#15 Plus

[kedreeva]

There's some dude (derogatory) on FB who is PISSED people are pricing their farm fresh eggs at $2 and $3 a dozen instead of $4+, saying it's "disrespectful" and "undignified" and "I'm trying to feed my kids" like Sir, you are on a Facebook group page bitching about your neighbors egg prices because your pet chickens aren't earning you a living wage and you think it's your neighbors' fault, you do not have a leg to stand on here wrt dignity.

Also half the answers are like "I give them to friends and family free" or "I donate them to food banks" or "I'm making them affordable to folks who might not otherwise be able to get them now that they're so expensive in the store" and "if you think you're going to turn a profit keeping backyard chickens you have been wildly misled" and so on, and so forth, and I'm so living for it.

and I can tell you right now, he did NOT like my answer of "if you're trying to feed your kids, I hear eggs are edible."

[silvermoon424]

This is a subject that really interests me because I (28 years old) had computer classes in grade school where learning how to efficiently type was a big focus. As a result I have a very high WPM (words per minute) count and am an excellent touch typer.

However, I've heard that they started phasing out computer classes in a lot of schools because it's assumed that kids/teenagers already know how to use a computer in this day and age. But smartphones are more popular than computers now, and as result a lot of Gen Z/Gen Alpha kids are able to text very quickly but their typing skills aren't as good.

[thewebhunting9]

Introducing the iPhone 15 Plus: Elevating Mobile Excellence to New Heights

Step into a new era of mobile brilliance with the iPhone 15 Plus. Immerse yourself in a world where innovation meets sophistication, as Apple unveils its latest flagship device. This extraordinary smartphone is designed to exceed expectations and redefine what's possible in the realm of mobile technology.

[zepskies]

Dream With Me - Part 3

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Plus-sized!Reader (Latina)

Summary: When your asshole ex-boyfriend calls for help on a case, you have a tough decision to make. But Dean isn’t going to let you do anything alone. AKA: The last hunt you, Sam, and Dean will ever go on together.

AN: I decided to release Part 3 a bit earlier! Now, *deep breaths* here we go, friends…

(If you missed it: Read Part 1 || Read Part 2)

Word Count: 4.5K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, and a tinge of spice.~

☕ Midnight Espresso Masterlist

Part 3: “What Is Deserved”

Dean’s heartbeat pounds in his ears.

By the time the four of you reach the Impala, you’re in a cold sweat, pale, and barely conscious. Dean unlocks the car and carefully seats you on one side of the backseat, while Sam hurries to the other side. He then helps guide you in as Dean maneuvers you into laying across the backseat. Sam’s going to stay with you for the ride to the hospital.

“Watch her head,” Dean warns, his tone sharp. 

“I got her,” Sam assures. He holds you securely against his chest, with your head tucked under his chin.

Dean lets out an unsteady breath. When he turns around, Carter’s standing too close, peering at you anxiously. 

“Get her to a hospital—” he starts to say, but Dean’s blood-stained fist cuts off his words, cracking against his jaw.

Dean put all his strength into that one.

Carter cries out and goes down hard into the earthy ground. He groans, huffing dead leaves out of his face as he tries to push himself back up. He hears the sound of a gun’s safety cocking back. He looks up sharply and finds the barrel of Dean’s silver Colt.

Carter freezes where he lies. He’s wary, but not surprised. He wipes a trail of blood from the corner of his mouth from where he bit the inside of his cheek.  

In that moment, Dean wrestles with a decision—with a desire that burns hot in his veins…but he knows you don’t have the time the spare, even for this.

“I’m gonna give you the biggest gift of your fucking life,” Dean growls. “Don’t let me see your face again, you hear me? Or it’s on sight.” 

His thumb moves the safety back into place, and he stows away the gun. He ignores the other man’s subtle breath of relief. In fact, Dean doesn’t glance back even once as he hastens to the driver’s seat of his car. 

The Impala speeds off, leaving Carter lying on a dusty ground in the middle of nowhere. 

Trees and asphalt pass in a blur as Dean speeds down the narrow road. He uses the GPS on his phone to find the nearest hospital, several miles away. 

Your skin is clammy. You realize it when you grab onto Sam’s arm that he has secured around you. You feel the cold sweat on your palm and between your fingers. Sam looks down at you while trying to hide his concern.

“Sam,” you whisper. It’s a struggle to get out the words, but you fight for them. “I know I don’t need to tell you to watch out for your brother, but…”

“Hey,” Sam says. His voice is just as quiet, so the rumble of the Impala hopefully masks it. He glances up and sees Dean’s determined face through the rearview mirror. His attention is on the road ahead.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Sam says to you, gently. “I know it hurts. Just hold on.”

You give a short nod, but tears still sting at your eyes. They wet your lashes and eventually slip down your cheeks. 

Your hand moves down to grab his.

“I love you,” you tell him.

Sam has become your brother too, in every way that counts. He knows it, just as he knows that you’re the sister he never thought he’d have. He squeezes your hand back and fights the emotions clogging his throat, making it tighten. 

“I love you too,” he says. “Just…just hold on.”

God knows you’re trying your best.

Getting you to the hospital is just the first challenge. 

Then it’s Dean having to let go of your hand, having to let the medical staff take you away from him on a gurney, rolling you down the hall and past a wall of doors he can’t follow. 

Dean stands in the middle of the Emergency Room hallway half-covered in your blood. He feels at a loss, in a way that reminds him of a day just like this. It reminds him of Lisa.

They were gunning for you. Of course, it’s your fucking fault.

Yeah, that’s familiar territory too. It reminds him of every reason he hesitated to start anything with you in the first place.

Dean’s jaw locks, teeth clenched, and there’s a well of unrest inside him that’s never going to be calm.

Then Sam is there at his side. He lays a supportive hand on Dean’s back and guides him towards the waiting room.

And it’s an incredible wait. 

Hours in the making, where Dean sits in an uncomfortable chair with a half-inch cushion after trying to clean himself up in the bathroom. He holds his head in his hands. 

He’s had more than a few what the fuck moments in his life, but this just doesn’t feel real. 

This time, there’s no Cas to swoop in and heal you. There’s no Rowena with a spell, and Jack…

Dean’s been praying ever since he carried you out of that barn, but Jack’s not answering. Dean frowns, and in his frustration, he grunts and pushes off his knees to stand. He begins to pace without truly realizing it. 

Sam watches his brother with both sympathy and pain. 

“They’re taking fucking forever,” Dean grouses. “We should’ve heard something by now. I’m gonna find somebody, get an update.”

Sam sighs. “Dean—”

But he knows it’s no use. He watches his brother go to flag down a nurse. She nods patiently, but Sam overhears her give Dean the same answer he heard the first two times he asked about you.

“The doctor will come down to update you once she’s out of surgery.” 

Dean’s frustration is visibly mounting when he paces back into the waiting room. Sam once again tries to give him a supportive word, but Dean just shakes his head and sinks heavily into the seat next to his brother.

He holds a fist over his mouth, for a long moment, just staring at a thin crack in the beige tile floor. Behind his eyes, the entire scene plays out again. Finding you in the barn, freeing you, thinking to himself that he could finally breathe, knowing he’d keep you safe. 

And then, the way you’d saved him, throwing yourself at that vampire. Dean fighting tooth and nail afterward, and still, finding you unable to raise yourself off the rusty metal blade lodged into your body. 

Dean’s face tightens grimly while he digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. Sam’s heavy grip falls on his shoulder, squeezing in silent support and commiseration. Dean can’t really allow himself to be comforted. All he feels is a deep pit of turmoil. And guilt. 

“She didn’t, uh…she didn’t want this,” Dean says. He looks down at his hands now hanging in his lap.

Sam tilts his head, taking in a deep breath. “Carter tricked her. He knew what would get her out here, and us.”

Dean shakes his head. “No. I mean she didn’t want to do this anymore.”

He meets his brother’s now confused gaze.

“She wants to quit the life,” Dean says. “Been talking about…retiring. The house, the white fence, a friggin’ yard for the dog, the…the 2.5 kids. Apple Pie Central.”

Sam raises his brows, especially at the mention of kids. His lips twitch at the thought. He realizes then that he wants that for his brother. Even though the look on Dean’s face has Sam dimming.

“What did you say to that?” Sam asks. 

Dean’s sigh is heavy. He rubs between his eyes, at the mounting ache there. 

“I’m the Job, Sam. Clearly I’m only good at one fucking thing, and it’s slicing throats,” he says. “I couldn’t even protect her. Not with Chuck. And not now.”

Sam’s brows draw together, disheartened.

“Dean…”

“It’s true, Sam,” Dean replies. “And I’ve tried. I’ve tried that retirement shit before. You remember what happened there, right?”

Sam’s lips purse, and he shakes his head.

“It’s different now. Chuck is gone, Dean. We made that happen—”

He’s using your argument without knowing, almost verbatim. Somehow, it twists the knife deeper into Dean’s heart.

“And what about the rest of the monsters, huh?” he says hotly. “Do we just take a sabbatical on all the evil sons of bitches still left out there?”

“We’re not the only two hunters in the world, Dean,” Sam replies. “There’s always going to be another hunt, and another hunter to take it on. If you wanted to get out, I would understand.”

Dean looks at his brother harder then. He knows that Sam has been seeing Eileen more seriously for the past couple of months. After a snap of Jack’s fingers brought the world back to equilibrium, the two had found one another again. 

Dean starts to wonder if Sam has started thinking thoughts of retirement too—of a life beyond hunting.

“But besides all that,” Sam continues. He grips Dean’s shoulder. “You really think hunting is all there is to you?”

Dean’s gaze falls, again down to his empty hands. By now, he’s scrubbed them clean of your blood until his skin felt raw. 

He doesn’t have an answer for Sam, but he’ll be damned if he loses you like this. 

Dean gets up abruptly, somewhat startling his brother. 

“Need some coffee,” he says. 

Dean leaves Sam in the waiting room to find a relatively quiet hallway. It’s late at night. He’s dirty as hell and hasn’t eaten or slept in damn near a day. He’s running on stubborn will and determination as his fists clench at his sides. He lifts his gaze heavenward.

All right, Jack. I know you’re hearin’ me. I need your half-angelic ass, right now. She needs you. So can you please just—

Suddenly, a nurse passing by him in the hall freezes where she stands. Dean jolts a bit, but when he turns his head, he finds Jack Kline standing there, in the same clothes he wore when he ascended into heaven. Some khakis, an off-white shirt, and a jacket Sam bought for him. 

“Hello, Dean,” Jack says, with a slight smile. 

Dean is relieved, but he’s also angry. “Damn it, man. What took you so long?”

“I’ve been…busy,” Jack says cryptically. 

Dean doesn’t really give two shits where the supercharged Nephilim has been.

“Okay, well, we need your help. She needs your help,” Dean says, pointing towards the doors that lead to the operating room. 

Jack nods, his eyes lowering.

“I know, Dean,” he says. “She’s in the veil right now.” 

Dean’s heart clenches. His entire body stills. 

“What?” he says.

Though he knows what Jack is saying. Dean’s been “in the veil” once or twice himself. It’s that in-between place. That limbo-like plane of existence for human souls, between life and the afterlife.

“Fix her,” Dean growls. “Fix her right now.”

“I can’t,” Jack says. He looks apologetic, even in conflict with himself. “I told you, I’m hands-off.”

“Hands-off, my ass!” Dean snaps. “You have all the power in the world, and no good reason not to help her!”

“Dean,” Jack tries, but the other man makes a cutting motion with his hand. He draws closer to Jack with intimidating steps, even though the Nephilim has no reason to fear him. 

“Before you were…this,” Dean says, gesturing at his “godly” form, “you were family. Part of our family. And family’s what matters. Matter of fact, she looked out for you, protected you, treated you like a little brother.”

Jack’s gaze falls toward his feet.

“After all we’ve been through, after what she’s been through, she don’t deserve this. Not from you,” Dean says. “Help her.”

When Jack looks up again, his face is still apologetic.

“Dean, it’s the natural order—”

“Screw the natural fucking order!” Dean shouts, pointing at Jack. “And screw you. Another dickless fucking coward trying to play God.”

Jack sighs. He turns, as if about to leave. It makes Dean realize, with a tremor of panic, that he’s about to lose maybe the only chance he has to save you. He rushes forward and grabs Jack’s arm over his jacket. 

“Hey, wait, wait. Look, Jack. Please,” he implores. He doesn’t realize that his eyes are red, and starting to shine. “Please. Come on, man. I won’t ask you for anything else as long as I live, and I’ll swear by that. But you’ve gotta save her.”

Jack gives Dean one last look of sadness. 

And he disappears. 

The world returns to full speed, with the nurse passing by Dean with a mere glance at him. He stares at her in disbelief. He realizes that he’s alone in the hallway. 

His fury grows, and it grows. It burns hot in his blood. 

It bubbles over and has him punching a hole straight into the wall, white paint and plaster giving way. He yanks out his aching hand and storms back towards the waiting room. 

There, he finds Sam standing with a doctor, who wears a look that tells Dean to brace himself. 

Dean stares at your face. It’s still much paler than usual. You lie in a hospital bed heavily sedated, where you’re hooked to an IV and a couple of different monitors. The right side of your neck is heavily bandaged, and the blankets (and your hospital gown) cover the many stitches and bandages that span your right side. 

“We’ve given her several liters of blood,” the doctor had said. “I’m going to be honest with you, we nearly lost her on the table, twice. She’s in a very delicate state, but we will monitor her for the next few days. If she gets through tonight, we’ll know if she’s still able to fight.”

Dean doesn’t even dare sit on the edge of your bed. Instead, he dragged a chair over to sit beside you. He’s gone from holding your hand gently, to just sitting in silence with the tumultuous darkness of his inner world. 

Sam sits in the slightly more comfortable recliner seat in the corner. He flips through one of Rowena’s books in search of something that can help you, but he’s scanned the same page several times now. Neither of them has said a word for two hours. 

“You hungry?” Sam asks. 

Dean shakes his head. “No.”

Sam isn’t either. In fact, he’s been battling nausea all night. He just doesn’t know what else to do, for you, or his brother.

“She doesn’t deserve this,” Dean says. It echoes the words he said to Jack. This time, they’re less heated, but no less filled with conviction.

Sam looks up from the book he’s not reading. Dean doesn’t look his way, but he knows he has his brother’s attention. Dean’s curled fist covers his mouth.

“She wanted out, and I said no,” he says.

Sam frowns, disheartened. “There’s…there’s still time, Dean.”

“She wants…kids,” Dean continues, almost as if Sam had never spoken. “She wants a family. Maybe to be the mom she didn’t get to have anywhere near long enough.”

Dean has always been able to relate to you there. He remembers the way you’ve talked about your mom, often with a lot of melancholy. But only now does he think he see the reasons why you want more. Only now does he realize what you were really asking from him when you talked about quitting the life.

“Yeah, she’d be a good mom,” Sam says, his lips almost forming a smile. Dean nods, but doesn’t reply. He’s thinking too much.

“And you, uh…you’d be a good dad,” Sam adds. He manages to smile at the thought. “You did it once for me. You can do it again.”

Dean tilts his head at that in consideration. It’s not that he doesn’t like kids. He does, and deep down, he’s always wanted the same things you do. This life had just pushed him to a point where he stopped allowing himself to dream.

Dean takes in a deep breath and tries to rub the exhaustion from his face. These thoughts don’t help him right now. They only torture him more.

An alarm suddenly trills, startling both Sam and Dean as their heads perk up. They scan your heart monitor, and it looks to be flagging from red to blue as the numbers fall lower and lower.   

Dean calls your name, but his movements are frantic in pressing the alarm button to call the nurses. Sam runs out of the room to actually find someone. Dean hears his voice shouting down the hall, but he’s too preoccupied with gripping your hand tight.

“Come on, baby. Fight,” he grits out. “I know you can beat this.”

His panic grows as he watches your heart rate fall lower, and lower. Tears finally sting at his eyes. His lips tremble. 

“Come on, sweetheart. Stay with me,” he says, rubbing your hand between both of his. He lowers down to rest a hand on your head, and he presses a kiss above your brow. “We’ll do it all, you understand me. I’ll build the damn cabin myself if I have to. Three bedrooms. Hell, make it five. We’ll get so damn busy, you’re gonna get sick of me.”

And if you were awake, you’d know exactly what kind of busy he’s talking about. You know him so well. Besides Sam, there’s no one else in the world left to know him like you do.

And your voice, your touch, the way you make him coffee with a double hit of espresso, the way you cook for him and Sam because you love to feed them. The way that, even when you’re fighting with Dean, frustrating him beyond belief, you never stop protecting him, as much as he tries to do for you.

You’re his, in every way. It scares him like hell, what he might become without you.

“Come on,” Dean begs, this time squeezing your hand. “Come on…”

Sam rushes back into the room. Footsteps are following him down the hall. 

And then, everything stops. 

Everything, except for Sam and Dean. 

Your monitors stop beeping out of control, freezing your heart rate where it sits far below where it should. 

When Dean looks up in teary confusion, Jack stands on the other side of your bed. He gives Dean a gentle smile. 

“You were right,” he says. “Family is what’s most important.”

Jack reaches out and gently touches your forehead. In a mere moment, you take in a deeper, more natural breath. Your eyes slide open and find Jack. It confuses you. Your mouth opens to say his name, but Dean squeezing your hand draws your attention. Your gaze softens.

“Dean?” you say.

He’s able to smile, even though his eyes are red, and a tear draws down his cheek. He hastens to wipe it away.

“Hey, baby,” he says. “How do you feel?”

Your brows furrow as you contemplate his question. “Fine, I…”

You remember then that you shouldn’t feel fine. You look up at Jack again, and as your memory of yesterday slowly returns to you, you realize then what he’s done. He hears the words you hold inside before you can say them out loud. He smiles.

You’re welcome, he replies in your mind. Then he gives Sam and Dean one last warm look. 

“Take care of each other,” Jack says. Then he disappears, without even a flash of light. He’s just gone. 

The world once again kicks into high gear. You’re forced to pretend to be asleep when two nurses flood into your room. Sam and Dean apologize for a false alarm when they see that your heart monitor and your other vitals are steady, and even stronger than before.  

When the nurses leave, you’re able to open your eyes and sit up normally. Sam comes to sit on your other side, and you reach for his hand while offering him a smile. Dean brushes your hair back to gently peel away the bandage on your neck.

Your skin is smooth underneath. Dean helps you do the same for the wrapping around your waist, after you peel back the covers and raise a corner of your hospital gown for him to see. Your wounds are completely gone. 

Dean huffs a breath of relief, his brows drawing together. You hold your hand to his cheek and give him a softer smile.

“I’m okay,” you promise him.

You wipe under his eye, where the tracks of his distress have remained. Dean wastes no more time. He gathers you into his arms and bows to claim your lips. You give him the comfort he needs, while melting into him with the same passion.

When he pulls away though, he has to wipe the tears from your eyes. The back of his hand brushes down your cheek.

“You scared the shit outta me,” he says.

You manage to stifle a laugh, but not your smile. “My bad.”

He steals another kiss, a bit softer this time.

“I love you,” he says. His voice is gruff, but no less genuine.

You let out a sigh, while more tears brim in your eyes.

“I love you too,” you nod.

While you soothe him with your fingers slipping through his hair, his lips press into your shoulder. He meets Sam’s teary smile with one of his own. 

You’re staying with him. That’s all that matters.

Six months later, the bedroom you once shared with Dean in the bunker is nearly empty. All that’s left are the nightstands, the old metal bed frame, and a bare mattress. Everything else is coming with you into the new place—a cabin-style house you and Dean found together in Lawrence.

Sam and Eileen have their own little place in the city as well, just a couple miles away.

It’s bittersweet to see this room in the bunker stripped bare, but you still smile as you survey it all with your arms crossed. 

Dean’s hands startle you when they smooth around the curve of your waist from behind. You jump a little, but you smile when he kisses your neck.  

“Reminiscing?” he asks, his eyes dancing. “Some damn good times here. Some damn good magic.”

You laugh at how he uses your words (and playfully slaps your ass), but you have to agree. You turn your head to kiss his cheek. 

“Just thinking about how we’re gonna make some more magic in the new place,” you tease. “We won’t have a sink in the bedroom anymore though.”

Dean nods at that, holding you more securely against his chest. 

“True. So convenient,” he says ruefully. 

You stroke his arms wrapped around you. You begin to tingle with nerves inside as an idea strikes you. It’s the perfect time… 

“I need to have a discussion with you,” you say. Dean’s smile grows against your neck. 

“A discussion, huh? Sounds serious,” he says. 

“It is,” you say. Though part of you is playful, you really are serious. You turn in his arms so he can see the gravity of your gaze.

Dean tilts his head, sensing your shift. 

“Hmm, okay,” he says.

You untangle yourself from his arms so you can lead him over to the bare mattress, where you sit him down. His hands slide down to your jean-clad thighs while yours fall on his shoulders. 

“Wait here,” you say. 

Dean quirks a brow, but he lets you walk away, over to your empty nightstand. You pull out something wrapped in tissue paper. 

You unwrap it and hold it up for his view. 

Dean’s eyes widen when he sees those two pink lines. He takes the little white stick from you and looks up at your face in pure shock and awe. 

“Holy shit,” he utters, making you laugh. He sets the little test aside so he can quickly grab your waist, once again pulling you in close. “You sure?”

“I’ve done it three times. I’m fairly certain,” you say with a smile. One that shines brighter with your burgeoning tears. You frame his face with your hands. “We did it, baby.”

After just about three months of trying, you’re already pregnant.

That reality sinks into Dean as he falls deeper into shock. You start to frown at his silence though. Your thumbs brush his stubbled cheeks.

“You’re, um…you’re happy, right?” you ask.

His gaze flicks up to yours. Seeing the uncertainty there breaks him out of his shock. His expression eases with a smile. He tugs you even closer by your hips, and he presses a kiss above your navel, over your shirt.

“Yeah, sweetheart. I am,” he replies, even as his deep voice breaks slightly on the last word.

Your smile grows, and you bend down for a searing kiss that Dean matches with all the emotions coursing through him; excitement, a tremor of anxiety, but mostly love. It’s nearly overwhelming in his chest, because he never thought he’d get to have this.

He’s damn grateful it’s with you.

He grips you tighter on reflex, and he brings you down onto the mattress so he can roll on top. He smirks in light of your giggling, brushing your hair out of your eyes and caressing your cheek.

He captures your lips for another heated kiss, one that grows into another, and a few more for good measure. Your hands slip down his back to squeeze his ass for once. His growing length finds friction through his jeans and between your legs, making him groan.

“How about we make sure it sticks,” he suggests between kisses. He trails them hot and wet down your neck. 

“I don’t think it works like that,” you breathe, though you smile as you slip your fingers through his hair. Dean smirks against your skin.

“Huh. Worth a shot, right?” he quips. He curls one of your thick thighs over his hip and rocks into you just enough to start driving you crazy. Already you feel his clothed erection pressing against your center. Your core begins to pulse in response, needing him.

You shove the layer of plaid off his shoulders, and he helps you with the undershirt as well. He starts to divest you of your layers, down to your bra, where he kisses a familiar path down between your breasts.

Just for a moment though, you hold his face and make sure he’s paying attention, despite your panting breaths mingling with his. 

“Thank you,” you say. “I didn’t think I would ever get to…”

Tears well up in your eyes again, and this time, Dean catches them when they fall. He shakes his head and brushes them away with his thumb. 

“That’s my line, baby,” he says. “Whatever’s up next, this is it. It’s you and me.”

He takes your left hand, which already holds the weight of a silver ring. His own holds one to match. You’re now officially his in every way.

Your smile already agrees with what he said.

It’s you and me.

But you also nod and guide his hand down to your belly. 

“Yeah,” you say. “It’s us.”

Dean hums in approval at that. A softer smile takes over his features, before he lowers down to your lips, so he can finish what he started.

You and Dean still don’t have all of the “retirement plan” mapped out just yet, but for now, this is a damn good start.

AN: I promised a happy ending, and this is the happiest I could think of! 💗 Hopefully this provides a smoother transition to the story In Bad Weather, though I'll never say no to coming back to these two. 😘

Let me know what you thought of this little ride in the Midnight Espresso-verse!~ ☕

Read From the Beginning:

Want to go back to the beginning of this series? Start with “Midnight Espresso”:

Summary: You’ve never taken Dean’s flirting seriously…until he asks you for an impromptu Spanish lesson.

▶️ First Story: Midnight Espresso

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Series Masterlist

Dean Winchester Series

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Dean W. Tag List (Part 1):

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms

@foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @roseblue373 @rizlowwritessortof

@this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma

@iprobablyshipit91 @melancholictearz @nic-kolas @sanscas @sleepyqueerenergy

@wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @twinkleinadiamondsky

@anticxrrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk

@midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19 @agalliasi @venicesem

@chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @deansbbyx

@candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @deanfreakingwinchester

@chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @waywardxwords

[raccoonwxrks]

Guess who had another idea for a 15!skk au (me)

[thunderc1an]

Sneak peak to my Mousewhisker pmv that is in the works

[thewritersaddictions]

Day Fifthteen: Pedro Pascal + Face Sitting

Pedro knows you like the back of his hand. He knows when you're so fucking exicting that you move around lot in your sleep. He knows when you're angry as someone because it reads all over your face. He also knows when you're nervous about something.

You pace around the house unable to stay still or just in one place. The house is a wreak, blankets thrown all over the couch. The kitchen is a mess from your trying to get some baking done, but the cookies came out a little wonky and now your frusted with that as well.

Everything is just going wrong.

He can see that way you're downspirling very quickly. He's watching you from the corner of his eye on the couch. The volume on the TV is low, some comerial runs on the screen as he gets up setting his book down and getting up in search of you.

The kitchen is empty now, so he follows the notise of you pacing cirlces upstairs. Your shared bedroom door is creaked open. "Baby?" He asks into the room. You hum. You're sitting at the edge of the bed.

"What's wrong?" Pedro asks as he comes to sit next to you. Your shurg your shoulders at first, and then you start to ramble. Words fumbling out of your mouth and then all the sudden Pedro gets up.

You follow his movement as Pedro rounds the corner of the bed. Sitting on the bed before slipping his shoes off and settling ontop the covers. "What are you doing?" You ask him. He wiggles a littel further down, so his head sits perfeclty on the pillow.

"I'm getting comfortable so when I ask you to come over here and sit that pretty little pussy of my face you'll do it." Pedro says with a straight face. The rambling from beofre hand has been about a lot of things, but some of it had been about the weight you had gained during the winter season and now that spring was here you were starting to regret ever eating anything during the holidays.

"WHAT!" You shirek as you look at your very calm boyfriend laying on the bed licking his lips. "Why?" You ask, he rolls his eyes. "What is this 72 questions? I just want to eat my girls pusy out so she'll stop thinking about everything for a few moments." He says warmly quirking a brow up in a ever so teasing manner.

"But…" "There are no buts, besides that pretty one I want up here right now." Pedro says coaxing you closer to him. "Come on hermosa, come sit on my face and let me tell you how good you taste, how much you mean to me. Let me show you mi amor."

He knows he's got you when you slip your shirt over your shoulders and head, when your sweats come falling down into a pile around your feet along with your slutty, lacy panties.

He helps you, outreaching his hand to support you as your climb up onto the bed and crawl over his body. Still fully clothed and you see what you do to his body. Evidence of his hard erection in his blue washed jeans.

"Mi Amor don't you worry about me, just put that pussy up on my face and let me take care of the rest." You listen postioning each thigh on either side of Pedro head. One hand leans on the headrest for support and the other is combing through Pedros thick greying locks of hair.

"There we go princesa, just like that." He says guiding you down onto his lips. His hands are clasped around your ass. He sits you the rest of the way down. His nose nudges into your clit and your shiver at the sensation. Hot breath blows on your cold pussy breathing a new sort of life into you.

"You smell so good hermosa." He mutters into your pussy. "Oh fuck." You moan, just him talking into your pussy already has you wanting his tongue more.

His tongue lays flat agasint your entrance. "Fuck and you taste so good mi amor." The next thing you now theres no more talking, just his tongue attacking your clit and weeping entrance as if he's just come back from the desert and he's dying of thirst.

You grind into him now, aching for more. Yearning for more then just his tongue at this point. Your knuckles go white as your hold onto the headrest for dear life. Pedro fingers dig into the meat of your ass as his nudges into your clit with grind of your hips.

"Fuck me, fuck Pedro… I'm gonna…" Your moans are like music to his ears and edges his further on. His pants are tight, but he doesn't care. "Cum baby." He mutters into your wet pussy.

Vibrations sent up your core as you shirke with joy and euphoria. Your legs shake and your head falls forward. "There we go angel, doesn't that feel better now?" Pedro says licking his lips.

He helps you shift to the bed. Your body hot and aching from your orgasm. "Hmm." You hum and close your eyes resting for a moment.

No racing thought, or anything else pass through your head as the two of you sit in quiet peace on your bed together.

Completed on: 10/19/24

Posted on: 10/20/24

Kinktober 24'-

[turtleblogatlast]

Something I’ve been thinking about lately is that small moment in “Air Turtle” where immediately after the Daves lose yet another game, Leo says how sorry he is and how he’s doing his best as the mascot. This moment is so short but it’s honestly jam-packed with a whole heap of characterization.

His need to apologize for things clearly not his fault - especially when it feels like he messes up the job he was given despite doing the best he can (the phrase “it’s not about you” takes a new meaning when this is one of the lessons to be learned from that - that he is not always solely responsible for things going wrong), his need to save face and make a connection with an older adult man in his life (something he consistently does throughout the series - he’s got a few daddy issues, always collecting potential father figures, it’s no wonder he jumps at the bit to keep rapport), and the way he sounds and looks and the words he chooses really pushes how he is just a kid (“Mr. the Dunk, I’m so sorry”).

Like I know it’s a one off moment that doesn’t truly mean much, but when put against the rest of the series it works really well with the rest of Leo’s established character and helps in solidifying later concepts as well.

[prideprejudce]

live action katara looks so much older than aang it actually might be physically painful to watch them get together

[laundrybiscuits]

Eddie’s doing some dumb trick with a couple of wooden spoons, clever hands making them move through the air in improbable ways, and Steve’s about to bite his whisk in half. 

He’d thought for sure that Eddie would be going home the first week; Edward Munson, 29, bartender/musician from Brighton with mismatched tattoos and wild hair, seemed like exactly the kind of pretentious asshole who would flame out early with some ill-advised hipster experimentation. If Steve (28, social worker from Indiana, USA) had been a complete asshole, he’d have said that Eddie didn’t have the fundamentals. That he was all sizzle, no steak. 

It’s a good thing Steve’s not a complete asshole, because Eddie’s been blowing the technicals out of the water so consistently it’s actually pretty fucking embarrassing. His signatures and showstoppers are making a very respectable showing too, except for the time he tried to incorporate some fresh pandan extract and fucked up the liquid ratio, leaving him with a dripping mess that Mary’d declined to even try. 

Afterwards, Steve had seen him leaning against a tree and struggling to light a cigarette. Steve went over for no particular reason, flicking on his lighter and holding it out like a peace offering. Eddie looked at him warily, but bent over the offered flame. 

“Can’t believe I made it through this one,” Eddie said after a moment, white smoke curling out of his mouth.

“Yeah, I feel like that every week.” Steve leaned against the tree next to Eddie. It was a big tree, the kind that’s probably been growing in this field since before England was even England. 

“Nah, but—c’mon, you know what I mean.”

“You had some bad luck with your showstopper. Happens to the best of us, man. Your signature hand pies looked sick as hell.” Steve’s own hand pies had turned out pretty well, so he was feeling generous. It had only been the third week; plenty of time for Steve to snag Star Baker, though even by that point, Steve had been getting the creeping feeling that he was being a little too American about the whole thing. Everyone else seemed to think competitiveness was some kind of deadly sin. It was—actually kind of nice, to get the same kind of nerves he’d always gotten before high school basketball games, but know that he wasn’t really fighting against anyone except himself in the tent.

Anyway, the very next week, Eddie had done some kind of kickass gothic castle with a shiny chocolate dragon and gotten Star Baker for the second time. Steve had clapped him on the back, appropriately manly. Eddie had pulled Steve into a real hug, arms tight around Steve’s shoulders and his whole lean body pressed up close and warm. It had only lasted a moment, and then Eddie had bounded over to Mel and Sue, both of whom he’s been thoroughly charming since the get-go. 

Steve thinks that when this season—or, uh, series—airs, no matter where Eddie places, the entire country is going to be just as charmed. Eddie’s going to get whatever kind of cookbook deal or streaming show he wants. Sponsors will take one look at that handsome face and charismatic grin, and a whole world of possibilities is going to open up for Eddie. 

Steve’s not in it for any of that, of course. He’s here kind of by accident, because Robin pushed him to apply, and it’s a goddamn miracle he’s been holding his own. Hell, it’s a miracle he’s in this country at all. When Robin had started looking at the Cambridge MPhil program in linguistics, she’d said wouldn’t it be great if and he’d snorted, yeah right, like I could ever get whatever job I’d need to move to another freaking country, but then—well. Things had happened the way they’d happened, and now Robin’s almost finished with her degree and Steve is taking time off from the London charity he works at in order to be on Bake Off. 

He’s told all this to the cameras, plus the stuff about how baking started as a way for him to connect with the kids he used to babysit in Indiana, blah blah blah. He thinks it’s probably too boring for them to air, but he gets that they have to try to get a story anyway. 

Eddie Munson, on the other hand, is probably going to be featured in all the series promos. Steve is rabidly curious about what Eddie’s story is, but he hasn’t worked up the nerve to just ask. It should be the easiest thing in the world. They’ve got kind of a camaraderie going, the two of them; a bit of a bromance, as Mel’s put it more than once. 

It’s true they get along pretty well, and the cameras have been picking up on it: on the way Eddie’ll wander over to Steve’s bench like a stray cat whenever they get some downtime, how they wind up horsing around sometimes, working off leftover adrenaline from the frantic rush of caramelization or whatever. There’s the time Eddie had hopped up on a stool to deliver some kind of speech from Macbeth, of all things, and overbalanced right onto Steve, who had barely managed to keep them both from careening into a stand mixer. Sue had patted Eddie on the shoulder and said, “Well, boys, that’ll be going in the episode for sure.”

They both get along with the other contestants just fine, of course, but they’re two guys of about the same age with no wife and kids waiting at home. It’s only natural that they’re gravitating together, becoming something like friends, Steve figures. It’s pretty great that he’s getting at least one real friend out of this whole thing.

It would be even greater if Steve could stop thinking about Eddie’s hands in decidedly non-friendly ways. With all the paperwork he’s signed, he can’t even complain to Robin about how Eddie looks with his sleeves pushed up to show off the tattoos on his forearms, kneading dough and grunting a little under his breath with effort. Steve had almost forgotten to pre-heat his oven that day. 

Two benches away, Eddie fumbles the spoons he’s been juggling with a clatter, and he bursts out laughing, glancing over at Steve like Steve’s in on the joke. Steve grins back, heart twanging painfully in his chest, and thinks: well, fuck. Guess this is happening.

[worm-angle]

[mobius-m-mobius]

What I'm about to tell you... is going to be hard to believe. Again. - LOKI Season 2 (Oct 6th, 2023)

[aliterarywitch]

I have doctor who brainrot and I think about Clara Oswald a lot and I just thought of something kind of cool

Run You Clever Boy, And Remember Me

River, Yaz, Clara, Bill, Amy, Rose, Martha

[zepskies]

Dream With Me - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-sized!Reader (Latina)

Summary: When your asshole ex-boyfriend calls for help on a case, you have a tough decision to make. But Dean isn’t going to let you do anything alone. AKA: The last hunt you, Sam, and Dean will ever go on together.

[Set in 15x20]

AN: Yes, that barn scene. 🫣

(In case you missed it, here's Part 1.)

Word Count: 3.4K

Tags/Warnings: Protective Dean (and angry Dean), blood and violence, angst, and a big twist…

☕ Midnight Espresso Masterlist

Part 2: “We Can Fix This”

The vampires leave you and Carter alone after a while.

You two are the convenient bait, literally chained to your chairs. You’re so irate, you can’t even look at him. His head hangs low, with his chin nearly meeting his chest.

“I’m sorry I got you into this,” he says again. 

“I don’t care,” you flatly reply. 

Carter grimaces. “I didn’t know any other way to get them here. I figured the three of you could hold your own.”

At that, you finally turn your head towards him. 

“But you sold out your own. You sold me out,” you say. “What kind of man are you?”

Not the one you thought, is the answer. 

The problem is, you still need him if you're going to get out of this.

Once you’re able to see past your anger, you two begin to brainstorm on how to escape your restraints. Carter has been working on his for much longer than yours, but his hands are still too large to slip through the thick ropes. Your ankles are tied to the chair as well.

You turn your chair backwards towards him, careful to not let the chair’s legs scrape too badly against the ground. You’re forced to touch hands with him in order to slide him the small knife you hide in the sleeve of your jacket. 

It takes several minutes of quiet sawing, but after a while, he’s finally able to free his hands, then more quickly his legs. He’s about to start on you when you both hear footsteps drawing near the stairs. You and Carter lock eyes. 

“Don’t leave me here,” you whisper instinctively. Carter puts the little knife back into your hand and closes your hand over it. Right about now, you wish you could reach his neck with it.  

“We can’t take them all. I’ll get help,” he says.

You suck in a breath as you realize it. He really is about to leave you. 

“They need you alive as bait more than they need me. You’ll be fine,” he says.

“Carter, you dick,” you hiss. Tears sting behind your eyes, but you blink to try and keep them at bay. You’ll never admit it, but your fear of fangs and the clammy, undead hands of vampires runs deep.

Carter sees your fear, and he can’t help himself; he frames your face with his hands for a quick second, despite the way you glare at him and pull your head away, trying to evade his touch. His eyes hide the depths of his regret, but he doesn’t have time to say anything more.

He leaves you, ducking out the back entrance to the barn that leads into the woods.

“What’s going on?” Jenny says, as she comes down the stairs. Her face falls when she sees Carter’s empty chair. 

“What the hell?!” she shouts. Two of the men in her nest come running out to meet her. She gives one of them an order to run after Carter. 

Her attention snaps to you. “I’m guessing you helped your boyfriend escape?”

You don’t answer her at first as she draws near, but inside, you’re trembling a bit. You have an idea of what’s coming. Nevertheless, you try to remain stoic. Strong.

“Not my boyfriend,” you reply. Jenny cocks her head.

“Oh, that’s right. He betrayed you, and now he's left you in the hands of monsters,” she says. She holds her hands on her hips. “You must be the most gullible woman in the world.”

Your lips thin into a line. “Or you’re just stupid enough to leave a couple of hunters alone. You better damn hope he doesn’t find Sam and Dean. Even when they don’t know what’s coming, they should be the stuff of your nightmares. But when they’re prepared?”

You lick your dry lips and give Jenny a grim smile, with more confidence than you actually feel.

“Say goodbye to your family,” you say.

After a beat, Jenny smiles tightly and grabs your face. Her nails bite into your cheeks and make you wince.  

“All right, Nate. You can have a taste,” she says.

She steps to the side as one of the larger backup dancers in her little entourage draws near. Jenny wrenches your head back by your hair, so he can lean in and bite into your neck. Your scream reverberates on the barn walls.

Sam and Dean left the car parked closer to the main road. They’re prepared for anything as they trek through the woods, with silver bullets in their guns and machetes strapped to their belts, along with witch killing bullets in their pockets for good measure. 

Sam has pinpointed not just an estimate of your location, but also those coordinates as a few minutes away by foot. With their long strides, they can hopefully reach you soon.

“Wait,” Dean says, stopping his brother with a hand on his arm. “I hear something coming.”

Sam hears it too. Quick footsteps running on the crunch of dead leaves.

Carter comes stumbling from between the trees, out of breath, but still on the run while another man gains on him. When Carter sees Sam and Dean, his eyes widen with recognition. 

“Vampires!” he shouts at them. 

The brothers immediately switch from guns to the machetes on their belts. Dean reaches the vampire first, but he ducks the initial swing of Dean’s blade. It’s a quick scuffle, in which Sam manages to behead the creature. Blood sprays across Sam’s chest as the body falls to the ground.

Dean’s angry gaze shifts to Carter, who’s catching his breath. Dean doesn’t give him a chance to recover when he grabs the man by his collar. He pins him up to the nearest tree, hard, and holds his blade up to Carter’s neck, even though the man raises his hands in surrender.

“All right, all right!” Carter exlaims.

“Where is she?” Dean demands.

“A nest of vamps, in a barn up and over the hill. They took her, they’ve got her,” Carter says.

Dean wars between processing that, and becoming fucking furious.

“You left her there?!” he growls. Sam’s face furrows as well in anger, though he watches his brother out of the corner of his eye.

“Just let me explain!” Carter says. 

Dean tightens the edge of his machete against the other man’s throat.

“Talk fast,” he warns.

“They’re waiting for you and Sam,” Carter says. “They nabbed me on account of you two assholes. That’s why they took her, so you’d have to come to them.”

Dean’s jaw locks. He glances at Sam, who’s just as angry as him. He’s just better at keeping a handle on it.

“So wait, lemme get this straight,” Dean says, as he continues to put the pieces together in his mind. He tips the end of the machete towards Carter’s chest. “They grabbed you up. So you called her, brought her into this, to save your own damn skin?”

Carter sighs harshly. 

“Look, I know I’m going to hell. But the longer we stand around here waiting for you to do mental math, the longer they’ve got her alone,” he says. “I managed to get free, but I didn’t have time to get her out with me. So I left to find you.”

Dean's anger burns under his skin, but he lets Carter off the tree, just to turn him around and point the machete at his back. It’s reminiscent of years past, when a far darker blade used to fit all too well in Dean's right hand. 

“Walk,” he barks the order. “Any twitchy moves, and my Christmas comes early.”

You've slipped in and out of consciousness, but finally you garner the strength to blink your eyes awake. Jenny had been watching you up until a few minutes ago, giving you reprieve when she went into the back room to join her nest. 

You heave a shaky sigh and wince at the pain emanating from your neck. You have a gaping bite wound that still oozes blood with every infinitesimal movement of your head. 

Fuck. You really hate vampires. 

You won’t bleed out, probably, but the situation isn’t good. You have no idea if Carter will come back, or if Sam and Dean even know how to find you. 

You try to remember that they’re masters at the impossible, and this is certainly not the biggest challenge you three have ever faced. Hell, if you could survive getting dusted by God, then you can survive a nest of flea-bitten vamps.

Wincing with strain, you try to twist your wrists under this rope so you can start sawing at it with your little knife. All the while, your thoughts inevitably bring you back to Dean.

You regret snapping at him. Because his instincts were right, yet again. You had trusted Carter the slightest bit, and he’d proved to you, yet again, that he's an even bigger piece of shit than you took him for. 

A door quietly creaks open, and you’re able to turn your head in that direction. Your eyes widen in surprise when you see Sam and Dean. Your breath escapes you.

And that’s when Dean’s eyes lock on you. He hastens over to you first, with Sam following right behind. Carter comes in after them, but all you can focus on is Dean. There’s relief written across his furrowed face when he kneels beside you and immediately starts cutting at the ropes that bind your hands with his machete. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, rushed, but purposeful when he meets your gaze.  

“Hey,” you whisper back, with a hint of a smile, despite your eyes that shine with both relief and unshed tears.

“You okay?” he asks gruffly. 

“Yeah,” you reply, even if you don’t entirely mean it.

Dean touches your cheek and wipes a tear there. He then tilts his head to take a better look at the glaring bite on your neck. He grimaces and lets out an angry exhale, his jaw clenching, but he finishes cutting through the ropes. 

When your hands are finally free, you hiss in relief, rubbing some of the sting out of them. It allows you to reach for his face and bring him in for a quick, but hard kiss. And then another for good measure.

Dean accepts them, briefly savoring them with his eyes closed, but he has to shift his attention as he starts on the ropes around your ankles next. 

Neither of you notice the way Carter looks away from the scene. He feels out of place, and even hides a thread of jealousy deep down. 

Meanwhile, Sam keeps watch with his machete at the ready. He gestures at Carter to keep an eye on the stairs leading to the second floor while he watches the door to the back room. 

When you’re completely free, Dean helps you stand. He steadies you with an arm around your waist when you sway a bit on your feet. You’ve lost enough blood that it’s a problem, but you assure him wordlessly that you just need a moment. Then, you give him a nod, and he starts to move with you towards the door. 

But danger comes—just not from upstairs or the back room.

The vampires swarm in from both entrances to the barn. 

A fight ensues, in which Dean’s top priority is keeping you safe, and yours is making sure his blind spots are covered. Your main problem is that you don’t have a weapon, and neither does Carter. He eventually gets beat down, while Sam and Dean are also overpowered, and you’re all but thrown to the ground.

Jenny comes in right as Carter and Dean are pinned down beside one another by three vampires.

“Wait…I know you,” Dean realizes. It takes him another moment, but soon he’s able to connect the familiar face with a name.

“Jenny.” The name falls from his lips in wonder. It’s been fifteen years, but he almost never forgets a face. He smirks, giving a cocky look to the vampires holding him down.

“We tried to kill each other back in the day. Ain’t that a bitch?”

“That’s all you remember?” Jenny asks, raising a brow. “Do you remember Luther and Kate?”

Dean has to wrack his brain, but it does trigger a memory of how his dad shot Luther, a centuries’ old vampire, with the Colt.

“Well, if I remember right, we left Kate alive,” he says, maintaining a cocky quirk of his brow. “Eh, bit sloppy, but we were young. What’re ya gonna do?”

He notices you on the ground behind Kate. You’re inching towards a scythe from the collection of rusty farming equipment that spans each corner of the barn. Slowly, your hand wraps around the farming tool.

Jenny’s face becomes grim, and even colored with pain.

“Yeah, well, Kate got reckless. It wasn’t long before another hunter found us. She saved me,” she says. “But because of you, she lost the only man she ever loved. And I lost my sister.”

Jenny smiles, and it’s all fangs.

“So today, I get dibs.”

With a short yell of strain, you heft the heavy scythe and behead Jenny.

The distraction gives Sam an opening to get ahold of his own dropped machete. He beheads one of the vampires that’s holding Dean. He and Carter are then able to break free of the other two in order to keep fighting.

However, Nate, the vampire that bit you, is drawn to your scent—to the blood from your open wound. He sniffs the air, and his gaze finds you with a smirk. 

He grabs your scythe, and with a force that stuns you, he twists it out of your grip and backhands you hard. You cry out and stumble to the ground. Before he can take advantage of it, Dean grabs the vampire’s arm and punches him. 

Nate grapples with him, his larger frame and enhanced strength allowing him to push Dean back. The two are headed for a large wooden support beam. As you pick yourself up from the floor, you think you see something protruding from the beam. It sends up a flare in your subconscious. 

So when Nate starts bulldozing Dean back like a linebacker, you use what strength you have to charge at the vampire. Your body collides with his side, and the two of you crash onto the dusty ground. 

Dean falls hard against the beam, but he trips back at a lower angle. He cracks his head against the wood and slides down to the ground onto his seat. He’s winded, probably half-concussed, but when he looks up and over his shoulder, he sees a long piece of rebar sticking out of the beam. He just barely missed it.  

Well, fuck me, he thinks. 

Nate elbows you off of him and knocks you onto the ground, where he grabs your hair and yanks your head to the side. You wince in pain as you struggle and push against his chest, but it’s no use. He’s got you pinned. His fangs descend.

Until Dean takes hold of him by the shoulders and bodily hefts him off of you. It gives you a chance to breathe and scramble to your feet. Nate punches Dean solidly across his face, keeping him occupied. 

You look around for any weapon you can use. You see a flash of silver on the ground a few feet away, and you realize it’s Dean’s forgotten machete. You attempt to get by the vampire to grab it, but Nate catches you with the edge of his backhand. 

You stumble, though you don’t entirely go down as you try to catch your breath. While Dean is trying to hold him back by his arm, Nate kicks you in the side, sending you crashing toward what looks like an old weedwhacker. Except, it’s mostly made of metal.

You fall onto it hard.

Meanwhile, Dean finally sees the machete he dropped. He picks it up and gives an instinctive, powerful swing. It decapitates Nate, and the large body falls to the ground with a heavy thump.

Dean heaves for breath afterward. He looks over and sees that Sam and Carter have finished up with the others. 

Dean turns back to find you, and he notices that you’re still sprawled out against some farming tools. 

“Hey, you okay?” he asks. He goes to you and grabs your arm to help you up, but you stop him with a hiss. 

“Wait, wait, Dean,” you raise a hand at him.

You look up at him with panic in your eyes. You have a white-knuckle grip on an iron handle.

When you try to push your body up, Dean realizes, with no small amount of horror, that you’re stuck.

You’ve fallen straight onto a rusty, circular blade. 

Dean immediately lowers to his knees beside you. His hand grips your shoulder. 

“Oh, God,” you utter. “I can’t move.”

Dean takes maybe half a beat, before his brain kicks into high gear. 

“Sam!” he barks. 

Hearing the urgency in his brother’s voice, Sam rushes over on your other side. His eyes are wide when he realizes what’s happening, but he meets Dean’s steely gaze.

Together they maneuver the saw in such a way that it allows you to raise up to your knees, despite your whimpers of pain. Already small streams of blood fall from your body and down the side of the blade.

Sam and Dean share a knowing look. They really shouldn’t take out the blade until they get you to a hospital, but this tool is too damn big. There’s no way to stabilize you.

“Okay, it’s okay…we’re gonna have to take this out so we can get you to the car,” Dean says, rubbing a hand over his mouth. It’s a nervous tick you know well. You nod in agreement, even though you know this is about to hurt like fucking hell.

Sam braces you from behind, while Dean takes the saw by the handle and carefully takes the blade out of your side. Your scream echoes horribly in the barn, making his jaw lock and his body tense up even more, but he carries through with his task. Once the blade is free, Dean tosses it away. 

Sam lays you down and takes off his jacket and his outer layer of plaid, as does Dean. One of the shirts is bundled like packing, to press against your gaping wound, while the other flannel is used to keep it all tied tightly around your waist. It’s white-hot agony all throughout the process, and you definitely black out for a few moments, your eyelids fluttering shut.

When you do come to, you try your best to contain your pain—and work through the way your head is swimming toward falling into shock. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart. We gotcha,” Dean murmurs. His hands work as quickly as possible while trying not to do more damage to your body.

All the while, Carter watches in worry. 

Once you’re as wrapped up and stabilized as you can be, you, Sam, and Dean realize that both flannels are slowly being soaked with your blood. Dean wastes no time in positioning you in his arms. Sam helps him raise you off the ground, but Dean takes you fully and starts to carry you out of the barn. Sam opens the door for him and follows Dean’s lead, with Carter in tow.

You manage to raise your head enough to look up at Dean. He looks down on you, noting that your normally tan face is already far too pale. And still, the right side of your neck is bloody and raw. 

“You’re really gonna carry me all the way to the car?” you ask weakly. 

“You got a problem with that?” Dean retorts, with an attempt at a smile. 

His voice is steady, but you see everything in his eyes. You see the depths of his worry, and his fear. For once, you don’t know how to soothe him. You grab onto the front of his black undershirt and rest your head against his chest, just trying to keep your eyes open. 

“You’re gonna be fine, baby,” he says. “We can fix this. Just stay with me, okay?”

You feel his lips press a quick kiss to your forehead.

You try your best to believe him. 

AN: ...Well, sort of "fixed" it?

I know, I know, I'm sorry. 🫣 But trust me, we're not done yet...

Next Time:

Dean’s heartbeat pounds in his ears.

By the time the four of you reach the Impala, you’re in a cold sweat, pale, and barely conscious. Dean unlocks the car and carefully seats you on one side of the backseat, while Sam hurries to the other side. He then helps guide you in as Dean maneuvers you into laying across the backseat. Sam’s going to stay with you for the ride to the hospital.   

“Watch her head,” Dean warns, his tone sharp. 

“I got her,” Sam assures. He holds you securely against his chest, with your head tucked under his chin.

Dean lets out an unsteady breath. When he turns around, Carter’s standing too close, peering at you anxiously. 

“Get her to a hospital—” he starts to say, but Dean’s blood-stained fist cuts off his words, cracking against his jaw.

Dean put all his strength into that one.

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 3 (Finale!)

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@chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @waywardxwords

[jorrated]

always wondered what STC would've been like if instead of just making Eggman evil on a single event, it kinda jumbled his brain a lot and make him have brief moments of lucidity as Kintobor. give him the ice king treatment ya know