#vessel x joe

[marshmallow-biscuit-blog]

@firecurls-27 Kinda based off this??

happy pride lmao

[yo-itz-sweetie]

POV: Joe asks Hanson for advice

Joe: Hey, Hanson.. uh.. what is love??

Hanson: Baby, don’t hurt me!!~♪

Joe: No, seriously, what is love-

~☆~

Joe belongs to @marshmallow-biscuit-blog :)

[firecurls-27]

@crackshipau

Me and @marshmallow-biscuit-blog made an account for our oc’s we’ve paired together! Feel free to ask away!! :D

[tinycozycomfort]

i found the door

pairing: jackson era!joel miller x f!reader

day seven of @pascalisbaby and i's joeltober: edging -> read her day seven here

summary: Joel is a beacon, the warmth sloughing off his chest keeping you in that hazy place between tired and restless—the brightest slice of your vision.

warnings/tags: edging, daddy kink, c*ckwarming, touch of somno, unprotected piv, age gap (joel is 50s, reader is not), dom/sub dynamics, the tone of this is: they're in love, bulge kink, name calling (slut) + pet names (sweetheart, honey, etc)

word count: 1.8k

rating: explicit! 18+ only, mdni

a/n: i am so hashtag nervous about this one but very big thank you to @pascalisbaby for encouraging me and listening to me complain every day 🖤

main masterlist

“What is she, sweetheart? What do we call her when she’s drooling like that?” 

Joel noses at your chin, puffy stripe of scarring across the bridge dragging colder than the rest, lifting a field of goosebumps in its wake.

You can barely mumble at first, the swipe of his thumbs along your ribcage doing little to ground you, focus washed out with the low light that pools in from the window. His hands are firm—even in their spread—pinkies dipping into the crease of your side as he keeps you seated atop him, sweat-damp sheets taut where they weave between the folds of your knees. 

You’re pliable over him, hiked up and lopsided where he’s fixed you high in his lap, the shape of his cock outlined inside you to the hilt. 

Nights like this—right before the onslaught of Wyoming winter—he likes to just let the time pass, to make use of his body while it’s still skin-warm, no cold to slow his joints or frost to stiffen his muscle. He wants to prove himself capable, spry, even in his climbing age, to make sure you both know how in control he still is of this vessel, of your pleasure. 

He does it in the slowest way—the only way he sees appropriate—unwrapping you in pieces, biting away at the minutes like they’re endless, peeling away at the doubts he only thinks you have for him. 

Joel is a beacon, the warmth sloughing off his chest keeping you in that hazy place between tired and restless—the brightest slice of your vision. The valleys of his hollowed cheeks are deep, his restraint bound there in the tense sinew between his molars.

Only when he feels you deflate does he rock up gently, nudging at the apex of your womb, never touching—just the suggestion of what he’s able to find within you. He lets you whine and plead until you’re at the steep slope of your orgasm before stopping altogether, letting it wane, over and over, the pause to recoup shortening with each near-miss—a loop of ‘almost’s and ‘just-so’s that remind you he can take away as much as he can give.

“Hm?” He’s encouraging as he draws you from your stupor, a lapse in his unkindness—some space for you to right your wrong.

“A slut.”

Joel rolls back on the knob of bone that ends his spine, curling his hips up to give you just the slightest bit of friction. 

“That’s right. Little pussy’s being such a slut for me.” He shifts up again, just a beat to punctuate his point, the squelch that follows sounding out in the silence as if on cue. “Don’t know how you don’t fall all over yourself dripping like that.” 

You’re humming again in response, the last two full words taking more of a toll than they’re worth, voice scratchy from just how much crying you’ve done. The little analog clock on the nightstand ticks, tallying the painfully long stretch that’s passed since he promised to fuck you; that and the hour, maybe—or well over—since he decided he was going to make you wait for it instead. 

He savors this—the chance to make you up like some sleepy, weak thing that he can dote on, that he can thaw between his hands and mold into all of his beloved shapes, syrupy and unwound and enamored. He loves you like this, at his mercy, the heft of his strength and his promise enough to carry you through to the other side of content. 

He needs you like this. 

Joel reaches down to where your middle scrapes the start of his chest, grazing his knuckles over the swell in your lower tummy, rubbing at the wide protrusion that evidences his excitement. He flattens his palm over it like a bandage, uses it as leverage to put some space between you so he can get a better view, carving out more room where he’s hooking into you.

“Look at that. Got me so deep inside you it’s trying to come out. You gonna keep it in for me?” 

You’re nodding before he’s even finished, ready for him to bring you to another barely-peak, shoulders slack so as to not work yourself up, hope strapped to the last notch. 

“Poor thing. Had enough, honey? Ready to beg for it?” 

You huff before thinking, “I have been.” 

“No—crying at me isn’t begging. You have to ask.” 

“Please.” 

“Please…?” 

“Joel, can you pl–” 

He scoops up the meat of your cheeks with his free hand, fingers scalloping the flesh in a tight grip, wedging the points between your teeth until it feels like he’s inside you; he has you by your soul at this point, his hold runs so deep. 

“I know my girl isn’t that dim. How many times have we practiced this, sweetheart? Still can’t get it right on the first try?” 

He’s dead serious—frown severe—but you can’t help the curl of your mouth, laughter bubbling at the base of your throat. What a horrible, mean man he wants to be. In reality, he loves you more than he’s able to say most days, only leaning back on this game of obedience and correction and reward as a crutch when he can’t find the words. 

“Sorry, daddy.” 

Joel angles his fingers back so that he’s hanging onto the hinges of your jaw, the broad U of his middle-to-thumb long enough to give you room to speak and breathe and scream. 

His hips start to cant, the sticky swing of his cock inside you pulsing outwards, a fresh wave of arousal pooling at the joint. 

“There we go. Go ahead with the rest, then.”

“Daddy—fuck, please.” 

His resolve begins to melt at just the mention of his newly-appointed favorite title, a thing that slides between completely earnest and a silly pass at something new, not completely settled into habit. Even so, it’s sticking fast, the sheen over his eyes and abnormal measure of his breathing proof enough. 

“Please, what, sweet girl? You need daddy to make that slut pussy happy? You need to come?” 

Your mouth is wide open, nothing coming out but brief, irregular puffs of air that keep you conscious. He’s enjoying it—hoists his chest up so he can get close to your face, unhinge his own jaw, mock you that much more. He fails to not smile, head bobbing has he continues to fuck up into you with all the effort his body, and this position, are willing to allow. 

The hand pushing into your stomach falls, twisting at the wrist so he can toy with your clit, struggling not to slip in the web of slick that’s yet to dry where you’re connected. He’s determined, though—switches his thumb for the flat section of skin between his last two knuckles, gliding along the bead of skin at your core until you’re slumping forward, unable to take the whole brunt of him at full mast. 

“Oh, honey. Can’t even get fucked right anymore, can you? What’s gonna happen when you can’t take this cock? What do you suppose I do with you, then?” 

“No, daddy. ‘M just tired. Don’t stop, please.”

“Half-awake and the only thing you can think to do is ask for more. Now we’re getting somewhere.” 

“Yes, more, more.” 

“That’s right. Tell daddy how grateful you are. Tell me how much you need it.” 

“Fuck, yes. I need you.”

The fingers on your face pinch harder, throbbing as your cheek contours to the line of your teeth. Joel shakes his wrist, your neck lolling in his clutch as he commands your attention.

“Hey, I let it slide the first time. Don’t use that kind of language with me, girl. Be polite to me for all I do for you.” 

You’re too close to the end to say anything other than sorry, sorry daddy, the pitch rising in time with his movements, the burn of your climax worming its way up your spine. He’s equally as close, descending into the force of his movements so quickly he abandons his half-hearted reprimand, lashes clumping and wet, the line of his brow shining with sweat. He works at your clit with unwavering effort, sliding ten-fold as you begin to meet his thrusts, the two of you fighting to be on-beat in the work-up.

“I’m gonna come. Please. Please, can I?” 

“What am I going to want to hear from you before you do, sweetheart?” He tucks the bow of tissue that separates his thumb to your chin, his longer fingers plucking at some of the hair that's tacked down with wet—another show of sympathy.

“I love you.” 

“How sweet are you, hm—when you want to be? That’s my perfect girl. Just one more time, now.”

“Joel, I love you. More than f—more than anything.” 

He manages a exhale—his best attempt at amusement in this state—at the way you fumble to catch your own error, too close to the edge to afford another mistake. 

You clamp down with both hands on the forearm clutching your face, like more of you on him can better emphasize your statement and he moans, a high, ragged thing that falls out before he can contain it. 

Eventually, he accepts, “I love you, too, honey. More than you know.” 

You’re right at the cusp now, cunt seizing around where he’s driving up into you and he aims to bring you there before he falters, “Come on, let me have it. Show me just how much you love me.“

It's just a slew of yes’s after that, body locking up as the crest of your orgasm washes over you in flashes of white, so intertwined with him you don’t realize he’s made his way there as well, the sear of his release a welcome addition to the flurry. 

He doesn’t stop until your breathing evens, dropping his grip to wind his arms at the small of your back. He envelops you the way he wishes he could have to begin with, with all of the raw affection he needs courage to produce. 

“I mean it. Really.” He thumbs at the bumps of your spine, a swirl of something like guilt threading through his voice. 

You’re quick to dismiss it, dropping your head into the slope of his neck, the chill of September flooding in now that you’ve halted. You bring an arm up, fingers pleating into the hair he’s grown out in preparation for the season—a cut you suspect he’s kept because you’d mentioned taking a liking to it. You shuffle closer, knees slanted inwards to cradle him.

“I know, Joel. I’ll love you for the rest of my life.”

[jooba]

wolfman x reader

"Imagine getting the great news that you're one of a million civilians chosen to go to a distant planet, to intermingle with the local aliens. Unfortunately, your online friend doesn't exactly seem to like that idea."

TW: MDNI, reader referred to as 'girl', sexual desires, anxiety, neurodivergent reader, reader big dumb, licking, 'virgin' reader, hand appreciation

wordcount: 2,388

Three words: Civilian Space Program. The most incredible opportunity of a lifetime (for an average Joe like you).

One word: Congratulations! The letter you held in your shaking hands almost didn’t seem real. It was glossy, professional, and signed by someone so important that it was a 100% probability that you would never breathe the same air as them. Congratulations! But it was real, and your life would never be the same. You were going to space. To meet aliens. Your poor little heart almost couldn’t take it. Breath labored, you quickly snapped a picture of the letter before posting it to all of your socials. Quickly, friends and family bombarded you with questions and excitement, just as in disbelief as you are. Several phone calls later, and plenty of assurances to those with concerns, you fell back onto your couch, still clutching the letter. In just a month, you would be boarding a vessel with 14 other civilians, shipped off to the planet Geron 6GI, and left there for 3 years to “create relations” and “cultivate a human lifestyle”. Whatever that means. All you knew was that you… were a monsterfucker… and… well… aliens are sort of like monsters too. 

In your elation, you nearly missed the newest comment on your Instagram post. It was Peter, an online friend whom you had known for years. It simply said, “call me.” Peter knew about the program and how badly you wanted to be in it, but he was pretty adamant that your chances were too low. Smiling, you dialed his number. He answered on the first ring, speaking before you had a chance to.

“This is serious? You’re serious?” 

“Of course! I’m freaking out, Peter. I’m going to SPACE. I’m going to fuck so many aliens, you don't even know. Well, you do know, but-”

“You’re leaving in a month?” He asked. You kicked your legs in glee, squealing. 

“Yep! 3 years in space and depending on how the program goes it might go on for longer. God, should I bring my toys? Do you think they’ll even be allowed on the flight? But what if the aliens have toys that I can buy…” Your breath hitched just at the thought. There was silence on his end for a few moments.

“You’re a virgin.” Cheeks turning red, you scoffed into your phone.

“So what?” 

“So you’re giving yourself away to some random alien?” He hissed the word lowly, talking in a manner you had never heard from him before. You take a second to collect your thoughts, not understanding where his aggression is coming from.

“Peter… we live in the 21st century. Virginity is a stupid construct. Besides, I uh... I’m not really a virgin, you know.” 

“What?” 

“Ugh, can we not talk about this? So embarrassing…” You mumble, turning to a more comfortable position on the couch. There was silence as both of you struggled with what to say next. It wasn’t like you were actually embarrassed talking about sexual things, but Peter had a way of making your stomach flutter. It was awful having a mini crush on someone online, and even worse when he insisted on hearing all the details of your life. All the details. 

“I’m going to come see you.” He said, sighing into the phone. You froze, blinking in surprise. The two of you had never met in real life before, you’ve never even seen a picture of him! Sometimes, you would discuss meeting, but he lived a long flight away and schedules never seemed to work out. Over time, the thought of seeing him in person became too daunting, and you always shot him down. What if he thought you were too ugly to be friends with? What if the two of you couldn’t get along in person, and he lost interest? 

“A-are you sure, Peter?” You could hear the smile in his voice as he responded. 

“Of course.”

You stood nervously in the airport, shifting back and forth. People kept glancing at you, giving you curious glances. Avoiding eyes with an old troll whose beard desperately needed maintenance, you wiped the sweat from your face with your sleeve. Maybe you’d be less nervous if you had brought a friend with you to pick up Peter… Your phone buzzed with a text. 

landing now

You watch as the terminal quickly fills up with tired travelers. Eyes swiping back and forth from person to person, you attempt to pick out a man to match Peter’s description of himself. But his description was so vague, all you really knew was that apparently he was tall and had brown hair. 

Someone bumps into you, and your phone clatters to the ground. They quickly apologize but scurry away too quickly for you to get a good look at them. Grumbling, you bend down to pick up your phone, dusting it off and checking for cracks. When your eyes lift, your heart explodes in surprise at the wolfman standing before you. Hot! Inner you squeals. Standing nearly two heads taller than you, he’s lean and dressed very cleanly. Chestnut-colored fur streaks around his cheeks and neck, speckled with darker colors around his hairline and dipping underneath his shirt. Black eyes peer at you, squinting slightly.

“Oh, um. Hi!” You laugh nervously, tugging at your hair. “Just dropped my phone.” You wave your phone in front of you, but then quickly tuck it away when you realize how dumb you probably looked. The wolfman’s mouth slowly curls up into a predatory smile, top lip slightly gaped to allow for pointy fangs to peek through. 

“You’re cute,” he says quietly, eyes appraising your figure. You have to desperately ignore the urge to cover yourself from his evaluating gaze. You laugh weakly.

“T-thanks.” You give him a small smile. The two of you stare at each other for a moment. He hikes his backpack up over his shoulders, raising one eyebrow at you. Does he want something from you…? Oh god. Despite his good looks, it’s not the best time to be flirting with someone: not when you’re waiting for Peter. 

“I’m sorry. I’m.. uh… picking up a friend. Sorry.” You glance away from him, pretending to search the crowd for Peter. Why is he taking so long?

The wolfman grumbles with quiet laughter, almost a mixture of a purr and low-pitched whine. It's a rather charming sound. Suddenly, his clawed hand is on your scalp, rubbing against your hair to mess it up. He tugs certain strands this way and that, causing an absolute mess. You gasp, pulling away, quickly attempting to fix the mess he just made. 

“You’re even denser in person than I thought you would be,” he says, looking extremely satisfied at your misery. His ears twitch slightly. You pause, squinting up at him in irritation.

“Well, that’s rude. And please don’t touch my hair, I don’t know you.” You take a step back away from him in caution just to be safe. 

The wolfman huffs, rolling his eyes slowly. “That’s the thing. You do know me.” He pulls his phone out, and types onto it quickly, before looking at you expectantly. Your phone buzzes. A message from Peter. 

right in front of you. so dense.

You can’t quiet the gasp that leaves your mouth in time. You gape up at him, astonished.

“You never told me you were a wolfman!?!” 

Heart racing, you bring your knuckle up to your mouth and light chew on a finger. All these years, all the calls and long talks and he never thought to mention his species?! Oh god, you have said so many embarrassing things to him: things you would never say to a non-human. Things about giant monster cocks and clawed hands and fluffy sensitive ears and oh my GOD. You swear heat is steaming out of your ears with how embarrassed you are. 

“Didn’t think it mattered,” he shrugs. He reaches up to lightly scratch at one fluffy ear, maintaining eye contact with you. It twitches at his touch, apparently sensitive. You want to coo and squeal at how cute it is, but you restrain, just barely. Gnawing on your finger, you avert your eyes. You must not look at the handsome wolfman. Must resist. Must get Peter home without drowning in your drool…

One car ride home, hours of gentle ribbing and teasing, a desperate call to the nearest fast food joint, and a change into pajamas later, you find yourself sitting on your couch, a bowl of popcorn in hand, waiting patiently for Peter to join you. He’s taking a long time in the bathroom, but you’re not too worried. It seemed your apartment was a bit too small for him, and he was constantly ducking his head and squeezing past your furniture. Admittedly, it was really charming. You can’t help but shovel popcorn into your face as you wait. You can’t wait too long, otherwise the popcorn will get stale! In the middle of licking your fingers free from butter and salt, Peter plops down next to you. You slide down the couch and end up sitting right against you. He wraps an arm around you on the couch, hands already playing with your hair. He’s dressed in loose pajama pants and a t-shirt that says ‘You are fang-tastic!’ in faded letters.

“Really couldn’t wait for me, huh.” You smile in embarrassment, pulling your fingers out of your mouth. His dark eyes quickly zero in on your glistening fingers. Grimacing, you go to wipe them on your pants, but his hand wraps around your wrist before you can. You immediately notice how much bigger his hand is than yours, and how fur wraps around his knuckles but his fingers and palm are bare. 

“Let me,” he purrs, eyes drooping into half lids. He opens his mouth and a long, pink tongue rolls out. It’s rounded at the end and fades into a slight purple the further back it gets. You’re instantly drawn to it and watch in stunned silence as he brings your fingers up to his mouth. He licks a long stripe up your fingers before twisting and turning them to lap at every inch. Quickly, your fingers become drenched in hot saliva. You clench your thighs, wishing he would put that tongue somewhere else… A soft noise leaves you, and he meets your eyes again. You mentally berate yourself for having dirty thoughts about your friend. He nips gently at your pointer finger. You squeak and pull your hand away, face certainly red. You hold your hand to your chest limply, now drenched in saliva. You blink at him, words caught in your throat.

“Mmm… tastes good.” Right. Good popcorn. Ha ha… ha… The TV blares and the two of you startle at the noise. Peter is quick to grab the remote and mute it. He watches the quiet television for a moment, throat bobbing.

“Let’s talk for a moment, space girl.” His voice is almost... uncertain. You grin unabashedly at the nickname, pleased. It immediately calms you down and you find yourself relaxing.

“Sure!” You place the popcorn down and turn on the couch, facing him directly. He turns to face you as well, one leg crossing over the other. The arm around the back of the couch begins to tap on the cushion.

“Just let me talk for a moment, no interruptions, okay?” He raises an eyebrow when you open your mouth to respond, and you huff, but stay quiet.

“Honestly, I thought I was being pretty straightforward with you all this time, but with this space fiasco, I knew you weren’t exactly getting the message. Had to talk to you face-to-face. I’ll make this short and sweet, easy to understand. I don’t want you going to space.” He raises one hand when you look like you are about to object. Breathing deeply, he continues.

“Don’t go to space. Stay here. I’ll give you all the monster cock you want, promise… I’m not usually one to wait so long, but I knew during our first call I would have to take it slow with you. I’ve been biding my time all these years, slowly getting to know you, waiting for my chance. And then I saw your post. When I saw that, it left me ‘peterified’.” He chuffs at his joke, pleased. 

“So yeah, I’ve got feelings for you. And a lot of them revolve around ramming my cock down your throat. Or god, knotting you,” he sighs wistfully as he speaks. He looks like he wants to say more, but stops himself. 

.

.

.

Ho….ly…. SHIT! You’re frozen on the spot, mind racing with a thousand dirty thoughts. You’ve dreamt of this moment, dreamt of a monster desiring you. And now…now you’re presented with an opportunity. 

“F-forget space! Oh my god. Peter? Peter!” You’re squealing now, your body shaking with excitement. You stand up and begin pacing, not even really aware of what you’re doing. Peter relaxes on the couch, mouth tilted up in a sly smile.

“This is crazy. Are you serious? He’s serious. I-I need to shave! And prep! Oh god, I don’t know if I’m ready for this…” You bite at your finger nervously, the beginnings of nausea twisting your stomach. Who knew that aching and wanting something for so long would have you feeling so sick?

Peter tugs at your hand, slowing your pacing. 

“You’re getting ahead of yourself, you nut. Just breathe.” He breathes in deeply, and you copy him instinctually. He guides your breath into something much slower, much more manageable. You smile at him gratefully, falling onto the couch. 

“Sorry, this is just… a lot,” you sigh out. He shakes his head. 

“Not at all. Just take it easy.” He nudges your knee with his. “Just think about it, yeah?” You nudge him back, eyes twinkling.

“So, all this time you’ve…” you question. He simply nods his head.

“But you didn’t even know what I looked like?” You're surprised when his face starts to turn a gentle shade of red. He coughs into his fist, looking away. He speaks, in a cool tone that doesn’t match his cheeks, “Yeah, I knew right from the start. Your looks are just a plus.” 

Aaand now you’re looking away, embarrassed. 

“Oh, okay,” you mumble. 

[hornydilfsinyourarea]

Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter x Yandere! Male! User

Author's note: Took me a while to make, sorry guys, I made two endings because why the fuck not, the bots are in the same setting, just different out comes and point of views, the Will bot is more focused on you kinda, and the Hannibal bot is more focused on what Hannibal felt through it (there is also a scene where you find out what Hannibal actually said to Will if you look at the Hannibal bot), I was also listening to 'Red Sex' by Vessel while writing both bots- there are a lot of trigger warnings in both bots, so be warned. This is pretty long.

(Will Graham) Scenario: "You… never felt seen, not even once in your life, the kid with eye bags under their eyes, who looked both sad and empty at the same time, quieter than the quiet kid themself, barely even speaking- some didn't even know if you could. After completing high school, and nearly a decade of therapy, you questioned why you even bothered with everything, there was nothing wrong with you. You have seen many therapists, none never saw you… you were sitting in the waiting room for Hannibal- he offered to hold therapy sessions for you, you came early though- While you were looking down, thinking about canceling the session maybe- you suddenly saw too feet come into your view, making you look up- and then… you felt your world stop when you saw him" (Hannibal Lecter) Scenario: "Hannibal saw you, he really did- how could he not? When he heard about you from a colleague, he knew he had to have you as his patient. A poor lonely child… never once feeling seen in their life- with one parent in jail while the other hanged themself, truly tragic, you didn't look like you wanted to die, that much was clear to Hannibal, but he could see… that was a route you were willing to take. Having been alone since you were sixteen, went to a boarding school, no other family left, went to different therapists for almost 10 years, you were getting tired of it, he could see, it was why he was so… fascinated with you, he's surprised you haven't turned out insane after everything- but Hannibal thought too soon, he saw the way you looked at Will Graham, another client of his, the way you barely spoke to him, looking off to the side… a lovesick expression on your face. It saddens Hannibal, why waste your time with someone who only talked to you once? While he was there, trying to make you see that he saw you first, it confused Hannibal. Hannibal even once caught you taking a picture of Will- what else were you doing? Something had changed in you that day you met Will." Warning: NSFW in both, stalking, breaking and entering (implied, but not actually mentioned, I mean, how else did you get inside of Will's house?), taking non-consensual photo/s (nothing sexual- well, depends on you, if you want to be that creepy), User is a Yandere but is written to be more fucked up in the head because of mental illnesses (like Joe Goldberg), User is written to be both possessive and obsessive, user is kind of written to be around mid or late twenties (or 30's, depends on you, user is just not younger than mid or late twenties, that's all), Accidental love confession (Will bot, user receiving), kidnapping (willingly though, Will bot), Hannibal is strangely supportive of your behavior (He even praises you, such a sweet guy), praise kink (Hannibal bot, user receiving), ridning (Hannibal bot), Hannibal dies in the Will bot, but Will dies in the Hannibal bot (You can pick which one you end up with, unfortunately you can't end up with both... yet), Hannibal might just take advantage of your possessiveness and eagerness (like subtly telling you about someone he hates, basically manipulating you into thinking they need to die), Soft/Gentle! Dom! Hannibal? (He still a bottom tho, so is Will), user is written in a style that they are socially awkward (or have social anxiety) and have attachment issues (meaning they can easily attach themself to someone who shows them basic affection, like what Will did), I think this is all, please do tell me if I missed a warning- Please remember I do NOT condone in this kind of behavior nor the acts done in these bots

Who do you think sees you?

Will- "I see you" Hannibal- "He never saw you, did he?"

^link to bot^ ^link to bot^

[deliciousbasementtrash]

Playing Nurse for the Batfam

Artist: https://www.instagram.com/twalxxart/ Twalxx

Summary: you are a nurse working for Gotham General Hospital. Batman has offered you a job. You are now a nurse for the entire Batfamily. There has been an emergency and you have been called into the line of fire. You have been injured by the Black Mask, how will Jason react?

Pairing: Slowburn Jason Todd x Female!reader

Warning: Adult language, mentions of gunshots and death

Word Count: 2.4k

Masterlist

Note: These characters are not my own they belong to DC. The only character that is 'mine' is the reader. I am going to be as nondescript as possible for the reader as well for physical attributes. This is a continuation series; I’m not sure how long it will be. Also for some reason, my replies to comments are not showing up. I’m not ignoring your comments Tumblr won’t let me respond :( But please, please comment I live for it

Part 9: If I Have to Throw You Over My Shoulder I Will

***********************************************************

Jason Todd

[Jason, please we need backup. We need you.] Dick had sent about ten minutes ago. 

Some dark part of me wanted to do nothing. The part of me that was tortured and beaten. The part of me that was angry no one cared enough to avenge me. But I loved Dick like he was my flesh and blood. And whether I admit it to myself or not… I love Bruce the same way.

Often I think about how my life led me down this way. Was it fate? Was it God? Was it just dumb fucking luck? 

There is one theory I keep circling back to. The Red String Theory. At birth, we have invisible red strings tying us to the people we are destined to meet. Was I tied to my parents? Bruce? Alfred? Dick? Tim? Barbara? Steph? Cass? Damian? Duke? Or even… him? 

That’s too many. If that’s true, my fate lines look more like a messy evidence board. Or maybe a fucked up marionette puppet. Like I was made to be influenced by those tied to me. Pushed and pulled. Just a vessel of violence. 

But the Red String Theory couldn’t be true. At least not for me. I’m so covered in red. You can’t pull a red thread out of a sea of blood.

My morbid thoughts halted when I saw Pizza Joe’s. I parked off to the side. In an alley, no one could see. I approached the gunshots, listening for Dick. Boy Wonder was nowhere to be seen, but I made mental notes of the men that were perched on the buildings. 

I made my way discreetly around the building, toward the back. My heart stopped dead in my chest.

Y/n was pinned against the wall. With a gun in her mouth. Fighting with everything in her against the Black Mask.

Something in me snapped. Without hesitation I shot twice at his arm, severing the flexor digitorum profundus and rendering his index and middle finger useless. I shot through his stupid fucking masked head. I shot through his heart. I shot through the bastard's fucking dick. I shot. And I shot. And I shot. No one hurts her. Ever.

I barely noticed Bruce as I stepped over him. I could have checked his pulse, his status, anything. But all I cared about was getting to her. 

Anger and fear surged inside me, at the sight of seeing her covered in blood. I started to panic. My chest felt like one thousand pounds of pressure was crushing me. All I could do to calm myself down was to pull her into my arms and hug her tight enough that I felt her heartbeat against mine. She’s alive. She’s alive. She’s alive.

I had stayed away from her this past week. Trying to keep her safe from whatever bullshit I would bring her. But here she was finding the danger all on her own. Without me to make sure she was safe.

Seeing her face, feeling her against my body, lit something up inside me. Anger surged.

“Why the fuck are you here?” I growled.

***********************************************************

Jason grabbed my chin, slowly moving it from side to side, inspecting my blood-spattered face. His mouth was moving but all I could hear was the damn ringing in my skull. Jason frowned and looked at both my ears. I felt a warmth run down the left side of my neck. 

Jason leaned into my right side, his cold helmet brushed against the shell of my ear making me shiver. “You’re hurt.” The words were simple. But they were laced with bitterness and anger that went beyond reason.

I looked up at his Red Hood, “Dick needs your help.” I couldn’t tell if I was screaming the words or saying them at a reasonable volume. I couldn’t gauge Jason’s reaction either which annoyed me. I wanted to rip that helmet off and see his face. 

“I’m looking at someone that needs my full attention right now. Grayson can handle himself,” he snarled the words at me. 

Gunshots sounded loud enough for me to hear. My brain started spiraling into the worst-case scenario. A Dick Grayson riddled with bullets involuntarily entered my mind. “Please help him. Please, Jason.” I grabbed his arm as I begged. His bicep tensed under my grip. 

“I’m not leaving you alone,” he ground out. “Get behind me.” Despite his harsh tone, he gently moved me behind him. His broad shoulders and generous height covered me completely. I kept a hand at the base of his hip. Ready to heal him if needed. 

There were four shooters surrounding Dick, and three on the buildings, all pointing their guns at him. Jason opened a pocket on his thigh and reloaded his right gun one-handed. He was so smooth with the movement it was like he was doing something simple like buttering toast. He was dexterous at a level I can only describe as masterful. 

Jason aimed at an impossible speed and precision. Seven shots rang out. Seven men fell. I don’t even think they realized Jason was enemy fire until they already had a bullet fly through them. It was seemingly impossible. 

Jason didn’t give me a chance to assess Dick or Bruce before throwing me over his shoulder and walking away.

“I need to help them! Jason! Jason, listen to me!” I yelled and slapped the back of his leather jacket. He ignored me or I didn’t hear his response. Knowing him, most likely the former.

Suddenly, he moved me off his shoulder and straddled me onto his motorcycle. My mind was acutely aware of his large hands pinning my waist down.

“Grayson is fine. He will take care of Bruce and your car. I’m taking you home. Now.” He was leaning toward my good ear again, his voice was dark and commanding. Lighting a certain part of me on fire. Who am I kidding, my whole being burned. 

“I am fine, Jason. Really. You got there in time. Just let me heal the boys and I’ll go with you!” I sneered at him.

“How about no,” Jason sneered back and straddled onto the motorcycle behind me. His firm body was flush against the entire back side of mine. My breathing became uneven when he reached his arms around me and revved his motorcycle before accelerating. I tried not to lean back into him. But he was so warm and I was so tired. Jason must have felt my tension. His hand found my hip, as he continued steering with the other. He pushed back, forcing my body to melt into his. 

“I’ve got you,” he said, making me shiver. 

Gotham was a blur of lights as Jason drove us back to the Batcave. In a record, 6 minutes. Which I tried not to take personally.

He rode us through the entrance, and as close as he could get to my workstation. He got off quickly as if trying to get away from me. But just as quickly scooped me up from my underarms and placed me on top of my examination table. I blushed at the firm way he moved me around. Like I was his to just grab and move as he pleased. He was an extremely strong man. He made it seem like it was no effort at all. 

He roughly took off the Red Hood. His hair was a wild mess. His eyes were dark with what appeared to be anger and concern. His breathing quickened as he looked me over.

“What blood is yours?” He curtly asked, messily digging into my neat supplies. I tried not to cringe as he did. With his mask off it was a lot easier to understand him because I could read his lips and vaguely hear him.

I looked down at my red-stained hands. I curled them up and down. The blood was sticky and cracked. Suddenly, an assault of memories flooded my mind.

The hospital wing after the mass shooting—healing a man being tortured over and over for information—my mom's bloody nose—my bloody legs dripping into my sneakers. Breathing became sharp and rushed. 

A hand gently caressed my face, “Hey, hey. It’s just me. It’s Jason,” his voice and touch was gentle. Easing my mind back to reality. When I was no longer trapped in my own mind I realized that Jason was once again cleaning up my hands. He washed the blood off of them until you never knew I had stabbed a man in the neck. 

His hands were warm and calloused and thorough. For a moment he just held my hands in his. His thumb traced small circles on the inside of my wrist causing goosebumps to rise on my skin. Slowly, he trailed upward to my forearm, and an angry sigh left his mouth. Wordlessly, he cleaned and tended my cut. Wordlessly, he wiped the blood and brain matter from my face and neck. Wordlessly, he took off my stained hoodie and disgusting scrubs. Until I was left in my white undershirt and tight black shorts. 

His eyes were hard and staring just above the curve of my breast. Right where my heart rapidly beat. Right where the Black Mask had made a small but deep cut. And then his eyes trailed upward. Toward my bruised neck, and burned cheek. 

“I should have killed him slower,” he growled out. I hadn’t realized how close Jason was to me. Somehow he had gotten between my legs and mere inches away from my face. My cheeks heated, as I took in the oddly delicate features of this harsh man. He had a very light sprinkling of freckles across his nose. His eyes were more of a stormy gray than blue. His eyelashes were so pretty and long I wanted to slap him. And his Cupid’s bow was sharp and defined which highlighted his full lips. I swallowed roughly. 

“Thank you, for—for helping me,” I whispered, afraid that if I spoke any louder I might scare him off. 

Jason scoffed angrily, “You shouldn’t have been in that position in the first place. I’m going to beat Bruce with an inch of his life—”

Gently, I gripped Jason’s hand, “I chose this. Don’t be mad at Bruce. If anything, be mad at me. I should have been more prepared. I should have brought a weapon.” 

Jason leaned his forehead in so it was just barely touching mine. I involuntarily held my breath. 

His hands reached for mine as he traced along my old burns. “We are bad for you.” He whispered. 

“You guys have given me a part of myself that I thought was lost forever. How could that ever be bad?” I lifted a hand hesitantly up toward his cheek. Jason leaned in like he was desperate for the contact. For comfort. For me. 

“I can’t get you out of my head. I want—” Jason’s soft words were interrupted by the screeching of my car followed by the Batmobile. Jason practically jumped five feet away from me. I frowned at the lack of contact.

Well, Bruce is well enough to drive, that’s good. Pretty fucking shit timing though, Batboy. 

I lowered myself from the table. I tried hiding my wince, but I saw Jason tense. He reached forward steadying me, before scolding, “Do not push yourself for them.” 

Dick came out of my car with a large dimpled smile and a huge ugly shinner. Bruce looked pale but better. I motioned for them to sit where I was just perched. Ready to finish healing them.

Bruce was simple. I just had to re-patch him up. Finish what I started. Dick was a bit more complicated. Homie had the snot beat out of him. One of the bright sides was that he wasn't shot. 

When I was done, both Dick and Bruce politely excused themselves to their rooms. 

I slowly cleaned up my workstation. Jason silently helped me. His mouth was a firm line. 

My hands shook with exhaustion when I was done. My eyes went in and out of focus. My head was pounding from the exertion and the physical trauma. I covered my bad ear, trying to will the ringing to stop. Jason noticed and gently pulled me to him. Before I knew it he had his arm under my knees and back, and he cradled me into the elevator.

I snorted at him, “I’m fine, Jason, really. Don’t go through the trouble of carrying me.”

“I think I want to rip that word out of your vocabulary,” he snapped. “Let me just carry you. Don’t make it a big deal.”

My heart sank, and I whispered, “Okay. I’m sorry.”

“While I’m at it, I’ll take that one too,” he said, pressing the button number 4. Our floor number. “Don’t lie to me and tell me you’re fine. Don’t ever apologize for existing.” He huffed and paused, “Please.”

I nodded, not sure what to say. The elevator ride went by shockingly quickly. He walked past his room and into mine. He set me down on my bed gently. He pulled my blankets back and covered me. I got deja vu as he did it. I smiled under my covers. 

Jason pulled an armchair towards my bed. He angled it so he could see both the door and the windows. I looked at him, confused. 

He shrugged at me, “I didn’t like seeing a man have a gun in your mouth. I actually don’t think I saw it for more than two seconds before everything went red.”

“So, that explains why you’re watching me in my armchair because…”

Hashbrown barrelled toward Jason. She rubbed her body on his feet demanding attention. Jason swiftly picked her up and held her on his lap. She seemed to soothe him as he pet her. The tension in his body decreased, instead of ramrod straight he leaned back. Almost comfortable, but not quiet. 

“Because I need to make sure that you’re okay,” he said after a few minutes went by. 

“Why?” I asked, needing an answer. 

“I don’t like it when you’re hurt. Or in danger,” he answered. 

“Why?” I demanded, again. 

He roughly raked a hand through his messy hair, “I don’t know why. I just feel like… like you’re mine to protect. You put all your energy into healing other people. You deserve someone to care if you’re healthy and safe.” 

I think only two people in the world have ever cared about that. Sam and my mom. His words were like wildfire to my mind and body. 

Warmth bloomed in my chest, followed by boldness, “Do you have to protect me from all the way over there? Or can you protect me in my bed?”

Taglist: @soundsfunbutno @killxz @morpheus-girl @redhood414 @bungunz @conicoroahre @greenyofthegreens @taytaylala12 @theroyalmanatee @nym-0-s @sarahskywalker-amadala @bonesbonesetc @dreaming-of-the-reality @gone-batty-fics @thescarletcryptid @bakugosgf2005 @irregular-child @vythika96 @greenyofthegreens @mythicalmo @eccentricarabella-blog @princessbl0ss0m @ghostindeath @whirlwind2005 @the-lights-are-loud @00hellohello00 @tfygcdy @theblindhag @murkyponds @midnightecko @crookedmakerfury @cosmicqueenieb @deans-spinster-witch @princessbl0ss0m

If I missed anyone please let me know <3

Author's note: Thank you all so much for your kind words, comments, messages, and interactions!! They inspire me to keep writing. I hope you guys continue to enjoy the story, thank you again <3

Hashbrown Cam!

[supernaturalscribe67]

Unwarranted

Words: 4,983

POV: 3rd Person

Pairing: Team Free Will x Male!ExAngel!Reader [Platonic]

Warning(s): Mention of past sexual harassment, sexual harassment, angst, hurt/comfort

Summary: Humans are interesting and complex creatures, and ever since the reader lost his grace, he had to learn to become one. Luckily, he had his friends by his side to help him through his trials and tribulations. What happens when he's face-to-face with a human experience he never anticipated, and how will Team Free Will help him resolve his issue?

Request:

Hi! I hope you're having a good day/night. This request is very specific. I would write it myself, but im awful at it. I hope you don't mind, lol.

May you do (ex?)Angel!Male!reader x TFW (platonic obv). You can make it where Reader joined after the angels fell and was castiels past battle partner and was good friends with him, or something else if you'd like.

Reader lost his grace after a rogue angel took it from him. He has no idea how to be human and struggles a lot, even with the help of Dean, Sam, and Castiel. Anyways, to get to the point- Reader picked a pretty attractive vessel, so both men and women hit on him a lot when the group goes to diners or bars and most of the time Reader wanders off to explore since hes never really gone to earth before so the boys never notice, and he doesn't know how to react or what to do when they start to get touchy, only that he doesn't feel comfortable with it at all, but he thinks if he tells them to stop its a form of being rude, so he never says so. the person usually stops when they realize Reader isn't having the type of reaction they were looking for.

When Reader mentioned this to the boys randomly, they realized that Reader didn't know that it was bad that they were touching him and explained what it was, what to say, and do when that happens and comforts him when he finally cries as a human.

Anonymous

A/N: I am so sorry for going off the grid for a while! Honestly, keeping track of dates and time frames has not been my strong point, especially with everything going on with work. Luckily I'm almost done with another request as well and will have that up by this weekend! I hope this gives the request justice. As always, feedback is very much appreciated!

~ Much Love!

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Humans are interesting and complex creatures, each with their own thoughts, wants, needs, and interests. When (Y/N) first joined Castiel on Earth two years prior, he was amazed by the array of personalities and emotions. No two people are alike, but, due to the vast differences, many of them can be categorized under three distinct titles; good, neutral, and evil.

The good people are the ones who are selfless. They take the first step when it comes to helping others. They aren’t perfect but they are as close as anyone can be. Only a small amount of people fit into the category of ‘good’, most of which find themselves canonized into sainthood years after death. Many strive to be classified under such a prestige title, but few make the cut. However, just because someone isn’t worthy of the title, doesn’t make them a bad person automatically. 

Neutral individuals are what most would describe as your ‘average Joe’. It is the category in which most people lie. They are neither good nor bad. The choices they make in life come with a mix of positive and negative intentions. An example of a neutral person could be someone’s English teacher, who partakes in volunteer work after hours, or your boss, who had just been caught cheating on his wife with Jim from the mailroom. Just because people do bad things, doesn’t make them inherently evil. 

True evil is much darker. An individual who would put a demon to shame with their actions, thoughts, and desires. One with little regard for the well-being of others. Ones that hurt others purely for self-gratification. To gain an advantage. Those are the ones that end up in prison or a seat in Congress. They’re usually manipulative, have a silver tongue placed in their mouth at birth, and can easily coerce those who are weak and gullible. 

(Y/N) had met his fair share of individuals from all three categories throughout his time on Earth, supernatural entities excluded. At first, with his angelic powers, he was able to make an assumption of others based solely on their thoughts. Ever since the fall, however, his judgments on people had become rather askew. He was able to get the full experience of being human - not able to truly tell what one was thinking during various interactions - and he would be lying if he said he enjoyed it. Rather, the lack of understanding when it came to others caused him to develop a sense of paranoia. The last thing he wanted was for others to assume the worst of him. Even as an angel, he would treat the worst of the worst with as much kindness as he could muster.

Little did he know that the paranoia would lead to his downfall and a deep realization of how evil some people could be.

The first couple of weeks after his grace was stolen, (Y/N) was lost. He knew next to nothing about maintaining the necessary needs to keep his body alive. It was all tedious in his eyes. Why did humans need to eat, drink, and go to the bathroom so much throughout the day? Who possibly had the time to do so? Do they have to thread their needs into their schedules for work and school? On top of that, why did humans need to pay for food and water? Were they not necessities? Why would someone need to pay to survive? (Y/N) held a plethora of questions in his mind that still go unanswered. 

Thankfully, Castiel, Sam, and Dean were all there for him, guiding him through the processes necessary to provide for his new form. It took a while for him to get the hang of it - the most overwhelming thing was when he was introduced to a large variety of foods. All the new flavors and textures send his tongue into sensory overdrive. Dean was more than happy to realize, though, that the two of them were rather fond of the same flavor of pie. 

With the loss of his grace came the depletion of his strength. He was no longer invincible to man-made weaponry. Because of this, and since Sam and Dean’s jobs were so physically demanding, they spent weeks in training. Blades, firearms, and hand-to-hand all had their challenges, but (Y/N) was a quick learner, something the brothers respected him highly for. Within a month and a half, he was on the road with them, hopping from case to case. 

Saving people, hunting things, the family business. 

And true it was. The time he had spent with Castiel and the Winchesters was extensive, and there was never a dull moment. Away from the darkness and the monsters that crept in the night, Sam and Dean were playful jokesters. Childish, yet mature when they needed to be. It was noticeable that Castiel had also developed certain aspects of their personalities, as he was more lighthearted than when (Y/N) first met him. As time passed, (Y/N), too, started to display those characteristics. He felt like a member of the team. A real Winchester. For the first time since the fall, he felt at home. 

*~*

(Y/N) had been to a handful of bars since he turned human, before becoming an honorary member of the Winchester family, and there was one fact he could confidently state; he didn’t like them. 

Sure, he met some rather nice people while at said bars, mainly the middle-aged female bartenders who gave off a motherly aura, but with every kind individual he saw, he encountered twice as many assholes. Those were the ones that drunkenly called him slurs even though they knew nothing about him, the ones that shoved him out of the way when they wanted to get to the bar, or the ones that continuously pushed their limits on his personal boundaries.

Unfortunately, he had experienced the latter more than he would have liked.

He couldn’t quite describe how he felt when he had those interactions. When a bar patron would press themselves against his back or chest, touch his ass or thighs, or even leave kisses on his neck, shoulders, cheeks, and lips. It was decided, though, that he was extremely uncomfortable. Why would he possibly feel that way? He assumed that touches and kisses were how humans expressed affection towards one another. So, why didn’t he like it? He chalked it up to not being used to that form of affection or affection in general. Surely, he was bound to get comfortable with it eventually. 

After-hunt celebrations were common with the Winchesters. Either the day of or the night after, they would all gather at the nearest watering hole, grab a drink or two, and then head back to the motel. Sometimes, Sam or Dean would abandon the group to retreat with a romantic partner, but (Y/N) would always stick with Castiel and the remaining brother. He never had any interest in human relations. It was a new, complex situation outside of learning to be human. He was just getting used to that concept, and he had no desire to learn about other aspects of humanity yet. 

Classy Cline’s sat on the edge of a small town in Washington state. While its name suggested an upscale establishment, the place was, in all actuality, a shit hole. The booths and barstools were ripped at every corner of the seam, the tables were chipped and scuffed, and it appeared as if the employees hadn’t swept or mopped the floor in well over a decade. They had all been to nasty bars in the past, but Classy Cline’s took the cake.

“I don’t even wanna drink from this glass,” Sam mumbled as he eyed the pint glass Dean had placed in front of him. 

While aesthetics weren’t on Cline’s side, the beer looked more than appetizing. An amber/gold liquid, topped with a beautiful, white head. Any beer enthusiast would foam at the mouth at the sight. The glasses, contrary to the floors, looked spotless. If they had put as much effort into cleaning the building as they did disinfecting the glassware, lines would be out the door, and Cline would be a millionaire.

“Oh, don’t be a baby, Sammy,” Dean rolled his eyes and gave a beer to (Y/N) and Castiel. “It may not live up to its name, but the beer sure looks good.”

“Thank you, Dean,” (Y/N) and Castiel spoke in unison.

“I’ll never get used to that,” Dean shook his head and sat down next to his brother. “It’s as if you two are constantly in sync.”

(Y/N) furrowed his brows as he cupped the glass with one hand, condensation coating his palm. “We’re an American boy band from the 90’s?” He cocked his head to the side.

Dean froze, the glass inches from his lips as he shot him a questioning glance. “While I’m proud of you for remembering what I taught you about music, that’s not what I meant. ‘In sync’. Two separate words.”

“Oh…”

“(Y/N) and I have worked together for well over a century. We’re bound to have some similarities.” Castiel explained.

Dean shrugged. “I guess you’re right,” he took a sip of his beer.

(Y/N) noted Sam’s hesitancy to drink, so he took a moment to examine the liquid himself. It looked clean, safe, and better than many other beers he had drank before. He took a swig and was pleasantly surprised to find that it was still very cold. A layer of foam coated his upper lip. Sam picked up his glass and examined the bottom.

“Will you stop that?” Dean scolded. “The beer is fine, Sam, you’re not going to die. You look like an idiot.”

“Well, excuse me for being skeptical, Dean! Have you seen the state of this place? I believe I have a right to be concerned.” Sam hissed.

“The beer is very pleasant, Sam,” (Y/N) smiled as he took another long swig, downing half the pint. 

Sam slowly nodded. “I can tell,” he mumbled and glanced down at his glass. He hesitated for a moment before he took a careful sip, letting the liquid rest against his tastebuds before he swallowed. He hummed and raised his brows. “Wow, that’s pretty good.”

“See? Your big brother knows a thing or two about beer,” Dean smiled.

A bartender waltzed into view - an overworked twenty-something with her dirty blonde hair tossed back into a bun that she should have fixed hours ago. She sat a rocks glass in front of (Y/N), the ice emanating a clink inside as it shifted. He stared and intensely studied the dark liquid.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I didn’t order this,” he looked up at her.

The bartender sighed and gestured towards the bar. “The man over there sent it,” she grumbled, her voice unenthusiastic and laced with exhaustion. She didn’t give him any time to further investigate before she swiveled through the booths and tables, vanishing into the crowd of regulars. 

The group looked at the drink with curiosity before their attention shifted to the bar. Only one of the patrons had their gaze glued to the hunters. He looked to be in his mid-forties, with short, salt-and-pepper hair decorating the top of his head and a beard to match. Age lines crinkled the corners of his mouth and eyes. A leather jacket covered his broad shoulders and the jeans he wore left little to the imagination. When (Y/N)’s eyes connected with the stranger’s, the man smirked and winked. (Y/N) continued to stare at him, lips slightly parted, until he felt an elbow in his side. His gaze shot over to the eldest Winchester.

“Give him a smile and a wave. That shows him you appreciate it.” Dean said through a smile.

“Oh,” (Y/N) raised his brows and looked back at the man, whose eyes were still on him. He gave a small smile, followed by a timid wave.

The stranger grinned before he turned his head away. (Y/N) looked down and studied the glass once more. The liquid was a slightly darker shade than the beer, but more transparent. When he picked it up, the liquid sloshed inside. The smell was strong but slightly sweet. Whiskey. A sip of it caused him to cringe. It was Fireball. Not the best choice to send a stranger across the bar, but to each their own. 

Dean leaned in close to him, his cheeky grin still prominent. “You should go over and talk to him.”

“Why?”

“He just gave you a drink. He wants to talk to you.”

(Y/N) gave Dean a confused stare. “How does that-”

“It doesn’t matter.” Dean waved him off. “He’s flirting with you by sending over the drink! You should go flirt back.”

(Y/N) looked from the drink to Dean, from Dean to the stranger. He was a very attractive man, but (Y/N) was far from interested in flirtation. However, if Dean thought he should, what could go wrong? He trusted Dean’s advice.

Hesitantly, (Y/N) stood, the glass of Fireball in hand, and made his way over to the bar where the gentleman sat. He took the empty barstool next to him. The man looked at him out of the corner of his eye and smirked.

“Good to see you up close,” he said and turned his body to face (Y/N). “You’re even cuter than I thought. Chris,” he held out his hand.

This is a handshake. This is how strangers greet each other.

(Y/n) grasped Chris’ hand and shook it gently. He noticed how firm his grip was. “My name is (Y/N),” he said.

Chris smirked. “A beautiful name for a beautiful man,” he pulled his hand away and casually placed it on (Y/N)’s knee. “I’ve been coming here for, close to, fifteen years, and I have never seen anyone as good-looking as yourself. You new around here?”

(Y/N)’s eyes shifted to Chris’ hand before they returned to his face. “My friends and I are on a trip.” He replied. It’s a classic lie most hunters use and one that was taught to him early on in his training.

“Ah, and how long will you be staying?”

“I believe this is the last night we’re here.”

“You’re not sure?”

“My friend, Dean, drives us. He knows more about our itinerary than I do.”

“A ‘go with the flow’ kind of man. I like it.”

As they continued to talk, Chris’ hand ventured further up (Y/N)’s thigh, squeezing the flesh on his leg from time to time. Simple conversation switched to flirting rather quickly, the majority of it one-sided. What started as cheesy ‘first date’ type questions turned risque in the blink of an eye. At first, they were easy questions that (Y/N) could answer without an issue, but once they started to get dirty, his mind turned blank. Half the vocabulary Chris used was new to him. While he knew all of them revolved around sex, he couldn’t quite pinpoint the definition, regardless of the context clues provided. 

He could feel the familiar pit in his stomach as the questions droned on. The sensation that he couldn’t quite give a title to yet. At least, not an accurate one. ‘Uncomfortable’ seemed as if it fit too loosely for the circumstance. It felt as if there were a swarm of bees buzzing around in his stomach, moving from his gut to his chest periodically.

Chris leaned in close to (Y/N)’s ear, his warm, whiskey-filled breath caressing his cheek. (Y/N)’s eyes were cast down. He had lost the ability to maintain constant eye contact when the mood shifted, and the bees began their attack.

“What do you say we get out of here?” Chris asked. “I could show you a thing or two.”

When Chris’s hand landed on (Y/N)’s crotch, every muscle in his body was on fire as they clenched tightly. (Y/N)’s eyes went wide and his body froze. The bees didn’t just fly, they infiltrated his entire nervous system. He felt an overwhelming need to retreat like one would in a battle they knew they couldn’t win. But he wasn’t in a battle. It was a simple conversation. Why did he feel like that?

Chris pressed small kisses on the back of (Y/N)’s ear. (Y/N) inhaled and turned his head slightly, the need to get away from Chris strong. Chris immediately stopped and opened his eyes. He paused for a moment before he pulled away and sighed.

“I see you’re not as interested as I thought you were,” he gave a tight smile, pulled out his wallet, and slammed a twenty on the bar. “Thanks for nothing.” He grumbled before he got up and stormed away.

With his presence gone, (Y/N) felt a sense of peace and ease wash over him. The beating of his heart inside his chest began to lessen and return to a normal pace. With a glance down at his hand, he noticed the way his fingertips trembled. That hadn’t been the first time someone else had gotten so bold with touching him, and he was certain it wouldn’t be the last. When was that feeling going to go away?

After a minute or so passed, he was able to compose himself enough to stand from the barstool and wander back to the table where Sam, Dean, and Castiel sat. He joined them without a word, not wanting to interrupt their conversation, and grabbed his lukewarm beer. There was no chance he was going to drink anymore that night. Not with his stomach as uneasy as it was.

“Hey, you okay?” Sam asked.

“I’m fine,” (Y/N) spoke.

“You sure?” Dean chimed in. “Guy looked like he had a stick up his ass when he left.

(Y/N) shrugged. “I believe he just wanted to leave.” He tried to keep his voice as straight as possible. He could tell his nerves hadn’t fully recovered.

Dean shook his head. “Well, his loss.”

*~*

One thing (Y/N) adored about being human was the way showers made him feel after a hunt. He never quite realized how tense his muscles could get until the hot water caressed his limbs. It was as if all the adrenaline was washed from his body. It made him feel refreshed. Renewed.

That night, he got the last shower. The water wasn’t as hot as other showers he had taken, but he would accept warm any day. By the time he left the bathroom, clad in a pair of night pants and a loose t-shirt courtesy of the youngest Winchester, Sam, Dean, and Castiel were dressed to leave. Another post-hunt celebration. Dean glanced at (Y/N).

“You’re not coming?” He asked. 

(Y/N) shook his head and walked over to his bed. “Not tonight, no.”

“Why not? You never miss out on a bar.”

(Y/N) settled into the bed, and sat up with his legs crossed. “I notice that humans get very physical when they are at bars. I’m not quite used to it yet, so I think I’m going to wait until I’m ready.”

“Ready for what, (Y/N)?” Castiel asked.

“The touching.”

The three of them shared a concerned look before Sam waved his hand dramatically, eyes closed tightly. 

“Wait,” he reached a hand up and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What do you mean ‘get used to’?”

“Well, I’m not accustomed to the way humans express attraction. I surely wasn’t aware that there was as much physical contact involved. So, I figured it was something I would be more comfortable with as time went on. I mean, I never knew strangers were so interested in touching each other’s genitalia.”

They all furrowed their brows, confusion etched perfectly on their faces, and slowly made their way over to the bed. Sam sat at the edge next to (Y/N), Dean stood next to him, and Castiel sat on the opposite side of the bed from Sam.

“(Y/N),” Sam started, his voice soft and steady, the same voice he used when talking to the families of victims. “Have you…given these people permission to touch you?”

(Y/N) cocked his head to the side, slightly taken aback by the question, as it was something he had never even considered before. Had he permitted them to touch him? He could not recall. Then again, he didn’t remember them asking. He took a moment to think back on the times he had been in bars since he became human.

“No,” he answered. “The first couple of times it happened, I pulled away from the touch, as it made me rather uncomfortable, but they would just get upset. One man told me it was wrong to ‘lead him on’ and then deny his touch. After that, I let people touch me. I would like a break from it for tonight.”

“(Y/N), other humans need permission to touch you,” Castiel said.

“But they get upset-”

“To Hell with them being upset,” Dean interjected. “No one has a right to touch you, especially if you don’t want them to.”

“Is that why that one guy left the last bar we went to left? You wouldn’t let him touch you?” Sam asked.

(Y/N) could feel his cheeks and neck heat up. He suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to hide his face. Was it because of the answer to the question? Was it because of the question itself? He couldn’t quite pinpoint the origin of the sense of dread, but he knew it wasn’t going to vanish anytime soon.

He shook his head, eyes cast down to his hands. “I let him touch me. I assume it was because I didn’t respond when he asked me to leave with him.”

Dean’s jaw clenched as he ran a hand down his face. “Son of a bitch,” he growled and began to lightly pace between the motel beds.

Sam slowly shook his head. “(Y/N), those people are horrible. You should never touch someone without consent, and you should never let anyone touch you if you are uncomfortable with it. Do you understand?” His eyes were laced with sympathy.

(Y/N) went to say something, but he felt a lump in his throat prevent him from doing so. Instead, he just gave a short, brief nod.

“I can only imagine how tough it was to become human. To lose all that power. You may not have the power to heal us anymore or read others’ minds, but you are still your own person, (Y/N). You have the power to tell people to keep their hands off of you. You have the power to let yourself have a good time at these places. It doesn’t matter what other people think about your choices. In the end, all that matters is you, okay?”

“Okay,” he replied, his voice shaky and barely above a whisper. 

(Y/N) sniffled, and he felt as if his head was pulsing. Tears sprung to the corner of his eyes and cascaded down his cheeks. For the first time since he lost his grace, he cried. It wasn’t loud and dramatic, but, rather, soft.

It explained so much. How he hated the way bar patrons touched him, the sinking feeling when they got too close, the panic that coursed through his veins. That was no flaw on his part, but a flaw on the strangers. What they did was wrong, not him.

And that validation broke him.

(Y/N) immediately knew he hated crying. His chest ached as the silent sobs racked his body. In a way, it was relieving, though. It felt as if all of the pent-up discomfort was being released. As if he was reborn. Still, it hurt worse than it did comfort him.

Castiel was the first to respond as he placed a gentle hand against (Y/N)’s back, Sam, being the closest, engulfed him in a near bone-shattering embrace, and Dean halted his paces to kneel beside the bed, one of his hands landing on the small of his back. (Y/N) closed his eyes tight and leaned his head against Sam’s chest. Their touch made him feel safe. This was a good touch. This was how touch should make him feel. He shouldn’t be forced to feel uncomfortable to please others, because, in reality, some people aren’t going to like him, even if the reasons are far from valid. It was a harsh reality, but as long as he had his family by his side, he didn’t mind if the whole world hated him.

After a few quiet minutes, filled with silent cries, the tears stopped. (Y/N)’s eyes were bright red and puffy, and he occasionally sniffled.

“Hey,” Dean said, his voice soothing.

(Y/N) lifted his head from Sam’s chest and glanced over at him. Sam pulled back a bit so the embrace wasn’t nearly as intense.

“If you’re ever in a situation like that, where some douchebag won’t keep his hands off of you, all you have to do is say the word and we’ll kick his ass for you.”

“What if it’s a woman?” He asked quietly.

Dean opened his mouth to give a quick answer but shut it as he thought about it. “Then we will have Cas bring Jody or Charlie in to kick her ass. The point is; fuck everyone else.”

(Y/N) furrowed his brows. “Does that not mean to have intercourse with them?”

Dean sighed. “Sam, Cas, a little help?”

“What Dean is trying to say,” Castiel chimed in. “Is that you should not prioritize other peoples’ desires over your comfort. You are more important than a stranger. They are not important, you are, and what other people think doesn’t matter. If someone does not listen to you when you deny them, we will do everything in our power to protect you. We still care about you, and want what’s best for you.”

Dean pressed his lips together and nodded. “Couldn’t have said it better myself. That’s exactly what I meant.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but couldn’t hold back his smirk. “Look, we know how tough it is to be human. Dean and I have been dealing with this our whole lives. We know that there are setbacks that come with the package, but there are also a ton of fun experiences. We don’t want some jackass to ruin it for you. Cas said it better than Dean or I could. We care about you and want to do everything we can to look out for you. You deserve it.”

The tears reappeared, but they weren’t tears of sadness. They were tears of joy. Of relief. As if his heart would burst with all the love and care his friends will it with. (Y/N) took a moment to wrap his arms around each of them in an individual hug to show his appreciation. 

“Thank you. I am very grateful to have friends like you.” He smiled warmly.

Dean smiled before he cleared his throat and waved him off. “Alright, enough of the chick-flick crap,” he said as he stood from his spot on the floor, a groan escaping his throat that he tried not to make too noticeable. “What do you say we skip the bar tonight, order some takeout, and watch a movie? I hear Roadhouse is on at seven.”

(Y/N) cocked his head to the side. “What’s Roadhouse?”

Dean froze, wide-eyed. His jaw dropped in shock. “‘What’s Roadhouse’?” He repeated in disbelief. “Action movie? Patrick Swayze? Sam Elliott? Kelly Lumch? Julie Michaels? Keith David!?” With each name, his voice got louder.

“Are those actors?”

“I-” Dean threw his hands up as he turned his back on him and began to pace around the room once more.

(Y/N) flashed a worried look at Castiel, then Sam. Sam shook his head and chuckled. 

“Dean’s just being dramatic,” he whispered, which caused (Y/N) to let out a sigh of relief.

“I am not being dramatic!” Dean retorted before he stopped, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. “This is all my fault. I was so focused on teaching him about good music that movies never crossed my mind. Have you at least seen Indiana Jones?”

“Indiana…as in the state?”

“If it makes you feel any better, (Y/N), I, too, have yet to see Roadhouse or Indiana Jones,” Castiel said.

Dean deadpanned. “I have some work to do. Sam, go get us some food. I need to make a list of movies for them to watch.”

Sam snorted as he stood from his spot on the bed. “Yeah, yeah. Just text me what you guys want.” He mumbled and retrieved his jacket from the back of one of the chairs.

As Sam left to get them food, Dean began to ramble on about movies he determined (Y/N) and Castiel had to watch, most of which were either action or old westerns. He talked with such passion regarding the films that (Y/N) couldn’t help but smile. Dean was right, the opinions of others didn’t matter, especially those whose only goal was to satisfy their selfish desires, disregarding others’ wellbeing. They were foolish, scum, true lions in sheep’s clothing. Those hidden evil beings could make themselves look innocent. (Y/N) didn’t need to please them. Didn’t need to make them happy. He only wanted to make his family happy, just as they did him. For how much they’ve helped him on his treacherous journey into manhood, they deserve it, for they have taught him the most valuable lesson of all;

His worth was priceless.

…

“Hey, are you even listening?”

[false-savior]

EXE-TOBER DAY 7: EXEFY

based on joe’s video, i feel like X would also do a rock paper scissors game with his victims like with his alex kidd vessel, except losing would get you stuck dying forever while winning would free you but at the cost of you losing memory of something important

[sweetbottletops]

The Guy She Was Interested In Wasn't a Guy at All (Ki ni Natteru Hito ga Otoko Janakatta) Drama CD cast interview (more pictures) after they completed the project. Horrible MTL below...

Mitsuki Koga: Mariya Ise Aya Oosawa: Akari Kitō  Joe: Kenjiro Tsuda Narita: Tasuku Hatanaka

Ise (Mitsuki): Actually, on X (formerly Twitter), I was secretly looking forward to reading this manga drawn by Arai. A handsome aura that overflows without Koga's awareness...I was excited as well as there. (Laughter).

No way I will be able to play Koga-san I am grateful!! There's nothing happier than being able to play a character you love. I was allowed to play Koga-san politely and carefully!

Kitō (Aya): It was a large volume of drama CD recording, but I was able to play freely and it was very fun! I was happy to be involved in this work that I had originally read, and I thought again that this work, in which music is greatly involved, is a title that I am very excited to be shaped as a drama CD!

Tsuda (Uncle Joe): It was able to record in a good atmosphere. The comedy part, the serious part, each had tension and relaxation in the air, and it was a fun time.

Hatanaka (Narita): When I participated in this work, of course, I read manga, but I felt that I was really happy that I was able to participate in the drama CD of such a work because I was filled with the wonderfulness, suffering, and regret of liking someone. 　

――Please tell us the impression of the character you played.

Ise: I like the fact that I value the honesty of Koga's favorite things and what I want to do. I also want to live with such a part carefully, so I felt sympathy on my own. It is also wonderful to care for the person in front of you. I think that Koga's coolness is such a way of thinking and behavior. You can see why people around you are supported and loved.

Kitō: It looks like a yang person, a gal, who is the upper class of the school caste, but in fact it is a frowning Western music otaku, and a CD shop Onii-san(?) I thought that it was a child with various faces that there was a cute side that was in love with him. At first I was worried about where to make a role based, but I thought that it was an ordinary girl and tried to play it.

Tsuda: A nice uncle who is active and gentle while making a rock sharp. It is saved that there are such adults who are close to young people. I played it consciously so that I could put out a large vessel that wraps up with the spatula and the light part. He's a nice character.

Hatanaka: Narita-kun, it was very easy to perform. When I was a student, I did not feel that I was used to women to that extent, but is it the lightness of footwork, something like that, there was something that passed, and there was a feeling that I could quickly enter even if I tried to play it with care…! It was so much fun to play! 　

――Ise had a singing part of "Creep" this time. If you have any feelings of singing, points you want to pay attention to and listen to, please tell me.

Ise: It was a test (laughs). The difficulty level was too high. I really wanted to run away (Laughter). But for the work, I decided to be prepared that I had to do my best. Please listen with warm ears…. 　

―― Please give a message to all of your fans.

Ise: I am close to or excited about Koga-san, which is the image of all readers, but I also played Koga-san, which I imagined, carefully and wholeheartedly because I was a reader and a fan for many years. Please, DramaCD 『気になってる人が男じゃなかった 』 also like and enjoy! Thank you very much!

Kitō: 『気になってる人が男じゃなかった』 I was originally a fan reading this work, but it is a very popular work with many people who love reading it even around me, so I think that there are many people who are looking forward to this drama CD! This work that is loved by many people is enjoyed as a voice, and I will be very happy if you love me!

Tsuda: It is a wonderful work where laughter and cuteness are tightly tied and young. I think that people who like rock can enjoy it because there are many legendary rocker songs, and I think that those who do not know rock can enjoy refreshing youth drama.

Hatanaka: It was such a work that makes me think that it is really nice to read and fall in love with people. I hope it becomes a drama CD filled with its goodness! By all means, I hope you can enjoy the original together many times! Thank you very much!!!

――cast everyone, thank you!

[x]

[marshmallow-biscuit-blog]

crackship au turned a year old a few days ago.

@firecurls-27 and I have had these ships/au for a little over a year now!!

So enjoy these doodles of the lil couples :)))

[wth-if]

Humans have made their peace with the supernatural a long time ago.. all of them, except the demons.

Ten years ago Archangel Michael swooped down from the Heavens to give humans a new salvation, a solution to their pest problem, a little thing they called H.E.L.L. - Heaven's Eradication of Lethal Lowborns.

Ever since then the demons have been under control. Until recently -unexpected, right?- after a series of kidnappings conducted by a cult calling themselves The Morningstar's Children. Ever since, H.E.L.L. has been cracking down hard on the lowborns.

And well, Lucifer Morningstar (The President of Hell Themself and Michael's sibling) is having none of that.

In retaliation, she sends you, a demon, to infiltrate H.E.L.L., and take it down.. from the inside!

OR, a celestial sibling rivalry goes a bit too far.

FEATURES (May Change!):

Play as a lowborn/demon! Male, female or nonbinary (including cis/trans options); gay, straight or aro/ace; be the vessel for Lucifer’s revenge against her sibling by.. hunting your own kind? What?

In-depth character customization! Hair color & style, skin color, body type, markings, piercings, etc!

Choose how you got chosen for the job! Are you a demonic assassin or are you just an average joe who happened to be walking by?

Romance one out of four unique romance options! Your demonic co-worker, a demon hunter and TWO archangels (that’s right!)

Cause chaos and shenanigans! Get Michael’s coffee wrong, mess up an investigation and let demons escape H.E.L.L.’s grasp! It’s what you’re here for!

Discover the mystery behind the disappearances, and who's really behind The Morningstar's Children!

Help Lucifer Morningstar win her election against her son Satan, or sabotage it!

Levithan (He/Him): Demonic Overlord, Son of Lucifer, Sin of Envy. You'd expect a guy with that description to be pretty full of himself, but instead he seems pretty tired and over-worked. He's been tasked by Lucifer to infiltrate H.E.L.L. alongside you- why? It's anyone's guess at this point. (Possible Tropes: bickering couple, tired x energetic, tol x smol)

Yavhi Gupta (They/Them): Stubborn, rude and cold-hearted. They've been working for H.E.L.L. since they were able to join, and they're one of the toughest, roughest demon hunters around. They don't joke or play around, they go straight for the kill each time. Unlucky for you then, that you've been assigned to train underneath them for the foreseeable future. (Possible Tropes: enemies to lovers, opposites attract, black cat x golden retriever)

Raquel (She/Her): Fierce, witty and loyal to the end. When her best friend left Heaven, she followed right after. Now, she works as a detective alongside him and they've been hired by an outside source to investigate The Morningstar's Children, as H.E.L.L. can't seem to do anything right, and she'll do anything to find out the truth; even if it means teaming up with a lowborn like you. (Possible Tropes: fwbs to lovers, smart x dumbass)

Gabriel (He/Him): Quiet, yet lethal and dangerous. He left Heaven for a reason, but now works alongside his friend as a detective. He's the brawn of the operation, but just as willing to do anything to get the truth... even if you get the feeling he knows more than it seems. (Male MCs only. Possible Tropes: Mutual pining, star-crossed lovers, quiet x loud)

Lucifer Morningstar (She/They): As the Sin of Greed, she's the father (mother?) of all the other deadly sins, and the current President of Hell- though with reelections soon, and her subjects looking in their son's, Satan's, favor, that might change soon. Which is why they sent you on the quest to take down H.E.L.L., so her rep would get a serious boost. She's conniving, scheming and pantsuit wearing, and will stop at nothing to keep her spot on top. (And I love her.)

Michael (They/Them): The most powerful Archangel of them all, it was obvious that one day, they'd become the humans savior, their saving grace.. uh, not really, but they love the praise. Recently however they've been under fire from the human media after a slip-up resulted in the deaths of six people, but they managed to save grace by capturing and promptly executing a few lowborns connected to The Morningstar's Children. (Which, In Raquel's professional opinion, puts them right at the top of her list of suspects.)

Shae (She/Her): A vampire and the one who hired Raquel and Gabriel after the kidnapping of her son Damien at the hands of The Morningstar's Children.

LINKS :

DEMO POST (TBA) R/O INTROS (TBA)

Asks about the R/Os, the characters or the story in general are always welcomed!

[marshmallow-biscuit-blog]

Joe's the shittiest witch the forcefield will explode <3 I love that you added about Tea being scared of heights, idk if that was intentional or not but yeah that is canon XD ALSO PINECONE LOOK AT HIM (Joe's familiar that Vessel got him kjsdfkjl) These are so cute omfg ;v; ty! I wanna do some soon as well tbh

do you have any other doodles of your creatures of the night au I think it’s really cute

Witch!Joe and Beast!Tea belong to @marshmallow-biscuit-blog

One of my favorite au’s cause it’s literally a forever Halloween-

[jays-bonnie-on-the-side]

𝐋𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐀 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐤 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟓

PAIRING : dean winchester x original female character

STORY SUMMARY : in series masterlist

CHAPTER WARNINGS : age-gap. playful teasing. a bit of angst. protective reader.

A/N : i loveeee this gif! credit to @stormbreakers . don't forget to check out the story masterlist if you missed previous chapters. thanks for the love guys, it never goes unnoticed or unappreciated!

Maricela's POV

"Abaddon? Seriously?" Dean asks rhetorically, staring angrily at Sam as we walk to the Impala. "Thought you Kentucky Fried that meat suit."

"I did, Dean." Sam counters, his hands raised slightly, trying to resist an argument in public.

"You—Well, then, how did she get it back?" He questioned before thanking the officer who raised the crime tape to let us off the scene. "And why's she playing G. I. Joe?"

Sam answers back, just as annoyed as his brother. "No clue. Why don't you ask her when we find her?"

"Oh, I will. Then I'm gonna chop her freakin' head off—again."

We enter the car, and then it hits me. Abaddon. I swear I've heard that name before.

"Wait—isn't she the Knight of Hell who tried killing you and your grandfather a few months ago?" I ask, making sure we're talking about the same monster.

Dean starts the engine, answering, "Yeah."

"I thought you guys chopped her up and scattered her remains. But you just said Sam burned her vessel. I-I'm confused." I confess, unable to put the pieces together.

Having needed a demon to cure, they had reassembled Abaddon's vessel for the final trial. Before they could use her as a test subject, they stepped away to take a phone call, and when they returned, she had escaped. Having previous knowledge of the Devil's Trap bullet, her unattached hands pried it from her skull so she could get away. She used her freedom to track Crowley down, and when she found him at the abandoned church, she attempted to kill him for the throne. Before she could ruin the trial, Sam doused her meat suit in holy oil and set it ablaze. So, the big question remains: How is she back and in her old vessel?

Darkness fell upon us as we drove towards the bunker. Sam's phone began to chime over the music. Leaning over, he reached into his dress pants to retrieve his phone. Dean and I peeked over, wondering who would be calling at this hour. It was none other than our very own prophet.

Sam puts the call on speaker, greeting, "Hey, Kev. What's up?"

"A lady called Dean's other phone. I answered, but she expected to speak to a Winchester. So instead, she told me to give you a message: She has something you might want." He spoke in a rushed and shaky voice.

"Kevin, wait. Wait. Wait. Slow down." says Sam.

Ignoring, he continues, "She gave me these coordinates—44.053051 by -123.127860— and two names, Irv Franklin and Tracy Bell."

I type the numbers into the notes app on my phone before copying and pasting them into Google.

"Irv's a friend. Don't know Tracy." Dean replies.

"All right, the lady said they were hunters and that if you didn't go save them, that she would kill them."

"Yeah, I've heard that song before." The oldest hunter shakes his head, unamused.

"Dean, who was she?"

"She's the bad guy," he admits. "All right, new job. Dig up everything Men of Letters have on Knights of Hell."

"Knights of Hell?" With some hesitation, Kevin complies, "Sure."

"You find a way to kill one—I mean permanently—drop a dime," Dean mentions.

"Thanks, Kevin," Sam says before ending the call.

I zoom in on the digital map before presenting, "The numbers point to a spot on the outskirts of Eugene, Oregon."

"You know this is a trap, right?" Sam stares at his brother.

"Yep," he answers unfazed.

Scoffing, Sammy asks, "And we're just gonna walk right into it?"

"Guns blazing," he says fearlessly before glancing at his little brother. "You with me?"

Sam chuckles before shifting his gaze on the road ahead. "You know it."

Dean looks into the rearview mirror, locking eyes with me. "What about you, sweetheart, you with me?"

A flutter of familiarity tickled my stomach as I softly smiled back at him. He held my gaze until I answered, "Always."

Before arriving, Dean stopped at a gas station so we could change. As we neared the designated coordinates, my heart quickened its pace. No matter how many times I fought alongside the Winchesters—or alone—my anxiety crept in, going over all the things that could go wrong. When we arrived at the gated part of town, I suppressed the negative thoughts and replaced them with positive ones. However, with the history behind this area, it became difficult to sustain a sense of optimism.

A chain fence had enclosed the abandoned buildings. Sam hopped out of the car and pushed open the sliding gate so the Impala could fit through. After Dean parked, Sam and I walked a few yards into the vacant town. Graffiti painted the stone structures while weeds grew on or around the buildings. A large, rusted sign was posted near the fence, reading: DANGER. HAZARDOUS WASTE AREA. AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.

"The hell happened here?" Dean asked, halting beside me with the army green duffle bag in hand as we stared at the crumbling buildings.

"A local chemical plant sprung a leak years ago. They evacuated three square blocks." I answer, visually searching the windows for any sign of life.

"Guess it's still contaminated," Sam adds.

"Wait, so this whole place is poison?" Dean questions uneasily, turning his attention toward Sam and me.

Replying in unison, we answer, "Yeah."

Dean moves his left hand to shield his nether region, attempting to protect his prized appendage against the toxicity lingering in the air. His eyebrows furrowed, undoubtedly debating if this mission was worth risking his manhood. I stifle a giggle, finding his action both cute and silly. Sam judgingly watches his brother's action, staring him up and down.

"That's not gonna help." He remarks before walking away, leading the venture further into town.

"It doesn't hurt," Dean mutters.

My giggle slips this time, attracting the older Winchester's attention. I nudge his arm before nodding in Sam's direction. "C'mon, big boy."

We walk towards the younger Winchester while taking in our surroundings. Birds caw in the distance, disrupting the vicinity's silence. We begin to pass Ozzy O's Diner when we hear a loud thud come from within. Concomitantly, Sam and I reach for our waistbands and take out our loaded guns. With our firearms raised, we ascend the few concrete stairs. Standing before the door, Sam glances in my direction, giving me a look. A look that silently asked if I was ready, to which I nodded with confidence.

Sam kicks the door open before storming inside with me on his tail. The sun's rays poured into the diner, illuminating its light upon two bound individuals. The man and woman were bound together while pieces of cloth muffled their cries for help. Sam and I step aside as he beckons Dean over. He strides in and makes a beeline for the older man.

"Irv? Hey." Dean's gruff voice fills the quiet diner as Sam shuts the door. He pulls Irv's gag down before asking, "Where's Abaddon?"

"Abaddon's been torturing hunters. She's trying to get intel on you boys." The older man confesses breathlessly.

"Do you know why?" Sam inquires.

"I seriously doubt she wants to add you to her Christmas card list. Now, do you want to make with the rescue or what?"

"Right after you take a shot of holy water, huh?" says Dean.

Sam retrieves his flask from the inner pocket of his jacket and approaches the girl. His fingers unscrewed the cap before tugging the cloth she involuntarily fashioned off as I put my gun away. She opens her lips to welcome the demon test. He fountains the holy water into her mouth and cups her chin to catch any excess water. He steps away, waiting to see if she flinched. Instead, she swallowed without hesitation.

"Happy?" She asks rhetorically, looking between Sam and me.

"Sorry about that," Dean utters.

Irv responds with understanding, "Don't worry about it. Last thing you need is us popping black eyes."

Dean reaches in between the hostages and breaks their restraints.

As the girl stands, I ask, "You're Tracy, right?"

She—and just about anyone else over five foot two—towers over me. Her eyes glimpse over my appearance from head to toe before answering my question with a nod.

"I'm Maricela Coca." I introduced myself before the Jolly Green Giant did.

"And I'm Sam Winchester."

Tracy glances at him like she did with me and responds with noticeable disinterest, saying, "Good for you."

Silence fell upon the room, startled at her curt reply. In that unexpected moment, I instinctively whipped my head towards the source of her disdainful glares. My eyes widened with shock, and my mouth hung open in disbelief. I was left dumbfounded. Did she just talk to you like that?! I shouted at Sammy in my head. He meets my eyes and shakes his head, advising me to let it go. My mouth began to twitch, wanting to say something just as crude. Just as I was going to allow my tactless opinions to emit, Irv began to advocate for her.

"She's new. We did a shifter job in Sacramento together. Smart, but got a mouth on her."

She scoffs but doesn't deny his comment. Dean's deep chuckle immediately catches my ear. Giving in to curiosity, I turned and gave him my full attention. His charmingly crooked smile gleamed in the dimly lit diner. All eyes were on Chuckles as we awaited an explanation for his laughter.

"Sounds like our Mari," He jokes, lightening the mood.

My lips part to say a witty remark, but Sam's snicker stops me. Instead, I roll my eyes and decide to move on. "Let's gear up."

Dean picks up the bag of weapons from the floor and moves it onto the countertop. I leave Sammy's side and walk over to his brother. He begins to splay the reminisce of the bag across the dusty surface. Sam perches on the edge of a table near the window to keep an eye on any demons.

"All right, we got Jesus Juice," Dean places his flask of holy water on the counter before continuing the rundown on the weapons he brought. "Guns loaded with Devil's trap bullets. Shoot a demon, put him on lockdown. The Angel Blade works—"

A distant clatter came from outside the diner, capturing everyone's attention. Sam gets up and moves toward the window. He peeks through the dirty blinds, confirming, "They're coming."

"Good," Dean responds confidently.

"They've got assault rifles," Sam mentions, dampening his brother's enthusiasm.

"Okay, less good," I add.

Dean shifts his focus to the weapons, searching for a plan.

"So, what's the play?" Irv asks.

Dean quickly explains a way to distract the demons. After he finished, I helped sweep the contents back into the duffle before he swung the sack over his shoulder. He nods at Sam, gesturing for him to lead everyone to the rear exit. I maneuver to the front of the group and quietly open the door, searching for demons nearby. After ensuring the coast was clear, I raised my hand and waved. We advance to the edge of the building to survey the area. Nada.

Sam's large hand covers my shoulder, offering me comfort. A reassuring nod is shared between us before we shift our gaze back to Irv and Tracy. Capturing their attention, Sam points to another spot where we could discreetly escape. Following their confirmation, we run like hell and wait for Dean. The distant sound of the diner's front door being forcefully opened echoes through our surroundings. Dean walks around the corner where we hid before telling us the other half of his plan.

"All right. We got to flank seal them douche in there, so, uh, Irv, you and me will go left. Sam, you, Mari, and Tracy go right." He orders.

"Okay. Let's move," says Sam as we walk in our assigned direction.

His hands grab our forearms, making sure we stay close. Suddenly, Tracy spins on her heel and pushes him away, maintaining a safe distance between them by extending her arm.

"Don't touch me." She barks.

Sam's eyes widen, surprised by her outburst. My rage causes me to see red, and before I know it, I push her arm off of Sam and use my strength to shove her body away. Tracy stumbles back, nearly bumping into the dumpster behind her, as I step between her and Sam. Her stunned expression flashed into anger before she charged toward me to attack. Meeting her challenge, I take a step forward, but Dean rushes over to intervene just as Sam pulls my body into his and holds me still.

"Whoa," I shrug from their restraints as I stare down the out-of-line female. Dean's eyes linger on my face before turning to Tracy, asking, "What's the problem?"

Tracy inhales before looking at the youngest Winchester and painfully confessing, "My family's dead because of him."

Taken aback, Sam asks, "What?"

"I watched a demon slaughter my parents, and the whole time, it talked about how it was celebrating. How some dumb kid let Lucifer out of his cage."

Tracy glared at Sam with intense hatred after she recounted her story. Although she had acted like an ass, I really couldn't blame her. My eyes shifted toward Sam, only to have my heart break even more as I witnessed grief consume both his mind and body. Before I could move to console him, Dean interjected.

"Okay, all right, we got to move. Uh, girls with me. Irv." He pats Sam on the chest, finishing his sentence with his gesture.

"Okay. Let's go, son." The older man tells Sam.

Sammy lingers behind me, staring sorrowfully at Tracy.

"He's going to be okay," Dean whispers in my ear after his brother follows Irv.

I nod in agreement and try to refrain from thinking of how much Sam was beating himself up. Dean marches away to play line leader as we trail behind. With our guns off safety, we cautiously move along the surrounding buildings. After rounding our last corner, the view of the diner was straight ahead. Dean peeks at the restaurant's entrance before giving further instructions.

"Okay, I think they're still inside. We wait till they come out, and we pick them off one by one." He gives us the side-eye before seizing the opportunity to address the new girl's animosity toward Sam. "Listen, for the record, Sam's not the only guy who thought he was doing right and watched it all go to crap. Okay? That's just part of being—"

"Being a hunter." Tracy finished with acerbity, not understanding the mini-lecture.

"Being human. Look, you want to be pissed off at Sam, that's fine. I get it. But if you want to go after somebody, you make sure that they got black eyes. Got to know who the real monsters are in this world, kid."

She remained silent after he finished his speech, allowing his words to marinate. The quietness was short-lived as gunfire erupted in the distance. On instinct, we raised our guns high and low, scouting every inch the barrel of our guns could see. After the shooting stopped, Dean silently motioned to move forward. Suddenly, Abaddon jumps out of her hiding place and clotheslines Dean, knocking him flat on his back.

My body wanted to run to his aid, but my brain told me to fight. I aim my handgun at Abaddon's head, but before I can pull the trigger, she telekinetically flicks it away. My hand instinctively reaches into my jacket, attempting to retrieve the angel blade I keep stashed away. The pads of my fingertips barely grazed the handle when she waved her hand, sending me into a brick wall. I heard Dean's voice call my name before everything faded to black.

Dean's POV

"Mari!" I call as she flies into the building beside her.

Her head hits the aged bricks, knocking her out cold. Before I could get to her, Tracy fired an entire round into the Knight of Hell. I swiftly move from the path of danger, instinctively protecting my face by covering it with my arms. Once the clip was empty, my eyes instantly scanned Mari's body, checking to see if she was free of any ricochet. Thankfully—other than the injury that she-demon caused—she was okay.

"Nice grouping." Abaddon mocks, lifting her black shirt to reveal her bulletproof vest. "Kelvar. Beats magic bullets. I love the future."

While the demon was distracted, I stealthily grabbed my flask from my jacket. I silently unscrewed the cap before flinging the holy water at the Knight of Hell. She gasped in pain as the purified water burned her vessel. As she stumbled away, I rushed to my feet and reached into my jeans pocket for my keys. After fishing them out, I grasp Tracy's hand and place the keys in it.

"Listen, my car is three blocks over. Go get more bullets, more holy water—get everything."

"No, no, b-but what about you guys?" She stutters.

I push her away, yelling, "Just go! Go! Now!"

Tracy listens to my order and runs away. Immediately, I fall to my knees next to Maricela before scooping her delicate frame up from the dusty ground. Carefully, I release her from my embrace, settling her against the wall. I cast a glance at Abaddon and see her recovering from holy water. Gentle but urgently, I shake her shoulder and leg simultaneously, attempting to wake the Sleeping Beauty. When she doesn't move, my hands anxiously cradle her wounded head. Blood seeped from her hair, running along her temple and onto my hand, painting it red.

"Come on, princess," I beg, worry filling every cell in my body. "Wake up."

Not having enough time to check for a pulse, I force myself away from her, fearing the worst. Protectively, I stand tall in front of Mari and face Abaddon. She brushes her hair out of her face and smiles wickedly. Her red lipstick mirrored the anger that was boiling inside me. My muscles ached with pain as I waited for the right moment to wipe the smirk off of her face.

She briefly glances at Maricela before returning her gaze to me. "Alone at last."

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[catchyhuh]

If you'd be willing to share: Thoughts on Fujiko x Lupin?

WILLING? I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR A MEDICAL EXCUSE TO DO SO now you want thoughts or you want thoughts because i’m passionate about these bitches and their dynamic.

but first thing's first look at this :)

for starters, i’m a firm believer that fujiko does love him. it’s just that, like i’ve said before, she doesn’t express it normally? people love the “aloof cool guy who’s only sort of soft with his love interest” trope all the time and she’s just the girl version of that!! i’m sick of people insisting they want mean girlfriends and then blanching when they see lupin blushing over a woman being sarcastic with him. get it together guys!!

the reality is that if you really look at their relationship throughout the series, lupin is rarely, if ever, actually upset by her frequent betrayal. it’s not… totally manipulation if you know it's coming and seem to expect it every time. clearly, lupin has a particular fondness for people who understand he’s somehow a genius AND stupid as hell and get giddy over expensive rocks. and speaking of jesus christ give jigen a break lupy he’s gonna burst a blood vessel if he finds out you gave fujiko the third insanely valuable cursed artifact of the month. what do you MEAN it’s possessed you. AGAIN??

fujiko just. is weird about things. you know? she just gets silly with it. it makes sense: if you've used affection as nothing more than a tool for most of your life, you'd show sincere love differently. if fujiko didn’t really love lupin, why would she come back to him? why would she turn to him, SINCERELY turn to him, when she could get help from any other pitiful little man trailing her heels? oh god mamo remember mamo? fujiko gave up immortality bc he couldn’t come along with her. she gave up living in her prime forever all because it wouldn’t be the same without her weird little boyfriend. amour!

i can refute any claim a Hater makes. any and all. “fujiko is selfish” points you to the other characters “lupin only likes her for her looks” well it’s obviously a factor i mean look at her. but when doing dirty work for other hot babes has threatened his life even barely he taps out and calls out the woman like "wtf i couldve died" and yet he continues to fawn over fujiko, ESPECIALLY when she does some cool murder shit. he met fujiko’s ancestor in that elusiveness of the fog special or w/e it was called and specifically said “she even has her toughness heart emoji" or some shit! “fujiko is materialistic” points you to the other characters “fujiko wasn’t bothered by the thought of lupin dying in alcatraz connection” neither was goemon they know he fakes this shit all the time. and in fact when they really DID think lupin was dead in missed by a dollar it took fujiko a whole second to break out of her shock that lupin was alive and she immediately laughed and hugged him so tight he almost lost his grip on the steering wheel! “lupin’s just stupid when it comes to her” points you to the other ch

i keep saying i’m gonna make a compilation of all the times they actually express love as the average joe gets it but. not today. nay

[rockmiyabideusexmachina]

2024 Megaman Summer Fanart Contest - Category 2 Results!

Once again, to see the Cat. 1 Talent entries if you've missed them, head to this post.

Are ye scurvy scallywags ready to find out if (Megaman) X marks the spot and which swashbucklers will plunder all of the booty in this category?

Set sail beyond the crashing waves below to find out after the break....

CATEGORY 2 (Humor): Pirates of the Alohahabean

For this category, entrants were tasked with drawing a comical scene where the Mega Man character(s) of their choice, who are pirates or were dressed/acted as pirates, were hunting for treasure. And in turn, ruined a nice day on the beach/in the water for other characters.

For the full gallery of pics, click here. Links to each individual full size image is after each entrant's name as well. All winners will be contacted soon.

1.) @megagundamman [Pic] *$175 USD Prize Winner!

Literally every member of the Mega pirates multiverse is here to battle the sand Octoper OA in this ambitious piece. Time to send him back to Davy Joe's locker! Through the chaos that lifeguard Akane can't control, laughed at the other pirate thieves like Marino and Teisel trying to get away with some beach treasures, the flailing Summer Penguin and Servbot, and poor Ashe as the mermaid figurehead on the Met ship's front.

2.) @pstart [Pic] *$100 USD Prize Winner!

Volnutt may have been originally pranked by Roll pretending to be a sharky Firushudot, but that ominous pirate vessel, the Balcon Gelede, has him spooked even more! Big froggies are scary. Tron and her Servbot look adorable in their actual pirate getups!

3.) Kamicciolo [Pic] $75 USD Prize Winner!

Wily losing his temper with Bass (while Bass gives no F...ortes) will never not illicit a chuckle. But even more amusing is buff Dr. Light wearing a Donald Duck sailor hat. I am mentally hearing his MM8 Elmer Fudd voice replaced by Kingdom Hearts Donald! "When we fin' dat Wiwy, I'll summon dat meteaaw, Sowa!" ______________________________________

And the rest of our humorous entries, in alphabetical order by alias:

AbilityField [Pic]

Meggers claws give him the ability to dig up the sand so fast that Geo's friends have become sand sculptures themselves! Their expressions, while keeping some recognizable features of their design, are amusing!

ArtisIan [Pic]

Dr. Light is not amused that his family grilling time has been interrupted! Pirate Man better watch out for the hot tongs. Had a good laugh at Fliptop getting his top a little flipped and all those beach items/condiments flying out. Along with poor Beat buried upside-down.

@DWN-059 [Pic]

A continuation of sorts from Beebs' contest entry two years ago. Dive Man's urgent rush to take care of the troublesome pirates is making waves! Which is not good news for Sword Man's torso. Love the feel of movement, not just from Dive in the background, but the Kaizock pulling up the beach towel in the foreground as well!

@duskblogsthings [Pic]

The treasure will all be pirate Roll's, because there's not much Rock can do, being all buried himself there. Cute and playful beach scene!

VCampan [Pic]

Tron finally won, and got Volnutt and Roll to join her pirate crew! I guess mechanics need lots of zenny for stuff too. Like adapting a Megabuster to shoot out cannonballs, most likely. Despite being a veteran air pirate, guess Bola can't handle the motion of the ocean, though...

Thank you once more to everyone for your hard work and participation this year! All the art was fantastic!