#Sam would get Caught by the cops
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Dean’s Girl
Dean Winchester x little sister!reader
Requested by Anonymous
Synopsis: When you get in trouble, you know just where to turn.
Your big brother was more than just your big brother. He was your best friend, your confidant, the one who raised you, and the one constant in your life.
When your mom died, Dean was there. When Sam went to college, Dean was there. When dad disappeared, Dean was there.
But now, Dean wasn’t here, and you had no idea what to do.
You had just gone out to get some food, that was it! Dean and Sam had been hunting a vampire nest, and since you were out of food you were going to go steal some for the guys, knowing that when they got back they’d be hungry. The one time you tried to be useful, and you just ended up getting caught.
The worst part was that you hadn’t been caught right away. Nope, you’d run all the way to your hotel, and you’d hoped that you could get into your room before the cop saw which way you turned, but it didn’t work out like that. Instead, the officer caught you with one foot in the door, which meant that he saw the wall covered in pictures and clippings of the victims of the vampires your brothers were hunting.
That predicament led to this one; you sitting in an interrogation room, your hands handcuffed to the table. You tried to imagine how Dean would be in this situation; would he be sarcastic and ornery, or would he be stoic and silent?
Not that it mattered what he would do; it was all you could do to keep from going into a panic attack, you definitely couldn’t pass for sassy or stoic at the moment.
“You’ve got a lot to explain, kid.” That was the first thing the officer said to you after he stepped into the room. “Look, we know you didn’t kill those people. But we also know that you checked in with a couple of men, right? Well we can get you off the stealing charges if you tell us what they did.”
“I want my phone call.” You didn’t even acknowledge the man’s words; the only thing you’d been able to think about since the second you got caught was ‘I need Dean.’
“Well maybe if you gave me some information I could arrange that for you.”
“I want my phone call.”
“I understand that.” The officer’s voice rose in agitation. “But I need you to tell me what those men did.”
You again ignored his words. You didn’t—couldn’t—think of anything but your big brother right now.
“I want my phone call.”
…
“Y/N? Gosh, kid, we’ve been calling you! Where—“
“De-Dean I’m so sorry,” you whimpered. “I-I didn’t mean to, I just—“
“Hey hey, slow down.” Dean’s voice lowered, trying to ease your panic. “It’s alright, we’re almost at the motel. Now—“
“No, no! Dean, don’t go back to the motel.”
“Why not? Baby, you’ve gotta tell me what’s going on.”
“I got—I got arrested,” you mumbled, blinking back tears.
“You what?! Y/N, what happened?”
“You can’t go back to the motel! They-they saw all the pictures, they’re waiting there!”
“Ok, ok baby we’re not, calm down. Me and Sammy are gonna figure it out, ok? We’ll come and get you. We might need a diversion, can you do that?”
“I-I…” your voice quavered when an officer returned to the room, tapping his watch.
“Y/N, listen! I need you to pull yourself together, ok? Can you do this?”
“I-I can,” you breathed. “De, I’m—I’m scared.”
“I know baby,” Dean sighed. “We’re coming to get you, ok?”
“Time’s up,” the officer interrupted.
“I gotta go,” you said shakily into the phone.
“Ok, that’s ok,” Dean soothed. “I’m gonna see you in just a little while, ok?”
Before you could say anything, the officer took the phone from your grasp and hung it up.
…
When it was clear that you wouldn’t speak without a lawyer or guardian present, one of the nicer officers suggested that you could wait in his office where it was more comfortable. Even so, you were so wound up that when a branch hit the window you just about jumped out of your skin.
“Things would go so much easier for everyone if you just told us about the guys you were traveling with,” the officer said. You didn’t respond.
Bang! Scrape! The branch continued to hit the window.
“You’re just a kid. You probably won’t even serve jail time if you just tell us what those guys did.”
Scrape…bang…bang.
You sat up straighter in your seat as you began to listen more intently to the sounds the branch was making.
D…
Bang! Bang! Bang!
You knew it! Morse code!
E…
Bang! Scrape!
A…
Scrape, Bang!
N.
Dean. He was here!
You tried not to let your emotions show on your face as fear once again clenched in your gut. If Dean was giving you this signal, that meant it was time for your diversion. You had to get this guy out of the room.
“I need another officer,” you said suddenly. The man’s eyebrows rose in surprise; he hadn’t expected you to speak.
“Another?”
“A woman,” you clarified. “I…I have a problem. If-if you get me a women officer, and she helps me with my…problem…” you made sure to make your pauses as awkward as possible so that the guy would get the message. “Then I’ll talk.”
“Oh!” That got the guy’s attention, whether because he wanted you to talk or because he was uncomfortable, you didn’t know. Either way it worked, and he disappeared out the door, closing it behind him.
As soon as he was gone, you jumped up on the chair you’d been sitting on and pulled open the window.
“Hey baby,” Dean‘s voice came from outside. “You ok?”
“Yeah,” you muttered nervously. “I-I don’t know if I can get out the window, the chair isn’t high enough.” The chair was just high enough for you to grab onto the window sill, but you weren’t strong enough to pull yourself up.
“That’s ok, I’m coming to get you.”
You looked up, trying to catch a glimpse of Dean through the window. He was climbing a tree just outside the window, and you jumped back in surprise when he leaped from the tree branch to the window. He pulled himself in easily, and dropped to the floor without making a sound.
You knew you were on a time-sensitive mission, but you couldn’t help yourself. As soon as Dean was in reach, you threw yourself into his arms. He staggered back slightly, lifting his hands to steady you by your shoulders.
“Ok, you’re ok kid,” he promised. “C’mon, we gotta get out of here.”
With Dean’s boost, you managed to climb through the window, but once you were through you became dizzy looking at the ground so far below.
“Kid come on, we gotta go!” Dean insisted.
“It-it’s too high,” you whimpered.
“No it’s not. Just lower yourself down by your arms and drop, it’s not too far I promise.”
You took a deep breath. If Dean said it was safe, then it had to be safe. It had to be. You put your palms on the windowsill, gripping it tightly as you slowly lowered yourself down. You were still a long way from the ground, but you could already hear Dean climbing up onto the chair. You couldn’t let him down, not after he did all this to save you from your own mess.
You closed your eyes tightly, took a deep breath…and dropped.
The second your feet hit the ground, you rolled in the grass, lessening the impact of the fall. Dean was right; you were ok.
Speaking of Dean, he followed right behind you, shooting you a grin as soon as he was on the ground next to you.
“See? That was easy. Now let’s get going.”
You were in the Impala and on the road before anyone had any idea you were gone.
To your surprise, Sam was sleeping soundly in the passenger’s seat. When Dean saw Sam was sleeping, he spoke up.
“Alright, let’s talk. What happened, kid?”
You lowered your gaze to your lap as you struggled to speak, the adrenaline of your capture and escape still making your heart pound.
“I just wanted to get some food.”
“Why didn’t you just wait?” Dean demanded, still annoyed.
“I wanted to help.” You mumbled.
“Ok,” Dean sighed, relenting. “But you can’t just do that, ok? We had no idea what happened to you.”
“I’m sorry.” Your voice was thick as you blinked rapidly.
“Ok, ok.”
You looked up in surprise when Dean pulled the Impala over.
“What—“
Dean stepped out of the car and pulled open your door.
“Come here.”
You stepped hesitantly out of the car, your legs shaking.
“Am I in trouble?”
“Baby,” Dean sighed, shaking his head as he pulled you into his arms.
You didn’t know where this sudden affection came from, but you decided to run with it.
“I’m really sorry,” you said, your tears suddenly spilling over. “I-I didn’t mean to make it all harder. I just—I just thought I could help.”
“I know you did,” Dean sighed. “But next time you gotta tell us, ok?”
“It was just a stupid supply run, and I couldn’t even do that right!”
“Ok, ok,” Dean cradled your head with his hand, pulling you against his chest as you cried harder. “It’s alright. We all screw up, ok? It’s not important. You’ll do better next time, right?”
You nodded, “Yeah. I will, I promise.”
Dean smiled as you pulled away.
“That’s my girl.”
Taglist:
@nyotamalfoy
@mrvlxgrl
#dean winchester#dean and sam#dean winchester x reader#supernatural dean#the winchesters#dean winchester x you#winchesters x reader#winchesters x sister#dean winchester x little sister!reader#dean winchester x sister#dean winchester x sister!reader
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Smoke Eater - Part 18
Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader
Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real.
That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.
🔥 Series Masterlist
Word Count: 4,000
Tags/Warnings: Angst, fluff, brief mentions of the events of Part 13, some ADA Sam, Detective John, and a cliffhanger…
Part 18: “V for Vendetta”
After that first rocky month, Dean started to improve physically, and so did you emotionally, as he tried his best to let you help him when he needed it.
In turn, you did your best to gauge his moods; when he truly did need help, and when it was best for you to just be his girlfriend, not his caretaker.
January rolled onwards, and the resulting winter cold snap brought a kind of calm before a storm. Nick Savage still hadn’t been found, but that didn’t mean your worries were over.
Dean knew that this would hang over all of your heads until both Nick and his father were caught and exposed.
Today Dean walked with Sam on his day off, doing a few laps around the neighborhood as part of Dean’s rehab. They knew a police car was stationed nearby, watching them for their safety. It was a bit unnerving, but necessary.
They were walking back into the building when Sam stopped to check the mail. The box for their unit was along the wall in the corridor with several other locked boxes. Sam unlocked theirs and pulled out a rolled-up newspaper, some coupons, and a stray folded note addressed to Dean. Sam’s brows furrowed.
“What’s that, a love note?” Dean asked dryly. He took it from Sam and unfolded the scrap of paper.
20579. Your badge will join your dad’s on the wall.
Both the Fire Department headquarters and the 84th Precinct had a wall to commemorate firefighters and officers who had given their lives in the line of duty. Each of their badges had their own display plaque hung on the respective walls.
In short, the note was a threat.
Sam’s worried frown deepened as he watched Dean’s good mood evaporate. He crumpled up the note and pocket it, before he met his younger brother’s eyes.
“Keep this between us,” he warned. As in, don’t tell you.
Sam shook his head. “Dad needs to know, at least. And you two need to be careful.”
“That goes for you and Eileen too,” Dean replied. He reached for Sam’s shoulder and squeezed. “Don’t matter that you’re an ADA. Azazel goes after cops and their families. He’s gonna be gunning for an opportunity to get to one of us.”
Sam’s lips pressed together, but he acknowledged that with a nod.
They went back upstairs together, where you were dressed casually and gathering up your purse.
“Heading out somewhere?” Dean asked. Sam shot him a glance, which Dean silently answered with a short nod. He looked back at you when you offered him a smile.
“Yep, we need a few things. Milk, eggs, more Twizzlers, apparently,” you quipped, lightly smacking his stomach. Dean quirked a smile.
“Give me a sec. I’ll go with you,” he said.
You made an uncertain sound. “Didn’t you just get back from a walk? You sure you don’t just want to shower up and relax?”
“I’m good,” said Dean. He knew you didn’t like the idea of him overexerting himself, but he didn’t feel comfortable letting you go out alone. He could tell by the look Sam once again threw his way from the kitchen that he didn’t think it was a good idea either.
Dean slid a hand up your arm. “How about this. I’ll stay in the car. I just want some more fresh air.”
You tilted your head at him, but you conceded. He followed you to the door and held it open for you.
“Can I drive?” Dean hedged.
You chuckled. “Don’t push it, Lieutenant.”
On the way back from the grocery store, you discreetly eyed Dean’s profile. His knee was bouncing as he stared out the window.
Sometimes he checked the rearview mirror of your Camaro. Sometimes he fiddled with the radio or checked his phone.
It was all nervous behavior you took a catalogue of. By the time you pulled back into the parking lot of Dean’s apartment building, he finally seemed to relax a fraction. You parked the car and turned to him.
“Okay, what’s the matter?” you asked.
Dean gave you a curious look, but there was an unmistakable tension in his demeanor.
“What do you mean?”
You tried your question a different way. “What’s got you all on edge?”
He didn’t seem to want to answer at first.
“Dean,” you prodded. “Does it have something to do with why you insisted on coming with me, even though I can see that you’re tired?”
His face tightened, but he reached over for your hand. Your fingers curled around his. Now you were getting worried.
“We’ve got the police watching us here, but anything could happen out there,” Dean said. “Until this blows over, I don’t think you should go out by yourself.”
Until this blows over. You wanted to ask when that would be, but you knew he wouldn’t be able to give you an answer.
“Zachariah called me this morning,” you admitted. “He’s standing in for Nick as CEO. He said I have a job waiting for me when I get off medical leave next week. Everyone’s been working from home since the fire, but we’d be going to a new building the company owns downtown.”
Dean tightened up, just like you knew he would. His eyes closed as his head tilted back against the headrest. He let out a long breath through his nose. You stayed quiet, both waiting for what he might say and preparing for him to get upset.
He surprised you by calmly looking over at you again.
“It’s not a good idea. If Nick’s still alive, it means his dad probably knows you know who he is,” he said. “And not for nothin’. Even with Nick out of there, that place’s probably been built on blood money.”
Both were fair points.
“I know. I’m going to find something else, as soon as you’re better,” you said. Dean shook his head and held your hand tighter.
“Don’t let me be an excuse,” he said. His gaze was firm and direct meeting yours. “I need you to start taking care of yourself too, all right? Please.”
Faced with his earnestness, you couldn’t help but soften. After everything he’d done to save you, to protect you, was it fair of you to keep making him worry?
In the past, you’d felt justified. You couldn’t quit. You needed the money. You could handle it, whatever came next. You would deal with it because you had to.
But maybe this time, you didn’t have to. It wasn’t worth all this.
With that resolve, you let out a breath.
“I’m going to call Zachariah,” you said, “and tell him that I’m working from home, or I quit.”
Dean stared back at you with a measure of surprise.
“I’m not going back,” you said, squeezing his hand. “If he has a problem with that, I’ll use whatever I have left in my savings. Hopefully that’ll be enough until I find a new job.”
After a moment, Dean expelled a breath of relief. He beckoned you over, and carefully as you could over the upholstery, you leaned over and caressed his cheek before you went in for a kiss. He welcomed you, with his hands slipping up your sides and around your back, pressing you into him with a heady warmth.
He paused against your lips after a while. His forehead rested against yours.
“You don’t need to drain your savings. I can help you,” Dean started to say, but you pulled back and held your fingers to his lips.
“You’ve helped me enough. You’re already letting me live with you rent free,” you pointed out. “Let me figure out the rest.”
After a moment, Dean wordlessly agreed. He wanted to argue that you wouldn’t have had to move in with him if not for Azazel putting you in his sights, but at the same time, Dean understood that you’d been providing for yourself for a long time. He respected you for it.
So he just guided you back to him for another slow kiss.
John Winchester owned a condo approximately 20 minutes from his sons’ apartment. It was the home they’d grown up in after the house fire, over thirty years ago.
John had learned a lot since then. In fact, some might say that he’d become a paranoid bastard.
Aside from a professional alarm system, he’d installed hidden cameras inside and out of his home, and at every window. It meant that even when he was asleep, his eyes were never truly closed.
When the intruder took his first steps into John’s bedroom, the man himself was waiting with a gun cocked and loaded. The safety clicking back made a small sound, but in the silence, it might as well have been a gunshot.
The masked man swiftly turned and ducked, throwing a punch. The scuffle that followed was quick and covered by darkness.
The cameras on “Night Mode” picked up every moment.
And that was how John later showed video evidence of Alastair Rolston breaking into his condo, and subsequently getting his ass handed to him.
Both men had their fair share of bruises, but at the end of the day, Alastair was the one cuffed to a chair in the bowels of the 84th Precinct. He sat beside his court-appointed lawyer.
Meanwhile, Cas watched the scene from behind the one-way glass window of the interrogation room. Rufus Turner, their Lieutenant, was beside him, along with ADA Sam Winchester. He watched the man his father questioned very carefully.
“Well, I think you know what this means, Mr. Rolston,” John drawled.
Alastair’s stance in the chair was relaxed, almost unfazed. He gave the detective a wry smile.
“What’s that, John?” he asked.
“I’ve got you dead to rights on attempted murder of a cop,” said John. “It ain’t a good look, my friend.”
“Don’t answer that,” said the lawyer. Alastair glanced at the man, unimpressed, to say the least.
“No shit,” he replied.
“I’d say you’ve got two options,” John pressed forward. He leaned on the table between him and Alastair.
“Did Azazel…excuse me, Daniel Savage, put you up to this? You can answer that question, or I could just skip to the part where you sit in a cell for 20 to life.”
Alastair’s face gave away nothing but calculation and amusement. John nodded, with a grim smile.
“I’ll bet you set the fire at Savage & Co. Trying to get Nick to look like a victim in all this—the consequence of doing business with the likes of Azazel,” he said. “Better yet, I think you’re his favorite hitman. Clean, precise, no tracks left behind, no traces of evidence. Perfect kills. I’ll bet you consider yourself a goddamn artist.”
Alastair lifted his gaze, and John saw the familiar depths of a killer.
“I don’t like setting fires,” said Alastair.
John was nonplussed. “I’m sure you don’t.”
The other man rolled his shoulders.
“It’s all very…messy, you see. Unpredictable.” A smile graced his lips. “But I know someone who does.”
“He’ll give you his employer,” the lawyer said. “The person who ordered the hit.”
“Which hit?” John arched a brow. “I can’t be the only special one. What about Paul Richardson, Jerry Stillwell, Amanda Waller?”
The lawyer shared a look with his client. Alastair rolled his eyes and leaned over to whisper in his ear. After a moment, the lawyer nodded and met John’s gaze.
“He’ll tell you what you want to know, but only for a blanket deal of immunity.”
John could’ve guessed. Alastair smiled once more and leaned back in his seat.
The detective held up a finger and exited the interrogation room. He met Sam’s gaze, and the latter already knew what his father was thinking.
"Give me a minute," Sam said. He went into the room and tried to negotiate with Alastair and his lawyer, but the man wouldn't accept a plea of 20 to 25 years, even to serve all the murders they could charge him with concurrently. Nor would he accept 15 to 20, or even Sam's best deal: 10 to 12.
Sam exited the room and hid his discouragement. He met his father's waiting gaze.
“We can’t give him immunity,” Sam said. “He’s likely the one who committed Azazel’s hits. Not just for the past six months, but for God knows how long, and how many bodies.”
“At this point, it’s the only way we’re getting a chance at Daniel Savage,” John said. “Not just finding him, but pinning him as the mastermind behind the whole operation. Drug trafficking, arson, murders…the whole thing, Sam.”
Sam didn’t like it. No one did, for that matter, but even Rufus heaved a sigh.
“You can’t move forward without a trigger finger willing to testify,” he said.
“Yeah, because hitmen make notoriously credible witnesses,” Sam retorted.
“Do think he set the fires as well?” Cas asked John. “He seemed to imply that he committed the murders, but not the arson.”
John hummed in contemplation.
“We’ll find out. But first, I want a confirmed name from the horse’s mouth,” he said, shifting his attention to Sam. “Can you get me that, son?”
Sam’s lips pursed.
Within an hour, the paperwork was drawn and the plea deal was arranged. Father and son sat side by side on one side of the interrogation room, while Alastair and his lawyer sat on the other. Alastair finished signing the final document as the cuffs on his wrists jangled.
“All right,” said John. “Tell me what I want to know.”
Alastair smiled and spread his hands as wide as he was able.
“I’m an open book, Johnny. Ask away.”
John leaned forward.
“Let’s start with this,” he said. “Who ordered you to kill me?”
Nick Savage was unearthed from a luxury apartment in the south of France. He was extradited back the United States and hauled into a courtroom in Lawrence, Kansas for arraignment.
Sam Winchester was the prosecutor on the case. As luck would have it, one of his favorite judges was also assigned for this docket.
“What do we have here?” asked Judge Devereaux. He was a portly man, short and graying, with square black glasses that framed his perpetually surly face. The man now adjusted his glasses so he could read the slip of paper the clerk had just handed to him after reading off the docket.
The charges included four counts of murder in the first degree: the murders-for-hire, enacted by Alastair Rolston.
Followed by attempted murder in the first degree, ten counts of murder in the second degree (those who had lost their lives in the most recent building fire), conspiracy to commit murder, arson, and if that weren’t enough, a charge each of attempted sexual assault and sexual harassment.
When the last two charges were read out loud in the courtroom, Nick looked visibly angry.
Sam glanced over at the defendant with thinly veiled satisfaction. Some days, it was difficult for him to come to work.
Today was not that day.
“All right, that is a laundry list of potential misdeeds,” Judge Deveraux remarked. He looked up at Nick Savage. “How does the defendant plead?”
At the prodding of his lawyer, Amelia Richardson, Nick spoke up.
“Not guilty,” he said. Though he rolled his eyes, as if this was a waste of his time.
“What’s the deal here, Mr. Winchester?” Judge Devereaux asked.
“The primary charge is a murder-for-hire, your Honor,” Sam replied. “Mr. Savage hired a hitman to murder at least five people, and succeeded with four. He also masterminded several arsons. This includes a fire at his own company building, which claimed the lives of ten people and injured several others. This is all part of a larger connection to organized crime, which the People intend to prove in our case. Due to the nature of the charges, and the defendant clearly being a flight risk, we seek his remand to custody without bail.”
The judge raised his brows. He turned to the defendant’s lawyer.
“What about it, Miss Richardson?”
Amelia shot Sam a glance, but she replied to the judge.
“What we have here is a conflict of interest, your Honor,” she said. “Detective John Winchester has a vendetta against my client. Therefore, Mr. Winchester should recuse himself. It’s a family affair, Judge, and they have no evidence for any of these charges, except for the testimony of a confessed murderer.”
“It’s called prosecutorial discretion,” Sam cut in. “Our evidence goes beyond Mr. Rolston’s testimony and will more than support our case. I’ve also tried my father’s cases before, your Honor. This defendant is no different.”
The judge peered closer at the docket with incredulous eyes.
“Except for the fact that one of the attempted murders was on your father. John Winchester?” Judge Devereaux actually chuckled. “Oh, Mr. Savage. Many have tried and failed on that regard.”
“Judge,” Amelia tried, but Devereaux waved her off. Sam took in that small victory without giving anything away outwardly. The fact that John was on the docket as a “victim” was easily Sam’s biggest challenge in this arraignment, but he just couldn’t hand this off to another prosecutor.
“And what’re these last charges about?” the judge asked.
“Mr. Savage attempted to sexually assault one of his employees at a company Christmas party in the defendant’s home, your Honor,” Sam replied. His gaze once again cut over to Nick, who glared back at him with a sneer.
“That’s a goddamn lie!” Nick shouted.
Amelia grabbed his arm and tried to shut him up, but Nick jerked out of her grasp.
“Put a gag on your client or I will, Miss Richardson,” Devereaux warned with a deepening frown.
“Hey,” Amelia hissed a whisper, grabbing the sleeve of Nick’s suit jacket this time. “Get it together and shut your mouth. Remember where you are.”
He ignored her to try and speak to the judge himself.
“That bitch tased me. Did she tell you that?” Nick levied Sam a look, before he turned back to Devereaux. “Yeah, she assaulted me, Judge. So that charge is fucking bogus.”
“I’ve heard quite enough!” Devereaux snapped. He raised his gavel and slammed it down loud enough for Nick to flinch. “The defendant is remanded to custody, without bail.”
It was more satisfying than John would admit.
While the development wasn’t exactly what he had expected, having Daniel Savage’s son dragged out of his new prison home to sit in another musty holding cell was the highlight of the new year.
This was the poor excuse for a man who’d given him such a headache these past few months. This was the little shit that nearly got his son killed, and who’d been terrorizing you for months, if not years.
But he would be a means to an end.
“I’ll tell ya what, Nick. You don’t look like a man that could organize a handful of murders and arsons, but here we are,” John said.
He scratched the back of his head and sat on the corner of the desk. Sam was seated across from Nick, and Cas was hanging back within the cell, watching the exchange (and watching Nick’s reactions for any tells).
On the other side sat Nick himself, dressed down in his gray prison garb. It was a far cry from the $5,000 suit he wore in the arraignment. Next to him was his lawyer, Amelia Richardson.
“Is there a question in there somewhere?” she asked. She shot Sam a glance.
They had dated in law school for a few months. It had ended abruptly when her husband returned from Afghanistan. It had been a shock to both of them, since the man had been presumed dead.
Clearly, Sam had moved on since then. He was happier with Eileen than he ever was, but he could tell that Amelia had never quite recovered from the “what could’ve been” of their relationship.
Still, Sam had set all that aside the moment he stepped into this room. He watched his father work.
“Why did you set fire to your own building?” John asked.
He’d expected Nick to be more explosive with his denials, but the man was quietly simmering, like he just wanted the questioning to be over. It reminded John of when his sons were teenagers. Maybe he hadn’t been the perfect father, but intuition was telling him something…
“You didn’t do it, did you?” John mused. “At least, not that fire.”
It was interesting, however, that Alastair had pinned the Savage & Co. fire on the son—that Nick had started it himself, along with the other arsons. Alastair had just been the muscle, committing the murders and the brandings on the victims.
John wasn’t so sure he believed that. He leaned in a bit and gave Nick a wry smile.
“Did Daddy do that one for ya?” he asked.
At that, Nick held firm. “My father has nothing to do with this.”
Hmm, a bit of familial loyalty? Maybe trying to prove himself, John detected. How far is he willing to go to protect his dad?
“So you did do it, along with the other arsons,” John said.
“Are you trying to get him to confess without a plea deal?” Amelia snarked.
“I’m trying to figure out how badly this kid wants to stay out of jail for the rest of his life,” John said.
“I’m not a fucking kid,” Nick grumbled.
“If you have something for us on Daniel Savage, then we’re willing to listen,” Sam added. “Do you really want to spend the rest of your life in jail?”
Nick crossed his arms, clearly uncooperative.
Sam narrowed his gaze. “This is your last chance, Nick.”
“You don’t have anything on me except for the word of a murdering felon,” Nick retorted. “I’ll beat this trial in a few months and I’ll be out free…but if you really want to know, I’ll let you in on a little something.”
He leaned in, meeting John’s eyes.
“Dad retaliates,” said Nick. “I think you know that best of all, Detective. This time, I think it’s one son for another. And you’ve got two to pick from.”
“Nick,” Amelia warned, but he ignored her.
He glanced at a carefully stoic Sam before he smirked in John’s face, which had become devoid of all humor and revealed the stoniness underneath.
“If I were a betting guy, I’d put my money on the one that had a fucking building fall on him.”
After leaving the county jail, John drove Sam and Cas back to his sons’ apartment. They couldn’t treat Nick’s warning as an idle threat.
Sam was the prosecutor on the case. He wasn’t willing to step down, so the best they could do for him was give him a police security detail that would have to be with him at all times. However, all three men agreed that you, Dean, and Eileen needed to be put in protective custody during the trial.
“Damn it, Dean,” Sam muttered. His brother wasn’t answering his cell.
“Try him again,” said John.
“Is Eileen still at work?” Cas asked.
“Yeah, but she’s talking to the principal now about a temporary replacement for her classes,” Sam replied. He was worried about her safety, but he was also worried about you and Dean. Neither of you were answering your cell phones.
He later let John and Cas into his apartment, where all looked normal and clean.
“Dean!” Sam called out. He was just about to search the apartment when the man came out of his room, looking freshly showered.
“Hey, what’s up?” said Dean. “The gang’s all here, huh?”
“I’ve been calling you for an hour. Where’ve you been?” Sam asked in annoyance, though it was edged with a hint of more that tipped off Dean.
He sensed the tension in the room between his brother, his father, and his friend. He frowned.
“I had a doctor’s appointment. Why?”
John explained the latest round of questioning with Nick Savage, and his most recent threat. John asked where you were right now, if not in the apartment. Dean’s expression shifted to one of worry as he went to find his cell phone.
“She had a job interview,” he admitted, scrolling through his phone to find your name. “She couldn’t reschedule it, else she would’ve gone with me.”
He’d been uneasy about you going to the interview by yourself, but you hadn’t wanted him to change his appointment, and you had assured him it was only a few minutes away…
Dean held the phone to his ear and waited what felt like an eternity as it rang.
Pick up. Pick up, damn it.
Finally, the line connected.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted…but you didn’t answer.
“You there?” he asked. There was a pit forming in his stomach when he glanced up at John. His father met his gaze with furrowed brows that betrayed concern.
The line was silent for one more painful moment. Dean opened his mouth to call out to you again, but a smooth voice interrupted.
“Dean, Dean, Dean,” a man replied. “Forgetting something?”
AN: 🫣 Sorry lol.
But the next chapter will bring the final showdown...
Next Time:
Dean’s heart began to pound. His mouth parted, but for a moment, the words wouldn’t escape.
“Who is this?” he said. His voice was a hint unsteady.
“I think you know, son,” the man replied.
Keep Reading: PART 19
Dean Winchester Masterlist
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You Protect who you Love
Movie Franchise: Scream
Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader
Words: 1153
Summary:
Tara and Y/N are not official buy Y/N is 100% in love with her and once she gets a message from Tara that just says 'help' she speeds to Tara's house and acts on complete instinct to protect the one she loves.
Story
'HELP'
That was all you saw as a text message from Tara before you were barreling yourself in your car speeding down to Tara's house, you instantly became worried as hell, not knowing what was possibly happening to her in that very moment.
No matter how many times you would call there was no pick up which stressed you out and caused you to throw your phone in the passenger seat and start speeding even more when a minute later your phone started ringing and you saw Tara's name pop up.
"Tara!"
"I'm sorry this isn't Tara, she's a little preoccupied, currently bleeding out on her floor"
"You fucker, what did you do to her"
"Oh nothing, she lost the game so she became a human pin cushion but the real question is should I kill her.... Y/N"
"Don't you fucking touch her"
"Oh Y/N, Y/N, Y/N you always were in love with Tara weren't you, to bad you both won't get your happy ending"
You heard Tara scream again meaning she must of got stabbed again just as you pulled up and you ran out the car heading straight through Tara's front door when you see someone in the classic ghost face mask.
Tara looked up at the same time as your eyes connected and you could see all the blood because you looked towards the killer, "come and get me" you said causing the ghost face to stand up and you both charge at each other.
The both of you crashing into each other which was not the smartest idea consider the ghost face person has a knife which caused you to get stabbed making you shout in pain as you kicked the ghost face person off.
The two of you kept going back and forth and you had about three stab wounds, on in the stomach, on the back of your shoulder and a big cut on your arm but you kept fighting which came to a sudden halt when you three heard the sirens.
"Times up bitch" you said and the ghost face person made a run for it to avoid getting caught by the cops as you dragged yourself over to Tara, "Tara, you still awake, oh god please be awake" you said as you finally got to her.
Her brown eyes stared up at yours and she gave you a brief nod and you brought her head up on your lap as you waited for the cops to get here, you gently caressed her face to keep her awake "don't worry Tara the cops are almost here, we're gonna be ok" you said keeping her awake.
"You risked your life and you saved me" Tara said looking up at you and you nodded "and I would do it over and over again" you said to her so gently and you meant every work and just as you said the the cops came running through the door.
"Please help her first, multiple stab would and she's losing a lot of blood" you said and the paramedics came and got to both of you and took you both to the hospital where Tara went into major surgery and you minor.
Hours Later
You managed to work some strings and you and Tara had a room together which made you feel a whole lot more comfortable so you could keep an eye on her and know she was safe, you had also just finished giving your statement to the cops about what happens and they would come and get Tara's in the next day or so.
You also had it so no one but immediate family could enter but all your friends knew what had happened and Wes said he would contact Sam to let her know about Tara and you even though you wanted to you were very tired.
You ending up sitting by Tara's bed just waiting for her to wake up holding her hand "oh god Tara, thank gosh the doctor said you were going to be ok, when you sent me that message I was so freaking scared and then getting the call and hearing you scream broke my heart, Tara if you died I don't know what I would have done, I'd have so many regrets gosh I wish I told you I loved you sooner but maybe I'll have my chance at some point soon" you say as you keep looking at her hand holding onto it.
"Maybe you just got that chance" you heard looking up to see Tara looking at you as you stared at her in shock "and maybe she feels the exact same way" she added one making your eyes go even wider as a smile made a way to your face.
"You do" you asked finally being able to say something and she nodded as you started to tear up "thank gosh you're ok Tara" you said standing up and getting a little closer to her and she ended up moving over a little wincing while doing so making you concerned "careful" you said and and she motioned for you to sit down but you were apprehensive "sit" she said and you listened.
"Y/N you saved my life, you did something no one has ever done for me and I can't repay you ever, I've loved you for a long time now but I didn't think you felt the same so I kept quite but if this has taught me anything it's that life is to short and anything can happen so I'm not gonna hide it anymore and when we're both all healed up I'm going to take you on the best date of your life, if that's ok with you?" Tara said and you had the biggest smile on your face.
"That's more than ok with me" you said and you stared into each others eyes before slowly leaning in and your lips were millimetres apart and you looked up into her eyes and she nodded before you both closed your eyes and your lips connected and what you could only describe as fireworks started to appear.
Once you pulled apart you laying down next to her to just be near her and she cuddled up to you while still being careful about both go your wounds and you two feel asleep in each others other and you couldn't tear the smile of both of your faces.
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The Morally Grey Ch 1: Mistreated Meeting ~Peggy Carter xFem Scientist!Reader
The SSR captures Reader, an eccentric, genius scientist for her time, but they can’t seem to crack her. That is until Peggy Carter gives Reader a run for her money…
Mommy… Masterlist
Requests & Prompt-List
Warnings: angst, teasing, pet names, interrogation, abuse of government position, implied physical abuse, wounds, cuts, swollen lip, implied injuries, implied hitting, implied punching, implied physical harm, etc.
Enjoy (:
“Y/N L/N, you are under arrest…—” the male agent grunted along with other words as she shoved you to the floor and then picked you up in hand cuffs.
The SSR had picked you up after they had found your lab filled with “questionable” experiments, as they called them. But the problem was, they had the lab, they had you, but they had nothing connecting the two.
Personally, you did not find the term “questionable” nor “experiments” during for your work… You were a scientist, an inventor. You had inventions, creations, technology, etc… “Experiments” were for junior high science fairs.
You were good at covering your tracks, for the most part at least. You had been caught at a black market auction, having bought the last Vibranium since the War. They couldn’t tie your lab back to you, but they had found it, and they had been tracking you for a while now. And so, you were sitting in the SSR interrogation room, being grilled by their best agents.
First a duo, a small, brunette man with a tall, blonde man. They played good cop, bad cop. But you would never fall for something so simple. Then, it was a crippled veteran, who did a softer approach. Trying to appeal to your better nature. But that didn’t make you budge either. Then the two men came back, only angrier. And so on. They brought in one or two other agents, but the main three always came back.
They had been at it for hours…
The blonde agent came in a final time, this time he brought a stick… He sighed and told you that he didn’t want to do this. You were almost offended. You spat in his face and told him off, the fact being that you would never give in to a tactic as degrading as physical persuasion. He did not like that…
Once he was done with you, the agent you came to recognize as Sousa came in. His face told you that he was definitely against what his colleague had just done. He sighed, and you noticed that he was carrying a first aid kit. He brought his chair around and next to you.
“I’d like to clean you up. Is that alright?” He asked, although by his tone it sounded like he was practically begging to make right the wrong that he felt had been done onto you.
You bit your lip and winced lightly as you had forgotten it was swollen and bleeding. You nodded lightly. The brunette agent nodded and smiled lightly, his face full of concern at your wince. He sat and began cleaning your wounds.
“I’m sorry…” he muttered under his breath, obvious not wanting his superiors to hear, but feeling bad enough where he felt he needed to say something.
“It’s alright…” you mumbled, not meeting his eye.
“Why didn’t you give him something? Anything…?” Sousa asked in his normal and somewhat honest tone, although you were sure this was also just another tactic.
“Don’t negotiate with terrorists.” You huffed with a shrug, which you immediately regretted and winced lightly again.
“Try to stay still…” Sousa muttered, looking at you sympathetically.
When he had finished patching you up, he sighed in content and moved himself and his chair back. You were getting tired by now. A knock on the door indicated Sousa was needed, and you sighed as you were left alone once more. Then you sat there. For a while.
Suddenly, the main lights of the building turned off. You assumed it was night time and that the lights had been turned off for the night. Now only the little lamp on the table gave you a way to see.
Just when you thought that they were going to leave you here for the night, the door opened once more. A classy brunette entered the interrogation room. Your head perked up.
“My name is Agent Peggy Carter. And you are Ms. Y/N L/N.” the female agent spoke in the most elegant British accent ever.
You shrugged, trying to hide any and all reactions that the British agent was successfully pulling out of you.
“Doesn’t change anything. I’m not talking.” You huffed.
At this, Agent Carter smiled in a gleaming, challenging manner. She then took a seat, across from you. You shivered at her close presence.
“Everyone has left. It’s just us.” The woman explained with a tone of a hidden agenda.
“Ah. They wouldn’t let you in here with me before?”
“No, they would not allow it at all.” She curtly said, “But I’m confident I’ll have you talking before they come back.”
Peggy spoke with sparkling eyes and a calculated smirk.
“Good. Starting off better than all those men from before…” you mused aloud.
The brunette chuckled and nodded in recognition and amusement. She put her hands together and on the table, as if to signal that the interrogation was beginning. Her face got more serious.
“First most, I wanted to apologize for my colleague’s behavior. I agree with you, I don’t warrant or believe in unneeded physical abuse of any kind.” Peggy sympathetically spoke.
You couldn’t tell if her sympathy was forward or just another tactic…
“Hmmm…” you hummed, nodding lightly.
Honestly, you were too tired to tell…
“You know… I have a friend who I believe is a lot like you…” she purred, setting the bait, her dumb, little smirk returning.
Your dumbass was too focused on her hair, her eyes, her hands, her neck, her lips to recognize her trap…
“Oh?” You spoke.
Peggy smirked.
“Yes. His name is Howard. He’s an inventor, like you. He likes to experiment, likes to create. He’s a genius. And I believe you are too.” the brunette charmed you.
You gulped and your eyes widened, your mouth going dry.
“I don’t think you are a bad person, Y/N. I think you are misunderstood. Like my friend.” She continued with a purr.
You felt seen.
A few minutes of silenced past.
“Thank you…” you whispered.
“I want to help you, Darling. But in order to do that, I need to understand you and your situation…” Peggy purred.
Darling… That sent sparks to your core…
“Ok…” you shuddered.
“Okay…?” She asked.
“Ok… I’ll tell you...”
~~~
Chapter 2 Out Now!!
Peggy Carter Masterlist
#the morally grey#the morally grey series#peggy carter fic#peggy carter x reader#peggy carter#peggy carter fanfiction#Peggy carter angst#agent carter#agent carter x reader#agent Peggy Carter#hailey atwell#hailey atwell character#hailey atwell x Reader#agent carter season 2#agent carter series#marvel#marvel fanfiction#marvel fic#marvel mcu#marvel fanfic#mcu#mcu fandom#mcu x reader#mcu fanfiction#mcu imagine#mcu x y/n#mcu angst#marvel angst#marvel mcu angst#mcu marvel
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Hiiii hii hi over here!! I loooved stitches!! They way you wrote Mark was perfect imo, capturing his sonewhat standoffish but human side. Awesome job!!
Can I request one where Mark is reader's best friends's dad?? AU or not but he's still an officer
Pretty please with a cherry on top? ♥
Okay we're fudging math a little with this one. We'll clock reader at 22 and Mark at...44. there, twice the age without making it too weird.
I really love this prompt and its challenge to dodge some cliches. And then roll around in some like a little piggy in the mud. Little pig boy comes from the dirt. Sorry I blacked out there for a second.
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Is It Justice? (Mark Hoffman x F!Reader)
Tags/warnings: older man/ younger woman, manic depressive disorder, moments of deep vulnerability, questionable choices, kissy kissy, mentions of death and grief, hurt/comfort
Rated: M (I think? I started to go cross eyed writing this)
Mark sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. Again. Again?
He knows he should be grateful it's you and not his son. But Sam would never, ever be caught in this compromising a position. But you had seemed to lack any sort of stern parenting in your life. His son had no shortage of that.
Okay, so he hadn't always been a perfect father, but he was a good cop. But tonight, as it had so many times before, the line became blurry. And a third role had begun to emerge, and it was bad enough that each time he had half a mind to pawn you off on someone else.
But it didn't feel right. No one would take responsibility for you, nobody would claim you. He may as well.
That's how he ends up in front of the holding cell at 3 in the morning. He's still dressed from work because he hadn't left the station yet. His son was (he prayed) still sleeping soundly in his apartment off Princeton's campus. The same could clearly not be said for you. You are in the same baggy clothes you're usual donning, dark circles decorated your undereyes. If he didn't know any better, he'd think you're on something hard.
Your eyes don't light up like he expects them to each time you're both in this situation. It's almost like a kin to dread, or pure exhaustion.
"If you're that inconvenienced, commit a crime closer to a different precinct," he mutters as the night shift cop slides the barred door open and you step through, just narrowly avoiding Mark's large frame and he follows behind you. At the booking station, Helen presents your possessions back to you.
"One cell phone, a wallet with a driver's license, library card, fortune ticket and father's credit card-we've already called- a pack of cigarettes and a Bic lighter."
You grab it all and shove it into the deep pockets of your jacket. Mark nods in gratitude at Helen and when you turn to the direction of the exit, Mark has a firm hand on your shoulder and he's steering you towards his office.
You've been in Mark's office a couple other times. Once, when you and Sam first moved in together and he wanted to introduce you to his father, and once for the first time you and the holding cell had become acquainted. The two other times you'd ended up at the police station, you'd been lucky enough to avoid this room again. But not this time.
You shake your head and slump in one of the chairs as Mark closes the door behind him. He sighs heavily and drops himself into his desk chair, and for a moment you both sit in your shared exhaustion.
"Does Sam know where you are?" His voice is groggy when he speaks. You pick at the chipped paint on your nails.
"Hope not. I left after he fell asleep. I don't like to make him worry when I leave."
Mark smirks humorlessly and stares at the ceiling tiles.
"How considerate."
"Just don't bail me out next time."
"Oh don't worry. I won't. There better not be a next time. But if there is, you'll get no help from me."
His eyes are staring sternly into your own now. You didn't have much to be proud of anymore, but you could always be proud of managing to hold Mark Hoffman's stare.
"I don't have a report. I'm tired. Can I go home?"
"You got money for a cab?"
"No."
"A subway pass?"
"I'll hop the guards."
"Like hell you will. Fine," he pushes himself up from his seat and throws on his jacket. "Come on. I'm driving you home."
You have half a mind to put up a useless fight but you're too tired, so instead you follow silently out to the parking lot and climb into the passenger side of Mark's car. He gets in and tightens his grip on the steering wheel.
"When was the last time you ate?"
You shrug. Mark curses under his breath and starts the car.
"Fine. Food first."
A half hour later, you and Head Detective Mark Hoffman are sitting outside a 24/7 bodega, devouring sandwiches and a couple of sodas. You don't even mind that the food isn't hot, you're just glad to have something on your stomach.
"Alright, so," Mark wipes his mouth and clasps his hands together. "Trespassing?"
"It didn't hurt anybody."
"Nobody but yourself."
"I'm fine."
"You know they've been exploding deeper into that quarry, right? What if you'd gone near some active explosive? Or tripped in the dark and fell 250 something feet?"
"Then Mom would have some company."
He fights the urge to grab you, only to shock the thoughts from your head. But he's too shocked.
Your mother disappeared seven months ago. Five months ago, she was found at the bottom of the quarry outside of town. Maybe it was murder, maybe it was accidental. Either way, there was a closed casket.
You almost feel guilty for the way you've stunned mark into silence, but the feeling passed quickly.
"How would your father feel if he knew that's where you were tonight?"
"He'd have to be sober enough to comprehend a single thought. My money's on the likelihood that he's in no such state."
"Fine. What about Sam?"
"I won't tell if you don't."
"Well, I've got half a mind to."
You chuckle and feel the tears prick at your eyes. "Heh. Right, just pawn me off on him. Great fathering techniques, Mark. Seriously. I'll not just become someone else's problem, but your son's. My best friend's. And soon he'll get fed up and drop me, too."
"Enough with the pity play."
"Why? It's all true. You don't give a shit so it's not like I could guilt you."
Mark crumples up his sandwich wrapper with ire and tosses it into a nearby bin. He straightens out his trousers and stands. Stares down at you. From here, you look like a stranger. Not a girl, not his son's roommate and best friend, not a woman on the verge of unravelling, but some other being that has attached itself onto his heart and follows him around like a curse.
He'd loved you for a while. He'd hated you for just as long. The way you drag yourself down, the way you endanger Sam along the way. But the way you smile and how you shine when you have your shit together- there were as many good memories as bad ones in the short span of time you'd known each other.
He can't decide who he's looking at and doesn't stop staring until you look up at him. He shakes his head, looks out onto the street, then offers a hand to help you up. You take it without hesitation and you both get back into the car.
"I really don't wanna take you back to the apartment."
"I don't wanna go back. To wake up Sam is bad enough the day before finals, but to do it with his dad in tow is not much better."
Mark grumbles. "Couch?"
You nod. "Couch."
You've done the couch routine one other time, and it wasn't any of the times you'd been arrested. This incident was midwinter, during one of your episodes where you decided to walk in the freezing snow with no direction. Sam had called Mark in a panic, Mark knew your routes well enough to find you quick. It was closer to go back to his place, and he made careful work of warming you up and assuring Sam that you were safe. After that, you and Mark formed a mutual understanding that the less Sam knew, the better.
Mark's apartment was that of the poster child for a bachelor. After Sam went off to Princeton, Mark and his wife had nothing keeping their tenuous marriage together so the divorce was quiet and amicable. Now, Mark works too much to seek any remedy to that.
All that being said, Mark keeps his place nice, and his leather couch beckons you immediately. You collapse onto it and you can hear Mark halt over you.
"You're gonna sleep in jeans?"
"I didn't pack my overnight bag," you mumble into the material. Mark sighs. Leaves the room, comes back, tosses a bundle of clothes on top of you. You sit up and unfold them. PPD sweatpants and a faded t-shirt.
"How scandalous," you mutter, too tired to censor your words.
"Be uncomfortable for all I care."
Mark busies himself with removing his tie and you stand and hobble to the bathroom to change. From the kitchen area he can hear you sniffle and cough, changing otherwise quietly before reentering the living room. His breath hitches when he sees you in his clothes. He can't remember the last time he saw you in something that actually fit but clothes always left plenty to the imagination. And Mark did imagine.
You rub your eyes and stumble to the kitchen sink, grabbing a coffee mug and filling it with water. He watches as your throat strains when you devour the water like you were born thirsty. You'd just had a soda, but of course you're dehydrated. You don't take care of yourself during your episodes. He knows it just kills Sam. He knows, because he feels the same way.
He can't understand why you and Sam never became an item, even for a brief time. He was proud to call Sam his son, the way he's smart and kind, and you're funny and intelligent when you decide to be, and beautiful. So beautiful. Whether you're made up and presentable or on his couch, in his clothes, looking like death.
He only realizes he's staring when he blinks and you're staring back from the sink.
"Mark?"
He squeezes his eyes shut and yawns. "Sorry. Tired. You know where everything is if you need it."
"Yeah," you say, but your voice is thicker than it should be. It's no mystery that Mark Hoffman is an attractive man. Gruff and grumpy and yet does everything in his power to take care of you. Sam does the same, but you're so scared of ruining him. You don't run that risk with Mark.
You can't ever pin down exactly what it is you like so much about him. Maybe it's his thick arms and large hands, or his dumb hair, or his asshole smirks and the way his praise and compliments light you up inside. How he talks to you like an equal, even in these times. Everyone walks on eggshells around you. He's a hardass. You love him for it.
Mark senses a shift and taps the counter decisively.
"Listen-"
"No," he shakes his head. "No, don't."
But you stand and he doesn't move.
"I'm not doing anything."
Except you are. You're moving towards him and he can't find the strength to move away.
"It's too late to do this-"
"Do what?" You ask in faux innocence. You're not the teasing type, but you're just desperate to know if he'll fess up or not. You already know you're screwed.
"You know."
You bite your lip and take a small satisfaction when the movement captures his eyes.
"Mark, no one sees me like you do."
"That's not true," he lies.
"It is, but it's okay."
You place your hands on his chest and he stops breathing. Doesn't move.
"So long as you know, I don't do it for attention. I've been this way before I ever met you or Sam."
"I know," he says breathlessly.
"Do you want to touch me?" You ask. He exhales and trembles. He's only thought about it shamefully in the dark of his bedroom or his office about a hundred times. To caress the sides of you that he suspects have gone untouched for too long. To hold you gently and yet assure you that no one else will be touching you for a long time.
He's quiet for too long. You take a hand and bring it under the shirt that swallows your torso, sliding his palm against your tummy. He exhales through his nose.
"I want you to touch me. And I want to touch you."
His hand burns onto your soft skin and you continue to move it up until his fingers grace the curve of your breast.
And just like that he yanks his hand back and stands, pushing away from you.
"Mark-"
"Go to sleep. Don't think about this anymore."
Easy enough for him to say. You both know that you'll go to your respective beds (well, bed and couch) and you'll be kept awake by the thought. But you don't argue. Only watch as he stalks down the hall and fights with himself, until he closes the bedroom door behind him. You sigh and lay down on the couch, grabbing a nearby throw blanket but deciding you're too hot for it right now.
And in his room, Mark paces the floor. He slowly removes one article of clothing after the other, ends up sitting on the edge of his bed in a shirt and boxers, fingers pressed to his lips, eyes glued to the door.
He's waiting for you. If you come knocking, he'll let you in. But he can't go to you. He can't. That would seal his fate.
But the thought of you so warm and ready for him, so inviting and strong willed...his resolve is wavering.
And it doesn't take fifteen minutes before he's walking back to the couch.
And you rise and meet him halfway, and there's only a moment's hesitation before his lips crash into yours and his hands are returning to where you'd placed them before. Mark will convince himself that you initiated the kiss. You'll let him have that lie. Whatever seals your fate together. Whatever keeps you both coming back together.
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Do you agree with Gaming Journalists and what do you think of gaming journalism in general?
What does this even mean, dude.
"Do you agree with gaming journalists"? On what?
Do I agree with Shacknews that Super Mario Bros. Wonder is a 10/10, and with Digital Spy that it's also a 7/10? Do I agree with Let's Clear Up Those Halo Battle Royale Rumors?
Like, I've gotten some bait on this blog before, but this is 2/10 stuff, man. This is some hot 2014 garbage. Like no matter what I say, you're gonna go all
"Very interesting. Then do you care to explain why..." No thanks.
My real answer: Something I learned during my time at TSSZ and being around a few people who were deeper into "the biz" than I is that everybody needs journalism more than they realize. Corporations are pushing for consumers to become their personal cheerleaders more than ever before, which makes criticism and the journalistic exposing of information seem villainous.
After all: Xbox is my friend now, so how dare you attack the Xbox. Behavior that used to be reserved for the most dedicated fanboys is now the expected room temperature. I've talked about "The Cult of Naughty Dog" before, and that's the same thing. If a corporation can get you to be parasocial with them, then they have won, and being parasocial with a corporation means shunning real investigative journalism that would otherwise undo them. Journalists and critics used to be marketing tools, but by undoing the press pipeline and talking directly to fans, journalists and critics are painted as untrustworthy for being wildcards that don't always toe the company line.
And there has been more than a decade of people with a "I choose to be stupid and ignorant on purpose" outlook, which just makes that more frustrating. We've all seen screencaps where some brainless rando tries to explain something to a person who is an expert in that field. The rando thinks they're flexing their brain, but in some cases they are arguing with the person who literally wrote the book on their topic of conversation. Some people don't want to know anything but still pretend like they know everything, when there are real people out there doing real work to uncover real truths.
Misinformation is the real problem. It should not surprise anyone that there are people out there deliberately eroding the foundation of journalistic integrity, because the less people trust journalism, the easier it is to get away with lying. The easier it is to lie, the easier it is to control the mainstream, the easier it is to scam people out of their money, so on and so forth.
And misinformation is more than just "this one news article is fake." There are long running campaigns to install people into news organizations themselves to publish false information for all manner of different goals, but it's all the same: nobody trusts anyone and it's making everyone dumber.
That's when we get crypto currency. And NFTs. And now people claiming that generative AI will save humanity. Grift after grift after grift where the people at the top of the snake oil food chain make off with billions of dollars while the rest of the world is left scratching their heads.
The law isn't going to catch them. If they do, it'll take years. Look at how long it took for Sam Bankman-Fried to get caught -- he operated for almost half an entire decade. The amount of damage somebody can get away with in five years is significant.
We need journalism. Real journalism. Good journalism. Watchdogs that keep an eye on things and blow the whistle when it goes bad. Somebody to enforce accountability that isn't a cop.
Where do you find that? That's the hardest question. I'm lucky enough that I know people I trust because they are long time friends, or friends of friends, and thus they've been properly vetted in my circle as The Real Deal. But there are a lot of outlets out there who claim to champion "truth" and "intelligence" in a way to prey upon insecurity. I mean, c'mon, Trump's social media platform is called "Truth Social" and is basically the furthest thing from the truth you will ever get from anyone, ever.
The more obsessively they try to convince you they're telling the truth, the less likely it is they actually are. Which in itself could be an attack meant to undo the foundations of trust in people who actually know what they're talking about. By casting doubt on the very concept of truth itself, they can lie with increasingly greater efficiency.
Any advice I give feels like it is incredibly circumstantial. Which is the point, and is why we're in the state we're in.
Here's a good pdf by The News Literacy Project that's probably a good place to start. The general gist is "you'll have to do a lot of fact checking for yourself" but that's unfortunately where we're at these days.
But by and large I would say life is a lot harder for real journalists right now than I think some of their critics have ever thought about. There are people out there trying to do actual good work and being a bubble-brained moron about it just makes everything harder for everyone.
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The Bunker kitchen is always cold, but it's at its coldest at the crack of dawn. Staring down into his creamed coffee, Dean wonders if 45 is old enough to slough off the habit of a lifetime and start sleeping in til at least 8, but then he remembers the nightmares he got the last time he tried messing with his sleep cycle. Maybe what he really needs is an extra pair of socks.
"I have something for you."
Dean looks up from his cup and smiles sleepily at Cas, who'd paused to get dressed when Dean had slumped directly to the kitchen in his pjs. He still wears his suit, tie and trench coat ensemble, thoroughly overdressed for 6.30 in the morning, but he still hadn't bothered to brush his hair. Mr Contrarian. He's adorable.
"I thought gifts were later," Dean says, instead of fawning. He has some dignity left. Somewhere.
"Big ones are."
"2 o' clock? No surprises?" Dean challenges - after his 40th, when he'd knocked Sam out thinking he'd been possessed with how shifty he'd been acting trying to hide the big party, Dean's (quite reasonably, he thinks) insisted on a strict birthday itinerary of his own devising.
"No surprises," Cas promises. He pulls his hand out of his coat pocket and puts a tape down on the table, flat, and slides it across to Dean with two fingers.
It's simply labeled in Cas’s looping cursive: For Dean. Dean picks it up and flips it over, no more information on the back.
"I wasn't sure if you'd like it," Cas explains needlessly, and Dean can see him fidgeting in his periphery. Cute. "I know you like to 'pick the music' but I thought you might appreciate knowing some that make me think of you."
"I like it," Dean assures him, glancing up to grin at him, and he's glad to see Cas’s shoulders relax.
"Good. It would have been very awkward if you didn't."
"Yeah, and you're never awkward," Dean teases, and gets a suspicious squint for it that pivots quickly into a fond eyeroll. "Can I play it now?"
"Oh," Cas says, sounding surprised, "Yes."
He vanishes for a second and then blinks back with one of their cassette players, one of those flat, black, functional things that star in 70s cop shows. There was a little puffy sticker of a stegosaurus on it from Jack's sticker phase.
"Ever heard of goodbye?" Dean complains unseriously, and happily accepts the sweet kiss Cas offers as he passes the player over.
Cas doesn't dignify him with a response, but he does stay close, hovering over Dean’s like a warm shadow as he sets the tape in and hits Play. There's a few seconds of staticky silence, and then, surprisingly, a recording of Cas’s voice comes rumbling out of the speaker.
"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus. Adiuramus te, cessa decipere humanas creaturas-"
"Cas," Dean says, hitting Pause, "why am I listening to you doing an exorcism? Where's the rock'n'roll?"
"You like things that are practical. You're welcome." He says it with such sincere, smug certainty that he'd gotten it completely right that Dean can't help but laugh.
"So you made me an exorcism mix-tape?"
"It's helpful."
"Sentimentality, thy name is Castiel." Dean kisses Cas’s knuckles, delighted with him, "I thought you said there were songs on here."
"They're on the other side."
"This whole side is just you chanting?"
"Not all of it," Cas says, and leans over Dean's shoulder to skim through with the fast-forward. He lands expertly near the end, which should not be as sexy to Dean as it is. The Cas recording finishes his latin, then there's a long pause, and then:
"I expect you saved them by now. Or they died." A smaller pause, then Cas adds, at an afterthought, "Hopefully the former. Dean, I love you."
Click. End of the tape. It's only when Cas’s hand comes up gently to his cheek that he realises he'd shed a tear.
"Dean," Cas says, with his infinite tenderness, half wonder, half exasperation.
"Just caught me off guard," Dean protests weakly, swiping under his eye roughly (but careful not to dislodge Cas’s hand).
For around the first 6 months after Cas’s return, Dean couldn't hear an "I love you" without bursting into tears. He'd gotten better with it in the years following, but but sometimes it still hit. Like now. Cas knew that he'd only be using this side of the tape in an all the way fucked up situation, and he'd given him a small, unnecessary kindness. Another one - a charming little kiss is pressed to his forehead.
"What'd I do to get you, Cas?" Dean marvels out loud, and Cas leans back to frown at him, still holding his face in his wide hands.
"Quite a lot," Cas deadpans, and that sets Dean off laughing again.
He grabs Cas’s wrist to smack a kiss to his palm, and then to pull himself upright, his other hand blindly flipping the tape over and starting up the music side. As the opening Auoooghs of Gin Wigmore's Black Sheep starts up, Dean tugs Cas to dance with him to it, uncoordinated and unrestrained.
"Dancing wasn't in the plan" Cas notes dryly, but he lets Dean sing to his tie like it's a microphone anyway, and Dean can tell he's biting back a smile.
"Screw the plan! It's my birthday!"
"It's your birthday plan."
"Exactly, so I get to change it." Dean stops Cas arguing back by kissing him, which only works about 40% of the time, but this, it seems, is one of those times. "I love you, man."
"I love you too. Happy birthday, Dean."
The affection in Cas’s gaze warms Dean all the way down to the very tips of his toes. It is a happy birthday. Almost as good as all the ones after it.
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Embarrassment - Sam Winchester
Title: Embarrassment - Sam Winchester
Words: 672
Relations: Sam Winchester X reader. (Platonic)
TW: Clowns.
Prompt:
Telling Sam embarrassing stories.
"Oh come on it wasn't that embarrassing," I chirped as I held an ice pack to his shoulder.
"How many people can say they say they were stabbed by a spoon?" He asked seriously but I couldn't help but laugh. He looked at me disapprovingly but I couldn't help it. It was ridiculously hilarious. I continued to patch him up as I composed myself.
"It's funny, not embarrassing." I shrugged but he didn't look humoured. "You want to know about embarrassing?" I asked and he nodded slightly. "Okay, so one time I was seeing this guy and his dad was a cop, anyway we were out and ended up thinking 'You know what would be a great idea right now? Skinny dipping'" I quoted my past self.
"Oh, you didn't," Sam commented trying not to laugh.
"Oh, we did. So we were out swimming and it was freezing, by the way. We weren't in long but just as were getting out a cop car pulled up. It turned out to be his dad and sitting beside him was my dad. We're stood there butt naked, looking at our dads." I chuckled but Sam was laughing hysterically. "So we get dressed and we're driving home and no one says a word. When we got home my mum asked where we had been and my dad out of nowhere says 'I saw her naked, do we have any eye drops?' And he was being deadly serious." I explained and Sam couldn't hold in his laughter. I was feeling embarrassed so pushed his stab wound a little making him wince and stop laughing. "My dad ended up putting a whole bottle on his eyes and got an eye infection in both eyes and since everyone asked him about it he'd tell them, before the end of the week everyone knew about it, even our dentist," I finished explained and Sam laughed again.
"Okay, that's embarrassing." He commented making me nod. I sighed as I continued to patch him up. After a few minutes, Sam laughed remembering the story when Dean walked in.
"What's so funny?" He asked and I knew Sam would rat me out.
"Sam was stabbed with a spoon," I quickly said so Sam wouldn't be able to snitch on me. Dean laughed which seemed to egg Sam on.
"Y/N was caught skinny dipping by her dad who told everyone about it," Sam quickly added and Dean looked more weirded out than anything. I chuckled knowing I had won. Sam scoffed as he watched Dean's reaction. Rolling his eyes, he knew I had won. I smirked triumphantly, gloating with my smile as Sam shook his head.
"Who stabbed you?" Dean asked, I chuckled, excited for Sam to say it again. Ahhhh, We are never letting him live this down. Sam sucked his teeth.
"A clown," He explained quietly. Dean looked at me trying not to laugh. I pulled my lips into a tight line to stop myself from laughing but I couldn't help it. As soon as My laugh erupted Dean couldn't hold it in either. Sam groaned as got up and went to the bathroom. I tried apologising through my laughter but I couldn't stop it. It was so funny. No wonder he's terrified of clowns.
"What happened?" Dean asked, his voice sounding funny as his laughter had taken all of his breath. It only made me laugh harder. I composed myself, wiping tears from my eyes I was laughing so hard.
"We were doing interviews for the case and there was a kid's party, there was a clown and Sam was terrified so the clown played on it to try and get laughs. Sam was backing away from him and the clown tripped," I couldn't hold my laughter back anymore. Tears freely fell down my cheek as Dean hunched over laughing. "He was holding a spoon and tried grabbing Sam's shoulder so he wouldn't fall but stabbed him by accident. The best part was Sam screamed more than the kids,"
Masterlist
Working On
#fanfiction#fanfic#supernatural#supernatural fanfiction#sam winchester x reader#sam winchester fanfiction#sam#spn
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A Joe Burrow Story...
A/Note: My first RPF, well the first I've published. I normally write Marvel (Steve, Bucky, Sam) but decided to try my hand at something a little different.
I hope you like it, if you do, please like, reblog and leave me some feedback (kindly would be appreciated..)
Fic inspired by @burreaux-drys - thank you for your amazing writing, even if it is "all over the place"
I do not own the characters in this story except the OFC/OC characters mentioned.
I do not give permission for my work to be copied, translated or in any other way taken/stolen.
Characters: Joe Burrow; OFC!Reader; OC!Readers Best Friend; Mentions of other Bengal players; OC Bengal team members (kind of)
Warnings: Mentions of stalking; Shy reader; Police; that's about it except Joe Burrow I think deserves his own warning (in a good way); Not Beta'd so any mistakes are my own
W/C: 2748
Reader’s pov
I watched the players on the field, easily singling out the one I’d come to see. It really wasn’t that difficult, he stood out with his mop of dirty blonde hair and the number 9 on his jersey.
My eyes roved down his body to his slim but manly hips and back up again to his broad shoulders, made even broader by the padding in his practice uniform.
He was looking good, but again, he always did, especially to me. I’ve been in love with him for a while, always from afar, and he had no idea. Maybe today would be the day I’d get up enough gumption to actually tell him.
This was a closed practice, but that never stopped me before. There were plenty of ways to sneak into Paycor stadium, even when it was on lockdown, if you knew what you were doing. And I did.
My phone buzzed in my pocket and I took my attention away from practice to check.
BFF: Where are you? I’m at your place
Me: Oh, I’m out running errands, sorry.
BFF: Tell the truth, you’re at practice ogling J again aren’t you?
Me: Maybe.. Maybe not.. I can neither confirm nor deny that accusation
BFF: Well then, I’ll join you, I need to see me some Sam.
Me: It’s almost over and it’s a closed practice today, so you won’t be able to get in.
BFF: Closed practice?
BFF: They don’t let anyone into closed practices, how did.. You know what, I dno’t want to know. Let me know when you’re home. Unless you and J are doing something after practice
Me: Will do. Love you xx
BFF: Love you too xx
As you slipped your phone back into your pocket you realised that practice was over for the day. You slunk back into the shadows as a couple of the players and officials looked up towards where you had been sitting. Regardless of anything else, you shouldn’t have been there and you didn’t really want to get caught and banned.
Making your way back to your car you see a line of fans waiting for the players to come out of training. You chuckle to yourself that they clearly don’t know the tricks that you did.
For a moment you contemplate joining them, you have something you want to give to Joe, but decide maybe next time would be a better option and you jump into the car and head home.
Later that day.. Back at Paycor Stadium - Joe’s pov
I have a stalker. There’s no getting around it any more.
I’m sitting in Coach’s office with the cops and Zac, admitting for the first time that somebody is stalking me. I knew it all along really, but just didn’t want to admit the ’s’ word to myself. I figured it was just an overzealous fan and that it would be ok.
Things were left on my car at training, when I was at the gym, even when I was at the grocery store but today, I couldn’t ignore it any longer.
After practice I signed some autographs and took some pictures with the fans who’d j for me. I love my fans and I love interacting with them - for the most part. Every fan group has those ones who are a bit.. umm, crazier than others. Fans that would do anything to get closer to their idols. Not that I consider myself an idol, but I know with my position and public persona, that I’m as much a likely target for the crazies as anyone else.
“So, Joe” the Detective said “Tell us exactly what happened today to make you finally call us”
“Well, I left training and headed to the grocery store. While I was there, I took a couple of pictures with some fans, nothing major. When I came out to my car, there were flowers on the hood and something under the windscreen wipers.”
“And this is what was under the wipers?” The Detective asked, holding up the piece of paper that had been on my window.
I nodded, and continued. “I didn’t really think a lot of it, I just grabbed the flowers and the note and tossed them into the front seat. Once I got home though, I wasn’t quite so sure this was an innocent interaction.”
“And why do you say that? Joe, if we are going to find this and make sure nothing happens, we need every piece of information you have.”
“Of course detective. Well, I got home and parked in my garage and as I got out of the car, something just felt off. The door between the garage and the house was open but I swear I closed it before I left. I kinda shrugged it off at first, thinking maybe my Mum had been around, or the cleaner had come even though they weren’t due for a couple of days.”
“But that wasn’t the case?”
“Well, no, once I got inside I realised some things had been moved around and then I saw the note on my kitchen bench.”
“And this is the note you found inside your house?”
I couldn’t bring myself to look at it or read it again so I just nodded and looked down at my hands in my lap.
“Joe, we need to get ahead of this” Coach said. “Detective, do you think we should do a press conference and alert the public to keep an eye out? I’m sure this person has been around training/practice and the stadium, probably coming to game days when we play here.”
“Let’s just wait it out for now, we don’t want to scare the stalker off and not be able to find them, or worse, have them escalate their behaviour into something dangerous.”
I feel like all I can do is nod, once again. I just never pictured myself in this situation.
There was a knock on Zac’s office door and one of the admin staff came in with a folder and handed it to Zac, whispering something to him. I saw his eyes go wide and then he looked down at the folder.
“Ummm, detective, we may have some more information that could shed some light on this case. We video every practice/training session and these are some stills from today’s practice that might be very interesting.”
Zac hands the folder to the detective as I sit up a bit straighter in my chair, curious about what they could have found from today’s video, given it was a closed practice, meaning nobody was able to come in and watch.
The detective opened the folder and examined the pictures closely and then handed them to me.
“What am I looking at?” I asked.
“Apparently someone was in the bleachers today during practice. Detective, this was a closed practice today which means that this person has snuck in and possibly could be the person you are looking for.”
I peered closer at the photos. They were grainy, a bit blurry, you couldn’t really see who it was. It did look like a female but who could really tell. I’m sure the police had ways of making the image a bit sharper and maybe getting some identifying details.
The police thanked Zac and I and made their way out with suggestions to beef up my security at home and at the stadium and to also be very aware of my surroundings at all times. They didn’t think, if this person who snuck into practice today was my stalker that they posed too much danger, but you never know.
I sat for a bit longer with Zac, talking out what was happening because the only other people I could talk to at the moment were my family and my teammates and I didn’t really want to worry either group until we knew more.
On the way home, I rang my security company who agreed to schedule more regular patrols around and near my place and also to ramp up the security footage around the outside of my home.
I hated that I have to do this but I guess my safety should be number one to me and I know my Mum would kill me if she knew about this and I didn’t take these extra precautions. It all just felt so limiting.
1 week later - Reader’s pov
I haven’t been back to Paycor. Almost getting caught in the stadium made me back off a little bit, I didn’t want to get into trouble and be banned from practice or games in general.
I’d been following Joe and the Bengals activity on social media but it just felt so impersonal, that I was itching to get back to practice. Actually Joe didn’t seem very active on socials the past week and most of the Bengals feed had focused on Tee, Sam and a few of the other players. All great players but Joe was their franchise player, the top QB in the league and they should be showcasing him whenever they can.
It made me wonder what had happened in the last week.
After I left training I headed to the grocery store to get some supplies, as my best friend was coming over after work that night for a movie night. As I was leaving I saw Joe entering the store. I knew he shopped here but I had never actually run into him and I just smiled at him as I walked out of the store to my car.
He has a very distinctive car and it was parked next to mine so I took a moment to admire it before I loaded my bags into the back seat and headed home again.
Later that night when my friend arrived she had some very interesting news.
“Girl, Joe Burrow has a stalker!”
“What? I mean, how do you know this?”
“I heard some of the detectives at work today talking about it. Apparently someone left some things on his car at the grocery store this afternoon and after he got home, someone had broken into his house and left him some kind of note - I don’t know what it said but they are beefing up security at his house. This is huge.”
“Why haven’t they said anything about it though?”
“Well, they probably don’t want the person escalating to even more dangerous behaviour, although they may be too late for that if whoever it is has already been inside his actual house.”
That conversation has stayed with me, to be honest. I couldn’t imagine how scared Joe must have been to go to the police about it all.
Today I was heading back to practice. This one was open but I thought I’d stay in the background anyway, amongst the other fans and not up front like I usually try to be. Fate, as it seemed, had other plans.
As practice was finishing, a surge in the people there pushed me towards the side of the crowd, closer to where the players exited the field. As Joe walked past he looked at me and smiled and did a double take. Did he recognise me? Is he curious of who I am?
I decided to make a quiet retreat and wait outside for him and hopefully get the balls to talk to him, or give him the gift I had for him.
A few of the players dribbled out of the stadium towards their cars, all stopping to sign autographs and take pictures with the fans.
Joe’s pov
I walked out of the stadium towards my car and it always fascinates me how many people stay after practice to talk to, take photos with and get autographs from the players. I still struggle to understand that some of them are here exclusively to see me.
Given recent events however, it makes me more cautious as well, and I hate that because I love giving back to my fans.
As I went along the line of fans, I saw one at the back who looked kind of familiar. I waved her over and said “Do I know you, you look very familiar?”
“Oh, umm, you don’t know me” she said quite shyly. “We bumped into each other at the grocery store last week.”
“Oh yeah, well it’s nice to meet you, did you want a picture?”
“Uh, sure” she replied and got her phone out.
We took a couple of selfies and then she quietly said “I have something for you” and as she reached into her bag I got really nervous. Maybe this was my stalker. Now that I think of it, she’s at training a lot, and yes I did see her at my grocery store just before that stuff was on my car.
I nervously looked around for security and mumbled some excuse about forgetting something and sprinted back into the stadium and straight to Zac’s office.
Reader’s pov
I can’t believe it, I finally got the time, opportunity and guts to talk to Joe and he ran off. I started to put the drawing I’d done of him back in my backpack when I looked up and saw security coming towards me.
I quickly walked towards my car and managed to get in and drive away before they got to me. I hope they didn’t catch my licence plate and haul me in for questioning. Just my luck I’d get in trouble because of an innocent meeting at the grocery store.
Maybe this was my sign to just find a new hobby?
Another week later - Joe’s pov
Once again, I’m sitting in Coach’s office with the detectives who this time have some good news.
“We’ve made an arrest” the detective told us.
I breathed a sigh of relief that this was over “That was quick, how did you get a break so fast?”
“Well, it all came down to the fans. Those at practice helped us out with some info, and your observations also gave us some insight. We tracked the person down and an arrest was made this morning. We have some pretty tight proof, so you may not even have to testify, but if you do, we can probably put them away for a few years. At the least, you can get a restraining order that prevents them from coming near your house, or the stadium, or generally within about 500metres of wherever you are.”
“Thanks detective, I'm so relieved” I said. “Did they happen to say why they did it?”
“Just a big fan, a bit lonely and wanted to be closer to you but just went about it the wrong way. Kinda feel sorry for them, but you know, we can’t let emotion into it, otherwise we’d never catch anyone.”
“Well, thanks again detective” Zac said “We are more than grateful for your speedy resolution to this issue.”
1 year later - Reader’s pov
I walked into the lounge room and smiled, I couldn’t believe I was here. The misunderstanding from 12 months ago led to a beautiful friendship between me and Joe. I got over all my nerves with him and we were now able to laugh and joke about the situation.
The police did clock my licence plate that day at training, and they did come to my house and question me about the stalking. I didn’t hold anything against Joe for thinking it could be me, I was awkward and nervous and shy whenever he was around and he obviously just didn’t see my vulnerability.
But at the next training session, he saw me again and came to talk to me. He asked me if he and I could have a conversation over coffee, so we went and he told me they’d arrested his stalker and he apologised profusely for thinking it could be me.
He said that when I’d told him I had something for him and reached into my bag, he freaked out and just left.
I laughed and told him that I’d drawn him a picture and I’d love for him to have it if he wanted it.
We chatted for a while longer and then went separate ways. We’d swapped numbers so that I could arrange to give him the picture and we ended up texting back and forth most days.
I’m not sure if anything will come of this but a good friendship but you never know…
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Nosebleed Section // Jake Seresin
Part Two: Conflict Diamond 
Summary: Jake struggles with putting his love for you into words which ultimately ends up pushing you further and further away. When everything comes to a boiling point? Is he able to say the three words you’re so desperately seeking.
Word Count: 4.4K
Warnings: Mentions of bar fights, mild themses of injuries associated with a bar fight. Jake Seresin x F!reader
Author Note: Part One Is Linked Here. Angsty little two parter to get the blood pumping. Dunno how well this will take but I enjoyed writing it nevertheless. So here you go.
Bob knew the second he saw the blue and red lights flashing through the window from the car park that you’d be done for. You were young, lithe and homely, wise by no means. Knowing that you were one guys, for his eyes and only—you’d go down any day of the week for Jake. If it meant he didn’t have to deal with people treating him like sex on legs.
“Hey—“ Bob shoved at your foot as you groaned and jolted from your sleep. Looking at him as you pushed yourself up onto your elbows in the back of Roosters Bronco. Head spinning from the copious amount of liquid courage and bones throbbing from the impromptu bar fight. Your nose killed. Your lip swollen. Blood still stained your shirt and face, dried and caked into crevices you didn’t even know you had. If Rhett could see you know he’d tell you to pull yourself together and stop acting like a delinquent—little hypocritical coming from a guy who’s wrap sheet was the same thickness as the dictionary. “If you think I’m gonna bail you out of your responsibilities Y/n you got another thing coming.” Bob and Rhett were five years older than you but they both, each to their own respect, acted like your fucking dad.
“Hell are you on about Bob?” Questioning your brother’s scowl, he pulled Roosters Bomber off your chest. “The fuck?”
“Cops are here.” Your heart sank as you sat up and saw Sam Taylor standing behind Bob. The North Island local Constable. He was a nice guy—hated bringing you in. But he always made sure whenever you were that you got what you needed.
“Hiya Sam.” Your head was throbbing as the alcohol in your system had started to break down.
“Abbott, we gotta stop meeting like this.” Sam sighed as Bob stepped aside to let you climb out of the back of Rooster Bronco. “You’re gonna have to come down to the station—“
“Yeah yeah I know the drill.” You turned on your heels, heading towards the police car parked in the lot just across the way. “No need for the cuffs alright they give me a rash.”
“Shit—“ Jake saw the slights as he came out of the bathroom, fixing his fly as he dashed out the front door, brushing past his colleagues who all stood around watching the events take place. They all knew this was coming. “Brawler!”
“I’m fine Hangman go back to whatever it was that you were doing.” Constable Taylor just followed you back to his car. Shaking his head because this wasn’t the first and certainly wouldn’t be the last time he picked you up. “Gonna catch a lift with Sam here.” You didn’t both turning around, why would you when Jake had basically said he didn’t want to love you. Struggling to come to terms with the fact he’d fallen for someone like you—just a girl from Wyoming who couldn’t hack it. A Brawler.
“Sam, hey.” Jake caught up to the young constable as he shut the door behind you. “She was just defending me—“
“From a twenty something blonde? Yeah, get outta here Seresin, I'm not buying it, Abbotts a smart girl but she’s got rocks in her head. She knew what she was doing.”
“In all seriousness. Jake lowered his voice. “That girl assaulted me.” It was the first time Jake had actually admitted it. “She wasn’t takin’ no for an answer and just wouldn’t stop.”
“Who threw the first punch?” Sam asked, stunning Jake into silence for a moment as he watched you lay down in the back of the cop car like you’d done it a million times before. “Exactly, as for your assault, file a report, but she’s going to the drunk tank, she’ll sleep it off—cop a charge and hopefully get to keep her job if this shit doesn’t make it to trial.”
Jake loved you. He really did. He’d just never loved anyone like he loved you before. His own feelings scared him half to death because he couldn’t control them. It truly frightened him that the feelings he had for you went so deep that he’d move mountains and part seas just to get to you if you needed him.
Struggling with his own emotions may have cost him everything when he’d worded it the way he had. But deep down Jake knew if grief ever darkened his door, you'd light it up the way you brighten up a room. It hits him right in the chest,
puts the breath inside of his lungs every time he sees you smile. A gift all for him each time because those smiles seem less and less genuine nowadays.
He wonders briefly, while looking at you through bright reds and deep blues if you’d stopped smiling for him when you stopped believing in the idea he may have loved you back like you so openly loved him.
“Ring me when her bails set, would ya Sam.” Jake knocked on the window to grab your attention. You didn’t bother looking up as you send him a half assed wave of acknowledgment. That was good enough for Jake as a smile crept its way across his face.
“Why?” Sam just shook his head as he made his way around to the driver's side door. “You gonna pay for it?” Jake turned to Bob who’d been standing off to the side just taking it all in. This hadn’t been the first time he’d watched one of his siblings get carted off in the back of a paddy wagon and it sure a shit wasn’t about to be the last. It was in his blood, your blood.
“Someone’s gotta.” Jake replied softly as he made his way over to the weapons system officer. Meeting him toe to toe. “Neither one of you have ever told me why you're Floyd and Rhett and Y/n and Abbott?”
Much like Rhett who’d always been chasing a way out of Amelia county but could never pull the trigger, Bob was right there. Firing off on all cylinders the day the twins turned eighteen. He ran, but you ran straight after him.
“Because I didn’t wanna be an Abbott.”
***~***~***~***~***~***~***~
You didn’t remember being brought in and being detained in the drunk tank at the Miramar station. But you do remember Sam slamming the sliding roller door open the next morning. The sudden ringing in your head as you fell from the small fold out to the concrete flooring below told you all you needed to know. You’d fucked up. Again.
“Bails been posted, Jakes waiting outside for you.” He smiled softly as he watched you scramble to your feet. You looked like hell but that bitch looked worse and that alone was worth it. No one touched Jake if he didn’t want to be touched, it didn't matter if he was usually the one initiating the conversation or approaching whoever he had set his sights on. on. Consent was consent—for everyone. “You should go home, get cleaned up, stay outta trouble long enough for this to figure itself out.”
“Where’s the fun in that Constable Taylor?” You tried to remain your usual stoic self. Carefree and honest. “But I’ll do my best—“ But the cracks in your shell were starting to crack ever since Jake fucking Seresin said he didn’t want to love you. Well, he didn’t quite say it like that but you knew how to read between the lines. “Thanks for the free lodging.” You tapped his chest before making your way down the hall to the clerk's office to grab your things. Your shoes, your phone, wallet, keys and whatever was left of your remaining dignity.
“There she is, How ya doing Brawler?” Jake beamed as he leaned against the hood of his pick up. Smirking at you with that thousand watt smile as you stumbled down the front staircase a little less than graciously. Groaning as you held your hand against your rib and started on that nasty limp you had when putting pressure on your right leg. An old rodeo injury that was only ever exacerbated when you decided physical altercations were far more exciting and adrenaline enduring than verbal confrontations.
“There’s definitely a lesion here.” You groaned as you made your way over to the passenger’s side door without so much as a hello or a thank you.. Despite your inner turmoil, you and Jake had a connection that didn’t need to be spoken, he knew you were thankful for the lift just like deep down despite his inability to admit it out loud that he was thankful you came to his defense last night. “But I’m not gonna be the one who figures it out—“ Clipling in your belt, you let your head hit the back of the chair as you sank lower and lower. “Take me home please—I need a shower and a fucking tylenol.”
“You definitely take the whole fuck around and find out analogy to a whole knee level huh?” It was silent when you didn’t answer straight away—not even a song playing softly through the speakers could be heard as your head throbbed from the bruising that had started the shine through in shades of deep purples and gross greens.
“Yeah well, stop fucking around with Badge Bunnies and we wouldn’t have this problem.” You huffed as you picked dried blood out from under your fingernails, noticing just how cut up your right hand truly was and how much your wrist killed when you rolled it around. “Did you get a New Year’s Eve kiss?” You weren’t asking to be nice, you were asking to see if Jake had gone back to his merry little ways after you were taken away,
Trying to see if he’d done exactly what you’d told him not to do and fuck around with yet another girl who just wasn’t good for him. Not that you were any better. You weren’t good enough for anyone.
“Rooster gave me a pretty sexually awakening smooch.” Jake chuckled when he saw your lips turn up into a fleeting smile. His hand had wandered over to your knees, gently resting against the denim of your jeans. Thumb rubbing absentmindedly as he drove with one hand. “But no, no I didn’t get a new years kiss.” He paused, wondering if he should try his luck again because what were the odds you’d jump out of a movie car to get away from him if he put his foot in it again. “The person I wanted to share a New Year's kiss with got carted away in the back of a cop car around eleven.”
“Damn, bet you’re really struggling to wrap your head around that aren’t you.” You couldn’t help but to throw what he’d said back at him. You thought, which was so stupid now that you really knew how Jake felt—that for a moment there he really did like you. Or even just liked the idea of you. But you didn’t want to make his life any more complicated than the Navy already made it. You didn’t want someone struggling to love you. You just wanted someone to love you for who you were, as fiercely and as unconditionally as you loved them.
“Y/n—“ Nope. You weren’t doing this. Jake's grip on your knee tightened as his heart sank into his stomach. Ah, the proverbial foot in mouth he was worried about. “I didn’t mean it like that, I just—“ Interrupting Jake with a scoff you shook your head as he pulled up into your street. Removing his hand from your knee as you unclipped your seatbelt.
“I don’t wanna talk about it, Hangman, just uh—you can drop me at the end of the drive.” Jake slowed the car to a halt, expecting you to jump out even before he put the car in park. But you sat there for a second in silence—looking into your lap. “Thanks for the lift, and I’ll pay you back for the bail—you know I’m good for it.” The mistake was yours to believe you and Jake could ever work. You’d wear it like a sunburn that might disappear but it won't leave you. The sting of loving someone who just couldn’t commit entirely. “I’m glad that nothing happened, you’re a pain in the arse sometimes but no one deserves to be treated like that.” You let your eyes linger at Jakes as he drank in the sight of you. Bloodied, bruised, fresh out the slammer. “I’ll see ya around Seresin.”
“Yeah.” Jake didn’t know why but he just couldn’t say what he wanted to say. It’s like the cat had his tongue, his inability to tell you how he felt was pushing you further and further away and the tension hung in the air like cigarette smoke. Any time Jake Seresin had to face his feelings head on or had to try articulate those feelings into words so that those around him understood wholeheartedly how he felt, felt like he was trying to talk with a mouth full of sediment. “I’ll see you around.”
When you got out of the car, you couldn’t see—vision blurred by tears that welled because why wasn’t Jake fighting to keep you around? It sucked. Simple. It sucked that you were in this position, but you weren’t going to let him see how easily he affected you. Show no emotion, no empathy. No heart.
“Seeya Jake.” You mumbled as you fished your keys from your pocket. Unlocking the front door as Jake watched from the driver's seat as you disappeared into your home.
“I love you so fucking much—“ Jake gritted his teeth as he clenched his jaw and tightened his grip on around the steering wheel so tight it turned his knuckles white. “Why the fuck can’t you just say that?”
***~***~***~***~***~***~***
The unimaginable temperature of the water that rushed over your aching muscles soothed your entire being as you washed away the blood that stained your skin and clumped in your hair. Notes of raspberry blossom and juniper filled that bathroom as you scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed. Washing away the pain of heartbreak, worse than any physical pain you’d ever endured.
Your phone that sat on top of the vanity cut off whatever song had been playing—your ringtone blasting out as you blindly reached out to see who was calling. With hesitation, you let it ring a few more times before settling on the fact that to get this out of the way and done with would be better than to drag it out for days on end. Dodging calls you knew wouldn’t stop.
“Rhett—before you start, just know, the bitch had it coming.” Trying to defend yourself before the conversation even started.
“A FUCKIN’ BAR FIGHT ARE YOU SHITTIN ME Y/N.” Rhett’s voice was so loud in your ear you had to pull your phone away from your ear and place it on speaker. Making sure to hold it far enough away from the water that cascaded itself down your body. “Are you insane!?”
“I don’t need shit from you.” You reminded Rhett as you heard the sound of rodeo announcements coming from the background. “Sounds like you're meant to be focusing on your next ride, cowboy.”
“Rob said you might lose your job?” Fucking Bob, of course he snitched. You made a mental note to put a thumbtack on his seat next time you saw him. “What in god's name are you tryin’ to prove here kid?” Rhett asked as he kicked the dirty at his feet. Holding his phone to his ear as he fixed his hat.
“Yeah well, win some you lose some—“ You sighed, just wishing for this conversation to be over sooner rather than later. “Could always kickstart my comeback career.” You knew that would rival Rhett up. Everyone in Amelia county knew he was the best bull rider in the nation, but you were just a little better. Key word being were.
“Shut Up Brawler you know you can’t.” It wasn’t often that Rhett referred to you with your call sign, still gobsmacked you decided a career in the Navy was what was going to drag you out of the hole you put yourself in. “Stop doing whatever it is that you’re doing kid, shit ain't worth losing everything you worked so hard to achieve.”
“You’re just scared because it won’t be Rhett Abbott at the top of the scoreboard anymore, it’d be me.” He knew you were right but he wasn’t going to give you the satisfaction of hearing it. “And you’d be surprised just how worth it he really is.”
“I did the same thing one—“ Rhett had made it out once. Made it all the way to New Jersey. Settled for a little, had a whole new life. “Look where it got me.” Until Maria turned around and told him he still wasn’t enough for her.
“Jake isn’t Maria Rhett—“ You immediately defend Jake when you caught onto what Rhett was alluding to, cutting off the shower and stepping out with a towel wrapped around your body. Tucked under your armpits.
“No, Jakes a hell of a lot worse considering you two aren’t even a thing.” You had nothing to say as you looked at yourself in the mirror. Eyes bloodied, eye socket bruised. Cuts and abrasions littered your skin and all the colours of the rainbow seemed to pepper your complexion like badges of honour or horror. Depending on what way you wanted to look at it.
“Listen to me kid, you know I used to put my crooked foot in what I couldn't resolve. But I’ve taken control now, hard work is good for my soul and I love it, growing through life and stress knowing the fight is just half of self-imposing righteousness.” Rhett paused as you stood just eyeing off whatever pathetic version of yourself stood staring back at you. “I think it’s time you did the same damn thing before you either get yourself kicked out of the Navy or worse—killed.”
Knocking at the front door pulled you out of the self loathing trance you’d fallen into while your brother took it upon himself to lecture you about the path less travelled.
“Rhett, I love you—but I gotta go, someone’s at my door.”
“Don’t throw your life away Y/n, come home?” He asked as you held your breath at the offer. “You’re in over your head there kid.”
“Make sure you don’t get Mickey bull—he bucks anyone off with two seconds.” You shook your head as the knocking continued, hanging up before Rhett could say anything more. The knocking wasn't stopping, if anything it got louder and more despite the longer you let it keep going.
“Alright! Fuckin’ hell im coming!” You shouted as you barrelled down the stairs in your towel. “Don't get your knickers in a wod.” You sighed just as you opened your front door to see Jake standing there. “Jake? What are you doing here?” He’d come to just tell you how it was. Had every intention of pouring his heart out to you because you of all people deserved to know exactly how he felt and then some.
But the longer you stood before him in just that towel with your hair dripping and your skin bruised and cut and all beat up he couldn't find the words. Silenced by his own nervousness and fear of rejection. Jake didn't do love, he did flings and moments and possible weeks. But with you? He wanted you forever.
“I just came–” He stumbled over the words he wanted to say as Jake looked down at his feet. “I uh–came to say that–uh.” Jake knew about female rage, he’d seen it when his sister lost her fiance in a car accident just after they just celebrated their engagement party. He’d also seen it when Phoenix was passed up on a promotion because she'd mentioned that there would be a possibility in the near distant future that she and her partner Alex wanted to start trying for a family and the Navy wasn't ready to dish out maternity pay for her.
But in all the times he’d seen female rage play out in all kinds of ways before him he’d never been on the receiving end of that rage. That clear pain that couldn't be held back. That couldn't be contained any longer. That needed an escape.
“Oh for fuck sake Jake just say it and get it over with!” You hissed as you stepped back and turned around to try and cool off before you really lost your shit at him.
“I'm trying, I just–I can't get my words out, but–”
“Come on, Lie to me and tell me you love me.” You turned around with a look in your eye Jake had never seen before. “Tell me just how fucking hard I am to love!” It was painful to watch you unravel knowing he'd caused you to spiral.
“It's not hard to love you.” Jake panicked as he stepped past the threshold of your doorframe. The closer he tried to get to you the more space you put between you and him. “Y/n, you aren't hard to love.”
“Go on Seresin, do it–” You hissed like you hadnt just heard him as tears started freely falling down your cheeks, still holding the towel around your body. “Lie to me again and make me feel like the piece of shit I am.”
“Y/n–”
“Do you love me or not?” You asked as all your rage just boiled over when you were given no response. Watching as Jake tried to say something, anything. “ANSWER ME!” Sobbing ensued as you couldn't hold back what you’d been trying to high for the longest time. “ANSWER ME JAKE!”
“I LOVE YOU!” He shouted way louder than you’d ever heard him scream before. It made you jolt as Jake took strides towards you, cupping your cheeks in his hands to keep you from moving any further away from him. Holding your stunned gaze as he looked down and you looked up. “I love you, do you hear me goddammit?” He asked as he pressed his thumb against your bottom lip. Softly caressing the slip you wore. “I love you and I'm not lying, or just saying that because I know it's what you want to hear.” He cooed as you started to feel the heat rising in your chest. “Y/n Brawler Abbott I love you and I'm so sorry I haven't been able to get my shit together enough to say it until now.” You were crying, sobbing as Jake walked you back towards your living room. You let him guide you as you cried between his palms. “You drive me crazy, you’re so funny and brilliant and you could kick my ass at anything ever and i don’t know why but i’m so obsessed with you it scares me away because i’ve never fucking loved anyone before you.”
“You’re just saying what I want you to say–” You mumbled softly through tears. Jake finally got you where he wanted you, the lounge, sitting down before reaching out to grab the throw blanket for you. Guiding you to sit on his lap before he was wrapping you up. Covering you so you felt like you could drop the towel and just be in the moment with him. “You don't really love me, Hangman, there's nothing to love.”
“You were the only person who saw I was in trouble.” Jake was quick to explain as you let your forehead rest against his. “Why were you looking huh?”
“Because I wanted it to be me.” You cried. “Every girl who you've ever taken home, every girl who's ever gotten a chance to touch you, be with you, I wanted to be her so fucking bad but you never saw me.”
“I saw you every second of every day.” It was the truth, Jake saw his moment and took it before you could think about the fact he’d taken so long to work up the courage to do it. He connected his lips with yours because surely you didn't have a concussion anymore or even at all. “I was just too afraid to let you in because if you broke my heart like you broke that girl's nose so help me god i’d never recover.”
“There's a real big part of me who doesn't believe you, Seresin.” You admitted as you took his lips hostage again, your hands to car through the back of his hair and nap of his neck. “But since we’re airing everything out? I love you so much that that girls lucky she's not breathing through a tube right now.'' Jake knew you were holding back–it wasn't just a threat you made when you said next time you wouldn't go so easy. But a promise.
Jake smiled up at you, just taking in the sight of you because he’d never seen you look so vulnerable with all your walls down. He wasn't about to take this moment for granted. No way no how. Kissing you softly and ever so slowly until you were pulling away for air.
“Some people never find out what they have Y/n, only ever find out what they had and I could've been one of them. I know that– and I don't know if I still won't be one of them and that thought hangs around my neck like a millstone.”
“Jake–” You whispered against his lips.
“You're my refuge Brawler, the best person I know and I need you to see that the only one I let down more than you is me.”
“You could never let me down Jake.” You cooed, sitting up just to drink in the sight of him beneath you. Still only covered by the throw blanket he’d given you. “But just for the record, you don't have to be afraid to tell me how you feel ever.”
“Such a conflict diamond.” He beamed up at you because Jake knew he got his girl. Finally, the word seemed to spin again when you smiled back at him. A sight he’d missed far too much. “Just hope we can figure out a way to settle this whole mess before it goes to trial, can't lose you as my wingwoman just as i get you as my girl.”
“So I'm your girl now am I?” You taunted, Jake knew the second your lips curled up into a mischievous smile that he was going to have to work every day of his life to keep you pumped full of the love you deserved to revel in. pulling you down into his chest as he wrapped his arms around you tight. Kissing your cheek.
“You've always been my Brawler, and will always be my girl.”
#jake seresin angst#jake seresin fanfiction#jake hangman seresin#jake seresin#jake hangman imagine#top gun fanfiction#top gun jake seresin#jake seresin x f!reader#jake seresin x reader#jake seresin x y/n
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I am a firm believer that caretaker yuu could do any crime an all the pets would either, defend their actions, join in on the action, or clean up the actions tho caretaker seems to tired to exert themselves
Well, yes, but don't forget that the oldies can and have done that first, to varying degrees of success. Little Caretaker probably pocketed some candy from a store when they're smaller and Crowley's response was to be overly anxious about being caught. Someone approaches, not even the cops just a stranger, and Crowley is just way too overly polite to be normal.
Mozus definitely didn't say a word when you snuck into someone's house to get a pouched pet out of a very unsuitable environment. Twas a nice little road trip for him, his wife and daughters.
Divus has charmed his way into getting an item for free from a big chain store when he saw how much the Caretaker wanted it.
Vargas just bodied people when they were picking on the Caretaker for not having a spark of magic.
And Sam may or may not have put a couple of spells on some common items that'll make some people conveniently forget the Caretaker's crimes.
They all do their stuff as well, not just the pets.
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Sorry for Kicking Your Ass (Male!Reader x Dean Winchester)
Requested by anonymous for Can you do a fic where Dean met a magic user he used to hunt, but failed to, years later when he stopped hunting. He felt a crush on him and now he knows those weird feelings he used to thought as aggression was actually attraction now that he’s a bit comfortable with his sexuality?
"Well, well, well. Dean Winchester, in the flesh." You smirk, sliding into the booth across from the man in question.
Dean looks a little strangled - which makes sense, as your magic is already holding him in place, preventing him from moving anything but his eyes and mouth.
"Didn't I tell you what would happen if I caught you back in my town, Winchester?" you snarl.
"To be fair to me, didn't mean to get caught. Kind of a gas and food up stop."
You frown. "You're not hunting?"
He tries to shrug but can't. "Uh... no. Baby's only got the essentials for self-defense."
You tilt your head. "Why?" Hunters don't quit. They die on the job.
"Well, maybe I didn't wanna die. Again. Maybe I just wanted a fucking apple pie life, okay?"
You let the spell down. "What about your asshole dad?"
"Died. Couple of times." Dean shrugs, looking mournfully at the pie slice his sudden freedom of movement sent crashing to the floor.
"Oh. Condolences."
He shrugs.
"What about your little brother? Sammy. Last I saw him, he was in high school?"
"He got a full ride to college. Dropped out to find our dad with me. We hunted for a few years, and then I decided I'd had enough of dying and getting brought back, and we quit. I think Sam reconnected with an old girlfriend up in New York. Working in an art gallery."
"And you?"
"Been, uh... figuring myself out. Making amends. I hurt a lot of people I shouldn't have while hunting. People who weren't really monsters. So... I kinda lied earlier. I am here to see you."
"Me? Uh... I kinda beat your ass last time we met, Winchester."
He nods. "But, uh... before then."
You think back.
You had been home on winter break from college when you saw the fake FBI Agents (John and Dean). To be fair, you had killed a dirty cop that was blackmailing high school girls, but still.
John had figured due to your sloppiness that you were inexperienced and left to go on a hunt a state over.
So that left Dean looking for you.
He met you while walking through town, and didn't know you were the witch. You made quick friends and Dean gave you the vibes.
You invited him home, but when you tried to kiss him, he freaked out.
It didn't quite surprise you, but it still hurt to see him looking at you in disgust and anger.
He had left, and the next week he was in your house again, trying to kill you. Which was kinda the worst reaction you had ever had to an attempted kiss.
"Look, I was a shit back then. I freaked out on you. Normally, seeing what that prick did, I'd have left you alone, but... I thought you had put a spell on me. I didn't understand what I was feeling."
You freeze. "Uh... are you coming out to me, Dean?"
"Yeah, guess I am." He smirks, pulling aside his jacket so you can see the little bi flag pin he has hidden, pinned on the inside, over the heart.
You chuckle a little there.
"I won't say you were my first guy crush. That honor belongs to Robert Plant." Dean jokes. "But definitely the first crush I actually knew in real life that I knew was a crush."
You start to laugh. "So, what now, Dean? You wanna start all the way over?"
Dean shrugs. "If you like. If you want, I'd like to at least redo that kiss you wanted to give me."
You giggle. "Okay. We'll see. Take me out to dinner first, and we'll see how it goes."
"Deal."
#dean winchester x male reader#dean winchester x reader#supernatural x male reader#supernatural x reader#supernatural headcanons#headcanons
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As much as I’m a Sam lover, my biggest gripe with the fandom is when people try to make it seem like it was Dean’s fault for Sam not liking Benny. 😭😭
Because okay, Sam is allowed to be hurt by Amy dying, she saved his life and maybe he feels like he owed her something. HOWEVER, that doesn’t change the fact that she was willingly killing people in an attempts to save her son.
Not only that, but she was intentionally going after people she knew the cops were least likely to investigate (lower class people, addicts, drug dealers, etc.) Which is also another gripe I have, because the fandom tries to play down Amy’s killings with “But she was only killing criminals!” which just REEKS of classism, and I hate to be the person who ties their irl experiences with the show, but as someone who has relatives who struggle/struggled with addiction, it just gives me the ick when people try to justify Amy’s choice of victims.
And then there’s the fact of Amy and Benny are just not comparable companions in my eyes. Sam met Amy when they were both kids, and while he was grateful to her for saving his life, there were no attempts made on either end to keep up some form of communication, which in my opinion was very possible, because we’ve seen the boys regularly keep track of people who otherwise would be considered “off the grid”.
Dean and Benny were together for about a year, solely relying on only each other for at the very least a few weeks before they found Castiel, learning to read the others movements during a fight with other inhabitants of Purgatory, and it was made very clear in the show that the pair of them understood Purgatory and shared a bond like no other character had. Even when it was agreed that they should keep communication limited, Dean STILL made the effort to go after Benny and help him out with his nest + came to his aid after the machete fight, and he refused to leave even after Benny said he was okay.
To me those relationships aren’t even remotely comparable. And again not saying that Sam couldn’t be upset about Amy, but the way he chose to in turn mistrust Benny to the point of almost getting him AND his great granddaughter Elizabeth killed was just 😮💨 Especially when Sam is usually all for monster redemption? That’s just something I can never excuse no matter how much I love Sam.
I totally agree.
Benny and Amy are simply not comparable. Sam makes that comparison because he's angry and jealous and he wants to lash out, but in the same conversation, Dean also points at Sam's own inconsistent morals: they just let Kate the werewolf go a few episodes before and now Sam wants Benny dead with no proof of wrong doing—whereas Amy willfully killed people on purpose and pre-meditated. Sam caught her in the act, and she easily admitted she did it and felt absolutely zero remorse.
Benny became a vampire, sought out redemption, went to Purgatory, and came back holding himself to the same principles he did before he died... and honestly, the idea that he and Amy are the same also reminds me of a "once a criminal/addict always a criminal/addict" mindset—even after over 100 years clean. Someone might want to argue that's exactly how Dean thought of Amy in season 7, but I don't actually think Amy's monsterhood has anything to do with her being a supernatural creature for Dean and everything to do with her actions.
Sam compares her to himself and acts like she's an addict who relapsed, but... that simply is not what happened? It's a completely erroneous comparison. Amy didn't kill people because her addiction became too strong and she had to eat. She didn't eat anyone. It wasn't a relapse in any sense of the word. She killed people because her son was sick and needed fresh brains. She decided his life was more valuable than four other people's lives, and she maintained that perspective during and after—going so far as to run from Sam and find someone else to murder within an hour while still being pursued because she was that cold and unrepentant about what she was doing—that utterly remorseless. She slaughtered humans like cattle. And as you pointed out, her choice of targets reeks of classism, whether that's a commentary on her as a person or society and how the trauma and experience of lower income people and addicts and petty criminals tends to be minimized and dismissed as if any terrible fate that befalls them is "deserved" (or both? Both is good).
There's this very weird thing that happens in fandom where Dean is rewritten as this black and white "supernatural creature bad, human good" character and Sam as the "supernatural creatures can always be good" character, when the reality is much different, and actually reveals much more consistency in Dean's perspective than in Sam.
Sam will rewrite Amy's motivations into something so much more sympathetic than what actually happened and will say killing her would be wrong, then in the same season will kill a kid who was born like three days ago and hasn't killed anyone and is his brother's biological child and then lecture Dean about hesitating. And then he will let a pretty, young, blonde college kid go and a few episodes later wants to kill a vampire who saved his brother's life and who hasn't done anything wrong to Sam's knowledge and will look for any excuse to murder him... and the real reason is that he's enraged by the idea of Dean having someone in his life who has never let him down after Sam chose to abandon him and Cas and Kevin. Sam can't stand being reminded of how he failed. Dean's trust in Benny gives Sam deep feelings of shame.
Deep down, what Sam relates to in Amy and defends about her has nothing to do with her Supernatural status or addiction, and everything to do with the fact that Sam too occasionally flirts with the idea of human sacrifice to save the people he loves—which is a fascinating facet of his character... but fanon prefers a nonsense narrative Sam made up in the heat of the moment, refusing to see how Sam completely rewrote events to suit his feelings. Meanwhile, Dean doesn't even think of killing Amy's son for a second even after he tells Dean he'll come back for revenge because him being a supernatural creature does not make him evil and well—wanting to avenge your mom is fair! He protects Benny, and Lenore, and Bobby John, and Andy, and tries to talk Emma down. What he doesn't have sympathy for, is a woman who kills four people because deep down, at least some humans are nothing more than cattle to her—food for her sick boy.
#mail#thee number one benny stan#season 8 sam#sams moral compass#deans moral compass#amy#benny#emma#kate
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Something More- Chapter 2
18+
Word Count: 5.6k
Chapter Summary: The twins birthday, Josh’s guest bedroom, getting caught…what could be better?
Pairings: Sammy x Reader
Danny x Reader
Tropes: friends to enemies?
enemies to lovers
friends to lovers
Warnings: SMUT. 18+ content only. DNI if you are under 18. Alcohol use. Strong/hurtful language.
Part 1
Part 3
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“I’m glad you came with me,” his voice sounded from behind you.
You flipped over onto your side to look at him, his hand falling off your back and onto the sheets.
“So am I.”
He smiled tiredly as he dropped his head against a pillow, shuffling under the sheets to get more comfortable. A hand found your hip, nudging for you to come closer to him.
“I liked you a lot in high school, you know?”
He spoke with his eyes closed, his voice slow and quiet.
“I didn’t know that.”
He chuckled softly.
“I guess I wasn’t obvious enough.”
Your stomach dropped a bit, that familiar burning rising again to your chest. You bit your lip; perhaps your body’s way of trying to tell you not to ask the question you were about to ask.
“What do you feel now?”
His eyes fluttered back open to look at you.
Your heart sank. You should have just stayed quiet.
“I’m not sure,” he chimed out, his voice clearer and more attentive now, “it’s been a long time.”
You swallowed a lump in your throat.
“Yeah, it has.”
“But I do know how jealous I get whenever I see you with Danny.”
He chuckled out and you couldn’t help but quirk the corner of your lip up.
“Some things never change, I guess,” he spoke again.
You propped yourself up on your arm in a sudden fit of amusement.
“You were jealous of Danny in high school? No way.”
Sam raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders.
“When it came to you, yeah. Although in every other aspect he was the biggest dork I’d ever met.”
You chuckled together.
“I’ll be sure to tell him that,” you answered, lowering your head onto his chest and closing your eyes.
“You will not,” Sam breathed out quietly, a grin tugging at your lips as you both drifted to sleep
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.
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That was how it had been for the last couple of months mostly.
Giddy smiles down at your phone when you read his stupid dirty texts, showing up to his house with a bottle of wine, waking up with his arm wrapped over your side.
It felt good.
It was fun as Sam put it, just having fun.
You told yourself you were okay with fun, that being able to reap the benefits of a relationship without the responsibility of one was something to relish in. How you truly felt was not something you offered much thought to.
You checked the time, 7:40 pm, how on time did you need to be to their birthday party anyways?
You stood in front of your mirror, finishing up the last few buttons on the casual black mini dress you bought at a consignment shop mainly for the cargo short-esque pockets that adorned it. You slipped on a pair of frilly white socks and old black loafers, a pairing that Sam and Danny ruthlessly teased you for in high school, though now it seemed you were just ahead of trend.
Sam had offered to drive, but seeing that neither one of you had disclosed your recent relations to anyone, not even Danny, you had thought it best to go separately so as not to turn any heads. As Sammy always did he let it roll right off his back, not catching on that you had hoped he’d be at least slightly disappointed.
You optimistically got in your car to drive, telling yourself you would only have two or three drinks, though three out of four times you did so you ended up sleeping in one of Josh’s guest bedrooms until the next morning. This time, though, you told yourself it’d be different, you’d be responsible.
It wasn’t a big gathering or ordeal like birthdays past for the two twins, no raging house parties or cop raids while the Kizska’s parents were away visiting relatives or out to dinner and drinks with some friends, but it was still a Kiszka party. The backyard was strung with lights, and music was humming pleasantly in the background from scattered speakers. The boys had even splurged for some heaters in the brisker nights of spring. Few people you knew were there, mostly a collection of vibrant personalities the boys had met in the music scene and while living in Nashville, people you didn't know exactly how to approach or lead a conversation with the way the Kiszka boys could. You grabbed yourself a glass of champagne and found a spot farther from the main crowd and closer to a heater. It wasn’t like the rinky dink parties in high school that you found yourself missing some nights, but it was nice
“Don’t worry, the real party will start in a couple of hours.”
Sam bent and whispered into your ear before shooting back up to his full height.
You jumped slightly before realizing it was just him and offered a polite smile in response.
“I’m only staying for a few drinks, drove myself here and I’m planning on driving myself back…you know, like a responsible adult,” you straightened, trying to look as poised as possible.
“I’ve heard that one before,” he chuckled knowingly, “usually ends with Danny and Josh carrying you to bed.”
You gave him a playful glare, breaking into a coy smile quickly.
“Yeah well, we’ll see where the night takes us.”
You stood in silence for a bit, just watching as everyone else chatted and drank, a few people dancing around the yard to whatever music Josh had chosen that night. As always, Josh was the primary planner while Jake was mostly just along for the ride.
You shivered a bit as you felt Sam’s long slender fingers pinch at the hem of your dress, rubbing the fabric between his fingers before dropping his hand back to his side.
You looked up at him with an inquisitive face at his bizarre action.
“That’s a nice dress, it’s a little short don’t you think?”
Your eyes widened and your hands immediately patted down the bottom of the entire dress, trying to feel where it laid on your legs and if you’d been walking around with your ass out every time you’d worn it in the last 4 months.
Sam only stifled his laughter as he watched you, earning a shove against his arm.
“Don’t scare me like that Sam, that’s one of my biggest fears-“
“I know, I know because in ninth grade your skirt got stuck in your underwear and no one told you till 3rd period!”
Sam laughed to himself, hunching over and gasping for breaths as you continued your shoving.
“Yes,” you exclaimed, giving him one shove that almost sent him toppling over, “so why would you do something like that, how stupid are you!?” you gave him one final push as he straightened up, chuckling with him a little.
“You’re fun to tease, that’s why,” he said before sighing into a small and final chuckle.
Your cheeks turned warm, the way they did almost every time Sam flirted with you. You always wondered if he did the same, you thought most likely not.
“It looks good-the dress-I like it,” he offered before taking a swig of his drink.
You went shy at the compliment despite having been sleeping with him for the past 3 months.
“Thanks,” you replied softly, looking down at the dress to inspect it one last time.
“You look even better in it,” his hand snaked under the back of the dress slightly, squeezing at your ass.
You let out a little gasp as your eyes widened, immediately slapping his hand away and looking around to see if anyone had seen.
“Sam!”
You reprimanded in a hushed tone.
“What?”
He replied in his signature laxed voice, not a worry in the world.
“No one’s watching, and even if they were, no one cares.”
“Well I care!”
You offered somewhat spitefully. He only looked down at you with a smirk and those eyes, eyes that meant trouble.
“How about,” he began, leaning into your ear and finding his way back under your dress, “we take a trip inside, I left my jacket in his guest room and it’s getting a little cold out.”
You just looked back at him, matching his mischievous grin with a glare of your own.
“At your brother’s birthday, really Sam?”
You countered, slapping his hand off of you once again.
“I’m just really, really cold y/n, I’m just asking you to come get my jacket with me.”
“Get it yourself.”
You retorted, crossing your arms against your chest.
This time he just moved his hand to the back of your neck, trailing his fingers into your hair, gripping at your roots and tugging down gently.
“I’ll get lost,” he frowned disappointedly, looking down at you.
His hand tightened around the fistful of hair he had in his hand.
You let a small gasp fall from your lips, cursing yourself for giving him any reaction. As much as you felt guilty about even the prospect of sneaking off to hook up with Sam in Josh’s house, you just couldn’t help yourself around him.
“I-I guess I could help you out.”
You managed out the words.
The corner of Sam’s mouth quirked up into a satisfied grin as he softened his grip and returned his hand to his side.
“Great.”
You ventured inside, Sam’s hand ghosting your lower back whilst leading you through the yard and inside. A few people were in the house, getting caught up in conversation while waiting for the bathroom or grabbing food and drinks, but for the most part it was quiet. You stopped in front of the bedroom door, a door you had become far too acquainted with in the last year.
“After you.”
Sam motioned to the door and you twisted the knob, entering the guest room that was mostly a place for Josh to house all of his extra plants. Every window was bombarded with long dangling vines and the corners were scattered with terracotta pots resting on the floor. The room was dimly illuminated from the warm lights lining the backyard shining through the windows. You looked down to the bed, no coat to be seen.
“Looks like I must’ve left it somewhere else.”
Sam’s voice rang out quiet and smooth as he closed the door behind him, a small click sounding out as he turned the lock.
“Well, you are so forgetful.”
You teased, moving your way towards him and resting your palms on his chest as you stared up at him. His features were being lit up with the dull warmth of outside, the sharp curves of his nose and the impressive contour of his jaw. He parted his lips and smiled, that smile made you weak.
“It seems that way.”
He brought his hand up to your face, cradling your jaw firmly in his palm.
You told yourself not to enjoy moments like this, not to make yourself believe in the fantasy that was you and Sam. It was hard, at times like these, when he touched you so softly, looked at you so sweetly, spoke to you with such phantom flattery. When it was just you and him, alone, it seemed like so much more, it seemed real.
He swept his tongue over his lips and your eyes darted down, focused intensely on the way it made his lips glisten. You let your hands wander lower until your fingers hooked over the waistband of his pants. You had learned what Sam had liked in the last few months, what he didn’t like, and what drove him absolutely wild.
He brought his face down to yours, painfully slowly, stopping as his lips sat only a centimeter away from yours, breaths warm on each other's faces. The ends of his hair fell in front of his face and tickled your nose. It was shorter now, not even reaching his shoulders.
“Should I fuck you now?”
He questioned, his voice deep and soft as his chest rose and fell.
You only matched his stare, eyes wide as you caught your bottom lip between your teeth.
“Should I fuck you hard right here while everyone else is outside?”
His other hand came up to cradle the other side of your face, his eyes were transfixed on your lips now, never glancing anywhere else.
“Hmm? Should I?”
He asked again, waiting for anything, a nod, a hum of recognition, a shift in your stance.
“Yeah, I think you should.”
You answered, tightening your grip around his jeans. His lips jumped into a satisfied grin, pulling your face towards him and kissing you. Your lips moved together quickly as they connected, you both knew each other, your lips, your bodies, the way one another moved. He tasted of whiskey and cigarettes, a pairing you would normally cringe at, but when it came to Sam, it was so perfect. You were addicted to it, how he tasted, how he felt, his skin against yours, his voice whispering your name and his teeth nipping at your neck, you couldn't get enough.
He pulled away, pushing you back and onto the bed, his chest heaving with excitement and his lips flushed pink. You fell onto your back, propping yourself up on your forearms to look at him, a satisfied smirk growing on your lips as he pulled his shirt over his head, discarding it onto the floor. He moved towards you, stopping once he stood in front of you, your hands hurriedly moving to his belt, undoing it sloppily. He grabbed at your hair again, tugging lightly to make you look up to him as your hands continued working until his pants hung open on his hips..
He liked that, when you watched him.
“Just a quick one,” he smirked, “can’t miss cake.”
He released you, shoving his pants and underwear down and releasing his hard cock as he ran his hand over himself a few times.
“Is that all for me?”
You questioned as he began to crawl on top of you.
He chuckled under his breath, “Yeah, it is. You gonna be good for me and take it all?”
His fingers worked at unbuttoning the top of your dress, snaking a hand under and squeezing at the supple flesh of your ass once your breasts were exposed in the parting of your top.
You bit your lip to stifle a whimper as his hand slipped under your underwear, fingers moistening themselves in your arousal before bringing them up and teasing your clit.
“Mhmm,” you managed out, one hand grasping at the bedsheets beside you as the other entangled itself in Sam’s hair.
“God,” he hummed out, slipping a finger inside of you, “always so wet for me, aren’t you?”
He chuckled, a cocky grin finding home on his lips. He moved his gaze from where his hand was working underneath your dress, now scrunched up and settled on your waist, to your eyes, waiting for a response.
“Y-yeah, Sammy, I am.”
You whimpered out, the nickname he once hated now sounding so sweet coming from your lips.
“That’s my good girl,” he added another finger, pumping in and out of you slowly while his thumb ghosted your clit, his hard cock pressing needily on the inside of your thigh.
Your mouth hung open in ecstasy, he was so good with his fingers. His lips trailed down your neck and to your chest, leaving a scattering of slowly fading red marks down your sternum.
“You’re so slutty, angel, so hot.”
He mumbled against your skin, taking his fingers out of you and pushing your pantied aside, quickly lining himself up with your entrance.
You shuddered as he pushed into you, he was big, and no matter how many times or how hard he fucked you, it always felt so delicious the first time he pushed into you.
He whimpered above you, small moans falling from his lips as he slowly rolled his hips into you, a hand bracing himself on the headboard above you.
His hips met yours again, burying himself completely inside of you. A hand slipped under the opening in your top, grasping at your breast as he pounded into you, faster and harder each time, slamming the bed against the wall.
“F-fuck, Sam,” you struggled out.
“Pretty girls don’t use words like that.”
He strained out, taking himself out of you completely before slamming himself back into you.
You groaned out and nodded, Sam always got what he wanted, and this was no different.
He continued a grueling pace, his fingers moving between your legs and circling your clitwith his thumb and his palm rested on your lower stomach. You gasped, trying your best to quiet the moans trapped in your throat.
“God, S-Sam..”
Your words trailed out as he moaned in response. That familiar feeling began tumbling down into the pits of your stomach and coursing down through your legs.
“D-don’t stop Sam.”
You managed out, whimpers falling deliciously from your lips. Upon those words, Sam sped his fingers up, playing with your clit as his cock managed to find that spot deep inside of you, hitting it over and over again.
You began to become undone around him, your legs shaking as your eyes tightened shut.
“Look at me while you do it, watch me as I fuck you so good you cum all over me you slut.”
He groaned out as you peeled your eyes open, staring at him. His eyebrows were drawn down and his lips were parted. His eyes were unwavering as they bore down into your own.
“It feels good, doesn’t it? I make you feel so good, don’t I?”
His voice rang out, an evil smirk crawling onto his lips.
You whimpered out, matching his stare as your eyebrows knitted together and you hurtled towards your finish.
“You look so pathetic, am I really that good?”
He chuckled out.
All you could manage was a whine as he continued unraveling you.
“Am I?”
He pushed.
“Y-yes, you are Sam, you’re so good.”
He grinned as he sped his fingers up.
“Just good?”
He asked again.
“No Sam, you’re great, you’re amazing, you feel amazing!”
You exclaimed, legs shaking and squeezing together as you came around him. His hand pressed against your mouth, muffling your moans as he shuddered inside of you, panting out expletives.
“Sam?”
An all too familiar voice sounded out as footsteps approached the door.
You and Sam just stared at one another as you shoved him off of you, springing up from the bed and pulling your dress down and buttoning up the top.
“Fuck.”
You mumbled out, a knock sounded out on the door as you hurriedly slipped your shoes back on.
You ran your fingers through your hair and wiped whatever makeup had smeared off from under your eyes, hoping to look presentable enough. Sam pulled his legs through his pants quickly, abandoning the belt and his shoes and just buttoning the jeans before throwing his wrinkled top over his head.
He opened the door and there stood Danny.
“They’re making a toast…someone said they saw you come in here-”
His voice faded out as he spotted you over Sam’s shoulder, straightening your dress.
“Sam forgot his coat.”
You blurted out.
He only nodded slowly as Sam slipped past him, offering an awkward pat on his shoulder.
You weren’t sure why you didn’t want Danny to know, after all he was the one who was constantly trying to get you together and make you feel better when Sam was off with another girl. There was this weird feeling in your chest though, an odd heaviness when he stared at you with suspicion dampening his features.
You averted your gaze, shrinking in on yourself and walking up to him.
“Did you get it?”
He asked.
“W-what?”
“The coat, did you guys get Sam’s coat?”
You looked up at him, your face going hot.
“Oh, um, no…no it wasn’t in here,” you trailed off, walking past him to rejoin the party outside.
You walked outside, Sam was with his brothers, arms hung around their shoulders, cheering as everyone raised their glasses and candles were blown out. That heaviness in your chest weighed down on you further watching them.
You took a deep breath turning away and getting into your car. You drove home, not even bothering to put any music on. You knew if you did, you wouldn’t have even heard it, you felt weird. A gross feeling crawled under your skin and set heavy atop your chest. You pulled into your parking lot, putting your car into park with a long sigh, resting your forehead against the steering wheel as the dim glow of street lights seeped into your car.
You checked your phone, it was only 9:30 and with a 20 minute drive from Josh’s, you had stayed at the party for a whopping one hour. As your senses came back to you, the heaviness began to disappear and was instead replaced with a nagging panic. You took your phone into your hand, typing quickly as you mumbled various curses at yourself.
To Jake, Josh:
9:31 pm
So sorry I didn’t get to wish you guys happy birthday tonight, started feeling really unwell and had to drive home. Hope you guys have a great night, have a drink for me!
You sighed as you buried your face in your hands, throwing your phone aside. You stilled for a moment, contemplating how dumb you were and why on earth you cared so much that Danny might have now known about you and Sam.
You rubbed your face with the heels of your palms, scratching at your scalp and hair with your fingers, exhaling a lone line of grunts and moans until you recoiled your hands, a mess of hair falling in front of your eyes as you did so.
Your phone dinged and you shoved it into your purse, assuming it was just Josh or Jake texting you back as you grabbed your things and walked up to your apartment.
You collapsed onto your couch, not minding to turn on any lights as you buried your face into a discarded blanket crumpled lamely in the corner of the sofa.
.
.
.
*knock* *knock*
You parted your eyes lazily as they adjusted to the dark interior of your living room. As your vision cleared and the momentary fog washed from your mind, you pushed yourself up and grabbed your phone to check what time it was.
1:24 am
You wiped the line of drool peeking out of the corner of your mouth as you ran a hand through your hair and stood up, groaning as your body slumped with tiredness.
Another knock sounded out, a bit more forceful than the one that had woken you up.
Who the hell was at your door this late?
You peered out your peep hole, eyebrows jumping as you looked again to make sure you weren’t mistaken.
You undid the numerous locks lining your door that Jake had come over and installed one day after reading an article about the dangers single women face whilst living alone, and slowly opened your door.
His head shot up to you as you opened the door, his hands clenching and flexing at his side.
“Danny…”
You let the word tumble out of your mouth, more of a question than a greeting. He only nodded his head, letting himself in and pushing past you, immediately pacing your living room, bringing his thumb up to his mouth and anxiously biting at the tip of it, a habit he’s had since you’d met him.
You closed the door after him and flipped on the living room lights, that heaviness in your chest returning, but also a sense of worry and confusion.
Why was he here so late and why did he look like he was about to disclose the location of a body he had buried years past?
“Danny what’re you doing here-”
“I texted you,” he blurted out, immediately returning to chewing on the tip of his thumb, finally stilling his pacing as you walked to your purse, taking out your phone and scrolling through your notifications.
Danny: Where are you?
9:34 pm
Danny: I’m coming over once this is done.
10:17 pm
Danny: Are you asleep?
12:05 am
Danny: I’m almost here.
1:13 am
You sighed out going through the messages as he watched you, eyes like a hawk.
“Sorry, fell asleep..”
You trailed off hugging your arms around yourself awkwardly as you stood in front of Danny on opposite ends of the living room.
He forced his hand down and instead crossed his arms, shifting his weight from one foot to another.
“Danny, you’re scaring me, what’s going on!?”
You finally gave in, becoming anxious just watching him.
His mouth parted and his eyebrows drew downwards as his eyes widened. He let out a scoff, staring at you as if you were the dumbest person on the planet.
“What’s going on!?”
He repeated, a wild grin erupting onto his face as his eyebrows jumped up and he threw his arms in the air.
“What’s going on is you’ve been fucking my best friend for 3 months!”
He exclaimed, stomping up towards you and stopping in front of you, his features hardening, his chest rising and falling dramatically as he reveled in his anger. You just looked back at him, cheeks red with guilt, your stomach knotting uncomfortably with shame as you averted your gaze from him.
“H-he told you?”
Danny calmed for a moment, nodding his head as his lips pressed into a firm line.
“Yeah, he did, but God forbid anyone tells Danny anything!”
Your lips morphed into an uncomfortable frown and your eyes drifted to staring at the dripping kitchen faucet across the room that you’d been meaning to fix for the past few days, too nervous to look at him.
“I-I’m sorry Danny, I just-”
“You just what!?” Danny fixed his hands on his hip, done with the dramatics as his features fell in disappointed expectance and he stepped towards you, leaving only about two feet of distance between you two, “you just thought you’d fuck my best friend behind my back. God, y/n, are you that stupid?!”
You snapped your gaze back to him, the heaviness in your chest morphing into something closer to rage.
“No Danny, I’m not stupid,” you started, not minding whether or not your neighbors could hear the two of you, “is it so insane to think that maybe I’m a grown woman who can decide who she wants to and doesn’t want to have sex with?”
Your body heated up with that familiar feeling as your mind began to fog and your hands began to shake. Danny knew it well, how mad you could get, when your adrenaline kicked in and all your body told you was fight.
But Danny wasn’t going to back down tonight, not how he usually did when it came to you.
“Yes, it is insane because you aren’t grown, you are a kid, a stupid fucking kid that’s fucking a guy who isn’t even interested in you!”
His hands flew up past your ears as his eyes practically bulged out of their sockets. His face was red with rage as you drew your eyebrows down and your mouth hung open at his words.
“If he wasn’t interested in me than why has he been fucking me for 3 months Danny?!”
“Because you’re easy!”
Danny yelled and the room immediately went still, his face dropped a bit, anger still laced through his features, but his eyes softened, like he knew he screwed up.
Your shoulders slumped and you felt the heat drain from your body, a single scoff leaving your lips.
“I’m easy Danny? Really?”
He chewed on his bottom lip, his eyes searching the room instead of looking at you.
“I-that came out wrong,” you only offered a cold laugh in response, “for him, it’s easy for him. He already knows you, feels comfortable with you…I just don’t want him to hurt you because I know how you feel about-”
You cut him off, the warmth coursing under your skin again.
“No! You have no idea how I feel, Danny, you don’t.”
You said harshly, trying to convince him and maybe even yourself, but at that moment, you had no time to offer him any acknowledgment that he may have been right.
“And so what if it’s easy, that’s what friends with benefits are.”
“You can’t be serious?”
He scoffed, rolling his eyes in frustration.
“Why not? Why is it so mind blowing that I would want to have casual sex?! Tell me Danny, what is so awful about that idea that you cannot even comprehend it?!”
You yelled in one breath, your face getting red as you gasped for a breath, your hands and arms motioning wildly as you spoke.
“I just thought you’d have a little more respect for yourself, that’s all.”
He rubbed his forehead, sighing the last part of his sentence out as you just stared at him dumbfounded.
“And you had to come all the way here at one in the morning to tell me that, to tell me that I’m a slut for screwing your best friend, Danny?”
“That’s not what I said Y/n-”
“Yeah, well, you might as well have.”
Danny took a long breath, closing his eyes and exhaling shakily.
“All I’m saying,” he paused for a moment, opening his eyes to look at you, “is I think it’s a bad idea.”
Your face contorted in acute bewilderment.
“Then why on earth did you try and help me make him jealous? Why were you constantly pushing for us to get together? Just so you could show up to my house and berate me about it.”
“I guess I just thought you’d know better, that it was just some stupid infatuation.”
His words came out sharp as his jaw clenched and his arms crossed over his chest again and he stared at you, seething.
“I guess you thought wrong, Danny,” you relented, shaking your head, “now get the fuck out.”
You walked towards the door, opening it and holding it open for him to leave.
He looked at you, his features still hard, his mouth still pressed into that firm line, the wrinkles between his eyebrows heavy.
“Whatever,” he mumbled, walking past you and out the door, stilling for a moment in the hallway, his mouth parting as if he wanted to say something.
Instead, you beat him to it.
“And just so you know, the sex is amazing.”
Pressing your lips into a condescending smile, you slammed the door, slumping over as you came down. Now that he was gone, now that the heat had dissipated and your mind cleared, that heaviness came back, weighing you down further than before. You didn’t believe the things he said, you didn’t want to at least, but his words floated in the air around you, wandering in your thoughts every time you breathed in. You peeled your feet off the floor, they felt heavy, and walked yourself to your bedroom, throwing your body onto the unmade bed covered in potential outfits from earlier in the night. Shuffling your way out of your dress, you crawled under the blankets, letting the cool air of the window you had forgotten to close earlier chill your bare shoulders. You felt a warmth spread under your cheek on your pillow and you opted to believe it was nothing, that you definitely were not crying.
In your entire time of knowing him, you had never seen Danny that angry. The only fights you had ever been in were over pointless artificial things, mostly withering down to a joke or finding amicable ends. None of them had ever been like this, you couldn’t think of a time Danny ever spoke to you like that, ever raised his voice like that. Even the way he looked, with wild eyes, tensed jaw and furrowed eyebrows, you had never seen before. You felt your body shake as the patch of warmth grew under your cheek. You wondered if Sam had ever talked about you to Danny, if that was why he was so mad, if you really were stupid. You buried your face in your hands, crying silently into them as you tried to will the tears back, you wouldn’t give either of them the further satisfaction of your tears, they didn’t deserve them.
Your phone buzzed and your heart leapt. You wondered if it was Sam, asking if you had gotten home safe and if everything was okay, or if it was Danny, apologizing and asking for your forgiveness, he would never want to lose a friend like you.
You picked up the phone, warm anticipation pooling in your chest.
Jake: Hope you’re feeling better!
2:01 am
Josh: *Image Attachment* For you!
2:02 am
You pressed your finger against the cold glass of your screen, watching as the video began, as all four of them swayed together, slightly toppling over each other, and sang a discombobulated melody.
“A drink for Y/n!”
Sammy slurred out as they all raised their glasses, chucking back what looked to be a shot of whiskey. Danny bombarded the camera man, his face uncomfortably close to the lens.
“Come back and save me from these lunatics!”
His voice rang out, you wondered when Sam told him, how he told him. Maybe it happened right after that video was taken.
You turned off your phone, tossing it to the other side of your bed, not bothering to set an alarm for the next morning, and drifted off to sleep, your chest heavy.
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bloodline pt. 4 | ethan landry
notes: final part in the bloodline series!!!! im gonna miss writing about this. let me know if you guys want a post family ties thing! etc. reader finding out that ethan didn’t make it and so forth. scream spoilers utc.
finale taglist: @nuhteyam @wroetoslut @callsignwidow @nellyboosworld
“Is this even a good plan?” Ethan asked, as he and the others walked down the stairs to the train station, where their plan for the public subway was laid out for them.
“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.” Tara retorted, in front of Ethan as she followed Sam.
“So we just peel off, and the killer picks us off one by one? No thank you.”
As Sam continues to make her way to the train, Danny, Tara, and Chad all follow behind, then getting separated by the crowd from Mindy, (y/n), and Ethan.
Mindy tries calling out for her twin brother, but alas, as if the stakes for getting attacked by Ghostface couldn’t get any higher, the three were divided from the rest of them.
As Mindy watches as the train leaves, Ethan and (y/n) come up behind her, with Ethan placing a hand on her shoulder which spooks her.
“Get your Ghostface ass away from me, Ghostface.” She pauses and grabs (y/n)’s hand, “Let’s go (y/n), you have a lesser chance of getting murdered by Ghostface over there if you’re with me.”
As Mindy stands and waits alongside (y/n), she notices that Ethan is still there, and she tries to shoo him away, “Go away!”
“Where’s Mindy?” Sam asks as she and the rest of the gang are on a train five minutes ahead of the trio that was left behind, with Chad saying that she missed the train and that he attempted to catch her before ‘cute boy’ pushed him into the train.
He reassures everyone that it’s okay since she had gotten onto the train with Ethan and (y/n).
“Mindy. What if this plan doesn’t work? What if-”
“(y/n), it’s going to be fine. As long as Ghostface over there doesn’t attack us, we’ll be fine.”
“Why would Ethan attack us? We’re like, surrounded by people. Wouldn’t someone call the cops or something?”
“You never know.”
The power flickers out once again, with Mindy growing more suspicious of not only those dressed up in Ghostface costumes, but of Ethan, who she obviously suspected was Ghostface.
He waved and gave her a lopsided smile in an attempt to regain her trust; obviously, it wasn’t working.
Moments later, a Ghostface swings around the corner and scares Mindy, causing her to move further down the train and farther from both (y/n) and Ethan.
“Mindy, you okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll just be... right here.”
Ironically, as Mindy says that, she is pushed out of her place by some random guy making his way through to a seat, which doesn’t sit right with (y/n).
“Hey, great going, asshole!”
The stranger doesn’t pay (y/n) any mind, which prompts her to burrow her way a bit more into the crowd, standing by a person dressed up as Ghostface while Ethan tries to manage a good sight of the two.
As the lights continue to flicker on and off in the subway, (y/n) notices that the man in the Ghostface costume is getting suspiciously closer to Mindy, which was strange to her. She couldn’t signal Ethan, unfortunately, so, she was going to keep an eye out for Mindy herself.
The lights go out for longer than (y/n) would have liked, because she had lost sight of the Ghostface, not long before she felt something slice into her arm, causing her to put pressure on the wound and cry out.
“Ah, shit!”
Unbeknownst to Ethan and (y/n), the Ghostface had caught up with Mindy and placed a gloved hand over her mouth, before stabbing her in the lower stomach twice before leaving amongst the crowd of other costume-goers.
As the light returns, (y/n) locks eyes with Ethan before watching his go wide, making her turn around and see Mindy clutching her stomach with a bloodied hand.
Both quickly make their way over to Mindy, with Ethan panicking and swearing before picking her up and yelling for help.
As the trio makes their way out of the subway, Mindy mutters about how she was wrong again as Ethan is a suspected Ghostface, with Ethan noticing the cut on (y/n)’s arm.
“Fuck, (y/n), you’re bleeding.”
Help subsequently arrives, as (y/n) mutters a swear under her breath,
“I know.”
── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──
“Why did Quinn have to do that?” (y/n) muttered a swear before fixing herself in the bathroom mirror, opening the door to reveal Ethan halfway in the process of putting on his Ghostface costume.
“Oh,” She paused, looking at Ethan from the bottom up before smiling, “Hello, there, Mr. Ghostface.” She chuckles before taking his hand in which held the mask, “Am I gonna be the helpless victim?”
There was a second of silence between the two before Ethan placed his free hand on the side of (y/n)’s face and kissed her roughly, making an attempt to press his body weight onto her.
“God, I love a man in uniform. You’re so sexy in this, Ethan.”
She slowly puts the mask on her face due to her injured arm, “Do you think I would make a killer Ghostface?”
“You’d make one hell of a Ghostface.” Ethan then removes the mask from her face and kisses her again, before reluctantly pulling away to put the mask on.
“But you might wanna leave, or else they’ll get suspicious.”
“But why would they? Sam and Tara did try to kill us.” A small smile appeared on her face alongside a fake pout, “I’m jealous that I couldn’t get to wear the mask.”
“I’m serious. Or else you won’t make it in.”
(y/n) hummed before heading towards the door, “Oh, alright,” She paused before digging through a drawer nearby and finding her engagement ring.
Blowing him a kiss, (y/n) slipped on her ring before slipping out the door.
“See you in the third act.”
── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──
“I talked to Detective Bailey,” Kirby had said, “He’s got everything set up.”
Kirby was about to ask another question when a cab pulled up beside them, letting (y/n) out, raising minor suspicion between the group.
“(y/n)?” Sam had asked, “Where are Ethan and Mindy?”
“Mindy got attacked on the subway. Ethan’s with her now.” She sighed, running a hand through her hair, “I only got a scratch, but I promised Mindy that I’d take down that motherfucker for her.”
Sam nods, then tells Danny to stay away, not being able to trust him, including that he wasn’t Woodsboro, so he needed to stay back.
As the group walks into the theatre, Kirby mentions how she’s turned to entrance into a kill box, how she had scanned the entire area, and that since she was the only one with a badge, she got to hold onto the gun.
(y/n) then says she’s going to check in with Ethan before walking off into a section of the theatre.
Ethan’s phone chimes with a text from (y/n), with him ignoring it before he receives another one.
‘ETHAN!’
‘ethan answer my texts are you here?’
He sighs before getting ready to reply back before Quinn scolds him, “Who the hell are you texting?”
Ethan furrows his brows and gets defensive, “(y/n), calm down. She wanted to know if I was here.”
“Of course you are!”
Ethan groaned before reacting to (y/n)’s message with a thumbs up, “I’m fucking getting bored.” He complained, then shoving his phone in his back pocket under his Ghostface costume.
“Time to carve up Chad.”
(aaaaaaaaaaaaaa!! as you can see this obviously runs into family ties but ahhhhhh!!!! tell me if you guys want a post family ties fic, it was fun writing this!)
#ethan landry#ethan landry imagine#ethan landry x reader#ethan landry bloodlines series#jack champion#scream#scream 6#scream vi#scream imagines#scream imagine#ghostface#ghostface imagines#ghostface smut#ghostface imagine#ghostface x reader#mason gooding#jasmin savoy brown#chad meeks martin#mindy meeks martin#tara carpenter#sam carpenter#jenna ortega#melissa barrera#danny brackett#kirby reed#josh segarra#hayden panettiere#quinn bailey#detective wayne bailey#anika kayoko
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