#azazel is on top of it so fucking hard
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Lucifer: So...who's up for pancakes?
Azazel, gathering all the freshly grown fruit, wheat, flour, and eggs he has while already whisking in a bowl: Apologies, Father. Were you saying something?
#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel spoilers#hazbin hotel incorrect quotes#lucifer hazbin hotel#lucifer morningstar hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel OC#azazel morningstar#azazel is on top of it so fucking hard#his papa wants pancakes- HE'S GETTING PANCAKES#even if no one else is joining them#daddy-son time: in pancake form
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hiii deanwinchesterpregnant I've been scrolling thru your excellent deanna thots and ive come to ask if u would for funsies perhaps consider a twist on the already impeccable mention of soulless!sam getting deanna pregnant. I propose also: possessed!john getting her pregnant :))
HELLO ANON <3 this is so fucking wise. johnzazel getting deanna pregnant...augh there's SO much going into it. azazel capitalizing on what john already wants – you KNOW he's had to sit and talk to himself against knocking his daughter up. you KNOW he wants to, the combo of pretending he's having more kids with mary + the possession over deanna + just the thought of knocking his babygirl up... oh but he doesn't do it, because there's the hard driven hunter that always needs her to be at the top of her game. but with azazel behind the wheel...all those dark desires realized...
and also azazel's lust for sammy carried out through his sister, his blood...
and THEN. deanna dealing with the fallout of her dad's baby who's really azazel's...what if it comes out inhuman? and both sammy and deanna hate azazel for ruining their lives of course but sam has a particular relationship with azazel as we know, and sam having to untangle the "you ruined my life" feelings with azazel with his incestuous feelings for deanna...AAAAH DELICIOUS. thank you anon for putting this in my brain
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DeanJohn mini prompts for your use, if you like any of these! 😊
1. Hair pulling.
2. Knife play.
3. Azazel!John.
thank you matt!!! i went with hair pulling <3
In any other circumstance, Dean would never dream of doing this. Of pushing John into the couch and roughly unfastening his pants. Of pulling out his dick with little care and a sharp urgency. Of not letting John have a hand in taking off Dean's own denim and underwear before crawling into John's lap and shoving his fingers into John's mouth so that he can open himself quickly and with little finesse.
Of pushing himself onto John's cock without much of a warning, and shoving his mouth against John's before he has a chance to say Dean should wait. Instead, Dean swallows up John's hesitation and begins to ride him hard. His hands slip into John's hair as they kiss.
He pulls back, lips already red and swelling. "Hair's getting long." His fingers grip into the curls.
John stares up at him, hips thrusting as best they can from underneath Dean. His lips are parted wantonly, drunkenly. "Pull it," he says, voice rough.
Dean doesn't need to be told twice.
In any other circumstance, this wouldn't be acceptable. John doesn't like receiving pain, doesn't like being directed. John likes to do the slapping, to do the manhandling, to be in charge. And later, Dean will reflect on how ultimately this only happened because John give him that permission. But still--there's a novel thrill at the fact of it.
In the moment, that thrill is more than novel. It's intoxicating. Dean tugs at John's locks and guides John's head to chest from the rots of his hair. John gets the hint and pulls up Dean's shirt so he can get at a nipple and take it between his teeth and his tongue. He gives Dean a stinging bite that forces a surprised yank of Dean's hands as he pulls John's face away.
"That hurt," he says as he fucks himself faster on top of John.
John only smiles, so Dean takes the opportunity to pull his hair tighter, to angle John's head back so his neck is bared, vulnerable. John's thrusts become more erratic. Dean's free hand clings to John's shoulder, nails digging in as he nears his climax. Neither of them is going to last long.
Dean gives John's hair another pull and decides he's all right with that. He's still going to make his father give in first.
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YOUR OCS
Hand them over.
THERE ARE . s o man y .... . here is my oc masterpost except i only realised after i hunted it down that there's like no info for anything . so instead i'll just give a rundown for what each thing is and if any of the synopses intrigue you yr free to ask more ^_^
lobotomy corporation - i think a lot of my active followers know what lobcorp is, but i'll explain it anyways. it's like if you took scp and said "what if it was even MORE fucked up. and stressful." like iirc the game description on steam literally says that it's inspired by scp, cabin in the woods, and warehouse 13 and that is not understating a damn thing . my ocs there are all employees and i think way too hard about puck at all times
tmrwverse - what if the apocalypse was real and also alive? hi. tmrwverse (real name pending) is my original story. completely original? Nnn oo oo . it started off as a danganronpa uni but i'm not into dgr anymore and i wanted to make it its own thing . it's also inspired to a degree by parties are for losers, especially in regards to the way the apocalyptic nightmare entity (known simply as The Calamity) effects the world around it. beyond that idfk what's going on i just know there's necromancy and eldritch gods and half the thing is a weirdcore dreamcore nightmare it's my baby . kuroshi is my everything ever at all
P.A.R.T.S. - what if watch dogs 2 was cyberpunk and dušan was evelyn deavor from the incredibles 2. so yea it's just like this ragtag group of people who are prolific hackers and there's this tech company that has a chokehold over the government and is slowly trying to eliminate all individuality but shirka (evelyn deavor dušan) claims it's all for a good cause and one of my friends called her milfy and i've never been the same. oh also demons are a thing and they are just kinda casually around .
a second chance by way of updog - this one's based on a joke interaction i had with an old friend where they said updog to me and i basically said i'd kill them . Followed by a gif of russell from up ascending w balloons and them saying "me omw to heaven after azazel kills me" and i said "bold of you to assume i'll let you into the afterlife." and so now it's about this dude who's second best at everything named bailey who tells an updog joke to a god named silvanus who happened to be patrolling the street and they immediately strangled him to death and sent him to purgatory and also stripped him of his blue hair which he's ultimately more upset about than the whole being dead thing . but then silvanus gets punished as well for murdering an innocent and then trapping him in purgatory for no good reason and they're stripped of their powers and stuck in purgatory with bailey . then this third dude dies and it's because a dime got dropped on his head from the top of the empire state building, which is actually how bailey was Supposed to die; but because silvanus killed him first, he was ultimately second place to his own murder. and this third dude has been first place in every competition bailey has ever entered (mostly air guitar & ddr) but he is undeveloped. like literally he is a non character. this is intentional. bailey has been losing to what is essentially an unscripted npc. yeah i have a lot to say about this supposed-to-be-a-joke uni.
quando ti ho incontrato / when i met you - i need you to listen to femme fatale by coyote kid and you'll understand my vision . tadeo, main guy, is hopelessly in love with maeva, the classic femme fatale. she's going to ruin his life and he is perfectly content with that. he's a bit like a puppy dog. for some reason this whole story takes place in italy.
the great corpse march to the sea - okay just because i'm not into dgr anymore does not mean i don't like the concept of a killing game. tgcmtts is essentially a fangan except i pretend dgr doesn't exist. all of them have death related careers to some degree Minus cat nemune they are 12 and are not in the death game . one of these guys is a batshit serial killer and has bugs. another is a batshit serial killer but as a doctor. they are in a qpr. there is tragedy to ensue in this game because there are so many people who are family or people in some nature of relationship and it hurts me . this whole story hurts me why do i write the things i do
unlisted, but a practice in being haunted - the most pathetic guy on earth having the worst life of his life after his house becomes infested with ghosts exactly one week after the most traumatic experience he couldever go through so he has not processed it. chaos ensues.
#like if a q and a had a real nervous interviewee#new tag for asks btw hiejodko#I HAVE...A LOT MORE OCS THAN THIS#but i have already typed soooo much i am not subjecting people to More#though i am willing to share at some other time if prompted
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Im goinu to GET YOU
3, 5, 8, 24, and 28. Also answer 18 and 19 for torture purposes
Ohhh you motherfuckerrr
3: list your fandoms and one character from each that you identify with.
You know this list is long as fuck. But, Homestuck, Isaac, and Rain World r my top ones, though, I mean fuckk I don't really identify with most characters from them? I guess closest would be, like. Karkat for homestuck due to bitchass shithead nature but generally seeming to actually give a fuck about shit. Isaac doesn't really HAVE characters so the best I can give you is Azazel bc I also want to throw up blood sometimes. I'm not saying Isaac bc I'm not 5 and dead. And as for rain world? Girl. Five Pebbles Autism.
5: do you think of yourself as a human being or a human doing? do you identify yourself by the things you do?
Human? What Human? Anyways I never identify myself with the shit I do. I be.
8: what musical artists have you most felt connected to over your lifetime?
I don't listen to music for connecting to it but I can tell you my favorite artists that I've liked. Oingo Boingo is like, one of the highest ones, and then stuff like Queen and The Beatles bc I've liked them since I was younger therefore nostalgia, but also bc they genuinely have good music, duh. I really can't think of any particular songs or shit I connect to, besides maybe that one song from. Whatever I don't remember.
24: have you ever felt like you had a “mind-meld” with someone?
No? What does this mean. 2014 ass questions.
28: on a scale from 1 to 10, how hard is it for someone to get under your skin?
2-3, bitches piss me off
As for the H/A/R/R/Y/P/O/T/T/E/R (all the Steven Universe characters hate you) questions. The quiz I did as a kid put me in ravenclaw and gave me a boar for a patronus so whatever.
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ANONYMOUS ASKED:
I know you have lots of enemies, DJ. But who is/are your MOST hated people you've met?
“ Hmm... there’s a lot of hatred in my heart. I want to say that Heihachi bastard’s one of them. But also, thanks to him, I was able to wake from my dormant state. Yet, still, even after that - he continued to hunt Jin & I. The dumb fuck. & when I see him, it makes my blood boil.
Next would have to be Kazuya, & I’d say his devil - for being FOOLISH enough to think he can merge with me. But, he’s gone ! Haha, the WEAKLING couldn’t even win the inner fight with his human. Still, Kazuya’s own lust for power has been an obstacle for my goals. Why couldn’t Jin have had nice family ? Ugh.
Lars is in the top three, as well. That traitorous scum who thinks he can also stop my PLANS, everything I’ve worked so hard for. He’s smarter than many humans for seeing through my lies, but he’s also idiotic. He needs to accept that mankind will be ruled by a devil. It’s natural, & inevitable.
You may be surprised my dearest creator, Azazel, isn’t in the top three. I personally hold nothing against him. Yes, he’s also an idiot for thinking all his ‘ shadows ’ would only be loyal to him, & do as he says. But other than that, I only want to kill him to harness his power. I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he finds out what his precious ‘ puppet ’ has in store for him... ”
#👿 - ᴡᴀɢᴇᴅ ᴡᴀʀ ɪɴ ᴀ ғɪᴇʀʏ ʙʟᴀᴢᴇ // (ic)#✏️ - ʙʟᴏᴏᴅʟɪɴᴇ ʀᴇʙᴇʟʟɪᴏɴ // (T6 timeline)#✏️ - ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ? // (inbox)#// dj can really go off when it comes to the people he hates fdjgnfjgnfg#// dj: everyone's an idiot except for Me
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Ranking the Nine Princes of Hell from TSC from the least to most sexy
(Technically 8 cause Lucifer is just a chair but eh)
8) Coming in at dead last we have Asmodeus cause I hate this generic white man energy he’s giving here. He’s the demon of Lust cause the only way he could get bitches was by tricking and manipulating them. He’s serving Frankenstein’s Monster had a baby with a CEO from a yaoi hentai realness here. The Worst of the Demons? More like the Worst Dressed of the demons! Black tie with a white suite? 🤮Sir are you out of your goddamn mind? Did Raphael bonk you on the head until your fashion sense left? -1/10 you are simply hideous sir
7) Coming in at number 7 we have Mammon looking like Jeff Bezos’s capitalistic wet dream. How are you literally all about money but still look tacky as hell? This man shows up to the MET Gala in a tux with no effort whatsoever I can just feel it in my bones. All these eyes but you still couldn’t locate a better fit. I was gonna ask why he looks constipated but then I read the part where he eats blood and gold for every meal so he’s obviously suffering from indigestion. (And it shows king, it really shows) 0/10 - Do fucking better and get a plastic surgery or a proper diet with all the money you are hoarding up
6) At number six we’ve got Belphegor. Honestly I’d have ranked him much higher if it wasn’t for the goat skull situation going on there like what’s up with that king? Is this a political statement? Or are you just taking covid precautions? Either way I can’t rank you higher than six with that face. (Even tho the body is definitely 1. Like you mean to tell me a demon with abs like those is the demon of laziness? He ain’t lazy if he’s grinding in the gym which he apparently is cause he’s legit shredded.) also kinda cute that you were married to a mortal. Maybe if they pegged you you wouldn’t have denounced the institution of marriage. (Try it next time. I’m certainly up if you are 👀 haha jk unless 😳) 5/10 - Sorry about your goat head
5) On the position of number five we have the one and only Leviathan! He’s not a fallen angel! He’s not like other girls! He’s edgy, he’s sensitive, he’s sad, nobody understands him. He kins Ebony Dementia Darkness Raven Way. But in a sexy way. I like what you’ve done with the hair. Paired with completely black eyes he’s essentially the perfect Scene Boy™️ from back in the day. He would have been Tumblr famous. Even now he has the capacity to become one of Tumblr’s sexy man (derogatory) cause he has the same vibe as Jotun Loki. 6/10 - No Comments cause I’m worried he might actually just eat me.
4) Belial is number four cause while he’s definitely good looking there’s something about him that screams I’d Mansplain Your Own Period To You. Probably invested in Bitcoin and trying to overheat the planet to death. Not gonna lie whatever he’s doing with his hands is actually giving model, it’s giving Timothy chalamet, it’s giving white boy who paints nails and wears rings and doesn’t shut up about it. The hair is actually really cool and I wish my hair looked that effortlessly good. Whatever hair products you stole from Brad Mondo, I want some rn 😤 6.5/10 - idk still kinda basic tho
3) Moving on to the top three we have Azazel! I liked him when we saw him in TMI. He’s giving fuck boy archie andrews here. Probably says baby girl unironically. Are his pants sagging or are they two toned? That’s a secret he’ll never tell. The reason he was cast down from hell is actually because god was jealous of that one lock of hair that falls perfectly across his forehead. His nails are done, his hair is perfect, his abs look rock hard. All in all has that all-American rugged good looks to him. 7/10- red hair actually looks good on you king keep it up
2) Our runner up is none other than Astaroth! Look at that serve! Look me in the eyes and tell me this man doesn’t belong on the cover of a cheap erotica novel about fallen angels!!! The glance downwards, the wings bared, the contrast of the red cloth with the black wings!! He did not come to play because for Astaroth, the world is a runaway and he’s a model. The luscious hair and the sexy torso scars truly sets this man apart. I’m not big on selling my soul but for you king, I’d fr put that shit on eBay for 50 cents. You think you were misjudged and pleads your case? Lemme be your defense attorney king, I’ll fight God in a Denny’s parking lot for you no questions asked. 9/10 - Unlike Belphegor I still believe in the institution of marriage so ahahaha 👀😌 iykwim
1) And finally our top boy from Hell is… none other than Samael himself! That cute lil feather on the hat paired with that Jack sparrow red scarf really shows he knows how to work a fit. The rolled up sleeves got me 👀 at his forearms like I’m a Victorian man seeing a bit of ankle. This demon legit looks like a man young Taylor Swift would write a song about. He’s young, he’s hip, he probably has a fashion tiktok and does mad transitions from outfit to outfit. 10/10 wouldn’t do this man’s sexiness justice cause he’s simply too sexy for such a trivial scale.
#the shadowhunter chronicles#tsc#princes of hell#cassandra clare#shadowhunters#asmodeus#astaroth#samael#bilael#mammon#belphegor#leviathan#azazel#the mortal instruments#the infernal devices#magnus bane#jace herondale#tessa Carstairs#malec
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Protector : Surprise?
Pairing : Dean x Reader, Sam, Alex (oc), Azazel, Detective Baker (oc), Ash, Brady (mentioned), Abby (oc) (mentioned)
Word count : 2,795
Warnings : Prison (mentioned), interviews/interrogations, pregnancy complications due to stress, bedrest, fear, panic, house fire, guns, violence, physical abuse, threats, murder, death . Series TW : Domestic Abuse is a constant topic- be it mentioned, or actually happening.
Continuation of this series was commissioned by : @iflostreturntosteverogers
Final part of Protector.
Masterlist • Patreon • Ko-fi.
Weeks passed, and everything was being dragged back up. New statements, new interviews. Alex was pulled in again, but this time he had both you and Brady with him and he was treated with respect. No asshole like Baker trying to stonewall him into some kind of a confession. “We just want to be sure this statement is correct, given everything that Baker’s done. Just a formality, I promise.”
New detectives and new experts poured over every detail of Dean’s arrest and the so-called case Baker was trying to build around the idea of Dean murdering your first husband.
You were brought back in the room yourself, asked why Baker had it out for Dean, why he was so sure Dean had killed your first husband. You were honest with that fact that you had no idea but you were scared. Baker scared you. Then you opened your phone, went to a picture and slid it across the table.
“When was this?”
“Yesterday morning. Around 11. I went out to check the mail and there he was.” It had scared you to find Baker parked outside, eyes boring into you. You had kept your eyes locked on his as you brought up your phone, snapped a picture and then called Brady. “I’d like to file a police report of continued harassment despite a restraining order. This isn’t good for my pregnancy. My doctor is worried.” You then slipped them a note from your doctor about the stress.
“Can I get a copy of this picture?”
“Of course.” They handed you your phone back and you were given an email to send the photo to.
Days turned to weeks as interviews continued, evidence was questioned and each and every lie Baker told was revealed. The stress of it all had gotten to be too much, your doctor putting you on temporary bedrest. All information about the case went through Sam, and you only heard bits and pieces of the good stuff, only things that would give you hope.
You saw Azazel a few times since that day in the grocery store. You’d walked out of your last doctors appointment to find him in the waiting room, eyes on you as you hurried past, Sam's hand on your lower back to keep you calm. Dean got a picture of that, too.
But since then, nothing. No Azazel, no Baker. Sam said Baker was under surveillance, and Azazel was now being hunted for betraying the patch. Apparently, someone had dropped a video of the arrest at the garage on their doorstep and they finally listened to what Dean had been telling them. One of their top guys was working the other side. And word was getting around fast.
It was another quiet day. Alex was at school, Abby was napping and you were relaxing in bed with a book while Sam headed out on a quick errand. Something about needing to pick something up for dinner, but he’d be back by the time Abby woke up. He promised. You hadn’t minded. Sam had been stuck to you like glue for so long now you relished the time alone. Finally.
The words started to blur, your eyelids getting heavy. Letting the book fall from your hand, you rolled onto your side, pulling the pillow close and letting yourself drift off to sleep.
A piercing sound snapped you awake and panic instantly set in. A fire alarm. Your fire alarm. It sounded like it was coming from downstairs. Getting up, you rushed down and followed the sound to the kitchen. You expected to find Sam cooking but instead found your stove on fire.
You were confused, how could that have happened, no one else seemed to be home and unless you slept walked down and then back to bed, it hadn't been you. You ran to yank open the cupboard under the kitchen sink and pulled out the fire extinguisher, working as fast as you could to get the fire put out.
As the flames died, you noticed something on your stove. A hand towel. It was mostly burned, some blackened shreds all that remained. You looked around the kitchen, looking for anything else out of place but found nothing. Brutus was barking wildly at the back door, desperate to get inside as his claws scratched against the glass every time he jumped against it. You had forgotten he’d been let out before you laid down.
You sighed with relief despite the uncertainty. You were just glad it was out, that no one was hurt. But before you could relax, let alone let Brutus back in, another smoke detector started going off. This time, upstairs.
“Abby!” Running as fast as you could back for the front stairs, you almost fell when he stepped out in front of you, blocking you off from the stairs and the front door. “Move.” You threatened, fire extinguisher clutched tight in your hands. He didn’t move, didn’t say a word, just gave you that cold dead stare he seemed to always be giving you. Your eyes shot to the stairs, this time a click of his tongue grabbed your attention over the sounding alarm and Abby’s cries.
“Don’t even think about it.”
Screaming, you went to take a swing at him with the fire extinguisher, but he far too easily knocked it from your hands. Then he swung, the back of his hand hitting your cheek hard. So hard in fact, that you fell to the floor, eyes wide with shock and fear.
“Why are you doing this to me? I didn’t do anything to you.. Please.. Please, just let me get to my daughter. Let me get her out. You want me, you can have me, please.. Just let me save her.” He just stepped closer, no answer, no change in his face at all. You tried to get up anyways, and he just hit you again. “WHY!?” you screamed at him as tears ran down your cheeks.
You were scared, you were terrified, it was that day all over again in your head, but just like that day you had a child to protect. You could hear Abby’s screams and it was killing you that you couldn’t get her, protect her.
“Because Dean Winchester deserves it.”
“FUCK YOU!” A boot came up in a kick, and you twisted yourself enough that the side of your ribs took the brunt of it instead of your stomach, but it didn’t stop you from crying out in pain.
Then he was leaning over you. “I’m going to make you hurt. I’m going to make it hurt so fucking bad you can’t move.” he smiled at you. “Then I’m going to watch your house burn down around you. Watch as that son of yours finds you. Then kill him too.” You shifted, ready to try fighting back, take a swing, anything, but he grabbed your face by the cheeks in one hand and put a gun to your head which effectively stopped any and all plans. “Then I’m going to wait. I don’t care how long it fucking takes, I’m going to wait. I want to see the look on his fucking face when he comes home to nothing. Because that piece of shit husband of yours took everything from me.”
Your eyes shot to the stairs again, Abby’s screams louder than anything to your ears, and he pushed the gun harder against your temple bringing your attention back to him. His gaze locked on yours.
Suddenly his face changed, and there was a blur of someone running past and up the stairs. Sam. You’d know that giant frame in a plaid button up anywhere. He was going for Abby, he was going to save her. Nothing else mattered.
Until you looked up and behind the man who still held a gun to your head. You couldn’t stop the tears that welled up all over again. “Let go of my fucking wife.” he growled out, a gun of his own in his hand and pressing into Azazel's skull.
“You’re going to have to kill m-”
You flinched as the shot rang out and blood splattered onto your face. You sat there stunned for a moment, not sure he was real as the body hit the floor. “Dean?”
“Surprise?” he gave you a half smirk.
“Dean!” you got up as fast as you could, throwing yourself against him not caring about the blood. You clung to him and cried.
“It's okay, baby. I’m home.” His arms wrapped around you almost just as tight. “You know I wouldn’t let anything hurt you.”
Then Sam down the stairs, Abby in his arms. “Here.” he told you. “Take her outside. Your bed’s on fire.” Your eyes shot to Dean.
“I’m not going anywhere, baby.” He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead and you grabbed Abby before heading out front.
You stood there, your forehead against hers as you cried. You had been so scared you’d lose her, so scared that you’d be stuck there listening to her die. That that would be what you died with in your head.
“Mom!?” Alex rushed over and you started crying even harder. “What the fuck happened?” He asked, ignoring Ash who hurried past and into the house. “That’s it, I’m out of school, I’m not fucking leaving you again!”
“You’re going to school, end of discussion.”
Alex’s head snapped up towards the voice. “Dean!” he rushed from you to Dean, who smiled and opened his arms. There was a moment of quiet between them before Alex pulled back. “What happened!? Why does mom have blood on her?”
“Better come inside and get cleaned up, baby.” You looked over at Dean, still so afraid. “Fire’s out. You're safe now.”
“Fire!?” Alex shot a panicked look to you and Abby, then hurried into the house and froze before getting too far. When you walked in, he was looking down at the body on the ground before he looked back up and met your eyes. “What the hell happened, mom?”
“He wanted to kill us. All of us, watch the house burn down around us so Dean would have nothing left to come home to. I thought I’d lose Abby.”
Alex turned to Sam. “I was getting Dean. Judge ruled last night he was to be released. He wanted it to be a surprise. I should have got dad to come stay with you while I was gone, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay.” you tried to reassure him, let him know that you didn’t blame him for this. Your voice probably wasn’t very convincing, at least not right now, not with all the pain and fear you were still processing, but you really didn’t blame Sam. “My protector showed up, right on time.” You looked up at Dean, letting him lean in and kiss you gently.
“Always, baby. I’ll always do everything in my power to keep you safe.” You gave him a small smile. “Now, get that ass up to the showers and then you’re on the couch. You’re supposed to be on bedrest.” Dean gave your ass a slap with a smirk. “Sammy, get dad on the line, tell him to get his ass over here and not to come alone. I need this mess cleaned. Alex and I are going to head out to get a new bed. Ash, you’re on babysitting duty.”
“Aye, aye, captain.” Ash mock saluted, making Dean roll his eyes.
“Baby, my jacket?”
“Where you left it.”
With another sweet and tender kiss, Dean headed upstairs and back into his bedroom. He ignored the blackened and burned bed at first, reaching into his closet and pulling out leather. It felt good to wear it again, to feel the weight of it and the patches stitched to it. His jaw tightened as he looked at the bed his children had been conceived in, the bed he’d made love to you in countless times, the bed you had been sleeping in just an hour ago. Azazel might be dead, but it didn’t end there.
And Dean had every intention of ending it.
He knew they were coming for him and he knew they’d be coming soon. He had to get away, he had to get out of town, out of the country. He needed to vanish for a while. Anything to stay out of prison. There was no way he’d survive it. Moving the curtain aside, he peeked out of the motel room and at the car he’d bought last night with cash parked directly outside. It was 2pm, and while the streets weren’t empty, everything was pretty quiet outside the Motel.
Perfect.
Baker grabbed his meager belongings, tucked his handgun into the back of his jeans, and rushed out to his car, eyes darting around as he hurried to the trunk and opened it, tossing his bag in. As he slammed the trunk shut, something was placed over his head that plunged him into darkness and he started to panic.
When he came to again, it was dark and he couldn’t move. His hands were tied behind his back, his feet tied together. He tried to get his bearings. He could hear the low rumble of an engine, the vibrations of a car driving down a highway. He knew he was in a trunk, now he just needed to find the tail lights and kick them out. Shifting around to give himself the space was difficult as he realized something else was in there with him, something big that smelt faintly of blood. He grunted when he hit his head and felt a small trickle of blood. “Shit.” he cursed and started kicking, hoping to meet his mark.
Suddenly, everything stopped, everything was quiet. Despite being in the dark under whatever was still over his head, his eyes frantically darted around as he tried to listen for what would come next.
Doors. Two of them, opening and closing, one on each side of the car. Foot steps, but faint. So he wasn’t on a solid road anymore, and not on gravel either, or a floor or the foot falls would have more sound to them. A field? Shit shit shit. A field meant open space. Even if he could get away and run, he’d be an easy enough target to shoot down.
The trunk opened, and hands reached in, yanking him out. He tried to fight them, tried to do what he could but he was put on his feet, dragged away from the vehicle and then kicked in the back of the knee forcing him to drop.
The hood was yanked off, and even though it was pitch black outside, he had to blink a few times before he could see where he was. The desert.
“You wanted to know where he was.” Baker’s head shot around and he found himself face to face with Dean Winchester. “You found him.” Dean pointed out into the desert, and Baker followed his finger. “There’s no marker, but he’s out there. He hurt her so I fucking killed him.”
Suddenly, a body was dropped down next to Baker, and he looked over to see Azazel, bullet wound to the head. Glancing up from the body, he saw Sam dusting off his hands. There was only one reason Dean would finally admit what he did. Baker wasn’t making it out of here alive.
“You hurt her.” Dean growled into his ear. “You fucking put my family in danger when I couldn’t protect them. She almost died.” Dean grabbed Baker by the hair and yanked his head back painfully. “MY DAUGHTER almost fucking died. Almost burned to death. Because of you.”
“I didn’t-”
“You did do this, Baker. You told him who they were, you knew what he would do. If I would have come home just an hour later..” Dean shook his head. “You can’t even imagine the level of hell I would have rained down on you.”
“Dean-” Dean straightened back up and put a gun to Baker's head. “Look I didn’t-” He was cut off by the bullet that ripped through his head and his body fell to the ground.
Dean was wiping down Baker’s gun that he’d just shot him with when his phone rang. Pulling it out of his back pocket, he smiled seeing your name light up his screen. “Hey, baby. You should be sleeping.”
“Woke up to pee and you weren’t back yet. Couldn’t get back to sleep. Are you going to be home soon?”
“I’ll be heading back home soon. Just finishing up something. You don’t need to worry, baby. No one’s ever going to hurt you again. Your protector is home. I love you.”
“I love you too, Dean. Be careful.”
“Always am.”
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Tagging : Protector : @jaycc7983 @volleyballer519 @meganlpie @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo @londoncallingbutiwontpickup @valsworldofcreativity @samsgirl93 @delightfullykrispypeach
Dean - @akshi8278 @adoptdontshoppets @evyiione @karikatz12481 @idksupernatural @deandreamernp
SPN - @sandlee44 @just-another-busy-fangirl @mrswhozeewhatsis @deanandsamsbitch @deans-baby-momma @thebescht @67-chevy-baby @supraveng @musiclovinchic93 @holyfuckloueh @ksgeekgirl @hobby27 @maddiepants @roxyspearing @onethirstyunicorn @fandom-princess-forevermore @kalesrebellion @deanwanddamons @thoughts-and-funnies
All tags - @sorenmarie87 @artemisthebadger @winchesterprincessbride @iflostreturntosteverogers @akfonkin @rebelminxy @foxyjwls007 @onethirstyunicorn @shaelyn102 @supernaturalenchanted @kazkingdom @babypink224221 @emoryhemsworth @ilovefanfic86 @pie-with-hunters @anaelsbrunette @feelmyroarrrr @letsdisneythings @cdwmtjb8 @notyourtypicalrose @xostephanie @ilovedeanspie @defenderrosetyler @amandamdiehl
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in support of Texas relief, @mystifiedgal donated $10, and requested Sam developing mind-reading and learning what Dean wants. Thank you for donating!
to get your own personalized fic, please see this post.
(read on AO3)
It starts as dreams, the night after they lose Ava. They drove straight from Lafayette to Peoria and after Peoria they move one town over so as not to be newcomers in a town that just had a homicide, and they work all through that day, in Bloomington, calling contacts and putting out feelers, trying to see what might've happened to a short sweet dark-haired girl, a secretary, who'd never done a thing to deserve this. Sam couldn't stop thinking that, no matter how stupid it was. How Ava, how all the rest, hadn't done a single thing to merit this kind of punishment.
He falls asleep though he didn't think he would. Dean's reading at the table with the lamp turning the backs of his ears, his neck, pure white, and Sam's looking at him and thinking about Ava's face shocked-white in the neon from the motel, and then he's asleep, and he's dreaming but it doesn't feel like dreaming. It doesn't feel like a vision, either, how that vicious sharp reality climbs down his throat. In the dream he knows he's dreaming, and he isn't really there, and not even the vague protagonist-body that's usually in his dreams, when he dreams he forgot to study for an exam, or is standing in a rotting house with an empty gun and ghosts slipping through the walls, or smiling at a clever girl with her blouse unbuttoned just right. Instead this dream is—feeling. A wash of dark, and water lapping at the edges of a boat he can't seem to see beyond. Dean, sitting in the stern, his head in his hands, and because Sam isn't really here he can't yell or act or splash the dark water into Dean's face, but—as soon as Sam thinks that, about splashing the water, the surge of fear is so overwhelming that the world turns black. Dean's fingers curl against the side of his head, his ring flashing, and his lips are parted and wet and something unknown flashes through Sam's gut and when he wakes up, dragging in air like he's been running a mile, the room is dark and Dean's a curled lump on the other bed and Sam carries that strange, fearful feeling with him all through the next day, like a fresh-broken bone, throbbing.
Dean frowns at him when he's snappish at lunch, but doesn't call him on it. Dean's being careful with him, which Sam—hates, is grateful for. So Sam maybe didn't have the best reaction to finding out their dad's last words, and maybe the thing with Gordon was—a lot. Gordon was a lot. Ava, poor Scott Carey, Andy and Ansem, Max. It's all been a lot. Dean maybe has been struggling with the secret he was carrying but Sam's struggling with how his mouth tastes like metal all the time, thinking of yellow eyes looming up out of the dark, and so he'll take some concessions, maybe even a little pity, if it makes Dean focus on what they really need to focus on. Dean's letting him direct, not looking for other hunts, staying right here in Illinois and keeping his nose to the ground for Ava or for any hint of another 1983 kid with unexplained powers, and Sam doesn't need anything else, beyond that, not right now. They'll work out the rest later.
Trouble is: Sam's focus is split. He spends the day casing details of Ava's life, job and fiancé and family history and any single second where her life might have brushed against the dark, and at night his dreams are a flood. Black water, rising. Dean, terrified, and his skin that kind of white that comes from a flare of too much exposure, and his eyes dark hollows, and the bones standing out in his hands, clutching at his head. On the fourth night of everything the same choking claustrophobia Dean turns his face and Sam sees that he's bleeding, from the ears and from the corner of his mouth, and the blood is so dark it looks black, too, and Dean covers his mouth with one hand and then though the surrounding water is the same endless expanse the boat becomes that cabin where Azazel rode their dad's body, the shift seamless and unexplained in the way of dreams, and Dean's got a hole in his stomach, the blood flooding out onto the dry wood of the boat/cabin floor, and he puts lax fingers against it that don't stop the bleeding at all, and Sam wakes up that time and has to scramble for the bathroom, retching, although when he clutches the sides of the sink nothing comes up and his mouth just tastes like—saltwater.
That day Dean brings him coffee in the morning and tries to be circumspect. He's bad at it. "Starting to smell like a dorm room in here, man," Dean says, mouth quirked. "Laundry stank and BO and, uh, making like the Lone Ranger?" He makes a vague gesture around his lap, but his heart's not in it. "Gotta air it out, dude. See some sunlight for twenty minutes."
"I'm working," Sam says, but to be honest he's not. He's sitting there with Ellen's half-remembered list of demon sightings in the last six months and instead of working the map he's been staring at the closed curtains for the whole time Dean's been gone. He drags his good hand over his face and lets his heavy casted arm thump down over the notebook. Dean raises his eyebrows, letting a glance over the empty map make his point for him, and Sam sighs. "Making like the Lone Ranger?" he says.
Dean's smile gets more real. "Unless you've got a pretty little Tonto around here, somewhere—" he starts, and Sam rolls his eyes and flicks a crumpled ball of wasted notes at Dean's face, and while he's sputtering Sam says, suddenly desperate for it, "Yeah, okay, we could use some air. Laundromat around here?"
"Hey," Dean says, sitting up, "I don't think I heard myself volunteer for laundry duty—" and then, twenty minutes later, they're installed at a laundromat, empty at nine on a Tuesday morning, Dean bitching still about whose turn it is to fold the whites but looking decently happy, stretched out in one of the shitty plastic chairs with coffee resting on his belly and a morning talkshow on the crackling TV mounted in one corner of the ceiling, and Sam feels it.
Sam feels it. There's a chair between him and Dean, piled with a box of donuts and the police folder Dean went out and stole yesterday, and Sam grips the armrest on the side Dean can't see and squeezes so hard the metal edges hurt his hand, and it's welling up in him. A grey clouded day with a shaft of sunlight slipping through and warming a patch of cold dirt—that's what it feels like, Dean's happiness. Sam licks his lips and breathes shallowly, controlled. When he glances over Dean's watching the show—some sponsored segment about a special vacuum for pet hair, in which he seems completed absorbed—and he's relaxed, in that way that Sam's only ever seen Dean relaxed when they're alone. Completely in his body, unselfconscious of how he's taking up space, boots kicked out on the grimy floor, his eyes clear. A fleck of pink donut frosting on his top lip. There are shadows under his eyes because he doesn't sleep enough and there's a bruise at his temple where Gordon hit him, but he's okay, for this moment. Sam can feel it, in a completely distinct way to how he feels his own body, his own aches and tiredness and worry, and he sits there in ringing panic until the washer buzzes. Dean blinks, the spell of the daytime anchors suspended, and frowns at him, and says, "Hey, earth to egghead, I am here in a strictly supervisory capacity," and Sam has to roll his eyes again and stand up and deal with the laundry, and there's Dean, again, the happiness muted and rolled under—a dragging pull at the chest, an ache long-held and familiar. Worry, concern. Annoyance, too, and then as Sam's dumping their load of jeans and jackets into one of the rolling baskets that twinge of annoyance slips away into guilt, and he has to brace his hands on the sides of the basket and breathe again, slowly, trying not to crawl out of his skin with the violation of it.
"What?" Dean says, while Sam's silent over the wet clothes. "Did I leave gum in my pocket or something?"
He knows Dean. He has known Dean, from when he was little and running around after him thinking his big brother was the coolest smartest person in the world to when he was a sad kid thinking his brother didn't actually like him that much to when he was an angry teenager wishing his brother would take his side in anything, ever, for fucking once. Dean was always a known quantity, no matter what. No surprises. Sam knew when he was cheerful and angry and hurt and he knew how to deal with every version. This is—more than that.
No signs, still, of Ava. They move outward. Day trips, stretching out into different towns, different precincts. They split up, Sam renting a car, and on the state highways with the radio silent Sam tries to think, with Dean not around with his thoughts filling up the air between them.
He catches hints, with other people. A sheriff who's not sure why some U.S. Marshal is asking questions, and he's clearly annoyed but there's an undercurrent Sam catches, a sapping weariness and sorrow that Sam blinks over before he excuses himself, wondering. A search: a wife, recently dead at forty. Sam chews the inside of his cheek raw on the drive back to Bloomington, and Dean texts and says dinner? back in thirty and Sam replies I'll pick up pizza and he waits in the lobby of the pizza place with his knee jogging and a waitress smiles at him, professional, and Sam takes a deep breath and looks at her, taking in her sneakers worn around the edges and her muscular legs and the greys pulled back into her ponytail and she says, "Can I get you a Coke or anything while you wait, hon?" and a swirl of heat curls into Sam's stomach, slants down queerly low, and he sits up straight and watches her eyes flick over him, his chest and lower, and he blurts out, "No," and then, too late, "thank you," and she frowns and the heat fizzles out into disappointment and he thinks, fuck. Fuck. What now?
With Dean the feelings bloom raw and real and present. Sam doesn't have to look. A day of frustration and no leads but Dean doesn't actually feel the frustration, not really, because he's humoring Sam's obsession over finding this girl Dean never even met—and there's a little satisfaction there, too, something that makes Sam set his beer down a little too hard on the table when he recognizes it, because they're spinning their wheels here, Dean thinks, and that means that Sam's being kept here, safe, away from demons and whatever plans there might be, so he's getting what he wanted, after all. The second Apes movie is on the motel TV and Dean's watching that, scratching his belly idly after too much pizza, and Sam goes into the bathroom and sits on the closed toilet and presses his fingers into his ears so hard he can't hear anything but the beating rush of his own heart, and even through a closed door and quiet and dark behind Sam's eyes he can feel it: his brother, content to be here with Sam, on a night where nothing's yet gone wrong. Little does he know.
Is this some new shift, in Sam's visions? Not only to see the future but to see—what? He doesn't know how to define this. He's seen in movies when people read minds, like that terrible Mel Gibson thing that Dean loved even if he pretended it was shitty—it's always narrated dialogue, someone's thoughts piped directly into the psychic's head. What Sam's getting isn't as useful as that. Emotion, shifting sensation, the ebb and flood and draining drag of how people move through the difficult world. Guilt, misery. Contentment. Fury, brief and shocking, enough to make Sam snap the pencil he's holding, and he looks up to find Dean leafing through Dad's journal, his face a calm mask, and Sam thinks, jesus, he has to tell Dean. He has to, and yet: what can he possibly say?
The dreams are still bad. Sam comes awake like out of a sucking bog and he breathes slow, eyes on the ceiling. Dean's small snores in the next bed. The fear's a pool, lapping against Sam's skin, and he turns his head and says, very quietly, "Dean." There's no answer because of course Dean's deep asleep, of course he's dreaming, and Sam rolls over, watches the slow rise of Dean's chest, concentrates. The dark rises thick, miserable, but Sam already knows that part.
He gets up, keeping quiet, and takes the step between their beds. The room isn't all that dark, the parking lot lights seeping bright behind the curtains, so it's easy to see the gilded line of Dean's cheekbone, his lips parted in sleep, his eyes closed and still. His face tipped toward Sam's bed. Sam wants to touch it so abruptly that his fingers are already reaching out but he stops himself. He leans over, instead, bracing a hand on the headboard, and tries to focus, tries to pin down the amorphous shifting haze of Dean's thrumming head. When he closes his eyes he doesn't see the black lake, the creaking boat, but the fear slips, slides, lapping against him. Against them both. Sam can't grasp it. He's not Andy, to push thoughts into someone else, and he doesn't see how he could get control of this—to ease the fear, or tell Dean somehow that it's going to be okay even if, really, Sam's not sure that's true. He stands up and turns away, goes to the window to look out at the silent parking lot and breathe, waiting it out. The dream swells and subsides, around him, and maybe that's Dean slipping down into a different REM cycle or something but it's a relief. Sam presses his forehead against the cool glass. Visions, and now this. His pointless, stupid powers, that don't let him do anything except see shit he can barely hope to change. Whatever powers the yellow-eyed demon was after them for, Sam hopes he won't be disappointed that Sam's in particular are completely impotent.
By the time two weeks have gone by Sam's—used to it is maybe not the phrase, but he can deal. Still in Bloomington, still searching. Waiting around, now, mostly, for Ellen's contacts to get back to them, for Ash to come up with anything on a scrape of, as far as Dean could relate, the entire internet. If Sam's honest with himself he thinks they're never going to find Ava, and if they do certainly not alive, but they're looking anyway. Dean doesn't suggest they move on, doesn't argue for anything else. He keeps them fed and caffeinated, finds new badly bowdlerized action movies to watch on the room's TV, follows Sam's leads when Sam suggests a new avenue of searching. His dreams are a little calmer, maybe just from the fact that they're stalled in place—a vacation, of a sort, like Dean asked for even if they're doing nothing remotely fun—and during the day Sam sits surrounded by his thoughts and it's… comforting. Sort of.
Happy isn't the word, Sam realizes, for that thin sunlight feeling. Contentment, maybe. Dean has it when they're quiet together, when they're doing stupid chores like laundry or taking a break in research to make some salt rounds, when they're arguing over Stallone versus Van Damme for the tenth time. When they're working Sam's gut tightens without his say-so in random spikes of anxiety, of worry. His heart clenches and he actually puts a hand over it, and he's just reading the police blotter in the paper, so when he looks up and Dean's got his half open to the obits, Sam frowns and says, "What?"
Dean jerks, like he was caught at something. "I didn't say anything," he says, and his face is calm but his hand's spread over some thin column, some family's sadness, and when he gets up to piss Sam pulls the paper around and sees it's an obituary for someone's father, dead a little too early, and Sam sits back and puts his knuckles into his eyes and breathes out, trying to shake the lingering ache of it.
Coming out of the shower that night, Sam wraps a towel around his waist and steps out into the bedroom. "What's for dinner?" he says, thinking he'll argue for Chinese whatever Dean says, and thinking that he might try searching up more information about Ansem's family, in particular, to see if there were any patterns there they could use, and he's in his own head enough that it takes him a minute to feel how the room has shifted around him. He pauses, leaning over his duffle bag, trying to pinpoint.
"There's that cheesesteak place over on 15th," Dean says, easy, but he's not at ease. Sam's feeling that same unexpected swoop in his gut, that low achy pull, and this time it's not from a woman but from a guy and so it's a tightness in his nuts, his blood heating. Sam grips his t-shirt in both hands, tight enough that his broken wrist aches. His cheeks have flooded hot and he stands up, shrugs his shoulders and feels the cold air on the water still on his skin, and the—the lust, because that's what it is, this thick wanting that's pulsing up through his stomach—it swoops low, shifts, and the flooding rise of guilt and fear that follows is so fast that Sam coughs, shocked.
"Yo, Marlee Matlin," Dean says. "Cheesesteak?"
"Yeah," Sam says, not turning around. He doesn't want to see what face goes with this feeling. "No onions on mine."
Dean snorts. "Heathen," he says, and there's a rattle of the keys being dragged off the table and Dean swinging into his leather coat, and he says, "Have clothes on by the time I get back, you exhibitionist," and the tangled mix of wanting and terror and shame is so thick that Sam can still feel it when the door's slammed behind him, when the car's rumbling on, fading only when the sound of the engine does, and Sam turns around then finally and looks at the empty room and thinks—nothing. His brain doesn't know what to do with this.
The cheesesteaks are decent. They watch the local news for any blood-and-guts, and then Frasier reruns. Dean's content has been blasted away by what happened earlier but he's acting fine and Sam's wondering, now, how often he's been fine when something raw and bizarre was rearing up in him. How long it's been in him. "You okay?" Dean asks, at some point, light but careful, really asking, and Sam dredges up a half-smile from somewhere and shrugs, says, "Just thinking," and Dean rolls his eyes and says, "Oh, god help us all," and Sam throws a balled napkin at him, and Dean grins and swings into the bathroom and Sam hears the sink go on but when he closes his eyes his head is full of Dean's head, and he can almost see it: Dean braced over the sink, his head hung between his shoulders, his cheeks hot and his hands clenched and him saying to himself something like stop.
Sam blinks, back in the room. He did hear that. Stop, Dean says, inside his own head, loud and deliberate, but his thoughts swirl somewhere else and he's imagining—there's Sam's back, broad and damp and golden in the light, and the low line of the towel around his waist, and the wet curl of his hair around his ear, and how Dean wanted to put his mouth there, so badly he could almost taste the water—and then the harsh wave of recrimination floods the image out and Dean looks up into the mirror and thinks to himself, in clear words that he doesn't say out loud, you pathetic fucking freak, and Sam has to get up off the bed and slam out of the room and stand in the parking lot with freezing air on his bare arms and he holds his hand over his mouth so he doesn't curse out loud and he thinks jesus, bad enough that one of them is thinking it—the self-hatred that's tightening up his chest is hardly easing, from getting some distance, and soon he'll have to go back into the room because Dean will wonder what the hell he's doing, standing outside in his socks like a weirdo, and Sam has to say—he has to—this isn't fair, to either of them—but how can he say it without Dean knowing exactly what Sam must have overheard—overfelt—and Sam knows his brother, always has, and he knows what'll follow. A freakout, to say the least. Recrimination, reflected blame, anger and then fear—always the fear—that Sam's slipping further away, or worse that Dean will have pushed him further away—and Sam can't do this, he can't live like this, without Dean. He can't handle this stupid, terrible year, not without his brother on his side.
He takes a deep breath, cold in his lungs. Jesus, is that what he's going to do? Just live with it, because—
"Dude, what the hell?" comes Dean's voice, behind him. Sam turns and finds Dean, yes, standing in the open doorway, his hair a little damp at the edges like he splashed his face, his eyebrows high because here's his little brother being a weirdo like always. Except that he's more worried than his face lets on, and there's a rising tide of is something happening, is this something about the demon, the tang of fear that fills every night.
"Thought I heard something," Sam says, trying to interrupt it before it gets too bad. "By the car. I think it was just a dog or something."
He's a better liar than Dean gives him credit for; already it's working, the fear sliding into warm exasperation. That thin, frail beam of sunlight. "Freaking out Fido, now?" Dean says, while Sam walks wincing back across the parking lot, scattered gravel poking through his socks. "New low, bro."
"Yeah, yeah," Sam says, brushing past where Dean's holding the door open, and there's a thrill—in his chest, in Dean's—that he clamps down on, ignores, but he can't ignore the misery around it. That's a problem.
Sam stays awake that night, waiting for Dean to sleep. The black lake, the blood. Sam turns on his side and watches Dean's face and closes his eyes slowly, thinking of that moment just before the guilt, the shame—the clear, unadulterated want—and when he dreams they're in the cabin, again, and Dean's bleeding with his unconcerned hand holding nothing inside, and the water surges hard against the sides of the boat, floods the floorboards, and Sam opens his eyes and slides off his bed onto the floor and lays his hand onto Dean's stomach where in the dream he's dying, and he presses his forehead against the mattress and shudders, aching with how much it hurts, and the dream—shifts.
He breathes in, still halfway in sleep himself. Dean's hand covered in blood and his shoulders hunched up, but his face turns up and he sees Sam, standing there in the doorway watching him. He says something but Sam, the real Sam, can't hear it; the Sam-of-the-dream comes closer, looms. He looks a foot taller than Dean, broader. Monstrous almost. Sam catches his breath and the dream-Sam puts his hand over Dean's hand, holds it tighter against the wound, and Dean tips his head back and murmurs something and the Sam of the dream presses their hands tighter, hard enough that it should hurt except in the way of dreams there's no real pain but only the knowledge of being torn open—and then the Sam of the dream leans in and presses his mouth to Dean's, a chaste strange kiss, like kissing marble—and their hands sink into Dean's stomach, tearing—and when the kiss ends Sam lifts up and Dean opens his eyes and Sam's eyes are yellow, from edge to edge, and Sam shoves away from the bed, scrambling so fast he slams his shoulder into the frame of his own, and by some fucking miracle Dean doesn't wake up so Sam's left panting, alone on the carpet in the dark, a remembered warmth against his lips and his hand feeling an echoed-ghost slickness of black, dripping blood.
He puts on his sneakers, a hoodie, sticks his phone in his pocket but turns it off. He goes for a run. Three a.m. is silent around here and he needs that, needs no people. He runs hard enough and long enough that it's hard to think beyond the burning in his thighs, his lungs. His hurting shoulder where he's going to have a bruise.
When he gets back Dean comes awake at the door opening. "Where were you?" he says, bleary, and Sam says, "Out for a run, go back to sleep," and Dean's tired enough that he blinks at Sam heavily and mumbles, "Okay, freak," and subsides, turning over and hugging the pillow close. Sam stands with his back to the door, his hands fisted around the knob, watching as Dean slips back down into sleep, and it's deep, dreamless, a relief.
Sam showers and takes his time about it. He's not getting back to bed today. He washes his hair and his face, not bothering to be careful about keeping his cast dry anymore—it's almost time for it to come off, anyway—and his brain won't empty, won't let him forget. He can't get the image of his own eyes out of his head. Glinting gold. The version of him in the dream wasn't cruel, because it wasn't human. Peeling Dean open and giving him what he wanted and killing him, all at once. It's not hard to interpret.
He washes the rest, streaking soap. Takes his limp dick in hand, running his thumb under the foreskin, and then holds himself, his cast braced against the tile wall. He hasn't jerked off in—he can't even remember, the last time. It could clear his head. He squeezes, sliding wet up to the head, but what he imagines is—Dean's mouth, in the dark, barely parted. His own shoulders, gleaming inside Dean's head. He lets go of his dick and wipes his hand over his lips, trying to get the sensation out, and shuts off the water. It can't go on like this. Not like this.
He dries off in a half-assed way and tugs on boxers and nothing else. Out in the room Dean's still asleep and dawn's not yet rising. Sam shuts off the bathroom light and in the mostly-dark goes over to Dean's bed and sits on the edge of the mattress, and puts his hand on the back of Dean's neck. A blurring shift, coming on like a slow dimmer switch, as he rises up out of whatever dreamless space he was in. "Dean," Sam says, very quietly, and Dean's eye slits open, gleaming. He turns his head, rolls back a little, and Sam's hand drags along to his shoulder, fitting there on the smooth warm round of it. Dean blinks and is still almost entirely offline, the fog of his thoughts nothing but grey sleep, and Sam leans down and kisses him, then, catches his mouth a little off-center with his lips dry, his breath sour, his body warm and loose and unable to stop him.
No reaction for a few seconds, either in his body or his head. Sam opens his mouth and presses Dean's lips wider and gets the morning-taste of him, thick and strange, soft. He touches Dean's chin, the damp edge of his cast dragging against his skin, and it's that which seems to wake Dean up—his body going stiff, his mind flooding with—god, Sam can't untangle it all. "What," Dean says, against Sam's mouth, pulling back, but Sam grips his shoulder and presses him flat against the bed, leaning over him, keeping him here. Flicker of his eyelashes in the dark and his mouth's shining now, too, from Sam's mouth. Sam's stomach turns over to see it.
Sam doesn't say anything. Dean's breathing hard, looking up at him. Fear, pooling around the bed, flooding the room like the bed's the boat and the room's the lake, and Sam maybe doesn't get it entirely—he thinks of his eyes, yellow in Dean's mind, and his hand clenches hard enough on Dean's shoulder that Dean cringes away, grips Sam's wrist. "Sam," Dean says, uncertain—wondering if he's still dreaming—and Sam leans down and kisses him again, ignores Dean's stiff scared lips and licks inside, knocking him open, his cast heavy on Dean's chest, his wet hair dripping cold. He feels it, of course, when it starts to wake in Dean—the sensation of his body, his mouth, the warmth rising south, the shock of getting this—the confusion—and he pulls away, enough that he can look into Dean's eyes, says, "Feel this," and breaks Dean's grip on his wrist and slides his hand down under the blanket and past Dean's flinching belly to his dick, heavy in his underwear, swelling. Dean takes a shuddering shocked breath and the rise of want is so thick that it chokes out the fear, the guilt, his mind going full and focused at getting his dick held by someone he wants as badly as he wants Sam. God. To know that.
The want is so intense that Sam knows it won't matter that he's never done this before. A dick is a dick, though, he figures, and he slips his fingers inside the waistband, finds the pole of it—thick, the skin unexpectedly soft—and Dean's body arches under his, his breath hot and fast already. Sam doesn't want this, not in the same way, but it hardly matters when Dean's desire roars high between them. "Touch me," Sam says, and Dean goes for Sam's chest, his shoulders, grasping in fumbled shock, while Sam gets a better grip, pumps, finding a rhythm. Awkward with his left hand but clearly doing the job, from how Dean's already shaking, his thighs spreading for it under the blanket, his fingers tight in Sam's skin. Sam leans down, finds Dean's mouth again, and Dean opens for him easy, letting Sam inside, his hands finding Sam's jaw. His fingers careful, uncertain—sliding up into Sam's damp hair, holding—and his hips jerk—and Sam licks into Dean's mouth and pumps him faster, his shoulder sore and aching, his fingers getting slick—jesus, Sam runs his thumb over the head and feels the wet leaking—and Dean jerks under him like touching a live wire and comes just like that, hips shoving up into Sam's grip, wet heat that spills over Sam's hand and against his wrist. Sam gentles his grip and Dean jerks into his palm, getting the last of it out. His chest is heaving, under Sam's cast. Sam kisses him, again, and Dean's teeth drag against his lip, and Sam slides his hand up out of Dean's shorts and presses his palm firm against his bare belly, heedless of the mess.
When he lifts up Dean's staring at him, fixed. The room's inundated with his thoughts, a whitewater crush. Sam's mouth tastes like metal. Dean's fingers reach up, white, and touch his cheek, and Sam drags in air and lets himself be touched, and Dean doesn't know what to do with this. He wants to tackle Sam back to the bed and he wants to crawl under something and he wants to be not who he is because who he is has ruined—
"Stop," Sam says, pressing his palm harder against Dean's belly. "Stop thinking."
Dean licks his lips, looks back and forth between Sam's eyes. Distracted from the misery but just as bewildered, and worse. "What are you thinking?" he says, after a few seconds. Scrape of voice, thick and unsure.
"I'm thinking I want you," Sam says, and Dean blinks and this terrible curl of hope goes through him, another kind of light like a brush of rose-fingered dawn at the edge of a dark landscape, and Sam hasn't felt that, hasn't come close to that, this whole awful time. Sam bites his lips and hopes Dean doesn't hear the next part as qualification: "I want you here. With me. Not—freaking out. Not worried about—whatever it is you're always worrying about."
Dean swallows. His face turns away a little. "Me, worry," he says, breath of a scoff, and there's that rawness again, the shame pulling at his gut. Afraid of this and afraid of Sam in equal measure.
Sam can't stand it. He won't have it. "Don't," he says, and Dean's eyes flick at him sidelong, his mouth turning to some unhappy shape, and Sam pushes in and spreads out over the top of him and kisses him again, his wet gross hand sliding up Dean's side, his mouth crushed hard against Dean's mouth. Dean kisses back this time, for real, and he's—softer, tenderer, than Sam would have ever imagined Dean would kiss, if he had ever imagined it.
It's Sam who breaks the kiss—every part of Dean, body and mind, is full of the feeling that he would never, ever stop unless the room was on fire, and maybe not even then—and when they're breathing against each other Dean's hand worms up out of the blanket and finds Sam's side, over his ribs. Squeezes there, very lightly, his heart thrilling terrified at the presumption. "Sammy," he says, one word a complicated snarl of a question, and Sam shakes his head, can't answer. He moves his right arm, bracing the cast instead by Dean's head, and Dean's chest rises under the release of the weight. A release, all over, and that dawn keeps rising, though the lake's still black and its depths are impossible to see.
Sam tucks his head down, his face in Dean's throat, like they're hugging, like something familiar at least, and Dean's arm goes around his back, holding him. "Sam," he whispers, against Sam's hair. Sam closes his eyes and feels the surge of it: tender, violent, aching. A glut that presses against the back of his teeth with all he wants to say and won't.
He doesn't know if that feeling is his, or Dean's. Behind his eyes it's black and dawn's still not here. On a lake, in the dark, there's a boat creaking, the water surging high but not yet spilling over the side.
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Helltaker Girls Headcanons!!!
Tagging @dokiquents @angelprep and @lovely-selfships!
Pandemonica
* If you ever give her decaffeinated coffee and you’re not her s/o you might get stabbed. If you are her s/o then you’ll get off lighter but she will glare at you.
* She loves coffee flavored ice-cream and dark chocolate covered coffee beans and eats them a lot, she likes the crunch.
* When she’s in her sadistic mode she’s extremely flirty and loves making you squirm. You’re her arm candy and you’re gonna deal with it.
* Dates when she’s tired consisting watching shitty reality shows while eating takeout and occasionally ignoring the tv to make out. When she’s sadistic she’ll take you out to fancy high end places just to show you off and make you blush.
* Sometimes she’ll make a cup of coffee for you and then expect a kiss for doing “hard work”.
Modeus
* All of her clothes are comfy and soft looking but underneath she’s absolutely wearing leather and lingerie. Her fashion sense is lovecore with a dash of e-girl.
* She likes doing makeup for the other girls and styling their hair, sleepovers with their s/o’s are a common date.
* While she’s not used to romance at first but once she does she's the most affectionate out of the demons. She always wants a hug or a kiss or both and she loves being close to you.
* Has thot energy but surprisingly is faithful to you and the other demons, she might try to bring more people/demons/angels into the harem but only if it’s ok with her partner.
* Loves desserts with plenty of whipped cream and chocolate covered strawberries, she let you feed her and she’ll pamper you back tenfold.
Cerberus
* Will eat pretty much anything and everything but they love raw meat. Chicken, pork, eagle, pufferfish (with the poison as “seasoning”), humans.
* Doesn’t know how humans kiss so they’ll just lick you and think that’s a kiss.
* They blep. That’s it, that’s the headcanon.
* The best cuddlers by far, if you wanna take a good nap they’re your girls.
* If you’re their s/o expect to get pounced on every day and pulled around to various places for dates. They love how exciting the human realm is so they wanna see everything even if they always get into trouble.
Malina
* The best at keeping her alcohol and will drink everyone under the table, loves vodka with all her heart but she’ll drink any liqueurs as long as it’s hard.
* While she does like turn based strategy games she’ll play any of game.....though don’t give her Dark Souls or you’ll end up with a broken tv.
* Zdrada and her may butt heads 99% of the time but on the occasion they do care about each other. They love getting drunk together and watch The Room as a way of bonding.
* She’s pretty tsundere when it comes to affection, she’ll tell you not to touch her but then will put her head on your shoulder while she’s fighting a boss. If you point it out she’ll call you a “fucking moron”.
* Has a twitch channel and scam saps out of money while arguing with people in chat, sometimes she’ll let her s/o join her just to watch the shitshow.
Zdrada
* Loves alcohol just like Malina but she prefers shooters over straight up booze, her favorite is either a Fireball Cocktail with extra whiskey or a CS Cowboy.
* The type to wake up at 3am and go on a munchie raid. You wake up to see her eating hot pockets and drinking milk out of the jug. She’ll let you join her and might even hand feed you.
* She’s the older sister and she loves holding it over Malina’s head, even though she’ll get kicked in the kneecaps.
* Dates consist of getting into illegal shenanigans, get drunk and then fighting the entire bar, and watching the city lights from top of a skyscraper with some snacks just to talk about whatever.
* When she’s with you she can let herself go and talk about anything, knowing you won’t judge her. She can be herself and you’ll still be there. Honestly you’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to her and she’ll love you endlessly.
Azazel
* Wrote angel/demon fanfics back in the day and she keeps it in a dairy under lock and key. She might show you but only if you swear to not laugh.
* She has the weirdest food combos like angel food cake with hot sauce and the demons respect her but they’re slightly scared.
* Bi but doesn’t know it yet. She just thinks that the demons are pretty without noticing it.
* Makes the cutest pet names for her s/o and will say them constantly. She’ll call you every single cute name and make you blush like crazy.
* Really wants to bring you to Heaven and show you to the other angels, she think you’ll make a good impression and just wants to show you off.
Justice
* Definitely gets a motorcycle when she’s in the human realm and treats it with the upmost care. She’ll take you out on late night joyrides and just enjoy yourselves.
* Her and Lucifer used to be in a relationship and even after they broke up (they had other things and it wasn’t messy at all) they still get along well.
* She loves human food and will take you out for dates. Her favorites are barbecue, hamburgers and ice cream, oh and is you get sauce on your cheek she’ll causally swipe it off with her thumb and lick it cause she’s that smooth.
* While she is the smoothest out of the ladies she loves being cheesy too and will use to dumbest pick up lines just to make you laugh. She think you have the cutest smile in the whole universe.
* She's the most open to affection and loves being able to hold you close. She'll also be affectionate with the other demons just to make them flustered.
Lucifer
* Not the biggest fan of waffles but will eat them, she likes crepes too and practically lights up when she tried one for the first time.
* Owns a hydra for a pet and named it Satan. It’s spoiled rotten and will bite everyone including you unless you’re Luci’s s/o.
* She’s a lightweight when it comes to alcohol cause she only drink wine and the occasionally martinis. Wants to drink harder stuff but after one cup she’s out like a lightbulb.
* If you’re her s/o then you’re gonna be on her lap most of the time until the other demons want a turn. She loves keep you close and might kiss you occasionally.
* Might be a classic boss bitch but sometimes you’ll find her eating Nutella out of the container and playing video games with Malina. You get to see her soften up considerably and it’s honestly sweet.
Judgement
* She’s the most shy when it comes to affection, you could literally hold her hand and her face will turn to the brightest shade of red in existence.
* While her “judge” voice is booming and kind of deep her actual voice is light and soft, she’ll start using her real voice once she’s comfortable with her s/o.
* Has no indoor voice and while she’s trying to tame herself she can’t help it, she must yell.
* Dates with her are surprisingly chill, she likes going on late night walks and listening to music in your room while you talk. She likes being at peace and you make her feel more comfortable then she’s ever felt before.
* Extremely protective of you and would do anything to keep you safe. She might teach you how to defend yourself but really she wants to be your protector and wants to make sure you’re ok.
Beezebub
* Acts snooty and all-mighty but can be quite sweet to her s/o. She can also be a bit flirty but if you use a pick up line she’ll melt.
* Will actually write self insert fanfics when she’s bored (and she thinks no one’s watching). She has an entire bookshelf filled with self insert stories cause they’re her favorites.
* She spoils her s/o with jewelry and trinkets inspired by flies or your favorite bug. She’ll get you whatever you want with a snap of a finger.
* Goes by She/They pronouns and will not hesitate to drag some poor soul who tries being an asshole over gender. Has no toleration for misgendering people at all.
* Absolutely adores spending time with you, loves being close to you and loves being with you. You make her so happy and she loves you with all of her undead heart.
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i would love to read a meta about your thoughts on possession horror theory since all the main characters are possessed at one point its something I haven't seen much discussion on but is super interesting since they all have such different relationships with possession!
okay this IS something i have been going off about at all times so i'd love to but be aware my thoughts on this are always super disjointed and incoherent (which is why i make video edits bc i feel like i can communicate them there clearer by connecting different clips from the show to express my point) AND this will be under the cut bc i talk about how possession -> sexual violence is like. the core premise of how possession works in spn
SO like to start with. possession in spn is pretty much inextricable from sexual violence, not just because of the act of possession itself but bc of how the show talks about it. with the case of meg and her 1.0 vessel, it's extremely blatant — in 4.02 she says "Seriously, I'm just a college girl. Sorry — was. I was walking home one night and got jumped by all this smoke. Next thing you know, I'm a prisoner..." and that is just word for word about the most textbook sexual assault scenario people think up. so that's there on a metaphorical level already, but there's also a literal level with meg actually sexually assaulting three different characters (sam in 1.16, jo in 2.14, dean in 5.02 — all while assaulting the vessel she's in at the same time), and demon deals being sealed with a kiss is also another way that manifests (and the horror in that is especially heightened in cases like bela's demon deal — she was A Child and making that deal to Escape Abuse At Home To Begin With — and mary's deal — azazel was literally possessing Her Father at the time)
then you have angels where their premise is that they can't occupy a vessel without their consent. like that's their Rule. but getting a "yes" means so little when you are going up against an angel like that. they can't technically lie to get your consent, but they can misrepresent the truth all they want. angels are all powerful and they can promise their vessels that they'll fix all of their problems. sam tells lucifer that he'll die before saying yes to him and lucifer says he can just resurrect him, there's no way to avoid him. i think a lot about what castiel must have said to claire to get her to agree to become his vessel — in my head he told her that if she agrees, he will bring jimmy home bc that is exactly the kind of thing a ten year old in her situation would agree to. and then castiel goes to jimmy and tells him. "it's time to go home now. your real home. you'll rest forever in the fields of the lord." and to cas that is… Keeping His Promises. but i'm sure claire internally was going I DIDN'T AGREE TO THAT. so angel consent is really just as flimsy as straight up demon possession, to me.
aaaand then of course you have the sam and gadreel plotline wherein sam is LITERALLY tricked into saying yes and kept locked away living fake realities in his brain when gadreel takes over and dean keeps lying to sam's face so sam doesn't find out the truth about what is happening in his own body etc etc. gadreel manipulated dean into it by lying about his own identity and lying about how long he would stay in sam and just generally lying about everything. it's obviously extremely loaded and horrifying for sam who already has so much body/possession trauma behind him at that point (lucifer, meg, that kid in swap meat, etc you get the picture!) AND struggling with perception of reality post-hell AND on top of that gadreel like. kills sam's friend. while wearing his body. so sam has that to deal with forever on top of all of these other retraumatizing sets of circumstance. [sam is also the victim of the MOST sexualized language when it comes to possession, eg lucifer is wearing you to the prom eg you're like that prom date that keeps turning me down eg a dozen other lucifer lines i don't expect you want me to repeat in this post]
with dean i think a lot of problems stem from the idea that he is Made for doing x thing. like he's made for being a hunter he's made for watching out for his brother he's daddy's blunt little instrument. he Could change and he's constantly taunted by all the ways that he could change but he won't, bc he thinks it's too late for him, or that bad things will happen if he does, or he's just not capable of changing for good. so then you get the angels telling him that he's Made to be michael's perfect vessel and taunting him with visions of how he will ruin the entire world and everything he cares about if he says no and that breaks him down like, pretty fucking fast. and he survives season 5 without saying yes to michael at the cost of sam jumping into the pit with lucifer which is obviously. everything he was most afraid of happening anyway. and then fast forward eight years and alt universe michael makes dean his vessel anyway so the theme of Inevitability is just always There he really was Made To Be This
and then cas is, as i was talking about earlier with @eurydicecas (hi i hope u do not mind the tag), the only one who has been on BOTH sides of this like cas possessed jimmy and then lucifer possessed cas and it's like — the show never really gives the proper attention to how cas feels about all of this, we know he says yes because he's suffering from chronic I Want To Feel Useful To The Winchesters (dean) disorder but the aftermath of that is really barely explored and it's just a huge missed opportunity. but we were also talking about how with angels and consent it's like angels aren't always cognizant of how much they stack the deck against their vessels to control their consent — they think that as long as they can promise their vessel goes to heaven and lives in eternal peace in the end, does it really matter whether they die at 30 or at 80? the preciousness of human life and their time on earth is just NOT something they understand, and most of them don't want to understand, but cas does learn that! he grows to love the world like a human would and even spend time as one and feel as one and THEN… be used as a vessel as one for lucifer. like. by that point it's NOT jimmy's body it is HIS body he feels a sense of pride in it he feels at home in it and then he spends all that time waiting in the bunker kitchen in his brain its just fhfkgsmd. insane.
anyway none of this is truly meta it's just me getting a ramble of thoughts out about this because it is something i am extremely passionate about and love to talk about but it's so hard to get my thoughts about it out in an organized way bc at the end of the day it all just makes me !! so !! insane !!
#ask#mine#people can feel free to add on to this or give their own thoughts i am truly just saying shit!!! but possession in spn is the only thing on#my brain right now.
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So Azazel, I took a train away to another ward in Tokyo to surprise you and pick my outfit there when this kind doctor helped me out. And as you know he helped me with the show, he was very descriptive on what you were doing at the time and how should we do it as if he knew your reactions. I think he has the same Rule as you. Anway I hoped you enjoyed the show~ I might work with him again since he seemed to enjoy it too.
Holy shit they did it, the absolute madman--he probably can’t compensate you for those train tickets you know.
He loves surprises. It's so hard to surprise him(and it's so hard for him to resist spoiling his surprises,) but. . .he didn't think anything of it that you and Mineaki were out of his sight at the same time. Not that it sounds planned in any way.
"Did he help you? I'm surprised Mineaki has such good taste." He's not actually surprised, of course--Mineaki knows his taste and he probably knows Mineaki’s in turn. "But I did tell you to choose your favorite, my beloved sinner. Surely you didn't need help for that? Or did you, perhaps. . .haah, did you want me to punish you. . .?"
He's only teasing, of course.
. . .Unless you do.
“That doctor is a friend of mine and his Rule is indeed similar to my own. It was a pleasant surprise, seeing you together. . .I wonder if I would feel this way without these chains.” Part of him feels like he should be jealous or something, but he can’t really refute ‘watching them fuck was hot’ in his own mind. Lust is almost always at the top of the ladder for him. “I’ve already given him my thanks, so I owe the same to you. Thank you for always putting yourself and your pleasures on display for my own selfish sins. Ufufu, if you enjoyed hearing about my reactions. . .perhaps I should return the favor and put on a show of my own for you. . .it would be the least I could do for you. . . . The good doctor can come as well, if you like and if he’s not busy.”
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Whole
Whole
Charles Xavier X Mutant!Reader
Prompt(s) from anonymous: hello! Would you maybe want to do a charles xavier x reader (just right after cuba!) where charles is captured by an organization experimenting on mutants (doesnt have to be graphic at all just mentioned!!). y/n (protective) spends weeks trying to track them down, and when she finally finds them she goes in alone (powerful mutation is powerful) and calls out to him in her mind and talks to him and he's in such a bad state, & she gets to him and saves him?? Xxxxx
Note(s): Personally, I would do so much for this man, and of course so would the reader! I feel like Charles would have such a strong and loving bond with his s/o, so of course I had to put that here as well. I hope I did your prompt justice Nonny, thank you for sending it in! Please do enjoy <3
P.s. If the entire quote is italicized, then it was spoken mentally! c:
Warning(s): A bit of language, a bit of fluff, just a general warning for evil bad guys. They’re only mentioned, but still, they exist!
Word count: 769
“... Charles?”
There was no response. (y/n) was used to there being no response. The silence spoke both promises and deceits, and from her spot just outside the base, she knew she had to get farther in to find him.
It would have been easier if Erik were here. Or Raven. Or even fucking Azazel. Angel, for crying out loud. But (y/n) was on her own, and while of course Alex was… somewhere around the base, he was not the one currently razing it to the ground.
Help would have been appreciated. But (y/n) was nothing if not determined and strong, and even a base full of evil kidnapping, torturing, anti-mutant assholes would never be strong enough to stop her. No, they would feel her ire, her anger, and most of all, her heartache. They would die knowing exactly why their deaths were imminent, with no mercy, and (y/n) refused to look back or listen to their pleas.
A door had been blown clean of its hinges, hitting a lone scientist clean over the head as it twisted and slammed into the opposing wall. (y/n) walked through, uniform stained and torn. It was the moment when she crossed under the doorway that it hit her, and she stopped clear in her tracks.
“.... (y/n)...?”
“Charles,” (y/n) breathed, and she wasted no time in running through the room, over the dead body, and towards the back corridors of the lab. Worry ticked deep in her sternum. She didn’t have to be a genius to know that her beloved was anything but alright.
She found cages with Plexiglas sides and steel locks. They were all full, gaunt faces and bodies staring up in either disbelief or fear. They were not who she was looking for, but as she passed, every cage opened as though it was merely the breeze that had done it. (y/n) did not look back as she went deeper.
The lab was big. (y/n) didn’t count the closed-door rooms she’d passed, nor the number of cages. She was smart enough to know that one cage and one undisclosed room was one cage and room too much. There were too many rooms, actually, and too many cages. They were organized in blocks, it looked like. A couple dozen cages, then a room. A couple dozen cages, then another room. It seemed to go on forever.
But nothing human can ever go on forever. She turned a corner and met a dead end.
There was a door, and a singular cage.
The call she’d been following sang high and strong in her head. It thumped as hard as her heartbeat and sore as fast as her adrenaline. There was an explosion from somewhere else in the facility, and to (y/n), it felt like victory.
The second she’d seen the cage she was on top of it. The door did not open so much as fly off, but it mattered not, because the person inside was free.
He was lying on the ground, and thin. He looked as though he’d been thrown there long ago and hadn’t moved since, if his tangled legs were anything to go by. Stick thin arms wobbled on elbows, and a shaved head with an inch of hair looked up at her. His face was dirty and bruised, but beautiful brown eyes that (y/n) had memorized the flecks of long ago widened.
“(y/n)... oh, (y/n)...”
“Charles- Jesus, I’m here, I’m right here-”
(y/n) pulled him into her arms and it was like coming home. Charles collapsed against her chest, not out of exhaustion, but relief. She could feel it in her mind, the way his consciousness settled next to hers out of both habit and instinct. Being separated had felt like hell, but being together felt better than heaven. She- no, they- felt whole again. The phantom limbs were gone and replaced with actual limbs; a voice that would whisper in her ear, and a comfort lodged deep in her brain that knew she would never be alone, ever.
She pressed the most passionate kiss against his temple. Even with his head tucked into her shoulder, (y/n) could feel Charles’ smile against her neck. His chapped and scabbed lips pressed against her jaw. (y/n) could have cried because it was him and that was enough.
There was another explosion within the facility, this time closer. Much closer. (y/n) stood up, her love wrapped tight within her arms. “Charles?” She asked.
“Yes, darling?”
“Let’s go home.”
“Oh, dear, I thought you’d never ask.”
Tag list:
@princess76179 @kalechipps @agent-valkyrie-romanoff @bad-black-angel @pieceofsupersoldiertrash @chari-a
#Charles Xavier#Charles Xavier X Reader#Charles Xavier Imagine#Professor X#Professor X X Reader#Professor X Imagine#X-Men#X-Men X Reader#X-Men Imagine#Marvel#Marvel X Reader#Marvel Imagine
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Hi! Don’t know if you are still doing Angel vignettes, but here are some ideas :) :(A) Angel revealing the story behind a scar to 180, (B) the POV of Angel learning about 180s torture/backstory while at DIABLO HQs, (C) the aftermath of Angel making his first casualty on the job or finding the body of someone he knew. Thanks!
I chose C! I wouldn’t normally do big backstory stuff like this, but I’ve written it all up now, so just this once y’all can have a little spoilers. As a treat.
Content warnings: gore, eye injury, implied assault, death, drug mention
The man reels back, clutching at his face. His eyeball bulges out of the swollen lids, almost out of the socket, as red and angry as the man's mottled cheeks. His mouth hangs open and a guttural cry rips from his throat.
Noise. Fuck, if others come to help him...
Angel hadn't even realised that he'd made a note of the things on the desk, but his hand goes for the letter opener as if he'd planned it all along, and it's like the weapons trainer is speaking in his head. Soft spot under the chin. Blade's blunt, needs to be hard and fast, put your weight into it. He does, puts so much force into it that he knocks the man to the floor, falling on top of him.
The man's scream cuts off. His mouth gapes open as if in indignation, and Angel sees the glint of metal within, the blood oozing from his split tongue and pouring out of his lips. Still he's moving, limbs flailing; Angel bears down until everything, finally, stops.
Angel stands up. He rearranges his clothes. His shirt won't button right. There's some missing, must have been torn off. Where did they go? He looks down at the carpet, then shakes himself. Stupid. These clothes will need to be burned anyway, get rid of the blood and evidence.
He looks down at the body.
Fuck.
Now it's the spectre of Azazel with him, coolly judgemental. You didn't plan for this, did you? If there's going to be bodies, there needs to be a plan.
Angel grits his teeth. There was a plan. It just needs some - adjustments, now. He hurries to the door of the office and presses his ear against it. No sounds of footsteps, doesn't seem like anyone's rushing to see what's going on. They must be expecting a certain amount of noise, right? Don’t want to barge in and get an eyeful of the boss. A giggle tries to work its way up Angel’s throat and he forces it back down. It’s hard to keep from laughing, though. He feels… giddy, like a cocaine high, his heart pounding a staccato rhythm.
Ok. So. So, first he should do what he's here for.
There was a box of tissues that got knocked to the floor when Angel was sitting up on the desk. He wipes the blood off his hands, then wraps some more tissue around his fingers as he starts going through the drawers. Just like the client said, there’s a little notebook locked in the top drawer with a password list. There’s also a revolver in one of the drawers. Its weight is reassuring, as is the familiar ritual of checking and loading the gun, swinging the cylinder back into place with a satisfying click before tucking the gun into the back of his jeans. He switches the computer on, finds the necessary files, and hesitates. The client said to send direct if possible, but after this? Fuck that. Angel wants to make sure he’s going to get paid what he deserves for this mess. He copies the folders onto a flash drive and shoves it into his pocket.
Now there’s just the one problem. He stares down at the body, willing some good idea to present itself. There’s no way to make this look like anything but murder. People don’t stab themselves like that. Could he take the letter opener and then shoot the guy in the same spot to cover it up? No, the noise. And the eye would still be suspicious.
He could just leave, right? But people saw them. He’d get away with it this time since no one knows him, but it wouldn’t look good for future jobs. DIABLO want ghosts, not people who leave a trail behind. But he can’t haul the body out of here by himself, not without being seen.
He catches sight of himself in the window. Wide-eyed, dishevelled, and - he raises a hand to gently touch the sore skin – already there are livid marks showing on his throat. People would be sympathetic to that, right? Could he spin some story, get help? From who, though? Everyone here works for the dead man. Why would they feel any sympathy? Angel won’t have been the first cute young thing to be brought back here.
He traces the marks again, thoughtful. There’s an idea forming. Maybe not a good one, but the only one he’s got. But he’s going to need something to put the body in.
Very carefully, he cracks the door open and glances out. Empty, for now. Which door does he need? Where had the guy been trying to go, before Angel had cajoled him into getting a look at the office? He takes a guess, and is relieved to find himself in a large bedroom. Bedding, good. Dry cleaning bags in the wardrobe, even better. He scuttles back to the office and begins to wrap the man up.
Several minutes and a swift descent down the drainpipe later, Angel drops to the ground with the dead man’s car keys clutched in one sweating fist. Gravel crunches beneath his feet. He moves towards the parked Jaguar as silently as possible and hides behind it. Sweat blurs his vision and he has to wipe it away with his sleeve. The giddiness is turning to nausea.
There’s a voice changer function on his phone. He must have collected enough of a sample of the man’s voice, the guy was a real talker. Now he just needs to remember… he screws his eyes closed, trying to concentrate. When they first arrived and the man had called over to his security guy, what was the name?
He licks his lips, then presses the call button.
“Sir?” comes the muffled voice.
“Marc,” says Angel, and the changer produces the wheezy tones of the dead man. “There’s been a small complication. Go upstairs, you’ll find a package that I need you to dispose of. I’ll be taking the Jaguar. If anyone asks, I’ve been out all evening.”
There’s a pause, and Angel bites his lip so hard he starts tasting blood.
“I don’t remember seeing you this evening, sir,” says Marc, and Angel punches the air in silent jubilation. “I will take care of that other matter.”
“Very good. I’ll be sure to reflect that in your pay this month,” Angel says, and hangs up. He has to force himself to go up the driveway at a casual pace, but once he hits the road he floors it. Adrenaline is surging through him and he’s riding the wave now, every inch of him alive. Time to meet up with the client again. Time to renegotiate some terms.
--
(tbh I could do option B, but it’s basically, Angel reads the file that says what happened and goes ‘huh, that’s fucked up’. They wouldn’t have any kind of strong reaction to it)
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Meg Masters
three facts about them from my personal headcanons:
I think she’s ancient, more than most demons. It accounts for how her powers seem beyond so many, despite not being one of the special types (Knights, Princes, whatever Lilith or Alastair and their white eyes were supposed to convey -likely that they were the very firsts). She can resist exorcism and later lears to stop it, use her powers even inside a devil’s trap, walk into churches, etc. Also, she survived holy fire, why couldn’t she survive an angel blade huh. She deserved to.
The fact that she’s referenced movies like It’s a Wonderful Life or A New Hope is so funny to me. But either way, it makes me headcanon that before Sam and Dean sent her back in s1, she had been on Earth for a long, long time, enjoying life and doing her evol demon things xD
I do agree with the headcanon that she doesn’t remember her human life or even her name, adopting the one from her vessel. HOWEVER, I’m 100% sure she sold her soul for the benefit of someone (or someones) else.
a reason they suck: dying and not officially returning to finally fuck Castiel is so unsexy of her.
a reason they are great: everything, but I personally love one line to describe that, although used with derision, encapsulates something I love in her: when Crowley accuses her of “lacking poetry”. And she does! There’s no long game, there’s no big picture, there’s little grandeur in her if any despite all the reasons you would think there should be. And I find it so refreshing, so blissful, so real. She is what you get, she’s 100% herself, and she’s hard to predict precisely because of this simplicity. I love her.
a reason I relate to them: also a hothead who loves Castiel xDD. Insults Dean as soon as they meet.
(what I consider to be) the top tier otp/ot3 for that character: Castiel/Meg OTP.
five things that never happened to that character that I believe should have happened:
Resurrecting. Everyone was doing it at some point. Also getting to be a brunette again, dying her hair was such an asshole move on Crowley’s part.
Sex with Castiel. They deserved it, I deserved it. It’s happening in the post-Empty age.
Meeting and possibly making an alliance with Abaddon for revenge against Crowley. This would’ve made me more interested in the latter’s plot, for one. They would’ve been a fun chaos duo.
She should’ve had a bigger role in the seasons she was in, but specially in s5. That one was sorely lacking in plot-relevant female characters.
More bonding scenes with Sam, because the little we got was hilarious.
five people that character never fell in love with and why: well, first of all, the “not Castiel” rule lol, but beyond that-
Sam. Flirting with Sam was nice, she would’ve made out with him and all, but eh. Doesn’t really feel it~.
Dean. Ahaha. Haahahah. AHAHAHAHAHAA.
Lucifer. See, I fully believe Ruby kind of saw herself as a type of consort as a fitting reward, but Meg was more into Lucifer as a god/father figure lol. Probably missing Azazel, the poor thing.
Abaddon. Not that they wouldn’t have made for a hot alliance and all, but they’re probably too similar and would butt heads.
Ruby. I think they could admire the other and what they’ve done, but they’re very different approaches and MOs would grate on each others’ nerves. Ruby would condescend sometimes, seeing her as rash and small-minded; Meg would think she’s conceited and delusional xD
#missbrunettebarbie#replies#talking to the void#my thoughts#spn thoughts#supernatural#meg masters#favourites: monster women#favourites: a straight line#ty!
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I have a bunch of stuff
I want to make a hypothetical mod with a hypothetical new final boss, and I want unlocks too
These do sound super op but my general idea is that the boss is just super fuckin' hard.
Note: A lot of the item unlocks will only spawn when you're playing as that character because they have little to no use on other characters.
so here's what I have for now:
Isaac-- "Isaac feels holier!"
Isaac has a minimum Angel deal chance of 15% and when something is rerolled it has a chance to turn into an Angel deal item. But for convenience's sake, this cannot happen to Devil deal items.
Magdalene-- "VALENTINE'S CARD" has appeared in the basement
(Who could it be from?)
Active item. Drops 4-5 random (mostly Red) hearts or Playing cards.
Cain-- "COMBINATION LOCKS" have appeared in the basement
Basically combination locks replace locked doors so you don't need to spend a key to open it, just press up against it a couple times. Probability of opening increases with Luck. Kinda rare but only a little.
Judas-- "Judas feels eviler..."
Judas has a minimum Devil deal chance of 25%. Book Of Belial now gives 3.5 damage instead of 2.
???-- "??? feels blue."
??? trails Aquarius-esque creep. If enemies are killed by the creep, they have a high chance of dropping a soul heart.
Eve--
Samson-- "Samson feels angry!"
Obstacles that Samson comes into contact with have a chance of breaking. Rocks and mushrooms and stuff break somewhat easily, but the sliding spikey blocks, turrets, and Stoneys have less chance of breaking.
Azazel--
Lazarus-- "SAFETY BROCHURE" has appeared in the basement
(Be careful!)
Yep. Go to my Carrd if you don't know.
Eden-- "HAIRDRESSERS" have appeared in the basement
Upon use, will give the player a random one of Eden's hairstyles and raise the cap on a stat it also adds 3 to. Will then break. Pretty rare.
The Lost-- "The Lost feels found!"
The Lost starts with Treasure and Blue Map. Events within certain timings-- Boss Rush, Hush, etc etc-- now have 15 more minutes before they become unavailable.
Lilith-- "RABIES" has appeared in the basement
Yeah. Carrd.
Keeper--
Apollyon--
The Forgotten-- "HOLY SERMON" has appeared in the basement
(Your soul feels stronger...)
Passive item. Makes it so The Soul can slowly drag The Forgotten along. For other characters, give them 5 Soul hearts and makes Soul heart drops more common.
Bethany--
Jacob & Esau-- "PAPYRACEUS" has appeared in the basement
(There isn't enough room)
One-time-use active item. Squishes Esau and sticks him to Jacob. Esau's Damage, Range, Tear Rate, etc stay the same but can no longer be altered. He shoots too.
-
T!Isaac-- "THERAPY" has appeared in the basement
(Do not let your pain define you)
Passive item. All Mom items are removed and Mom, Mom's Heart, and It Lives are instantly killed upon entering the room. Mom-themed enemies like the hands and feet are removed, and so are The High Priestess and its inverted counterpart. Essentially, anything involving Mom is just gone. Removed Mom items are replaced with Angel items.
T!Magdalene-- "TOURNIQUET" has appeared in the basement
(Wind it up!)
Active item. Upon use, slows the rate at which T!Maggy bleeds.
T!Cain-- "Cain feels a bit hollow..."
T!Cain gains a slot to store 3 pickups, kinda like T!???'s Hold. It's held in his eye socket for aesthetic reasons.
T!Judas-- "TRUE NORTH" has appeared in the basement
(Follow the star...)
Spawns an idle orbital that hovers near the door leading to a random special room, occasionally forcing a Devil or Angel Deal. Kinda like Navi, Card Reading, and Star Of Bethlohem in one item. Is given to both Judases at the beginning of a run.
T!???--
T!Eve-- "BAD BLOOD" has appeared in the basement
(Wait, I though you said B-)
Spawns 3 random clots and deals a heart of damage.
T!Samson-- "ANGER MANAGEMENT" has appeared in the basement
(Just take a deep breath...)
Trinket. As long as it is held, T!Samson will not go berserk. However, when you drop it, all of the berserks that would have activated activate all at once, providing a berserk that can last for a maximum of 150 seconds.
T!Lazarus-- "NECROSIS" has appeared in the basement
(Death and life become one)
Passive item. T!Lazarus still switches from dead to alive, but the two's stats and health are halved then merged together.
T!Eden-- "Eden feels more grounded"
Items of certain types (flight, tear effects, followers) will only turn into other items that give a same or similar effect.
T!Lost-- "GOD" HAS APPEARED IN THE BASEMENT
(He'll hold your hand)
Super rare one-time-use active item. It takes your items and stats into account and gives you whatever you need most, mostly horse pills to adjust your stats. May give you items that synergize with whatever build you have.
T!Lilith-- "SURGICAL SCISSORS" has appeared in the basement
(Sever yourself from your sin)
Upon use, detaches Gello from T!Lilith. Gello can be freely controlled by the fire keys. T!Lilith also begins 'bleeding' profusely, making a large amount of red creep where she was standing and making a stream of red tears shoot from her stomach. This can be charged like a Monstro's Lung shot.
T!Keeper-- "REAL LUCK!" has appeared in the basement
(Hey, now it actually does something!)
Passive item. Your Luck stat directly contributes to a multitude of factors-- pickups you need the most appearing, overall better items, tinted rocks are more common, chance spawns like devil and angel rooms are more common. This can backfire, however, as a bad Luck stat can completely fuck you over.
T!Apollyon-- "TOMIE" has appeared in the basement...
(yes it's a junji ito reference)
Spawns a follower-- a black haired girl who just walks around. Projectiles in a certain radius of her will get sucked in, and if she takes enough damage, she will 'die'. However, on the next floor, Tomie will respawn there and will be an additional Tomie, albeit smaller and weaker.
T!Forgotten-- "CRUTCHES" has appeared in the basement
Active item, no charge. Kinda like Notched Axe but for actual combative purposes. Deals probably like 5 damage with the player's damage on top. Deals 10 damage along with player's when the player has Brittle Bones, Bone Spurs, Compound Fracture, etc. Gives The Soul a way to attack.
T!Bethany--
T!Jacob-- "Jacob feels forgiven!"
Dark Esau is permanently slower and the time he shows up is delayed. Dark Esau's ability to bypass invincibility is also removed.
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