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navybrat817 · 1 year

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A Little Push

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky doesn't think he deserves to be with you, but gets a little push to speak up when he sees your ex. Word Count: Over 5.1k Warnings: E.S.C, unprotected (v)aginal (s)ex (wrap it before you tap it), shower (s)ex, jealousy, (f)lirting, insecurities, slight feels (it's me), idiotic Bucky Barnes (he’s a warning, okay?) and an ex. A/N: For @drabblewithfrannybarnes and the gym prompt. I hope you like it! ❤️ Beta read by the wonderful @whisperlullaby, but any and all mistakes are my own. Moodboard by yours truly, banner by the lovely @sgt-seabass (and thank you!), and divider by the amazing @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky wondered some days if he made the right choice by working for S.H.I.E.L.D.. While he didn’t consider himself to be completely standoffish as he recovered, no matter how much Sam tried to joke about that, he still had a difficult time getting along with some of the agents. It wasn’t for lack of trying. He attempted to strike up conversations with a few, but that only led to forced interactions and awkward silences.

He didn’t try much after that.

Maybe they didn’t trust him because of his past, even with the work he had done with the Avengers, even though he had no choice in his past actions. He wouldn’t hold that against them. He was even ready to accept that his circle of friends would remain small, which he didn’t mind.

But he hadn’t expected you to come along.

“You can sit with me if you’d like.”

At first, he thought you were talking to someone else until he realized your gaze was on him. He didn’t recognize you, but he remembered Steve saying that they were getting a transfer from another division. He hoped he wasn’t glaring or giving you an awkward stare, but your beautiful smile threw him for a loop. Unless he was with Steve and the others, no one asked him to sit with them.

But you did.

It took another moment for him to respond, but he took you up on your offer and joined you. He also picked up on the stares right away from the other agents, like they were jealous that he managed to get your attention. He didn’t blame them for wanting it.

Especially since the next smile you gave him made him fall in love a little more.

Maybe love at first sight does exist.

“Do you go by Bucky or James? I can call you Sarge if you want, Sergeant.”

You explained over breakfast that you transferred because you needed a change and were excited to take on some new tasks. He didn’t pick up on any bad intentions as you spoke with him. He found it easy to talk to you. You even got a couple of smiles out of him.

“Thanks for sitting with me. Do you want to have breakfast with me again tomorrow?”

Bucky accepted.

As the two of you grew closer, it became routine to grab breakfast together in the breakroom and chat quietly between reps when you worked out. He even shifted his schedule around so the two of you could exercise together. He looked forward to it.

And naturally on his path to continue making amends, he had to punish himself by thinking he wasn’t good enough for you. Because why would he be? You became an agent to help others and how many had he destroyed? Not by choice, never his choice, but he was still waging that war in his mind and heart.

“Will today finally be the day, Barnes?” Natasha asked as she finished her stretches.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bucky grumbled, his eyes flickering to the clock on the wall as he waited for you to enter the onsite gym.

“Yes, you do and let it be today, please. I can’t have Rogers winning the pool.”

“You’re taking bets, Romanoff?” he asked with a cold stare, as if the Black Widow would cower under his gaze. “Un-fucking-believable.”

He told Steve in confidence that he liked being around you. So, naturally, Sam and Natasha found out not long after that. Steve said more than once that Bucky wouldn’t be breaking any bylaws by dating you. Natasha added in passing that mixing business with pleasure didn’t seem to bother you as you had dated another agent sometime back before your transfer. An amicable breakup from what Sam heard.

For living in a world of spies and soldiers, no one could seem to keep their mouths shut.

“I’ll split the winnings with you,” she offered unapologetically. “You can use it to take her on a date. You do have something nice to wear that isn’t a Henley, right?”

The smartass remark he had on the tip of his tongue died when you walked through the door. Clad in your normal black tank top and leggings with your bag on your shoulder, he found himself staring the way he always did as you glided along the floor with confidence and a smile. A few heads turned to get a glimpse as you walked by.

But you directed your gaze at him.

“Hey, handsome,” you smiled, setting your bag and water down. You didn’t call anyone handsome or any other sort of nickname, except for him.

“Hi?”

Why did that come out as a question?

“Hopeless,” Natasha muttered softly enough for him to hear. “Hey.”

“Hey, Nat. How’s it going?”

His cheeks warmed as you began your stretches and chatted with the redhead, wanting nothing more than to put his hands on your hips and guide your body. He wanted to believe that you liked him enough for him to make a move. Why else would you keep getting breakfast with him?

And why else were you bending over right in front of him in a pair of leggings that looked like a second skin?

Fuck.

“Oh, I have your book in my bag,” you said, looking at him from between your legs. “Thanks for lending it to me.”

Thank fuck I’m upside down from your angle so you don’t see me staring at your ass.

Guilt crept in as he blinked. You were nothing but kind and accepting and here he was oogling over you. Why couldn’t he get it through his head that he was your friend and nothing more?

On the other hand, why couldn’t he get it through his head that he had the right to be happy?

“Don’t mention it,” he said.

“Do you mind spotting me?” you asked once you finished warming up. “Unless you plan to help Nat. I can wait.”

“Oh, no. I’m just here for entertainment,” she joked.

“Thanks,” you smiled, heading to the first machine with Bucky in tow. “Any plans this weekend?” you asked, checking the weight on the bar before you took a seat.

“No plans,” he said, taking his spot at the end of the bench so he could spot you. “Kind of a boring old man.”

“You’re not boring,” you said, winking as you laid back. “But I’ll give you old.”

“Rude,” he smiled as you giggled. “What about you?”

“Nope. No plans,” you answered, giving him a glance as you set your hands on the bar. “No plans at all.”

Are you giving me an opening?

“That’s too bad,” is what he said.

“Yeah, I guess it is,” you said with quiet disappointment.

Sorry, Nat. Not winning the pool today because I’m a fucking idiot.

Bucky kept stealing glances at you as the two of you went through your normal workout routine, unable to figure out how you managed to look beautiful while lifting weights. The fact of the matter is you looked beautiful to him no matter what you did. He fluctuated between his heart stopping and losing his breath whenever he saw you. Especially when you smiled at him.

And he wouldn’t take that leap.

“You know what sounds really nice? A massage,” you said, setting the weight down to grab your water. He focused on your mouth as you brought the bottle to your lips, his fingers flexing as you swallowed once. Twice.

Are you giving me another opening?

Before Bucky could think of a suave reply, the door opened. A tall, dark haired agent he didn’t recognize walked in and did a slow sweep of the gym. From the quick assessment, he gathered that the guy was in shape. He didn’t necessarily walk through like he owned the place, but it bordered on cockiness.

I don’t even know him, so why do I want to punch his face in?

“Wait. Is that Nate?” you asked, your gaze following the man as Natasha silently walked over to join you. “What’s he doing here?”

Nate?

“You know him?” Bucky asked as the guy, Nate apparently, stopped to chat with someone by the mirrors.

“Uh, yeah,” you said, setting your water down and wiping your hands on your thighs as you avoided his gaze. “He’s my ex-boyfriend.”

Ex-boyfriend?

“You two worked in the same division, didn’t you? Before you transferred?” Natasha asked. You nodded in reply. “It didn’t work out with you two, huh?”

“No, but it wasn’t a dramatic breakup or anything. No hard feelings,” you explained.

Bucky remembered Sam saying it was amicable, but he still felt the need to shield you away from your ex. Even if he hadn’t spotted you yet. Maybe he was ignoring you. That couldn’t be it. No one could ignore you.

Did you want him to notice you?

“That’s a shame,” Natasha said, swinging her gaze toward Bucky. “He’s cute.”

Traitor. Thought you were my friend.

“Yeah, he is,” you agreed.

Bucky grabbed the nearest barbell to get his head back into why he was in the gym in the first place, gritting his teeth so hard he was shocked they didn’t crack.

“And there’s this thing he used to do with his tongue that just…” you trailed off with a sigh.

The metal hand gripped the barbell tighter. Nate was an ex, not a current boyfriend. It didn’t work out for a reason.

“You need a moment?” the redhead asked.

“No, I just need to get laid,” you said, glancing at Bucky out of the corner of your eye.

If you need to get laid, I can help you with that. Not Nate or some other prick. They’re not worthy of touching you. Neither am I, but that’s not the fucking point. I can do things with my tongue that’ll make you see stars.

“Bucky?” you asked gently. “Are you okay?”

Far fucking from it.

“Yeah, I’m good. Why?”

You pointed to the barbell in his hands. “Because you just bent that in half.”

Glancing down at his hands, he saw that the stainless steel was indeed bent in half and ignored Natasha’s snort as he tried to fix it. “I was just testing the durability. It’s terrible. A health and safety hazard, really.”

“I didn’t realize your job involved quality assurance,” you teased as he set the piece of equipment down.

“It’s kind of a new hobby,” he said, a weird look crossing his face.

A new hobby? Really?

“Okay, Sarge,” you giggled.

Your laughter seemed to catch Nate’s attention since he immediately looked behind him. A look of realization crossed his features before he smiled. The look on his face made Bucky’s heart drop as he excused himself from the agent he was speaking to and made a beeline toward you. The man may not be your boyfriend anymore, but he still felt something for you.

Either that or the look of longing was easily faked.

“Hey!" Nate smiled as he stopped in front of you, opening his arms as he leaned in. "Good to see you."

“You, too. And you don’t want to do that,” you said, gesturing to yourself. “I’m all sweaty.”

“Never bothered me before,” he said, wrapping his arms around you. He met Bucky’s gaze over your shoulder with the smallest of smirks. “Smell just as good as I remember.”

“Don’t,” Natasha whispered to Bucky when the hug lingered for a few more seconds.

Bucky wasn’t planning on doing anything. Not right now, at least. Committing murder wasn’t on his “to do” list when he woke up today, but he was seconds away from snapping. Would you forgive him if he broke one of Nate’s bones?

“You must be Bucky,” Nate said once he released you.

He had to stop himself from shoving you behind his back. “You must be the ex,” he said, not bothering with any attempt to be friendly. “Why are you here?”

Nate either didn’t intimidate easily or he didn’t care. “You talked about me?” he teased, nudging you with his elbow.

“No, not really,” you smiled a little, raising an eyebrow at Bucky.

He tried to keep a straight face because he wasn’t jealous. He had no reason to be jealous. That certainly wasn’t the reason why his fingers began to twitch. Wasn’t the reason he wanted to knock Nate’s teeth in.

Not at all.

“To anwer your question, I accepted a transfer and was getting a look around the place. I was also here to exercise, but now I think I want to catch up,” he smiled, turning his attention back to you.

“You transferred here?” you asked in disbelief.

You don’t sound thrilled, which is a good sign, right?

“Yeah, I got promoted,” he explained, angling his body to put distance between you and Bucky. “You doing anything after this?”

“Me,” Bucky said before his brain caught up with his mouth.

Maybe you didn't hear me.

Your eyebrows shot up as you leaned around Nate to stare at Bucky. "I'm doing you?" you asked.

Fuck, you heard me.

"Yeah, Barnes. Is she doing you?" Natasha asked without a hint of humor in her tone as Nate glared over his shoulder.

"I mean," he cleared his throat as he tried to think of an excuse, which wasn't easy with three pairs of eyes on him. "She's hanging out with me. Movie night."

"It's not even nighttime," Nate said skeptically.

"It's an early movie night," he grumbled.

"Yeah, an early movie night," you agreed slowly. Bucky almost sighed in relief before you looked at Nate. "But we can catch up later, okay? Think my workout is over for now."

Bucky's mouth fell open when you went to grab your things. "But-"

"Movie night. I know. Thanks for your help," you smiled, but it seemed forced. "I'll see you later, Nat. And Nate."

"Later," Nate said, his gaze lingering as you headed toward the locker room. "She really is something, isn't she?"

"Yeah, she is," Bucky agreed, staring after you, too. He couldn't argue with that.

"It's really nice that you two are friends," Nate smiled, clapping Bucky on the shoulder as his blood boiled. "Enjoy your movie night."

Natasha stepped in front of Bucky before he could go after the prick. "Do not," she said as Nate headed toward another machine.

"I have to do something," Bucky said because he was close to losing it.

"You really want to do something?" she asked, tilting her head toward the locker room. "Go talk to her. Please."

"Fine. I will," Bucky said, stepping around Natasha as he made up his mind.

"I meant when she was done!" she called after him.

Bucky stalked toward the locker room and pushed the double doors open. He took a breath as he walked through the first row of lockers and spotted you sitting on the bench. Was he making a big mistake?

"You lost?" you asked, removing one of your shoes.

He crossed his arms and shook his head as you took off the other shoe. "You didn't do a cool down."

You met his eyes and smiled. "That's why you came in here?"

"Did you know Nate would be here?" he blurted out.

Smooth.

You blinked slowly at him before you removed your socks. "Nope. And why would it matter if I did? He still works for this organization. Besides, we broke up and moved on."

"If he moved on, why was he smiling at you like that?" he accused.

You stood up with a shrug. "Because we get along? He's a friendly guy. That's just how he is."

"I know how guys smile at girls they like," he said. He knew because he smiled at you that way. "He's still into you."

The frown you gave him made him want to kiss it away before you giggled. "He is not into me anymore."

"Are you two going to date again?" he asked, taking two steps forward. You were still out of his reach. "I know I don't have the right to ask, but I have to know."

Because you're not my girl.

“No, you don't," you confirmed, your gaze softening as you shook your head. "But no, I’m not going to date him again. He's my ex for a reason and that's that."

Bucky inhaled and exhaled slowly, able to breathe a little easier.

"Why? Would it bother you if I did? Because if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were jealous. Bending the bar? Your not-so-subtle excuse for me not to hang out with him? Following me in here?"

The words got stuck in his throat as you waited for an answer, an expectant look on your face. Why was it so hard to say that it would bother him? It shouldn't because if that made you happy, he'd respect that.

Was it wrong that he wanted you to be happy with him and not some other guy?

You hung your head for a split second before you turned back to your locker. "Look, are you done grilling me or are you sticking around?" you asked, pulling your top over your head. "Because I have to shower."

"You think I won't follow you and finish this conversation?"

Your bra came off next. He knew that because you tossed the garment at his face and he was too stunned to catch it. It took him a moment to realize that you were facing him again, your breasts on display as you placed your hands on your hips.

A gentleman would have looked away. A good man would have left. But he was something else entirely and he couldn't stop staring at the vision of perfection in front of him.

"You're free to do whatever you want," you said casually as you spun around and shimmied out of your leggings. His eyes followed the curves as your underwear came off next and it took everything in him not to throw you across the bench and fuck you until you screamed his name. "But I told you. I have to shower."

Bucky didn't speak as you grabbed your towel and shower bag. You didn't bother covering up as you sauntered away from him, like being naked around him was a perfectly normal thing. He wanted it to be a normal thing.

Was that an invitation? Should he take it? Or was it a test?

"Fuck it," he mumbled as he kicked off his shoes and stripped, leaving his clothes next to yours as he searched for you again. If you ended up screaming or punching him, he'd accept that punishment and beg your forgiveness later. He let this go on long enough.

He froze when he saw you under the spray of the water, his cock twitching with interest as he watched the droplets slide from your chest to the vee between your legs. You had your eyes closed and he wasn't sure if he should call out to get your attention. He didn't want to frighten you and make you fall.

You gasped when you opened your eyes, but didn't make a move to cover yourself. He imagined this is what some men saw when a siren lured them out to sea. Beauty that they weren't worthy of looking upon, but too far gone to care as the tide swept them away.

"I guess you really want to finish that conversation?" you asked, your gaze dropping from his face to his chest and a bit lower.

Under your gaze, he wasn't afraid of you looking upon his scars. "I was jealous. I am jealous. I hated seeing him touch you," he admitted.

He wanted to replace Nate's touch with his own.

"There's nothing to be jealous of," you said, swallowing as he moved forward.

"Can't help it," he said, not blinking as he moved closer. "You also said I could do whatever I wanted."

"I did," you nodded.

His wide shoulders blocked some of the spray as he stepped into the shower and backed you against the wall. "What if I said I wanted to do you?"

Very fucking eloquent.

"I'd say it's about fucking time since I've been trying to get your attention and it better not be a joke," you said, placing your hands on his shoulders as your gaze went to his chest again.

You actually want me. Fuck.

He grasped your chin and lifted your head. The corner of his mouth twitched like he wanted to smile and his heart raced as his lips ghosted over yours. "You like me? And you want me to fuck you?"

He needed to hear you say it.

"I was hinting for you to ask me out this weekend. I thought it was obvious?" you asked, a small, vulnerable crack in your voice. "I like you, okay? I'm crazy about you. I have been since you sat down and had breakfast with me that first day and I-"

"I'm a fucking idiot," he whispered before his lips met yours.

His head spun as he kissed you unashamedly, unleashing the want he kept pent up for too long and showing no mercy as he swallowed down the moan you let out. His hands slid down to grip your ass, capturing another small sound in his mouth as he slipped his thigh between your legs. Now that it was out in the open, that you wanted him, he couldn't stop himself.

Unless you told him to.

"So, you like me, too?" you breathed out as he pressed kisses along your neck, your nails digging into his shoulders as he thrust his knee against your wetness.

Gonna lose my fucking mind when I'm inside you.

"So much that I wanted to break Nate's fingers. Or his face," he told you, nipping over your pulse, but careful not to leave a mark. "Want you to forget all about that thing he does with his fucking tongue."

"You up for the challenge?" you teased before he growled.

"Up for it?" he asked as he slid a hand up to your chest, his thumb brushing over your nipple as you whimpered for him. "I'm gonna ruin you. That's a fucking promise."

"Do it. Please," you begged, bringing a hand down to brush your fingers along his thick cock. "Ruin me."

You already looked overwhelmed with pleasure, your eyes half lidded and mouth parted as Bucky moved his knee away and brought one of your legs around his hip. He wanted to fall to his knees and get a taste, but he'd claim you later with his tongue. "Not letting you go if I have you," he warned you, helping you stroke him.

"You better not," you said.

Bucky could've put his fingers under the water, but he brought them to his mouth to wet them before he slipped it between your legs. "You'll be mine," he said as he teased your hole.

"I'm already yours," you gasped as he carefully pushed a finger in and thrust slowly.

"Are you?" he asked, brushing his lips against your jaw as he slid a second finger in. "Fuck, you're tight. You may kill me."

"Yes, I'm yours. And I won't kill you, but I'll make you sorry if you don't fuck me," you huffed impatiently.

He chuckled as he removed his fingers, missing the heat of your body. He understood not wanting to wait any longer. He fucked his own hand enough nights as he thought of you to know that it wasn't enough.

"What if someone walks in?" he questioned, sucking his fingers clean with an obscene groan.

I can convince you to take a day off just to eat you out, right?

"I don't care!" you cried, your voice echoing in the stall as he moved the tip of his cock along your folds. You canted your hips as you tried to take him in and, fuck, if that didn't feed his ego. "If you don't fuck me, I swear I'll- AHH!"

He groaned as he slid home in one thrust, his eyes fluttering shut as your velvety walls gripped him like your life depended on it. He took a deep breath so he didn't lose it on the second thrust. Your perfect pussy was his new home. He never wanted to leave.

"Fuck, baby, you're so needy. I think you want everyone to see that you're mine now," he groaned as he caressed your thigh and drove in deep. Your cunt welcomed each slide as he kept your hips still with his other hand. "Gonna fuck you so hard you won't walk for a week. The way I should've from the start."

"Don't hold back," you moaned, clenching lightly around him. "I can take it."

Bucky couldn't remember ever fucking someone so possessively. "Pussy's even better than I imagined. Made for me. Made for me to wreck."

"Fuck, yes," you cried in response. "Touched myself thinking of you fucking me."

"You fucked your perfect pussy thinking of me?" he asked, imagining your fingers deep inside you. "Moaned my name?"

"Yes," you replied, biting your lip. "Fingers aren't as big as you."

Fuck. There's only so much a man can take.

"Look so beautiful taking my cock. Gonna be so good to you," he grunted, his wet hair falling in front of his eyes. If he had to guess, he probably looked unhinged. Feral. Out of control. "Not letting you go."

Instead of looking afraid, you reached up and lightly threaded your fingers through his hair as your leg shook against his hip. "I won't let you."

He kissed you, almost delirious as the rush of pleasure began to take over. You took his hard, fast thrusts, the symphony of your cries and his moans adding to the sound of wet, slapping skin. Later, he'd make love to you, kiss over every square inch of your beautiful body. He'd tell how crazy he is about you. How you made him happy again.

For now, he needed you to scream his name for the whole gym to hear.

"I'm close, Bucky," you panted into his mouth. "Please."

He doubled his efforts, thrusting so hard he lost his breath with each snap of his hips. "If you're really mine, come. Come for me."

You nearly sobbed his name as you quivered around him, a wave of wetness coating his cock as he kept up his pace and fucked you through your orgasm. "Good girl," he praised as you went limp in his hold.

It was a beautiful sight. Your dazed expression, your cunt clenching with a fresh wave of wetness as you whined. A fucking vision.

"I'm gonna…" he warned, his muscles tensing up as he got closer to the edge.

"Come in me," you begged, tightening around him again. "Please, I need it."

Fuck.

Bucky spilled hot and thick inside you with a guttural moan as he let the ecstasy within him explode, relieved that you didn't make him leave the haven of your body. He was careful not to crush you against the wall as he tried to catch his breath and process that what just happened was real. It wasn't a dream or fantasy. He had you in his arms under the warm water.

Could've had this ages ago if I spoke up.

His lips found yours, his kiss softer than the previous ones. He wasn't sure how long he held you like that, but it was everything he dreamt of and everything he denied himself. He wouldn't do that again.

"You okay? Did I hurt you?"

"No," you smiled, your breathing still a bit tagged. "And I think I can still walk."

He growled playfully as he rolled his hips, thankful that he had the strength to keep holding you up. His stamina was good for some things. "Come to movie night and I'll make sure you don't walk. You did say you needed to get laid."

"I did say that," you smiled, nipping his bottom lip. "I'll do a movie night if you take me out on a real date."

"This weekend since neither of us have plans. I'd be a bad boyfriend if I didn't take care of you, right?" he asked, kissing the corner of your mouth to avoid your surprised gaze.

Pushed my luck this far. I can go a bit further.

"It's a date," you smiled.

Bucky smiled back as he reached over to shut the water off, wishing he could blame the warmth for the blush in his cheeks. "Sorry it took me so long to get my head out of my ass."

"I forgive you," you said, your nose nudging his.

"I just wanted you to have better," he whispered.

You deserve the best.

You blinked away the leftover pleasure that lingered in your eyes. "What? You're already the best guy I know, handsome. No one is better than you," you said, the sincerity in your eyes making his heart twist. "I know you'll be the best boyfriend for me."

Thank you.

"Well, as the best boyfriend, I think I owe you one more orgasm before we go," he smirked, his hands roaming your body. "If you're up for it."

"I'll take whatever you give me," you said before you smirked back. "But maybe I should thank Nate since he's the one who got your head out of your ass."

"Don't you fucking dare," he said, kissing you breathless before you could say his name again.

Bucky was your boyfriend now and the only name he wanted to tumble from your beautiful lips was his own. He'd do whatever he could to make that happen. And be the man you deserve.

Natasha watched from the corner of the gym as you and Bucky emerged from the locker room minutes later. You had stars in your eyes and Bucky looked over the moon. Your legs wobbled slightly and the soldier easily slid an arm around your waist to steady you and walk you out. He even threw Nate a smirk and a wink when he got a glimpse of the two of you.

The redhead messaged the group chat for the bet once the two of you were out of sight. "Locker room. I won."

"What? I was so close!" Steve messaged back.

"Cheater!" Sam sent. "I know you got her ex transferred here. Don't deny it."

"I did not get him transferred. I just knew and didn't tell them he'd be here today. I expect my payment at dinner tonight."

The redhead put her phone away as she tried not to smile. Bucky just needed a push and she wasn't afraid to play a little dirty. But she'd keep her word and split the winnings.

The two of you deserved a nice date, after all.

Oh, Bucky. Whatever will we do with you? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

#navybrat writes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x female reader #sebastian stan x you #beefy!bucky barnes

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daughterofcain-67 · 2 months

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𝔰𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔱𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔪𝔞𝔤𝔦𝔠

(Dean Winchester x Female Reader)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: It’s the month of love and you were already over the idea of couples and relationships, especially since your last relationship turned out to be a disaster. Due to the guilt you felt over the breakup you find yourself hesitant to open up to the idea that you may be in love with a certain hunter you shared a home with in the Bunker. But when a case dealing with witches causes you to question certain things, it’s up to you to figure out your feelings for Dean and find out if they were truly genuine unlike your last mistake.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: This is my very first smut and it will be at the end of the case. It’s just something fluffy since Valentine’s Day is around the corner. Minors DNI, no matter how low-quality the content may be. If you don’t like this kind of content then politely skip this oneshot…Cannon level violence, fingering, love making, Dean being the sweetest man in existence. I hope you all enjoy~

It was already February and you dreaded Valentine’s Day which was coming up rather quickly. Tomorrow, actually. Everyone around you was so hyper focused on romantic relationships, one night stands, and you knew you would be single yet again.

Sam would be going off with Eileen and they had plans to go see some sort of show then go to dinner and spend the night in a hotel room. Adorable plans, yeah, but you still didn’t see the hype when they could do that on any random weekend. Then there was Jody meeting up with some man that her two girls set her up with because they wanted her to get out more. Dean you were positive would be out for some one-night stand to feed into his libido. You, however, you’d likely be spending the night in the bunker alone.

It was by choice, really. Ever since you broke up with your last boyfriend, you didn’t want to take the chance of going out again. You’d rather stay single for eternity than for anyone to get hurt in the event a relationship didn’t work out.

Your ex was named James, and he was the sweetest guy. He treated you well, respected you, even spoiled you every once in a while. You both had many fun times together but something just didn’t sit right with you, you didn’t see yourself spending your life with him. You didn’t see a marriage with him. When you broke the news, he took it a little hard but he respected your decision.

There was no drama and you were lucky it wasn’t an ugly break up, but the idea of him being hurt ate at you constantly because you felt like you got into that relationship for the wrong reasons. You were simply thrilled to finally find a man that loved you, but you didn’t stop and consider if your own feelings for James was genuine.

You felt so guilty for leading James on, you felt guilty for wasting his time in a relationship even if it was a short relationship - merely four months. Sam and Dean were there for you when you returned to the Bunker after the breakup and they knew how hard it was for you because you felt like James didn’t deserve for his heart to be broken like that.

Now it’s been four years since you’ve broken up with James, and from what you saw on social media he was a lot happier and he moved on to another girlfriend, someone who returned the same feelings he had. He found a woman he really deserved.

But why couldn’t you move on?

Within these past several years, you’ve not had a fling. There were no rebounds, one-night stands, no drunken mistakes, no other boyfriends. You felt like ever since you broke one person’s heart, you were unable to find yourself in another relationship. You didn’t want to bring anybody that kind of hurt again, so you never really moved on even if you knew that James had and he was happy. You were happy for him of course, but you couldn’t really explain how you felt.

The heart was such a delicate thing sometimes and you hated it.

Dean was supportive of you though. He knew better than anyone what unnecessary guilt felt like, and when Sam would try to cheer you up it typically didn’t work. Right after the breakup, Dean was there to listen. He didn’t do much talking since he usually didn’t feel the way you did when he broke things off with girls. The only breakup he ever experienced that effected him the most was Lisa, and he never talked about her or Ben after it happened. But that was the one he would use as an example because there were times he would feel guilty of getting them into trouble just by knowing them. So he would often tell you that you did the right thing by breaking things off because James was no hunter, he would have had no idea what he was up against so in a way, you were protecting more than his heart. You were protecting his life, and in a way it made you feel a little less guilty.

You were lucky he was there for you to rant to even if he didn’t like talking about things like that. You found that it was easy to talk to Dean. Much easier than having a conversation with Sam. It was just a different chemistry with Dean and you felt like Dean seemed to understand where you were coming from.

So the past three Valentine’s days you were either drinking alone, having some sort of marathon in your room, or reading some books. This year you decided to just go on a hunt. After all, Valentine’s Day was just another day for singles right? Might as well work and do what you did the best.

Presently, you were in the library with your laptop in front of you as you looked for any suspicious articles and headlines that would be strange and maybe even your kind of thing. For the past thirty minutes or so, you were coming up with nothing. Everything that you saw looked like just simple robberies, typical murder cases that didn’t have anything suspicious to them in the articles. You were starting to lose the hope that you would actually end up finding anything, but that was when something finally caught your attention.

In Grand Island, Nebraska, there were reports of couples going missing. It didn’t matter if they were tourists or locals, but within the past three months, six couples have gone missing. To you that sounded like a lot. Two couples a month disappearing out of nowhere? That may have sounded suspicious and you wanted to do a little more digging. Just as you were looking into the names of the couples that went missing, you heard footsteps.

“Whatcha workin’ on?”

You didn’t need to glance behind you to know that Dean was the one roaming around the library. You heard him move a chair so he could sit in front of you and through your peripheral you saw he set down a mug of coffee. So you knew he may stay for a little while so you might as well discuss the case with him.

“I’m looking into a case. It sounds something that could be our kind of thing.” You answered, not lifting your gaze because you were still trying to find more evidence that could hint at a hunt.

“You care to share?”

“Hang on, I’m looking… What I’m gathering is that in Nebraska there have been a total of six couples within the last three months that have gone missing. To me that sounds like a lot and their bodies were never found. Two of the couples were tourists but the rest seemed to be local. I haven’t found anything yet that would make it seem even more like our thing, but I think I want to go anyway.” You admitted.

“To be fair, we’ve gone on hunts with a lot less than what you’ve found. You want some company on this one?”

“You aren’t planning on going out for Valentines Day?” You asked with a bit of surprise and Dean chuckled a little.

“Around here? No. Not this year. A hunt might do me some good since Sam’s not gonna be here anyway. Plus I can go to the bar anytime. I haven’t had a hunt in the past week and I’d rather not get out of practice.” He insisted and you smiled.

“I’d love it if you were company. I guess it could be good for the both of us.” You smiled and you pulled out your phone to put in the city so you could look into some reasonable hotels you and Dean could stay in while you were in Nebraska. Then you shut off the computer.

“I’ll meet you in the garage in a few minutes. I need to go pack a few things.” You said.

Dean smiled at you and he watched you jog up the stairs so you could pack and get ready for Nebraska.

Naturally, Dean didn’t want you to go on a hunt alone. To him it was better to hunt with a partner, to have someone have your back just incase something went wrong. That’s why he preferred hunting with Sam. Nowadays, Dean only hunted alone as a last resort. He supposed it was just his preference and sort of a precaution as well since he didn’t want anything to happen to you on the hunt. He’d rather you make it back in one piece.

He knew you hated Valentine’s Day, and you got so irritated with couples so easily this time of year. But he hated that you seemed to be punishing yourself over the James thing. It was unfair to you. Maybe one day you would understand that, but he didn’t think it would be anytime soon.

Dean got up and he took the last couple of sips of his coffee before he went back to the kitchen and put the mug in the sink before he started heading off into his room so he could go ahead and get dressed and pack up for the trip. He swiftly got changed into a pair of jeans that were clean enough for the trip, tossed on one of his many black t-shirts and he threw on a flannel and a jacket. Then he grabbed some extra clothes and shoved them into a bag that had an extra blanket for you on the ride since he knew you’d probable get cold in Nebraska.

He grabbed whatever other weapons he thought would be needed, not that the back of Baby’s trunk didn’t have enough artillery, and when he zipped up his bag he walked out of his room so he could make his way out to the garage.

When he made it there he realized you had beat him to the car, waiting for him to unlock the vehicle. Your hair was in a messy bun, a few strands were in your face no matter how many times you tried to pull those pieces back. You were dressed in one of his old band shirts that was shrunk because Sam put it in the dryer by mistake so it was too small for Dean. It suited you much better anyway, but maybe he was a little biased.

Okay, more than just a little biased.

It wasn’t his fault you were so damn beautiful! And it wasn’t his fault that over the past few years you were beginning to rock his world. You made it so easy for him to fall for, despite all of his efforts not to fall so hard.

You were the only person that understood him in a way that Sam didn’t seem to understand him. You were there to listen when he would go off on his rants, you were his voice of reason when he was opposed to Sam and you made it a little easier to be open minded when it came to a lot of the cases that he and Sam didn’t agree on. You kept him steady and level headed and he knew that he needed you in his corner. He hadn’t realized just how much he started to rely on you until about a year ago when you had a close call on a hunt when a shifter took you and nearly killed you.

“That didn’t take you long at all.” Dean said with a chuckle, but he knew you were pretty quick when it came to packing anyway.

“I already had a bag prepped. I just needed to throw in some last minute things that I didn’t want to forget about. Like toothbrushes and stuff like that.” You shrugged and Dean grinned while simultaneously rolling his eyes.

“Hop in already before we lose daylight.” He said and he unlocked the door, then the two of you hopped in.

When Dean started up the car, Rush’s Xanadu was playing through the speakers and he turned up the volume a little as he drove off so the two of you could begin your journey. He knew it would only be a matter of hours before you would arrive and lucky for him, you had the same tastes in music as he did, so it wasn’t like driving with Sam where he would complain the whole time the music played.

About three minutes into the ten minute song, he could see you through the peripheral tapping your fingers on your thigh as if it were the guitar strings being played. He knew if he had seatbelts in the car you’d probably use it as the neck of the guitar. He thought you were just adorable that way but never said anything out loud. But for now while you were strumming the imaginary strings on your thigh with one hand, your other was on the phone.

“What are you lookin’ up?”

“Just some hotels in the surrounding area. I figured it would be easier if I found one and called it in now rather than just showing up spontaneously.” You answered and he hummed a little.

“Find anything good?”

“Well I found one that’s actually pretty close to the police station. So that pretty much takes care of saving some drive time. Won’t have to wander around and figure out where it’s at.”

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense. We can go with that one.” Dean said, honestly not really caring about which one they went to. use as long as they would make it to one. But it wouldn’t be his first time sleeping in his beloved car if it came to that point.

“Holy cow! Why are hotels this expensive?!” He heard you exclaim and he chuckled.

“Did you forget what tomorrow was, Sweetheart? Prices are gonna be a bit higher because a bunch of couples are gonna be bumpin’ uglies.” Dean laughed at the way you scrunched your nose and you called the number on your phone so you could make the arrangements to stay in the hotel.

Several hours had gone by and Dean pulled up to the hotel you’d booked. When he glanced over at you, he saw you were snuggled up in the blanket he grabbed. He was glad he remembered it, and he hated to wake you up but you both had a job to do. So, Dean carefully placed his hand on your shoulder to nudge you a little.

“Y/N? We’re here.” You grumbled in response and slowly opened your eyes, squinting as you looked around your surroundings.

When you tossed off the blanket you handed it to him and he just tossed it in the back for the next time you’d need it on the car ride back home. The two of you got out of the car and checked into the hotel so you could at least out your things away and stretch your legs a bit.

“Did you see the police station while you were driving?” Dean heard you question, to which he nodded.

“Yeah, it’s like two minutes away. Why don’t we go ahead and get dressed in the Fed suits and see what the police have come up with on the files.” He suggested as you rubbed your eyes, still trying to wake up from the nap.

“Sounds good to me.” You replied as you grabbed your bags and headed off to the bathroom to change clothes.

You dressed up in your black pantsuit, a purple buttoned up shirt with a couple of the buttons undone and you let your hair down from it’s bun from earlier. To your surprise, your hair was actually working with you after your nap. At least it made getting out of the hotel a little easier since you usually wore your hair down as a fed or detective wannabe.

Dean was dressed in a dark grey suit, white shirt and a tie with a random design on it. You swore you needed to take him shopping for different ties one of these days, but that would have to be a later occasion since the two of you were already in the car on the way to the station.

Arriving only a couple of minutes later since traffic was surprisingly light, you and Dean got out of the car and started making your way inside and went to the front desk.

“Hello there, if you don’t mind we’d like to talk to the Chief of the department.” You said and the secretary looked at both you and Dean. Although she took a bit of a lingering look at Dean, which gave you the overwhelming urge to roll your eyes but you had to resist.

“And who are the two of you? I only have to ask because I can’t just let anybody in. The chief is a busy man.” The secretary said and still had yet to peel her eyes off the other hunter, making your jaw tighten.

Dean pulled out his FBI badge and you did the same, “I’m special Agent Lifeson and this is Agent McVie. We’re here in regards to the disappearances. Do you think you could be a Doll and go ahead and squeeze us in? I know a guy like him is busy, so are we.”

Dean must’ve known this little secretary thought he was attractive because with a little wink he gave, she was more than ready to pick up the phone and press the number to the chief’s office while her cheeks were dusted with pink.

“Oh give me a break.” You mumbled as you put your badge away.

“Sir? There are a couple of suits here that would like to speak with you.” She said and with a little nod she concluded the short call and hung up the phone before looking up at Dean again.

“He’ll be out to see you in a couple of moments.” She said.

“Thank you, Miss…?”

“Oh, just call me Maura.”

“Well thank you, Maura, for the help.” Dean said and after what felt like ages to you, the Chief showed up.

“You two must be my surprise visitors. The name’s Korsak. What can I do for the both of you?” He asked, and to your surprise he was rather friendly.

“Actually, we’re here to discuss the disappearance of those six couples over the past three months.” You heard Dean reply and Korsak knew exactly what he was talking about.

“So the suits finally caught wind of this one, huh? Come with me.” He said and he invited the both of you to his office for further discussion of the case.

When the three of you made it into the office, you all had taken your seats, you and Dean were of course in front of the Chief’s desk as he sat down. You watched as the officer opened up his drawer and opened up his copy of the file and placed it on the desk.

“This case has all my detectives stumped. The only connection we’ve been able to establish so far was that they were couples. When we check our servailence, we did happen to notice the last time all of our missing couples were last seen on Mainstreet, which is basically where all of our little shops are. Lots of couples have been going there in December, and that was when the first disappearance happened. January has been a little slow, no disappearances to note. But then this month it started back up again. Three of the six couples were kidnapped just this month alone.”

You and Dean looked at each other, knowing you both would have to check Mainstreet. Then you looked back at the Cheif, “Could we go ahead and take a look at the surveillance you captured?”

The chief pulled out some pictures from the footage and handed them to both you and Dean. All of the buildings in the surrounding area seemed pretty old, some needed maybe a new coat of paint or a power was, but one thing caught your eye. One of the businesses that one of the couples were seen leaving seemed pretty new. They had new paint on the door and on the windows, the sign for the business seemed new too.

“Chief Korsak, what can you tell me about this business?” You questioned and pointed at the picture.

“Oh that? That’s just some crystal shop. I don’t get why people get so interested in rocks… my daughter went in there before. She likes those crystals and dream catchers and stuff. It just opened up in November of last year.” He said and you nodded a little as you took a look at the business again.

“Is there anything you can tell us about the case? Was there anything left behind in their homes when you tried to do a wellness check in their homes or hotels they were staying in?” Dean asked as if he were searching for a little more of a lead that would give you more of a reason for this to be a hunting gig.

“Well, we did notice something a little weird but we didn’t think that much of it at first.” The chief said and he began to clear his throat.

“We didn’t put it in the file, but we did find some orchid colored substance. It wasn’t enough to bag it, but when one of our CSI members tried to sample it, it turned clear and didn’t show up in our systems. We have no clue what it could have been.”

“Gotcha.. If that’s everything, I think we’ll be off and talk to those business owners and see if they saw anything. Thanks for everything.” Dean said as he got up, then he leaned over to shake Chief Korsak’s hand.

You stood up as well and you handed him your card, “If there’s anything else you can think of, please don’t hesitate to let us know.”

And with that, the two of you left the station and went back to the car. When you got inside, you tried to wrap your head around this case as best as you could. You heard Dean shut his door and start the car before he spoke.

“So what are you thinking?”

“Witch… Just by the substance. If the substance the cops found didn’t show up as anything, it could be a part of a witch spell to remain undetected.” You answered honestly while Dean started backing out.

“But that many people in a month? Two people in a month, I can see being one witch. Maybe two couples a month depending on how powerful they are. But three couples in barely two weeks? Maybe we’re dealing with more than one witch.” Dean suggested.

“Did you remember the witch killing bullets if we need them?” You asked.

“Of course. They’re sitting in the trunk.” Dean answered and you smiled. Then pulled out your phone to look up that new business on Mainstreet.

“Okay, so the business that the final couple was seen exiting was called Cosmic Treasures. So why don’t we head that way and find out what we can about the owners?” You suggested.

“We could, but what if we ask some of the neighboring shops first? Maybe ask them what they think about the owners of the shop, maybe they saw something or maybe they think it’s a little suspicious?” Dean suggested. It sort of shocked you that he was being surprisingly rational.

“That’s not a bad idea. It gives us sort of a background on them so we know what we’re getting into.” You replied and he drove off to Mainstreet. After a few moments the car was parked and the two of you stepped out again.

You looked around at some of the shops and you tried to decide which one you should go to first.

“Okay, if you take that little candy store, I’ll go to the antique shop.” You said and Dean looked at you.

“What? You don’t trust me to go antiquing?” He asked, faking the offense.

“Considering you like to touch everything and you have a tendency to knock things down, I think you going to the candy store will be the safest option.” You chuckled, causing Dean to pout a little.

“Alright, fine.” He said and the two of you parted ways.

You made your way into the antique shop and the doorbell rang out. Then you heard a voice, you assumed it was the sound of one of the owners.

“Hi there! Welcome in.” A woman said and you followed the voice.

You saw behind a counter, there was a woman that had to be in her sixties. She had Brown hair with some grey in her hair, some glasses on the bridge of her nose but she had a kind look in her eyes.

“Hello there, I’m Agent McVie.” You said and you held up your badge, “Are you the owner of this store by any chance?”

“I am. The name’s Angela O’Riley. How can I help you, Sweetie?”

“I was just wondering if you could tell me a little bit about the owners of Cosmic Treasures?”

“Oh the cute little crystal shop? They’re a sweet little couple. Young and rather eccentric. Despite their alternative lifestyle, I think they’re sweet. May I ask why the FBI is looking into them?” The sweet woman questioned.

“We’re just looking into a couple of missing person’s cases. The last couple was seen exiting their store and we just wanted to ask around and see if anyone has seen anything suspicious.” You admitted and the woman shook her head.

“I wouldn’t consider anything they do suspicious. Just… alternative and unusual. They say they like witchcraft and spells and what not, but I think they’re just some hippies trying to make a living. The wife is talented and she’s the one that actually makes the dream catchers. Beautiful artwork. I’ve actually bought some from her.” Angela said and she held up a finger as a gesture for you to wait a moment as she pulled it out.

She handed it to you so you could take a look at it and you carefully took it from her. It was a black dream catcher with white, grey and blue feathers. You didn’t know much about dreamcatchers, but you knew some of these colors had meaning. “Beautiful craftsmanship. You’re right, she does have a talent.”

“She said something along the lines of the colors bringing healing, peace, protection, hope. It was really sweet of her to make it. She said she wanted it to bring luck for the store since we’ve been a little slow. But I just think it’s wonderful decoration.” The woman said and you handed it back to her.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Agent?” Angela asked and you shook your head a little.

“Are you sure? Maybe I can help you find some sort of gift for a special someone. We have a little bit of everything here, you know.”

“Oh, I don’t really have a special someone…” You said, although you did think of Dean.

“Actually… do you have any knives I can take a look at?”

“Oh of course! Right this way.” Angela guided you to her knife section and you saw all of the different knives with beautiful handles.

“Who made all of these?” You asked.

“Actually, my husband did before he passed away. He was talented as well. He took pride in his work and he would sell pocket knives and different blades here as well for all of the husbands that weren’t really interested in their wives’ antiquing hobbies. Gave the men a little something to occupy their time.” She smiled and you grinned.

“They’re all beautiful.” You said and that was when you saw a certain knife that had some sort of engraving on the handle. The handle itself had different shades of green and you thought it was beautiful with the way the engravings were in gold.

“May I take a look at this one?” You pointed at the one that had your attention in the display case.

“Ahh, yes. That’s a good one. My husband loved that one. It was his favorite, but no one really seemed to like the engravings on it. My husband said it’s supposed to enhance protection. He was a bit superstitious but the customers didn’t see it.” She said and you smiled.

“I’ll take it. It’s perfect.”

“I think your little someone will like it too. You deny it but it’s all over your face.” The woman said and she smiled as she handed it to you.

You didn’t want to argue with the woman, but you couldn’t help but be excited to see Dean’s reaction when he saw this knife. It looked similar to the demon blade they had and you wondered if this could help at all since Angela’s husband was certain it would bring protection.

Once you pulled out your wallet and paid for it, you thanked the woman.

“Good luck on your case, Agent.” She smiled at you and you left the store.

Dean walked into the candy shop called Sugarcane Sweets and saw there was a couple behind the counter. The woman was the one that noticed he walked in first and she went to the front of the counter and gave a warm smile.

“Hello! How can I help you?” She asked, tone about as friendly as Dean would expect a business woman to be.

“Hi there. Are you two the owners of this place?” He asked.

“Yes, we are.” The man said and came up as well. Dean noticed the rings on their fingers and figured they were a married couple.

“Hi, Sir. I’m Agent Lifeson. I was just wondering if I could ask the both of you a couple of questions about one of the neighboring shops.” Dean said.

“Lifeson? As in Alex Lifeson the guitarist?” The man asked and Dean chuckled.

“Rush fan, huh? No relation, unfortunately. But that would be badass.” He admitted and the man smiled.

“Damn, that really would be badass. The name’s Sean Patterson, this is my wife, Jaylah. What can we do for you?”

“Well, Sean, I’m looking into some missing person’s cases and the last couple that went missing around here was visiting Mainstreet. We have reason to believe they were shopping around the area and the last place they were seen was in Cosmic Treasures. I was hoping you two would be able to tell me a little about the owners of the store?” Dean said.

“Oh, you mean Keith and Harper? Oh I don’t think those two would hurt a fly.” Jaylah said.

“The two of them are a little on the eccentric side but I think they just like the aesthetic. I don’t really believe in the voodoo mess they sell. I mean crystals and dreamcatchers? Really? I think they just like the cannabis and hippie lifestyle more than anything. Their rocks are more for decoration than anything.” Sean said with a shrug.

That was when the door opened and when Dean looked over, you were walking through the door.

“Oh, hello there!” Jaylah greeted you with a smile.

“Hello.” You smiled back.

“Mr. and Mrs. Patterson, this is my partner Agent McVie. She’s helping me out on the case.” Dean introduced you.

“We were just telling your partner that Keith and Harper are pretty much harmless. I don’t think they would know anything about these kidnappings you’re looking into.” Sean admitted.

Jaylah was looking at both you and Dean, and Dean wondered what she was thinking about while her husband was explaining the conversation, “You know you two would be a cute little couple.”

Dean blinked a little in surprise at the random statement, “Excuse me?”

“I mean granted if you weren’t working in the same agency. Conflict of interest and what not.” She continued and Dean was still a little flabbergasted by the sudden change in conversation. When Dean glanced at you, he could see a faint rose color appear on your cheeks as you cleared your throat.

“You’ll have to pardon my wife. She likes to play matchmaker. She reads too many romance novels in her spare time.” Sean laughed and you smiled.

“Oh no harm done. Anyway, what else can you tell us? Have any of these missing couples come into that store or any other stores around here that you remember over the last three months?” Dean asked as he pulled out his phone that had some pictures of the missing couples.

“Most of them we do recognize, unfortunately. They’ve come in here sometimes to get a little something to snack on, as do a lot of people around here. We have some tourists that come in here too. Just yesterday we had a group of people coming here and visiting from Colorado stop by. They were visiting family.” Jaylah spoke.

“So you get a lot of people.”

“We do get pretty busy. People around the holidays get a bit of a sweet tooth around Christmas and Valentines Day. January we were about as slow as other businesses around here. People trying to recover from Christmas shopping and all.” Sean replied.

“It really is a shame that those couples went missing. We get a lot of couples all the time just walking around the area as a little date or whatever and we never used to have this problem.” Jaylah said with a frown.

“It’s alright. Unexpected things happen all the time. But please, if there’s anything else you can remember about the couples or where they may have gone, please let us know.” Dean said and he handed them his card that had his number on it.

“Wait a moment, agents.” Jaylah said and she picked up a goodie bag and started putting some freebies inside and she handed the bag to Dean.

“Just a little something to snack on. Good luck on your case.” She smiled and Dean looked inside, his eyes sparkling. What? He couldn’t help the fact that he liked junk food unlike his little brother.

“Thank you, Mrs. Patterson.” He said and you thanked the woman as well before the both of you walked out of the store to go back to the car.

“So what did you find out in the antique store?” Dean asked as he looked through all the goodies. He heard you chuckle, he figured you were watching him go through the candy like a kid.

“About the same thing you did. But apparently Harper has a talent with dreamcatchers. Not that dreamcatchers have anything to do with the case. At least I wouldn’t think so. They aren’t usually linked to missing persons cases are they?” He heard you question and he shook his head.

“No, not usually.”

“Maybe we can do a little research over dreamcatchers and Keith and Harper over something substantial before you devour that candy bag.” Dean chuckled at your comment before he closed up the bag and the two of you got into the car.

You and Dean had changed out of the fed attire and you were back in something more comfortable. For you it was your jeans and a band shirt. You two had done your research and found that there hasn’t been any record of dreamcatchers being linked to kidnapping in any hunting cases. Afterwards, the two of you went to ask the victim’s friends about the couples.

Anytime you went to talk to friends and families about the missing couples it was always how perfect they were for each other, how they were planning on either getting married or the one was about to propose to another. All the true love things that made you feel uncomfortable around this time of year.

One couple, or former couple rather, did remember going to Mainstreet with one of the missing couples. They recalled their trip, they went to the candy store and picked up some goodies for their friends to take home with them, then they went to some other stores to find some clothes and other things they liked before they went to Cosmic Treasures. After they left Mainstreet and returned home, they hadn’t heard from the couple again. But the former couple got into some big argument and they broke up the day their friends went missing.

You were on the way to go check out Cosmic Treasures. Both of you knew it was definitely closed by now and you would be breaking and entering, but it wouldn’t have been the first time the two of you had broken in somewhere.

You gazed out of the window of the Impala while Dean drove and you started to think about different things. You knew couples were everywhere right now, so why were those three the only targets?

“You’re awfully quiet. Penny for your thoughts?” Dean asked and you shrugged a little.

“Just something about this case… of all the couples out there, whoever kidnapped these couples are pretty sick. I mean, they take the couples that are really in love, when there are plenty of other couples out there that just didn’t want to be alone on Valentine’s Day, or they’re just in the relationship to say they have someone. Why go after the ones that actually have a future?” You asked.

“Witches are evil creatures…. They must have their own sort of sick and twisted reason.” Dean said.

“Well, what about Rowena? She’s quickly become an ally.”

“Well sure, but that doesn’t mean her past wasn’t at least a little malicious before she met us.”

“Yeah.. I guess that’s fair. I just don’t think they deserved it.” You sighed and soon enough you pulled into the back of the store. When the both of you got out, Dean handed you a gun with witch killing bullets before he grabbed one for himself.

When you made it to the door, Dean grabbed his lock picking kit from his pocket and started to get to work.

“Hey, Dean?” You asked and he hummed.

“Do you still think about Lisa?” He paused for a moment. He glanced at you before he looked back at the lock and went back to work.

“Not as often as I used to.” You were a little surprised that he answered.

“You’re still thinking about James, huh?”

“Yeah…”

Dean finally got the door opened and he stood upright before he pushed the door open, then he let you walk inside first, “You’ve really got to stop beating yourself up over him.”

“It’s not that easy…”

“Y/N, come on. Cut yourself some slack. It’s not like you cheated on the guy. You said yourself, he moved on and he’d a lot happier. And more importantly, he’s alive. This life isn’t cut out for a guy like James so you were doing him a favor and he gets to live a normal life without worrying about the shit that creeps around in the dark.”

You sighed a little, knowing he was right and you knew how wishy-washy you sounded. You hated that you sounded like that but you geared your focus on the case once more.

What was worse was that you wanted to move on. You truly did. But you weren’t lying when you said it wasn’t easy. Especially since you were a hunter and if you got into a relationship with someone you knew that if you didn’t hurt them emotionally, they may get hurt physically - maybe even get them killed because of your lifestyle.

Maybe Angela was right and you did have a special someone, and maybe it really was Dean. But the man has gone through enough hurt in his life and you didn’t want to bring anymore heartache. You couldn’t handle doing that to someone like Dean when he deserved the world.

“Do you think these people are actually into witchcraft or do you think they’re just hopping onto a trend?” You asked.

“Nowadays? Who knows what people are getting themselves into without realizing it.” Dean sighed as he picked up some of the crystals.

You went to the front desk and saw the logbook of the things the couple have sold. You skimmed through the purchases to see if there as anything that stood out to you. But then you found some of the names that looked familiar, “I think I’ve got something.”

Dean walked over to you and he dug into his pocket and pulled out a sucker from the shop and popped it into his mouth.

“What’d you find?”

“The couple that went on that double date? The couple that went missing bought some sort of crystals that were meant for some kind of prosperity in the marriage. Look for one of those.” You said and Dean nodded as he looked around, you did the same.

After a few minutes, Dean started to realize something, “I think these are fake… some sort of knock off. I think Keith and Harper really were on some kind of trend.”

“So they aren’t our witches….” You sighed as Dean shook his head and he handed you a sucker. You shrugged a little and took it before popping it in your mouth.

The two of you exited the store the way you came and you hopped into the car again. To your surprise, the sucker tasted like cinnamon, mixed with something sweet. It was an odd taste for a lollipop but it wasn’t a bad taste either. “So what do we do now?”

“Not sure. Maybe we ought to go to the hotel and sleep on it.” Dean said and you nodded a little, knowing that it was getting pretty late.

When you both got into the car again, you leaned your back against the seat and you tried to think of who the witches could be. You and Dean didn’t have that many options to choose from since no one else seemed to be suspicious. But you supposed Cosmic Treasures would have been a little too obvious for this case.

“You’re robbing yourself, you know.” Dean’s voice broke your train of thought.

“What?”

“The James thing. You can’t feel guilty about that forever. You don’t deserve that kind of weight when there’s not much of a need for it. You’re robbing yourself of something good in the future.” Dean finally spoke and you lifted a brow. You wondered just how long he was waiting to tell you that.

You didn’t say anything in response and you remained quiet for the rest of the car ride all the way to the hotel. But when the two of you arrived and got into the hotel room, you realized that everything was disheveled. Your hotel room had been broken into.

“What the Hell?” You said as you looked around and started to look to check if anything was missing.

“I guess the witches may know who we are before we found them.” Dean said and he ran a hand through his short hair.

“Not comforting.”

“Wanna see something less comforting?” Dean asked and you turned around and went to see what he was talking about.

“Orchid colored substance.” Dean said as he swiped his finger and held it up to you to look at. You lifted a brow and tried to think of anything.

“Wait a second… Before the last couple went to Cosmic Treasures, their friends said they all went to the candy store, right?” You asked and Dean nodded.

You quickly took the bag of candy that Jaylah gave you and looked through it. You opened up all the wrappers and saw that some of the candy also had that orchid colored stuff on the wrappers, some of the candies themselves were the same color. It must’ve been one of the ingredients for the sweets.

“Dean, how much of the candy did you eat?”

“Not enough to have a toothache or anything. Why?”

“I think I know who the witches are.”

You and Dean made it back to Mainstreet to go to the candy shop and before Dean could pull out his lock picking kit, you and Dean found yourselves in a fight with both Sean and Jaylah. Unfortunately the witches were the victors in the fight and after the two of you were knocked out, you both were taken.

When you came to, you and Dean found yourselves in the basement of their candy shop. You were both tied to some sort of pillar in the middle of the basement, your backs on either side of the pillar and your hands were tied against each other’s so your hands were bound to each others. You looked in front of you and you noticed there was a table with some potions, powders and some other ingredients. There was even an orchid plant growing in the corner of the room.

“What the Hell is all of this?” You asked and looked at the two of them.

“Well, we could ask you two the same thing. Sean and I knew you were hunters as soon as you two walked through the door.” Jaylah said as she started mixing up some ingredients.

“So the both of you were behind all the kidnappings? What for?” Dean asked as he struggled to break free of the restraints both of you were tied to.

“Sweetheart, how long do you think we’ve been alive? It’s not easy finding a youthful source when you aren’t as powerful as Rowena.” Jaylah said.

“You know Rowena?”

“Well yes and no. We knew of her but we never had much contact with her. She does have a bit of a sour reputation and all.” Sean replied as he was sharpening a knife.

“What did you do to the other couples?”

“Well they became a part of our ritual, that’s all.” Jaylah chimed cheerfully.

“But see our little spell doesn’t work unless the couples we use are truly in love. So anytime the holidays are around, we give people some free little goodie bags. One or two pieces of the candy have a little special something in them that will really show how people feel about each other.” Sean said.

“Some of the candies will have a little truth serum, and unfortunately it may cause a fight that couples don’t recover from especially if it’s something petty. Some candies did other things. But the couples that worth through the petty little argument we can tell are actually soulmates. The soulmates and the ones meant to last are the ones we need for our special ritual.” Jaylah added on.

“You missed one minor detail with us, we aren’t a couple.” You pointed out, “So why give us a bag?”

“Oh, hun… It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to tell when two people are meant to be together when you’ve been on this earth for literal centuries. You two may not be together in a romantic relationship, but the way you two have a certain chemistry just shows how perfect you are for each other.” Jaylah said.

“We’ve kept an eye on you ever since you left our shop.” Sean said, using a little mirror.

“We can tell Dean’s feelings for you are strong but he’s obviously not admitted to it yet. Still, we can tell he has some sort of ulterior motive for him to be on this trip with you. It’s a man’s natural urge to protect the woman he loves, no matter how strong that woman may be. It’s a matter of having your back. He’s destined to be your partner in life, to stand by your side in a fight. True equals as soulmates should be.” Sean said.

“And you, Y/N… You’re holding onto a past you can’t get over. Don’t you think that’s a little unfair to Dean when you know deep down your feelings for him are just as strong? You’re his voice of reason, his calm in the storm. He’s your anchor of stability, a tower or shelter where you feel safe when you’re most vulnerable. That’s why it was easy to talk to him about your little James problem. You can’t lie to yourself like that.” Jaylah said.

“Well, it’s a little late for them to do anything about it now, hun. We’re running out of time, so let’s get on with the ritual.” Sean told his wife.

You bit your lip, honestly scared you wouldn’t make it out of this. Sam and Elaine were off on their little vacation, Jody was in a different state, your other allies were unavailable and none of them knew you were on this hunt. Was this how everything would end for you and Dean? You knew that you would die in a hunt, most hunters did, but was it really supposed to come this soon?

Dean could tell you were freaking out just by how quiet you became, so he maneuvered his wrist as best as he could and he held both of your hands.

“Hey, we’ll be okay. We’ve gotten ourselves into worse, right?” Dean said and he could feel you squeezing his hands. He knew you were unsure and he knew deep down you were scared even if you’d never say it.

“Besides, these couple of witches are just some old bats. They could never beat Rowena even if they tried.” Dean said, starting to talk smack as sort of a distraction.

“I mean come on, what, you’ve got friggen flower shit in your candy? That is such rookie magic compared to what Rowena can do.” Dean said and Sean looked over.

“And what exactly do you know about the mystic arts, boy? Last I checked, hunters knew next to nothing about spells outside of summoning filthy demons to make deals.” Sean said.

That was when Dean could feel you begin to fidget on the other side of the pillar and he couldn’t help but wonder what the Hell you were trying to do.

“Don’t pay attention to him, Sean. Focus on the spell.” Jaylah said.

“Oh, because you don’t actually know much about spells either? Come on, what happens if this stupid little ritual of yours fail, huh? You two are just a couple of dust bags. Living for centuries? Damn, you should have died off forever ago.” Dean continued and he could feel one of your hands let go of his and he felt some movement on the rope.

That’s my girl…

“That’s enough, Kid. You’re getting on our nerves.” Jaylah said.

When Dean felt the rope break free from one of his wrists, he had to resist the urge to smirk. “Oh? And what the Hell are you going to do about it?”

When dean realized you handed him whatever blade you used to cut one rope, he kept his arm in place so the witches wouldn’t be suspicious of anything and as soon as Jaylah went over to him, she lifted a hand up and when she swung it down to strike him, Dean took the knife you handed him and stabbed her in the shoulder.

She screamed out in pain and held onto her shoulder and Sean rushed to her side to try and help her, “Don’t focus on me, Fool! Kill them! We need their blood for the spell, remember?”

Dean quickly turned so he could cut off the ropes from your other wrists and soon enough you were free only for Dean to get punched in the face by Sean who apparently listened to his wife and was already fighting Dean so he’d get the blood he needed. But apparently Sean was strong and he was starting to overpower Dean.

You got up and you went to grab your gun with the witch killing bullets but you heard Jaylah laugh, “You looking for this, Hun?”

You glanced over and you saw the female witch holding up both the pistols and you watched as she took out the witch killing bullets in one of the guns. You looked over and saw Dean was starting to lose the fight and you started getting worried for him and you rushed over and took a separate blade you had.

You went to Jaylah and dug your knife deeper into her shoulder and she let out a bloodcurdling scream and Sean looked over at you.

“You let Dean go. Now.” You said sternly as you pushed Jaylah down to her knees. Then you took one of the guns and aimed it at Jaylah’s head.

“Don’t listen to her, Sean! You and I know plenty of spells that will bring each other back! Just kill him already!”

“You harm another hair on his head, and I can assure you that with these bullets, your beloved won’t make it back no matter what blasted spell you use.” You seethed.

While Sean was stuck trying to think, Dean used his knife and stabbed Sean in the heart and gave the blade a twist. After that, Sean’s body fell to the ground and his corpse withered away to dust.

“Sean! No!” Jaylah screamed and you went ahead and pulled the trigger, killing the other witch before she could do anything else. Like her husband, Jaylah’s body quickly turned to dust as well.

You quickly rushed over to Dean to check on him since he was the one that was in more of a fight than you were, “Are you alright? He didn’t do too much damage, did he?”

You heard Dean laugh a little before he shook his head, “No, he didn’t. I’ll just be a little sore I guess. I’m getting too old for fights like that, I may need to do some stretches before we go in guns blazing.”

You chuckles as you helped Dean up from the ground and when he looked down at the blade you gave him, he grinned.

“This thing’s pretty damn cool. Where’d you get it?” He asked as he started to hand it back to you but you held your hand up to stop him.

“I got it from the antique store. I’ve got a feeling her husband was a hunter before he passed away. I thought you’d like it. So it’s yours.” You said and Dean looked down at it, noticing the engravings seemed similar to what he used in the witch killing bullets.

“A witch killing blade… sweet. Thanks, Sweetheart.” Dean said as he looked down at you and you bit your li a little before looking away from him.

“Yeah, well… just thought it would be something handy. Let’s get back to the hotel. It’s been a long day.” You said.

You were quiet on the way to the hotel room. A lot had happened when you were killing those witches. The way the two seemed to read through you made you wonder just how right they were about how Dean felt. Did he really have those feelings for you?

You had mixed feelings about the term soulmates. Sure you knew you had feelings for Dean, and they were right about you trying to deny them. But you never thought about the possibility of robbing Dean of yourself. You wondered if Dean felt like he was being robbed this whole time because you just couldn’t get over James. So many things were being put into perspective for you.

Then when Dean almost got killed by Sean, you knew in that moment that you didn’t want to lose him. You didn’t know what you would do without him. It was something you didn’t want to even think about.

When the two of you walked into the lobby of the hotel and went into the elevator to go to your room, you still remained quiet.

Dean noticed the silence and he was starting to get a little worried. Did he do something wrong on the hunt? What had you so quiet? Both of you came out of the fight relatively unscathed next to the bruise on Dean’s cheek but that was it.

“Is everything alright?” He asked you in a gentle tone. He didn’t want to make any advances just because of what a couple of witches said. He could never be sure of what they said about you was true.

If you really had feelings for him, wouldn’t you have shown them? Why did you bring up James so often if you really did have feelings for him? There was just too much uncertainty even though everything Sean said about his feelings for you were pretty much correct for the most part.

“Yeah… everything’s fine. Just have a lot on my mind right now.” He heard you reply. He knew that you were aware that you could always talk to him when you were ready, so he wasn’t going to push the matter like his brother would. So, Dean put a hand in his pocket and grabbed a piece of candy.

After all, the witches were dead so the sweets had to be harmless, right?

“Dean, you don’t know if those candies will kill you now that they’re dead.” He heard you tell him and he shrugged a little.

“I doubt they will. Plus you have to admit, they do taste pretty good.”

When the elevator made it to your floor, the both of you went to your room and it was quiet between the both of you. It was a little awkward, and neither of you really knew how to address the atmosphere. Maybe once the both of you got plenty of rest you could figure out how to tackle everything.

“I’m gonna take a shower.” You heard Dean say and you nodded a little and watched him leave to the bathroom. Then you glanced over at the bag of candy.

You couldn’t help but wonder… now that the witches were dead, what did the spiked candy do? Would it still ignite some kind of argument or would it do something else? So you walked over to the dresser and grabbed the bag and took an unopened piece of candy and popped it into your mouth.

It started off as some sort of truth candy right that would make couples fight? What else did it do? Maybe it wouldn’t actually be cursed anymore. And Dean was right, they do taste pretty good. You were growing a little more accustomed to the cinnamon taste it had.

You could listen to the shower running and you still couldn’t help but wonder how Dean really felt about you. But you were starting to come to terms with how you felt about him.

You gulped a little as you felt your heart racing. The more that you realized that you were in love with Dean, the more you realized that you had been a fool all of this time to keep feeling guilty about James. Dean was the bravest man you had known, and you were a coward as you hid behind what happened.

You lifted your gaze to the bathroom door and you bit down on your lip. A sudden wave of nerves washed over you as you tried to think of what you should do. You knew exactly what you wanted to do, but you were scared to do it, scared of how Dean would react.

You finally took in a deep breath before you kicked off your shoes and started making your way to the bathroom. You could hear Dean humming some Metallica song to himself in the shower and you smiled to yourself. He was adorable with the way he’d hum songs from his favorite bands.

You gulped as you carefully started to take off your articles of clothing, and to your surprise, you weren’t really cold since it was warm in the bathroom. Dean must’ve been using the warm water. You could feel your hands shaking and the butterflies were swirling around in your stomach since now you were naked, in front of the shower curtain and Dean was on the other side in the same state you were.

You slowly pulled the shower curtain back, and Dean turned around with a surprised look on his face as he quickly covered himself up.

“Y/N? What are you doing?” He asked and you gazed up into his eyes.

Without a word, you slowly stepped into the shower with Dean. You could feel the warm water hitting your skin as you closed the shower curtain behind you. Then you reached up and caressed his stubbled cheek.

“You were right…” you breathed out and you could feel one of Dean’s hands touch the small of your back.

“What are you talking about?”

“I need to get over James.”

Dean lifted a brow as if he needed some sort of further explanation for the sudden development.

“The witches were right too. Deep down I’ve always known how I’ve felt about you but… I let fear hold me back. And I can’t do it anymore. You were right when you said I was robbing myself, but I realize that, that I’m robbing you too.”

“Y/N, are you sure we should be doing this? Just because those bastards think they know is doesn’t mean we have to do anything you aren’t sure of.” He said.

“Dean, I’ve never been more sure of anything. I want you to help me forget about James and move on for good.” You said as you placed your other hand on his chest.

“I need you, Dean.”

Dean looked down at you and he could feel his heart threatening to break out of his chest, and he wonder if you could feel it under your delicate fingers. Then, he carefully leaned down and let his lips finally collide with yours and he closed his eyes.

The kiss started off tender, sweet even as he pulled you closer to himself while his other hand went to the back of your head and his fingers started to get tangled in your hair as it was getting wet with the shower. Then it slowly turned more passionate as he carefully took your bottom lip between his teeth and gave it a little tug.

The moment you let out a soft moan in response, Dean swore all of the blood in his system was rushing downward. He had no idea you’d sound so beautiful even from such a simple action and he kissed you again, harder this time.

You could feel him beginning to grow harder against your stomach as he kissed you deeper. When you could feel his tongue trace over your bottom lip, you carefully opened your mouth to let him in before wrapping your lips around his muscle and gave it a little suck. When you did, the deep sound he let out made your legs go weak.

Dean slowly backed you up against the shower wall, never breaking your lips apart and you could feel his hand go from the small of your back down to your ass as he gave it a little squeeze. You slowly moved your hand from his chest downward, letting your fingernails lightly scrape over his skin before your fingers brushed over his hardening member.

Dean’s breath got caught in his throat when he felt the way your fingers could barely wrap around him. When he parted your lips he looked down into your eyes and saw how adorable you looked with your cheeks flushed pink and your lips swollen from his kisses. Then he leaned down and started planting kisses from the corner of your mouth, down your jawline before reaching your neck where the kisses grew hotter.

You could hear him moan close to your ear as you slowly started to pump his shaft. Your eyes fluttered closed when he started to kiss your neck. You let our a soft noise when he found that certain sensitive spot and he gently bit down on it and started to suck on the skin and you knew there would be a bruise there. But as he worked on your neck, you could feel him part your thighs with his knee before he dipped his hand in between your legs.

Dean let his fingers glide through your folds and he let out a soft groan when he felt just how slick you were for him, “Fuck.”

He let his middle finger rub through your soaking core before it found your little bundle of nerves. The moment he found that little nub of yours, he could feel your fingernails dig into his shoulders as he started to rub little circles onto it. Your body started to tense up beneath his touch and he lifted his head from your neck and placed a kiss on your cheek.

“Relax, Sweetheart.. I’ve got you.”

His whispered words made you a little less tense and you reconnected your lips with Dean’s. As you continued to let your hand move up and down, you slightly tightened your grip and Dean moaned into your mouth. That was when you felt one of his fingers finally dip into your entrance, causing you to whimper a little and he smirked against your mouth.

When Dean gently pushed another finger into your entrance, you gasped at the stretch and Dean took the opportunity to let his tongue invade your mouth once more. You felt like it was nearly in the back of your throat and he was completely consuming you as you melted into his touch. You could feel him beginning to move his fingers in and out of your core and you couldn’t help but begin to move your hips into his hand to try and match his rhythm.

Just as Dean could feel your entrance tightening around his two fingers, he slipped a third in so he could reach into you deeper and he curled those three fingers inside of you as he picked up his pace.

“Oh fuck, Dean…” You moaned out and buried your face in the crook of his neck and he knew he must’ve found the spot that was making you see stars.

Your walls were clamping around his fingers tighter and he gently kissed your temple, “Go ahead, Baby. Let go. Cum for me.”

That was all you needed to hear from him before you finally had a release on his fingers, your thighs shaking as you felt Dean kiss your shoulder before he pulled his fingers from between your legs.

“Fuck you’re so gorgeous when you come undone…” he whispered into your hair but you moved your head to look up at him again.

“Dean… I need more…” You panted. Your body felt like it was on fire as it craved every little part of him. You needed him in every way possible; heart, body and soul. This need was more than you could fathom at the moment.

Dean looked down into your eyes and saw the look you had was sincere. He couldn’t bring himself to say no when he knew you desired him in the same way he’s craved you for so long. He reached over and turned off the water in the shower before he picked you up by your thighs and he felt you wrap your legs around his torso so naturally. He could feel your slick lips brushing up against his painfully hard member, which was making it incredibly difficult to focus.

He walked with you out of the bathroom and he felt your lips on his neck, which made his entire body feel hot. But then he carefully laid you down on the mattress and when he saw you laying there ready for him, he swore he was so close to losing all control. Every curve of you was more beautiful than he ever imagined and he was trying to let this image of you on the mattress become implanted in his mind.

Dean moved to where he was hovering over your body and he grinned at the way you spread your legs for him so he could settle between your thighs. He lifted a hand and caressed your cheek but then he bit his lip, “You’re absolutely sure you want to keep going?”

“I’m more than sure, Dean. You mean the world to me, and I want you to make me yours.” You said and leaned up, placing a delicate kiss on his bottom lip as you hooked one of your legs around his waist in order to pull him closer so he could get the picture.

Dean carefully pulled away from your lips as he wrapped his hand around his own length and guided it to your core. He listened to the way you let out a gasp when his tip brushed against your lower lips and he figured you must still be sensitive from your previous high.

He leaned down and he placed a kiss on your forehead before he slowly pushed his tip into your entrance and he heard the way you let out a soft hiss so he stilled himself so you could adjust to his size. But when he felt the way your hands gently slid up his arms and gave his shoulders a soft squeeze, he knew you were alright and he carefully slid more of himself into you.

Little by little, you were adjusting to Dean’s miraculous size until he finally bottomed out and he stretched you to the limits. The pain was already mixed with a sense of ecstasy. When you looked into Dean’s eyes, you felt nothing but pure love for the man, and that was the complete truth - so you supposed those candies still did their truth telling jobs. You knew that what you were feeling with Dean in this moment was genuine, whatever you had for James didn’t compare to this and you knew Dean was the man you wanted a future with.

You nodded a little to tell Dean it was safe for him to move, and the moment that he did you could feel him so deeply that the feeling was indescribable. You felt him in places that had never been touched by anyone, including yourself.

You had expected Dean to be rough with you, but you were pleasantly surprised at how much of a gentle lover he was at least for this first time around. As he moved his hips into yours, you raised your hips to meet his and you raised your head to kiss him again. You could feel his smile in the kiss and you felt like you were making magic of your own, no potions or spells needed.

Dean felt so intoxicated by your kisses and he felt so attached to you in a way he couldn’t explain. He’s waited for this moment with you for so long and he couldn’t believe it was really happening. He knew that with you by his side, he’d never have to feel alone in this harsh world filled with monsters and demons.

He moved his arms to where they went under your knees, lifting your legs over his shoulders so he could move into you at a deeper angle. You moaned into his mouth in such a pretty little way and he gradually started to pick up his pace. The noises your bodies made in this moment were better than his cassettes he played in the Impala and he never wanted to forget the sounds you let slip past your beautiful mouth.

This deeper angle was making you see stars and you could feel yourself starting to get to that high again, causing you to let out a high pitched little whimper against Deans lips before he parted from the kiss. He looked down at you and you felt so hot beneath his loving gaze.

“Go ahead and touch yourself, Sweetheart.” He encouraged and you nodded as you let your hand slip between your legs.

You hadn’t realized just how wet you were until you touched yourself, causing your cheeks to burn and turn into a deep red before you started to rub little circles onto your clit as Dean continued to move into you. You could feel him start to move his hips a little harder, causing you to close your eyes and moan out his name.

“Open your eyes, Baby. I need to see you.” You heard him say and you could feel one of his hands float to your own and he intertwined your fingers while holding your hand beside your head.

You opened your eyes and tried to focus on keeping your gaze transfixed on the man above you, “D-Dean, I’m so close.”

“It’s alright, let go when you’re ready. I want to see you come undone all over me.” He said and he gave your hand a soft squeeze of reassurance.

The next thing you knew, your vision went white and you moaned out his name with so much pleasure washing over you. You gripped his hand tightly as Dean carefully helped you ride out your second climax. You body was trembling with pleasure and your eyes fluttered shut as Dean placed soft, loving little kisses all over your shoulder and neck.

“You did so well for me, Sweetheart. That was beautiful. You’re so stunning.” He praised, making the butterflies swarm in your stomach in a different way this time.

When you slowly opened your eyes again, you carefully reached up and touched his face and he leaned into your touch before you spoke, “It’s your turn, Baby… I want you to cum inside me.”

Dean faltered for a moment and his cheeks and tips of his ears turned bright red, “You want me to what?”

“You heard me, Dean… I want every part of you in me. Please, fill me up.” You said and let your thumb caress his cheekbone.

Dean heard the way you asked him so sweetly and he swore you were going to make his heart explode. He leaned down and kissed your mouth, not needing you to urge him more as he started to move his hips once again. He could feel you part your lips from his and wrap your little arms around his neck as you started to place kisses on his skin.

“Fuck, Y/N…” He muttered as his hand went down to your hip and he pinned you down against the bed to hold you still as he quickened his pace. He could feel the way your walls clamped around his length to tightly. Then, after a few more movements of his hips, he leaned down and his head was hidden in the crook of your neck as he held onto you tightly as if he never intended on letting go as he coated your inner walls white and he pushed his hips into you one final time as he moaned deeply.

You could feel the way he was spilling himself inside of you, filling you to the brim and you gently held onto him. You let your hands gently scratch his back as you kissed his broad shoulders to try and calm him down from his high. You felt so content in this moment with him as you just held onto him. You could hear the way he was panting and you chuckled softly since you were out of breath too. Then you moved your head as best as you could to kiss his temple.

“You’re so perfect, Dean..” You whispered against his skin and he carefully lifted his head from your neck and tucked a strand of slightly sweaty hair behind your ear.

“Not nearly as perfect as you are, Sweetheart.” He smiled down at you and you grinned.

“You know… I think that was the first time I’ve actually made love to anyone.” He admitted and you started to feel a little bashful.

“Maybe those witches were onto something. Maybe we’re soulmates after all.” You giggled breathlessly and Dean chuckled.

“Whatever this was.. is… I think it’s better than any kind of magic those bastards could have conjured up.” He said, which caused you to chuckle again as you snuggled int his chest.

“The sweetest kind of magic.” You said.

You knew that with Dean, it would gradually get easier to let go of your regrets and your guilt of past relationships. He was always there to listen, he had become your confidant, the one person you could rely on more than anyone else and this was exactly what you imagined this feeling you had would be like.

Falling in love like this was a better feeling than you ever could have imagined and you knew you had fallen for the right person after all.

Tag List:

@deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373 @fanfic-n-tabulous @hobby27 @jackles010378 @nancymcl @prettyinplaid94 @chriszgirl92

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eyesthecolorofarson · 3 months

Text

Best Man Pt.2

https://www.tumblr.com/eyesthecolorofarson/722299567819882496/dick-didnt-know-what-to-expect-when-he-arrived-at

Jazz watched, bemused, as Danny bounced around the work room. He went from one project of an improved Specter Speeder to a project he and Sam were working on with the mutated fauna in Amity to his newest.

She didn’t know what to think about Damian, but she was thankful the Council would like him. He was obviously raised entirely around aristocratic figures but possibly separated. His wording choice suggested the former and odd accent suggested the latter. She’s always been worried about Danny’s open heart, even more so when she saw his reaction to just seeing Damian.

Thankfully, Damian seemed just as smitten as Danny was. She didn’t necessarily believe in love at first sight, but she understood an alphas immediate attraction to an omega who fit all their preferences and an omegas immediate attraction to the same. Though it is odd how they both fit each other’s preferences.

She would ignore it for Danny. He’s been so excited and happy since their meeting, and even though it’s only been two days he’d already started making the wedding rings. Dad was over the moon when he asked for the blueprints and chemical makeup. Apparently he wasn’t going to make the actual ring part until he knew what Damian would like.

Those thoughts reassured her over-protective mind. She’d thought the attraction was either an aphrodisiac or plain old mind control, but Damian’s reaction to Danny told her that wasn’t the case. She’d been able to overhear a portion of their conversation, and it soothed her to hear Damian getting more and more flustered.

Her protectiveness flared up when she walked in on the kissing, but Danny’s face of absolute horror washed it away. As the best big sister she was she ignored how he now smelled of brown sugar and spice, coffee and caramel. She would only make fun of him for the rest of his existence. Like the best big sister she was.

“Jazz! C’mer, I got it to work!” Danny excitedly waved her over, bobbing in the air. She marked her page and went to the work table. It had a microscope, scale, Bunsen burner, dozens of glass beakers in racks, pipets, magnets and a friability tester. In the middle of everything was a Petri dish with a single green geode.

They were calling it Ectolite, and it seemed to be the Infinite Realms version of fossil fuels. It was created from decaying Blob ghosts or fading emotional remnants. Naturally, anyways. It took a very long time for ghosts to fade and Blobs were no exception.

Artificially they were much easier to make. She thinks. It only took Danny two days after all. “What cut are you going to make it?” She asked as she put on gloves. They didn’t want to contaminate the love it would emit with her own feelings. The love it was supposed to emit if Dannys theory was correct. “I don’t know. The other gem changes shape and texture, but I didn’t check to see if the bottom changes too.”

Danny used a pair of tweezers to pull the shape of the geode into a triangle, then a square, and then a circle. He worried his bottom lip. “I want it to keep this free flowing quality, but I don’t know if actually cutting it will change it. But if it can be manipulated like this,” he stretched it until it looked like a teardrop with a thin tip, “then touching it could ruin the shape I put it in.”

Danny moved aside and let her inspect it more closely. Each side of the geode seemed to be a different texture, one side looking like an earth geode, one looking like bismuth, one appearing to be sea foam, and one seemed to look like a meat hammer. “Have you talked to dad?” She moved the dish to the microscope as Danny groaned.

“I would–and honestly I really wanted to make it with him, but–well, it’s mom again.” She hummed. The geodes cells seemed to be shaped in an infinity symbol, and when she pulled them with the tweezers the cells seemed to go through cellular division to fill the new space, and reabsorb when she moved it back.

“Still angry?” “Worse.” Danny sighed, and she glanced to see him lounge into the air. “She overheard me tell dad about Damian and now she’s pissed that she not only has a half ghost son, but a liminal son-in-law. She’s convinced I’m overshadowing him.”

Talking about mom was always difficult after the reveal. Dad had taken it surprisingly well, explaining that he loved Danny more than he hated ghosts. He even went as far as to say he’d make an effort to learn about ghosts from actual ghosts. Mom on the other hand… “It’s not your fault,” she leaned up from the microscope and took his hand. “Moms always been more eccentric than dad, and we both know she lost it a few years ago with the Pandora situation.”

“We can’t force her to change, and we can’t change ourselves for her. It’s not fair for her or us. The only thing we can do now is try to move on.” Danny sighed and squeezed her hand. “I know, it’s just—I don’t know why, but I blame myself.” “It’s not your fault.” She said again, firmer this time. “It’s not your fault you got hurt, it’s not your fault you hid Phantom, and it’s not your fault she reacted like that. You did the best you could in your situation.”

She was so proud of him. He’d saved the town, the universe and multiverse, he was rebuilding the Infinite Realms and now he was courting someone. It hurt her heart in the best way. He was growing up so fast, and it made her so happy.

“Hey,” she pulled him down until he was back on the ground, “how about you take a break? You can go and see Damian, maybe meet his family, take him on the first date and talk more about the wedding. You can ask him about the ring.” Danny lit up.

“Yeah! That sounds great! Do you wanna come? I think you’ll really like him.” She smiled and shook her head. “I have an appointment with a few ghosts about setting up my firm. Besides, I think I’ll give it a bit more time for our last meeting to wear off.” He blushed and she couldn’t help but ruffle his hair. He laughed and batted her hand away.

“Alright, but you’ll meet him next time, right?” She smiled. “Promise. Now go see your omega.” Danny’s grin was wide enough to show all his sharp teeth. Teeth that were similar to hers. She pulled him into a hug and kissed his head. He squeezed her as if he was scared he would break her.

Jazz watched as he bobbed out of the room, and once he was gone let herself deflate. She pulled out her phone and saw all the texts from her mom. There were at least eighty and they just kept coming. Telling her to call her, to be reasonable, to convince ‘the ghost to let that poor omega go’. Six more came in rapid succession.

Jazz knew she could just block her and get a new phone. It’s what Danny did. But for some reason she just couldn’t. Well, she might know the reason. It was all simple guilting and manipulation, her mom pretending she was the good guy and it was really Danny who was the problem. She was being manipulated subconsciously, and every text she read only made her feel more sorry for her mom.

Her finger hovered over the ‘block’ button. She really, really wanted to press it. But there was a little girl inside her, whispering ‘no! You’ll never see momma again! I miss momma so much, don’t you?’ She sighed, made sure the notifications for that number were off, and picked up her book as she walked out. She had ghosts to help move on.

Danny fixed his shirt again. And then he adjusted his pants, which messed with his shirt. Should he wear his cape? He really liked his cape, but would it be too much? Oh! He had a space blazer that Nocturne got him! He could wear that with a—well, would a button up with the blazer be too formal? He should choose a different shirt. And black or white? Black, black was good. He ran his hand through his hair in the mirror before taking a breath and choosing the turtle neck.

He pulled his hair into a pony tail, fixed his belt, adjusted his blazer, the turtleneck, and then put on his shoes and grabbed his second courting gift. It was a circlet crown with a silver chain. The front had a small, teardrop gem and the sides had three larger ones inside flowers with dangling gems. He’d found it after he’d raided the treasury for anything he’d think Damian would like, and even imagining him in it was making Danny blush.

He wrapped it in green velvet cloth, then put it in a black box and wrapped it with a green ribbon, both of which he’d, uh, liberated from a jewelry store. He couldn’t ask his servants for one because they’d take that information to the break room, those gossips.

Wait. Where would he even meet Damian? At his house? He didn’t know where he lived. Well, he kind of did, but would him showing up unexpectedly be rude or creepy? He didn’t have a way to contact him. But he really, really wanted to see him. Should he just use the Ring of Rage? He’d use the Ring. “Ring of Rage, take me outside of Wayne Manor Dimension 45Q-X.” The Ring glowed bright and a red portal opened in front of him. When he stepped through he was in Gotham City.

Wayne Manor looked like every other manor he’d seen, just more Victorian Gothic with gargoyles and cobblestone walls. He fazed through the gate and took a deep breath. Walking up the steps felt similar to walking to fight Pariah Dark. He rang the doorbell, and adjusted his hair over his shoulder before the door opened.

The man who opened the door seemed to be a butler, rather old but like Damian–and everyone else in Gotham–smelled like death. He smiled, and hoped he wouldn’t be freaked out by his teeth. “Hello! My name is Daniel Phantom, but you could call Danny! Would you know if Damian is available, and if he is could I perhaps talk to him?” The man studied him for a second, then smiled and opened the door wider.

“Ah yes, King Phantom, an honor to meet you your highness. Damian has not stopped talking about you since your meeting. I am Alfred Pennyworth, the primary caretaker of Wayne Manor and it’s residents.” Danny stepped inside and held out his hand. “Please, Mr.Pennyworth, the honors all mine! Damian spoke about you quite highly. You don’t have to call me your highness or king or any of that royal decree.”

Alfred took his hand and shook it, and his smile made him feel a bit better. “Thank you, Master Daniel. If you will follow me, I believe Master Damian is currently in the dining room with his siblings and father.” Oh god, siblings and father? “Pardon me, Mr.Pennyworth,” his smile strained a little, “but—how many of Damian’s siblings are here?” Alfred seemed to notice his slight distress, and it made him smile a bit wider.

“Five of Master Damian’s siblings are present today, as well as close family friend Barbara Gordon, a rare occurrence you are lucky to see.” Oh. Ok. So, six of Gothams Greatest Detectives and The Batman are here. Oh god he hoped he didn’t do anything stupid. But knowing him he’d fall and break his nose the moment he walked in. He really had to stop thinking like this. He just—oh, for the love of Ancients, he was a king! He could handle meeting his future father, brother and sister-in-laws. He could do this! For Damian!

Alfred opened a door for him, and he said a small ‘thank you’ and tried not to wince under all the eyes now on him. It looked like a large dinning room with a long rectangular table filled with various foods. What time was it? Oh he hoped he didn’t interrupt breakfast. All the chairs were filled and they were staring at him with various emotions on his face.

But his eyes landed on Damian, and suddenly none of it mattered. Damian’s face lit up, and he launched himself out of his chair with a joyful shout of his name and into his arms. The force made him raise a few inches into the air, and he couldn’t help but laugh and pull Damian closer.

He still smelled like him. It was as if he’d added his scent into his own, and Danny wanted nothing more than to lean into his neck and leave a mark. But the voices in front of him reminded him there were others here, so he had to–literally–come back to earth and address the situation.

Jazz and Clockwork would be so proud of him.

When he lowered Damian had wrapped his arms around his neck and touched their heads together. “Oh Daniel,” he cooed, and his voice drove him a bit crazy, “What a wonderful surprise! I’ve missed you so.” He couldn’t help but laugh and nuzzle his nose, inhaling more of his scent. “It’s been but two days and I already have a piece of my soul dedicated to you. You’ve captured my mind in a state of worship that continues even in your absence.”

Damian’s face flushed and his smile grew and Danny wanted to kiss him. He held himself back. “Oh. My. God. Daniel!” Another voice said, and Damian pulled back and Danny moved to his side, wrapping and arm around his waist as Damian wrapped an arm around his as someone approached. The man in front of him had light brown skin and slightly long black hair and blue eyes.

He raced through his Gotham knowledge and held out his hand, smiling. “Richard Grayson! Though, you go by Dick, correct? Damian’s told me about you!” Richard’s, or Dick, smile widened and he shook his hand enthusiastically. “Dick, please. It’s nice to meet you, Daniel! Damian has told me so, so much about you.” Oh, that was good! From Damian’s blush and slightly embarrassed scent that was really good!

He let his smile become more relaxed, and Damian led him to a chair next to his that Alfred had somehow gotten in the short time they’d talked. “Thank you,” he said to the butler, pulled out Damian’s chair for him since Pandora would kill him otherwise, and sat when he did. Him sitting seemed to wake the rest of the table.

“So.” Bruce Wayne said, and Danny was reminded he was Batman. “I haven’t heard as much about you as Dick has. Tell me, who are you? You seemed to be a meta, correct?” That first part felt like it wasn’t really for him, but he wasn’t going to be intimidated–even though he definitely was. It also felt like bit of a lie since Alfred knew who he was, but he would answer honestly.

He straightened his shoulders, held his head high and looked Bruce in the eyes. All while trying to appear non-hostile. “My name is Daniel Phantom. I am the High King of The Infinite Realms, The Afterlife Dimension. I act as the King of the dead and underworlds as well as their gods. And, if you shall allow, I want nothing more than to make Damian my Queen.”

There was a pause and he couldn’t help but notice the uptick of caramel in Damian’s scent. He liked it. Dick looked very happy, and the others looked either confused, worried, or–in who he thought was Stephane Brown and Cassandra Cains case–absolutely overjoyed.

Bruce didn’t let anything show, but he glanced to Cassandra. She met his eyes and nodded enthusiastically, softly clapping her hands and giggling with Stephane. He hoped that was good. It felt good. Bruce didn’t seem to think it was good.

“King of the Afterlife?” Another asked, and he definite knew who he was. Jason Todd. “Does that mean your dead?” He could feel Bruce trying to burn a hole into his head. “I’m actually an odd case. I’m what ghosts call a Halfa, which means genetically I’m half ghost. It’s rather odd, so the simplest way I could explain it is that I act as the line between life and death, but I’m capable of moving it. Sometimes more dead, sometimes more alive, but always a bit of both.”

He hummed and leaned back, and Timothy Drake leaned forward. “How does that work? You said genetically, but how are you moving, ruling a kingdom if you always have one foot out the door?” Damian’s spice turned a little hot, but not in a good way the way it did when they were kissing. He rubbed his thumb in circles on his hips, and it lessened the scent.

“Let us not hound my future mate,” Damian scolded, and his face flushed. “Daniel, you must’ve came here for a reason, yes?” Damian leaned a little out of his chair, and Danny did too. “That I did!” He pulled the box out of his blazer and presented it to him, “I wanted to see if you’d like to go on our first romantic outing, as well as give you another gift. It will connect to the crown you choose, as well as your veil if you’d like to wear one.”

Someone choked, and he heard the girls and Dick ‘aww’ as Damian blushed. Caramel and brown sugar wrapped around in, and he let his own scent do the same. Together, they smelled like a cup of coffee in a thunderstorm, a warm hug in autumn, the kitchen during the holidays. Damian took the box and gently undid the ribbon, smoothly wrapping it around his wrist before opening the box. He gasped, and Danny remembered he didn’t check where the gems were from.

Under the normal light they looked very out of this world. They seemed to look like heat waves, or the lines you’d see on an old box TV. Damian tilted the back center gem back and forth, and the color changed, the middle of it seemed to split into an eye—oh. Oh! He knew what they were! Oh thank the ancients, this was the best mistake he could’ve made!

Damian leaned back quickly as the waves came off the gem in a smooth streak, similar to his tail when he flew. It circled his shoulders and then expanded, solidifying into a white cat with four tails. Its eyes were a vibrant purple, and it didn’t seem to have fur but its skin was sleek and metallic. Like an Egyptian cat but without the wrinkles. It meowed and made some clicking sounds, sniffing Damian’s cheek before relaxing on his shoulders. Its mouth was filled with sharp teeth and a black tongue.

Someone muttered ‘oh my god’ and the giggling and ‘aww’ing increased. All good things. Damian’s eyes were wide as he traced a finger along the cats back, and it liked it if it’s purring was anything to go by. “This is a cat from Dimension AB12-00! Because of this Dimensions number everything in it is usually numbered in some way. This cat was the fourth born in its litter, as you can tell from the tail. They like to hide in shiny things. I believe it’s siblings are in the other three gems, though they’ve been incredibly shy so I don’t truly know.”

That was a bit of a lie, he could sense them a little bit, but that just made everything better! Damian looked overjoyed, cooing over the cat as it crawled into his lap and sniffed around. “Oh, she’s beautiful, what is her name?” “You can choose. They do not have one.” He let her sniff his fingers, and chucked lightly as she affectionately bit them. “I found them in the treasury, and as far as I know they’ve been in there for about twenty thousand years. At this point they’re AB12-00’s version of a Saber Tooth Tiger.”

The other cats were coming out. The one in the left kept coming out then going back in, and the one in the front teardrop bounced out and onto Damian’s lap. This one had only one tail, and it meowed and pawed Damian’s chest for attention. He laughed and scratched it behind the ear. As he did he leaned forward, put his hand around Danny’s neck and pulled him forward to kiss him. Danny blinked for a moment before kissing back.

It was just as wonderful as last time. The whole world seemed to shrink until they were the only thing that existed, as if they’d become one. But he didn’t get to enjoy it like he wanted because someone loudly cleared their throat. Damian pulled away quickly, his scent embarrassed and his face bright red. It was cute. He glanced to the table and had to stop himself from shrinking.

That was definitely Batman glaring at him. He had this odd shadow over his face, and it actually looked like a mask. “Wow,” Tim teased, “didn’t know you knew how to do that!” They all laughed as Damian’s face became redder, and he couldn’t help but give him a kiss on the cheek. “I’m very glad you like it. I know you’ll be a wonderful owner for them.” Damian huffed, but his scent showed he was very happy.

The two cats seemed very tired, probably because they’d been in the gem for so long they weren’t used to this much movement. Damian was sad to see them go, so Danny proposed that they set up a schedule to get the cats used to being outside the gem. “Where would you like to go for our outing? You can choose any time, any place, and I will find it for you. I have access to it all.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Where would you like to go? I wish to learn more about your interests as you have for mine.” Oh that was sweet. He could take him anywhere in the multiverse he wanted, and Damian wanted to know more about him. He felt his face heat up, and took Damian’s hand. “Well, I love space! If you'd like, I could take you to my favorite planets in this dimension. There’s a planet a few galaxies away called Elma, and it’s inhabited completely by crystals!”

Danny rambled about Elma, detailing the crystal coral reefs and the glass islands and the crystallized sulfur and ozone in the atmosphere that protected the planet from invaders and painted the surface in sun catching rays. He waved his hands around and used ice to create the cris-cross pattern they froze in and the colored crystalline that made constellations that could only be seen on this planet.

“Ah! I apologize!” He said sheepishly, fiddling with his hair, “I did not mean to take over the conversation. But I could tell you more on Elma, if you’d like. I could take you to the Riverbend Festival!” Damian’s scent was so sweet and sugary, and he wanted to drown in it. “Do not apologize! You are so passionate, Daniel, the way your eyes shine as you detail the things you love is divine! I would love to see the festival! Is there anything I should wear for the weather, the activities and the like?”

They would be walking a lot, it would be chilly but not too cold, and something smooth he could give a crystallized texture to help them blend in since off-planet outsiders were basically impossible. Damian nodded, gave him a small kiss which almost made him explode, and stood and rushed off. On instinct Danny stood as well, and was left there with his future mates family.

“Damian, wait! Lemme help!” Stephane called, and her and Cassandra rushed off after him. Ok, that was two less interrogators. He must’ve looked a little nervous because Dick smiled and said, “Don’t worry, we don’t bite.” Danny laughed with him, and tried not to look at Bruce. “Your taking him off planet? Into another galaxy? What’s the point of that? You could take him anywhere on Earth.”

Dicks smile tightened, and Jason not-so-subtlety kicked Bruce. “I, for one, approve. I sorta want to threaten you, but I get the feeling that wouldn’t work on you.” Danny laughed. “Yes, I don’t tend to get actually scared anymore. One of my Council members is the personification of fear, and after looking him in the eye multiple times a day nothing fazes me.”

“And to answer Bruce’s questions, I want to show Damian the reaches his rule will go if he becomes my queen. Death goes far beyond this Dimension, and I pride myself on being able to at least slightly connect with every world and culture I come into contact with. I don’t mind if Damian does not wish to do that, but I want to see if he can. I believe he can.”

Bruce didn’t look any happier. If anything he seemed to be pouting now, and his scent was sour and unpleasant. Tim also had an odd sort of look on his face. “How do you plan to get onto Emla if you know nothing can enter the atmosphere?” Bruce raised up—“By teleportation. I can turn intangible as well.” — and sunk back into his chair. Jason snorted. “I’d like to get to know you more!” Barbara said suddenly. She’d been silent the whole time, watching him, and he’d honestly forgotten she was there.

“There’s going to be a Gala on the twenty-third, two weeks from today, to announce Jason and his mates child. Knowing how forward Damian is and how forward you seem to be, I’d assume by that time you’ll be sure that your going to become mates, correct?” Danny shook off his shock and nodded. “Yes, I’m already sure. But by that time we’ll have the wedding planned out, I’d hope.” Her smile grew. “Then would you like to come as Damian’s future mate? I think he’d love to flaunt you to everyone.”

“That I would.” At Damian’s voice he turned, and—

Wow.

Holy shit. Oh my ancients he’s so beautiful. He’s perfect. He’s never seen someone so stunning. Damian was wearing a dark green button up with black dress pants and shoes, with the circlet crown. It fit him perfectly. It was all tight and form fitting, and it seemed like his scent was a thousand times stronger and sweeter.

His mouth gaped like a fishes for a moment, and it made him realize Damian had come right up to him. He closed his mouth with a snap, reattached his tongue, and regained his senses. “I’ve never seen anyone or thing as mesmerizing as you.” He smoothly took Damian’s hand and kissed it. Damian’s face was a nice red, and he heard the girls giggling. Damian was wearing the ring. It made him purr louder.

Wait, purr? Oh FUCK he was purring. He quickly tried to stop but it didn’t work. It only made it stutter, and he cleared his throat. “Ah….Apologies.” He laughed awkwardly, and subtly tried to hit his chest. It didn’t work. Thankfully, for some reason, Damian looked as if he was in love. “I was unaware you could make sounds such as this,” Damian came closer, almost chest to chest, and tilted his head back to expose some of his neck.

“It’s attractive.” His braid short circuited. He swallowed, tracing the curve of Damian’s collarbone with his eyes. He imagined kissing along his shoulder, tracing his fingers down his spine, and biting—he bit his tongue off again. A growl had been building in his throat, but he knew Bruce would take it as a threat.

He cleared his throat. Damian looked very pleased with his reaction, and he leaned closer, inviting him to leave a mark. He really, really wanted to. But Bruce’s scent was getting more and more hostile, so he held himself back. “Ha…thank you, my love. Are you ready?” Damian bid everyone goodbye, and Danny used the Ring of Rage to open a portal to Elma.

“Oh my gooooooddd!!!” Dick cheered, grabbing Jason and rocking him back and forth. “I told you!! I told you!! Oh my god he’s even perfecter than I thought!!” Jason laughed and Bruce huffed. Tim laughed and the room was quickly filled with excited chatter and laughter.

“You should’ve seen him!” Steph squealed, “He was so nervous and exited and he smiled at me! He smiled and hugged me and said thank you so much!!” Cass giggled and clapped her hands, “Very happy! Very good! Hopeful!” “King of the goddammed afterlife man,” Jason chuckled “how the hell’d he do that?”

“You’re just jealous,” Tim poured himself more coffee but quickly stopped when Dick pulled him into a hug. “Anyone would be!” Jason retorted as he was also pulled into the hug. “This went awesomely!” Dick laughed, “Barbara, good job remembering the Gala! Oh I hope he brings his sister next time. Maybe we can meet his parents too!”

Alfred came around and took the chair Daniel had been seated in. “I look forward to seeing them dance.” He smiled at his grandchildren, and accepted Cass’s hug. Bruce made a ‘hmf’ noise, and Jason rolled his eyes. “Geez old man, what’s the problem now? Too touchy for your taste?” Barbara snorted. “He probably wasn’t respectful enough,�� They both laughed as Bruce’s sulking increased.

“I just think it’s suspicious is all,” they groaned, “No, no, listen; what are the chances the king of the afterlife wants to marry the prince of the League of Assassins after their first meeting? What if he wants access to the Lazarus Pits?” Barbara rolled her eyes. “Why would the king of the dead want to bring people back to life? He’d be losing citizens.”

“He could be angry about that!” Jason sighed and banged his head on the table. “Maybe he’s only pretending to court Damian, as revenge! Regardless we need to be careful, we don’t know what he’s capable of.” Jason tried to hit his head again but was stopped by Dick. “Your just upset Damian’s getting courted. Relax, if this was for revenge why would he give Damian four cats?”

Barbara snorted, “Four saber tooth tigers!” And they laughed. Bruce huffed again. “Oh, and that second gift? It’ll attach to his veil or crown??” Steph fell into her chair with a dreamy sigh. “Did I tell you guys the ring was his mom’s wedding ring? It isn’t just an otherworldly ring?” The whole room seemed to gasp. “Master Dick!” Alfred scolded playfully, “That is not a detail you keep to yourself! What do you think of that, Master Bruce?” The room laughed. Bruce huffed sulkier.

“We still need to be careful.” “And we will.” Cass said firmly. “But. We will not deny him this happiness. He’s very hopeful. Very happy.” Tim chuckled as he took a sip of his coffee. “More than happy, I’d say. He kissed him in front of us! And the first thing Daniel said? ‘I have a piece of my souls dedicated to you’? Whoo!” He fanned himself, and the table laughed. “You could see it in the way he looked at him! That man, this literal king, looked like a lovesick puppy!”

“Imagine their wedding,” Jason continued dramatically, “not just a royal wedding but a union of the living and dead. Imagine the scandal, the scene!” Alfred patted Jason’s shoulder. “This is not one of our books, by boy. But,” he went on as the table laughed again, “I believe he would find it most helpful if we only assisted in the wedding when asked to, no?” There was a murmur of agreement, and Bruce once again huffed. Alfred gave him a look, and finally he conceded, “Alright, I’ll allow it. But we still need to be careful.” Immediately the table launched into discussion, and Bruce was forced to listen to the excitement of his youngest sons wedding.

#Jason internally: frothing at the mouth over the fact that Damian gets to live a YA romance novel style romance #Everyone talking with Danny and liking him more and more and already seeing the good he’ll do for Damian:#Bruce sitting there with his arms crossed: kissing is yucky #As someone else said; Bruce having beef with Danny no matter what is hilarious #dead serious #damian wayne x danny fenton #ghost king danny #infinite realms #royalty au #a/b/o au

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scoobydoodean · 3 months

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ok so I deeply love and respect your thoughts on supernatural because the majority of them line up with what I've been thinking for years but you said something the other day that I keep turning over in my brain and it was something along the lines of carver liking dean more than sam - I know you're in the middle of rewatching s4 but I would love to hear you expound on that (if you have time) because I remember being in the fandom while carvernatural was airing and it was pretty much when the deangirl exodus started. in fact I think people tore into him worse than dabb even 😭

feel free to hold onto this until later when you start the carver seasons if you wish :)

<3 I'll go ahead and answer this one, because it's more of a "broad strokes" thing for me, and I've been rewatching very slowly (on purpose) so that could be a very long wait.

This is so funny because I can just picture Sam fans reading it and turning red and their blood boiling with the fire of a thousand suns but the TL;DR is that season 8-11 (Carver era) broad strokes to me are:

Sam sucks and is a worse brother and person than Dean.

Sam spends the first two seasons of Carver's run thinking he's a better person than Dean anyway and then the second two knowing he sucks, deciding to embrace his moral flexibility to keep Dean alive no matter the cost, and trying to mend things.

Dean is circled by many potential suitors who also in a sense represent Sam replacements because Sam sucks: Benny, Cas, Crowley, and Amara.

Dean knows that Sam sucks and part of him wants to get tf away from him very badly but another part of him feels guilty for wanting that. Family is suffering. Family is a chain around your neck keeping you tied to them via guilt. (Demon Dean represents the desire for escape, as does Amara).

Everybody wants to be with Dean, be Dean, and/or be loved by Dean. Dean is love. Dean is the world. Dean is the reason for existing. Everybody is lovesick about him. Sam is just there.

Sam needs to stop blaming Dean for so many things and learn to own his own choices.

That was fun to write down.

Longer commentary/explanation below the cut.

Season 8 (Carver's first season) literally begins with a Sam character assassination. It begins with us learning that Sam knowingly left Kevin to spend the rest of his life kidnapped and tortured without even telling a soul what happened to him. Not only did he abandon Dean and Cas as well but he didn't even look for them, and refuses to give a satisfying answer as to why.

Season 8 Sam's abandonment as distinct from previous behavior

I have had people this year who I love and respect tell me they don't view this as a character assassination and say they believe this is in character for Sam. I simply do not agree with that. I talk about this as it relates to Kevin here.

Sam has displayed selfishness and a big ego at many points in the series up to season 8. He's told a lot of lies (sometimes to the point of gaslighting), he's gone behind Dean's back to do things that affect Dean's life, he's taken traumatic experiences Dean opened up to him about and ultimately harmed Dean with them, he's shown resentments and anger, he's displayed jealousy, he's displayed a sense of superiority. He has never abandoned his brother to die without even trying. The Sam of season 3 would eviscerate season 8 Sam for this.

Sometimes Sam says and does things he shouldn't, but his crimes do not include "abandoning Dean to die without even looking for him" up to season 8. Many of his crimes happen at least partly because he really really doesn't want Dean to die or is desperate to save his life. He lets go of his anger at John and returns to make sure Dean is safe in 1.11. He refuses to give up and finds a way to save Dean in 1.12. In 1.22, he's willing to put John's life at risk for revenge, but in 2.01 he gets into an outright screaming match with John in the hospital under the belief that John's prioritizing the demon over Dean. Sam spends all of season 3 raging and angst-ing about not being able to save Dean to the point of considering and doing some shady as hell things/abandoning some of his more stalwart moral stances (3.05, 3.11, 3.15, 3.16). Dean's death and later, the desire to secure his safety/future, is one of the catalysts for Sam's descent into drinking demon blood (3.09, 3.16, 4.04, 4.09, 4.12). When he dies in "Swan Song", he urges Dean to pursue a normal, safe, life because he knows that at that point in time, Dean wants to get out but has always felt trapped (2.09, 2.10, 2.20, 3.01, 4.12, 4.16). Even Soulless Sam (who isn't the same as regular Sam) tried to look for Dean in 6.09 "Clap Your Hands If You Believe"—it was simply that when leads for the night dried up, he hooked up with someone because he had nothing more to go on and in soulless Sam's head that was the reasonable thing to do. But soulless Sam also certainly isn't representative of the real Sam—the fact that he doesn't care as much is supposed to point us to differences between him and regular Sam. Season 8 opens with Sam abandoning Dean in a context that makes him arguably worse than his soulless self.

(I talk about why Sam actually abandons everyone in season 8 in a very long post here).

Season 8 and 9 more broadly

So Carver has Sam abandon Dean to die without even trying. Then he has Sam refuse to give any kind of actually reasonable explanation that makes sense to anyone who was paying attention. Then he has Sam say that he's going to leave the life and Dean needs to get over it and accept that Sam's new life will not include contact with Dean (just like his life at Stanford didn't). While saying he's going to leave, he still wants to exert control over Dean's relationships and leverages the threat of leaving (as if he were going to stay) to get Dean to shut up about Sam abandoning him and then again to try and get Dean to cut ties with Benny. He wants to kill Benny before knowing a single thing about him. He assigns someone (Martin) who he knows is mentally unstable and has a more black and white perception of monsters to track Benny and gets Martin killed. He watches Martin knock Dean unconscious and chain him up in a room and doesn't stop it because he wants Benny dead that bad, but then has the audacity to act as if Dean sending him a fake text is worse than Sam literally chaining him up in a room to prevent Sam from killing an innocent person (someone Sam would normally—btw—defend based on episodes like 2.03 and 4.04 or even a few episodes ago with Kate in "Bitten"). He tells Amelia he wants to fight for their relationship then the moment Dan says they should leave the choice to Amelia, he leaves so that it becomes his choice, and then he returns for one episode just to be a homewrecker. He insists on doing The Trials while promising to survive them and giving a big speech about how he's going to save Dean from his own suicidal ideation and then drops the promise as if it never existed two episodes later. Sam loses confidence in himself to complete The Trials and then acts like Dean is the one who doesn't believe in him because Dean is caring for him and insisting he rest and this is an unforgivable offense. At the end of the season, he basically says he's going to commit suicide because Dean has friends besides him. He acts as if he deserves to be Dean's most trusted confidant after an entire season of him being an absolutely fucking terrible brother and acts like Dean is just a big meanie whose feelings are irrational.

After all of this, he has the audacity, in season 9, to suggest that Dean is a bad person who can't stand the thought of being alone. He tells Dean he's the worst person ever and they can only be work partners from now on because Dean is so so bad and evil for stopping him from committing suicide and then not telling him about Gadreel. At the end of the season he admits this was a lie. He just wanted to punish Dean (9.23).

I can see how—if you were watching live at the time (I started watching when season 11 was airing) you'd lose hope. You'd quit the show over all of this, because it seems to go on forever. It's like torture. I would drop kick season 8 Sam into a pit full of lava without hesitation so I get it. If I believed that Carver was actually saying "Yes so true Dean is The Worst™️ and Sam is morally superior <3" for two seasons straight I'd quit the show too. But that isn't what he's saying. We're supposed to read between the lines and realize how unbelievably full of shit Sam is—how deeply selfish and hypocritical he's being. How yes—Dean has made mistakes—but Sam is NOT a better person than him and has gotten away with some absolutely rancid garbage. And season 10 and 11 go on to beat you over the head with it if you didn't get it the first time.

Season 10 and 11

Season 10 opens with this dialogue from a demon:

I heard the rumors. I said "no, that can't be." A Winchester, one of us? But it's true, isn't it? Whatever soul you had; whatever boy scout code you cuddled up to at night; it's all gone. Leaving what? Look at you!

We're meant to think she's talking about Dean who just woke up with black eyes, but then the camera cuts to Sam torturing her, demanding to know where Dean is.

In 10.03, we learn that Sam talked a man (Lester) into selling his soul so he could use him as bait. Demon Dean ends up being assigned to fulfill Lester's deal (to kill his wife for cheating on him). Dean immediately clocks Lester as having cheated on her first and kills Lester for being an insufferable hypocrite... and while he's doing it, I'm pretty sure he's also thinking of Sam's flaming hypocrisy.

SAM: I never meant— DEMON DEAN: Who cares what you meant?! That line that we thought was so clear between us and the things that we hunted, ain’t so clear is it? Wow. You might actually be worse than me! I mean, you took a guy at his lowest, used him, and it cost him his life and his soul. Nice work.

NOTE: 10.03 also recalls 4.21—an episode Sam fans have always tended to emphasize as a "Dean crime" episode where Dean risks Sam's death to force a detox. Sam does the reverse—pumping Dean full of human blood here in 10.03 and explicitly risking his death.

Sam gets Suzie killed in "The Werther Project" while searching for The Book of the Damned.

SAM I’m sorry, okay? I’m so sorry. SUZIE Lot of good “sorry” does me. Look at me. Look….at….me. [She points to her corpse.] There she is. The first casualty of your misguided mission. But what’s another human life to you? Anything’s worth it, as long as you two make it out alive. And how’s that search going? Any closer to a cure? SAM This isn’t real. You’re not real. SUZIE You think Dean’s the wild card, the loose cannon. But don’t you see? Making deals with witches, opening Pandora’s box down there? You’re the reckless one. You’ll do anything to keep clinging to that doomed brother of yours. How many more will die, Sammy? You know it. You have to be stopped. And the only one who can stop you is you!

A few episodes later, Sam orders Oskar's death for a spell to remove the Mark of Cain. I've seen hilarious posts before about how he had no choice but to do this because MoC Dean is so scawy and bad but that quite explicitly is not his motivation. They could have done so many other things. Throw him into space. Bury him in a really deep hole. Put him in something like The Cage. But Sam didn't like any of those options, because all of them meant being without his brother, and he's realized he doesn't want to be without him no matter the cost (10.18).

SAM So, awhile back, we had a chance to, um…close the gates of Hell. And in order to do that, I would’ve had to die. And, I was okay with that, and I am okay with that, but Dean was not. And so, he uh… CHARLIE He saved you. SAM Yeah, he saved me. CHARLIE And let me guess, in doing so, he did something you didn’t want, and that pissed you off. And you said something that hurt him? SAM Yeah, that sounds about right. [...] SAM You know, when Dean came to get me at school, I-I told myself… one last job, you know? One more job. And then when – when I, um…. When I lost Jess, I, again, told myself one more job. There’s always one more job, you know? And one more job, and one more job, and then I was gonna go back to law and – and to my life. CHARLIE You were the Dread Pirate Roberts of hunting. SAM Yeah. I guess I really understand now that….this is my life. I love it. But I can’t do it without my brother. I don’t want to do it without my brother. And if he’s gone, then I don’t…. CHARLIE I got it. I-I do.

This all culminates in 10.23, where a very mentally unstable MoC Dean attempts to reason with Sam about them both being evil and needing to take themselves out:

DEAN: Remember when we were in that church, making Crowley human, about to close the Gates of Hell? Well, you sure as hell were ready to die for the greater good then. SAM: Yeah, and, Dean, you pulled me back. DEAN: And I was wrong. You were right, Sam. You knew that this world would be better without us in it. SAM: No, no, no, wait a second. You're twisting my words here, Dean. DEAN: Why? Because we -- we track evil and kill it? The family business? Is that it? Look at the tape, Sam. Evil tracks us. And it nukes everything in our vicinity -- our family, our friends. It's time we put a proper name to what we really are and we deal with it. SAM: Wait a second. We are not evil. Listen... We're far from perfect, but we are good. That thing on your arm is evil, but not you, not me. DEAN: I let Rudy die. How was that not evil? I know what I am, Sam. But who were you when you --when you drove that man to sell his soul... Or when you bullied Charlie into getting herself killed? And to what end? A-a good end? A just end? To remove the Mark no matter what the consequences? Sam, how is that not evil? I have this thing on my arm, and you're willing to let the Darkness into the world. SAM: You were also willing to summon death to make sure you could never do any more harm. You summoned me because you knew I would do anything to protect you. That's not evil, Dean. That's not an evil man. That is a good man crying to be heard, searching for... some other way.

Dean is saying a lot of shady shit here, but some of what he's saying... isn't wrong?

Sam is willing to let The Darkness destroy the world, and he does, and then standing in the aftermath of a town being destroyed by the force he unleashed, Sam says:

SAM: I unleashed a force on this world that could destroy it . . . to save you. DEAN: And I told you not to. SAM: And I'd do it again. In a second, I would do it again.

Thousands of people are dying and Sam says he would do it again. This post about Sam's actions versus Dean stopping Sam from closing the gates of hell is highly relevant.

Season 11 continues with Sam taking a little more responsibility for his own decisions, while praying for Dean to live (11.02):

SAM: So . . . I know it's been a long time, but . . . Dean and I, we've -- we've been through a lot of bad. But this is different. This is my fault, and I don't know how to fix it. And if I have to die, I've made my peace with that, but . . . Please. Dean deserves better. Dean deserves a life. There are people out there, good people, who are going to suffer because of me, and I am not asking you to clean up my mess. Hell, I don't even know if you're out there, but . . . If you are . . . And if you can hear me, I, um . . . We need your help, God. We need to know there's hope. We need a sign.

And then there's the VERY long-awaited apology:

SAM When I was with Lucifer, he, um... He showed me things. It was like a highlight reel of my biggest failures. DEAN Yeah, he was messing with you. That's what he does. SAM Give me a sec. I should've looked for you. When you were in Purgatory, I... I should've turned over every stone.

Family (Sam) as chains

While all of this is happening, we also have Benny and Cas and Crowley and Amara.

Benny is contrast—someone whose goodness and selfless loyalty only makes Sam's horrible flaws stand out more sharply in season 8. Under the influence of the specter, Dean says, "Benny has been more of a brother to me this past year than you have ever been" and Sam can't stand it. It haunts him so bad he tries to kill Benny, and can't get over it even after the end of the season when Benny is fucking dead. He is unable to accept that the contrast between himself and Benny is his own fault.

Crowley and Dean's flirtations begin in season 9, as Sam suffocates Dean, and at the end of the season, Crowley has literally convinced Dean to run away with him. In 10.01, there is a delightful phone call where Crowley rubs it in Sam's face that Dean is with HIM:

SAM I don't know how you did this, what kind of... Black-magic stunt you pulled, but hear me --I will save my brother or die trying. CROWLEY You know what tickles me about all this? It's what's really eating you up. You don't care that he's a demon. Heck, you've been a demon. We've all been demons. No, it's that he's with me and he's having the time of his life. You can't stand the fact that he's mine. SAM He's not your pet. CROWLEY My pet? He's my best friend, my partner in crime. They'll write songs about us, graphic novels. “The Misadventures of Growley and Squirrel." Dean Winchester completes me, and that's what makes you lose your chickens.

It's this cruel callback to Sam's jealousy of Benny and Cas in season 8—how Crowley convinced Dean to finally ditch his smothering, controlling brat of little brother who can't stand him having friends, and now Dean is having the time of his life howling at the moon. The problem is, Dean also feels a little bit like maybe Crowley wants to control him too, and that isn't working for him.

Amara in season 11 goes on to further speak on terrible brothers who think they're better than you, who leave you betrayed and diminished, who abandon you. She's raging against the concept of family as chains—she wants revenge... but all the while she's in pain because she still loves her brother. Amara's attraction to Dean is based on that commonality—what she feels is a shared experience and how she wants to cut the last remaining pieces of love she feels for her brother away so she can finally be free of the pain of him—and she doesn't care if she destroys everything—including herself—in the process. (See: Dean slowly losing his identity through the MoC arc). Sam and Dean's relationship is in rehab over this whole season though, and so Dean's role ends up being to convince Amara not to destroy herself—to instead do what Sam and Dean have done and make up and work on improving their relationship.

#writer disk horse #carver #mail #multiseason #season 8 #season 9 #season 10 #season 11 #sams moral compass #deans moral compass #amara #crowley #benny #charlie #family chains

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wolfgiselle · 14 days

Text

Cage Wi-fi

"Can I ask, once again, how it's even possible we get wi-fi down here?"

Adam knew he was beating a dead horse, at this point, by getting worked up over this, but he was only human. Even in these trying times of Angels and Demons—of cages in Hell that were supposed to hold the literal Devil but, for some reason, also currently held him and the Archangel Michael—he needed things to make sense. Nothing had been going as it should lately. Not for a long time. Yet, here he was, trying to find logic where it seemed none existed.

"I assume the computer and its 'wi-fi' are here for entertainment purposes. There's not much else to do down here," Michael murmured. His face was practically hidden behind the screen. It had been for the last few days. At least, Adam thought it was days (Hell time was different, Cage time worse). Adam hoped Michael wasn't becoming addicted—that was all they needed—but there wasn't anything he could do to get it away from him.

Lucifer, at least, seemed to find Michael's newfound fascination and obsession amusing. "The demons snuck one down. I enjoyed the machine last I used it, so I, uh…let's go with 'asked' them to bring one down."

Adam should've guessed Lucifer was behind this. Even when he searched his brain, he couldn't figure out how a simple laptop could cause much, if any, damage. The whole situation seemed harmless. It was because Lucifer was the one who wanted it that he couldn't help but be suspicious.

His relationship with the Devil was mostly cordial. Michael had made it clear early on his vessel was off-limits when it came to torture or harassment. But the warning had ended up being unnecessary. Lucifer had, at first, focused all of his attention on his own vessel, Sam.

Adam had felt a bit bad then that Sam was experiencing such a thing while Adam was getting off scot-free. But, as he'd understood it, it was Sam's fault they were down there. Sam had decided to jump and take Lucifer with him—dragging him and Michael along for the ride. For such reasons, Adam also couldn't help but feel a little vindictive himself after all was said and done. All Adam had wanted was to see his mother and help save the world.

Lucifer did torture Sam for a while, but he must've gotten bored or finally calmed down because one day—for no discernable reason—he stopped. Sam didn't react as though he'd stopped, though. Instead, he kept screaming and tearing into himself, yelling words like "Stop!" or "No!" even though Lucifer was no longer touching him, basically torturing himself.

It almost made him relieved for Sam's sake (as well as his own) when, not long after, they saw Castiel appear. He shot into the cage with as little subtlety as a flaming meteor to snatch him, somehow managing to grab Sam's body but fly off, leaving his soul behind. He hadn't even spared a glance for Adam, despite Michael's (very much appreciated) attempt to get his attention and remind him.

The results of Sam existing in the cage without his body were a trial of their own. If Sam had seemed off or unhinged before, he was an absolute basket-case now. Lucifer even became desperate enough to try and calm him down, to no avail.

Then, once again, they had a visitor. This time 'Death' of all things. (And had Adam mentioned before he wasn't cut out for this?) While Adam was busy trying to fathom the idea of Death having a physical manifestation—on top of still trying to come to terms with Angels, Demons, and… well, everything else he'd ever thought was fantasy being real—Death retrieved Sam's soul.

Death, at least, was polite enough to acknowledge them. Adam included.

"I'm sorry, but the deal was only for one. Dean made his choice," he had said to him.

He'd immediately understood. It hurt, but he wasn't surprised. Their relationship had been short and brief, and for all they'd gone on about family and tried to appeal to him with that argument, he'd meant what he said when they first met. His mom was his family. She was the one he'd been doing all this for.

After Sam was gone, Adam worried Lucifer would get bored and come after him. After a while of showing no such inclination, though, Adam relaxed.

Adam was also surprised when Michael and Lucifer didn't fight each other. He'd been under the impression that had been the whole point of the Apocalypse. Michael had pointed out that neither could kill the other as long as they were down here. The cage kept whatever was in it alive. Fighting would be an exercise in futility.

The two of them still argued. But it was more like your average brotherly back-and-forth (if you considered disagreements over whether God would return and save them, or whether humans deserved to live or were insignificant ants that polluted and destroyed all God's other creations average).

Adam was doing okay. He figured for a guy stuck in Hell (possibly for all eternity), he was holding together pretty well. There was just some confusion over the computer.

"If we can get a signal down here, could we send messages to Earth?" Adam asked.

"And who were you planning on sending messages to?" Lucifer drawled, his human manifestation sprawled out against one of the corner cage walls. That was another thing that confused Adam. This wasn't their 'true' form he was seeing.

When Michael first appeared to him, he had been pure light. His presence had been so bright and heavy it'd felt both like staring directly at the sun and, somehow, being surrounded by it. Michael had later told him it was a miracle he'd been able to look upon him at all. Apparently, it was common for people to burn their eyes out when directly looking at them outside of a vessel. The Winchester blood that'd made it possible for him to be a vessel for Michael period must have saved him.

This meant he'd seen Michael before and had at least an idea of what an Angel could look like through human eyes. He also thought he'd caught a few glimpses of Lucifer when he was still torturing Sam. But he wasn't sure if what he'd seen was accurate after so long. Or if what he'd seen at the time had been distorted by Michael back then, trying to keep him coddled up within his…well, wings in an attempt to keep the awful things happening in front of him from view. As if not seeing Sam's torture made him any less aware of it happening. In some ways, the not seeing, the not knowing, was worse.

Lucifer's image—if his sneaked looks had been accurate—gave off the opposite impression of Michael's. If Michael was the sun, then the Devil was a black and oily hole, primed and ready to suck off or destroy any of the light that wandered near.

Adam wondered if Lucifer stayed in this humanoid form lately (despite his proclaimed hatred for the species) because he hated what had become of his original form or if it would be presumptuous of him to believe he chose to look that way to ease any discomfort Adam might've once shown at his true but now contaminated, visage.

Surely, the Devil would prefer for him to be uncomfortable? No matter how well they seemed to get along, it made little sense for Lucifer to play nice with the vessel of the brother he'd set out to kill. He'd never question such things out loud, though. Or admit to his confusion regarding the…Angel? Archangel? Devil…? Oh—whatever classification he considered himself now. Adam figured as long as he wasn't getting tortured, the status quo was best kept as it was.

"I don't really have anyone to message," he replied, remembering Lucifer's question after way too long a pause.

"Not even the Winchesters? They're your family, after all." Lucifer said it with little inflection, not at all as if he was intending mockery. But Lucifer knew he hated to be reminded of his blood ties to the brothers and how little such a tie had come to mean. Sometimes, Adam thought Lucifer missed Sam, and that was why he always brought them up when they were no longer a necessary topic of conversation.

"You know, very well, I wouldn't wanna talk to them, even if I could. They already know I'm down here. What else am I gonna say to 'em? 'Hey guys, it's your brother—you know, Adam? The guy you left in Hell? Yeah, remember him? That's me.' Nope—not at all interested in having that conversation. I was speaking in hypotheticals. Like, does social media work down here? Could we actually, like… set up a Facebook page or write a blog and call it "The Hell-Cage Experience? That would probably get a lot of page views even if nobody took it seriously."

"Yeah…I didn't understand half of what you said right there, but the computer should be capable of everything it was when it was on Earth. Of course, if you order something, we're obviously not getting it. I learned that lots of humans used that machine or ones like it to acquire food."

"Yeah." Adam brushed his hand through his hair, mentally shaking his head again at the added absurdity to this already mind-breaking situation. What was his life that he was having a casual conversation about computer usage with the Devil? In literal Hell? Adam needed to get over this. He was starting to sound like a broken record.

Music suddenly started playing from the computer for the first time since the device had appeared. Although Michael's human manifestation (an almost duplicate of himself with an added Angel aura) didn't jump or display any sign of startlement, the place where his wings would be visual when displayed distorted and, for a moment, the room became slightly breezy, portraying the Angelic version of the same thing.

Adam didn't recognize the song but could admit it was catchy. What was Michael even watching? He could admit to being a little jealous that he didn't have his own computer down here to whittle the time away—If Lucifer was going to insist on ignoring the laws of reality and physics by having a working computer down here, couldn't he have at least gotten them all one? Why was Lucifer even letting Michael hoard the thing in the first place if Lucifer had it brought here for himself? No way was he about to ask, though. Not for his own computer or about whatever his Angel companion was watching.

Lucifer had no such compunctions, of course. In fact, looking at that human face, which showed his emotions maybe a little too well, Adam would say the Devil looked a little too much like the cat that had captured the canary but wanted to play more with it before he ate it. Adam was instantly suspicious.

"Sooo…what's that you're looking at, Michael?" Lucifer asked, sounding almost like he already knew and just wanted to hear the answer aloud. The whole thing made the human nervous, and he wasn't even sure why.

Adam glanced back at Michael. He didn't seem horrified, angry, or any other emotion the human might've expected if some joke or prank had been pulled on him like he had every other time Lucifer had gotten the better of him while down here. In fact, if he had to guess based on familiarity with his own facial expressions, he would say Michael looked curious.

"It appears to be a live performance of the Winchester Gospel," Michael said. As if that simple sentence alone was self-explanatory.

"A live performance of…what?" Why were the Winchesters being mentioned again? And by Michael of all people. His Archangel roommate usually agreed with Adam that it was best they weren't discussed. The topic had negative connotations for them all. It only led to bad moods and tension.

Suddenly unable to hold back his own curiosity, Adam deduced that it was safe enough to leave his claimed corner of the cage to approach. It was only Michael, after all. He'd already spent a lot of time cuddled up within his wings. He'd felt what it was like to have that being inside him: for some moments, what it was like to share all thoughts and feelings with another without walls separating their personhood. There might as well be no more boundaries left between them to break.

Once he was practically on top of Michael—trying to get a good look at the screen he'd become affixed to—the Archangel, still perfectly attuned to him and his needs from their joining, moved the computer from his lap to in front of him and bundled him into the cleared space. Now, nothing stopped him from getting a good view of the computer. He was a lot more comfortable, too.

It only took him a couple of minutes to register what he was seeing. An 'understanding' of what he'd seen didn't end up following close behind.

There on the screen, clear as day, were Sam and Dean. At least he was pretty sure it was Sam and Dean. If not, these people were dead wringers, and…. wait, no…that was their Impala. It was definitely them.

"What the fuck am I even watching right now?"

"Weren't you listening? Michael said it was a live performance of the Winchester Gospel."

Adam jumped slightly at hearing Lucifer's voice suddenly coming from behind him. He hadn't even noticed him move. He'd been too distracted by the video—whatever it was supposed to be. Michael rested his cheek on his forehead and held him tighter as if trying to offer comfort.

"Yes, I heard him," Adam answered, trying not to sound too smart or snappish (just because Lucifer had, so far, respected Michael's demand to leave him alone, that didn't mean he was going to push it by being purposefully rude) "I just don't know what you mean by Winchester Gospel. Do you mean the prophecy that said they were supposed to be your vessels for the Apocalypse? What does a…, um, TV show?—with them in it—have to do with that?"

"The Winchester Gospel isn't the prophecy, exactly. Not in the way that you're thinking, anyway. But I guess you could call it that since it was written by a prophet."

"Prophet?" That was the first he'd heard about them. Adam supposed he shouldn't be surprised that prophets were real, too, since it seemed pretty much every other imaginary thing had turned out to be.

"Prophets are humans born with the ability to read and understand God's word. The Winchester Gospel was the written version of the Winchester's story leading up to the Apocalypse. A prophet would have been able to see it himself for documentation purposes; think of a modern-age Bible with the brothers smack-dab at the center of it."

Adam tried to take in this information while being distracted by the scene of a horrified Sam screaming up at his girlfriend as she burned to death pinned to the ceiling.

Yikes.

He wasn't particularly fond of either Winchester right now, but they did get the shitty end of the stick, didn't they? The people around them, or in any way connected to them, seemed to die in rather gruesome ways.

"Wait," he said, realizing something. "If it's like a new-age Bible written by a human, does that mean it's available for anybody to read the same way the actual Bible is? And if it's about the Winchesters and the Apocalypse, we're all in it, too, right? Even me?"

"I am soooo glad you asked," Lucifer replied. It didn't escape Adam's notice that he sounded practically giddy. He moved to where Adam could see him, shooting him a wide smile (frightening) before he huddled beside them and took control of the computer.

Lucifer exited the TV show—which had continued on to another episode—with a casual, "We can watch the rest of that later," and typed something into the Google search bar. Seeming to find what he was looking for with a satisfied "ah, ha," Lucifer turned the computer back around. "See for yourself."

Adam had been briefly distracted by wondering why Michael hadn't fought for the computer when Lucifer grabbed it but focused again as soon as he processed what he was looking at.

"What on Earth? Are you fucking serious!?"

"Well, we're certainly not on Earth anymore…" Lucifer started, but Adam wasn't listening.

The website the Devil had switched to seemed to be some sorta fan-made page. The background was all black, the continuing image of pentagrams a recurring theme. There was a banner with a picture of the Impala in it and a stylized font spelling out the word 'Supernatural' over the top of it.

There appeared to be books for sale on the site with the same series title. Was this supposed to be the Winchester Gospel? These books looked like cheap drugstore romance-novel-trash… Much like the kind Adam's mother would buy and sneak into the cart and then hide under her mattress when they got home. They were one of the only splurges she made for herself. Kate Milligan never realized that her son snuck into her room when she wasn't home (often) to read those secret books. It was the closest sometimes Adam could get to porn before he'd had his own computer at home. These books couldn't be as important as the Bible: Not looking like this.

He reached out and scrolled over to an icon titled 'characters,' determined to answer his question on whether he was included in this trash.

Did he even want to be?

No, not really.

But the idea of being forgotten, not just by the people who'd claimed him as family but by the entire world, instilled a sudden existential dread.

It took scrolling through tons of names he didn't even recognize to finally find his own, and it was with a strange mixture of relief and trepidation that he clicked on it.

A page with a picture of himself and some general information popped up—which was weird enough, but he could get over it; he was most disturbed by the info section and its accuracy despite the brevity.

"Apparently, I'm only in about four episodes of this show and two books. But one of my main appearances doesn't count because it was a ghoul pretending to be me, and the other doesn't because it was Michael. That's bullshit!"

Adam wasn't even sure why he was mad. It's not like he wanted people to be able to watch his life unfold. As he continued to look through his character page, though, he couldn't help but feel robbed—or like he was being made a mockery of somehow.

"Yawn. This is getting boring now."

Lucifer took control of the computer back, and Adam let him, unsure where else to go and not sure he even wanted to see more. He had the sneaking suspicion that being bombarded with this crap had been Lucifer's intent all along and that he and Michael were just along for the ride. 'Why' Lucifer wanted to watch, read, or interact with any of this was beyond him. Maybe he just wanted to watch himself, but Adam didn't think it would be fun to watch the events of their last year or so re-enacted when it was already such a misery experiencing them.

"It'd take forever to read through these books or watch the show. I'm sure none of us want to spend all our time staring at Sam and Dean's ugly mugs, no matter how limitless it currently is. Sooo…I say we check out some of this fan content first. Music videos, fanfiction, blogs, pairings: I don't even know some of these terms, but they all sound interesting. Humans come up with some of the most depraved—"

"Fanfiction!?" Adam practically yelped, interrupting what was sure to be another 'humans suck' rant from Lucifer he wasn't quite in the mood to withstand. Adam hadn't even given a thought to fanfiction. An old friend of his had been obsessed with Star Trek to near insanity and had introduced him to the concept by forcing him to read a story they'd written using the show's characters. Adam had learned a lot about his friend that day, and he'd never been able to watch an episode of Star Trek with a clean mind again. It had made his mother's erotica seem like child's play.

"Well, that's an interesting reaction," was all Lucifer had to say. Damn it! He should've controlled himself better. Adam could already see the cursor heading towards that 'cursed' word.

"Wait! You really don't want to…see any of that…" Adam trailed off, seeing Lucifer was no longer paying attention to him. Michael's eyes were still glued to the computer, and Adam wondered if he'd glanced away from it even once since it'd appeared down here.

"So 'fanfiction' is 'fan' stories written by fans about certain characters and events. I don't see the problem here. What wouldn't I want to see?"

"Weren't you just saying, 'Humans come up with some of the most depraved—' and so on? You telling me you can't imagine what could be terrible about stories possibly written about 'our' lives?"

Adam knew he shouldn't be saying this even as it came out of his mouth. It'd be smarter to let Lucifer think the topic is dull. Maybe part of him wanted Lucifer to suffer what he'd once had to endure. Then again, the Devil had a strange sense of humor. He was just as likely to find the whole thing amusing. What the fuck did Adam know? He'd almost suspect torturing him, and Michael, with fanfiction, was actually part of his motive here if it weren't for his seemingly ignorant confusion on the topic. If Adam had learned anything, it was that Lucifer was manipulative. But he never lied.

"Depraved?" Lucifer asked with new interest, his face inching closer to the screen.

Yeah.

He wasn't faking that.

Adam resigned himself to the inevitable and braced for impact. Being a minor 'character' might be his only saving grace here.

"I wouldn't get too excited. Don't say I didn't warn you when you find something you don't like," Adam warned. Lucifer getting pissed off would benefit none of them.

"Oh, I see. So, this is where pairings come into play. I wonder…"

Adam caught Lucifer's glance at him out of the corner of his eye and the following smirk. So much for that 'saving grace'. He was clearly Lucifer's first target.

"You were so upset about not having many appearances. About being the unimportant brother—the spare—even here."

"Brother—" Michael finally chipped in again, and Adam recognized his warning tone. Lucifer sure liked to kick below the belt and, not so surprisingly, play with fire.

Adam tried to control his face enough so his scowl wasn't obvious, but had a feeling he'd failed spectacularly. He snuggled further into Michael's arms—his only comfort down here—and felt his body relax when the Angel squeezed him even tighter.

Thankfully, Lucifer only rolled his eyes and mumbled what Adam was sure was 'so sensitive' before continuing with his clicking, undeterred.

"Well, look at that! Most of the 'fanfiction' here involves you and Michael in a sexual or romantic relationship. Wow, big brother! Never thought I'd see you degrade yourself this way. Even if it's only in a piece of fiction written by humans."

Michael's posture straightened, and he could almost imagine the look of contempt he'd be sending Lucifer even with his back to him. Adam rubbed the Angel's arm, attempting to return comfort and calm.

"Not that I can blame the humans for speculating about how you two act. You're way too soft on your vessel, Michael. You might as well glue him to your side and be done with it."

"If I wanted your opinion, I'd ask for it."

Lucifer hummed and continued messing with the computer.

"Here's an interesting summary: 'Michael has a boner but doesn't know what to do with it. Adam teaches him one of the pleasures of being human.'"

Adam cringes but isn't surprised. Yeah, that was to be expected. Adam supposed it also made sense that any fan-made material would focus on him in conjunction with Michael. He was the 'character' he'd interacted with the most. He'd literally been inside him (yes, he could grasp the erotic implications).

Adam snuck a look at Michael, relieved to see he looked more confused than angry. He thought about what he wanted to say.

"You realize you've probably been paired up with everybody at least once yourself, right? You're too important. You probably had plenty of 'screen time' or 'page-time,' or whatever the fuck we're going with here."

"And why should it bother me what humans write about me?"

"Well, as you've probably gathered, most of it is porn. Here, let me see the computer for a minute?"

Lucifer arched an eyebrow at him but pushed it over. Adam was clearly being humored; he hoped he could find what he had in mind.

It was easier than it should've been to navigate the website. And it took less time than it should've to find something inflammatory.

"Look at this," Adam said, passing the computer back. Adam took a perverse amount of pleasure in the blank expression that came over Lucifer's face as he realized what he was reading. Adam might not agree with most of Lucifer's anti-human dogma. But he could get behind his belief in their depravity. The human imagination could be downright vile.

"Did you want to read the summary of that one out loud? Or maybe you'd like to check out the story itself." Adam hoped Lucifer didn't call his bluff and actually attempt to read what he'd found. Adam had no desire to hear such things and was sure Michael would find it equally traumatizing. It might even have Michael agreeing with Lucifer about humans being disgusting and all deserving to die. Now that he was thinking about it… showing Lucifer such a thing and daring to taunt him might not have been such a good idea.

"We're moving on to something else. There's nothing of value to see here," Lucifer growled. His hands were clenched, and his eyes glowed a burning red. If Lucifer had had laser vision, the computer would be a smoking, charred pile of unworkable parts.

Adam relaxed.

Lucifer was clearly pissed, but it wasn't at him.

"How about some videos, or… Oh, here's a fan song."

The look on Lucifer's face now scared Adam. More than the one he'd given the computer after reading the summary of the story that ‘must not be named or explained.'

A tune started up, and Adam frowned at the almost immediate mention of Sam and Dean. Adam wasn't sure what he was supposed to be waiting for. Lucifer was watching him with what could only be anticipation. It was clearly an Apocalypse song, and he could only assume he'd be getting a mention. It was nearing the chorus when he heard the first hint of himself: a mention of the writers forgetting someone. He just knew that had to mean him.

And then he heard the actual chorus.

"We are never ever saving Adam ever!? Really?"

Someone had written an actual song about how forgettable he was. Sam and Dean's perspective added extra sting to already painful mockery. Was this all he was to anyone who knew his story? An unremarkable, unimportant joke.

It was one thing for Lucifer to tease him: Lucifer was just being Lucifer. And this was obviously his revenge for managing to make him uncomfortable. It was a separate issue to know his fellow humans could think so little of him when he'd only ever tried his best to be respectable. When he'd been willing to give his body over to do what he'd believed to be right. When he'd only wanted to see his mother and now might never be reunited with her again.

Lucifer smiled at his reaction. But Michael, who'd always been so unnaturally attuned to his emotional state, straightened up. He flared his wings in a way that made his presence seem towering and finally put in his two cents.

"While I'm not averse to studying the Gospel—as it may have answers to our current predicament and shine a light on what has been happening among the host since I have been gone—I have to protest this obvious targeting of Adam for your sick entertainment. I've told you time again that my vessel is off limits."

"And you haven't seen me lay a finger on him. Have you?" Lucifer sneered. Adam wondered if this would escalate into another 'bitch-fight-argument.' (Man, was he glad Michael wasn't currently paying attention to his thoughts.) Experiencing more of this Winchester-based crap didn't appeal to him in the slightest: Not with how he'd been depicted. He wasn't much in the mood for listening to them go back and forth, either, for however long they'd decide to have a go.

"Can't we just decide on something that won't make any of us angry? Maybe get started on that learning Michael mentioned. Because he had a point, you know? There's a good chance we could learn about what's been happening while we've been down here. It hardly benefits us to be uninformed."

Some of Michael's tenseness relaxed, and a slight breeze from his wings told Adam they'd also been put away. Adam turned to look at Lucifer again.

"We could get info on what's been happening in Hell too." Adam's careful not to say what he's actually thinking: that Lucifer could see Sam again and learn how he's doing. Lucifer's obsession was one best not spoken of; he'd deny it anyway.

Both Angels agreed with Adam with only a little grumbling and a couple murmured insults from Lucifer that Adam pretended not to hear. Lucifer was just upset they'd managed to ruin his fun.

Now that they had a plan, they just needed to put it into motion. Adam reached towards the computer again slowly, wondering if Lucifer would put up a fight about handing it over, but he shoved it at him instantly. Adam guessed Lucifer didn't want to have to put in the work if he couldn't fuck with them anymore. Adam wasn't about to complain.

Adam settled the computer into a position far enough from him so Lucifer could still see the screen. It'd been paused on the YouTube video for the song he'd been so hurt by. With a quick type of 'Supernatural mvs' in the search bar, it directed him to other options. Lots of options! Man, this show was popular. He hardly knew where to start.

Adam clicked on a couple random vids but got nothing out of them beyond further confirmation of Sam and Dean's life sucking, their codependent relationship, and the strange homoerotic tension between Castiel and Dean which the fans not only noticed but seemingly loved.

"Well, those weren't very helpful. Why don't we look up some videos focusing on the Angels."

Adam did so, and this time hit paydirt. These videos focused a lot more on the Angels and what they'd been up to. Some of it was hard for him to follow without the context, but he was focusing on trying to absorb everything until—

"You killed Gabriel?" Michael didn't yell, but his voice seemed to boom and almost shake the cage from being so powerful. The grip Michael still had around him was equally strong. Adam was grateful he couldn't actually die down here. And that he didn't need to breathe. Otherwise, the hold would have already suffocated him. Adam tried to pay attention to what Michael was actually saying.

Gabriel?

Right, Gabriel.

Apparently, Lucifer had killed him.

The video was still going, but nobody was paying it any mind. He reached a hand out to pause it, trying not to attract the attention of either of them. Michael was angrier than Adam had ever seen him. Adam trusted Michael to not want to hurt him, but that didn't mean he couldn't end up collateral damage. His ribs could attest to that.

Would this be the inciting incident? The thing to finally turn them to violence? Adam supposed Lucifer's response might be the determining factor.

Lucifer looked surprised. Adam wondered if he'd forgotten that he'd killed Gabriel or if he simply assumed nobody would ever find out.

"It wasn't Gabriel's place to interfere. He helped Sam and Dean get away, kept waving his Angel Blade around in my face, and seemed very protective of the humans, above all else. He'd clearly been down on Earth too long and became too accustomed to their ways. What else would you have had me do?"

"Maybe not kill your brother. You were always Gabriel's favorite: The only one to enjoy his pranks. The only one who could understand his jokes. You taught him to fly. Even during our fights, he never once took sides. He had to know you were in the wrong, but his love and worship for you prevented him from ever truly standing against you. Were you truly incapable of subduing him long enough for you to get away? You couldn't appeal to him… or talk him down—someone who once loved you that much?"

Lucifer, for once, appeared lost for words. (Talk about family drama. And he thought his issues with his own were bad.) Adam suddenly had a lot of questions he'd never thought to ask: What happened to an Angel when they died? Did they stop existing? Did they have their own afterlife? Was it better than here? He supposed it had to be.

There was still no answer from Lucifer. Adam knew better than to dare ask any of his questions now. His mouth would stay firmly shut while letting them sort this out. No way was he getting in the middle of this.

"Your silence might as well be an admission of guilt." Michael was trying his best to sound all-commanding and unemotional. The bond between him and Adam that let Michael perceive what he was feeling, however, worked both ways. Right now, he was feeling a grief Adam hadn't yet felt from him before. Not even their fall into the cage had elicited such an emotional response; he'd mostly just been angry then.

"Like you're squeaky clean being Dad's loyal soldier. You'd have killed him yourself if it'd been an order from God. Just like you threw me down here on his orders. You're the last person who'd have any right to lecture me on betrayal: on family loyalty." Lucifer sneered again as he practically spat the words.

Michael glowered and shot right back: "Your actions led to me striking you down—not just God. If you'd just listened—"

"—Here we go again: 'If you'd only just listened and followed orders like every other Angel, we wouldn't be in this situation right now. If you'd only just listened and been a good puppet soldier, none of this would've happened,'" Lucifer mocked with a roll of his eyes. "Don't take any accountability for your own mistakes. The 'Great and Powerful Archangel Michael' doesn't make mistakes. He's just Daddy's perfect boy. Well, it doesn't seem like he's coming down here to rescue you, does it? God has abandoned you too! Despite your enduring loyalty and stupidity."

"Faith is not stupid," Michael retorted. "And must you insist on talking poorly of our father?"

"He's the reason we're both down here, Mikey. The reason we're all down here. Apparently, he doesn't care about your vessel, either—despite insisting we prioritize these humans above all else. What excuse can you even give for that, huh? Are we meant to believe that he just… what? Didn't notice our Apocalypse: Didn't notice one of his Archangels dying and another falling into the cage? 'He who supposedly sees all'? What's more likely? That he hasn't realized or doesn't care? About any of us."

Adam didn't much appreciate being brought up in this conversation, especially when said conversation was a reminder that nobody seemed to care that he was here (aka: In Hell). Secretly, though, while he'd never tell Michael, he agreed somewhat with Lucifer; God didn't seem invested in any of them. One of the things that had brought him closer to Michael—that had made him sympathetic—had been his…well, 'toxic' relationship with his father. Even easier to empathize with was Lucifer's hatred towards that same father due to a disillusionment Michael had yet to overcome.

"We're down here to pay penance," Michael shot back in defense. "Father is hardly going to reward failure."

"Well, he certainly doesn't reward loyalty. What's your human paying penance for? What did he theoretically do wrong in this scenario? He was just doing what he thought was right, wasn't he? Doing what you and the other Angels told him to?"

Michael seemed to struggle with this, and Adam tried peaking up at him to see if he could catch his expression. Adam was curious what excuse he'd come up with for this one, if any; he wouldn't even be mad at the insinuation that Adam could've done something deserving of spending an eternity down here when he'd managed to make it into Heaven before.

Michael's arms clenched around him again, but softer this time and without the anger. Adam didn't manage to get anything from his expression (Adam admitted to stupidity in hindsight; Michael's face was hardly a display of emotion, and there was no reason for this time to be any different), but Michael let out an almost audible sigh. His Archangel's emotions, unlike the rest of him, were anything but tame. Adam could feel the conflict and confusion as strongly as if they were his own.

Lucifer seemed to grasp from Michael's sudden silence that he'd scored his first point in this back-and-forth because he smirked, suddenly confident from this small but important victory. At any other time, Adam might have been amused and grateful that Lucifer was getting through to Michael on the whole 'God issue.' Right now, though, Lucifer trying to use this to distract from him having killed their brother and then throwing Adam into the argument made Adam furious.

'Screw it,' Adam thought, 'I'm done shutting up.'

"Look, obviously, none of us are having the time of our lives down here, but it doesn't really do to dwell on the whys and hows. We have to make the best of our situation while still being ready to take any chances that turn up to get out of here. This, right here—" Adam shook the laptop to remind them both that it was there. "—this is the closest we've gotten; the only information we have available."

Lucifer stared at him. He could sense he had Michael's attention as well.

"Michael's got a right to be mad. His brother's dead, and he's only just found out. Lucifer, you have a right to be mad too. About being stuck here again, I mean. But that doesn't mean you have to take it out on Michael since it wasn't even his fault this time. You told me, yourself, that fighting down here's pointless, so maybe stop trying to instigate one." Adam glared at Lucifer, trying to look braver than he actually felt. "And stop using me to antagonize Michael. It's hardly very creative of you."

"Your vessel's got bite, Michael. Real Winchester trait."

"Milligan," Adam corrected in further irritation. "Can we please just—" Adam shook the computer again in frustration. "We were really getting somewhere. Do you two wanna keep fighting about something neither of you can do anything about, or do you want to get educated? Cause I'm telling you, right now, if it turns out there was some way outta here we didn't know about that this did and we miss it, I'll find a way to make the both of you regret it…" Adam took another look at the both of them as they stared at him—Lucifer with an arched brow and Michael curiously—and felt his temporary bravery abandon him.

"…somehow," he muttered in a much weaker, lower voice.

For some reason, his outburst seemed to kick the two of them into gear. Michael suddenly arranged the laptop and the both of them so he had better access to the controls while still having a firm grip on him. Adam wondered if it was a good idea for Michael to be in charge—given his previous immersion (more like obsession) with said computer—but Adam figured he'd already said his piece. For now, he just wanted to feel like he was accomplishing something.

Neither Lucifer nor Michael apologized, but Adam assumed by their behavior that it was implied. Lucifer, at least, would never lower himself enough to do so—and Adam knew Michael would never do it in front of Lucifer, who'd no doubt use it as an excuse for further mockery.

Sometimes, seeing the devastation that was their relationship made him happy about never being able to build anything real with his own brothers. If having siblings caused one this much pain and drama, maybe he was better off without them.

Michael continued with the video route since they'd already proven useful. (And Adam's heart did ache for Michael about the Gabriel situation. Of all the stories Michael had told Adam of Heaven, the ones involving the trickster Angel had been his favorite.)

These videos involved more Angel drama: Drama that Adam still lacked some context to entirely understand. He could tell it was bad, though. And not just from the tenseness and feelings Michael was projecting from their bond.

"Raphael is dead too," was Michael's next despondent comment. The hurt practically emanated from him at this point—a dark rolling cloud of misery over his usual sunny brightness.

"Well, you can hardly blame me for that one. I think Castiel might have single-handedly done more damage in these videos than I managed during our entire apocalypse escapade. I'd be in awe if it weren't so insulting." Lucifer certainly didn't look amused.

"Much as I hate to agree with you, there is something seriously wrong with that Angel. He seems incapable of following orders or respecting authority. There's no need to make light of our prophesized battle by referring to it as an escapade, though, Lucifer."

"Sure. Disrespect of authority. That's the problem." Lucifer's eyes rolled back so far in his head that Adam feared they'd get stuck that way. His sarcasm was so thick Adam could drown in it.

The videos kept going and kept getting progressively worse.

"At this point, the question we should be asking is if there are any angels left. Also…what's so special about Castiel that his death never seems to stick."

Neither Michael nor Lucifer appeared to like the implications. They both had to know the most likely reason for Castiel's constant revivals was God's favor. How Castiel could have earned said favor without trying when even Lucifer and Michael's fanatical bids to garner attention had resulted in radio silence, Adam didn't know. It just left the increasing impression of God being that crappy, absentee father Lucifer had painted him as, whether Michael was able to admit to it yet or not.

Purgatory, Soulless Sam, The Trials, The Angels Falling, The Mark of Cain, The Darkness: The hits never stopped. And…wait, was that supposed to be God? The guy writing the Winchester gospel and pretending to be a Prophet? What? When Michael and Lucifer said nothing, Adam decided to do the same. They either hadn't reached the same conclusion (noticed) or didn't want to discuss it and were ignoring it. Adam could get behind that.

"I can't believe I'm about to say this—feel free to slap me if I'm being ridiculous, 'cause I'm probably way out of line here—but…do you think maybe…we might actually be safer down here? Everyone up there seems to be cursed or something."

Apropos of nothing, without the slightest warning, Lucifer disappeared.

Adam stared at the now empty space. Gone. Just like that. Adam tensed and grasped onto Michael's arm around him, worried he or Michael might be next. Michael held on just as tight, also wary. Only after a few minutes of neither of them going anywhere did he lower his guard.

"Was it something I said?" Adam asked, suddenly feeling the need to whisper. "Did I jinx it?"

"Of course not. Lucifer must have been summoned."

"Who would or could summon Lucifer out of the cage?" He asked, then almost knocked himself out from the force of his own palm meeting face at his stupidity.

"Winchesters," both Adam and Michael ended up saying simultaneously.

"But why?" Adam asked.

"They must need an Archangel for something." And, boy, was Michael mad; the increased thunder and lightning noises from outside the cage evidence (representation) of his vast displeasure.

"They needed an Archangel, and they chose Lucifer?" That was dubious. Lucifer might help—especially if Sam was doing the asking—but he'd hardly do it for free. God knows what other mischief he'd get into while up there.

Given how they'd just been talking about a curse, there was also a good chance Lucifer would be killed. Adam felt weird thinking about it. Lucifer drove him crazy, and he was hardly a pinnacle of moral righteousness. But Adam would miss him. Adam had gotten used to thinking of Michael and Lucifer as his eternal companions. Now, one of them was gone. He couldn't help but grip Michael harder again, still slightly scared that he'd vanish, too, and Adam would be alone. That would be the end of his sanity right then.

"If the darkness destroyed the world…or whatever it is she does, would it affect us, too? Could Lucifer even defeat it?"

"Everything would be affected. The last time the darkness had to be shut away, it took the combined power of God and all four of his Archangels. Even then, it was still difficult and resulted in grievous injuries. I don't see how it could be accomplished unless God has returned to fight and decides to bring us all back."

Michael didn't even look hopeful while saying it, proof this new information and situation had him out of sorts. Adam just had to hope that if Michael was summoned, Adam would be taken as well. The Angel would still need a vessel, after all. Adam doubted Dean had suddenly changed his views on possession. Adam could also admit to jealousy at the idea of Dean taking his place in this instance. Dean hadn't wanted to be Michael's vessel, but Adam had been filling that role for so long now he no longer knew any other way to be.

"So what are we supposed to do now?"

"There's nothing we can do," Michael admitted reluctantly. Adam knew Michael hated feeling helpless and not being able to do anything. Michael hadn't known a day of idleness until he found himself here. Adam had promised himself if they ever escaped, he'd insist on a vacation. They both deserved one, and there were so many places Adam had never gotten to see while alive that he thought Michael might get some pleasure from now.

"We should be on our guard, though, I'm guessing?"

Michael nodded against his back.

For a moment, Adam wanted to say, 'screw this,' and hide again in his angel companion's wings as he had so long ago. To forget everything and make that feathery embrace his entire world. It was strange, almost, how that seemed like a simpler time. It certainly hadn't seemed simple at the time.

"You just wanna watch some more of this Supernatural crap? It won't take our mind off anything, but I'm sure there's still much to learn. Why don't we look up some videos about ourselves? I'm sure we must have at least a few. Oh, and your brothers! We could find some about them too. See what they'd been up to before…well, just before. I hope this computer doesn't run out of power. Now that I'm thinking about it, it already should've run out if it was going to. You'd been messing with it for days before we'd even commented. I'm not even going to ask what had you so engrossed." Adam knew he was babbling but also knew Michael wouldn't mind. He'd told Adam before that he liked knowing what Adam was thinking but had difficulty figuring it out.

Adam rearranged himself again until he was comfy and brought YouTube back up. He was determined not to think about their imminent demise, the possibility of Michael disappearing, Lucifer being dead, or the Winchesters (despite them being prominent in everything and, therefore, impossible to ignore).

No.

None of those things existed right now. Adam and Michael were watching fiction. Pieces of a TV show. It had nothing to do with their lives at all. If he thought of it that way…maybe it would make these viewings easier to bear? Put less of a strain on his heart and his mind.

Adam took a deep breath, ready to start the next set of videos.

"You ready?" He asked Michael.

"It's only pragmatic to learn all we can. You said something similar yourself."

"Okay, what have I said about using my own words against me?"

"To not do so. Though I'm slightly confused about whose I should be using if not yours."

Adam sighed and shook his head.

Angels.

Hopeless.

All of them.

"Let's just get watching."

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golbrocklovely · 2 years

Text

the ghost with the most // sam golbach

A/N: first fic of my 13 nights of halloween ! i highkey love this story haha this and the one i wrote for colby with the same-ish concept were so easy to write. thank god bc i still have so much writing to do. but hopefully you enjoy this one. this one is also gender-neutral so everyone can enjoy. let me know what you think :)

prompt: the ghost hunter that lives in your house doesn't believe in ghosts. guess it's time to show him what you're made of || ghost!reader x sam golbach

trigger warning: cursing, ghost hijinks, mostly fluff

word count: 1311

~~~~~~~~

This house was yours. It had been yours for years, decades even. But you never grew older.

You died a long time ago. You weren't sure how or when, but you knew you were dead.

And every couple years, a new family would move into your house. At first you hated it, but now... you've grown to enjoy your time annoying and scaring the new house folks.

This year, the family that moved in wasn't really a family at all. It was a group of guys, all in their early 20s. You watched from the shadows as they all picked out their rooms, some fighting over the master (which was yours so like... why were they fighting in the first place?), and over the next month or so they settled in.

Their choice in decoration was... boring, to say the least. Borderline nonexistent, besides in their own rooms. The one named Colby kept his room pretty dark, dungeon-like. The other two had some very weird styles that you didn't appreciate. And the last one, Sam... his was fine.

You settled on his room to chill in.

Something about his energy was interesting to you. You had overheard them all one night talking about ghosts, about whether or not they existed at all. And Sam was the one that surprised you the most with his response.

"No. They totally don't exist. Even with all the proof we've captured, I'm still unsure."

You didn't quite understand what he meant, but you saw him and Colby leave the house every so often, only to come back and tell the others about their adventures and "investigations".

So they were ghost hunters? And Sam didn't believe? Interesting.

You had nothing else to do with your free time, and since you had plenty of it, you decided to focus your energy on Sam and making him believe.

The first thing you tried was giving him nightmares. That itself was a bit difficult for you, but humans’ minds were a lot more open when they were unconscious. You were able to weasel your way in and make him think of scary, horrible things. Of ghosts chasing after him, of you chasing him around the house.

After a couple nights, you thought you had done the trick. I mean, how many times does someone have to wake up in a cold sweat to realize they are getting a message from the beyond?

But it didn't work. So you moved on to plan b: poltergeist time.

Now, you weren't an evil spirit. Hell, in your old life the worst thing you ever did was get a parking ticket. But you figured if Sam saw things moving around on their own, he would start to believe, or at least sense that something was in his house.

Because at least the others knew that. They would tell him all the time that they could feel something watching them, especially Colby. But Sam always shrugged it off, claiming they were just paranoid.

One day, while Sam was sitting in bed, you decided to knock something over on his desk. Some random little figurine he had. His eyes widened as he heard the noise, he jumped out of bed and looked at his desk. The figurine laid on the floor, still shaking from your motion.

"How'd that fall?" He whispered to himself.

You felt like shouting "Me, bitch!" but figured that was a bit mean. He placed it back on his desk and left his room. You figured maybe was going to go downstairs, tell all of his friends about what just happened. You giddily followed him to the kitchen, only to watch him pull out lunchmeat from the fridge and make a sandwich.

You tried the next day, and the day after that, and still... nothing. It didn't help that his other two roommates had decided to move out, so you waited for there to be a right time to spring into action again. And finally when the time came, you decided to up the ante and move something in front of him and Colby, thinking maybe he would get a clue that what was happening to him was paranormal. While the two of them were in the kitchen, you opened a drawer, slowly. Colby noticed it first. His breath hitched in his throat as he watched the drawer open.

"Dude, look! The drawer's opening on it's own." He gasped.

You smiled as Sam turned towards the drawer, hoping that now it would finally click in his head. But instead he walked up to the drawer, shut it, and went back to talking with Colby. He told him that that drawer always had a problem staying shut and had opened on him before.

Oh, so now we're just lying to each other?!

You finally had one more move in your arsenal. You decided, while he was out, to stack everything in his room in the center of it. His desk, bed, furniture, whatever you could get your hands on, you put in the middle of his room. It took you a long time, and you were proud of your work when you were finally through.

There's no way he's not gonna believe this is paranormal.

You waited impatiently for him to come home. He walked through the front door and trudged up the stairs to his bedroom. You smirked as he rubbed his eyes, ready to take a nice long nap most likely. Then he opened his door, stopping dead in his tracks.

"What the...?"

He studied his room, glancing all over the place for how this could have happened. You leaned against the wall, just waiting to hear him scream or gasp or... something. He yelled for Colby, and he came in a minute later.

"Love what you've done with the place, Sam." Colby stated nonchalantly.

Sam glared. "How the fuck did you do this?"

"Do what? I didn't do this." Colby argued.

"Well, you were the only one home." Sam mentioned.

"I was, yeah. But I've been busy editing. I left two hours ago to get some food." Colby replied.

Sam questioned him, "Then who did this?"

Ghosts! Say it was a ghost! There's no one else that could have done it!

"...Jake." They nodded their heads, rolling their eyes at their ex-roommate.

Are you forreal?! You tried to breathe for a second. You know what? They'll realize it wasn't him when he confesses it wasn't, and they'll have to realize then it was something supernatural.

But that never happened. They didn't question Jake, they just assumed it was him and moved on with their lives. But you... you couldn't.

You followed Sam around the house. Every step he took, you were right behind him. You gave him some privacy when he needed it (you weren't a perv now), but otherwise, you wanted him to feel you. To feel your anger.

Sam and Colby mentioned that they had a new investigation the next day that they had to get ready for. You groaned at their words, following Sam as he left Colby's room to go to his own, and into his bathroom. Once you realized he was only washing his face for bed, you came in.

"I fucking hate you, you know that right? Do you know how annoying it is to prove to someone that I'm real? God, this is the most irritating thing I've had to do, and I've died before! I mean, you go on these trips, catch tons of evidence, and somehow don't believe in ghosts. It's insane to me. Like, what do I have to do, jumpscare you? Do I have to appear in front of you just for you to believe in me?!"

Sam jolted up out of the sink, his face sudsy with his face wash. His eyes locked with yours, and he screamed.

#sam golbach #sam golbach x reader #sam and colby #sam golbach fluff #sam golbach one shot #sam golbach oneshot #sam golbach fanfic #sam golbach fanfiction #sam golbach fic #sam golbach story #golbrocklovely's 13 nights of halloween

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my-castles-crumbling · 6 days

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cas review of ttpd?

Ah yes! I am finally ready!

Cas's Review of TTPD that Two (2) People Asked For (so now you all get a fucking essay)

Literally, this is growing to be one of my favorite albums. Like...I appreciate Taylor most for her lyrics and I wrote down seven pages of them in my notebook of lyrics that fucking killed me. I feel like it's a more mature version of folklore, which is exactly what I was hoping for.

I really liked the promo for this album- the lyrics being spread, the phases of grief, the entire thing was so well-done. And the double album drop left me literally screaming.

I feel like the order of the songs on the album is also super well thought out. It really tells a story and I could feel her going through the phases, especially in the first half of the album.

I thought it was cool that she definitely took some risks in the album, but most of them landed 1000%. So many of the cool things done with the lyrics, melody, and tempo were amazing and kept me interested.

I'm gonna start by listing the more specific things I didn't like because there's only three:

In the song "Fresh Out The Slammer" during the outro, the change in beat was very jarring. I LOVED the rest of the song and it just ruined it for me

Florida!!! was...a choice. I get it. The concept of going away somewhere after a breakup to get over it is great. But Florida? Like...c'mon. Also "fuck me up Florida" made me cringe.

The line in "I Hate It Here" about racists...god, I have two minds about it. I don't think there was winning with that one, and I think people are going to tear her apart for it without taking it in context. Like when you take it in the bigger picture of the song, it makes sense. But when you take it in just the few lines...it feels a bit like it's trivializing the fact that literal slavery existed during that time? So yeah. I go back and forth...

And now a song ranking and my feelings about some of the songs:

Guilty As Sin? - This song has been in my head ever since I heard it. It's perfect, it's everything.

I Can Do It With a Broken Heart - This is giving DBATC (favorite taylor song) vibes and I am so in love. It destroyed me.

Who's Afraid of Little Old Me? - This is an ANTHEM. This will be screamed in the shower. This is so powerful.

But Daddy I Love Him - This was just so nostalgic. Like it gave Fearless Taylor and I loved it so much. Also the jumpscare fucking SHOOK me.

So Long, London - This was like a companion to You're Losing Me and god, it was amazingly hurtful.

loml - I just love slow, sad Taylor. and the twist at the end? ugh

I Hate It Here - Questionable line aside, this song was 15/10 relatable as a fanfic reader/writer

imgonnagetyouback - I feel like this will be a single.

The Prophecy - ouch

The Alchemy - Awww, so cute!

I Look In People's Windows

I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)

The Albatross

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived - god she CAME for this man.

The Black Dog

Down Bad - I also feel like this will be a single

Fresh Out the Slammer

How Did It End?

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys

TTPD

Cassandra - hahahaha whoops, we're coming for Kim again?

thanK you aIMee - and again? that line about her mom was AMAZING

So High School - adorable

Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus

Fortnight - she and Post Malone work so well together

The Bolter

The Manuscript

Peter

Robin

Clara Bow

Florida!!

What do you all think?

#ask #asks #ask cas #taylorswift #taylor swift #taylornation #taylurking #taylor #ttpd #ttpd spoilers #ts ttpd #ttpd era #taylor swift ttpd #ts11 #tortured poets department #the tortured poets department

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writersblockedx · 2 years

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𝙎𝙪𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙖𝙡 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

Hi, Welcome to my supernatural masterlist! As this is the fandom I seem to have written the most for, it’s taken up around half of my main masterlist, so I thought it’d be easier to have a whole separate one where you can find every fic related to supernatural.

★ - Angst ☆ - Fluff ☆ﾐ - Series

Dean Winchester

★ Careful What You Wish For Dean’s been pining for his best friend for years now. Though, it isn’t until he breaks out from the Jinn’s dream world (in which she took the role of his girlfriend), that he comes clean.

★ Survivors Guilt When Dean returns back to the land of the living, he seeks out to locate his girlfriend. He finds her sitting alone at a bar; it’s obvious this time without him has changed her.

★ When Evil isn’t so Bad Dean was brought up to believe demons were nothing but the enemy, a monster to be slain. But when the Winchester Brothers find Y/n, a demon whose not so bad, his opinion begins to sway.

☆ Remedies for Insomniacs Y/n is notorious for getting herself hurt. So when she can’t sleep, Dean fixes up everything he can to ease her insomnia.

★The Soulmate Situation It’s written in every hunter handbook that to stay clear of ones soulmate; a rule of which Dean has lived by all his life. After Y/n fixes up Dean’s wounds, it becomes clear she’s more than just his nurse. The boy does everything he can to push her away.

☆ﾐ The Side Effects of Curses While hunting a witch, Y/n gets a rather harmful curse placed on her. Slowly, the people around her begin to forget her existence - Dean is the last, and only, person who remembers, stopping at nothing to lift the curse. Part two When Y/n bumps into her forgotten friends on a hunt, they team up together, unaware of how they once knew her. Dean gets a hunch something is up and doesn’t stop until he figures out what exactly.

★ Lawless Y/n is assigned the impossible case of catching the Winchester brothers. When she finally gets her hands on them, a threat of which only they can solve hits. Y/n has no choice but to turn to them for help.

★ If It was a preference You had your own history with the Winchester brothers, in particular, Dean. So when the two bumped into you, accompanied by a new hunter partner, jealousy can’t help but grow.

★ That Grey Area When Sam and Dean discover that their fellow friend and hunter is in fact getting involved in witchcraft, they can’t help but take matters into their own hands.

☆ The Exception Y/n and Dean have been silently pining for one another since they first met. Though, things suddenly start to come out when the two venture on a hunt on their own.

☆ Bad Dreams When the mark begins to conjure vicious nightmares for Dean, it’s only a matter of time before his best friend finds out.

★ Places We Shouldn’t Go When Y/n suffers a panic attack at a crowded bar, the brothers do all they can to help calm her.

☆ Unwind After a long hunt, both of the brothers are tired and in need of Y/n’s comfort.

Sam Winchester

☆ Coffee Stains and Stolen Jackets Sam is utterly infatuated with a girl in his weekly lecture. When she comes in one day, wearing a coffee stained shirt, he offers her his jacket; it just so happens to be the start of something.

★ Places We Shouldn’t Go When Y/n suffers a panic attack at a crowded bar, the brothers do all they can to help calm her.

☆ Unwind After a long hunt, both of the brothers are tired and in need of Y/n’s comfort.

Casitel Novak

★ Healing Wounds Y/n usually sits behind the front lines, doing all she can to research the monsters that the brothers slaughter. When the girl finds herself shoved into the frontlines, Cass worries it may go south. When it does, he struggles to keep his feelings to himself.

If you’d like to get tagged in any future supernatural fics click here! Other than that, happy reading!

#superntaural #supernatural fanfic #supernatural x reader #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x reader #castiel x reader #imagine #fanfic #masterlist

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drownedbycoffee · 2 months

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Just finished listening to Tmagp8 and here are some of my initial thoughts when first listening to it because OH MY GOD

(Spoiler warning)

This is a bit of a stretch, but you know the Assessment feedback of all of it (Structure & Organization – 50%; Knowledge – 40%; Understanding – 30%; Analysis – 10; Source Material Usage – 10%)? What if that's just Alex saying how much we actually know about the meta plot??

is this the new Robert Smirke??

"I propose that because these spaces are devoid of persistent humanity and consistent time perception, they have thus become dislocated from humanity’s shared mindscape, and there are unique health risks to people who are over-exposed to this phenomenon." And when it says this, is it invertedly commenting on OIAR? Like how they just constantly go through statements without actually stopping and trying to make sense of them and because they all work the nightshift, they are thrown out of the loop of normal daytime cycles in a sense? maybe it's commenting on what happened to Colin? Or why Teddy left? Tbh I think there are many factors of this episode that could sort of reflect how things are at the OIAR (like the tower that Terrance can't enter but still knows of its existence is a metaphor to the Magnus Institute that Sam is curious about but doesn't explore it at first because Alice discouraged him not to. But then like Terrance does actually enter the tower that is forbidden and ominous which is similar to how Sam still is looking into the Magnus Institute, as revealed at the end of the episode)

Also the repetition of "It’s my pleasure to welcome you! You are here! Stay awhile!” could sort of link to now that Sam has continued to explore about the Magnus Institute, he won't be able to stop and abandon his investigation into it. Also links to the whole thing of how obviously in TMA there's the whole thing of not being able to leave and how when RedCanary entered the Mag Institute, they didn't leave. And I feel like this is particularly reinforced by this quote from the chef, "The chef spoke again, and though his tone hadn’t changed, it was clear this was no longer a request: “Stay awhile.”"

Also if we are going with the theory of Jon and Martin communicating with the OIAR through statements, then if Martin chose this one, is he trying to say something about their current situation? Like when it says, "They weren’t even windows. They were gaping square holes and beyond them was nothing at all. Any one of the diners could reach out if they had a mind to and plunge their hand outwards into the dark, foreboding and utterly featureless void. There was nothing. Nothing above, nothing below, nothing at all. Nothing, save the tower and the restaurant." Maybe Windows 95 has a darker side to it that we don't know about yet? Or could just be Martin trying to be poetic and lament about his and Jon's current situation? Could link to how alone they both are, and suspended in a void after the change in dimensions? Like the void referred to could mirror what the computer is like when it's turned off? I know it's a bit of a stetch but yeah idk

Also maybe this part (And so when faced with the prospect of being eaten alive, or leaping out one of those windows into pure oblivion… it was no choice at all. I jumped.") is just Martin trying to explain how he went with Jon when destroying the Panopticon in TMA, but instead of being eaten alive, it's having to live with Jon becoming the bigger part of the Eye?

Then there's the whole thing of Alice saying how she doesn't like all the changes that are happening and she thinks that something is going on in the OIAR which I find interesting considering how she was so prominently detached she was before

ALSO COLIN!! Mental health leave? Seriously Lena? Ik he smashed Sam's phone, which probably isn't a good display of stable mental health, but it feels like she is trying to stop him from figuring out what is happening in true a Bouchard style. Brutal pipe murder when you don't want someone telling your archivist about what the hell is going on and 'interrupting your plans'? No, for Lena it's not-so-kindly removing someone when they start to realise you're a secret evil mastermind who's a failed-murderer

ALSO GERRY IS BACK!! FUCK YEAH! AND GEE GEE?! IM DYING- but it's a bit suspicious how he conveniently doesn't remember what happened to him (idk if this has been explained in the ARG, if it has, then just ignore me) and old books?? give this guy a break pleaseee

Also I feel like Camden Epiphany is going to be relevant later on since Gerry said, "Don’t forget Camden Epiphany!". I searched up supernatural theories about Camden, London and this was the first result:

it could be related or not, I haven't looked into it properly yet

also mention of the hunt?? what do you mean by that Gertrude-

and i'm 95% Celia is the same one from tma universe considering she is looking into "Weird physics stuff: time travel, other dimensions, teleportation, all that good stuff." but time travel?? Celia what do you know?...

ALSO GEORGIE IS BACK YESSSS but is this the same Georgie as tma Georgie? And if Celia AND Georgie from tma are both in this dimension, does that mean that Melanie is too?

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citricyanide · 1 month

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i feel like dividing the web and the eye from each other is a really foolish choice because they *depend* on each other to exist. the web needs knowledge in order to control, and the eye needs to control(at times) so it can gain more knowledge or at least document that knowledge. i don't think we should just divide everything into Smirke's 14 because it's only exploring one dimension of it

the best explanation of this would be jon in both tma and tmagp. think about it, he has to compell those around him in order to feed himself and the eye. the eye doesn't just depend on knowledge, it depends on the control of knowledge and how much information is released.

and this is even worse in tmagp because we as listeners know that jon is in the computer and that he still has to feed himself. and sam is(let's be honest here) the perfect victim.

sam from what we know from little snippets about the magnus institute wasn't accepted into the institute and now feels compelled to research everything about it. he wants to get that chance that he was never granted. he wants to explore it. and jon is taking advantage of that, he has since the very beginning.

sam's first case file was warning him to not go to the magnus institute, it was tempting him. in tmagp 9 he mentions considering giving up as he's found no evidence, and is immediately given a statement directly from the magnus institute, telling him to not give up. sam's choices aren't his, they've quite literally never been. the magnus institute has him caught in its web and there's no escape.

#tmagp spoilers #tmagp #tmagp 10 #the magnus protocol #tmagp theory #losing my mind

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beananacake · 9 months

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My Crown Upon Your Head (Ch. 2)

Prince!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Synopsis: When an arranged engagement between Prince James of Brookland and Princess Natasha ushers the discovery of the existence of a marriage contract between you and said prince, you readily agree to a divorce for the sake of the kingdom. At first, you had been willing to be separated from Prince James but as you spend more time with your husband, you begin to feel things that are forbidden. It does not help your case when James shares the same sentiments. As you combat the emotions that excite and scare you, the discoveries you make of the people that surround you make you suspect there is something else at play...

WC: 4.9K

Warnings: period-typical misogyny, 18+ for delicate issues, mentions of war, Sam and Bucky are slightly out of character but let's just say it's for the sake of the fic, more of exposition in this one, large chunks of paragraphs, badly translated language

A/N: I will officially OPEN a TAGLIST! I cannot keep a fixed schedule for updating MCUYH so anyone who wants to be included, just comment down on the fic or maybe send me a message (my ask box is being annoying so it's useless atm). Please enjoy!

It was an unusual request that you asked for lemons and lavenders with your writing materials but they delivered. You merely said that they were for you to bite on but truly, the lemons were for writing a message that only your father could decipher. What was once a simple trick your father had taught you during your travels was now your only means of communicating with him without the rest of the palace knowing. You had only used it for important missives and what else could be more important than for your father to know that you had been married to the prince and that you were to be kept to the palace indefinitely.

You wrote carefully, telling him to keep the information to himself. You had no ambitions of being a princess and the irony of you being one—or being deemed ambitious by the Grand Duke—was not lost on you. You kept your secret message short and concise, and you also told him no promises of future missives lest you be found out. Once you were finished with the lemon ink, you let it dry and took to writing the obvious message with ink. You scribbled, in between the lines written in lemon juice, your request for your trunks, writing implements, and the many books you were supposed to be reading. The visible letter was short and direct and you sealed it with wax and a sprig of lavender—your unofficial insignia—so your father would immediately know that the message was from you.

When you have sent your letter, you met with the Head Housekeeper. She assigned to you a personal lady’s maid and had two girls prepare a bath for you and another to bring you an appropriate change of clothing. The Duke of Queensfield is bound to arrive by nightfall and the King will not want his guest to appear unprepared, she had said as she looked at you sternly. You cannot find fault in that; you still smelled like the salt of the sea and you did not want to further scandalize people with your unusual choice of clothing.

“What shall I call you, miss?” asked the maid—Wanda, she replied when you asked of her name—as she scrubbed your shoulders with warm water and simple soap. You had told her that you were fine with bathing yourself but the surprise on her face made you realize that you had made a terrible faux pas. Of course, guests of the king were expected to be waited on hand and foot.

“Y/N, please,” you replied. “I am all but noble so please do not burden yourself with titles to call me. If you are uncomfortable with calling me by my name, you can continue calling me ‘miss.’”

“I must confess, miss, I am inexperienced as a lady’s maid. I had only been an apprentice mere months before the queen passed.” Wanda told you humbly.

“I do not have my own personal lady’s maid.” You told her in confidence. “All that you do is of great help to me already.”

Wanda’s eyes were owlish on her face when she turned to you in surprise. She was a beautiful little thing despite the frailness and pointedness of her features. Her hair, an enviable shade of titian, was pulled severely in a bun on her nape and gave her a look that was beyond her years. The softness of her accented voice, however, betrayed the maturity of her features—she could not be any older than twenty.

You smiled gently at her. “I am unbearably common, Wanda.”

“It is rare for the king to house a common guest, miss, if you do not mind me saying.”

“I find my situation quite uncommon for a commoner like me.” You let her wash off the lather. “Your accent. It is familiar but I cannot place it.”

She paused in her ministrations, looking at you once more with her green eyes, before returning to her task. “I was from Sokovia,” she said simply.

Was. Such a simple word but it conveyed a thousand griefs. You knew of Sokovia, of the disaster that had been wrought by powerful countries at war. Sokovia was not at fault for existing in between two quarrelling nations. It was unfortunate to have been in the middle of it all. It had been all too sudden; the call for war happened unexpectedly that they had not amassed an army in time to defend themselves. It was the decimation of its capital city of Novi Grad that had put an end to the existence of such small but promising land.

“Forgive me.” You touched Wanda’s hand, squeezing it gently to convey your sympathies. “I would not have asked if I had known.”

“It is of little consequences now. My home is now here, in Brookland. To work for the kingdom is an honor, miss.”

You smiled gently. “Our monarchs are kind and just.”

“Yes. Most especially the queen, may her soul rest.” She hummed a regret-filled sound. “When she died, the whole kingdom was devastated. Since then, the king had been in poor health. He is worried for the kingdom’s future should he soon follow his wife.”

You let her dry you and bring your chemise before you pressed on with more of your questions.

“Is the prince incapable of ruling?” you asked as you adjusted the cotton garment against your body.

You had known princes were schooled into being future monarchs since their infancy. Perhaps Prince James was otherwise engaged in other matters, especially in that of being a soldier.

Wanda laced your stays as she replied.

“Prince James is very capable, miss. However, the king has stipulated that the kingdom be ruled by a king and a queen. He has to marry before he ascends the throne.” She passed you a modesty petticoat and, once worn, fastened a heavy hoop skirt around your waist.

Of course. It was the very reason you were called for, after all. Your presence had been a great hindrance to the future of the kingdom. With you still legally wed to the prince, he would not be able to marry the Grand Duke’s niece.

“Does he have a bride he wishes to wed?” you asked, bobbing as she brought another two more petticoats and the outer skirt overhead. “Are your privy to that information?”

Any woman, noble or not, would be curious about the future queen of the kingdom. Even one married to said prince.

“The Grand Duke’s niece, miss. It is said she is a Princess from Russia.”

A princess. It was now truly understandable why the Grand Duke was irate with you. Who else was a better match for the prince than a princess?

The butterflies in your stomach fluttered as you remembered James’s intense gaze. He had looked over at you appreciatively even in your disheveled state, and you had reacted in a way that had only been shown in Shakespeare’s comedies. There was a flutter of excitement that coursed through you at the sight of his appraising eyes—heady, potent, foreign; it made you feel silly. You knew you were flustered when you had looked at him, felt the heat rise and color your cheeks, and you made an utter fool of yourself by giving an ungraceful curtsy. You were often calm and collected in the face of royalty, always poised and proper, and in that moment, you stumbled. All because of your husband.

Oh, dear.

You needed to stop calling him thus, even in your thoughts. The king would have you punished if he ever caught you referring to the prince as your husband.

Wanda rearranged the many petticoats under your skirt before running a flat palm down to keep it in place. She took a similarly colored bodice and fastened its buttons at your back. You faced the mirror and stifled a gasp when you saw your reflection. The dress was a confection of delicate lace and beautiful pink silk taffeta. The bodice was left bare, save for the intricately made neckline. Seed pearls and violet-hued gemstones were sewn with gold thread in elegant, floral motifs across your chest. Lace as delicate as a spider’s web cascaded just beneath it, fluttering at the slightest touch of the wind. Short, puffed sleeves of the same pink taffeta and cream-colored lace were gathered with a delicate pink bow on your arm. The layers of flounce that encircled the skirt may have dated the dress to the fashion of the yesteryears but it did not diminish the inherent beauty. It was simple yet opulent; it was a testament of Brookland’s quiet riches. And it fit perfectly as though it was made for you.

“Oh, how beautiful,” you gushed. It was a dress fit for a royal. “But I feel I am not fit to wear it. Such a dress would be missed by its owner. I am perfectly fine to receive a simple frock.”

“The late queen did not have much simple dresses, miss,” Wanda remarked as she bent down to fasten your shoes.

“I beg your pardon?” You must have misheard. Surely, the palace would not have lent you a gown from the late queen’s personal closets. “You mean to tell me this belonged to Queen Winnifred?”

“Yes, miss. Our Sunday’s bests are not fit to be worn to a receiving of the Duke of Queensfield, and the Head Housekeeper’s dresses would not have fit you properly without being taken in. This dress seemed the most fitting to present to you.” Your maid replied innocently.

Of course. If only your trunks had arrived during your bath, you would have a choice of dress albeit not as elegant as the one you were in. It is only a matter of clothing, Y/N. Princess Shuri had even lent her ceremonial robes to me when I needed them, you thought to yourself. Yes. There was no need for you to worry overmuch with your appearance. In the meantime, you would relish the feel of wearing Brookland’s fineries on your body.

“The Grand Duke, he is not a Brook,” you said when you sat before your vanity.

Wanda had insisted to style your hair and you agreed, knowing a simple plait would not be appropriate for meeting the prince’s cousin.

“No, miss. He was a part of the Sokovian nobility.” Wanda replied as she combed and pinned your hair.

“I see. Was he the highest ranking official who had been exiled here?”

“I do not think so. Although, he had been the only one who wished to serve the king.”

It was no wonder why his niece had been chosen as the prince’s bride. If the saying was true—that the Sokovians were unfailingly loyal—then the king could not have chosen a better future queen for the kingdom. It was another reason why you must divorce the prince as soon as you can.

You dismissed Wanda when she had finished with your hair but not before thanking her for her help. You strode out of your room with a new sense of purpose. Any book on the politics of the kingdom would be a great help to you and to this predicament you put yourself in. The palace library would have housed these scholarly books you needed.

You had a vague memory of where the library was, supposing it hadn’t been moved in the last twenty years since you had been here. You recalled it being situated near the gardens on the east of the grand staircase, with ornate double doors of gold gilding. Portraits of the current royal family and ones of the prince should be hung on either side of its entryway. You went down the grand staircase and headed right, smiling politely at the stunned footmen who hastily opened the doors to the library for you.

The scent of wood and books assaulted your nose before you saw the richly decorated library. Dark oak shelves were teeming with books of all shapes and sizes and it reached up to the grandly decorated ceilings. There were murals of heavenly bodies painted on the dome, of vibrantly colored scenarios that told of religious histories and Brookland’s myths and legends, and each panel was artfully done as the next one. Arched windows with views of the palace gardens gave ample lighting to the otherwise dark room. In the middle of it all lay two opulently carved long tables; each bearing candles, sheafs of paper, and writing materials. A mezzanine wrapped around the room; the shelves on it housing even more volumes. At the opposite side, a cavernous marble fireplace blazed generously.

On any other time, you would have perused every title of the books held within but for now, you settled for any book on Brookland’s laws and constitution. You walked over to the section of the library where you assumed housed those books and, pulling out one on the subject of constitution, settled by a window as you started to read.

You were not educated much in Brookland’s laws but you knew that the volume you were reading had been outdated, evidenced by a passage saying that land disputes must be settled with blood through fisticuffs to the death. It was barbaric and antiquated and it made you go to the mezzanine to find another book that may have held the answers you were looking for.

A tome on matters regarding matrimony caught your eye and you pulled it out. It was dated to the last century but still, it was recent enough for you to study. You opened it to the contents table and scanned its pages as you slowly came down the spiral steps.

“Mein Gott!”

A rustle of papers made you look up and to the eyes of Grand Duke Zemo. He stared at you in alarm, his skin turning a deathly pale that you had not realized was possible for someone of his complexion. His mouth was hung open in shock and his hands trembled as the papers wafted from them.

You quickly executed a curtsy to the surprised man. “Your Grace.”

“Wie konntest du hier sein? Du bist tot!”

His eyes were wide and unseeing; his gaze passed right through you.

“Are you all right, Grand Duke?” You asked worriedly.

You stood there, unmoving; afraid that suddenly doing so would spook the already-terrified man. It had been some time before a noise disturbed the eerie silence of the library. The loud cracking of the fireplace from behind you effectively shook him from his stupor.

He blinked in rapid succession, the glazed look in his eyes vanishing as he saw you. Color returned to his cheeks until they were tinted an angry shade of red. “I thought I had seen Queen Winnifred.” He whispered harshly.

“Forgive me.” You said, although you did not know why. It only seemed to be the appropriate response at the moment. You flattened a hand down the front of your dress. “My trunks had not arrived and the Head Housekeeper had offered for me to wear Her Majesty’s dress.”

He stared openly at you, his sharp eyes roaming about your figure. Gooseflesh prickled at the trail his eyes left on your skin. He finally turned away to pick at his fallen items and you stood there awkwardly, waiting for him to dismiss you.

“What are you doing here?” he asked instead as he placed his items on the table.

“I was hoping to find something to read, Your Grace.” you replied, watching as he lit a candle. “There was a book on the constitution of Brookland—”

He raised a disbelieving brow as he glanced at you. “First, you marry the prince and now, you wish to learn more about the laws of the land?”

His question oozed incredulity and judgement.

“What shall be next? You will turn us out of the palace?” He scoffed. “Do not fancy yourself helping us out of this problem. You have made one mistake already, girl. God knows you would be creating another one for me to solve.”

You kept silent. It was unjust of him to think of you so, especially when you and he were towards the same goal. You did not want to remain married to the prince for long—heaven knows you were not brought up for such a task—but Grand Duke Zemo did not have to be nasty in his refusal of your help.

“Find some light reading,” he said. “Girls like you cannot comprehend the legislations of the land. There is a book on flowers that I find befits someone of your stature.”

You gave a polite but strained smile. A string of explanations sat at the tip of your tongue but you withheld it. It was futile to argue with the man, much more when he yielded power over you.

“Thank you, Grand Duke.” You replied shortly. “If you could point me to the direction of those books, I would be happy to take one.”

“Such impudence,” he murmured before grudgingly pointing at one corner of the room.

Taking the heavy tome, you replaced it before heading towards the section of the botany books. There was an array of them, all of botany but of different subjects. You also saw the different languages of the books, more artfully designed than the others. The foreign books appeared untouched, the gold foil of the titles still complete and glinting in the sun.

There was a section of German books and you plucked one out of the many unblemished volumes. You also took two sheets of paper and a pencil from the table when you descended.

“I shall bid you good day, Your Grace.” You curtsied in his general direction. He waved his hand at you dismissively and it cued you to leave the awful man alone.

In the very least, you knew where the library was located. The book about the laws of the land would have to wait. This book on botany, however it came to your possession, looked interesting. You were conversant in many a language, reading this German book would not pose a problem. It would keep you occupied while you waited for your trunks to arrive.

…

From his window, James watched as you emerged to the garden.

If he were honest with himself, he would say he was disappointed that you weren’t wearing your breeches and shirt anymore and that he could not admire your shapely figure but with the dress you had now donned, there was no mistaking the contours of your body. He had not had this visceral reaction to the Princess Natasha’s portrait, but then again, he had not seen her in the flesh. You, however, he had seen and admired. There was no mistaking what a great beauty you were and he would be blind to deny such visible truth to himself.

He could not find it in him to be angry with you. It was a peculiar situation you both had gotten into, the innocent intentions and legally binding contracts. His memory of you had rang clear in his head by the time he finished speaking with his father; he remembered your hope for a friendship with him, your eagerness in trying to copy your father’s way of sealing such relationships, and the way you were excited when you both had—unintentionally—sealed each other’s fate. It was simply laughable and not worth getting furious over, unlike his father and the Grand Duke Zemo.

With a renewed sense of vigor, James headed towards the garden. The ledgers had become awfully boring and the numbers had started to swim before his eyes. He had not even touched the missives that had piled on his desk lest he misunderstand important matters. This is a much needed reprieve, he convinced himself. I will do better once I have taken a stroll in the gardens.

He was determined to get to know you, that much was true. Even if you were not to remain married for long, he was eager to learn more about you. King George had said that you had traveled to different kingdoms and territories with your diplomat father and had lived in those places for nearly all your life. You were foreign as much as you were a Brook; that in itself was fascinating to him. Among other things, that is.

“Your Royal Highness, I suppose the reason for your rushing is so we can train,” came an amused, sarcastic voice behind him.

James stopped and turned towards its source. Samuel Wilson, the Captain of the Royal Guards, walked towards the prince with an air of equal parts amusement and frustration.

“Whyever would you think otherwise?” James asked, a brow quirked at the obvious jape.

“You have been avoiding all my attempts at getting you to train.” remarked Sam. “Is it so hard to pick up your sword again? You had not been the same since the battle in Sokovia. A little movement should take away the laziness in you.”

“I had not been evading you and I am not lazy. I have had other important matters to attend to.” The prince exited the building with Captain Wilson trailing behind him. “And besides, don’t you tire of losing to me?”

Where were you? James thought as he scanned for you in the gardens. You could not have moved so quickly in the short time he went down to find you.

“I have never lost to you. I was simply bolstering your already inflated ego. And if you’re looking for the mysterious miss, she’s due west.” Sam said.

“I am not looking for her,” James replied hastily, much to his chagrin.

“Of course,” Sam said in a false grave tone. There was an unmistakable knowing grin in his words.

“I am not,” insisted James but approached you anyway.

He did not want to disturb your peace. You were poring over a book on the table while your hands were busy over a piece of paper. Scribbling, perhaps? he thought to himself as he watched you.

“I shall go and introduce myself.” Sam told him as he strode on ahead.

James followed behind him, taking on an impassive air so he did not seem overeager as he approached you. It had been a while since he last felt this way about a woman. It had been with Dolores—Dottie, as how he came to know her. She was an interesting character; ambitious for a mere daughter of a seamstress but wise beyond her years. A pity it was that he could not continue his friendship with her; the call for war drove the two of them apart. As he fought, she had gotten married. James was rightly heartbroken but he knew it would not have stood against his father. Princes married with royals, as was the custom.

“Sam Wilson, Captain of the Royal Guards, at your service.” Sam said as he bowed before you.

Against the backdrop of the high summer sun and the palace garden blooms, you appeared resplendent.

“Good day, Captain Wilson.” You smiled gently. You turned to James and curtsied. “Your Royal Highness.”

The wind tousled at your carefully coifed hair. Lemon and lavender, he thought as he caught a whiff of your scent.

James cleared his throat, which had become uncommonly tight. “Sam, this is Miss Y/N. She is my father’s guest.”

“Miss Y/N,” Sam repeated. He took your hand in his and placed a kiss atop it.

“I’ve heard stories of your triumphs in the war.” You told Sam, a polite smile gracing your face. “It must be quite a task to be commanding so many soldiers in the battlefield.”

“It is no simple feat. Prince James wishes he could command the army as I have,” Sam said with a sly grin.

James rolled his eyes. Disparity of their classes aside, Sam often jested with the prince and vice versa. But even if he and the captain were close friends, he had not told the captain as to why you were present in the palace. He knew it would do more harm than good to tell him of your relationship with each other. His father had been adamant that he divorce the two of you quietly so he could push through with James’s wedding to the Princess Natasha.

“I do not wish to command them, Sam. I do.” James said as he puffed his chest out with pride.

You snickered, then promptly apologized when both men turned to you with equally surprised looks.

“Oh, do forgive me. I do not recall ever seeing such a display of bravado since a proud young panther pounced at the older, more worldly one for a piece of food in Wakanda.” You rambled, a rosy tint rising on your cheeks.

At that, James laughed.

Any person would have cowered at the sight of the prince and the captain of the Royal Guards but not you. You were natural and you spoke your mind with such ease that it made him admire, as well as envy, you. There was no pretense or false modesty about you and it was refreshing for him to see that you weren’t one to fall at his feet and wax poetic about his title or his dashing good looks.

“And who won?” Sam asked, his eyes gleaming with curiosity.

“One panther or another. I did not stay long enough.” You told him, adopting a serious mien. “Otherwise, I would have been their next meal.”

James smiled deeply. Your wit was sharp. It was a rarity these days. Most often, he was faced with a bumbling fool or a stammering twit.

You were also a proficient artist, he remarked, as he took in the array of papers on the table. You were sketching the flower that was on your book, halfway done by the looks of it. And intelligent as well, he silently mused as he saw the language of the book. He knew not many other people who had studied German; it was arduous language and was commonly taught to the children of noblemen and royalty. Most certainly it was not taught to the common folk.

Every little thing he uncovered about you made him all the more curious.

“You study plants?” James asked as he motioned to your sketch. And a remarkable one at that, he thought approvingly.

You cast a furtive grimace at its direction. “Oh, no. The Grand Duke suggested that I read a book on flowers because it befits me instead of taking the book I was intending to read.”

He raised a brow at that. Zemo may appear hawkish but the man was as meek as a church mouse. “And what was it that you wanted to read?”

When you caught a rosy lip between your teeth as you hesitated, it was a surprise that he did not catch on fire on the spot at the heat that coursed through him.

“I was reading about the constitution and the laws of the land, Your Royal Highness.” you said after a moment’s hesitation.

“Whatever for?” Sam asked. “If you do not mind my asking.”

James had momentarily forgotten his friend was present.

You turned your attentions to the Captain, hesitance still marring your face. “My… friend desires to learn of the grounds of separation. She is convinced she isn’t a fit match for her husband.”

“If I may inquire, why is the lady convinced she is not suit for her husband?”

“For one, her husband is so above her in stature. It is an unusual marriage, if I dare say so, Captain.” Your eyes met James’s as you went on. “They had unmistakably signed a marriage contract and had been bound since.”

There was uncertainty in your eyes as you looked at him. In anticipation for my reaction? James wondered. Your offense was great in King George’s eyes but to him, it was comical. Absurd and laughable. If Sir William Shakespeare were alive and present, he would have another comedy in his hands.

But it was a matter between you and him. Sam need not hear nor know of it.

“Yes, highly unusual.” Sam remarked. “But no matter. Should you wish to return to the library, I am certain His Royal Highness would be of great help to you.”

The prince nodded, hiding his surprise at being mentioned by his friend. “Yes, of course.” He leaned in towards you, a secret smile on his face. “Although, I must warn you, the language the laws were written in are not in German. Most are in Latin.”

You smiled and a dimple sank into your cheek. “It is no matter. So long as all of them are not wholly in Latin, then I think I shall understand it.”

James found himself mesmerized; his eyes trained on your lips for longer than what was allowed. They were petal-like, soft, and fresh.

“I’m afraid I must excuse myself.” Sam said suddenly. “I do not think Prince James would be coming with me to practice his swordplay so I shall leave him in your hands.”

“Oh.” You said, surprised, and turned to the Captain. “I’ve no intention of stealing him from his training, Captain.”

“And I believe he has no intention of coming to it.” Sam said wryly. He took your hand and bowed over it. “It was a pleasure to have met you, Miss Y/N.”

You smiled. “The pleasure is all mine, Captain Wilson.”

As Sam vanished behind the doors, James turned to you.

“Shall we take a turn about the gardens, Miss Y/N?”

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emeraldmew · 2 months

Note

Hey, sis.

#also someone remind me to make my Cosmic Horror Toddler theory into something coherent

Whenever you have the time.

Okay. So bear in mind we're only like seven episodes in and I have no evidence and really no thought behind this beyond "would that be fucked up or what?" and "ooh I'd love to see what an eldritch abomination growing up is like."

There are also like, all of the spoilers for the original TMA below so like, if you're just listening to Protocol you might want to skip the rest of this post.

Tenuously connected point 1.

One of the things from what Jonny and Alex have said about Protocol is that it's supposed to involve exploring "what makes a person" right? And we also already know Jonny's answer to this question from his, uh, cannibalism discussion.

Short version: a "person" understands their actions as something that actually does things to the world around them beyond simply fulfilling a want like hunger/capable of choosing to do evil.

Tenuously connected point 2.

In the Archives universe, a point is made that the Fears "don't think. Not like we do." They work off instinct.

Tenuously connected point 3.

While I never looked into the ARG before Protocol's release I have since looked into the summaries of what it revealed. Among other things the ARG revealed Magnus Institute of Protocol was studying children via... psychological experiments of dubious morality. Aside from this being why Sam is snooping into the Magnus Institute (for those who haven't looked into the ARG yet, his name is among the children researched) the experiments are pretty much looking into how children at various stages of development display empathy and whether they conform to orders or choose not to and stuff like that (I'm sure I am not wording this part right someone with a better background in psychology can probably expand further).

Anyway, my point is the idea of choices and such is being studied in relation to psychological development in children.

Tenuously connected point 4.

The way the cases so far have played out in Protocol does seem to show a difference compared to Archives.

Smirke's original categories don't seem to fit quite right anymore as each of the cases seem to have stuff that doesn't cram into the original boxes. As the blurry categories were already a major point in TMA regarding creating the Eyepocalypse and even Sam calls out the categorization the OIAR use in the first episode this isn't surprising. But it does suggest that the Fears have changed from what they were before.

Quite a few people have also suggested that in the cases we've seen sometimes the incidents seem to fulfill a desire (in a monkey's paw way, of course) rather than simply finding a random victim. This might suggest the presence of intent rather than only instinct.

So what?

I'll admit it's just sort of my own "ooh wouldn't that be messed up? let's explore that further" thought process doing the talking here, but The Thing that was Fear has existed since things could feel afraid. It's ancient. But it's also a cosmic horror entity that has been shown to grow from it's initial state to what we saw in Archives (see ep 200).

It's something on a cosmic level. Maybe it wasn't done growing. The Fears don't think "like we do"...

but neither do babies.

What if by Protocol the Fears have developed more after leaving their cradle? To a point where they can at least begin to think or choose.

What if the Fears are eldritch toddlers and they're learning how to play?

#emeraldmew's red string theory of eldritch toddlers #the magnus archives #the magnus protocol #tma #tmagp #tmagp theory #spoilers #i mean i have no evidence beyond the fact that i personally would love to explore a cosmic horror's life cycle #also note that the theory only really touches on the Fears if you came here looking for theories about Chester & Norris you're out of luck #(unless they and Agustus are the nannies in this analogy)

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idolatrybarbie · 8 months

Text

the world tipped on its side

chapter two - mouthful of diamonds

series masterlist | read on ao3

pairing: francisco "frankie" morales x f!reader

word count: 7.1k

rating & summary: mature | nightmares plague you. frankie drops off his contract.

warnings: allusions/reference to physical injury, (very) mild and brief body horror, mentions of death, severe levels of emotional constipation omfg. reader has a disability.

notes: thanks for all of the love on the first chapter of this thing, it's really been so sweet.

There’s this story that your English teacher had you read, right before winter break of your senior year. He’d said it was a good mirror tale to Macbeth, the Shakespearean title that your class was absolutely slogging through. The Monkey’s Paw by W. W. Jacobs, published about a hundred years before you were reading it.

At the time, you didn’t think too deeply about it. This story was like any other of the number of poems, journals, and creative whittlings that they threw at you for the sake of expanding your critical thinking capabilities. Lately, years since you’ve even set foot in your hometown, the story has haunted you. Your dreams, specifically.

Recalling the details of the story—the White family, their wealth and existence all glossy with a vague European sheen. Herbert White, crushed inside a factory machine as a consequence for his father’s greedy wish. You imagine the son’s corpse, mangled and battered beyond recognition, standing over you in bed. You’re unable to move, monstrous animal hands holding you down against the mattress. Herbert looms, staring, mouth lolling open because it has no choice. Then suddenly it’s you, a rotting corpse, staring down at yourself.

Today, you wake up at quarter past one. The sky is dark, the sun certainly not out. You are tempted to call Mia, reach for the phone to do so, then remember Sam. You hang up before it even has a chance to ring. Scrolling through your contacts, you hover over your father’s number for a moment, then shut off your phone. Everyone in here is a work contact or a landmine.

There’s finally food in your fridge, but none of it meets your appetite. Checking the cupboards, you push past boxes of Kraft Dinner, searching to no avail. What you’re looking for isn’t here. You don’t need a snack to tide you over and occupy the wait until you fall asleep again. That’s not happening. What you need is a good, cheap drink.

You put on clothes that match—dark colours and sneakers. Something socially acceptable that still, if unintentionally, indicates that a bar is not the venue you’d had in mind for the night. Thirty five minutes from home is a dive at the center of the city, the name irrelevant compared to the need the services inside will satisfy. The time has you antsy, practically dumping yourself into the driver’s seat as your car rumbles to life on the quiet street.

The I-75 is deserted, spare a few stragglers that glide past you, headed the way you’re coming from. No one is driving from the suburbs to the city at this time of night. No one but you.

If it were September, this would be different; all the college kids with rented bedrooms in laminate-floored McMansions built after the recession would be headed to the bars, just as you are. But it’s summertime, and all of those kids are at home in different states, surely as bored out of their minds as you were in your tiny apartment. Maybe not as lonely, though.

You pay the fourteen dollar parking fee, and that’s just for an hour, because you don’t feel like slowly trolling the block for some sketchy corner to leave the car. Instead, you’re parked right out front under the direct glow of a street lamp. No more horror movies for you tonight.

They don’t card you at the door, something you’re coming to appreciate as it happens more and more often now. Before it was a pain, digging your license out of whatever tacky pleather clutch was out for a spin that night; now you like the silent nod that bouncers give you, noting the tired look of age that’s replaced the bright wariness that used to be there. Soon enough, you’re sure, this event will start to feel bad. Everything does eventually.

The establishment you walk into is a true dive, but not quite a shit hole. It has the ever-present hum of low conversation and drinks clinking. A rack of billiards balls crack against each other as a game is started in the far corner of the room. The leather stool you take a seat on is plush beneath you. You already know you won’t be able to sit here very long. Hopefully the bartender doesn’t think it’s weird when you leave your seat to wander a couple antisocial laps.

At the thought, he materializes, throwing a rag over his shoulder. He asks what he can get started for you, leaning hard against the wood of the bar.

“Can I just get a gimlet?” you ask. The bartender nods, pushing himself off and away again. He returns minutes later with your drink, a pale greenish-yellow in the crystal tumbler he serves it to you in.

You barely get a sip down before someone slithers up to your side.

Rolling your eyes, you turn to the standing figure. “Look buddy—”

Frankie Morales, stunt pilot, smiles down at you.

“Oh,” you stop yourself. “Francisco. Hi.”

“Hey,” he says. “And it’s just Frankie.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“May I?” he asks, nodding to the stool beside you.

“Oh, yeah. Sure.”

You start to ask if Frankie got those contract papers from Mia at the same time as he asks, “So, what brings you out tonight?”

You shake your head. “Sorry. You go first.” Second apology of the night. This is going well.

“I got ‘em. Was gonna bring them back today, actually,” he says. That’s a relief. “So?”

“So, what?” you ask.

“You’re sitting in a bar, about…” He glances at the clock beside the clear bottles of liquor across from the two of you. “Six hours before you’re supposed to be on set. If I had to guess.”

“Four and a half,” you say. “But close enough.”

“D’you just enjoy a good dive bar?” Frankie asks.

“No,” you sigh, “I prefer titty bars. More glitter, less…vomit. Much more my speed.”

Frankie stares at you, face severe.

“I’m joking,” you clarify.

“Oh!” He breaks into awkward, relieved laughter. “Sorry.” One point for Francisco on the apology board.

You shake your head. “It’s fine. I’m a little dry in my humour.”

“You’re funny. More than most people got going for them,” Frankie says.

“Well, I’m glad I’ve got more than most people,” you smile. “What brings you here tonight? I figured titty bars were more your thing too.”

“You know, maybe for a special occasion. Tonight’s any other night, so I made my way down here. Lucky I caught you, huh?”

“I don’t know if I would call it luck. Coincidence? Have you pissed anyone off lately?” you ask.

“Well, whatever it is, I’m grateful. We didn’t get to finish our conversation,” Frankie says.

“You wanted to finish our conversation?” You feel that guilt from the other day, hot and foamy in your stomach, and take another sip of your drink.

“I like to get to know the people I’m working with,” he says. “You mentioned that you were a stuntperson.”

“Yep, I did,” you say. If only there was such thing as a time machine, so you could travel back to three days ago and slap yourself before the words could come out of your mouth.

“What’s the story there?” Frankie asks.

“Oh, nothing. It’s a long one.”

“I’ve got time,” he says.

“Longer than I’m willing to tell,” you say. Another sip of the gimlet, the tang of lime overtaking the sugar on your tongue.

“Okay,” Frankie says. You look at him, and there’s that twinkle again. “You can keep your secrets for now.”

“You’re asking about me when I barely know anything about you,” you say.

“Fine, what do you want to know? Favourite colour? Green. Favourite season? A toss up between summer and fall. My first dog’s name was Ruby, and we grew up on Yosemite Street.”

“All I need is your mother’s maiden name and you’ve become the perfect candidate for social security theft,” you say.

“I have a feeling you wouldn’t do it,” he says.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. There’s this general goodness that reverberates from you. Plus, Mia likes you,” Frankie says.

He catches your attention with that comment. What does that mean? “Have you known her longer than just the email exchange?” you ask.

“Eh. A little,” Frankie says.

“How?”

Frankie shakes his head, tutting lightly. “You have your secrets, and I have mine.”

He puts both of his hands on the bar, and only now do you notice he’s lacking a drink in either of them. Like Frankie the other day at the studio, you notice, but don’t comment.

“Fine. I’ll give you one,” you say.

“One what?”

“One secret. In exchange for yours.”

“I didn’t know you were a bartering man,” Frankie says.

“Neither did I,” you say. “Here’s my offer: I’ll tell you why I’m here, and you tell me how you know Mia.”

“Hmmm.” He makes a show of mulling it over in his head. “Deal.”

“I had a nightmare. It was pretty stupid,” you say. Frankie remains silent, waiting. “There was this story that I read in high school. Some early twentieth century horror fiction, about the whole monkey’s paw curls thing. I haven’t thought about it since high school but…I guess it’s been waiting for an opportunity to terrorize me.”

You finish the rest of the gimlet, waiting for Frankie to say something. When he doesn’t, you turn to see him watching you.

“What?”

“Nightmares. I get ‘em too,” he says. “Not Scary Stories to Tell In The Dark, but…” Right. War. “My solution is usually a good hot toddy and those twelve hour rain sounds videos online. Next thing I know, I’m out like a light. Hot toddy sans whiskey, though.” You raise an eyebrow, a silent question. “I’m sober.”

“Oh. But you’re here?”

“Jack serves me water and peanuts and I listen to him bitch about his mother,” he says, nodding at the bartender who’s currently talking to another customer.

The words come out before you can stop them. “You’re a little odd, aren’t you?”

Frankie chuckles, the sound never quite leaving his throat. “Takes one to know one, I guess.”

You roll with it, shoving down the embarrassment spreading warmth all over your body. “Okay, now tell me your secret. How do you know Mia?” you ask.

“I flew some of the planes she dove out of a couple times,” Frankie says. “There was this teen show? It’s been off the air for a few seasons, I think it was—”

“I remember,” you nod. “Well, hey. Small world.”

“Your turn again,” Frankie says.

“What? No, we had a deal.”

“And I gave you an extra secret. Two, if we’re really counting here. My top tier hot toddy trick, and my epic sober journey. But I’ll let you off with just the one.”

“Of the two of us, you are definitely the bartering man here.”

You think hard, trying to source a topic that won’t wedge loose anything you’d rather keep away from the charmingly persistent pilot to your right. Your childhood. Landmine. Your parents. Landmine. Your past with Mia, your career, the entirety of your personal life. Landmine, landmine, landmine.

“If you’re having trouble, I could help,” Frankie offers from beside you.

“Why, you have a burning question for me?” you ask.

“Not so much burning, more so just curious.” You don’t like the way the word sounds in his mouth. Laced with implication. “After our initial meeting, I was wondering why you were dressed like a paralegal when everyone else looks like they’re at the gym or watching Saturday morning cartoons.”

Ah. That’s a question you can answer easily. “Well, I don’t do the stunts, so that’s one part. The other…I don’t know. When I first started working, I was a PA. My supervisor told me that the best way to get noticed, to stick out in the good way, was to dress up a little. Show the powers that be that you’re taking things seriously.”

“But you’re not a PA anymore,” Frankie says.

“This is true, but,” you say, because there is always a but. “I can’t afford to not be noticed. In the good way, anyway. It’s how I got this job. I’m sure it’ll be how I get the next.” If. If you get the next. “When I can afford to not put the effort in, you’ll know. I just won’t be there.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Frankie says, repeating your own words from set back to you. It’s your turn to watch him now. From where you sit, he looks like a puzzle; you can’t figure out what exactly he’s supposed to be showing you right now, what game he’s set. You hate to admit that despite that, you’re having fun playing.

“And I’ll throw another one in for you, because why not,” you say, gimlet loosening your tongue just a bit. “Ashton Marilyn? My boss, your soon-to-be boss? The most pretentious douchebag I have ever met in my life. And that’s high praise. I lived in L.A..”

Frankie bows his head, seemingly relieved. “So it’s not just me then.”

“It’s not just you at all. The man makes my skin crawl.”

“After that little meet and greet, I was going to tell Mia that I couldn’t take the job,” Frankie admits.

“That would’ve sucked for me very specifically.”

“Be glad that I changed my mind then.”

“And what brought about this charitable change of heart?” you ask. “The money? I’d spend it all on dames and horses if I were you.”

“Nah. Air shows are light this year, but it wasn’t that,” Frankie says.

You take a hard turn, curiosity killing the proverbial cat that is your joking mood. “What was it then?”

Frankie raps his knuckles against the hard wood of the bar, looking out at those liquor bottles again. “I guess that’s for me to know and you to find out,” he says. Suddenly he’s standing, taking off his baseball cap to nod at you politely as he says your name. “I’ll see you around. Have a good night.”

Before you can ask another question, before you can stop him, Frankie is across the room and out the door.

You’re seated behind the wobbling desk that production has allowed you to call your own for the duration of filming. Underneath you is a gel seat cushion, supporting you in the swivel chair that Andy rescued from a Dumpster. Lunch is best spent up here with your yogurt cup, where no one can bother you. Ashton’s been up your ass all morning; he doesn’t like to talk to the stunt cast without your overseeing presence. He’s absolutely terrified of being reported for belittling behaviour, like he was on the last set he directed on. You both love and hate that the man’s biggest fear is being cancelled on social media.

At last, the gracious break for lunch had arrived, and now you are here. Blissfully alone with your breakfast parfait, watching the southern sun filter in through dusty windows in front of you. Watching the thousands of specks float through the air reminds you of stars. In college, Friday night was dedicated to Neil deGrasse Tyson. You forced Mia to watch all nine seasons of The Universe docuseries in eight months.

Aside from British literature, the cosmos features heavily in your dreams. The idea of zero gravity, specifically, since the accident. Nothing to keep you grounded to the surface beneath you; no force weighing on your spine. Floating in paradise.

A knocking at the doorway pulls your thoughts away from space, turning slowly to face the front of the office. It’s nothing special, with its puke green walls and the pendant lamp overhead, covered in grime. A time capsule of a bygone era.

Frankie leans in the room’s threshold, a neat stack of papers in his hand as he says hello.

“I was wondering when you’d make your way over here,” you say, plunking your spoon into your cup.

“I’m surprised you’re here at all,” he says, referencing this morning.

“When I have a job to do, I like to get it done.”

“You and that yogurt look hard at work.” He eyes your food, then asks, “Is that raspberry?”

“Boysenberry.”

“Ooh, fancy,” Frankie says.

You look at the reddish-brown fruit sitting atop a pile of granola. “Catering, you know. They get a little weird with it. Wanna keep your business.”

“Makes sense,” is all he says about that. “Anyway, these are for you.”

Frankie hands you the signed contract. You stick the spoon in your mouth, flipping through the pages to double check anything.

“What, you think I can’t read?” Frankie asks.

“Making sure I didn’t fuck up the wording of anything,” you mumble absently.

When everything looks about right, you stop flipping, turning over the stapled package to put your signature down next to Frankie’s. Your eyes linger over the fancy scribble of your name, watching the ink bleed into the paper. Then you look at Frankie’s signature. The F is harsh and bold, a stark contrast to the cutesy cursive letters that spell out the rest of his first name. A small circle sits overtop the line meant to be i in Francisco, like a cartoon cyclops.

“Great!” you say. “Thanks for this by the way. Don’t know if I’ll be able to say that enough in the time that we work together.”

“It’s no problem, really,” Frankie says. “Although I was wondering when I could see ‘er.”

Okay, now you’re confused. “Sorry, what?”

“You know, the helicopter. I’d like to get acquainted before we start rehearsal.”

You do not know the helicopter, mostly because there isn’t one. Another layer of seething rage towards Ashton settles over you, even if it’s a little misplaced. He’s the one who so gracefully sprung this on you with no plan in place.

You glance up at Frankie. You can’t tell him that there is no helicopter, not when he’s just signed this contract and locked himself into this wholly incompetent production.

So you say, “Let’s go see if production has anything for us,” with a slight smile, like everything’s fine, because everything will be.

Even though you can’t see him, you feel Frankie’s presence at your back. Leading him down the hall, you start to wonder why this needed to be a real helicopter. Why did Ashton need the real thing, with a real pilot? Half of this movie is made of scenes chopped up and filmed in front of a green screen. Why couldn’t this be the same?

Of course, that takes working with Frankie out of the equation, which if the way your stomach sours at the thought indicates anything, that’s would be bad . But now you have to choreograph a stunt with the very big, very dangerous obstacle of a helicopter in the mix. On the bright side, there’s a first time for everything…?

Moby is staring at a computer older than you when you brush into the production office, Frankie right behind you. A bagel spread with liver paté sits on a paper plate beside the keyboard, his glasses catching the reflection of the screen. You clear your throat, giving him a chance to minimize the tab of softcore porn he’s watching on mute.

“Oh! Hey,” he says, acknowledging you. “And…” Moby looks to Frankie, still standing behind you.

“Frankie Morales,” he introduces himself.

“What can I do ya’ for?” Moby asks.

“So you remember that helicopter?” you ask, cutting right to the chase.

“Uh, vaguely? I know the studio wanted it,” Moby says. This does not sound promising.

“Well this is the guy who’s supposed to fly it,” you say, nodding back at Frankie. He’s still lingering halfway between Moby’s office door and the hall, like he’s wary of entering. You try not to touch anything as you move to stand across from the sitting producer.

“That’s great,” is all Moby says.

“And he’d like to see the helicopter,” you say.

“Now, preferably,” Frankie adds.

Moby hisses on an inhale, a cat that’s been disturbed. “About that…”

“Moby Elias Clark, you are not about to tell me you don’t have a helicopter,” you say.

“Jesus. What are you, my SAG card?” he asks, hands up in defense. “It’s not like I’m sourcing aircraft every day here.”

“But that’s your job,” you say.

Moby lets out a hum of slight disagreement, the noise dying in his throat as you narrow a stare at him. “Look, I’ll talk to Ashton. Get something for you in a couple days,” he says.

“Today,” you say. “And you aren’t going to get something. We need to see them. He does.”

“I do,” Frankie agrees.

“What, you want to go helicopter shopping or something?”

You think about it for a moment, then say, “Yes. We want to go helicopter shopping. It’s eleven-thirty, we’ll be on set for another eleven hours. Make it happen. Today.”

“Geez, alright. I’ll make some phone calls, just—get the fuck out of my office, will you?” Moby asks.

Taking a deep breath, you square your shoulders and do as he asks, closing the door behind you. You can feel the come down from your sudden burst of adrenaline, brain coming back to yourself. Frankie looks at you, eyes bright with a smile across his lips.

“Remind me to stay off your bad side,” he says.

“So the goal isn’t to stay on my good side?”

“I like to set reasonable expectations for myself,” Frankie says.

Lunch ends, and it’s another hour before Moby gets back to you. He’s got a guy out in Athens with a fleet of helicopters for you two to look at. You immediately offer to take your car. As much as you don’t want to spend an hour in your own vehicle, filled to the brim with personal items and with them questions and stories, you can’t imagine the feel of the drive with Frankie’s truck’s suspension.

“Lead the way,” he says.

Moby meets you outside at your car, which Frankie seems surprised by.

“What’s wrong?” you ask. Moby’s already settling into the back seat.

“I didn’t know he was tagging along,” Frankie says.

“Well, his contact and all. It’s stunt budget but…it’d be best if he’s there, you know?” you ask. Frankie simply nods, pulling open the door to get into the front passenger seat.

The drive is an uneventful sixty-eight minutes, spent mostly listening to the quiet radio or Moby’s phone call with Ashton as he tries to placate him about both of your absences on set.

“Listen, it’ll be fine. We got the stunts we needed done before nine-thirty,” Moby says. A brief pause as Ashton surely bitches over the line. “I know. I know, it’s difficult, but Marie’s there.” Another producer on this heaping shitstorm of a movie. “I’m sure Gwen can help you with the continuity of the shots.” She should anyway, considering that’s her job and all. As you drive up the road towards the massive airplane hangar that Moby’s sourced address belongs to, he ends the call with a hasty goodbye.

Frankie hasn’t said anything about the cushion on your seat in the car, identical to the one on your office chair. He didn’t ask about the Hawaiian Breeze air freshener hanging from your mirror, or the chunky ring hanging on a thin silver chain that sways beside it. He’s been nothing but silent this past hour, picking at a tiny hole in the pocket of his jeans. For some reason, it bothers you.

As the three of you get out of the car, the sun hits you. Burning and relentless, you shield the top of your forehead from the rays as you walk towards the wide mouth of the hangar. The walls tower over you, concrete beneath your shoes turning to bright grey resin floors. Moby takes the lead on the interaction, shaking hands with a man that looks more like a mechanic than a business man in his blue cotton coveralls.

Moby introduces you and Frankie to the man. “John Whittaker. Nice to meet you both.” His handshake is firm, palms calloused. An orange shammy cloth is slung over his shoulder casually, the knees of his work suit stained with grease.

“So do you take care of these, then?” you ask.

“What? Oh, no. I own ‘em.” John looks over his shoulder at the half dozen helicopters grounded in the hangar.

“I think I’ve seen that one on Law and Order,” Frankie says, pointing to the skinniest craft of the bunch.

“You’ve probably seen them all over the place. I do a lot of business in the entertainment sector,” John says.

“That’s great. I know this was kind of last minute, but our studio put us in a bit of a time crunch,” you say.

“It’s no problem at all,” he shakes his head. “What kind of ‘copter were you thinking you’d need?”

You’re blanking, fumbling the words in your mouth when Frankie steps in.

“Nothing too complicated. It has to look military, but y’know, your average civilian isn’t going to know the difference. Ideally something that handles nicely. Give myself a break, you know?” he asks with a laugh.

John and Frankie seem to understand each other immediately, minds interlocking and delving into aviation talk that you can’t understand. You hang back a bit as Whittaker leads you between each helicopter. Moby trails behind you, typing away on his phone, wholly uninterested.

You should be looking at the helicopters and their large, would-be spinning blades, noting the glossy varnish on some of them and the grainy-finished camouflage on others. Instead you watch Frankie, observing how his brow scrunches together when John poses him a question you can’t quite hear.

He turns to ask you something in turn, catching you in the act. Immediately, you look away, eyes darting to the glowing floor.

“We’d definitely need it for a few weeks,” Frankie says to John, then back to you. “Right?”

“Yes,” you confirm. “About seven or eight rehearsals across a couple weeks, and then a day or two for the actual shoot. That part depends on our director.”

John hums, nodding. “That should work for me. This one,” he says, pointing to the helicopter just off to your right, “isn’t available in that timeframe, but otherwise you’ve got your pick of the litter.”

“You think we could hop inside? Not take her out, but just get a feel for the thing,” Frankie asks.

“Sure.”

You watch as Frankie walks along the row of helicopters, stopping at the one at the very end of the hangar. Its body shines a deep black under the fluorescent lights. Frankie steps up to it, pulling the door open and getting in. You follow him over to the metal creature, standing next to the landing skids. He’s left the door open, sitting in the cockpit by himself.

“You coming?” Frankie asks.

“Me?” you return. He nods. “Inside? Is that safe?”

“Of course it’s safe. Come on.” He stands from the pilot’s seat, leaning out to help you up. You take his hand, firm and warm over your own, feeling him pull you up by your arm as you step into the helicopter. He takes a seat on the other side of the cabin, leaving you to the seat in front of the main controls.

The leather seat beneath you is dense, warmed only a little by Frankie’s back. Dials and buttons you have no idea the purpose of lay on the dashboard before you, the lights unblinking as the machine remains powered down. Being in here strikes a chord with you. What could it be like when this thing was actually in the air?

“Okay, this is kind of cool,” you admit. “You do this for a living? I got into the wrong damn profession.”

Frankie smiles, holding his tongue between his teeth as he looks everything over. “I could definitely see you flying.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Sure. You’ve got the same intensity of everyone I went to flight school with,” Frankie says.

“You’re not too intense,” you say.

“We’re still on each other’s good sides.”

“I see,” you nod sagely. “I’ll have to play nice in case you decide to land this thing on me.”

You spend another hour getting in and out of the other five helicopters, even the one you know you can’t use, letting Frankie explain everything about them. The first one you sat in is a coaxial helicopter, which is why it has two giant rotors overhead; it eliminates the need for a tail rotor and simplifies the aircraft’s design. The one beside it—a Kaman K-MAX, Frankie tells you—looks squished, like it’s been pinched at the nose. He calls it an intermeshing rotor chopper, and you simply call it what it is: ugly.

“We used synchropters a lot in the military,” Frankie says. “Standard operations, search and rescue. They’re good for dense terrain. Forests, jungles, that type of thing.”

You are sure that if it were anybody else telling this to you, you would be bored out of your mind. Helicopters, rotors, terrain, who cares? But with the way Frankie explains it, you can’t help but listen. A special liveliness highlights his features as he tells you about each chopper, he keeps saying that, and you want him to keep talking.

When you finally leave the hangar, dragging yourself away from their hard polished bodies and all that Frankie has to say about them, it’s almost five. You promise to send John an email by tomorrow at the latest, ironing out all of the finer details. The drive back to Atlanta is less starkly silent, Frankie throwing out a helicopter anecdote every few minutes as he stares out at the horizon. It reminds you of a little boy who’s just discovered something, immediately fascinated.

When you reach the studio, Moby ambles out of the car without much more than a quick and impersonal goodbye, leaving just the two of you.

“That was fun,” you say. You can’t remember the last time the sentiment has rang true about anything work related. About anything at all really.

“I’m glad I could teach you something,” Frankie says.

“Something? I think I’m ready to fly one of those things all on my own now.”

“I don’t know about that,” he says, shaking his head. “I think I like you better grounded.”

“Why? Scared I’d take off and never come back?” you ask.

“Would you?” he asks, playful and light. Still, it pulls at something in your gut. Would you?

Instead, you ask, “Do you want to grab something to eat?”

Frankie looks at you, then at the studio. “Don’t you have a job to get back to?”

“My next call time is at seven.” It’s six-something. That leaves you with about an hour to kill.

“I guess. If you’ve got time.”

You don’t tell him where you’re going until you get there, driving two miles from the studio to park beside a 7-Eleven.

“This is where you want to eat?” Frankie asks.

“I never promised you a steakhouse,” you say.

Walking through the aisles of the store with Frankie feels oddly close. Like you’ve skipped all the small talk and jumped right to the good stuff; the come-easy moments of connection without the awkward easing in, a newly-built house already settled on the foundation. You stick to the packaged and processed goods—Doritos and bottled water—staring at Frankie with your mouth half open as you watch him buy a corn dog.

“What?” he asks incredulously.

“You’re disgusting,” you mumble, holding the door open for him as you stroll back into the night air. The sun’s beginning to set behind your car.

“You bring me to the convenience store for dinner and expect me to not eat the convenience store food?”

“Yes,” you nod.

“So you want me to starve,” Frankie states. He sits on the curb, out of the way of the neon flash of the open sign.

“If it meant you not eating that, then sure.” You gently crouch down next to him. He makes direct eye contact as he takes the first bite. You feign a shudder.

“So we got the chopper,” Frankie says, mouth still half full, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at the word. “And you’ve got me.” He swallows. “Now all we need to do is do the thing.” He means the scene.

“Practice doing the thing,” you say, “and then do the thing. And then we’re done.” Summing up the next month of work in terms like this makes your stomach lurch. You’re beginning to think you’ve found another Mia. Another friend. You say, “I can’t believe we haven’t worked together before.”

“By proxy,” Frankie replies. “I knew who you were. A little.”

“I’m flattered,” you say, coming out like a question.

“Nothing but good things,” he assures you. “Not much, period.”

He continues to eat his corn dog as you slowly sip at your water. Just spit it out already.

“So I’m not good at this anymore,” you say. “But… Oh god.” You sigh, then look at Frankie. “How do you ask people to be friends once you aren’t seventeen anymore?”

“That’s a great question. I don’t know the answer,” Frankie says.

“I want us to be friends.” The words feel strange, too solid coming out of your mouth.

“I’d like that. It would be nice to have someone to talk to that doesn’t know what the inside of a basic training camp looks like.”

“So all of your other friends, they’re just military guys?”

“Well when you say it like that.”

“Not just. You know what I mean,” you say. “I’m glad to bring a different…tone to your life, I guess.”

“Perspective,” Frankie supplies, “Experience. Never went to college myself.”

“You’re not missing out,” you shrug. The Doritos bag opens with a slight pop. “The best parts of college were all the moments outside of class, if that tells you anything. That’s where I met Mia.”

Frankie hums, tossing the wooden stick that remains of his corn dog down onto the ground. “That figures. You two’ve got that bond.”

“What bond?”

“You and her seem to be interconnected,” he says.

“You mean codependent,” you say.

“No, not like that. I guess it’s something like what I have with my buddies from spec ops. Sticking with someone long enough, you start to grow under their skin. I don’t think it’s a bad thing.”

You pull a chip from the bag and put it in your mouth. “Alright Topgun,” you say.

“Actually, they call me Catfish. Fish, really,” Frankie says.

You blink at him. “I’m sorry?” you ask, mouth still full. “Like the animal that swims?” He nods. “Is that because—”

“It’s a long story,” he says.

“I thought you liked those,” you say.

“This one, you gotta earn,” Frankie counters.

“Touché.” And then, “So you know about all of my friends. The one. What about yours?”

“Well, there’s Santiago. He’s the only one still doing action hero shit these days. Private contracts, y’know, the works. He’s a bit of an asshole. You two probably wouldn’t get along,” Frankie says. “Benny and Will Miller are brothers, but Ben’s more of a pain in the ass. Will’s always been sort of on the straight and narrow.”

“Sounds like an interesting bunch.”

“This is the part where I tell you I have a kid,” Frankie says, looking halfway between you and his boot. You don’t know what kind of reaction he’s looking for, what he’s expecting, but you don’t give it.

You’re waiting for him to continue when you finally say, “Alright.”

“I’m waiting for the shock and awe,” he says.

“Why would that be either shocking or aweful?” you ask. Under different circumstances, you could’ve had kids by now, and Frankie’s older than you.

“People don’t usually expect it.”

“Well you aren’t exactly carrying around a sign, but we are adults. People have kids, I know that. What’s yours like?”

“She’s the sweetest bundle of joy I’ve been blessed to receive in my life,” Frankie says. “When she first got here, I couldn’t even believe it. This tiny human being that I am somehow apart of."

You figure this is how Mia will feel soon, what she’ll be thinking about once she and Sam tie the knot. Maybe she’s even thinking it now. Something that even you could wonder about, with a few major life tweaks. But no, you don’t want kids. Your body has been changed enough beyond your control for a lifetime.

“I’m happy for you,” you say, because it’s polite and showing him the apathy that coats your insides when it comes to this topic probably isn’t the best move in the name of friendship.

“Thanks. So how about you?” Frankie steers the conversation back around.

“Kids? You’re funny,” you say.

“Well, anything. Boyfriend, girlfriend, spouse…?”

“Certainly not. Me, all by myself. I have a house plant if that counts?”

“No dice,” he shakes his head. You feel like you’re under constant surveillance in moments like this, Frankie’s eyes a camera pointed right at your soul. “You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?” you ask, biting down on another chip.

“You freeze up and get all quiet whenever I ask about yourself.”

If he’s noticed that, you are worse at pretending than you thought. Now you have to wonder what Mia can see, what she doesn’t mention. “There’s not much to tell,” you say.

“Oh, come on. People love talking about themselves. It’s a scientific fact.”

“Well Bill Nye, I hate to break it to you, but I don’t.” Everything about your delivery is meaner than intended, each word harshly paved and scraping as they fly out at Frankie. “Sorry. That was—that was rude.”

“It’s fine,” Frankie says.

“To answer your question… My work is my life. I eat, sleep, and breathe what I do. It’s to the point where I used to stay up at my old place and draw out choreo for scenes. This was months before production, and I had sketchbooks filled with five, six different ways a scene could play out. And before that, actually doing the stunts? It’s the only thing that made me realize what makes me happy. The rush, that pure adrenaline after you do something that could kill you and you don’t die? It didn’t matter where I was. As long as I was doing it, my favourite place was myself.”

You clear your throat, scrubbing a palm over the side of your jaw. “Is that your favourite part of the job?”

“Nah, not really,” Frankie says.

“What, then?”

“In our line of work, you meet some pretty cool people along the way.”

“You think I’m cool?” you ask.

“Oh, no. I wasn’t talking about you.” But as he says it, Frankie smiles, mustache curling above his lip.

He thinks you’re cool. He’d like to be friends. They call him Fish. When you’re with him, you feel your bones start to settle. You can already feel Frankie growing under your skin.

#frankie morales #pedrostories #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #pedro pascal #triple frontier #fic: the world tipped on its side

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