my fic cw

A Touch of Evil (J2 AU) Updated!

TITLE: A Touch of Evil
BY: Nyxocity
PAIRING: Jared/Jensen
RATING: NC-17
CHAPTERS: 6/8
SUMMARY:  Jensen is an accomplished forensic pathologist hiding a secret life as a serial killer—a serial killer with a code that means he only murders other killers. His sister, Danneel, is lead homicide detective in the Dallas Police Department and Jensen works alongside her to solve cases, hiding his double life. A recent series of serial killer murders leads Jensen down a dark path of romantic messages secretly directed at him. Investigation leads them to Dallas Memorial Hospital where Jensen meets renowned trauma surgeon Jared Padalecki. Jensen is undeniably drawn to Jared by something he can’t define, something he’s never felt outside of killing. As the messages from the killer become more intricate, Jensen is pulled deeper into darkness, and unable to deny his attraction to Jared, he eventually finds himself at a terrible crossroads. Can he continue to keep his double life a secret and still discover the killer’s identity? Or will he lose his code and everything he knows he should care about in the process?

Chapter 1  |  Chapter 2  |  Chapter 3  |  Chapter 4  |  Chapter 5 
Chapter 6 (JUST POSTED)  |  Chapter 7  |  Chapter 8

Dean and Cas meeting in high school, when Dean is shoved hard in a fight and Cas, walking past, grips his arm to steady him. “Urgh, don’t touch him, you’ll catch what he’s got!” yells the guy who doing the pushing. “You’ll start kissing boys too!”

Cas keeping his hold on that arm as he calmly draws back his fist, and punches the guy in the face. Left-handed, the nose doesn’t break, but it bleeds. The guy takes a look at the pair of their murderous faces, and leaves.

Cas keeping his hold on that arm as he pulls Dean into the bathrooms and cleans him up, slopping water messily over his neck and face. Dean, one eye swelling up beautifully, makes faces at Cas in the cracked bathroom mirror.

Cas keeping his hold on that arm as, day after day, month after month, they have each other’s backs. A fight every other week or so, some light shoving in the halls most days. “Shouldn’t have kissed that boy,” Dean says. “It started this mess.” Cas shakes his head. “There’s nothing wrong with kissing boys,” he says. 

Cas keeping his hold on that arm as Dean kisses himself another boy. He’s pretty sure he grips tight enough to leave a handprint. Dean doesn’t seem to mind, though. “Is there anything wrong with just kissing one boy?” he says, softly, lips still brushing against Cas’. “Like, forever?”

Cas keeping his hold on that arm as they walk out of school on graduation day, triumphant. When he moves into his room in college, Dean’s there to help him shift his stuff. And at the end of the year, Dean’s there again to move it all back out. “You guys are so cute,” says his roommate. “What’s your secret?” 

Dean looks over at Cas and raises his eyebrows.

Cas shrugs. “Hold tight,” he says. “And don’t let go.”

anonymous asked:

andreil in a hospital?

One of the things Andrew has recently grown more comfortable with is touch. He still doesn’t love it, won’t accept it from most people, but thanks to the cats he’s less likely to jump or default to his knives if something brushes against his legs.

Which is good, because even though the apartment is empty other than them and King definitely prefers Neil, she’s snaking between Andrew’s legs anyway. He stoops slightly to brush her back with one hand—he doesn’t indulge them the way Neil does, but Neil isn’t here to see it, and the cats can’t talk, so ultimately, no harm done.

He needs to stop thinking about Neil so much when Neil isn’t here. It’s a normal occurrence—they both live in Chicago, but they play for rival teams, so their schedules aren’t perfectly lined up. Neil is in Washington this weekend for a game, and Andrew has a home game against Kansas City.

Andrew’s phone vibrates—undoubtedly a text from Neil. He opens it immediately and thinks about how unlikely he is to ever admit to anyone how much he misses Neil. Except for maybe Neil himself, and only if he was on his deathbed or something.

Neil’s text reads, good luck tonight! and is accompanied by a selfie of him and Dan. Cute.

*

The game is a brutal one, even from between the goalposts. Andrew takes a nasty hit during a brawl early on but doesn’t get benched until the second half, when a fourth ball clatters hard enough against his helmet to leave his vision swimming.

He resolutely does not check the score for Neil’s game—he’ll find out via phone call as soon as it ends anyway, or else a reporter will ask him about it as they leave or someone will announce it to the entire court (crosstown rivals and all that)—and so it’s not until his phone suddenly explodes with messages and tweets that he knows something has happened.

A call breaks through it—from one Dan Wilds, who is currently with Neil, which must have something to do with his phone being swamped with notifications—and he manages to answer it before it, too, disappears into the mess.

“What is it?” he says.

“Andrew? You good?”

He hates niceties and small talk, especially when they get in the way of his finding out necessary information. “Where is Neil?”

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this was tangentially inspired by naked ambiton, is my first “fic” in approx 47593 years, is both my first ever check please fic and bitty/jack fic so here we go, also i’m always on mobile so i can’t do a read more sorry

At first, Jack is a little weird about his body.

He’s not ashamed of it, per se; it’s more that his relationship with his body is complicated. Jack works really hard. He needs his body to be strong and fast. He’s constantly naked around other people whose bodies are also strong and fast.

He just, you know, doesn’t really want people to look at him.

All Bitty does is look at him.

The first few times they have sex, it’s rushed in the dark. It’s always been a while since they’ve seen each other, Jack reasons. It’s always a lot of pent up longing and only a little time for romance. Jack likes the feeling of Bitty’s body againt his. They fit. He just doesn’t necessarily want Bitty to see it.

But Bitty’s always looking.

It’s mid-morning and Jack is trying to sleep in on a very rare day off. His curtains are a gauzy medium grey and they let in a gauzy medium light. Jack’s on his back, sheets pulled up to his navel. Bitty’s eyes are closed and his hand is tracing circles across Jack’s ribs.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Bitty murmurs, almost to himself. Jack feels his face warm. “Truly a masterpiece.”

Bitty trails his hand trails down Jack’s stomach, sliding the sheets out of the way. Jack tenses, a small thing, and Bitty’s fingers still.

“Hey, Jack,” Bitty says softly, eyes still closed. “Hey.”

Jack swallows. Says, “I, uh.” Stops.

Bitty’s fingers start moving again, slowly. He hums, waits for Jack to continue.

“I just don’t really.” Pauses. “Ah, I don’t.”

Gently, Bitty curls in a little closer to Jack, rests his forehead on Jack’s ribs.

“I don’t like the stretch marks,” Jack whispers, eyes squeezed shut. “They’re ugly”

Bitty hums again, softer this time. His fingers trip over the worst of them, right on Jack’s hips. They’re a faded silver now but Jack will always remember the angry red they were, stretched tight and deep. He tries very hard not to twitch away from Bitty’s fingers but God he wishes, fiercely that it was night again. He thinks Bitty’s eyes are open now, looking, and he wishes it was too dark to see.

“Jack,” Bitty whispers, “Honey, you’re perfect.”

Jack’s breath catches in his throat.

“You’re so perfect,” he says again. “Strong, because you need to be. You’re so strong and so capable and your body is everything but–but ugly.”

Bitty sounds almost offended on Jack’s body’s behalf and Jack can feel a small tear roll down his cheek. Both of Bitty’s hands are on him now, smoothing over Jack’s skin as he places tiny kisses across Jack’s ribs.

“You’re everything, Jack. You’re everything good in this world. No part of you is ugly.”

Jack can feel tears caught in his throat and he tries to swallow them down, drown them with big, steady gulps of air. One of Bitty’s arms is tucked under Jack’s back, the other across his stomach in a soft sideways hug. Jack snakes a hand down to hug Bitty closer to him. Takes another steadying breath.

“Now turn over so I can objectify you from a different angle.”

Jack snorts, caught a little off guard, and doesn’t let Bitty go as he flops over onto his stomach. Bitty is laughing, tangled under the mess of blankets and the heat of Jack’s body. When Bitty finally emerges, pink-faced from struggling, laughing and bright-eyed, Jack is grateful for the soft golden light filtering through the curtains.

My darling @blacktofade‘s birthday was, uh, two months ago, so here I am, ten years late with her birthday present. ILU BB!! If this lil au seems like it should be a full-length fic, that’s because it desperately tried to be, and I had to keep chopping at it to keep it under control, like some kind of rouge hedge on meth. (Now on AO3!)

In the hours after the fight, Stiles drives and drives and drives. At first it’s late, and then it’s so late that it’s early, but he keeps on driving, fueled by anger, mostly in silence, though somewhere around the middle of Pennsylvania he thaws enough to put on some music. He stops at a rest stop just past the Ohio border to get a breakfast sandwich, and as he sits at a dirty table and eats, he thinks: shit.

Doubt begins creeping into his thoughts; maybe he’d been too hasty. Maybe he should have given Jay a chance to explain - but no, no, fuck that. He’d always made it really fucking clear that if their relationship ever got to the point where cheating seemed like a good option, he’d rather just be broken up with and yet look what fucking happened. Stiles scoffs scornfully, chucking the wrapper to his sandwich in a nearby trash can. Two and a half years down the drain.

Refreshed by a new wave of anger, Stiles heads back to his car and gets back on the highway. He manages to wrangle his phone from his pocket and, ignoring the multiple text and missed call notifications, he calls his dad, who picks up with a sigh.

“You know what time it is?” his dad asks, and Stiles looks at his dash guiltily. He’s been so worked up that he forgot about the time difference - or the fact that even on the east coast, it’s early, the sun barely above the horizon.

“Sorry,” Stiles says with a wince. “I’ll call back later.”

“It’s fine,” Dad says with another sigh. “I just got home from an overnight shift. Everything all right? You’re not usually up before ten.”

Stiles opens his mouth and then closes his mouth, startled by the raw ache in his eyes.

“Stiles?” his dad presses, somehow gentle and sharp at the same time; Stiles is worrying him.

“I’m - ” Stiles clears his throat, tapping his fingers against the wheel. “Um. How would you feel about me moving home for a while?”

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protective parental units

If Andrew ever wondered, back when he was a teenager, where he would end up in his thirties, it wouldn’t have been doing a school run. At all, never mind with his kid.

Life is unpredictable, it turns out.

On Thursdays he picks Kevin up from school after work and drops him at the local outdoor Exy court for practice. Neil will pick him up later on the way back from his own afternoon gym session with his teammates, which gives Andrew an hour or so to do nothing before he has to start dinner.

He’s been in for maybe twenty minutes watching something mindless on HGTV about redecorating kitchens when the buzzer goes off. Andrew isn’t expecting anyone and debates ignoring it for a moment, but then gets it anyway.

“Hi, Mister Minyard,” Jason, the doorman, says from the other end. “I’ve got a Tetsuji Moriyama here to see you?”

Well. That’s interesting.

“Send him up,” Andrew says, and hangs up.

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anonymous asked:

Also....I have one more. What about assassin andrew being sent to kill neil but falls in love instead au ❤❤❤

Mostly, Andrew Minyard slits his marks’ throats. One clean slice on the side, a severed carotid artery, blood flow to the brain cut off. A quick death. Not out of mercy, but out of necessity—cutting major veins is too messy, and severing a windpipe is too slow.

So Andrew Minyard goes for the carotid arteries. Mostly.

Neil turns to the next page in the folder. Some of Minyard’s earlier victims were strangled to death. A few have been shot, though likely as a last resort—police reports mention signs of a struggle, bullets in the back of the head like they were trying to get away.

Well, “victims” is a subjective term. Implies faultlessness. Innocence. Andrew Minyard’s victims are never faultless or innocent. Before the Moriyamas hired him, Andrew Minyard operated like a vicious Robin Hood, or a Batman-for-pay, taking relatively small fees to rid real victims of their abusers.

And now he’s after Neil.

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Closet Kisses - Archie x Lodge!Reader

I gave it my best shot! Hope you like it!


Originally posted by cherylblosssom

“Ronnie,” you chastise playfully, “It’s not like that!”

“You and Archie?” she arches an eyebrow, “Sureeee. I’m not stupid you know,”

You roll your eyes at the teasing of your older sister, but allow a small smile to creep on your face anyway.

“Hey,” she laughs, elbowing you gently, “Keep that smitten smile off your face, Mr. Andrews and co are approaching,”

You follow her gaze, grinning widely at the sight of all her, and to a certain extent, your, friends. Your eyes linger on Archie, taking in his vibrant red hair and charming smile, before you direct them back to your lunch, afraid that you’ll be caught staring.

“So,” Veronica begins, sending you a cheeky look before regarding the rest, “Who’s going to Cheryl’s party tonight?”

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annawrites  asked:

i've enjoyed your prompt fills so much, thank you for sharing them!! if you feel like it: chef!andrew trying (and failing) to woo picky eater neil with fancy food? :)

The thing about growing up on the run is that you never really develop a palate.

You eat what’s there to be eaten, whatever you manage to stuff in your pockets while your mother distracts the cashier trying to haggle for cigarettes, as if it’s anywhere near possible to haggle in a 7/11.

You eat school lunches, bland chicken nuggets and congealed mac and cheese and unseasoned carrots with those little close to expired fruit cups with the peaches and cherries and simple syrup.

You drink gas station coffee—maybe it stunts your growth, but you drink it anyway—and fill old plastic water bottles from drinking fountains or public restroom sinks.

At least, that’s what Neil tries to explain to Matt one day, when Matt invites Neil to his favorite restaurant in his hometown. It just so happens that Matt’s hometown is New York City, and the chef at this place has a Michelin star, but Neil isn’t on the run anymore and his paycheck is hefty enough that he can afford it.

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Patience and Faith

prompt:  We’re roommates and I heard you crying in the shower when I came home, are you okay?
pairing: destiel
tags: roommates, hurt/comfort, angst, burgers cw
a/n:  part one,  wrote this during my writing livestreams. thanks to everyone who joined, you’re amazing <3

Shopping bags bounce against Dean’s legs as he runs up the stairs. He doesn’t work out as much as he used to, so the elevator might have been a better idea. Instead, he tries to look tough and take all five stairs without ending up like an asthmatic rhino. He takes a few deep breaths when he ends up in front of his door with a red, sweaty face. He fumbles with the keys for a while, cursing under his breath because they’re slippery between his fingers.
Still cursing a little, he enters the small hall which is just large enough to get in a coat rack. He puts down the bags so he can slip off his leather jacket and hang it next to Cas’ trenchcoat.

“Hey!” He calls, but there’s no response. Maybe Castiel is focused on his school work again, or found a book in the library that he didn’t already know. Dean brings in the shopping bags himself, muttering he would’ve preferred a little help. Once he is in the kitchen and leans against the counter, he hears the sound of rushing water coming from the bathroom. He can use a shower right now too, so he decides to take a shower once Cas is finished.

Humming some AC/DC song, he begins putting away the groceries. He bought ingredients for burgers, a little surprise for his roommate because he passed his English test. It was no surprise to Dean, but Castiel had been worrying the entire week. Dean forgave all his grumpiness days ago. But Cas apologised so many times yesterday that Dean wants to show him it’s fine that he was a bit absent-minded and pettish. To be fair, it’s actually kinda cute when he’s frowning and his hair is a mess because he keeps running his hands through it.

Castiel normally doesn’t shower so long. At first, Dean doesn’t pay attention to it, but once he puts away the last bottle of coke, it occurs to him that Cas has been in there for more than five minutes now, and he was already in there when Dean got home.
A little hesitant at first, Dean walks over to the bathroom and carefully knocks.

“Cas, buddy, you okay in there?”
No answer. Dean frowns and knocks again. He puts his ear against the door, but that doesn’t really work. Just as he’s about to knock again, he hears a sound that’s definitely not the shower. It’s a sob, soft and weak. But Dean is sure, even though he never heard Cas cry before.
Castiel is crying.

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Clues To My Heart - Jughead x Reader

Here you go! It’s slightly longer than usual!
I tried my best to make it as sweet as possible without it being overly sappy for someone like Jughead :)
Enjoy!


“Jughead,” you seeth, eyes ablaze, “Get the hell out of my sight,”

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head in what looks like to be disappointment, his eyes filled with hurt and anger, but turns around and leaves anyway. You deflate a little, the argument that just happened sapping the energy out of you and you collapse onto a nearby park bench. It started innocently enough but it somehow just grew out of proportion, and into one of the worse fights you’ve ever had before. Tears prick at the corner of your eyes and you stubbornly wipe them away, unwilling to let your emotions get the best of you as the words he said to you echoes in your head.

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anonymous asked:

okAY BUT when the villains see the Siberia footage, they get mad (and it's definitely not because they actually CARE about tony, pshhhh noooooo), and intersect Team Freeloader™ on their trip back to America. No one quite knows what happened, but if the villains' smug smiles and Team Cap's haunted expressions are anything to go by, it wasn't good.

It’s a good thing that Thanos comes around to destroy Earth and eradicate the entire human race tbh. Because if the renewed Avengers were still supposed to fight their everyday villains, well. That would’ve been awkward.

With Thanos being a worldwide threat they have to work with the villains together of course. Tony is responsible for the recruiting. He’s definitely suspicious when nobody protests and neither Clint nor Wanda comment on it. Still, Tony takes what he can get.

Except then a surprising amount of villains prove to be interested in keeping the world standing, and suddenly they are forced to work together with the heroes. It doesn’t go well.

And Tony. Tony doesn’t get what the problem is?

But Steve is apparently physically unable to turn his back on any of them. Clint’s arrows lose accuracy and speed whenever he catches sight of Magneto. And he could’ve sworn he saw Wanda flinch and pale when she passed Cross Bones in the hall once? 

It’s weird. They might not be good people but they are good fighter and it’s not like the villains aren’t being courteous. Alright maybe not courteous. Although Doom’s robots do enjoy playing hide and seek. And just the other day Rumlock gave Tony a sunflower? Also Loki enjoys screwing with Tony’s equipment–but then Tony has noticed that the suit’s interface seems less susceptible to magic these days. So, you know, they’re trying.

At least that’s what Tony assumes.

But yeah. It’s a good thing they have Thanos to focus on. Tony doesn’t know how Steve would’ve handled a combat situation with Magneto when he keeps dropping his plates whenever the guy shows up, but it probably would have ended with embarrassment for everyone.

And been an instant Youtube hit.

yellowgoingblue  asked:

“i work at a little market/store and u came up to the register with a candy bar but didn’t have enough money to pay for the entire thing. but don’t worry, i got you, fam” au: I saw this and my mind screamed, "ANDREIL".

ok i combined both of these and neither is fully what you asked for but i hope you like it anyway!!!


It’s hot the way only New Jersey gets hot, America’s swampy asshole, thick damp air under an impermeable layer of smog, the sun mocking him from where it hangs between a few grey clouds that indicate but don’t promise an upcoming rain.

Neil’s jog is taking much, much longer than usual thanks to an unbearable amount of traffic. It doesn’t help that he’s had to reroute himself to get some British candy bar from the one Wawa that—without explanation—carries British candy bars.

He gets there eventually, eight miles away from his apartment and so fully dehydrated that he’s questioning how the fuck he’s going to make it back. Wawa is, as always, an oasis: refrigerators line the walls, and within them, blissfully, is cold water. He grabs a bottle and drinks half of it in the aisle before even going on the search for the Mars Bar.

The candy aisle has nothing, just mostly-depleted cardboard boxes of Snickers and Twix. The international section is mainly Latin American and Asian goods, and then, crammed between coconut water and Goya goods, a box of Mars Bars.

Like the boxes in the candy aisle, it’s empty.

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I can’t believe I haven’t thought of this- though it may have already been done…

Post civil war where Tony becomes the new Director of Shield (I don’t watch Agents of Shield just fyi) because I’ve read several fics where immediately after the data dump during Winter Soldier Tony stepped in to help by protecting Shield agents who have been compromised (so he does major damage control and gains the respect of tons of Shield agents). I really love Tony being loved and respected by tons of Shield agents (including Maria and Fury) and them having his back post civil war. Plus imagining the rogues reaction to Tony being the new Director and everyone loving him. 

[voltron]: breathe too deep to feel

a/n: i’ve been seeing a lot of art and edits of keith smoking and i always wondered about why he would start in the first place. then i thought of lance who seeks so much validation from others and wondered if maybe he started at one point too. 

characters: keith, lance

words: 2091


disclaimer: i don’t condone smoking. it’s a very nasty habit that isn’t good for you in the long run, and there’s nothing cool or romantic about it. 


keith starts smoking when he’s eighteen – right after his galaxy garrison records are tossed, right after he realizes that everything he has left can be carried on his back into the desert. 

he pulls out all the spare bills and change in his pockets and buys four packs and a lighter from the only grocery store for miles. he shoves one in his mouth and lights it up the minute he leaves the store. no one ever taught him how to do this, so he coughs up the smog and winces when it burns his chest and his throat. but he feels something deep inside of him, and that’s a start. 


lance starts smoking when he’s fifteen. he crawls out onto the roof with his older brother and watches him blow smoke rings towards the sky that disappear into the clouds. lance sneaks a couple from his pack and sticks them in his pocket so his brother doesn’t see. 

he takes the matches from the kitchen and lights one up with his head sticking out the bathroom window. he’s watched his brother dozens of times and knows what to do – hold the smoke in your mouth, inhale, then blow it all out. he only coughs twice and feels his head get light and airy. he holds it like his brother – in between his middle and ring finger. when he’s done, he sits in the bathtub and feels how his brother must always feel – cool, collected, confident. 


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anonymous asked:

hi could you write drunk andrew? i mean really really drunk. wasted

um. this is not. that. because i just can’t see it happening of andrew’s own free will? because of the whole Control thing. and tbh i don’t really want to imagine what would have to happen for him to think that was a good idea. 

anyway, i had an idea anyway. idk what this is. warning for mentions of drink spiking and assholes getting their faces broken.

Andrew wakes up in his bed in Columbia, alone, with a big black blank in his memory.

His head hurts and his stomach is roiling. That doesn’t stop him opening his eyes, his hand reaching under the pillow for the knife he - doesn’t keep there anymore.

The reason for that says, “You’re fine.”

Neil is on the other side of the room hitched up on the window sill, silhouetted by daylight, his gaze a patient weight. Andrew pushes himself upright - slowly. Even then the movement makes him want to retch.

The last thing Andrew remembers is finding a table in the crush at Eden’s, Neil tight to his side, the others rowdy with the opportunity to get drunk and stupid on a Friday night, the taste of whiskey on his tongue. His skin prickles all over: he isn’t one to forget, ever. 

Not unless someone makes him.

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ratherembarrassing  asked:

supercorp and 13. or 14. or 06. this list is a lot, i'm sorry i want them all.

ok you’re getting #13: stroking hair

+


It starts out like any other weekend. They’re sitting on Kara’s couch, because Kara has the night off from everything, Supergirl included. There was brunch, and then coffee, and then Lena mentioned that she’d never seen an episode of Friends and Kara’s not even from this planet and she’s seen every single one.

“This show’s not bad,” Lena mutters thoughtfully.

“Not bad?” Kara says. “This show is iconic. I mean, I didn’t really get to watch it while it was on TV, but when I first came to stay with my family, it was in reruns all the time.”


Lena frowns, the way she always does when Kara mentions her past. Kara still hasn’t found the right balance of half-truths yet, when it comes to talking about her childhood in front of Lena. The sadness in Lena’s eyes tells Kara that she’s probably assuming the worst. She nudges Lena’s side, trying to change the subject. “I was such a dork, I wanted to get Rachel’s haircut for like a month before Alex talked me out of it.”

Lena tugs at the ends of Kara’s hair, playfully. “I think you could rock a Rachel, if you wanted.”


Kara hears herself laugh in an out-of-body sort of way, too loud and too big. “Yeah, eight years too late.”

“Nevertheless,” Lena says, laughingly. She reaches up and trails her fingertips along Kara’s hairline, then drags them across her scalp and over, combing through.

Kara’s response is instinctive: she shudders into her touch, eyes fluttering closed and it takes every last bit of her self-control to keep herself from sighing. Kryptonite may be her one weakness, but this is a close second.

When Kara opens her eyes, Lena’s watching her with a thoughtful look on her face. She cards through Kara’s hair once more, taking extra care to scratch a little at her scalp, and Kara feels like her whole body shivers. Having her hair played with always makes her so - she doesn’t even know the right word. It’s not sexual or anything like that but it’s intimate, making her feel soft and calm in a way she can’t quite articulate. Melty, like a popsicle on a hot day, like she could just fuse right with the couch if Lena kept playing with her hair like that.

“Sorry,” Kara whispers. “I’m really, um. Sensitive.”


She smiles, like it’s normal. Like she feels normal, and not dreamy and content and really connected to Lena. But then - gosh - Lena smiles back. “You know, as much as I loved Lex, he was terrible for working on my hairdressing skills.”

Lena gestures to the space on the floor in front of her, and Kara sits, settling her back against Lena’s crossed ankles. Lena braids her hair, twisting and combing out and twisting, over and over. Kara listens to Ross and Rachel bicker on the TV, and lets herself float away to the feel of Lena’s touch.

At one point Sam’s temperature climbs above 108 and he goes down hard in the bunker’s hallway, wandering half-delirious with Dean fluttering anxiously at his side. Dean sees Sam start to crumple in his periphery, catches his brother by the underarms and lets his dead weight carry them gracelessly to the ground.

Then Sam starts seizing.

Dean gets a thigh wedged under his head to keep it from banging against the cement while he lies twitching and jerking on the floor, holds him steady like that with fingers wound tight in the fabric of his shirt. There’s saliva foaming up between his lips, dribbling down the sides of his face and his breath is making an awful choking, rattling wheeze in his throat. Dean tilts his brother’s head to clear his airway, hangs on with adrenaline and sick dread churning away in his stomach.

Eventually the spasms stop and Sam goes still. Dean keeps him there on the cement, head pillowed in his lap, rubbing circles into his shoulder and speaking soothing, senseless things while Sam’s eyelids flutter—the way he used to when Sam would have nightmares, or when the hallucinations got so bad there were long bleeding scores on his arms and throat where he tried to claw out the maggots he saw writhing there.

Like those times, it takes a while for Sam to come back to himself. His eyes are half-open but unfocused, failing to take in much of his surroundings. His lips are parted and shining, moving a little as he sucks in air rhythmically. Dean mops the saliva from Sam’s chin with the cuff of his shirtsleeve, smooths the sweaty hair back from his forehead.

Sam is still searing hot to the touch. Burning up from inside. Transforming.

Dean hangs on tight tight tight—prays with all his strength Sam won’t crumble to ash beneath his hands.