I'm just getting started," I replied as I threw a smoke bomb.

"I can still see you," She mentioned as she casually walked through the smoke.

Attempting to grapple onto the gargoyle statue at the wall, she snatches the hook and crushes it with her bare hands. She's fucking strong that's for sure.

"Running out of tricks?" She asked.

Throwing a wave of shurikens she catches one by hand and deflects the others with her katana.

"You know you can't hit me," She mentioned.

"Who said I was?" I asked and the shuriken in her hand began to beep loudly and exploded.

However, she survived that and gave me a front kick in the stomach launching me into the wall. How much firepower can a Vampire take?!

I'm out of those special vampire hunting bullets leaving only my silver knife but that was knocked out of my hand and she soon pinned me to the floor.

"Looks like I've got you~," She said as she smirked.

"So what are you going to do? Kill me? Suck me dry of my blood?" I sarcastically asked and she shook her head.

"Oh no, darling, we don't feed anymore... We are not just Vampires anymore. We are Demi-Gods." She answered and I scoffed.

"Now, it's time to teach you who you belong to now," She whispered into my ear.

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

Start of Smut

Y/N's POV

The Vampire who apparently is now my wife drags upstairs to the masters bedroom and pins me on the bed.

"Now let us see who you really are," She said as she grabs a hold of my mask and takes it off revealing my face.

"Wow, such a handsome face you were hiding~," She complimented as she examines my cheeks.

"Jason Todd, what's your name?" I curiously asked.

"Oh, how rude of me! My name is Sister Ahnatchaya Suputhipong but you'll refer to me as jagi, darling, or babe. Understand?" She instructed and I nodded.

"I want an answer, baby~," She whispered into my ear sending chills down my spine.

"Y-Yes mommy," I nervously replied and she giggled.

Locking lips with each other, she easily outclassed me as she was more experience in this while I've never kissed a girl in my life meaning she just stole my first kiss and soon my virginity.

Strangely, I put my hands around her hips as she goes under my shirt and I take my hands off her to take off my jacket and shirt revealing my chest.

"God, you're so sexy, I can't hardly believe this is all mine now~," She admires as she traces each line.

"Why don't you stop talking and let's get to it," I suggested and she smirked.

"I like how the way you think~," She replied.

Taking off her tight dress, revealing that she wasn't wearing any bra or panties and showed off her huge mounds and clean shaven pussy which instantly made my cock hard.

"Enjoying the view~? Good, because I'm going to make sure your balls are drained tonight~," She seductively said and I gulped.

Not wasting any time, she pulls down my pants along with my underwear and was surprised to see my ten-inch dick. Comparing my size to her head. It was a sight to see a beauty right by my cock.

"Uhhhhh~," I moaned.

Taking my length into her mouth, the tightness and the feeling of her tongue as she bobs up and down. I'd be lying if I said I haven't fell in love with this lusty Vampire.

What made it more exciting is that she kept eye contact with me the whole time she was blowing me and she switches position with her pussy on my face which is dripping wet and I can smell the aroma of candy.

Without hesitation I devour her pussy making her moan as she works on my cock tasting her was so addicting and we kept going until we came into each other's mouths.

"You taste amazing, baby~," She said after swallowing my load.

"I can say the same, it's so sweet that I just want more," I replied and she smiled.

Getting into position she sits on my dick before slowly inserting it in taking away my virginity and slowly begins riding me and it was fucking tight down there.

"Oh my God, you're so fucking huge baby, no man has ever stretched me out like this~!" She screamed as she increased her pace.

"Your fucking tight as hell!" I replied as I grabbed onto her hips to match her rhythm increasing the ecstasy.

After riding my dick for a bit, she decided to switch positions to missionary style.

"Now darling I want you to fuck my brains out! No more holding back!" She demanded and I felt like a beast inside of me has awaken.

"Fine, you want me to fuck you so hard until you can't walk! You got it!" I replied and she bit her lip.

Not giving her any time to get settled into the position I rammed her in and out as rough and fast as I possibly can making her scream out of pleasure.

Thankfully this room is soundproof and the manor is on an isolated island so nobody will be able to hear me fuck my slutty Vampire wife.

"Baby I'm so close~!" She warned.

"So am I!" I replied.

"Then let's cum together!" She said and we did just that.

"Hehe~. You still got more in there don't you~?" She asked and I viciously nodded.

Agreeing to go for another round, we switch position into doggy style and I rail her until she was screaming on top of her lungs.

"Keep going baby~!" She encouraged as I hit her G-spot.

Feeling the beast wanting more and more of her gorgeous pussy, I increased the pace and groped her ass whilst giving a few spankings increasing the pleasure.

"I want you to fuck me until I'm pregnant baby~!" She demanded.

"Oh, don't worry, I'll make sure that you'll get pregnant!" I assured.

Feeling the tightness of her pussy and fucking such a beautiful Vampire really takes my mind off my problems and traumas that I've been through in the past.

Maybe it was destiny that lead her into my home, guess I could use the company and she has an amazing body.

"I'm going to cum!" I warned.

"Good! I'm close too!" She replied.

In no time, I cum deep into her womb and we screamed one last time as I came inside of her and I felt my dick was in the shower.

"No I want you to keep it inside of me," She insisted as I was about pull it out.

Cuddling with each other on the bed despite it being all messy and wet from her juices, I was too tired and exhausted to care as long as I was in her arms.

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

Natty's POV

It's been three days since I officially claimed Jason Todd aka Red Hood as my husband and partner in crimefighting. I still crave more of him but I have to let him rest.

Eventually he started opening up to me about his past life when he was the second Robin to Batman but was left to be tormented by the clown and how he was revived by the Lazarus Pit.

To this day, he still has Lazarus visions and behaves erratically at some nights but I can handle it with no issues whatsoever and he told me that he was grateful to have a loving wife like myself.

As for my clan, they continue to patrol the city for any abandoned children to take in while we clean up the streets for them.

Based on observation his abilities were growing faster, before he could take only ten men at a time but now he can take on about fifthy criminals at once.

With Jason being forged into my heart and soul, our relationship is eternal as I've granted him the gift of immortality.

"I love you my dear Jason~,"

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