#witchcraft dates

[magical-reid]

The Fine Line Between Pretending and Falling

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Ravenclaw! Reader

Word Count: 1.6 K

Prompt: 31: “You said you wouldn’t fall in love with me.” “I lied.”

Summary: When Ravenclaw Y/N enlists Fred to be her fake boyfriend to fend off a persistent admirer, she expects an elaborate but ultimately harmless plan. But Fred’s penchant for theatrics—and the growing feelings between them—turn what should have been a simple ruse into something much more complicated.

The problem started with Jeremy Tuttle.

For weeks, you’d tried to politely decline his advances, endure his overly enthusiastic conversations, and sidestep his relentless invitations to study together. It was exhausting, and no amount of subtle rejection seemed to deter him.

Desperate for a solution, you turned to Fred Weasley, a master of mischief and persuasion, to play the role of your fake boyfriend. His easy charm and love for theatrics made him the perfect candidate—or so you thought. What you didn’t realize was how quickly Fred would take the reins, blurring the lines between pretense and reality.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Blurred Lines

What you hadn’t anticipated was how much you’d enjoy Fred’s company. He made you laugh, even when you were determined to stay annoyed with him, and he had a way of noticing things others overlooked.

One evening, as you sat in the library revising for your Charms exam, Fred appeared beside you with a box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans.

“I figured you might need a snack,” he said, sliding the box across the table. “And don’t worry—I picked out the good ones. No earwax, I promise.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, Fred.”

He leaned back in his chair, watching you with a soft grin. “What kind of fake boyfriend would I be if I didn’t?”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickly turned your attention back to your notes, willing the flutter in your chest to settle.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The Great Hall Incident

The plan was going well—or so you thought. By the fourth day, Fred had ramped up his efforts, wrapping his arm around you in the corridors, and occasionally whispering something teasing that made you blush.

But everything came to a head one morning in the Great Hall. You were seated at the Ravenclaw table, buttering toast, when Fred sauntered over from the Gryffindor side, earning curious looks from the other students.

“Good morning, love,” he greeted, dropping a quick kiss on the top of your head before sliding onto the bench beside you.

You blinked at him, startled. “Fred, what are you doing?”

He didn’t answer, instead reaching for a piece of toast from your plate and biting into it with a grin.

The answer came a moment later when you spotted Jeremy entering the hall. Fred must have noticed him first.

Before you could say anything, Fred leaned in and, without warning, kissed you square on the lips.

Gasps rippled through the Great Hall as heads turned toward the spectacle.

Your heart raced as Fred pulled back, his smirk firmly in place. “Just making sure everyone knows you’re taken,” he said, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

Your cheeks burned, but before you could respond, you caught sight of Jeremy standing frozen in the doorway, his face a mixture of shock and embarrassment.

Fred glanced in his direction and gave a small, satisfied nod before returning his attention to you. “Toast’s a bit dry, don’t you think?”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” Fred said, entirely unbothered, “you keep me around.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The Quidditch Sweater

A week later, you found yourself seated in the Ravenclaw stands during a Gryffindor Quidditch match. It was cold, and Fred had insisted you wear his Gryffindor sweater for “authenticity.”

“You know, to really sell the whole boyfriend thing,” he’d said with a wink as he handed it to you that morning.

Now, as you watched the game, his red-and-gold sweater hung loosely on you, the scent of broomstick polish and something distinctly Fred lingering on the fabric. You felt more self-conscious than you ever had, especially when a few of your Ravenclaw friends raised eyebrows at your outfit.

When Fred scored a spectacular goal, he looped around the pitch, searching the stands until his eyes landed on you. His grin widened, and he gave an exaggerated bow in midair before flying off again.

“Ridiculous,” you muttered under your breath, though you couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips.

After Gryffindor’s inevitable victory, Fred made a show of flying over to you, landing just beyond the stands and jogging up the steps with his broom in hand.

“Thought you’d like a personal victory lap,” he teased, pulling you into a quick hug.

The sweater hung even looser now, but as Fred ruffled your hair with an affectionate grin, you realized you didn’t care who noticed anymore.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The Gryffindor Common Room

It was late one evening when you found yourself in the Gryffindor common room, sitting beside Fred on the worn couch near the fire. You weren’t sure how he had talked you into staying, but the warmth of the flames and the easy laughter of the Gryffindors around you made it hard to leave.

George, however, wasn’t letting it go unnoticed.

“You know,” he said, leaning against the arm of a nearby chair, “you don’t need to fool anyone here. We all know the ‘fake boyfriend’ routine is for show.”

Fred raised an eyebrow. “And what makes you think we’re not just this madly in love, dear brother?”

George smirked. “Because you’re sitting here with hearts in your eyes, and she’s the one keeping you grounded. It’s almost nauseating.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

George grinned. “Takes one to know one.”

Fred threw a cushion at his brother, who dodged it with practiced ease, but you couldn’t help but laugh.

“You know, we could always move this to the Ravenclaw common room,” you teased Fred, leaning against his shoulder.

Fred shook his head, feigning horror. “Too quiet. Not enough chaos for my taste.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Hogsmeade

When the next Hogsmeade weekend arrived, Fred didn’t even wait for you to ask—he showed up outside the Ravenclaw tower with his hand already extended.

“Shall we?” he said, grinning.

The walk to the village was filled with light banter, Fred making exaggerated gestures every time a group of students passed by to ensure they noticed the two of you holding hands.

At Honeydukes, he bought your favorite sweets, stuffing the bag into your hands with a mock-serious expression. “A boyfriend’s duty,” he said solemnly.

By the time you reached The Three Broomsticks, the whispers around Hogwarts had reached a fever pitch. You could feel the curious stares as Fred guided you to a table, but you found yourself caring less and less.

When the two of you finally returned to the castle, your cheeks were flushed from the cold—and from Fred’s endless teasing.

“You know,” you said as you climbed the stairs back to your common room, “you’re enjoying this way too much.”

Fred leaned closer, his grin softer than usual. “Maybe I am,” he admitted, his voice quiet.

Your breath hitched, but before you could respond, he kissed your forehead, lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

“Goodnight, love,” he said, leaving you standing there, your heart racing as he disappeared down the corridor.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Not Pretending Anymore

The next evening, as you sat together in the library, Fred broke the comfortable silence between you.

“You know,” he said, his voice unusually serious, “this whole fake boyfriend thing was supposed to be fun. But…”

You glanced at him, your quill hovering over the parchment. “But?”

Fred hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t think I’m pretending anymore.”

His words hit you like a bludger, your heart pounding as you struggled to find the right response.

“Fred��”

He smiled faintly, his usual bravado gone. “I’ve never felt this way before, and it scares me. But the idea of not trying? That scares me even more.”

“You said you wouldn’t fall in love with me,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“I lied.”

Fred’s hand found yours, his fingers brushing against your own before curling around them. “So, what happens now?”

You swallowed, your voice soft but steady. “Now, we stop pretending.”

And as his lips met yours in the quiet of the library, the rest of the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you and the undeniable truth between you.

[bunny-1111]

Mattheo Riddle head canons

physical touch is his love language

hot-tempered

doesn't like to talk about his family or childhood AT ALL

had a pet bat growing up

throws up when he drinks to much, everytime

is an exceptionally good flyer

beater on the Slytherin team obvi

has major beef with the Weasley twins

listens to Chase Atlantic

was never the relationship type before you

he is very skilled at charms

he is always watching, nothing goes unnoticed by Mr Riddle

usually stays at hogwarts for the holidays, hates being home

loves getting you flustered

speaks parseltongue

leaves "accidentally" his hoodies and sweatshirts behind at your dorm so he can see you in them the next day

forces you to pluck his eyebrows

gets pissed off when he doesn't see you enough

if you guys are in seperate classes he'll walk into your class saying dumbledore sent him to collect you, then steal you away from classes for the rest of the day

he gets whatever he wants all he has to do is smile

he doesn't enjoy studying

avoids the library like a plague

you have to clean him up after he gets into fights

wont tolerate anyone saying a single bad thing about you - guy or girl he dgaf

during winter when no one is watching he forces you to make snow angels with him... he would deny it if anyone asks

Part 2 here

[httpvomitello]

would you write a George one where he kisses her after winning the quidditch cup and then he confesses his feelings so they go on a date together after the match?

Own, that's sooo cute! I hope you like it ~ ♡

Victory and Confessions *⁠.⁠✧

Summary: After Gryffindor wins the Quidditch Cup, George is too caught up in the excitement to think twice before kissing you in front of the entire school. When the realization of what he’s done sets in, he figures there’s no going back now—so he confesses his feelings properly and asks you on a date.

george weasley x f!reader

The roar of the crowd was deafening. The red and gold banners waved frantically in the air, students jumping up and down in the stands as the final whistle blew. Gryffindor had won.

You barely had time to process it before you were being dragged from your spot in the stands onto the pitch with the rest of the Gryffindor supporters, everyone surging forward to celebrate. The players had already landed, and Fred and George were hoisting Katie Bell into the air while Angelina and Alicia hugged each other, screaming in excitement.

And then, before you knew what was happening, George turned, spotted you in the crowd, and without hesitation, ran straight to you.

You barely had time to react before he cupped your face and kissed you.

Your breath caught in your throat, the world around you fading into nothing but the feel of his lips on yours. The cheers and whoops from the students blurred into background noise as you melted into the kiss, your hands gripping his robes for support.

When he pulled away, his face was flushed—whether from the adrenaline of the match or the kiss, you weren’t sure. His eyes widened slightly, as if he had just realized what he had done.

The crowd erupted into even louder cheers.

Fred let out a loud whistle. “Oi, Georgie! Finally got the guts, did you?”

George blinked, looking between you and the sea of students watching with smirks and knowing grins. Then, he laughed, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Guess there’s no hiding it now, huh?” he said, still breathless from the match.

Your heart was racing, your lips tingling from the unexpected kiss. “No, I suppose not,” you replied, cheeks burning.

George exhaled, running a hand through his already messy hair. “Right. Well, might as well make it official.” His gaze locked onto yours, suddenly serious despite the chaos around you. “I really like you, Y/N. Have for ages. And now that I’ve gone and snogged you in front of half the school, I reckon it’s only fair to ask—will you go on a date with me?”

You stared at him, taking in the hopeful glint in his eyes, the slight nervousness in his posture, and the undeniable warmth in his voice. Then, a slow smile spread across your face.

“I’d love to.”

His grin was immediate, bright and triumphant, rivaling the excitement of the Quidditch win itself. “Brilliant. How about tomorrow, then? After we celebrate our glorious victory, of course.”

You laughed, still a little dazed but thrilled nonetheless. “Sounds perfect.”

Fred clapped George on the back. “Merlin’s beard, it’s about time! Thought I was gonna have to lock you two in a broom closet.”

George rolled his eyes, slipping his arm around your waist as the Gryffindors continued their celebration around you.

Victory had never tasted so sweet.

The next day, after the celebratory feast and a much-needed night of rest, George met you outside the castle, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Ready for the best date of your life?”

You raised an amused brow. “That’s a bold claim.”

He grinned. “I’m a bold guy.”

He led you down to Hogsmeade, taking you to Honeydukes first—because, as he put it, “Every good date starts with chocolate.” After stuffing your pockets with sweets, he took you on a leisurely walk through the village, pointing out all the places he and Fred had pulled their best pranks.

At Zonko’s, he insisted on buying you a Nose-Biting Teacup (“For when you’re bored in class.”). At The Three Broomsticks, he got you both Butterbeers and raised his mug in a toast. “To unexpected Quidditch kisses and very patient girlfriends.”

You nearly choked on your drink. “Girlfriend?”

He smirked. “Well, I figured if you’re willing to be seen in public with me after yesterday, I might as well make it official.”

You rolled your eyes fondly but couldn’t stop the smile spreading across your face. “You’re impossible.”

“But charmingly so.”

You shook your head, laughing. “Alright, fine. You can call me your girlfriend.”

George beamed. “Best Quidditch win ever.”

[tarot-dreams]

[mo0ns-and-stars]

Saw something like this on tiktok the other day and can we make a tinder but for ppl in the maurauders fandom? I feel like that would solve all my dating issues, like I don't care about what you work but wich marauder do you kin? What is your favorite ship? Your favourite moment in canon? Are we looking for a Wolfstar Jegulus or Jily kind of relationship?

[multi-writer-personal-blog]

Just bought Hogwarts Legacy (Love the series, hate the real life Rita Skeeter and 0 support for her)

And only one thing to say

In this household we support…

The handsome and supportive Slytherin brunette and their crazy chaotic cursebreaker partner

[savingsallow]

[POV:] You're her first love, and on a date.

[witchescollection]

literally why is dating so hard... where are the polyamorous pagans??? i know they exist!!

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

[hedwig221b]

I’m going through withdrawals of your writing. If you knew how often I go back to your work on ao3. You’d probably have me committed. Please tell me you have no plans to stop writing sterek anytime soon.

BETTER! I'M POSTING A NEW FIC THIS FRIDAY

lmfao, babe, if you get committed, we're sharing a padded room; barking session is at 3 p.m., howling is at midnight

I know you suffer, but that's so nice to hear 💗 to be missed is to be loved, and I love y'all back a thousand times

I have so many ideas, like, the list goes on and new ones come in every 5 to 7 business days. I'm not leaving stereks and that's a threat 🔪

[magical-reid]

Dancing on the Edge

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Slytherin!Reader

Genre: fluff

Content warnings: none?

Word count: 1.1K

Summary: Y/N, a Slytherin with a unique blend of independence and friendships across house lines, finds herself unexpectedly catching Fred Weasley’s attention during a celebratory Gryffindor party. After an eventful and embarrassing night involving too much Butterbeer and Firewhiskey, Fred comforts her while navigating her drunken confusion, ultimately revealing his genuine feelings for her.

She wasn’t like the other Slytherins. A pureblood through and through, she had the poise and privilege her housemates prided themselves on, but she also had an independence of spirit that set her apart. Unlike her peers, she counted Gryffindors Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger among her closest friends.

Of course, that hadn’t stopped Fred and George Weasley from making her the subject of countless pranks during her first five years at Hogwarts. It was Fred in particular who seemed to delight in getting under her skin, though Y/N often found herself biting back laughter instead of indignation. There was something about Fred’s roguish grin and the twinkle in his eye that made her heart skip just a little too quickly for her liking.

Now in her sixth year, Y/N was determined to avoid trouble. However, trouble had a way of finding her—especially when it involved the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

The Gryffindor common room was alight with celebration. After a grueling Quidditch match, Gryffindor had been crowned the school champions, and no one was more jubilant than the Weasley twins. Fred and George stood on a makeshift podium near the fireplace, leading the room in a raucous cheer.

Y/N, who had slipped into the party at Ginny’s insistence, found herself perched awkwardly on the armrest of a squashy chair. She clapped along half-heartedly as the team passed around the Quidditch Cup. She hadn’t planned on staying long—she wasn’t even sure she belonged there—but Ginny had handed her a Butterbeer the moment she walked in, and then another, and another.

“Loosen up, Y/N!” Ginny laughed, tugging her into the throng of dancing students.

The butterbeer was stronger than she expected. Or maybe it was the Firewhiskey someone had slipped into the drinks. Whatever it was, her usual composure was unraveling, and before long, she was swept up in the energy of the party.

Fred had been watching her from across the room.

He wasn’t sure when he’d started noticing her in a way that wasn’t entirely platonic, but it had been gnawing at him for months. Maybe it was the way she tossed her hair over her shoulder when she was annoyed with him. Or the way she could outwit him in their sparring matches of sarcasm.

But tonight, she wasn’t the sharp-tongued Slytherin who kept him on his toes. She was… carefree. Radiant. She danced with abandon, her green eyes sparkling under the flickering firelight.

“She’s having a good time,” George said, appearing at his side.

Fred rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the insight, mate.”

Somewhere along the way, she ended up on a table. She wasn’t sure how it happened, and frankly, she didn’t care. All she knew was that the music was infectious, the cheering of the crowd was thrilling, and the world felt weightless and exhilarating.

“Y/N, get down from there!” Hermione hissed from the sidelines, but Y/N only laughed and twirled.

Fred froze as he saw her climb onto the table. His pulse quickened as she started to sway to the music, her movements wild and uncoordinated.

“Oh no,” he muttered.

The chandelier above the table rattled as she reached up to mimic a dramatic dance pose, her fingers grazing the crystals.

“Y/N, watch out!” Ginny called, but it was too late. She lost her balance, her head hitting the chandelier before she tumbled off the table.

Fred reacted instinctively. He dashed forward, catching her in his arms just as she fell.

The room erupted in laughter and applause, but Fred’s heart was pounding. He looked down at Y/N, who was giggling uncontrollably.

“You’ve had enough for one night,” Fred said firmly, but his voice was gentler than he intended.

“Oh, George,” she slurred, blinking up at him. “You’re so cute. Don’t tell Fred I said that, though. He’d never let me live it down.”

Fred’s stomach flipped. She thought he was George.

“Right,” he said, trying to mask his disappointment. “Let’s get you somewhere quiet.”

Fred carried her up the stairs to the boys’ dormitory, navigating the curious looks of his housemates. He set Y/N down gently on his bed, draping a blanket over her.

She smiled up at him, her cheeks flushed. “You’re such a good friend, George,” she murmured, her words slurring. “But don’t tell Fred. He’s mean to me. Even though he’s really handsome. And funny.”

Fred felt his face heat up. Was she serious? Did she actually think he was George?

“Don’t worry,” he said softly. “I won’t tell Fred.”

She smiled contentedly, her eyes fluttering closed.

Fred watched her for a moment, his emotions a tangled mess. He brushed a strand of brown hair from her face before turning to leave.

The morning sunlight streamed through the dormitory windows, pulling Y/N from a restless sleep. Her head throbbed, and her memories of the night before were hazy at best.

She sat up slowly, wincing as the events of the party began to trickle back into her mind.

“Oh no,” she groaned, burying her face in her hands.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

Her head snapped up. Fred was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed and a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Fred?” she said, her voice rising an octave.

“The one and only,” he said, pushing off the frame and walking toward her.

Y/N’s heart sank. If Fred was here, then…

“Oh Merlin,” she muttered. “I thought you were George.”

Fred chuckled. “Yeah, I gathered that.”

Her cheeks burned. “What did I—what did you—?”

“Well, you called me cute,” Fred said, grinning. “And apparently, I’m handsome and funny. Though you didn’t want Fred—me—to know that. Bit of a mixed message, don’t you think?”

She groaned, pulling the blanket over her head. “Please tell me this is a nightmare.”

Fred gently tugged the blanket away, his expression softening. “It’s not a nightmare, love. And for what it’s worth, I think you’re pretty great too.”

She froze, her eyes searching his face. “You’re not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?”

Fred shook his head. “No tricks. No pranks. I mean it.”

A small smile tugged at her lips. “Well, in that case… maybe last night wasn’t a total disaster.”

Fred grinned. “That’s the spirit. Though, for the record, you might want to avoid dancing on tables in the future.”

“Noted,” Y/N said, laughing despite herself.

As Fred sat down beside her, she felt a warmth settle in her chest. Maybe Gryffindors and Slytherins weren’t so different after all.

[loverslantern]

The Hunter and the Witch~ Dean Winchester x f!reader

Description: The infamous “Hook Man” seems to terrorize a small college town in Iowa, leading these hunters to take care of it.

Warning: Cannon violence, slight description of a corpse, guns, ghosts, flirting 🤭, sitting on lap, slight fake dating, mentions of sexual activity, creepy college boy for like 2 seconds

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @okayiamkassandra @fablesrose @ada--44

A/N: B/N = brothers name. Yes i haven’t forgotten that reader has a brother i just never had an excuse to bring him up. Anyways his lil convo with reader is based on one i had with my brother, i figured y/n is basically based on me from how i react to things and my speaking mannerisms so i might as well base her brother off my own. (hope you enjoy)

Word count: Around 7K

Hook Man

(Master list, Previous Ch., Next Ch)

The spring breeze rustles my hair as I diligently sip on the chai latte in front of me, the small outdoor cafe we sat at bringing me some much needed peace after a hectic last hunt.

Deans next to me, his arm around my chair practically bringing us closer even as his brother stands at a payphone on the phone with the FBI.

Suddenly my phone rings, the familiar yet annoying buzz ringing in my sweater pocket. Dean looks at me with a raised eyebrow. I shrug at him, I have no idea why or who would be calling me. I fumble the phone out of my pocket looking at the name that was printed on the screen of my flip phone, ‘B/N :D’ sliding across the small screen.

“Oh! It’s my brother!” I smile at Dean. He smiles at me back beneath the cup he brought to his lips, he pulls it away from him “Say ‘Hi’ for us” he requests. Both boys have kind of always been close with my brother, especially Dean who was closer to him in age.

I scoot my seat back, getting up from the white metal chair and walking away slightly, the opposite way in which Sam stood. I flip my phone open with a satisfying click, answering the phone “Hi B/N!” I answer.

“Hey! How are you?” He asks me, his voice sweet and smiley as he speaks. “Busy and tired”, I answer, “What about you?”

“Oh you know, tired also…but I haven’t heard from you in a couple of months. Like at all, you could have texted you know” He lectures and I know he’s more disappointed in me then angry, he’s always been scared that we would become distant considering we lived in different states and that I wasn’t the best at communicating first.

“I’m sorry” I sigh, disappointed in myself too, “I’ve been hunting.”

“All this time? Alone?!” he shoots back without missing a beat.

“No! no no. I don’t do long hunting trips alone… I’m, uh, well Dean came to me and said he needed my help an-“ I explain getting cut off by my brother, “And you can’t say no” He laughs.

“Yeah” I exhale, laughing along with him, “They say hi by the way.”

“Say hi for me too and that if anything happens to you I will personally track them down and remove their orga-“

“Okay okay! I get it yup!… You know they’d never let anything happen to me” I explain, even though under the concealer I wore there were bruises still healing from the shapeshifter hunt. (I don’t blame either one of the boys for what happened.)

“Yeah well I love you and miss you and I wish you’d call more especially if ur out hunting, I need to know you’re safe.” He tells me.

“I love you too, I promise I will call you at least twice a week for updates.” I smile.

“You better, anyways I wish I could talk longer but I’m sitting in the parking lot of my job and have to go in.” He explains. “Alright, bye bye love you!” I finished. “Love you too” he says before hanging up.

I pocket my phone twirling around with a smile on my face. Sam’s back at the table now talking to his brother and by the scowl on his face I'd say his call hadn’t gone well. I walk back over to my seat, Dean's arm still around the chair, “What did I miss?” I ask as I sink down into the chair.

“Dads not in the FBI’s Missing Persons Data Bank and Dean found a possible new hunt for us” Sam brings me up to speed, looking disappointed.

“Here check it out” Dean turns the laptop towards me scrolling up to the beginning of the article, “Ankeny, Iowa. It’s only about a hundred miles from here.”

I read through the article quickly, years of having to read as well as just for fun making me a fast reader. A key point sticking out to me, ‘The mutilated body was found near the victim’s car, parked on 9 Mile Road.’

“I think it might not be anything. One freaked out witness who didn’t see anything? Doesn’t mean it’s the Invisible Man.” Sam points out as I finish reading. “And I think it’s worth checking out, Dad would” Dean counters, giving his brother a pointed look.

“I mean emotions can affect the liability of an eyewitness. However, the fact that the body was suspended from a bridge right over the car in presumably a matter of minutes, considering the time of death and the arrival at the scene, without the witness seeing a thing- like at all is a little bazaar. It’s probably worth checking out.” I ramble out.

“Ha! See” Dean smirks.

The Impala comes to a stop in front of a fraternity house, a big white townhouse, where the victim Rich used to live. It seems like an army of men are outside working on all sorts of cars, was this some sort of bonding thing?

I may have gone to college but I never interacted with frats and I certainly have never seen them all working on different cars all together. Is this normal? Is this what guys do?

We get out of the car immediately getting the attention of the guys working, all their eyes pinned to us.

“Nice wheels.” Dean starts, gaining weird looks from the younger men, “We’re your fraternity brothers. From Ohio. We’re new in town. Transfers. Looking for a place to stay.” He grins. One of the boys nods slowly at him, his gaze then switching to me. He eyed me up and down as if he’s never seen a woman before, despite being in a frat. Maybe that was unfair to say, stereotypes and all that, but it still made my skin crawl and I was suddenly all too aware of the fact that I had chosen to wear a skirt this morning.

The man that looked at me wiped his hands on a dirty rag, “You guys can check it out, but,uh, sorry, no chics allowed here. She’d need to find a sorority spot.” He nods towards me, his eyes a shinny kind of creepy.

“Aw, don’t worry she’s my girlfriend” Dean smirks wrapping his arm around my waist, pulling me closer to his body till my side was pressed right up against his, “Gotta make sure my girl knows which rooms mine” he winks at the man and my face flushes. My heart lurches at the phrase ‘my girl’ even though I knew it was just for a cover- it was a lie and yet it felt so right.

*****

We walked through the frat house which was cleaner than I expected, only a few cups lying around and only a small smell of booze.

Dean's fingers were intertwined with mine to keep up the act of me being his girlfriend, and I didn’t mind one bit. Maybe I'm touch starved.

After one last turn in the house we found someone to talk to which happened to be a shirtless guy with yellow shorts painting his face and body purple. Dean knocks on the door with his free hand while Sam and I share a look of confusion with the purple man in front of us.

“Who are you?” the guy asks, turning his body halfway towards us. “We’re your new roommates”, Dean smiles walking further into the room.

The man holds up his paint can and brushes to Dean, “Do me a favor? Get my back. Big game today.” I try to conceal the horror on my face. Dean smirks pointing to his brother, “He’s the artist. Things he can do with a brush.” Sam takes the brush and can with a total look of mortification on his face as he begins to paint the guys back.

Meanwhile, Dean occupies the worn armchair, effortlessly tugging me towards him. He manspreads in the chair, then practically places me on his right thigh. My legs slip between his spread legs. His grip releases my hand, transferring possession to my exposed thigh, the frigid touch of his ring kindling goosebumps along my skin. Suddenly I'm back to not regretting my choice of a skirt this morning.

I search his face for a tell, but all I find is a cryptic smile. He's not giving anything away, engrossed in a magazine he casually picks up from a nearby table. I swallow hard, attempting to regain mental composure, but the echo of 'my girl' and the weight of his hand disrupt any coherent thought. A fog settles in my mind as butterflies riot in my stomach, leaving me dizzy and utterly consumed.

“So…Murph. Is it true?” Dean starts, most likely getting the name from the magazine he had picked up. “What?” he answers.

“We heard one of the guys around here got killed last week.” Dean leads him.

“Yeah.” Murph sighs.

“What happened?” Sam asks, still painting his back.

“They’re saying some psycho with a knife. Maybe a drifter passing through. Rich was a good guy.” Murph explains.

Dean's hand suddenly flexes on my thigh, squeezing it slightly right as I was about to talk, “R-Rich he was with somebody?” I stumble over my words, my voice seemingly a higher octave as I speak. Either way I only asked to see if my assumption was correct- the eyewitness wasn’t just a witness but a possible victim who got away safe.

“Not just somebody. Lori Sorensen.” Murph laughs a little.

“Who’s Lori Sorensen?” I ask, Dean cutting in right after me to poke fun at his brother, “You missed a spot. Just down there- on the back.” Sam glares at him before getting said spot, Dean grins like crazy.

“Lori’s a freshman. She’s a local. Super hot. And get this…she’s a reverend’s daughter.” Murph smirks

“You wouldn’t happen to know which church, would ya?” Dean asks.

The church looked a little worn on the outside, a clear sign it’s been here for awhile but the inside was beautiful. Cherry colored wood used in the whole inside except the walls which were laid with cobblestone and big stain glass windows depicting certain bible scenes. The sun shone through them illuminating the people sitting in the pews with a light of oranges and reds. Yes it looked like any other church sure, and maybe it was the people here showing the love that they felt for someone who was no longer here that made it so beautiful, whatever it was brought a certain warmth to my heart regardless of the fact that I wasn’t religious.

The steady voice of the reverend flowed through the church, the peaceful atmosphere and his voice was interrupted by the heavy brown door that slammed behind us entering. The whole room fell silent for a beat and people turned towards us, the source of the disruption. With an awkward smile as an apology the sermon continued as usual.

“As a community, and as a family. The loss of a young person is particularly tragic. A life unlived is the saddest of passings.” The reverend begins again as we find a seat towards the back. “So, please, let us pray. For peace, for guidance, and for the power to protect our children.”

An odd feeling of familiarity and sadness fills my veins, my fingers twitch with the countless memories I had of what now seemed like a lifetime ago even if it really couldn’t have been more than ten years. I bow my head in prayer and respect, the act coming naturally to me. But I can’t find it in myself to actually pray, to talk to a god again.

The last time I talked to a god was when my mom died, I thought if I prayed she’d come back or at the very least the hole in my chest wouldn’t be there anymore, that he could take my pain away when I hadn’t wanted to feel that way.

I kept praying. Every night for it to change.

I never got an answer, not a sign, not a peep of comfort.

I don’t remember when I stopped believing… but I do remember praying to a God that would not answer.

****

Outside the church, people stood around talking in small groups and hugging each other before moving on to another person or leaving all together.

A brunette girl in a green and white top speaks with her slightly taller friend, and with a lasting hug their conversation is over. According to the picture Murph had shown us of Rich and Lori posing together, the brunette just had to be her.

We walk up to her, mostly confident in the matching identity, “Are you Lori?” Sam asks in confirmation.

“Yeah.” She nods.

“My name is Sam. This is my brother, Dean. And my friend, Y/N.” Dean waves a little awkwardly and I smile sweetly at the girl in front of us.

“We just transferred here to the university.” Sam explains, Lori nods “ I saw you inside.”

“We don’t wanna bother you. We just heard about what happened and…” Sam trails off eyebrows furrowed. “We wanted to say how sorry we were” Dean finishes his brother's sentence.

Sam clears his throat as if his words were hard to get out, “I kind of know what you’re going through. I-I saw someone..get hurt once. It’s something you don’t forget.” Lori nods sadly, her eyes turned down instead of the previous eye contact.

Suddenly the reverend came over to his daughter, a hand placed on her shoulder, “Dad, um, this is Sam, Dean, and Y/N. They’re new students.” The older man shakes each of our hands. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I must say, that was an inspiring sermon.” Dean smiles, his dimple on display.

“Thank you very much. It’s so nice to find young people who are open to the Lord’s message.” He looks between the three of us.

“I was actually hoping to catch you after the sermon” I begin, my fingers ghost over Dean's hand, “We’re also new to town.” As if understanding my plan to give Sam time to talk to Lori in private Dean intertwined his fingers with mine, continuing my sentence and leading us and the reverend slightly away from his daughter, “And, uh, we were looking for a, um, a church group.”

The boys follow after me as I search through the rows of bookshelves in this large library, “So you believe her?” Dean asks his brother.

“I do.” Sam answers plainly.

“Yeah, I think she’s hot, too.” Dean smiles. I turn my head towards him slowly, giving him a sharp look, “Would you like to say that again” I smile at him. “No ma’am” He puts his hands up in defense and defeat.

“Look, man, there’s something in her eyes. And listen to this: she heard scratching on the roof. Found the bloody body suspended upside down over the car.” Sam continues, ignoring what just happened.

I turn towards the boys behind me swiftly, my skirt swishing against me at my movement, “You think we’re dealing with the Hook Man?”

“Yeah I mean that’s one of the most famous urban legends ever” Dean tries to rationalize.

“Every urban legend has a source. A place where it all began.” Sam replies.

“Yeah, but what about the phantom scratches and the tire punctures and the invisible killer?” Dean asks.

“Well, maybe the Hook Man isn’t a man at all. What if it’s some kind of spirit?”

*****

The nice librarian brings over the last of the heavy boxes we asked for, the number of which I lost count of, “Here you go. Arrest records going back to 1851”, she announces placing the box down. Dean blows some dust off the box immediately coughing. A laugh escapes my lips, “What did you think was going to happen?”

The librarian walks away, Sam catching her to say thanks while Dean and I “bickered.”

He rolls his eyes at me pushing over one of the boxes towards me. I stand up from my seat to see in the box better, I pull out one of the many manila folders sitting back down to start what I know is going to be hours of research.

“So, this is how you both spent four good years of your life, huh?” Dean asks, eyebrows raised as he leaned back in his chair, a folder in his hand.

“Mhm” I hum, getting too focused to give a proper response.

“Welcome to higher education” Sam sighs as if to get comfortable.

I finished the first folder quickly as there weren't many papers in it to begin with, plus it was about a kidnapping case. I’m glad the guy got caught but it wasn’t what I was looking for, I put the folder to the side before picking up another.

“I’m sure you’re wishing hunting didn’t have so much research to it” I inquired, slightly mumbling.

“Yeah no kidding” Dean huffs

****

Hours later and multiple boxes down, Sam suddenly speaks up, “Hey, check this out. 1862. A preacher named Jacob Karns was arrested for murder. Looks like he was so angry over the red light district in town that one night he killed 13 prostitutes.

Uh, right here, ‘some of the deceased were found in their bed, sheets soaked with blood. Others suspended upside down from the limbs of trees as a warning against sins of the flesh.’”

I leaned over to pick up a paper from the folder he was holding that he must have put to the side, “And apparently the preacher lost his hand in some sort of accident and had it replaced with, get this, a silver hook of all things.”

“Look where all this happened” Sam points.

“9 Mile Road” Dean reads.

“Same place where the frat boy was killed” Sam adds, the pieces connecting.

Dean smirks, “Nice job, Dr. Venkmen. Let’s check it out.”

The pure darkness of the night cloaks us, despite the fact we weren’t wearing all black, the trees hide us and Baby as we exit the car heading towards the rear. Dean opens the trunk and hands both Sam and I a rifle, “Here you go”. I shift the gun in my hand, opening the magazine to make sure every slot is filled with a bullet.

“If it is a spirit, buckshot won’t do much good.” Sam points out, having opened his gun magazine too.

“Yeah, rock salt.” Dean smirks, showing him a bullet cartridge as an example. “Huh. Salt being a spirit deterrent.” Sam mumbles in astonishment.

“Yeah. It won’t kill ‘em. But it’ll slow ‘em down.” Dean adds as he picks up a coil of rope from the trunk.

“You know, your brother has been quite the creator since you’ve been away at college” I acknowledge, hoping it didn’t come off as a backhanded comment. Dean winks at me as he slams the trunk shut, a slight warmth spreading on my cheeks. “No kidding, first the homemade emf and now this, you and Dad think of this?” Sam asks as we walk towards the trees.

“I told you. You don’t have to be a college graduate to be a genius.” Dean's smile fades to a hardened look at the sounds of walking and rustling in the trees.

I come to a full stop, my boots skidding in the soft dirt below me, I raise my gun towards the sound and I realize to anyone else I must look a little silly wearing an outfit that includes a skirt and holding a heavy shotgun.

“Guys!” I whisper-shout at the sight of a figure approaching. Both boys appear on either side of me, Sam with the only other gun standing slightly in front.

“Put the gun down now! Now! Put your hands behind your head.” The figure yells raising his own gun as he approaches us, I curse mentally at the Sheriff. But before he can get too close I whisp the gun out of my hands, transporting it safely back to the trunk, if we were gonna get arrested at least the confiscating of one gun is better than two.

Dean and I are quick to follow the guys instructions as Sam slowly neals down to place the gun, his hands raised in defense. I would have loved to hide his gun too but the sheriff most definitely saw at least one gun, his gun.

“Now get down on your knees. Come on, do it! On your knees!” The Sheriff demands. Slowly I drop to my knees, the boys following, the cold dirt sinking into my exposed knees. Frick.

“Now get down on your bellies. Come on, do it!” He yells next. This is just annoying now I think to myself as I lie down. “He had the gun!” Dean throws his brother under the bus, lying down too.

“Shut it!” He yells, kicking the shot gun out of reach before rounding to the back of us. Figuring out by sound alone, he pockets his gun before patting us down thoroughly. Then he tells us to stand again and get in our car. He will follow behind us to the sheriff station and “there better be no funny business.”

****

Exiting a sheriff's office after being “arrested” is a weird experience, especially when all the cops of sorts are looking at you while whispering to each other.

“Saved your asses! Talked the sheriff down to a fine. Dude, I am Matlock.” Dean slaps his brother on the back.

“But how?” Sam asks, looking annoyed, and truthfully I'm not surprised Dean got us out of this.

“I told him you were a dumbass pledge and that we were hazing you.” Dean shrugs.

“What about the shotgun?” Sam points out.

“I said that you were hunting ghosts and the spirits were repelled by rock salt. You know, typical Hell Week prank. And while you were ‘hunting ghosts’ I told ‘em I was gonna try and get in her pants” He motions towards me, my face flushing red with a mix of embarrassment and anger.

“Hey!” I grumble.

“And he believed you?” Sam questioned in disbelief.

“Well, you look like a dumbass pledge and she looks like an easy girl to play no offense” Dean laughs.

“Hey! Offense taken!” I say this time with actual frustration. I slap his shoulder and I know he was expecting it, old habits die hard, but he lets me hit him. “What?! You look all innocent and you’re wearing a skirt which is perfect for banging in the woods!” He says all ‘matter of factly.���

“Dean!” I yell going to slap his shoulder again this time harder but before I can reach him he clasps my wrist. Naturally I try to go at him with my other hand but seemingly reading my mind he grabs my other wrist with the same hand. Now holding both my wrists in one large hand at his side he quirks his eyebrow, I should be a little mad at him but somehow he’s able to diffuse me in a matter of second and to be fair I can’t decide where to look either his veiny hand or his eyes that seem a shade darker than usual.

Suddenly several police run out of the building and jump into their police cars before speeding away. Dean drops his hold on my wrist, the three of us exchange a look.

The car comes to a stop on the street behind the sorority house, getting out of the car we move closer to the white building. “Why would the Hook Man come here? This is a long way from 9 Mile Road” Sam brings up.

“Maybe it’s about something else.” I answer, pulling pairs of latex gloves from my pocket that I made sure to grab from my bag before leaving the car. I hand each of them a pair, Sam putting them on without question while Dean looks at me weirdly “Getting fingerprints on an active crime scene doesn't seem so smart especially when we were already found at the original crime scene” I explain, he makes of face that reads as ‘fair enough’ before he puts his own pair on.

Two sorority girls come out of a side entrance near us looking like they’ve been crying, we push up against the side of the building, the girls passing us.

“Dude, sorority girls! Think we’ll see a naked pillow fight?” Dean asks, a little too happy turning to see his brother climbing onto the balcony of the house. “Yeah cause these girls would have a pillow fight when someone just got murdered in their house” I answer in disbelief as I climb up after Sam, thank god for wearing shorts under skirts and upper body strength. As I reach the top I swing my legs over the railing straddling it before swinging my other leg around, my boots landing on the white concrete, Dean following quickly behind me.

Sam opens a window that leads into a walk-in closet, Lori’s closet, just a door away from the crime scene.

I crawl in after him, Deans right behind me except ever so not gracefully he knocks into one of the dressers.

“Be quiet” Sam snaps.

“You be quiet!” Dean bites back

“You be quiet!”

“Boys!” I whisper yell, their bickering immediately stopping though they glare at each other from the corner of their eyes.

I walk over the closet door, pulling it open slowly just enough to see a cop in the room writing down something on a notepad before leaving. I count to ten in my head before opening the door fully exposing the bloody mess of a crime scene from the walls to the bed the girl must have died in, considering the blood pool.

“‘Aren’t you glad you didn’t turn on the light?’” Sam reads off the wall, the words written in blood, “That’s right out of the legend.”

“Yeah, that’s classic Hook Man all right.” Dean acknowledges, he taps his nose in regard to the horribly strong metallic smell, “It’s definitely a spirit.”

“I don’t think i’ve ever smelt ozone this strong before” I add, scrunching my nose from the smell, Sam nodding in agreement.

Dean walks over to the window in the room, “Hey, come here. Does that look familiar to you?”

****

Outside again, gloves disposed of, we stare at a cross symbol with little t’s or x’s in each space, a symbol that dangled from the hook-hand the preacher from our research had worn. Also the same symbol Dean had found on the windowsill and written in blood on the wall.

“It’s the same symbol. Seems like it is the spirit of Jacob Karns.” Sam confirms.

“All right, let’s find the dude’s grave, salt and burn the bones, and put him down” Dean announces, going through the usual steps.

Sam reads from the yellowed paper in his hands “After execution, Jacob Karns was laid to rest in an Old North Cemetery. In an unmarked grave.”

“How fun and easy” I remark sarcastically.

“Ok. So we know it’s Jacob Karns. But we still don’t know where he’ll manifest next. Or why” Sam brings up.

“I’ll take a wild guess about why. I think your little friend Lori has something to do with this.” Dean comments, getting into the driver's side of Baby.

The bass pounds loudly, the sound thumping in my chest as the bright neon lights illuminate the drunken atmosphere of college students. I weave through the crowd to get back to the main room where Sam said to meet, having barely enough time to shower, change and take a nap before night fell again and the frat party started.

Suddenly an unfamiliar hand grabs hold of my wrist pulling me back towards them. I looked up at the guy who pulled me back, a blonde spiky haired college student with a red solo cup in hand looked down at me “Where you going, pretty girl?” he asks me his breath reeking of booze. He pulls me closer, my chest nearly flushed with his, I pull my head back at an awkward angle to get away from him as I pull my wrist away. This guy really represented every reason why I rarely, if ever, went to parties as a college student, “Oh you know tryna get back to my boyfriend!” I yell over the music, finally snatching my wrist free at the lie.

“Oh.” His face falls quickly turning around to head to some other girl, I roll my eyes before continuing my way down the hall and the stairs to the foyer.

“There you are!” Sam yells over the music as I approach him, Dean not yet in sight. “Sorry! A college boy stopped me!” I replied.

“Sorry, You alright?” Sam asked with eyebrows scrunched, he apologized to me as if he was the one to do it, ever the sweetheart. I nod my head in response just as Dean approaches, “Man, you’ve been holding out on me. This college thing is awesome!” he says immediately, winking and smiling at a girl that passes by. If this didn’t show the double standard between genders then I don’t know what will.

“This wasn’t really my experience” Sam answers

“Same here!” I add, recalling every ill memory of any parties I did go to.

“Nerds” Dean scuffs.

“Yeah yeah anyways Sam what did you find?” I ask getting back on topic.

“Yeah. It was bugging me, right? So how is the Hook Man tied up with Lori? So I think I came up with something.” Sam answers, unraveling a folded piece of paper he produced from his pocket.

Dean takes the paper reading the important facts, “1932. Clergyman arrested for murder. 1967. Seminarian held in hippie rampage.”

“There’s a pattern here. In both cases, the suspect was a man of religion who openly preached against immorality. And then found himself wanted for killings he claimed were the work of an invisible force. Killings carried out—get this—with a sharp instrument.” Sam explains

“What’s the connection to Lori?” Dean asks, face full of confusion.

“Dean. A man of religion…who openly preaches against immorality…you know Reverend Sorensen.” I clarify, a sudden look of understanding passes over Deans features. “Yeah except maybe this time, instead of saving the whole town, he’s just trying to save his only daughter” Sam adds.

“You think he’s summoning the spirit?” Dean counter.

“Maybe. Or, you know how a poltergeist can haunt a person instead of a place?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, the spirit latches onto the reverend’s repressed emotions, feeds off them, yeah, okay.” Dean mumbles.

“Without the reverend ever even knowing it.”

“Either way, you should keep an eye on Lori tonight.” Dean suggest. Sam nods in agreement, “What about you guys?”

Dean gets distracted by an attractive blonde by the pool table. I roll my eyes “We’ll go find that grave, do some digging and burning.”

****

In the dark of the night Dean and I search the large cemetery, our only light being our flashlights. He looks a little grumpy, probably because he couldn’t hook up with the many eligible bachelorettes.

I ignore his brooding, searching each gravestone for some sort of hint of him being buried here.

“Over here!” Dean calls out from a few feet away, I walk over to him seeing the same cross symbol we’ve been seeing engraved on the headstone. “Nice” I smile, putting my bag down and taking the shovel he handed to me.

I don’t know how much time goes by but we are most likely only a foot deep. Digging up a grave is hard.

“You know I read somewhere that digging up a grave can take up to like six to eight hours to complete.” I huff as I kept digging trying to make conversation.

“What kind of books do you read?” Dean exclaims, giving me a weird look as he places his shovel down to strip down to his T-shirt. I try to ignore how his muscles flex as he lifts his many layers off of him to combat the sweat he was building.

I shrug at his question, answering, “All sorts of things.” The conversation ends there as we keep digging away, the only sounds from us being huffing and grunts.

I start to take my tops off too, going down to the black lace cami I wore as an extra layer. No wonder they use a machine to do this now.

Hours must have passed before one of our shovels hit wood. His coffin. Dean and I speak at the same time our voices overlapping,

“Thank God”

“Hello preacher” Dean breaks open the casket more, the remains of bones lying there.

We climb out of the grave, dirt and sweat sticking to our clothes (so much for showering before). Dean looks especially good, sweat causing his light gray shirt to stick to his skin causing his muscles to be on display, his cheeks flushed from all his hard work. This should really be the last thing on my mind especially as we pour salt and lighter fluid on the corpse.

“Goodbye, preacher.” Dean throws the lit match into the grave, the bones and wood igniting into flames.

Dean and I walked down the hospital hall, Sam having called and told us to come to the hospital no other context other than he was okay and even that had to be pried out of him before he hung up.

I trail behind him as he tries to shove off two cops holding him back, “No, it’s alright, I’m with him. He’s my brother. Hey! Brother!” Although a little embarrassing he did get Sam and the sheriffs attention, “Let ‘em through” the sheriff announces with a careless hand wave.

The two cops haul off, “Thanks” Dean says, fixing his jacket as his brother approaches, “You ok?”

“Yeah.” Sam nods, walking back down the hall where we had come for some privacy.

“What the hell happened?” Dean asks through gritted teeth.

“Hook Man.” Sam answered plainly.

“You saw him?!” I exclaim.

“Damn right. Why didn’t you torch the bones?” Sam counters. “Hey!! We did!” I argue.

“You sure it’s the spirit of Jacob Karns?” Dean points out.

“It sure as hell looked like him. And that’s not all. I don’t think the spirit is latching on to the reverend.” Sam answered.

“Well, yeah, the guy wouldn’t send the Hook Man after himself.” Dean spoke.

“I think it’s latching onto Lori. Last night she found out her father is having an affair with a married woman.” Sam reports.

“So she’s obviously upset about it, the immorality around it, especially from someone who quite literally preaches about that sort of sin” I ramble on, “Wow that’s like the Scarlet Letter.”

“Yeah” Sam laughs at my reference, “And she told me she was raised to believe that if you do something wrong, you get punished.”

“Alright nerds, so she’s conflicted. And the spirit of Preacher Karns is latching on to repress the emotions and maybe he’s doing the punishing for her, huh?” Dean said.

“Right. Rich comes on too strong, Taylor tries to make her into a party girl, Dad has an affair.” Sam lists out.

“Remind me not to piss this girl off. But we burned those bones, buried them in salt, why didn’t that stop him?” Dean noted.

“You must have missed something.” Sam shrugged.

“Oh frick” I gasped at the sudden realization hitting me, “The hook. Except it wasn’t in the coffin.”

“Great, so if we find the hook…”

“We stop the Hook Man.” Dean finishes smiling.

****

Back in the same library as a couple days before we once again spent hours researching.

“Here’s something, I think. Log book, Iowa State Penitentiary”, Dean reads, “Karns, Jacob. Personal affects: disposition thereof.”

“Any mention of the hook?” I ask, looking up from my papers.

“Yeah, maybe” He begins reading again, “Upon execution, all earthly items shall be remanded to the prisoner’s house of worship, St. Barnabas Church.”

“Isn’t that where Lori’s father preaches?” Sam questioned. “Yeah” Dean confirmed, “Maybe that’s why the Hook Man has been haunting reverends and reverends’ daughters for the past 200 years.”

“But how do you miss a bloodstained silver-handled hook? Let alone in a church” I point out.

Dean shrugs, “Check the church records”

An hour or two later I came across the answer to my own question, I nearly knocked my chair over going to where the boys sat placing the clip of the newspaper down, “St. Barnabas donations, 1862, they received a silver-handled hook from the state penitentiary. It got reforged, melted it down into something else.”

“Alright, we can’t take any chances. Anything silver goes in the fire.” Dean said as he slammed the trunk shut, swinging the duffle on his shoulder. “I agree. So, Lori’s still at the hospital. We’ll have to break in.” Sam announces.

“Alright, take your pick.”

“I’ll take the house.” Sam answers pointing in that direction.

“Ok. Then you're with me Y/N” Dean smirks, swinging his arm around my shoulder pushing me closer to his side as we walk off in the other direction. “Hey Sam!” He calls out without halting in his steps, “Stay out of her underwear drawer!”

“You are disgusting” I laugh, poking his side as I speak.

****

“When someone comes back in the morning they are going to think they’ve gone crazy. I mean like imagine walking into a space you know well and suddenly only very specific items are missing like silver.” I comment as I throw more silver candelabras in the fire Dean had started in the basement's old heater thing.

“At this very moment that’s what you're thinking of?” Dean asks, raising an eyebrow at me with a smile. “I mean yeah…” I shrug.

“I got everything that even looked silver” Sam announces, coming down the stairs. “Better safe than sorry” Dean says, moving off to the side so his brother can throw his load of silver in.

Suddenly the floorboards above us creak, clear footsteps. Sam produces a gun from the back of his jeans heading up the stairs first, Dean and I following.

Up the slightly winding stairs and down a short hallway Lori sits in a pew alone. She was the source of the steps.

Dean shoves his brother forward towards the lone girl as he pockets his gun and grabs my hand leading us back down stairs. As we reach the basement I twirl towards him, “You think they’re gonna kiss by the end of all this?”

“If they haven’t already” He scuffs.

A few minutes later the quiet noise of a couple things hitting the ground sang from above us, “I swear if they are screwing upstairs-“ Dean complains looking up annoyed. Another thing hit the floor much harder, “Yeah Dean I don’t think that’s what’s happening” I say, pulling my gun back out Dean already ahead of me rushing up the stairs two steps at a time.

We sweep around each hall with no one in sight, Dean motions for us to split up. I nod, holding my gun tighter in front of me. Suddenly a yell and a gun goes off in the opposite direction from where I walked, I run towards the noise halting at the sight of Lori and Sam covering their faces on the floor up against a wall as Dean stood with his gun raised.

“You guys okay?” I ask lowering my gun slightly.

“Yeah” Sam nods, even as he holds his seemingly injured shoulder.

“Was that the Hook Man?” I question further trying to get caught up.

“I thought we got all the silver.” Sam announces instead, which was an answer enough.

“So did I” Dean adds

“Then why is he still here?” Sam exclaims, getting up from the floor.

“Well, maybe we missed something!” Dean yells looking around.

“Lori, where did you get that chain?” Sam looks at the girl's neck, a cross hanging from the chain.

“My father gave it to me” She answers confused.

“And did your father happen to get it from a church?” I ask very specifically.

“Yeah it was a church heirloom, he gave it to me when I started school.” She explains.

“Is it silver?!” Sam nearly yells.

“Yes!” She yells, Sam ripping the chain from around her neck just as a loud scratching noise echoes through the halls. The Hook Man nowhere in sight but the scratch evidence alone that he’s there, right near Sammy.

“Sam!” Dean yells throwing his rifle at Sam, he catches it throwing the necklace to his brother in turn. Dean runs off with it as Sam shoots at the scratching spot.

He tries to reload his gun just as the Hook Man appears in all his ugly glory, long greasy hair falling from a big black hat accompanied with a dirty black trench coat, he knocks the gun out of his hand. I pull the trigger, the rock salt launching from the gun and into the spirit causing him to disappear. I cock the gun ready to shoot again when he appears, except when he does his arms are raised in the air towards the sky, his hook melting to the floor, the iron dripping as the rest of his body burns into nothing.

“So you’re saying a man with a hook attacked you?” The cop asked me for the fourth time, scribbling something in his notepad. “Yes! Exactly, we fought him off as best as we could and then ran out here.” I explain, for once, truthfully to a cop. He looks like he’s about to say something when he looks back up just past my shoulder, I turn my head to see the sheriff who was talking with Dean make a hand gesture. I turned back to the cop in front of me, “Alrighty then, ma’am have a good one” he tilted his hat towards me walking away.

I walk over to Dean who’s leaning on the outside of Baby, his hands in his pockets, “You think they believe us?” he asked me. “No chance” I laugh, “They’ll probably chop it up to hysteria and crazy college students.”

He scuffs opening the back door for me, I get in smiling at him as he shuts the door and gets in on the driver side. He looks through the side mirror at his brother, sighing, “I wish things could be normal for him.”

“It won’t be for a while” I answer referring to the loss of Jessica. How could anyone move on from a loss like that?

Sam approaches the car getting in wordlessly, “We could stay.” Dean offers, Sam shakes his head no.

Dean sighs again, looking at me through the rear view mirror. I mouth ‘You tried’ to him with a sad smile.

He looks forward again with a slight frown on his face, putting the car in drive we head off.

[slytherin-princess-x]

Slytherinmas day 3- Meeting the parents — Tom riddle

Summary: Tom wants his parents to know he’s serious about you so, why not pretend to be married??

Word count: 768

Title: A Marriage of Convenience

Plot Summary:

As I stood in the mirror, adjusting my tie, the reality of what we were about to do hit me like a cold wave. I had always been known for my ambition and cunning at Hogwarts, but this—this was an unexpected turn of events. Why did I let Y/N convince me that pretending to be married was the best way to introduce her to my parents?

Despite my carefully curated exterior, my heart raced at the thought of facing my parents. They were not just any couple; they were powerful, influential, and had very high expectations for me. Especially regarding my relationships. I had always kept them at arm’s length, never bringing anyone home who could tarnish the Riddle legacy. But here I was, about to thrust Y/N into the very belly of the beast.

As she entered the room, clad in a sleek, black dress that accentuated her every feature, I felt a rush of emotions—admiration, affection, and dread. She exuded warmth and light, contrasting sharply with my cold, calculating demeanor.

“We have to pretend to be married,” I said, trying to keep my tone neutral. “Better get used to it.”

She smiled, a flash of mischief in her eyes. “I can do that. What’s the plan, Mr. Riddle?”

Her playful confidence lessened the burden itching at my heart. I outlined our scheme: We would introduce ourselves as a married couple during dinner at the grand Riddle estate, backed by a story I concocted about a whirlwind romance and a hastily arranged wedding. It was absurd, ludicrous even, but it was our best chance at convincing my parents that I was serious about her.

As we made our way to the estate, the anxiety began to creep back in. Y/N took my hand, her touch grounding me as we approached the imposing front doors. They swung open to reveal my mother, dressed impeccably as always, her sharp eyes scanning us with suspicion.

“Tom! And… Y/N. How lovely to see you both,” she greeted, barely masking her disdain. I could sense that she knew something was off, but as we exchanged pleasantries, Y/N effortlessly slipped into her role. She greeted my mother with a smile and an embrace that almost disarmed her.

Dinner was a spectacle of what my life could become—the Riddle family’s rich history lined the walls, and the atmosphere buzzed with an air of grandeur I often took for granted. Yet, as Y/N and I shared glances and subtle laughter, I found myself lost in her charm, fully engaged in a performance that felt oddly real.

“Tell us more about your life together,” my father inquired, his voice booming across the table.

In a split second, I was struck with the realization that he wouldn’t be satisfied with surface-level banter. Every question came with the intention of peeling back layers, exposing the truth beneath the facade. Y/N saved me with a story about our first encounter—an intricate tale filled with laughter and romance. Ad-libbing flawlessly, she painted a picture of our love that swept through the entire room.

As the night progressed, I found myself mesmerized by how she seamlessly became a part of my life, weaving her way into the fabric of my existence. My parents, enamored (or at least they appeared to be), began to warm up to her, exchanging approving glances. My heart strangely swelled with pride—I had never expected to feel this way, not about anyone, let alone under the guise of a fabricated marriage.

However, amid the feigned joy, a subtle underlying tension simmered within me. This charade couldn’t last; beneath the surface glimmer, I knew my parents were perceptive and liable to dig deeper into our supposed union.

As the evening drew to a close, Y/N and I found ourselves outside in the frosty air. The laughter of my parents faded into the background as the weight of reality set in. “What if they dig deeper?” I asked, turning to her with worry etched across my face.

She smiled, no hint of fear in her demeanor. “Then we adapt. We’re a team, remember?”

Her unwavering belief in us ignited a fire within me. Maybe this was more than just a ruse—maybe this was the beginning of redefining who we were, together. And as I took her hand once more, the night whispered promises of what could be, the warmth of her presence conquering the biting chill of doubt.

And as we made our way back into the estate, ready to face whatever challenge lay ahead, I realized that this pretend marriage could very well lead to something far more profound—and perhaps, genuinely real.

[thattallgoddess]

Swipe right if you’re into dark magic, serpentine companions, and quiet nights with a good Horcrux book. Seeking someone who can appreciate power and subtle charm. Muggles and Gryffindors need not apply. 🖤

Bio:

Ambitious leader with a penchant for the dark arts and an eye for the extraordinary. I'm all about making things happen—whether it's a magical conquest or a quiet evening in with a good book on Horcruxes. Seeking someone who can appreciate power, subtle charm, and the occasional serpentine companion. No Muggles, Mudbloods, or Gryffindors, please.

Favorite Song:

"The Real Slim Serpent" (Originally "The Real Slim Shady" by Eminem)

Hobbies:

- Collecting cursed artifacts and enchanted objects

- Designing elaborate dark spells and hexes

- Brewing potions with sinister effects

- Conducting secretive rituals under the full moon

- Mastering ancient and forbidden magic

- Strategizing grand schemes for world domination

- Enjoying eerie, mystical literature and grimoire

Top Trait:

Fearsome presence with a strategic mind.

Fun Fact:

I once transformed a whole village into statues—just to see what it was like!

First Date:

A clandestine meeting in Knockturn Alley, followed by a private potion-brewing session at my place. We'll cap off the evening with a leisurely interrogation of a captive Auror, just for fun.

Joke:

"Why did the wizard refuse to duel me? Because he knew it would be a *Voldemortifying* experience."

"Why don't I make jokes about Horcruxes? Because they tend to split the audience."

[dreamingofmarauders]

Winning the Bet

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

"Y/n!"

You looked from your essay trying to see who called out to you. To your surprise, you found Fred Weasley, one of your best friends whom you befriended in your first year, dropping into the seat across from yours.

You raised an eyebrow, "Back from detention so fast?"

He scratched the back of his neck, his grin not leaving his face, "Got away from Filchykins quicker today." He beamed back.

You furrowed your brows together, knowing something seemed off but disregarded it nonetheless.

"You know," Fred started saying mischievously, "you still owe me a day from that bet you lost?"

You pursed your lips and internally groaned, recalling the day you lost the bet to Fred regarding the outcome of the first task in the Triwizard Tournament. And Fred's choice for the bet was that, you had to spend a day with him, however he wants.

"What do you want to do? Make me carry your books or something for the day?" You asked, raising an eyebrow, ignoring the slight nervousness that arose in your stomach, since this was Fred Weasley, the prankster.

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together. A smirk was plastered upon his face.

"It is Valentine's Day tomorrow," You froze, "so how about you, me, on a date?"

You gulped.

This can't be happening. Why would he ask me on a date?

You'd fancied Fred Weasley since your fourth year and always knew you and him couldn't be anything more then friends, but now when your small dream seemed to have glimmer of reality in it, you didn't know how to react.

"I- Uh- sure?" You answered more like a question earning a chuckle from the ginger.

"Oh you better be certain about that. Wouldn't want my date standing me up now, would I? Although you don't really have a choice since you owe me the day, so you can't deny the offer."

"No- Yes- I mean- Yeah, we can do something tomorrow..." You trailed off awkwardly. "I-I'll see you later." You told him in a high pitched voice, and hurriedly gathered your belongings before making your way to the stairs that led to the girl's dormitory.

"Meet me here tomorrow at ten!" He called out, amusement lacing his voice.

"Will do!" You squeaked out before running up the stairs. Once up in the dormitory, you slammed the door shut and leaned against it, trying to calm your racing heart. Not too soon after, a smile made it's way onto your face, imagining how the next day may be.

This is just lovely.