#TGWRC

[zepskies]

Love Actually - Part 1

Paring: Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader

Summary: Ben gets in late on Christmas Eve with a Grinch-like attitude, but you’re determined to force some holiday cheer into his system.  

AN: Here’s my last entry for the TGWRC: Christmas in July event! It’s set in the same world as “Break Me Down,” and set before “Checkerboard.” But this can be read as a stand-alone! Hope you enjoy…

Theme: Christmas movies Prompt: “That’s a poor excuse for a tree.” 

Word Count: 3,100 Tags/Warnings: SB being himself, wee bit of angst, potential fluff overload! 

Part 1: "Humbug"

He was late. 

It was Christmas Eve, and your boyfriend was late. 

With a large bowl of popcorn in your lap, you sank further into your favorite corner of the couch, drumming your nails on its arm. 

Your favorite Christmas movie played on the ridiculously large flatscreen Ben had insisted on when you two moved into this apartment. But you couldn’t get into the story like you normally would.

It was the first Christmas you and Ben were spending together since he’d started working with, instead of against Supe Affairs and the CIA. In fact, he was on an extended mission—hunting down a rogue supe in Idaho, of all places.

Freakin’ Idaho. Goddamn potatoes, you thought irrationally, shoving another handful of popcorn into your mouth.  

While he’d been gone, you went all out in decorating the apartment: red and white candles, stockings, various ornaments, multicolored string lights, and poinsettias. You’d even found a nice little tree that fit in the only free corner of the living room.

Well, you’d had to rearrange some furniture to make that happen, but in the end you’d succeeded. It felt like you were living at the bottom of a snow globe.

You hadn’t heard from Ben at all in over two weeks. The day he left you outside your office in the Surveillance department replayed often in your mind.

Two weeks ago…

“Don’t give me that face, baby doll.” 

Ben quirked a smile at your concerned frown, and he propped a gentle fist under your chin. You crossed your arms.  

You knew he had to go. Butcher and the rest of the guys were waiting outside the S.A. office. And you were proud of him for what he was doing, genuinely trying to put in the work on this “hero” thing. But you didn’t have to like the timing. It was only two weeks until Christmas.

“Fine,” you agreed. “Just get this guy quick. I don’t want to hear my aunt’s shady-ass sniping. Every time I show up to a family gathering by myself, she starts plotting my arranged marriage to her fucking pediatrist, her divorce attorney—mind the irony there—or even the guy who packages meat at the grocery store—” 

“All right, Christ. I’ll be back in fucking time,” said Ben. He grabbed your arms to stop your verbal flapping. Then with a grin, his hands moved to the curve of your waist, down to get a healthy grip of your ass. 

“’Sides, I’m the only one flingin’ meat around here,” he said with a deepening smirk. 

You rolled your eyes, but a smile threatened to take over your frown as he pulled you flush against him, trapping your hands against his broad chest. You found purchase on the hard fabric of his uniform. 

“You’re so gross,” you said. But you pulled him down for a searing kiss. If you weren’t going to see his handsome face for a while, then you were going to make the most of this moment. 

And it seemed your boyfriend felt the same way; his arms wrapped around your frame like steel bands. Your fingers swept through his hair as your tongue slipped into his mouth, making his grip on you tighten with a pleased hum. 

“Oi! Sid and fuckin’ Nancy,” Butcher called from down the hall. “Got a fucking job to do. Today, if you don’t mind.”

Ben broke away from you, just enough to frown in irritation over your head. 

“Calm your fucking tits, Churchill. I’ll leave when I’m good and damn ready.”

You couldn’t help but giggle into his chest.

Now, it was quite literally hours away from Christmas Day. 

You would be seeing your family tomorrow, regardless. You and Ben were supposed to go to your mother’s house for dinner. But you were starting to think that he might not make it tonight, let alone tomorrow. 

And if you had to deal with your aunt nosing into your personal business again, your hand might just “slip” while pouring yourself a rum-filled eggnog, so you wouldn’t be held liable for your actions when you inevitably snapped on the bitch.

Sighing, you continued munching on some popcorn while you focused on one of your favorite parts of Love Actually. Hugh Grant was shaking his ass to “Jump In” by the Pointer Sisters.

The music was infectious, and you found yourself doing a little shimmy yourself on the couch in time with one of your favorite rom-com Brits. 

With the TV volume as loud as it was, not even the door of your apartment unlocking could stop your mini-jam session. 

And the door soon opened, revealing a dusty, soot-covered Benjamin, still in his supe suit and tactical gear. He took a small step back when the gaudy Christmas décor assaulted his eyes, but he blinked through it as he turned his head. 

His lips curved at the familiar sight of you—bundled up in your pajamas and a fuzzy blanket on the couch, bopping to the beat of some shitty ‘80s song he actually recognized. You were alternatively mouthing the words and eating fistfuls of popcorn. 

Shaking his head, Ben stepped into the apartment and shut the door with some force. You finally perked up at the sound, your smile alight with happiness when you realized he was home. That alone made him soften a bit. 

“Ben!” You paused your movie and bounded over to greet him with a warm hug and a deep kiss.  

He brushed your hair back and allowed himself to revel in the familiarity of you in his arms. 

“Aren’t you a fucking sight,” he murmured.

Ben was still getting used to having someone to come home to, but it was grounding. This place was his home now, mostly because you were in it.  

“You okay? How did it go?” you asked, wiping off some soot from his cheek. 

“Who do you think you’re talking to?” Ben offered you a cocky smile. “We smoked that pyro bitch.”

Your eyes narrowed. “You what?”

“Relax, the supe’s alive,” he said, rolling his eyes, as if it grated him to admit it. He wouldn’t tell you that the supe had two broken arms and probably a crack in his skull. “Being shipped off to prison as we speak.”

You nodded with a smile. “Good. I’m proud of you.” 

His lips pulled at a grin. But then you took his face between your hands with a hard slap (though it didn’t even sting, the point was made in your annoyed frown). 

“You’re late,” you said. Ben raised a brow. 

“Excuse me?” he said. 

“You heard me. You’re fucking late,” you repeated. “Go take a shower. I already started the first movie without you.” 

You tugged him by the hand and all but pushed him into the hall that led to your shared bedroom. 

Ben wasn’t one to be manhandled though. He dug his heels in obstinately. 

“Christ, I just got home. All I want to do is sleep…unless you want to give me a proper fucking welcome.”

He glanced at you over his shoulder with a more than suggestive smirk. He turned around and pulled you into his firm chest. His hands smoothed down your back and squeezed your hips, with his thumbs dragging under the hem of your pajama top.

While your lips threatened a smile, you had to wonder how he had enough energy for reunion sex, but not enough to watch a simple movie. 

Still, his offer was all-too tempting, making heat prickle along your skin wherever he touched. Nonetheless, you managed to remain stubborn and pushed gently against his chest.

“Down, boy,” you said. “If I let you get your hands on me now, I’ll never get through my list.”

First it was Love Actually, then Christmas Vacation, followed swiftly by Home Alone and its sequel, Lost In New York. 

Ben frowned at you. “So? Watch ‘em tomorrow.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, it’s Christmas Eve.”

You gestured to all your hard work in the form of the decorated apartment.

“Tomorrow, we have dinner at my mom’s house. So tonight, you’re gonna go shower," you said, pointing at him. "I’m going to make some more hot chocolate, and we’re watching all manner of cheesy, romantic, and downright silly Christmas movies until your Grinch-ass gets some holiday spirit.”

Ben released a tired sigh and dropped his hands away from you.

“I haven’t slept in three fucking days," he said. "I’m not staying up all night again for some corny bullshit.”

You frowned in disappointment. 

“Ben, come on. Please?” you tried, but he just waved a dismissive hand and continued his way to the bedroom.

For a moment, you watched him go in disbelief. Was he really going to be like that? 

With a flash of hot annoyance, you huffed and decided that you weren’t going to let him ruin the night for you. 

So you went into the kitchen and whipped up some hot cocoa, breaking out the actual Godiva chocolate bars you bought just for this moment. You poured out one mug initially. But you listened to the old water pipes working, knowing that Ben must’ve been taking a shower. 

You knew he wasn’t just tired. He didn’t seem to be looking forward to tomorrow either, and  was going along with it for your sake. Which, to be fair, could just mean he still wasn’t totally comfortable around your family. (Your sister Luisa still hadn’t totally warmed up to him.)

You also had a feeling that he just wasn’t into Christmas.

The question was why… 

But you poured a mug for him anyway, adding some mini marshmallows into each one. You brought both mugs with you back to the living room and set them down on the coffee table. 

Getting comfortable on the couch again, complete with your blanket, mug, and the popcorn bowl, you pressed “play” and continued watching the movie…even though you felt just a bit lonelier. 

But then, a weight dropped on the other end of the couch. You flinched and looked over at your now clean and pajama-clad boyfriend, who eyed you begrudgingly with his arms crossed over a soft plain shirt. 

You smiled at him warmly. “Hey, baby.”

His grouchy face was the very picture of “humbug.” Biting your lip, you set down the popcorn on the coffee table and handed him the spare cup of hot chocolate. 

“I made some for you,” you said. He gave you a brief nod and took a dutiful sip. But not even rich, chocolatey goodness could curb his sour mood as he stared blandly at the screen. 

You knew that face. That was his, I’ll do this for you, but I’m not gonna fucking like it—face. 

When he stifled a yawn, you knew that he hadn’t been lying. He really was tired. Sometimes you forgot that while Ben was all but indestructible, even he had his limits. Chasing that rogue supe across the country must’ve taken it out of him, even if he wouldn’t admit it. 

So you reached over and plucked the mug out of his hand. His brows knit together as he watched you set it down on the coffee table with yours. Then you grabbed his hand. 

“Come ‘ere,” you said, tugging him toward you. 

“What now?” he groused. 

“Just come on. Don’t bitch,” you teased. You guided him to lay across the couch, with his head pillowed in your lap. You grabbed an extra throw blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over him, making sure that it covered him up to his chest. 

“What am I, a damn kid?” he said. But you knew his griping had no real weight. Already he was humming deep with pleasure as your fingers carded through his soft brown hair. You let your nails drag lightly over his scalp, massaging his head. Your free hand stroked his cheek. 

Ben closed his eyes for a moment and let out a sigh through his nose. The movie continued to play, but you were no longer paying much attention. This was more important. 

When he opened his eyes again, they were drawn to the small, four-foot Christmas tree in the corner of the room, next to the TV. 

“That’s a poor fucking excuse for a tree,” he said. 

You frowned and followed his gaze. 

“I think it’s adorable,” you replied. And it was the only one you thought would fit in this cozy, but very narrow apartment. 

Ben’s arms crossed over his blanket.

“I’ll go tomorrow, find us a real fucking tree,” he said. 

Your frown deepened a little. “But I already decorated this one. All by myself, I might add.”

He eyed you then, a bit softer.

“All right, we’ll get a second one for the dining room,” he grumbled. “Getting the tree up is a man’s job anyway.”

You rolled your eyes at that. But you tried to see if there was anything deeper to read in his words. Not for the first time, you wondered how he’d spent his holidays in the past. No doubt with a lot of fanfare and celebrity parties during his hay day as Soldier Boy. You were more interested in his life before that.   

“I remember, my mom would run the show at Christmas,” Ben said.

You blinked down at him in surprise. Without knowing, he’d opened up on your exact curiosity. 

Or maybe he just knew you better than you thought.

“She’d have all the help in a damn tear around the house. Cooking, decorating, the whole nine yards. It was a perfect scene, like something out of a catalogue,” said Ben. “But getting the tree was always my dad’s job. His only job, really.”

You smiled and continued to listen with rapt attention. Your thumb continued to stroke along his neck. 

“One year, he got this massive one. Must’ve been…I don’t know, twenty feet. I don’t even know how he got it through the door, but he was mighty fucking proud of himself,” Ben said.

His gaze trailed beyond you, lost in faded memories. They played in his mind like a reel, wordless, but bright and warm. 

“Who decorated it?” you asked. Your voice drew his attention back. 

“Me and him,” Ben admitted, surprising you yet again. “Meanwhile, Mom baked up a storm for the Christmas party they threw every year…”

It was a rare moment where Ben recalled what seemed to be a nice memory of his father. But soon enough, the nostalgia dimmed from his eyes.

He cleared his throat and swiped a hand over his mouth, as if that could erase his moment of vulnerability. 

Then he turned to face the TV screen. 

“So what’s even happening here? Seems like there’s four goddamn movies playing at once.”

You cracked a smile and continued brushing your fingers through his hair. You also rewinded the movie so he could actually follow the story.

“Yeah, that’s what makes this movie so classic. See, there’s Emma Thompson and Alan Rickman. They’re married, kids, the perfect life, right? But he’s actually cheating on her with a younger, sluttier woman.”

“…And this is a fucking Christmas movie?”

“Yeah, you’ll see. Then there’s Liam Neeson.”

Ben perked up at that. “The Taken guy?” 

You nodded. “Yep! He’s a widower, but he has a stepson who’s got a sweet little crush. So he’s gonna try and help the kid impress the girl by helping him learn the drums.”

Your boyfriend nodded. 

“Musicians get plenty of pussy, that’s for damn sure,” he said. And with a knowing grin, “Actors get more though.”

You snorted and pointed to Hugh Grant next. “He’s my favorite. He’s playing the Prime Minister, who falls in love with his assistant, Natalie. That’s her right there.”

Ben raised a brow at your choice of “favorite.” If nothing else, he noted your type for older men. 

But he smirked when Natalie kept verbally fumbling in Hugh’s presence, then stared along with the Prime Minister at the woman’s ass when she walked away at the end of the scene.  

“Hmm, I’ll admit. She’s got a juicy peach,” Ben remarked. You laughed and hit his shoulder playfully. It worked an amused smile onto his face. 

He took your hand from his shoulder and pressed the back of it to his lips. You blinked down at him, and you warmed with a smile at seeing his more relaxed face. 

He kept your hand on his chest, his thumb drawing back and forth over your wrist. 

So you proceeded to explain the various angles of the movie until he was all caught up. 

You two watched the rest of it together. Like always, you cried when Colin Firth poured his heart out to his housekeeper, Aurélia, half in his mangled Portuguese and half in English. You cried again when Emma’s character finally confronted her cheating bastard husband. 

And you held your breath when Hugh and Natalie kissed as the stage curtain fell down, revealing their relationship to the world. 

By the time the credits rolled, you were an emotional mess. You were happy though. Typically you’d watch this movie with your sister, but it was nice to share the holidays with someone… 

Someone who loved you enough to curb his Grinch attitude about cheesy romantic things, like tree decorating and watching rom-coms with hot cocoa. 

You glanced down, and sure enough, Ben was asleep. He had turned onto his stomach. His head still rested in your lap, his cheek pillowed by your thigh, and he had a hand curled around your leg. Your big, growling bear of a man had a gooey center that sometimes surprised even you. 

For one mischievous moment, you considered sticking a piece of popcorn up his nose. 

He looked so damn peaceful that you didn’t want to ruin it…yet now you couldn’t get up either. 

Shit, you thought, but your grin was soft. Oh, whatever. Sleep is overrated.

You queued up Chevy Chase’s Christmas Vacation next in your movie marathon and settled in. You laid a gentle hand on Ben’s back, between his broad shoulders. 

And his story about his parents returned to the forefront of your mind.

Maybe he didn’t hate Christmas. Maybe it was just difficult for him to remember the genuinely good ones. Maybe he missed his parents; both of them, despite how contentious it had been between him and his father. 

You could certainly understand that. But now, you would make sure he would remember this one for the “good” column.

You only startled a little when your cell phone chimed on the coffee table. The screen read 12:00 a.m. It was officially December 25th. 

You then felt Ben’s warm hand squeeze your leg. His eyes were still shut though, his breathing deep and even in sleep. 

With a smile, you leaned down and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

And you whispered in his ear, “Merry Christmas, Ben.”

AN: Yay! I hope you liked this fluffy one for SB. 🎄❤️

Did you like Ben's little day trip down memory lane? Let me know in the comments! 😘

**Note: There will be two more parts to this due to popular request!

Keep Reading: PART 2

Soldier Boy Masterlist

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Tag List:

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[mvdeanw]

Oh, I love the dynamic between the brothers and Nic!

Sam snorts.. “Are you calling him a Grinch?”

This is funny, grumpy Dean, refusing (cancelling) Christmas? It's not what I expected him to do. Can't wait to see what is going to happen.

The Girlfriend Who Remade Christmas

Part One: A Bad Banana

Square: Advent Calendar ~ @spnchristmasbingo

Song: You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch ~ Pentatonix

Pairing: Dean x Nicole {Nico/Nic} OFC

Summary: Nic is not happy about Dean’s Grinchy behavior.

Warnings: Flangst, canon divergence

Word Count: 1,497

Beta: @princessmisery666 I'd be lost without you.

Credit: @talesmaniac89 made the gorgeous title card and divider

Series Master Post

“Dean Rupert Winchester!”

“What’d you do?” Sam chuckles, glancing at a confused-looking Dean sitting across from him.

“N- Nothing,” Dean scoffs, heart rate fluttering in wary fear.

“Dude, she made up a middle name for you. She doesn’t do that unless she’s super pissed.” Closing his laptop, Sam begins to stand. “I think I’ll just-”

“Yeah, me too.” Dean drops his feet to the floor and pushes up from his seat.

Both men freeze at the roar of her voice, “SIT!” and drop back into their respective chairs.

“Why?” she snaps, eyes narrowed and fixed on Dean like daggers pinning him in place.

Not sure what he’s done to provoke her ire, Dean attempts a little bravado even as he squirms in the chair. Giving her a cheeky grin, he jests, “Why does shower sex have to be so complicated? Why does Sam refuse to cut his hair? Why do I love you so much? Gonna need a little more clarification there, Nico.”

The resounding whack of the large booklet that lands on the table in front of him makes him jolt. She leans over, palms flat on the polished wood, bringing herself to eye-level with him. “Why was that in the garbage? Why are ALL of the windows open? Why is all of the candy gone?” Each staccato syllable is pronounced with fierce precision. 

“It’s an Advent calendar,” he sneers. “Christianity …the coming of …Chuck. I’m not celebrating that douchebag’s birth.”

“Well, remember, it’s probably not his real birthday; it’s actually the winter sols-” Sam cuts himself off when Nic puffs her cheeks and expels a heavy sigh.

“It’s a Christmas countdown.” She softens her tone. “It’s meant to create excitement and anticipation for the upcoming celebration.”

“What’s to celebrate?” Before she can respond, Dean adds, “Don’t get any ideas about decorating or exchanging gifts either,” and flatly states, “There’s nothing special about it. It’s just another day. We don’t do Christmas. Right, Sammy?” 

Sam smartly doesn’t reply, clearing his throat and tucking his chin. Dean frowns, giving his brother the stink eye for not backing him up.

“You agreed to help cut down a tree and decorate the bunker.”

“I did no such thing.”

“You did.” 

The cute smile that curls her lips momentarily distracts him, and he shakes his head to dislodge thoughts of where those pouty lips were last night and shoves the calendar back across the table in frustration. 

Lifting her fingers just enough to stop the book’s forward motion, her eyes remain locked on Dean. 

“A couple of months back. When Donna and Jody came by for game night, we started playing that drinking game that you were surprisingly awful at, and Donna kicked your ass. Sam,” she tilts her chin toward the bent head of her friend, “ended up completely wasted.” 

Dean smirks when Sam shifts in his seat but continues to avoid eye contact with either of them. Clearly, his traitor of a brother is going to be of no help with the situation. “I remember, but what’s that-”

“I mentioned I wanted to go all-out for Christmas this year,” she cuts him off, “real tree, garland, lights, gifts, the whole shebang. Sam started whining about the hassle, pine needles, the environment, blah, blah, blah. You,” the Cheshire cat grin warns him that she’s going in for the kill, “agreed to everything I wanted to do. I’m pretty sure it was just to annoy Sam, but I have witnesses to your compliance.”

“Well,” he shrugs, “I changed my mind.” He knows he might be pushing back a bit too hard. The low growl she emits gives away her growing frustration. He also knows that he’s being unfair. The night in question, he’d been mesmerized listening to her explain how she wanted to transform the bunker into a winter wonderland. Excitement and hope had started to weave their way into his heart, and he began to believe they could have something normal or, at least, something close to it. Maybe he could have the apple pie life he’d always wished for but never believed he’d get.

In the days following, though, that hope started to dim. Sam seemed content with completing his goal of cataloging every single artifact in the bunker, digitizing all the paper files, and doing less hunting. Dean figured he’d found a new girl, too, as Sam’s thinly veiled excuses of three-day ‘healthy lifestyle’ seminars and serial killer movie theater marathons were lame. Now that Nic had more time to devote to jewelry making, her business had taken off, and she’d been occupied with creating pieces and running her online store.

Which meant Dean had a lot of empty time on his hands. Time to think about what he wanted to do with his life …the life he never thought he deserved or would get to live. What is his purpose now?

It left him feeling unsettled and lost—angry at himself. He doesn’t want to burden Nic with his issues. She’s dealt with them enough over the years, and now that things are going well for her, he doesn’t want to damper her happiness. Yet, here he is doing just that, and he can’t seem to stop himself or keep the anger in check.

“You were so excited when Mrs. Butters manifested Santa’s workshop in here. I thought that you might want to see the bunker decked out like that again.”

“Yeah, well, you know how that almost ended. So, no, I don’t want any reminders of it.”

Narrowing her eyes, she taps her fingers on the calendar as she straightens. A shift in her features indicates she’s going to try a different approach. “What about the beauty of the holiday? The wonder and excitement of it all.” Her smile is sweet and soft. “The spirit of giving. People coming together, helping one another.”

“They should do that every day,” he scoffs, taking a large gulp of his drink. “Not just one day a year.”

“I don’t disagree with that,” she nods, “but I thought that since this is our first year without an apoco-”

“Don’t say it!” he warns, pointing a finger. It’s probably a silly superstition, but it just doesn’t need to be put out there for the universe to hear. 

She holds her hands up in surrender, “Okay, not saying it! I just thought we could make something of the holiday for a change.” 

“Do what you want, but I won’t be participating.”

Nic jolts at the near-defiant stare Dean aims at her, anger rising to meet his. “You-” she huffs, chest heaving and hands clenching into fists, “you’re a- a …bad banana.” 

“A what, now?” Dean asks, brows knitted together, and lips pursed.

“You know,” she sweeps a hand in the air between them, “a greasy black peel …heart an empty hole …seasick crocodile ...“

Sam snorts, and Dean swears the temperature in the room drops ten degrees as she turns a cold glare to his brother. “Are you calling him a Grinch?” Sam’s smirk is large until he raises his head to face her. Happy to have her anger diverted from him, if only briefly, Dean chokes down the laugh bubbling in his throat as Sam’s eyes widen and fear creeps into his features.

“You think this is funny? I’m trying to bring a little joy back into our lives.”

“Uh, well …it was kind of … “ Sam finally shuts up under the intensity of her stare.

Dean draws her attention, clearing his throat. “Remember the year you got poison ivy from that Christmas tree farm while tracking a pack of werewolves? Or the year you bought that cheap mangled tree hoping to liven up the crappy motel we were stuck in and it ended up being full of stick bugs? Or what about the year that Sam and I were almost ritualistically sacrificed? Nothing good happens for us at Christmas.”

Narrowing her eyes, Nic forcefully shoves the calendar back in his direction and declares, “We’ll see about that!” briskly walking away and leaving Dean to choose between saving his drink from being spilled or letting the book slide off the table. He chooses his drink, cringing when a stiff cardboard corner pokes him in the gut.

A distant door slams a few moments later, and Sam gives a low whistle. “You should go after her.”

“Nope. I learned my lesson a few years back. She needs time to cool down. You know that.”

“Would it really be so bad to have some kind of celebration? You know how much she loves this time of year,” Sam attempts to initiate a concession.

“You want to participate in all that commercialized crap? Go ahead, but the two of you can leave me out of it.” Dean snatches the half-empty bottle of whiskey and his glass from the table as he stands, letting the countdown calendar fall to the floor without a glance as he storms out of the room.

Next

Love Me Some Pie tag list:

@akshi8278 // @asgoodasdancingqueen // @calaofnoldor // @compresshischest09 // @deanwanddamons // @flamencodiva // @idreamofplaid // @jerkbitchidjitassbutt // @justrealizedimmascifygurl // @michellethetvaddict // @mvdeanw // @shawnie74 // @siospins2 // @thinkinghardhardlythinking // @thoughts-and-funnies // @waynes-multiverse // @wayward-and-worn // @waywardbaby // @weepingwillowphoenix

[fangirlingfromdownunder]

Home For Christmas

TGWRC Christmas in July Event Fic

Prompt - Someone resorts to desperate measures to get home for Christmas. “Sounds like a fun party…So why aren’t you inside enjoying it?”

Pairing - Jensen Ackles x Reader

Masterlist

“Want a top-up?” Genevieve asks you, holding up a half-full bottle of Pinot Noir. You just shake your head and excuse yourself outside to the patio. 

Austin winters were generally quite mild and tonight you were thankful for it. Still, you wrap your shawl tighter around yourself as you look out over the Padalecki’s backyard from the deck. The kids are all noisily singing carols and playing games inside and you know you should be in there celebrating Christmas Eve with them but it’s hard to get into the spirit when you know their Christmas wishes won’t be coming true. Ever since your husband gave you the unfortunate news a few days ago you’ve been trying to find ways to keep the kids distracted and make the season as special as possible. 

That’s how you ended up planning a joint Christmas with the Padaleckis, starting with a sleepover tonight. You packed up all the stockings and presents and hid them in the back of the car earlier in the day so you can surprise them in the morning. You contemplate trying to put your act back on to join them when your phone rings. You stare at your husband’s name on the screen for a moment before answering. His tired yet handsome face pops up filling your screen. You return the most sincere smile you can.

“Hey Honey,” you say.

“Hey Sweetheart, how’s the party going?”

“Great. Gen broke out the wine and the kids are inside doing karaoke and playing games together. They seem happy…”

“Sounds like a fun party … So why aren’t you inside enjoying it?”

“Just getting some fresh air … And trying to work out how I’m going to break the news to them. In 10 years you’ve never once missed Christmas.”

“I know. Everything was different when I was filming Supernatural. I just don’t have any pull around here. I would give anything to be there with you guys, you know that.”

“Yeah, I know. I just … I miss you.”

“I miss you too, Sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault filming got held up. Do you wanna talk to the kids?”

“I don’t wanna upset them. We can video call with them tomorrow.”

“Okay…”

“I gotta get back on set, try and have some fun for me. I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Jensen.”

Once the line goes silent you shove your phone back in your pocket, take a deep breath to compose yourself and go back inside. You refill your glass as you walk through the kitchen, taking a big gulp before joining everyone in the living room. Sitting down on the couch beside Gen she pats your knee comfortingly – she knows how hard it can be to not have your partner by your side, especially during special occasions so has been doing her best to cheer you up. 

“Alright, kiddos, I think it’s time to start getting ready for bed,” Jared says standing up and lowering the volume of the music. All the kids groan in unison. 

Gen sits up straighter and adds, “Do you want Santa to come? Santa only comes if everyone is asleep.” 

“But we wanna stay up and see him!” Tom whines.

“That’s not how it works. Santa won’t come if you’re not tucked up in bed,” Gen adds.

“But Mamma, can’t we stay up a little while longer? What if Daddy gets here?” your daughter asks as she climbs into your lap.

“Uncle Jared and Aunty Gen are right, Santa won’t come if you stay awake, and nor will Dad.” You kiss your daughter on the head and stand up keeping your four-year-old on your hip. “Come on guys, go upstairs and brush your teeth and I’ll come up and read you a story and tuck you in.” You carry your daughter upstairs as the other kids begrudgingly following behind. 

Once they all run into the bathroom to brush their teeth your seven-year-old son hangs behind for a second. “He’s not coming home is he?” he asks.

You crouch down to his level and shake your head, “I’m sorry, Baby, he’s doing his best. He wishes he could be here. He loves you and your sister so much.”

“Can we at least call him before bed?”

“Go brush your teeth and I’ll text him and see if he can have a quick chat between scenes.”

Your son nods and joins the rest of the kids in the bathroom. You send off a text to Jensen asking if he can talk, but you already know he won’t check it while filming. Then you sit on the end of Tom’s bunk bed with the Twas The Night Before Christmas book and wait for the kids to come in. Once they come in you give them a few minutes to settle under the blankets of the two beds and then start to read. 

“... Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.” you read. Closing the book, you stand up and tuck them all in.

Your son quietly stops you, “So no answer?”

You shake your head. “Sorry, Sweetie, he must be working. He’ll call in the morning.”

He sadly rolls over, snuggling into the covers beside his sister. Holding back tears you turn on the twinkling Christmas lights on the small tree in the bedroom, shut off the overhead light and quietly shut the door before making your way back downstairs. 

As you sit on the couch where Jared and Gen are both now spread out she asks, “They go down okay?”

“Yeah, they’re good kids. I just wish I could give mine what they want most.”

“It’s hard to believe they kept filming so late. I’ve never been asked to work Christmas,” Jared says.

“They weren’t meant to, but there was a blizzard and they got pushed back and then a few of them just couldn’t get a flight so they decided to keep filming. I know he tried his best. It’s not his fault, it just sucks. Especially for the kids.”

The three of you sit quietly scrolling on your phones for a while waiting until you’re sure the kids are all fully asleep. After about half an hour you all get up and start to arrange the presents under the big tree in the living room. Jared drinks the glass of eggnog and takes a bite out of the carrot and cookies the kids put out for Santa and his reindeer earlier in the evening. You and Gen also fill the stockings on the fireplace. 

“I hope they’re happy with what I could manage,” you say.

“As you said, they’re good kids. They’ll be grateful even if a little disappointed that their dad’s not here,” Gen says as she hugs you. 

“Come on, we should all get some sleep. They’ll all be up at the crack of dawn,” Jared adds. You and Gen nod. Jared goes around the house shutting off lights and checking the doors as you and Gen head upstairs. You take a quick shower changing into a pair of comfy, warm Christmas pyjamas before laying down in the guest bed. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It’s well after midnight when a quiet knocking noise wakes you up. You blink a few times, adjusting to the lack of light in the room. You hear the quiet knocking again from the balcony doors, so you get up and make your way towards the doors. When you slide the sheer curtain to the side carefully you’re met with the sight of a tall, muscular man with a bushy beard in a red hat, flannel and dark jeans. Covering your mouth to keep yourself quiet you swing the door open and let the man in. As he steps in he holds a small piece of mistletoe above your head. 

“Sorry Santa, I don’t think my husband would appreciate me kissing another man.”

“It can be our little secret. You can’t deny the mistletoe,” he says as he leans down and captures your lips with his in a soft, passionate kiss. You eagerly kiss back, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

As you pull back slightly you run your fingers through his long, scruffy beard and say, “I could get used to this.”

“Merry Christmas, my love.”

“But how? Earlier you said-” you ask.

“After that call, I knew I had to find a way to get here. So, I called in a few favours. Trust me, it was all worth it to be here with you and to see the kid’s reactions in the morning.”

“They’re gonna be so happy. You know their Santa letters really only had one thing on them: for Daddy to come home. They’ve been so good and understanding, but also trying hard to cover their sadness.”

“I love my job, you know that. But I love being a husband and a father more. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

“I love you so much.”

“Do you think you can keep quiet if I give you your first Christmas present now?”

“Jensen…You just being here is enough.”

“Maybe it’s a little bit for me too…” He starts walking you back towards the bed until the back of your knees hit the soft blanket. “You have to promise to stay quiet though.”

You bite your bottom lip between your teeth and nod and he pushes you back, you sink into the mattress. Looking down at you splayed out for him, he pulls off his hat and flannel before crawling onto the bed, holding his weight above you. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You wake with a start when you hear doors opening down the hall and loud voices. You quickly shake your naked husband to wake him. “I know you’re tired but you gotta get dressed and get downstairs. If they find out you were here most of the night…”

He tiredly rubs his eyes and sits up while you jump out of bed, lock the door and pull your pyjamas back on. You toss his clothes at him impatiently as you hear loud knocking on the door and see the doorknob turning. 

“Mummy! Mummy! It’s Christmas and Santa was here! Why won’t your door open?” you hear your daughter calling from the hallway.

Jensen finally pulls his shirt on and stands up. As he’s pulling his jeans up his legs you push him towards the balcony doors. As he’s doing up his button and zipper you pull his hat over his messy hair and shut the doors behind him.

“Mummy! Mummy! Mummy!” the whinging continues. As soon as you can’t see Jensen on the balcony anymore you open the bedroom door. 

“Sorry, Baby, I must’ve locked in last night when I went to bed. Merry Christmas! Did you say Santa was here?”

“Yeah! Santa drinked the milk and ate the cookies! And left presents!”

“Really? Is everyone else downstairs?”

“Yep! You sleeped in.”

“I did. Let’s go join everyone.” You pick her up and carry her downstairs.

Just as you get downstairs you hear a loud knock on the front door. “Should we get that, Bubba?” She nods, as you carry her towards the door. Your son is busy rummaging through his stocking with Tom and Shep and barely hears anything. As you open the door your daughter screams and reaches for her dad instantly. Finally hearing the raucous the boys run into the entryway, your son’s jaw instantly drops when he sees his dad and runs into his arms. You smile at the scene in front of you before Jensen pulls you into the family group hug. 

[zepskies]

If You Want It To Be - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: When your car breaks down after a hunt, Sam and Dean tow you back to the bunker for Christmas. This time of year gives you and Dean a little courage to be honest about what you both want. And what you want, is for him to see you. (18+)

AN: Here’s one of my entries for @deanwinchesterswitch's TGWRC: Christmas in July event! ❄️ Hope you enjoy Part 1 of 3. (I will release one chapter per week! Possibly sooner. 😉)

Themes: Mistletoe (a classic), eggnog, Christmas dinner

Word Count: 3,900 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Bickering, fluff, jealousy, angst, friends to lovers, (eventual) smut.

Part 1: December 23

“I never thought I’d miss my own bed as much as I do right now,” you mutter. 

Though your body’s weary, you manage to heft your duffel bag onto your shoulder. Soon enough, you’ll be out of this craptastic motel.

More specifically, away from the cot that nearly broke your back while you weren’t sleeping on it. Who could sleep on a bed of rusty-ass springs?

But while Sam is already loading weapons and his things into the Impala, Dean seems to be taking his sweet time, fiddling with something by the solitary nightstand in between the two queen beds. Your extra cot is laid out in the corner (may it rot in hell). 

Dean glances up at you at your remark. 

“That’s the first thing we’ve agreed on all week,” he quips. And he smirks when you send him a mock warning look. 

“Don’t mess with me right now. Haven’t gotten my beauty sleep in three days.” You have to adjust your duffel on your shoulder. “What’re you doing?”

Dean’s smirk fades the longer he concentrates on trying to put on his watch. 

“Trying to…damn it, think this strap is done.” 

Sighing, you set down your bag on the bed and sit down next to him on the edge of it. You peer over his shoulder and see that the leather band is indeed broken. 

“Aw, that sucks. I can replace it for you if you want, since I’m the one who wrangled you guys out here,” you say with a frown. 

You called them for backup when you discovered the coven of witches. If you’ve learned anything about hunting over the years, it just isn’t safe to go after a group of those demon-worshipping assholes without help. And it gave you a reason to get back in touch with Sam and Dean…

If you’re honest, it gave you an excuse to see Dean. 

You haven’t seen him in months, but he and Sam came when you called. The three of you managed to take out all four of those bitches, after having to track them down across the plains of Indiana. 

At least it only came at the cost of Dean’s watch. 

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it,” Dean says. He tries to wave you off, but you shake your head stubbornly.

“Really, I mean it,” you say. “I’ll buy you a new one. Consider it an early Christmas gift.” 

Christmas Eve is tomorrow, and while you love this time of year (and your own bed), part of you isn’t looking forward to going home to an empty apartment. 

Dean looks up at you with a rueful smile. “Really, it’s okay. This one was my dad’s.”

At that, your guilt intensifies. “Oh…guess there’s no replacing that. I’m sorry.”

“This’s just what I get for hauling my ass out here, pulling yours out of the fire,” he remarks. Some humor creeps back into his smile. “As usual.”

“Hey, if anything, I saved your ass,” you tease back, even though you still feel guilty. “That he-witch was about to grate you into Swiss cheese.” 

And then you shot him between the eyes. 

“Oh, yeah?” Dean raises his brows at you. “And when Barbie girl locked you in her cellar, that was what, you taking a nap?” 

Your lips purse in response. You enjoyed seeing that platinum blonde bitch go down hard—with an iron chain wrapped around her neck. Dean held her down while Sam finished her off with two shots to the chest.

Trust Dean to try and take credit for the whole thing. You get up to your feet with a roll of your eyes, collecting your bag. You feel his presence burning behind you as you both head out of the motel.

“I would’ve figured it out eventually,” you say. 

“Right. Where have I heard that before?” Dean says dryly. He follows you to your car and watches you throw your duffel into the backseat. Maybe he admires the curve of your ass in those jeans for a bit too long while you’re bent over.

But his eyes snap back up to yours when you straighten, turning back to him with a wry look. For years, this is how things have always been between you. Playful, sniping, not entirely flirting, but not quite not either.  

Sam then comes around the Impala to give you a friendly hug goodbye. 

“Don’t be a stranger,” he says with a smile. You return it, giving his plaid-covered chest a light punch. 

“You two are the ones with the packed dance cards. I’m lucky I got you guys to even answer my call,” you quip. “I’m down to goddamn smoke signals here.”

Dean shakes his head and pulls you into his arms next. “If we’re screening anyone’s calls, it ain’t you, sweetheart.”

You huff at that, but your smile is more genuine when you hug him back. For a brief moment, you let yourself revel in his warmth, his spicy aftershave, the solid feel of him wrapped around your whole body like a perfect man glove. 

It’s so familiar to you, but bittersweet. Because all too soon, you have to let go. 

“It was good to see you,” you say, a little softer than you meant to. Dean’s lips quirk at a warmer smile. There’s something in his eyes you can’t name when he releases you. 

But with a sigh, you turn and get into your car—an old Ford Focus. 

“You’re really still rockin’ that rusted out piece of shit, huh?” Dean asks, watching you with crossed arms as you climb in. The door creaks loudly when you shut yourself in. You flash him a wan smile and lower the window (with the embarrassing hand crank).

“Since 2003. Good old Hubert hasn’t failed me yet,” you reply. And then you turn the ignition.

It splutters, but doesn’t start the car. 

What the fuck?

Frowning, you try it again. And again. And again.

Nothing. 

The brothers Winchester still stand between your car and the Impala in the parking lot. Sam shares a glance with Dean, who brushes a hand over his mouth as he watches.

Finally, you look up at them with a grimace when your car just dies. Kaput. There’s the sound of pressure releasing, along with your high hopes of making it home tonight.  

“Goddamn it, Hubert.”

That’s how you find yourself a guest of Le Bunker a few hours later, after Dean tows your car all the way to Lawrence, Kansas. 

“You’re welcome to stay for the holidays,” Sam tells you once the three of you make it inside. He leads the way down the winding staircase. Dean follows behind you. 

“That’s right! Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve,” you reply with a smile. 

Your family loves Christmas, but it’s just you this year. Your father is on an extended cruise with his new wife, technically your stepmother. When your dad asked you how you felt about them going on this trip, they seemed so excited about it that you didn’t feel like you could say no. 

So between watching Halmark movies by yourself all day and hanging out here with your friends, there’s really no decision to make. You agree to stay. 

Sam nods back at you and continues into the bunker. He goes on to greet Castiel and Jack in the living room. 

When you reach the ground floor, Dean lays a hand on your shoulder, prompting you to turn around.

“I’ll take a look at your car, see if we can’t get it running in a couple days,” he says.

“By Christmas? That’s a tall order,” you reply with a grin. “Even for Dean Winchester, Un-Certified Mechanic.” 

Dean smirks back at you, crossing his arms. “That a challenge, sweetheart?”

You pull out your best Charlie’s Angels narrator voice. “I guess it is. Your mission, should you choose to accept it.”

His gaze is warm with playful scrutiny, from your dirty sneakers to your jeans and black V-neck top, to the messy ponytail keeping your hair together. But you can’t help but blush at the lazy, damn near flirtatious way he does it. 

“All right. Challenge accepted,” he says, crossing his arms. “What do I get if I win?”

A smirk tugs at your lips. “My undying respect.”

He just hums and leans against the iron guardrail of the stairs, hands sliding into his pockets. 

“Not enough for you?” you ask.

He shrugs, unimpressed, like he can take it or leave it. You step up on one of the stairs and fold your arms on the guardrail, so you can be level with Dean’s eyes. 

“Okay. If you manage to miraculously get my car running by Christmas, you get one consequence-free request,” you offer. He raises a brow at that.

“Anything I want?” he asks. 

“Within reason,” you amend, though you’re starting to blush. It curves his lips.

“No questions asked?” he hedges. 

You think about it for a moment…

“None,” you shake your head. “We got a deal?”

Dean smirks back at you and crosses his arms. 

“Deal.”

Maybe the little bet is silly. You know very well Dean can fix your car in two days. Just as you know you need to keep a tighter lid on your feelings…

Now that you’re here in the Bunker, unable to escape him, there’s too much potential for spillage—of things you’ve long kept hidden.

It just never seemed like he was seriously interested. Even if he ever is, you also know very well that Dean’s not the dating type. And you…you just don’t think you can handle being another “hit and run” for him. 

Or a “sometimes” girl. 

Or even worse, a “when it’s convenient” girl.

If you think too long about it, that would just about rip your heart out.

So you ignore the thought of Dean again for a while. After you shower and change into some pajama pants and a loose top, you pad barefoot into the kitchen. Castiel is there to greet you, staring into a glass of orange juice. You raise a brow at him.

“You okay, Cas?” you ask.

“Pulp or no pulp, that is the question,” he muses. 

“Um…pulp?” you reply. 

He nods and takes a sip. “Pulp is good. Increased levels of Vitamin C. But I’m thinking no pulp is best. It eliminates the possible choking hazard.”

You don’t know quite what to say to that, so you nod. “Yeah, fair enough.”

You pause in your quest for a snack to look around the bare furnishings of the bunker. 

“What the hell’s going on here?” you ask. “It’s literally Christmas Eve. Where’re all the decorations?”

Jack comes in the kitchen, pausing from watching reruns of Judge Judy to join you and Castiel. He doesn’t know you very well, but he’s just as curious about you as you’re curious (and maybe a little wary) about him. 

You know Dean hasn’t totally warmed up to the Nephilim, but he seems kind, and you find his honest, natural inquisitiveness endearing.  

“I know about Christmas,” he says, smiling like he’s proud of that fact. “It celebrates the day of Jesus’s birth. Even though December 25 itself is not historically accurate, society has made up for that fact by intertwining pagan traditions and overbearing commercialism.”

“A very good way of putting it,” you say after a moment, chuckling. “Well done.” 

Jack grins at the praise. Castiel shares an amused smile with you, but his is more fond. 

“I don’t believe Sam and Dean are big on celebrating Christmas,” Castiel says, finally answering your question. 

You cluck your tongue and level both angelic beings with a determined look. 

“Well, that’s just not gonna cut it, guys. If I’m spending Christmas here, we’re doing it right,” you say. 

And with a growing smile, “Buckle up. We’re going to Walmart.”

As it turns out, “doing it right” takes pretty much all night. But you’re impressed with how everything came out. 

There’s now a large tree in the living room (a real one, bought in the Walmart lot of Christmas trees), decorated with three packs of lights, ornaments, and a nice star on the top, with a lacy red ribbon that overlays down the front. 

You worked your hardest on the tree, but you also directed Castiel and Jack with a new tablecloth for the war room table. Red candles in “fancy plastic” gold holders, tinsel and ornaments and several other Christmasy things that now brighten up the entire place with festive wonder. 

And all on the cheap. Though your wallet is going to smart a bit, considering you might’ve gone a bit overboard. Not just on decorations, but on some groceries, a few gifts, and maybe a couple of things for yourself…

You just don’t anticipate later falling asleep on the long table in the war room, with a roll of ribbon curled around your hand and tinsel in your hair. 

You wake up to a hand on your shoulder, gently shaking you awake. You groan, squinting against the twinkling lights, no matter how pretty they are in all their multi-colored glory.

“You okay there, sweetheart?”

“Huh…?”

“You’re drooling on the table. I’m guessing that’s a new tablecloth.”

“Whathefu…” You manage to open your eyes and raise your head, finding Dean smirking down at you. You blink up at him sleepily. 

“Aw shit,” you utter.

“That’s one way to greet somebody,” he intones. 

You just grin with exasperation, but you accept his help in sitting up with a groan. Every muscle in your body aches in protest from having slept on a slab of hard wood. 

His hand doesn’t leave your back until your bare feet are firm on the ground, though you lean on his arm for a minute while you rub sleep out of your eyes.

“Damn, I wanted to see your faces when everything was put up,” you say ruefully. Sam comes in with a smile and two mugs of coffee, one of which he hands to you. 

“It’s incredible! How’d you do all this?” he asks. “And thank you. You know you didn’t have to.”

You waved him off. “I wanted to. Plus, I had a little help.” 

You raise your mug to Castiel as he walks by with an iPad and a multigrain bar. It’s such a far cry from the angel you had met years ago—socially ignorant of human ways—that you have to smile. He returns it. 

“Jack’s still putting the finishing touches on the Christmas village,” Cas says. 

“Village?” Dean frowns. 

“We had him set it up in his room,” you tell him. “He was fascinated by the train part. And the fake snow. And all the little people…”

“Great, another nerd,” Dean remarks. 

“Be nice,” you chide. He shoots you a certain smirk.

“What do you mean? I’m Mr. fucking Nice Guy.”

“More like Scrooge,” you counter. 

“All right, Sweeney Todd. Might wanna fix the nest you’ve got going on there,” he retorts, gesturing at the wild state of your hair. You’re still picking out tinsel. 

You narrow your gaze at him. “Big talk from the guy wearing fuzzy slippers.”

Dean frowns, glancing down and shuffling his slippered feet. In his defense, the floor is cold.

“All right, I’ll just get started on breakfast then,” Sam says, cutting through the familiar bickering with a resigned grin. After a parting amused look at you, Dean follows him into the kitchen. 

“Wait, wait. You don’t know how the hell to make eggs. Let me get in there.”

Rolling your eyes, you share a conspiratorial look with Castiel, who smiles before taking his iPad into the living room. You take the opportunity to shower, brush your damn hair, and fix yourself into an actual human again. 

Suddenly inspired to put some effort in, you pick out a dress for once. It’s not the new one you might’ve splurged on for Christmas dinner tomorrow, but it’s a “just in case” dress you always take in your bag…just in case. 

It’s a black, comfortable fabric with simple long sleeves and a skirt that drapes above the knee. It’s just casual enough to wear around the bunker. But it can also be dressed up with some heels if you need to. This is not one of those times, thank God. 

You even take pains to do your makeup, light on the eyes but popping with a bit of red lipstick that you typically save for going out. Tis the fucking season. 

And maybe you want to wipe away that asinine smirk from Dean’s face. 

When you return to the kitchen, all four men are sitting at the kitchen table, eating breakfast, talking, and drinking coffee. That all pauses when they see you. 

“Morning, again,” you greet them. And you hum to yourself as you grab another cup of coffee. But you stop in your tracks when you realize they’re all looking at you. 

The ones who have tact (Sam and Dean) manage to return to their phone and iPad, respectively. But the angels are a little slow to look away.

“You look different today,” Jack says. 

Your lips twitch at a smile. “A good different?”

“Yeah,” he says, though the way he looks at you makes you wonder if he’s sure. You share a glance with Dean, whose face strains with an awkward I don’t know what to tell you smile. 

You don’t know it, but Dean’s gaze follows you as you putter about the kitchen. The sight of your smooth and shapely legs are enticing, especially the way the skirt of your dress keeps swishing along your thighs. 

Sam clears his throat, catching his brother’s gaze with amusement. Dean’s lips purse at being caught in the act of checking you out, but he swiftly ignores his brother to glance back down at his iPad.  

Shaking his head, Sam gets up after he finishes his breakfast and brings his plate to the kitchen sink.

“You going out or something?” he asks you. “There’s some eggs for you in the pan, by the way.”

You nod at that, grabbing yourself a plate from the cupboard. You’re starting to reacquaint yourself with where everything is in the bunker. 

“No, but it’s funny how you guys seem to think I live in my hunter gear all the time.” You arch a brow at Sam. “In case you haven’t noticed, I am a woman. Capable of wielding lipstick.”

Sam grins, raising up his hands in surrender. “By all means, wield away. You look nice.”

“Thank you,” you say dramatically. He snorts in response and moves to get around you. But that’s when Jack pipes up.

“Oh, look,” he says, pointing to a spot above you and Sam. “You guys are under the mistletoe.”

Your eyes widen. You glance up at said sprig, which hangs from a long string stapled into the ceiling, then at Sam as a blush starts to warm your face. He looks similarly caught off guard. 

“Who put that there?” you ask, cutting your gaze over to Jack in suspicion. His boyish grin is pleased, while Castiel fights a smile of amused embarrassment for you. 

Dean is oddly quiet though. His expression hides behind the hand he’s leaning his chin on, while his elbow rests on the table. You meet his eyes for just a moment, before you crane your head up to look back at Sam.  

You shrug with a grin and beckon to him with your hands. “All right, come ‘ere.” 

Sam’s face is a bit crunched with an awkward smile, but he obliges you by wrapping you up in a friendly embrace. 

You take his face with both hands and plant a sweet kiss on his cheek. You feel his prickly stubble against your lips, but you don’t mind.

“Merry Christmas,” you say with a giggle. He chuckles in response and rubs your back warmly. 

“Merry Christmas,” he echoes, pressing a hand to your cheek. You’re one of those friends he counts as his family, and he’s truly grateful that you’re here with them for the holidays. 

You have similar warm feelings for the gentle giant as you pull out of his embrace. When you glance over at Dean, you don’t know what to expect to find. By the mild grin he’s sporting, he just seems amused by the whole thing. 

You inwardly shake your head at yourself, wondering if you should’ve just kissed Sam. Maybe then you’d figure out where you stand with Dean. 

And once you know for sure he doesn’t see you in any kind of way, then you can try to actually move on from Dean Winchester. 

You’re forced to sit across from him after you heat up your eggs and make some toast. He’s just scrolling through his iPad without a care in the world. 

But in reality, you couldn’t know that Dean is fighting not to look at you. Because the truth is, he didn’t like what he just saw…the obvious warmth between you and his brother. 

“We need stockings,” Jack notes, before he turns to you. “Wasn’t that on your list?”

“Ooh, you’re right. I think I forgot,” you reply. “To be fair, trolling around Walmart on three days of no sleep is ill-advised at the best of times, let alone at 12:00 a.m. on Christmas Eve.”

Sam chuckles at that. While Dean gives a slight smile, he’s still quieter than usual.

“Want to go grab some at the store?” Jack asks. You rub your chin in thought. 

“Well, I wanted to get started on baking some cookies for later.”

“I can take him,” Sam offers. Jack nods along with the idea.

“Okay, great,” you reply.

“Need anything else while we’re out?” Sam asks. 

“Hmm, nope! Nothing that I can think of,” you reply. Sam nods, and soon after, he and Jack leave for the store. 

You turn to Dean, intending to ask if he’d like to help you in the kitchen. Realistically, you know he’s not going to do much but stand there while you do most of the work, but it’s a chance to hang out, just you and him.

You’ve almost worked up your nerve to ask when Dean gets up from the table with his iPad. He says nothing to you before he starts toward the garage, making you frown. 

“Hey, Dean,” you call to him. 

He hesitates, turning back to you with an expectant brow. You want to ask him to stay but…ultimately, you lose your nerve. 

“Gonna work on my car?” you ask instead. He flashes you a smile that doesn’t completely reach his eyes. 

“Un-certified mechanic, at your service,” he dryly quips with a lazy salute. 

You quirk a smile as he continues on his way, but somehow, you feel unsettled. You turn to Castiel, and you remember the rest of your plan for today. 

“Hey, Cas.”

“Yes?” His head raises from his book.  

You give him a conspiring smile. 

“I have a special mission for you.”

AN: The stage is set, folks! Let me know what you thought of Part 1. 😘

Next Time:

Jack’s sprig of mistletoe once again lies above your head. Your heart trips up a bit faster as Dean looks down at you again, with a smirk. 

“My turn,” he remarks. His eyes are flirtatious, but they hold a hint of something deeper. Something you can’t name. 

“Are you gonna go for my cheek like I’m your cousin?” he says.

His raised brow is a challenge, and it makes you bite the inside of your lip. He can be so annoying, but you suppose he wouldn’t be Dean if he didn’t make things more difficult for you.

Keep Reading: PART 2

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[zepskies]

If You Want It To Be - Part 3

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: When your car breaks down after a hunt, Sam and Dean tow you back to the bunker for Christmas. This time of year gives you and Dean a little courage to be honest about what you both want. And what you want, is for him to see you. (18+)

AN: And here’s Part 3! This fic is an entry for @deanwinchesterswitch's TGWRC: Christmas in July event. 🩵❄️

Themes: Mistletoe (a classic), eggnog, Christmas dinner

Word Count: 3,600 Tags/Warnings: 18+! Smuttish, fluff and feels.

Part 3: Christmas Day

The next day, Christmas morning comes. You’re up early after a night of somewhat restful sleep (anticipation of today kept you up for a while). 

And so are the guys, though their enthusiasm isn’t as bright as yours. 

Everyone is still in their pajamas, the humans with their mugs of coffee as you corral your friends into the living room by the sparkling, multicolored tree.

During your trip to Walmart on your first night in, you managed to squeeze in some shopping for actual presents. Your wallet now hates you, and likely will until February. 

But it’s worth it to see the guys’ faces when they find their names on gift-wrapped boxes under the tree. Jack in particular wears an expression of wonder, almost like a little kid. It makes you smile. 

Everyone has a small gift from you, though they clearly weren’t expecting it. Sam accepts his parcel from you with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, I don’t think any of us remembered about this part,” he says.

“No worries,” you wave him off. “It’s just a ‘thank you’ for letting me crash here for the holidays.”

You have a new book for Sam, an old-school Gameboy for Jack, a new set of ties for Castiel. You hold your breath when Dean sits down on the couch to open his. 

He considers the small box with slightly furrowed brows. He glances up at you. 

“What’d you do?” he asks. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Just open it, Dean,” you reply with a laugh. A smile twitches at his face, and he finally obliges you. 

Inside the black velvet box is a nice silver watch with a leather strap. 

Dean blinks in surprise. He glances over at his empty wrist where his father’s watch used to rest, but he hasn’t replaced it since it broke after the witch hunt in Indiana.  

You come over to sit beside him and point out the new watch’s features.

“This part is adjustable,” you explain. “I figured you could take it off and use the strap for your dad’s watch.”

A slow smile spreads across Dean’s face, warm and somewhat disbelieving. You bought him a whole new watch, just so he could use the leather strap for his old one. 

Something in his heart tightens, and also eases when he looks up at you. You’re smiling, a little nervous. 

And Dean can’t help himself. He cups a hand behind your head and kisses your cheek, wishing he could do more, but not wanting to invite curiosity. Already he can feel Sam’s gaze on both of you.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Dean says. “This is…it’s real nice. Thank you.” 

But Sam notices the warmth in his brother’s voice, and the way he looks at you. And the way you’re looking at him, like he hung the damn moon. 

It brings a suspicious smile to Sam’s face. 

When you offer to pick up breakfast, Dean intervenes and says you’ve done enough. Sam will get breakfast going, he insists. (And Sam, rolling his eyes, agrees with him.)

“I’m gonna step out for a sec, but I’ll be back,” Dean then says. 

“See ya later,” you reply with a little wave before you go to help Jack set up his Gameboy. Castiel is already sorting through his new ties, arranging them by color, then by pattern on the sofa. 

You glance over your shoulder though, and manage to catch the way Sam pulls his brother aside. You don’t hear what they’re saying, but it sparks your curiosity. 

“What?” Dean asks. Sam raises a brow at him, with a knowing smile. 

“Get her something good,” Sam tells him. 

“Dude, shut up,” Dean holds a finger over his lips and glances over at you. Thankfully, you seem invested in helping Jack. 

“I’m just saying. Put some effort in,” Sam persists. His eyes hold a teasing glint. “Nothing from the gas station.”

“All right, I got it,” Dean snipes back. It’s none of Sam’s business, really, but he already has an idea growing in his mind as he heads down to the garage.

Dean has all but disappeared since this morning. You thought the two of you were going to talk at some point, but you haven’t seen him all day. 

Maybe it’s stupid, but you start to wonder if he’s avoiding you. If the gift was too much…

Sam happens to catch you lost in thought while you’re glazing a large ham in the kitchen.

“Can I help you with anything?” he asks. 

“Sure,” you reply. “Want to peel the potatoes?”

You glance at the bag on the counter. Sam agrees and joins you to wash and start peeling for you. 

“Have you seen Dean?” you ask him, hopefully subtle. 

Sam’s lips start to form a knowing smile, but he dims it down. “He’s probably in the garage.”

“…Oh, right. God forbid I bother him while he’s working on his car,” you joke. Sam glances at you.

“Or yours, most likely,” he says. “He did promise to get it done by today. Didn’t you guys have a little bet going?” 

He knew about that? you think with a blush. 

“That was silly,” you admit. “It’s Christmas. He should just relax.” 

“When my brother says he’s gonna do something, he commits,” Sam says. “He deals with people the same way.”

You raise a brow at him. “What do you mean?”

Sam just smiles, like he knows something you don’t. He finishes peeling the last potato and sets it down on the counter with the rest.

“All right, what’s next?” he asks.

Once the ham is in the oven and the other side dishes you and Sam prepared are set off to cook, you return to your room to shower and get ready for dinner later. 

You decide to wear the dress you found while you were shopping, before you even knew your relationship with Dean would change. 

You almost went with a red lacy one, but there was something about this dress—green velvet, off the shoulder sleeves and flaring at the waist. It’s simple, but pretty. You pair it with some comfortable black flats. 

You spend longer getting ready, only having to redo your eyeliner once this time. Then you steel yourself, gaining some confidence, and you go downstairs. 

Jack is in the kitchen, sneaking a finger in the cranberry sauce.

“I saw that,” you tease. He stiffens like you’ve caught him red-handed. He quickly tucks his hands behind his back. He notices how you’ve cleaned yourself up with a polite nod.

“You look very nice,” he says. 

“Thanks!” you chirp, blushing lightly. “Want to help me set the table?”

Jack obliges you like the nice kid he is. You two set up the long dining table that the guys usually use for research, first with the new red tablecloth, then the plates and silverware and glasses. 

And finally, while Jack checks on the ham in the oven, you place the (fake) gold candleholders on each side of the table. 

Dean comes out of wherever he’s been hiding, right as you’re leaning far over the table to light a candle. You don’t realize how your dress rides up your thighs in the back, but Dean is captivated by the sight for a moment…until he clears his throat. 

“Need some help there, sweetheart?” 

His unexpected voice startles a yelp out of you. You flail as you lose your balance, but he hooks an arm around your waist and prevents you from catching your hand on fire. He brings you flush against him, smirking down at you.

“Nice reflexes,” he teases. “When’s your audition for the Karate Kid?”

“Oh, shut up,” you gripe back. 

You shoot him a playful glare as you rest your palms against his chest. But it loses its effect when you melt into his subsequent kiss. You reach up to twine your arms around his neck, letting your nails graze up the back of his neck and through his hair. 

He shudders a little, with a pleasant hum, making you smile against his lips.

He breaks from you with a customary Dean grin, which is equal parts flirtatious, amused, and a hint cocky.

“Miss me?” he asks. You smile through your blush, but you have to taper down your inclination to say yes. His gaze drags down your body with interest. 

“I like this dress too,” he says, and his voice fairly rumbles. Along with his scrutiny, it makes your face flare with heat. Your fingers play with a button on his shirt, red flannel this time. He rubs the soft velvet along your hip.

You tilt your face up to him, despite your lingering blush. 

“Where’ve you been all day?” you ask. He quirks a smile. 

“I’ll show you,” Dean says. 

Dean takes your hand and leads you downstairs to the garage. 

There you find the remains of your car, which has rusted out parts strewn haphazardly all over the ground. You raise a brow. This is how he fixes your car? 

“You are so not winning the bet.”

Dean snorts. “It’s an old rust bucket. Needs a complete fucking overhaul, or the scrap heap. If you really want, I’ll get the new parts, fix it up top to bottom…or, you could just take a stroll through my garage.”

He gestures around, where classic cars are lined up on either side of you. A wide grin spreads across your face. 

“Oh my God, you’ll let me drive one of these?” you say in excitement. 

“You can pick one out and take it home,” Dean replies. Though he doesn’t want to think about you leaving…maybe you two can talk that over later.

Your smile falters. “What? Dean, no. This is your collection.”

He pulls you in by your waist and gently bucks his hand beneath your chin. 

“Call it my gift to you,” he says. You notice his father’s watch once again rests on his wrist, with the help of the new leather strap you bought for him.  

“You’d really give me a whole freakin’ car?” you ask, tearing up and beaming bright at the same time. 

Dean brushes your cheek tenderly with curled fingers; his answer is in his eyes. You try your best to blink away your would-be tears. He catches the one that falls from the corner of your eye with his thumb.

“Why don’t you go pick one out?” he suggests, nodding behind you. 

Biting your lip, you reach up and kiss him sweetly before you get started. You miss the way Dean blushes a bit. Because you’re already meandering down the line of beautiful old classics. 

Soon enough you stop at an interesting red one.

“Ooh, this one’s nice,” you say. Dean is unimpressed. 

“No,” he shakes his head, crossing his arms. 

“What, why?”

“I ain’t puttin’ you in a Volvo. Come on, you can do better than that.”

“But it’s cute.”

“Remember, you’re gonna be driving across state lines,” he reminds you. “You want something reliable, strong.”

You huff and decide to keep looking, but you lay a gentle hand on the side mirror. 

“I might be back for you. Don’t go anywhere.”

A smile threatens Dean’s lips as he watches you. He knows for sure he’s losing the bet. But it’s worth it for this moment right here.

You flit between the rows of cars. Finally, you stop at a funky mint green one. It reminds you of a car your grandfather had when you were a kid, when he’d take you out for ice cream on a Sunday.

“You like that one?” Dean asks. He walks over and joins you at the car, soothing a hand over its hood.

“I think I do. What is it?” you ask.

“A Ford Thunderbird, 1960.” Dean’s gaze meets yours, and he smiles. “Good choice. 5.8-liter V8 engine. 300 horsepower. This gal was powerful in her time.”

“Let’s see if she still is,” you say with a grin. 

So you and Dean break out the Thunderbird into the open roads of Lebanon, Kansas. 

Dean gives you pointers on driving stick, as it’s been a while for you. But after a few minutes, you regain the hang of it and test the car’s powerful sounding engine. It almost rumbles as loud as Baby. 

“Oh, crap. What about dinner?” you realize. “The guys must be waiting on us.”

“Eh, they’ll live,” Dean says with a grin. “Keep going. There’s a park right around the corner here.”

Sure enough, you’re about to turn into a park that borders on a small, but beautiful lake. You probably should’ve brought a coat; the car’s old heater isn’t doing you much good in your little dress. 

But right now, you don’t care. Because this is a perfect moment, and you don’t think you could be much happier. 

You park the car in view of the sparkling lake. Before Dean can turn to you and ask what you think of the car, you’ve started climbing over the upholstery over to his side. 

“Whoa. Easy tiger,” he chuckles as you grunt and struggle. 

“Here’s my Karate Kid audition,” you joke, earning an even deeper laugh from Dean.

But he helps guide you into his lap, where you straddle his hips and reach down to anchor his seat back. The two of you laugh when it momentarily gets stuck, but Dean is able to fix it. With a turn of his wrist, his seat jerks back and gives you more room to maneuver. 

His warm hands smooth up the back of your thighs while you find purchase on his shoulders. 

“Hmm. You’re cold, babe,” he remarks with a frown, and he rubs your legs more to generate some warmth on your skin. “Should’ve brought your jacket.”

Your legs might be cold, but your face heats up at the way he calls you babe. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like you’re really his.

Your answering smile is both warm and playful.

“Who needs clothes when I’ve got a big, strong, flannel-wearing man to warm me up,” you tease, soothing your hands along his toned arms. 

It lifts his frown into an amused grin, even as he shakes his head and grips your thighs more firmly.

“Oh, so I’m a portable heater now?” he remarks. 

“Yup,” you nod with a grin as you lean down. “Do your job, heater.”

Swiping your hair over your shoulder, you lean down for a sweet kiss. But it quickly gains in passion as his tongue slips past the seam of your lips. His hands move to take a healthy grip of your ass, grinding you down into his lap. 

A pleased sound gets trapped in your throat when you feel his length pressing against your core through his jeans. You slip a hand into his hair, deepening the kiss and nipping at his lower lip.  

You feel like a teenager making out with your boyfriend in some backwoods clearing. But it’s an exhilarating feeling.

You never thought you’d be able to do this. Not with Dean. 

You cup his face in your hands and pull back a bit.   

“I love this car,” you say. “You really gonna give it to me?”

Dean smirks. Once again, your lipstick (though lighter this time) is smudged all over his mouth and chin. You wipe some of it off with your thumb.

“Maybe I won’t,” he says. “Maybe I’ll take my sweet time fixing that rusted out piece of shit sitting in my garage.”

You giggle against him, and his hands smooth up your thighs, rucking up the skirt of your dress.

“Is that your plan?” you reply. “Strand me at the bunker, make sure I can never go home?”

“Something like that,” he says. “Gotta keep my girl close.”

You huff. “Your girl? That’s presumptuous.”

“Oh, really?” Dean gives a deep chuckle. “Weren’t you the one who said this wasn’t a one-time deal?”

“No, you said that. I’m just along for the ride,” you quip.

But you think you’ve teased him too much when his amusement starts to fade. His green eyes dim to embers as he tilts his head.

“Is that right?” he asks. 

You soften, gazing down at him with a more genuine smile. You press your hand to the side of his face, letting your thumb sooth over the apple of his cheek. 

“Dean, of course not,” you say patiently. “It’s you. It’s always been you.”  

That admission is thick in your throat. It comes out at nearly a whisper. 

But then, the shadows begin to clear from Dean’s eyes. His lips curve into a more familiar smile.

He kisses you, and the two of you continue exploring one another. Not to mention, testing the limitations of a reclined car seat.

By the time you two get back to the bunker, the dinner table is a mess. The guys have clearly eaten without you, and now Sam is trying to explain the finer points of football to Cas and Jack in the living room. He pauses when he notices you and his brother walk in.

“Where’ve you guys been?” he asks. But he spies Dean’s hand resting on the small of your back with a smile. “The food is in the kitchen. All you need to do is heat it up.”

“Thanks!” you call to him on your way to the kitchen. 

Dean means to follow you, but he stops short when he sees a framed picture of Mary Winchester hanging on the wall in the living room. He draws closer to it, not realizing that the others are watching him. Most of them with curiosity, and one with hopeful wariness. 

His mouth curves with a slight smile. Someone caught her by surprise. He can tell by the way she’s looking over her shoulder in the 8” by 10” frame. She wears her favorite green jacket—one that Sam bought for her last year. Her hair brushes past her shoulders in a haphazard mix of blonde curls and waves. But her smile. That smile’s even more golden.

“Who put this here?” Dean asks. When he doesn’t get an answer, he glances back and finds his brother’s gaze first. He just smiles, but doesn’t look like the culprit. Dean moves on to Cas, who subtly shakes his head.

Jack, on the other hand, looks both guilty and hopeful, before his eyes fall to the folded hands in his lap. 

Instinctively, Dean wants to tighten up. But when he looks back at his mom’s smile, a little more of the edge in his heart crumbles. 

“She looks good there,” he says. He turns back to Jack and gives him a nod…and a reserved smile. The nephilim hesitates to return it, but when he does, it’s a genuine one. 

Dean moves on to the kitchen, where he pretends not to catch the way you’d been surreptitiously watching the scene from the kitchen. You duck your head and continue cutting some ham for the two plates you’ve set out on the counter.     

Dean’s face lights up when he finds the pies: pecan and apple. 

“Okay, you want mashed potatoes or macaroni with the ham?” you ask him. Dean raises a brow at you. You smile in amusement.

“What am I thinking? Both, obviously,” you say. 

“Obviously,” Dean quips with a nod. 

“Ah, well that’s interesting,” says Castiel. It stops both hunters in the kitchen with curious looks. 

“It seems you’re caught again,” the angel tells you, nodding up to the mistletoe poised above you and Dean. 

You roll your eyes, while Dean just smirks. You glance up at him with a question in your eyes. 

Should we tell them? you ask.

Dean’s smile grows. Hell, yeah.

He leans in to cup your cheek, and he kisses you soundly—something that shocks both angels…but not Sam. You close your eyes with a sound of contentment. You grab onto Dean’s shirt, holding him close.

“She didn’t kiss Sam that way,” Jack comments. 

Castiel recovers first, realizing what’s happened by Sam’s knowing look. 

“No,” Cas says in amusement. “I don’t believe she did.”

While Sam turns up the volume on the TV, giving you and Dean some privacy, Dean finally parts from you and tugs a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. 

“You know, I promised you a car by Christmas,” he says with a grin. “Technically speaking, I did come through on that deal.”

You raise a brow, though a smile tugs at your lips. “Hmm. I suppose you did.”

“And if I remember right, I get a…what was it?” He pretends to recall with a raised finger. “Oh, that’s right. A consequence-free request.” 

“Here we go.” You roll your eyes, but amusement and warmth still gleam them. “All right, Dean Winchester. What can I do for you?”

He hums and seems to consider it. He makes a show of it, really, tilting his head, looking down at you with a deepening smirk. You fight not to blush under his scrutiny, even as your smile grows. Your hands rest against his chest, while his slide around your waist and pull you in closer. 

“How about you don’t go running off so soon,” he says, thumbing at your cheek. “Stay through New Year’s, at least.”

You’d be lying if you said you aren’t shocked. You raise a brow. 

“That’s your request?”

Dean shrugs, but his quirking smile can’t hide the fondness in his eyes. It warms you in a way you also don’t expect.  

Taking your chin with gentle fingers, he presses a lingering kiss to your lips. Your eyes close as you once again take in this heady feeling. Being with him still doesn’t quite feel real, but you’re holding on for as long as you can. 

When he eventually pulls away, he smiles at your slightly hazy face.  

“I already got what I wanted,” Dean says. “Now we just…keep this good thing going.” 

You really do blush this time.

“Got what you wanted, huh?” you tease. He gives you a wry look.

“Not what I meant.” Then he smirks, squeezing your hips. “But actually yeah, that too.”

You laugh and swat at his shoulder. 

“Well, since I’m honor bound. I suppose I can stay a few more days,” you reply. “And I mean, your birthday’s not long after that.”

Dean hums in agreement. “We talkin’ early birthday present?”

You flash him a cheeky smile and slowly slide your hands down his arms. 

“Then Valentine’s Day’s is just around the corner,” you add. Dean nods sagely, trying to temper his smile.

“Might as well stay through February,” he says.

You grin. “Ooh! St. Patrick’s Day!” 

Dean laughs genuinely then, throwing his head back. You hold onto the edges of his button-down shirt and tug him back to you. 

“What I mean to say is, I could consider staying longer,” you say. However long you want me, your tone suggests. “…I’ll just need to tie up a few things.”  

You know your father will be just fine if you decide to move to Lebanon someday soon. He now has his new wife to keep him company, and there isn’t much else tying you to your hometown besides nostalgia, and bittersweet memories of your mom.  

“Is that a serious offer?” Dean asks.

You grin up at him playfully. “If you want it to be.”

He smiles and kisses you again. The way he holds you, looks at you, it’s tender enough to make your throat tighten with emotion. 

“I do,” Dean says. He stares down into your eyes. “It’s you, sweetheart. For me too. Just you.”

 Your smile is tremulous, but oh, so bright.

“Good.” 

AN: And that's it, folks! 🥹 Let me know what you thought of Part 3. I truly hope you enjoyed it!

Coming Up Next:

I have one other Christmas in July fic in store, over in The Boys fandom. Look out for "Love Actually" (Soldier Boy x Reader) next week!

It's set in the "Break Me Down" story-verse, but can be read as standalone. I will tag everyone who follows that ongoing story (which is almost finished!!).

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[zepskies]

If You Want It To Be - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: When your car breaks down after a hunt, Sam and Dean tow you back to the bunker for Christmas. This time of year gives you and Dean a little courage to be honest about what you both want. And what you want, is for him to see you. (18+)

AN: Here’s Part 2! This fic is an entry for @deanwinchesterswitch's TGWRC: Christmas in July event. 🩵❄️

Themes: Mistletoe (a classic), eggnog, Christmas dinner

Word Count: 5,700 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut central, tiny bit of angst, fluff and feels. ❤️💚

Part 2: Christmas Eve

Before you start on the Christmas cookies, you pull Castiel aside.

“Here’s the mission,” you tell the angel. “I know the guys don’t do Christmas all that often, so I want to surprise them with a nice dinner tomorrow. Think you can get this list of stuff for me? I think my addled brain forgot we needed real food too.”

Castiel looks over the scrap of notebook paper you give him with a critical eye.

“Uh, yes. This seems straightforward enough…what about pie?” he asks.

You raise a brow at him. “What about pie?”

“Dean likes pie.”

“I understand, but Christmas is for cookies. Not pies.”

“I think Dean would beg to differ,” Cas points out.

“Fine, get the man his pie,” you relent with a sigh. “Get pecan. He likes pecan, and that’s still somewhat Christmasy.”

“He likes apple better,” Cas mutters, but he still takes up your list and heads out to do your bidding.

Now with most of the bunker, namely the kitchen, all to yourself, you put on some festive music on your phone before you start to lay out all your ingredients on the counter.

Not many people know about your hobby, but you think you’ve seen enough baking shows to be proficient with some flour and egg.

You decide to begin with good old-fashioned sugar cookies that you’ll try your best to decorate later. But first, you start measuring out ingredients.

You sing along with Eartha Kitt’s “Santa Baby,” not knowing that you have an audience.

Dean spots you on his way back in from the garage. He was aiming to grab a drink of water from the fridge. He finds you instead, bopping around the kitchen. He hears you humming breathily to the music, watches you swaying your hips to her sultry notes. And he smirks. 

He steps up behind you and leans in close to your ear to ask, “What’cha making?”

You jump with a loud yelp, flinging up flour with your wooden spoon. Hearing Dean’s laughter, you whip around and give him a playful glare before swatting at him with the spoon.

“Hey!” he protests when you mark his shirt (more than once) with flour. You smirk and continue your task of mixing the dough.

Serves you right, troublemaker, you think. He comes up behind you to inspect your work.

“Cake?” he asks.

“Cookies, remember?” you tell him. “Want to help me?”

“You seem to be doing just fine.” He raises a brow as you take chunks of dough, roll them evenly in your hands, and place them on the tray. You’re making quick work of it too.

“Matter of fact, you look like a pro,” he adds.

You flash him a smile tinged with nostalgia.

“Yeah, well, my mom and I used to do this together every year when I was a kid. Snickerdoodles, oatmeal raisin, chocolate chip, oatmeal chocolate chip—”

“I think I get the picture,” Dean says with a growing smile. You return it, but your expression starts to fade the longer you think of her. 

Dean catches the shift; he knows your mom passed just a few years ago, losing her battle with lung cancer. He and Sam attended the funeral.

Dean understands. He just lost his own mother a few months ago—again. Another reason he can’t quite be Mr. Nice Guy with Jack. At least, not how they used to be. He knows it wasn’t the kid’s fault. Logically, Dean knows this. The nephilim didn’t have his soul.

In Dean’s heart though, his mom is still gone from this world. She got cheated out of her second chance at life. And deep down, selfishly, Dean feels cheated too.

It’s a reminder that gets stuck in his throat. But it dislodges another memory, one he feels comfortable enough with you to share, in the privacy of a quiet kitchen.

“I think I remember helping my mom bake something once, when I was a kid,” Dean admits. Though he clears his throat when your gaze turns to him in interest.

“Think it was chocolate chip cookies…well, whatever, they were hard as a rock,” he says, smiling at the memory. “So we went to the store and bought some from the bakery instead.”

You watch how his face softens, in the way it does whenever he talks about his mother. You smile just as softly.

“Aw, little Dean,” you say, because you can imagine it so clearly. Maybe he’s four or five, working dough between his small hands. And beautiful Mary, smiling beside him, encouraging him.

Dean’s eyes meet yours, uncomfortable with the gentle way you’re looking at him. So he clears his throat and goes into the fridge. He pulls out the eggnog and finds the rum you bought last night, specifically for what he’s about to do.

“Ooh, good idea,” you say as he fixes both of you a glass. Though you balk at his heavy pour of rum. “Geez, trying to get me drunk before noon?”

He grins at you. “Morning, night, and day are the only times to be drunk.”

You snort in response.

“Is that all?” you remark, and you wipe your hands of the wet dough (and most of the flour) before you take the glass he offers. You clink your glass with his and take a sip, even though you choke on it soon after.

“Jesus Christ, Dean,” you cough. He had to have poured half the bottle of Bacardi Superior in there.

Dean sucks between his teeth. “Yep, that is bracing.”

He glances over at you and smiles, raising a finger at the corner of your mouth.

“You’ve got some there,” he points out. You touch your chin, trying to feel for anything on your face.

“Where?”

“On your mustache, there.”

“I don’t have a mustache!” you say indignantly. You know this for a fact, as you spent a fair amount of time waxing and shaving yourself last night.

…Not that you had any particular reason to (or anyone to wax for), you just noticed that you needed some grooming. That’s all.   

Dean’s grin edges into a teasing smirk. “Don’t worry, it’s cute. Less Duck Dynasty and more Steve Harvey, Family Feud guy.”

You splutter laughing and hit his chest with the back of your hand.

“You’re such an ass.”

He chuckles and wipes the bit of eggnog from the corner of your mouth with his thumb. It makes your cheeks flare with a warm blush.

“Well, I uh, should get these into the fridge to chill,” you say. You grab the tray of rolled up cookie dough and head for the fridge, but maybe you’re more frazzled than you realize.

You accidentally knock into Dean’s elbow, making him spill half his drink down the front of his shirt.

You gasp, eyes flying wide, while he looks down at the mess now dripping from his shirt onto the floor. When he eventually looks up at you in deadpan exasperation, you have to bite your lip against a smile.

“Good job,” he cracks.

“I’m so sorry,” you say with a bubble of nervous laughter. “Hold on.”

You finish putting the tray in the fridge and immediately turn to grab a few paper towels. You go to Dean and start helping him blot out the sticky, frothy mess staining through his green flannel and black undershirt, from chest to sternum.

The problem is, the paper towel is thin and breaking off on his shirt, making your task damn near impossible. White, wet pieces of paper are coming off on his black shirt.

“Well, you’re doing great,” Dean wryly remarks.

You can’t help but giggle. “It’s not all my damn fault here. Who the hell buys one-ply paper towels?”

“Sam. Evidently, he’s cheap as hell,” he replies, eliciting another laugh from you.

Soon enough you give up on the paper towel with a huff, and you go to grab an actual hand towel. Dean follows you, which assures that you bump into him again when you turn back around.

You yelp as your foot starts to slip on the sticky drops on the floor, but Dean grabs your arms, steadying you. You can’t help but giggle again, looking up at him. He quirks an amused smile down at you.

But then your face slackens as you gaze up above his head. He curiously follows suit.

And you both realize that you’ve fallen into a trap.

Jack’s sprig of mistletoe once again lies above your head. Your heart trips up a bit faster as Dean looks down at you, this time with a growing smirk.

“My turn,” he says. His eyes are flirtatious, but they hold a hint of something deeper. Something you can’t name.

“Are you gonna go for my cheek like I’m your cousin?” he asks.

His raised brow is a challenge, and it makes you bite the inside of your lip. He can be so annoying, but you suppose he wouldn’t be Dean if he didn’t make things more difficult for you.

Well, I didn’t put on lipstick for nothing, you muse. And though anticipation and nerves trill down your spine, you lean up on your toes, take his face between your flour-stained hands, and press your lips to his.

It’s a sweet kiss, and his hands come to rest along the curve of your waist, holding you close.

When you pull away, you suddenly realize just what you’ve done as you let your hands fall away from his face. You’re not quite sure what to do with them afterwards, so they clench awkwardly in the air between you two.

Dean looks down at you with a softer, yet playful smirk. He reluctantly drops his hands from your waist.

But he makes a show of licking his lips. You taste sweeter than boozy eggnog…actually, you taste more like chocolate. He glances behind you, and sure enough, he spies the Nestle bag in the corner.   

“Chocolate chips?” he notes, eyeing you suspiciously. “Maybe those weren’t originally meant to be sugar cookies, huh?”

His gaze is drawn to the way you bite your lip again, trying to hold back an embarrassed smile. You raise a hand to wipe the imprint of MAC’s “Russian Red” lipstick from his mouth, and he smirks under the pad of your thumb.

“You saw nothing,” you warn him. You attempt to stifle another nervous giggle. “You’re officially sworn to secrecy.”

He hums at that. “I don’t know. What’s in it for me?”

“You’re asking for a bribe?” You raise a brow.

Dean’s smirk deepens. “Maybe. What’cha got for me?”

He rests a hand on the counter by your arm, subtly leaning in and looming over you with his broad frame. A hot blush heats your cheeks, then down your neck. And then excitement bubbles inside you.

Because the one thing you never thought would happen seems to be happening: Dean is actually, honest to God flirting with you. 

Your mouth twitches at a smile as you pretend to think. 

“Hmm…okay! I got it,” you say.

You grip the front of his shirt, and once again lean up on your toes so you can kiss him. This time, Dean holds you there by your cheek. His large hand presses against your warm skin, and his fingers soon delve into your hair. You hum against his lips and deepen the angle of your kiss, your palms lying flat against his chest.

So fucking firm, you think. A solid wall of a man.

Dean’s free hand falls warmly on your hip, bringing you ever closer. He makes a pleased sound when you suck and nip at his lower lip. And with each new kiss, you’re falling deeper and deeper into the intoxication of him. 

Before you realize it, he’s walked you back to press you into the little table in the kitchen, where you all shared breakfast this morning. But you surprise him by breaking the kiss. You pull away just enough to see his confused, handsome face.

“There you go. That’s your payment,” you tease. “Good enough?”

“Hell fucking no,” Dean rasps. 

He dives back in to claim your lips, and you smile, letting him do it. Your whole body is buzzing with warmth of feeling and happiness, especially when his arms slip around you firmly and pull you flush against him. Your hands travel up his flannel-clad arms to wind around his neck.

A moan catches in your throat when his lips veer away from yours, beginning a path along the curve of your jaw, down the side of your neck, stopping just under your ear. His stubble prickles against your skin in the most delicious of ways. Your eyes close at the feeling. 

You sigh and card your fingers up the back of his neck, through his hair. “Dean…”

He surprises you with a nipping kiss on your earlobe, making you jump a little with a yelp.

You utter a laugh and playfully tighten your hand in his hair. “Hey!”

The sound of his deep, muffled chuckle in your ear sends tingles along your skin and heat, down between your legs. You let out a shaking sigh and press kisses of your own to his neck.

You tug at the collar of his shirt to reveal more skin, so you can latch onto his shoulder next. It’s a playful bite, one that elicits a groan from Dean as his thigh slips between both of yours.

His hands find your waist, and with a quiet grunt, he hefts you up onto the kitchen table. You squeal at the sudden move, clinging to his shoulders when the table shakes a bit.

But it prompts you to look up at Dean’s face. You see the desire darkening his eyes to hunter green. And his hands part your knees to let him stand between them.

You blush hotly when his palms smooth up your bare thighs, over the skirt of your dress. He drags the thin fabric with him and rucks it up well above your knees. Your mouth parts on a shaky breath when those sinful hands stop at your hips, bunching up the fabric there.

“I like this dress,” he mentions. Your mouth curves with a grin.

“I think it likes you back,” you reply. Your gaze falls to his chest as you pick at the collar of his flannel. “This should go, though.”

With an amused huff, Dean shrugs out of the green plaid first. You help him with the black undershirt next, giggling a little when it gets caught on his wrist and spikes up his short hair. That’s all right, you think, because you’re about to mess it up even more.

Your hands run over his bare chest first though, as you drink him in with your eyes. Dean notices with a smirk, and he lets you pull him in again by his hair as you meet him with a passionate kiss.

He likes the way you try to devour him with lips and tongue and teeth. In turn, he slips underneath the skirt of your dress and squeezes your thighs.

You gasp into his mouth, allowing him to devour you back. It makes you realize that this is seriously heading somewhere. It’s hot and heady and his touch is making your head swim. But your heart shoots you a firm reminder…

One that makes you slower to respond to Dean’s increasingly demanding kiss.

Sensing your hesitation though, Dean slows his roll.

“You okay?” his deep voice rumbles.

When you don’t have a ready answer for him, he pulls back enough to see your face. He finds your uncertainty.

You look down in embarrassment.  

Even though his heart is still pounding (and his dick straining in his jeans), Dean moves his hands from under your skirt, back to your waist. And he raises his brows, ducking to find your eyes. Once you meet his gaze, he gives you a smile. 

“Hey, talk to me,” he prompts. His thumbs brush against your sides, earning your weak smile back. Your hands slide down his neck to rest on his shoulders.

“Sorry. I just, um…” you stumble on your words. You’re not sure how you want to say this, but Dean’s brows are knitting together. His face is more serious now as he watches you with singular focus. It gives you enough courage to put your heart in his hands.

“This, us, right now…is this a one-time deal?” you ask.

Out of all the things he thought you might say, maybe Dean should’ve prepared for that one a bit better. He frowns, considering how to answer you—and what would put the least amount of pressure on you. Even though his gut is telling him (kicking him), on what he should really tell you.

But those words get stuck in his mouth. So all he can bring himself to say is…

“If you want it to be,” he says.

You bite your lip at that. Though not in a good way, his instincts also tell him. Your gaze falls.

“That’s just it,” you say. After a moment, you manage to look up at him again. 

“I don’t think I can do that,” you say in measured tones, even though you’re scared. “I like you, Dean.” 

The “like” feels like something a lot deeper, even to your own ears.

But you don’t expect the way Dean’s guarded face softens.

He breaks into a smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. He tucks a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, brushing your cheek with his thumb. You close your eyes at the tender touch. 

“Well, that’s good,” he says. “Because here I was, trying to wrap my head around how I was supposed to let you go after havin’ you…right where I want you.”

Your eyes flash open at that. Then he leans down and kisses you again. Your shock is a powerful thing, but it all but melts at his touch. You relax into him with a sigh of relief, kissing him back and closing your eyes against the sweet sting of tears.

You don’t have time to let them fall though. Dean doesn’t give that to you. He pulls you by your thighs until you’re at the edge of the table. You feel his hands travel up and curl around the waistband of your underwear. You raise up for him so he can tug them down, over your ass and thighs, and you kick the black, lacy panties off your foot with a giggle.

Dean grins, especially when you go for his belt. Your eyes briefly meet with his while you make quick work of the buckle, then the button and zipper on his jeans. You hook two fingers in the waistband of his boxer briefs and tug him closer.

“Come ‘ere,” you whisper.

Smirking, Dean obliges you, stepping closer into your orbit. And he has to grip your thighs for support when you slide a hand down the front of his underwear, feeling down the length of his hard cock with a gentle, sensuous hand. He moans, pressing his forehead into your shoulder.

“Ooh, finders keepers,” you tease. Dean snorts against your neck and presses a biting kiss there, satisfied by the way you gasp and shiver.

You feel the shape of his smile on your skin. But he grabs your arms tight when your hand squeezes experimentally around his cock.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You gonna keep teasing me, sweetheart?”

“Maybe,” you reply cheekily. All the while, you continue to caress him within the confines of his pants, especially brushing your thumb around the sensitive head.

If you keep this up, he’s not going to last long enough to do everything he wants to do to you. Everything he’s dreamed about for years with a hand wrapped around himself…but he’s been too much of a fucking coward to make that leap with you.

He told himself he was protecting you. That you were better off with someone less damaged. That he’d just drag you down into his hellish life.

But he just can’t fucking take it anymore. 

So Dean grasps your wrist, prompting you to release him. You look down at his face and catch the way his playfulness fades into a more concentrated desire. The heat in his eyes makes your mouth part in soft surprise.

Dean picks up from where he left off before, pressing a hand to your cheek and ravaging your lips. His hand then slides into your hair and gets a firm grip. All the while, his free one slips beneath your dress and between your legs. First he just teases the seam of your pussy with the calloused pads of his fingertips.

Your breath catches in your throat as you squeeze his shoulders and lean back, giving him a better angle. And you utter a moan when those thick digits slip between your folds and sink deeply into your wet heat.

“Dean,” you gasp his name into his mouth. The hand in your hair tightens as he works you over, exploring your inner channel with two fingers while this thumb presses and circles around your clit. Your tremulous hips begin to move in time with his rhythm, meeting his thrusts as you pulse deep inside with pleasure.

His lips drift away from your mouth, pressing against your cheek, then into your neck.

“I got you, baby. Let go for me,” he says hotly in your ear. His thumb rubs more insistently against your clit in time with his pulsing fingers.

Your inner walls squeeze around his hand, tighter and tighter. And you utter a gasping moan into his ear as you cling to him. Dean strokes inside you through your shuddering release. It’s almost too much, but it prolongs the feeling of your pleasure and makes your arms tremble around his neck.

Afterwards, he rubs your lower back until you catch your breath. You manage to press a grateful kiss into his neck, then his cheek.

“Holy shit,” you utter. It earns a genuine laugh from Dean as he cups the back of your head.

“Oh, we’re not done,” he promises, leaning back to look into your eyes. “I think you’re gonna be more comfortable in my room.”

You tilt your head at him. “Or…”

You shuffle even closer to him on the table and pull off your dress, slipping it over your head. You feel a little self-conscious in exposing your full self to him, but Dean watches you undress with hungry eyes and a tight jaw.

After your black dress falls to the floor, he takes in the sight of your body, his gaze landing on the black lace bra still covering your breasts. His hands slip up the curve of your waist, up your sides, and slide behind to unhook your bra.

His mouth burns a trail down your chest, between the valley of your breasts when he drags the bra down your arms and to the floor. You grab onto his arms for support; you feel like you’re riding the hurricane that is Dean Winchester, and you don’t expect to come out intact.

“Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, making you shudder. You suck in a breath as his hands cup your breasts, roughly kneading and rolling his thumbs over pert nipples.

“Smooth talker,” you manage to quip with a smile.

“Ain’t nothin’ but the truth,” he tells you. “Feels like I’ve been waiting a goddamn lifetime for this.”

His eyes are dark with desire, but they’re also serious. Your voice gets stuck in your throat for a moment. He’d been waiting for you?

But you realize that sometimes, words are overrated. You slide your arms around his neck and kiss him deeply, licking into his mouth and taking satisfaction from the way he groans into yours.

He holds you flush against his chest, skin to blushing skin. He runs his warm hands down your naked back, familiarizes himself with each and every one of your curves.

Dean’s waited so long for this, he doesn’t know whether to take his time, or just take you right now before someone walks into the open kitchen.

But you make the decision for him.

You break away from his lips to drag his belt and jeans down, just enough to shuffle them past his hips. Dean’s lips curve into a smirk. It would be easier to turn you around and bend you over on the table (and the thought is pretty fucking appealing right now).

…But he wants to see your face. He wants to know, looking in your eyes, what you want from him and how his touch makes you feel. 

So he helps you free his straining cock from his boxers to line himself up to your entrance.

With his arm wrapped around your waist to support you, and a hand on the table, Dean sheathes himself inside you. You both release shaking breaths as he bottoms out, stretching your inner walls and wrapping firmly around him.

“Fuck,” he grunts.

You nod at that, wiping the dewy sweat forming above his brow. He flashes you a grin, one you recognize from his younger, more boyish days. It’s a welcome sight, and you smile back and wrap your legs around his hips. If possible, it buries him deeper inside you. He groans.

“Damn, baby,” he says, panting for breath. “Haven’t even started yet, but you might just kill me.”

“There are worse ways to go,” you tease.

He snorts at that. In their line of work, isn’t that the fucking truth.

When he begins to slide out of you for the first time, you brace yourself with a hand at the back of his neck and another on the table. Dean begins a steady rhythm, one that serves you well as you get used to the size of him.

But eventually you urge him on faster, your nails scraping through his hair and against his scalp. He groans and drives into you at a clip that makes your toes curl and a keen high in your throat.

He spills hotly inside you when he comes.

You know you shouldn’t have let him, but you wanted to feel him, wanted to hold him the way he held you. And you do so, stroking his cheek and drawing a thumb across his full lower lip as he shudders.

But Dean isn’t satisfied, not until his fingers further part your folds and find your still sensitive clit. He rubs and circles insistently, until you can’t help but give him your second release, shuddering a moan as you cling to him. He holds you with an arm wrapped tight around your lower back, pressing your breasts against his chest.

You both pant for breath. His cheek rests alongside yours, and both of your eyes close for a moment. You brush your fingers more gently through his hair.

“Dean,” you start to say, but the sound of the bunker’s door unlocking makes you both freeze.

“Shit,” Dean mutters.

You can’t see them from the kitchen, but you hear Sam and Jack come in. Oh fuck.

Dean reluctantly detangles himself from you and wrestles up his underwear and jeans. Meanwhile, you hop off the kitchen table to grab your dress, pulling it on as you look for your bra and panties.

Sam calls your name, then Dean’s. But the two of you ignore him as you try to silently scramble around.

You manage to find your bra, but you don’t have time to put it on. You shove it behind the toaster. Then you find a napkin to wipe off the rest of your lipstick.

Meanwhile, Dean finds his black shirt. He hesitates when he sees it’s stained all over with flour and dried eggnog, but he puts it on anyway. (He won’t realize until later that his hair and shoulders are flecked with the stuff, just as his lips and chin are still smudged with your lipstick.)

He grabs the green flannel you throw at him, and he finds your panties tossed in the corner. He raises up the black lace in his hand and smirks at you with waggling brows.

“Give me that!” you whisper-hiss. The slick between your thighs is already becoming uncomfortable, along with the chill on your bare ass under the dress.

But instead of obeying, Dean winks at you and pockets them instead. You gape in disbelief as he flees the kitchen, presumably to disappear into his room. It leaves you in a…sticky situation, so to speak.

Sam calls your name questioningly when he comes around the corner. He pops into the kitchen with a few Walmart bags in hand. Sticking out of one of them are some stockings, you notice.

“Hey, how’s the baking going?” he asks.

“Good!” you say, though your voice is far too high and chipper. “Good. Just about to get them into the…oven.”

You turn and realize you haven’t even pre-heated the oven. You do so after pressing a few buttons, and you go to the fridge to grab the tray of chilling dough.

Sam raises a brow at you, especially when he sees your frizzy hair, and the flour stained across your bottom.

But he wisely doesn’t comment.

Later that night, Dean lays on his bed. He’s long since showered, fully clothed, arms crossed while his music plays from his laptop. But he can’t make himself focus on anything else but you.

How it was to finally have you; not just the give of your soft curves under his hands, but the sound of your voice coming apart in his ear, the way you’d begged him, at times teased him, and then gave him a run for his money with your wily hands and tongue.

Dean’s had all of that running through his head for the rest of the damn day.    

And there were stolen looks at dinner that evening. Furtive smiles. Brief, innocent touches. Moments where you blushed down to your neck, and he had to hide his amusement. (Even if his brother had noted his apparent good mood at dinner.)

But between Sam and the two angels hanging around, Dean hasn’t had a chance to talk to you after what happened in the kitchen. He doesn’t want you to get the wrong idea.

If you want it to be, he’d said, when you asked if this was going to be a one-time thing.

He hopes he made himself clear—that this is not that kind of deal. Not for him.

Now that he’s gotten a taste of what he couldn’t have, and worse, now that he knows you want more from him…he just can force himself to let go this time.

There’s a thought that he doesn’t want to face. It’s been buried so deep, for so long, that he can’t even commit it to the forefront of his mind.

But it’s there.

Despite the hell he attracts like flies to shit, he wants you. Not for one night. Not just for kicks. He wants you to stay arguing with him about stupid shit, taking his teasing and dishing it right back—like making fun of his slippers and how much he secretly likes country music.

He wants you with him and Sam on hunts, even though it also makes him worry. (But he worries much more when he knows you’re out there, hunting alone.)

Dean thinks about you when you’re not around, more often than he’d like to admit. So today, he finally had to face the truth.

He wants you. More than he’s wanted anything in a long time. And he wants to find out what it’ll be like to try this for real, with you.

The thought that you still could be thinking otherwise, wondering, doubting him, has Dean going mildly insane.

It’s not right, and he takes pride in righting wrongs.

So he decides to break out of the confines of his room to find yours. It lies down the hall and to the left; he knows because you take the same room every time you stay at the bunker, which admittedly, isn’t as often as he likes. Maybe they can change that…

“Oh. Hello, Dean,” says Castiel.

Dean inwardly curses as the angel comes from the opposite direction. Already he’s tilting his head in curiosity.

“It’s late. Feeling peckish?” he asks.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean replies. He moves past the angel and continues down the hall.

“Dean,” the angel calls to him.

Dean pauses, looking over his shoulder.

“What?”

“The kitchen is the other way,” Castiel points in the direction in which he’s going.

“Uh…well, yeah,” Dean says. “I just, uh…”

Cas’s head tilts just so, confusion soon replacing his curiosity.

“Never mind,” Dean waves a dismissive hand. He’s forced to follow his friend down the hall, away from your bedroom door which lies just inches away.

He doesn’t know that you can hear the entire conversation from the safety of your bed, comfortable in your pajamas. You have to stifle a giggle as you listen to Dean fumbling. You have a feeling you know where he’d really been headed.

So you take your phone out and text him.

Foiled by Columbo once again, you tease.

Moments later, Dean texts you back.

More like cock-blocked.

You snicker at that. You still haven’t given back my panties.

And you ain’t getting them back. They’re spoils of war.

You roll your eyes. But then Dean starts typing again.

Just to recap. Today: not a one-time thing.

Your smile grows and warms, like melted butter.

Good…can we talk tomorrow?

It’s a date, he says. And a beat later. Merry Christmas, beautiful.

You realize it’s officially 12:00 a.m. Christmas morning. You have a feeling it’s going to be a good one.

Merry Christmas, Dean.

AN: 😏 Well then. Merry Christmas, indeed. Let me know what you thought of Part 2!

Next Time:

Dean takes your hand and leads you downstairs to the garage.

There you find the remains of your car, which has rusted out parts strewn haphazardly all over the ground. You raise a brow. This is how he fixes your car? 

“You are so not winning the bet.”

Or will he? 😉

Find out in PART 3.

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[zepskies]

If You Want It To Be || Series Masterlist

Pairing: Dean W. x F. Reader 

Summary: When your car breaks down after a hunt, Sam and Dean tow you back to the bunker for Christmas. This time of year gives you and Dean a little courage to be honest about what you both want. And what you want, is for him to see you.

AN: Here’s one of my entries for @deanwinchesterswitch's TGWRC: Christmas in July event! ❄️🩵

Themes: Mistletoe (a classic), eggnog, Christmas dinner Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Bickering, fluff, jealousy, angst, friends to lovers, smut.

Part 1: December 23

Part 2: Christmas Eve

Part 3: Christmas Day

Series Complete!

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[princessmisery666]

It's always a cute time when Dean has to take care of a baby, because he's ridiculously good at it. 🥰

Loved this chapter.

The Girlfriend Who Remade Christmas

Part Nine: A Babe So Dear

Square: Holiday Miracle ~ spnchristmasbingo (2022)

Song: Carol of the Bells ~BarlowGirl

Pairing: Dean x Nicole {Nico/Nic} OFC

Summary: The investigation to uncover the mystery surrounding the abandoned child is surprisingly uneventful but brings about an interesting revelation.

Warnings: Fluff; A teeny bit of angst; Implied sex; Canon divergence

Word Count: 4,153

Beta: princessmisery666

The Road So Far https://forgottenworld.travelmap.net/ - no update for this chapter

"It’s a baby, Dean, not a monster.” She calls over her shoulder as she crouches near the car seat.

“Hang on, don’t touch it,” he admonishes, catching up to her, holding out a flask pulled from his back pocket.

“Is that really necessary?” He arches a brow at her, and she reluctantly concedes, huffing, “Fine! But just a couple of drops.” Nic breathes a relieved sigh when a tiny foot flinches, startled by the cool liquid, but nothing else happens. Wide, watery eyes hold hers, and she reaches for the small outstretched hands.

“Stop!”

With a heavy sigh she turns an exasperated look to Dean, only to find him pulling out the small silver knife he keeps stashed in his boot. “I’m not cutting a baby!”

“What?! Geezus, do you really think I want you to slice into a kid?” he huffs indignantly, twirling the weapon so the hilt is pointed at her.

Nic’s cheeks warm with embarrassment, “N-no,” but Dean’s expression clearly indicates he doesn’t believe her. “I’m sorry.” She juts out her bottom lip, features morphing into her best impression of a sad puppy. “Forgive me?”

Rolling his eyes, Dean shakes his head, but he can’t hide the quirk of his lips. She shifts toward the child, but he grips her forearm. “Remember me telling you about the shifter baby?”

Understanding spreads across her features, and she looks back at the infant. “Oh yeah. That was before you let me officially become part of the team.” Reminded of the night after a rough hunt where they’d had to bandage each other up, which led to sharing a bed and the start of their more than friends relationship, she gives him a teasing smile. 

Dean hums, teeth sinking into his bottom lip, obviously recalling their first night together as well. A soft cry brings their attention back to the matter at hand. Countenance soft but determined, he gently twists her arm and places the weapon in her hand.

“Alright, alright.” Nic carefully places the flat end of the blade against the child’s foot. Once again, the baby startles, eyes wide and body stiff, but there’s no sizzling of skin or other indications of a supernatural being, and they both exhale in relief.

Apparently, having had enough of their shenanigans, the tiny human emits a loud wail, body trembling, legs kicking, arms thrown out, and hands balled into fists. Nic quickly releases the buckle and lifts the baby from the car seat, standing as she bounces the child in her arms. The wails turn to whimpers, but the small face remains red, and tears flow from the corners of scrunched eyes.

When the infant continues to fuss despite Nic’s best efforts, she finally gives up and hands the little outraged bundle to Dean. As soon as the child is resting against his shoulder, silence surrounds them. “Of course,” she huffs, rolling her eyes when Dean flashes her a smug smile and a wink.

Cautiously looking around, Dean says. “We should probably take her to the hospital. Make sure she’s not hurt.”

“No!” Nic emphatically cries. “If we do that, they’ll want to question us and then call CPS.”

“Nicole.” Dean understands her resistance to the idea. Nic was thrown into the system a few weeks before Christmas at an age where she could remember everything that happened. He also isn’t thrilled about the prospect of dealing with the police or child services. However, they’re not equipped to take care of a child. “She might need-”

“No!” Bottom lip trembling, eyes tearing up, she begs, “Please. She can move all her limbs, her eyes are bright, and her lungs are obviously fine. This close to the holidays, CPS is even more overwhelmed. Who knows what will happen.” She gently places a hand on the baby’s back, “or where this cutey will end up.”

“Nico.” She glares at him, but he continues, knowing that he may be risking life and limb, attempting to make her see reason. “I get it, I really do, but we don’t have even one of the million items it takes to care for a baby. It’s probably best-”

Quickly cutting him off, voice edged with determination but eyes pleading, she argues, “We have a car seat. We’ll stop at the store on the way back to the hotel. If we find any signs of injuries once we’re safe, then we’ll take her to the hospital.” She grips the edge of his jacket with her free hand. “W-we can call Jody to see if she can help us. Please.”

“We can’t-” A soft coo reaches his ear, and tiny fingers brush against his neck as Nic tilts her head, a tear slipping from the corner of her eye. “Fine,” he sighs in resignation, “but we’re calling Jody as soon as we get back to the hotel.”

“Thank you!” she gleefully cries, throwing her arms around him, careful not to squish the baby between them. Pulling away, a flash of bright color catches her eye. “What’s that?” She takes a step toward the tree line, but Dean grips her elbow. Patting his hand, she smiles. “It’s alright. It looks like a diaper bag.”

After a meltdown in the store, where, again, Dean was the only one able to quiet the infant, they made it safely back to the hotel room without further incident. While Nic gets a squirmy Kara into a clean diaper and a footed onesie they found in her bag, Dean calls Jody to ask for help identifying the child and hopefully finding her parents.

“Yeah, we did all the tests. Seems to be a normal kid. Doesn’t appear to have any injuries either.” Dean paces the room, listening to Jody reiterate all the scenarios he’s already run through. “I know. I already went through all of that with her, but you know why she wouldn’t leave the kid with CPS, especially this time of year.”

Stopping at the window, he stares into the starry darkness beyond his reflection, “No, no last name. The only thing written on the back was ‘Nana and Kara - 5 months’. It’s a close-up, can’t see much of the room. Nothing to indicate where they live. I’ll send ya a copy of the photo.” A series of tiny cries echo from the bedroom along with a frustrated ‘Seriously?’ and Dean chuckles. “Listen, Jody, I gotta go. Thanks for helping. We’ll call you in the morning.”

Dean enters the bedroom to find the faces of both female occupants adorably scrunched—one in fitful unhappiness, the other in dejected exasperation. “Why doesn’t she like me?” Nic pouts as Dean steps up behind her. She tosses aside the stuffed reindeer she’d been trying to engage the little girl with.

“Aww, she’s just scared and probably tired.” Dean reaches around her to lightly tickle Kara’s belly. “Aren’t you, sweetie.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, tiny eyes pop open, and the crying morphs into a soft cooing.

Nic throws her hands in the air with a grunt. “Oh, for Pete’s sake. It doesn’t matter how old they are.” Pointing a finger at the little girl, she teases, “He’s mine, missy. Don’t get any ideas.”

Kara blinks at Nic and then grips one of Dean’s fingers in her tiny hand, kicking her legs with a happy gurgle.

“Oh my god!”

Dean laughs, wrapping an arm around Nic as he kisses the top of her head. “Don’t worry, gorgeous, you’re still my number one.”

“Hmph.” Nic pushes against his chest. “Maybe we should run some more tests on her. Make sure she’s not some ancient deity or something posing as a baby.”

Smiling, when Nic narrows her eyes at Kara, he attempts to allay her doubts. “We’ve done every test we could with what we have. Pretty sure she’s human.”

“Yeah, well, you can put her to bed. I’ll clean up.”

Carefully lifting the little girl to his shoulder, he gently bounces, patting her back, and whispers, “You’re going to be good, right? No more fussing?” Humming, he makes his way over to the portable playpen they bought, rocking in place for a moment.

She looks to be already half asleep when he lays her down, so he continues to hum until her eyes fall closed, a tiny fist pressed to her mouth. As he turns, he sees Nic exit the room and follows her, grabbing the baby monitor before closing the door behind him.

Nic’s standing at the window, the tenseness in her shoulders telling him all he needs to know. Hearing her sniff as he draws closer, he turns her to face him. The tears he knew would be there stream down her face. Pulling her into a tight hug, he tries to reassure her. “Don’t worry, honey, we’ll do everything we can to find her family.”

Dean wakes to a whimper from the area of the sleeping baby and an empty spot next to him. As he quickly sits up, Nic exits the bathroom in a simple but expensive-looking suit and heels he’s never seen before. Confused, he looks around the room, catching the time on the clock—9 am.

They’d gotten up twice during the night with Kara, once to change her diaper and once to feed her. The last one had taken some time to get her back to sleep, but they finally got her settled around seven. He’s not familiar with a baby’s sleep schedule, but he feels like it’s kind of late in the morning for her to still be sleeping. Although, the poor kid’s probably exhausted from her recent adventure.

“Wha-” he grunts, running a hand through his hair. The baby stirs, and Nic shushes him. Glancing over to Kara and finding her still asleep, he slips from the bed and meets Nic in the other room.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” she greets with a kiss.

Eyes drifting to her open laptop on the narrow island dividing the small kitchen from the living room, he sees a notebook with the visible pages covered in her handwriting lying beside it and shakes his head. “You didn’t go back to sleep.”

“No.”

“What’s going on?”

“I did a little research of my own and then called Jody. I found an Amber Alert associated with a carjacking in Utah. She had, too, but was still concerned there might be something supernatural related and was looking into that further before calling. We discussed options, and after comparing the picture we have to the missing Utah child's photo, we’re pretty sure it’s Kara. Since they’re infants, it’s hard to tell.

Slipping her phone into a skirt pocket, she smiles. “Can’t believe I found a skirt this slim with pockets.” She does a little twirl and asks, “How do I look?”

Dean rakes his eyes over her form, giving her an appreciative grin as she continues. “There’s no mention in the missing person’s report of a birthmark like the one we found on Kara’s leg. They might be holding that back for identification purposes, though. Jody suggested I go to the Sheriff’s office instead of the police department. Figured they might be a little easier to deal with. She offered to call ahead, but since she doesn’t have any contacts there, we decided it would be best I go in cold.”

“Whoa, whoa.” Scrubbing a hand down his face, he shakes his head and blinks, now focusing fully on what she’s saying rather than the form-fitting outfit he’d like to peel from her shapely figure. “I’m going. Where’d you get that suit anyway?”

“No. I am.” Pulling her Fed badge from her bag, she tucks it into the inside jacket pocket. “You are staying with Kara. And I got it from the boutique downstairs.”

“You can’t leave me with a baby?”

“Why not? You took care of a shifter baby. You’re great with kids.” She gives him a teasing smile and pats him on the chest. “Besides, she likes you better.”

Gripping her wrist, he holds her in place. “Nope. I’m going.”

“Look, for whatever reason, she is obviously uncomfortable with me. Are you going to put both of us through what will surely be a stressful situation if left together?”

He knows she’s right, but he still doesn’t like it. Nic runs her free hand down his arm, capturing his hand in hers as she steps closer. Her eyes plead with him as he stares her down. When her lips slip into a little pout, he shakes his head, and she chuckles, knowing she’s won.

“Fine,” he grumbles, letting go of her wrist. “Just make it quick.”

“Love you.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he gripes but leans in for a kiss. “Love you, too,” he grins as he lets her go.

“Oh,” reaching for the door handle, she stops, turning to look back at him, “I ordered you breakfast.” With a final smile and a wink, she leaves him alone with a now awake and, once again, crying baby.

A few hours later, Nic returns to find Dean sleeping on the couch with Kara lying on his chest, one hand cradling the back of her head and the other supporting her bottom. Quickly taking out her phone, she snaps a picture just before his eyes blink open.

Kicking off her shoes and tossing her jacket in the chair, she kneels beside them, whispering, “She’s in my spot.”

Dean glances down at Kara and then back to Nic with a smirk. “You’re jealous of a baby?” he whispers back. Nic pinches his arm, making him grunt and wake Kara. “See what you did.”

The little girl whimpers but remains calm as he sits up. Following suit as Nic stands, he hands the baby to her, laughing at their equally shocked expressions. “I need to pee. I’ll be right back.”

Kara immediately begins to fuss, and Nic sighs. “Listen, I know now why you don’t like me, but still, can’t you cut me a break?”

Not wanting to cause her more agitation, Nic places her on the play mat and slips on the cute little rattle socks they found at the store. Dean must have had them on her earlier. A couple of the other stimulus toys and the stuffed reindeer they’d gotten her are also lying on the mat. Nic smiles wistfully, wishing she could have seen him interact with the 5-month-old. Maybe she’ll get a chance before Kara’s parents arrive.

“Did you say you know why she doesn’t like you?” Running a hand over her hair, he sits beside her on the floor.

Dean reaches over to gently wiggle Kara’s foot, eliciting a rattling noise. A happy chirp escapes the infant with a flailing of limbs before grabbing one of her feet in each of her hands. Nic retrieves her phone from the table, and after pulling up a video clip, she hands it to Dean. Leaning against his shoulder, she watches with him.

“Is this the carjacking?”

“Yeah. There was a CCTV cam at the intersection.”

“Damn, that’s brutal.” The video had reached the point where the father was fighting with the male assailant and trying to get to Kara. “What’s this have to do with you, though?”

“Keep watching.”

“Son of a-” Dean stops himself and quickly glances at Kara.

Despite the situation, Nic can’t help but smile, “She’s too young to understand your potty mouth, Dean.”

“Still.”

Nic squeezes his arm and chuckles at his concern over Kara being corrupted by his cursing.

“Whatever,” he mutters. Looking back to the video, he rewinds it a bit before pausing on what he’d just seen. “Who is that?”

“The female assailant.”

He enlarges the screen and squints at the image. “Whoa, from a distance, she looks like you.”

“Exactly.” Nic looks at Kara, watching as she rolls onto her belly and bats at the wobbler toy nearby. “Caused a bit of a stir at the station after I asked about the case, and they pulled up the file and footage. Thankfully, Garth was home to vouch for my credentials.”

“So now what?”

“Her parents, Daniel and Emily Carter, were contacted, and they’re headed here. To Tucson. Once they arrive, they’ll be interviewed and put through a verification process, then an officer and a CPS Specialist will bring them here to pick Kara up.”

“Here?” Dean gently grips Kara’s chubby thighs, slides her back to the center of the mat she’s nearly rolled herself off of and sets the toys back within her reach. “Why aren’t we taking her to them?”

“Well, since I am a ��Federal Agent’ on vacation with my ‘husband’. The CPS Specialist agreed it would be less disruptive if she stayed with us for a few more hours. Also, there’s little chance of dealing with the press here versus a more public venue.”

“Smart thinking.” He smiles, squeezing her hand. “Husband, huh?” His gaze turns to Kara, his smile dropping sightly. “When will they be here?”

Nic grips his wrist, turning it to view his watch. “They land in an hour, interview and verification; the drive here won’t take long. I’d say three and a half hours, give or take.”

Dean hums, bobbing his head as he watches the little girl play. He lightly trails a finger over her tiny hand, which she immediately opens to wrap her fingers around. Nic smiles at the gesture. “You getting attached, Winchester?”

“Huh?” His thumb absently strokes Kara’s wrist while she holds tight to his finger, babbling as she stares up at him.

“Dean?” Nic nudges his arm with her shoulder and he pulls his hand back.

“Oh, uh, what?”

“You’re going to miss her, aren’t you.”

“Phfft. No.”

“Yeah, right.” Nic grins at his adorably flustered face. “Come on.” She stands holding out her hand. “It’s about time for her to eat. And I’m starving. Let’s order dinner and get her fed.”

“You switched your ring to your left hand?” She asks as she rearranges the pitcher of holy water and empty drinking glasses on the tray… again.

“Yes.” Mumbling, “for the fifth time.”

Nic stops what she’s doing and sighs. “I’m sorry. I know we don’t have any reason to think so, but I would just feel better if I knew they aren’t secretly demons or some other monster pretending to be her parents.”

“Hey,” walking over, he pulls her into a hug, “I agree. That’s why we made the plan.”

Dean is now wearing the sigil-detailed iron and silver ring she’d gifted him on his 40th birthday as a ‘wedding’ ring. It made the ring’s discrete usefulness during a handshake a little inconvenient, but Dean assured her he’d manage. Nic is wearing her matching ‘wedding’ ring and bracelet. Between them and the holy water, they were confident they’d be able to test everyone in the group.

Now, she can’t help the rising nerves and hopes, with all her heart, that they will be able to safely return Kara to her family. Basking in the reassuring warmth of his embrace, Nic startles when there’s a knock on the door. With a deep breath, she steps back and smooths down her dress.

His warm hand grips her upper arm, “Ready?” and softly squeezes when she nods.

As it turns out, the Carters are so grateful for them finding their daughter and taking care of her that they each hug Dean and Nic, making it easy for the warded jewelry to make contact with their skin in the process. During the flurry, Nic is able to brush her bracelet against the CPS Specialist’s arm.

The holy water and the officer prove to be the sticking point. There hasn’t been an opportunity to shake his hand or make contact, and no one is interested in the water as the conversation falls to reuniting the family.

After placing the tray on the table next to where the officer is standing, Nic pretends to stub her toe and stumble as she turns. In the process, she grips the officer’s forearm for balance, pressing her ring against his flesh, and fake coughs ‘Cristo’ just loud enough for everyone to hear. With no hint of black eyes or anything smoking out, Nic apologizes to the officer as Dean gives her an admiring nod before offering to get Kara.

Forty minutes later—after a river of joyful tears had been shed and another flurry of hugs and heartfelt thanks—the room is eerily silent as the couple sits on the couch holding hands.

Dean’s phone vibrating on the table breaches the stillness. Showing her the caller ID, he grunts, “We forgot to call her,” and answers with a cheerful, “Hey, Jody.”

Nic closes her eyes, tuning out the one-sided conversation as she reflects on the past 24 hours. Soft, plush lips pressed to her temple bring her back to the moment.

“Good news,” he whispers.

“More?” she murmurs, keeping her eyes closed, enjoying the sensation of his thumb caressing the side of her hand.

“Yeah. While everyone here was celebrating, the dickbags were being cuffed and shipped off to County in Colorado Springs. I hope they drop the soap!”

Nic’s eyes snap open to a gleaming smile that she can’t help but return. “No way! That’s awesome.” Shaking her head, she stares at him in wonderment. “You can’t tell me that all of this wasn’t a holiday miracle.”

“Whaddya mean?”

“All the ways it could have gone wrong, the horrible things that could have happened to that adorable little girl. They could have left her anywhere, yet we were in the right place at the right time.” Nic lets go of his hand, draping her arms over his shoulders as she crawls over him to straddle his lap. “The douchebags that hurt that family will be brought to justice. And nothing supernatural involved? That in itself is a miracle.”

Dean nods. “Alright, I’ll give you that.”

Nic grins and falls into him for a hug, her eyes meeting the row of bags filled with baby supplies. “What are we going to do with all this stuff?”

The Carters were thankful for the extra diapers and formula but declined the other items, saying they already had plenty at home. They at least took the stuffed reindeer, saying it would be a wonderful reminder of the people who saved her life.

“I told you not to buy so much.”

Sitting up to face him again, she gives him a stern look. “I seem to recall that you were the one that went and got a second cart to put stuff in.”

“Well, we weren’t sure how long we would need to take care of her,” he tries to defend.

“Hmph.” Kissing his forehead, she wiggles in his lap. “C’mon. I’m exhausted. Let’s go to bed. We can figure it out in the morning.”

“Why don’t we pack it up and have it shipped back home?” he tosses out like he’s asking her what she wants for breakfast.

Strong fingers grip her waist as she leans back, shocked and a little more than curious to read his demeanor. A gleam of—hopefulness?— is quickly replaced with wariness when she catches his gaze. Sometimes, she hates that she knows him so well to know what he’s thinking. Yet, there are still times of uncertainty. Times where she has to carefully peel back the layers to discover what’s truly churning in that clever, complex mind of his. Arching a brow, she asks, “D- do you want to have a baby?”

“Do you want to have a baby?” he quickly deflects.

“I asked first.”

Fingertips curl into the fabric of her dress, and his thigh muscles tense, but the corner of his mouth curves upward. “Well, technically-”

Knowing he’s going for a joke, she crosses her arms over her chest, “Dean.”

The smirk fades. “I, uh, I don’t know.” He gives her a sheepish shrug. “It was never an option before. But now …” Tucking his chin, his voice fades.

Nic’s thoughts reel with his revelation. He shifts on the cushion, and she knows he’s getting ready to try and blow it off. Gripping his chin, she brings his head up, holding it until he looks at her. “We’ll ship it home, but let’s shelve the conversation. We still have a road trip to finish, but when we get back, we’ll talk about it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” The tip of his tongue peaks between his teeth with a cheeky grin, and this time, she’s certain that hope brightens his eyes. “Now can we go to bed?” Wrapping her hands around the back of his neck, she winks. “Nothing to stop us from ‘practicing’ in the meantime.”

Dean chuckles, “Thought you were tired.”

“Suddenly got a second wind.”

He scoots forward on the cushion, shifting his hands to grip her ass and pull her closer. “Well, hang on, gorgeous.”

“Always, handsome.” Nic locks her fingers together at his nape as he stands, squealing when he practically sprints to the bedroom.

Love Me Some Pie tag list: @123passwort // @akshi8278 // @asgoodasdancingqueen // @calaofnoldor // @compresshischest09 // @deaneverafter // @deans-baby-momma // @deans-spinster-witch // @deanwanddamons // @globetrotter28 // @iamsapphine // @idreamofplaid // @impala-dreamer // @iprobablyshipit91 // @irgendwas122 // @jerkbitchidjitassbutt // @justagirlinafandomworld // @justrealizedimmascifygurl // @ladysparkles78 // @lyarr24 // @mimaria420 // @mrswhozeewhatsis // @musicissmylife // @mvdeanw // @pallographsunspot // @princessmisery666 // @raisinggray // @shawnie74 // @thinkinghardhardlythinking // @thoughts-and-funnies // @waynes-multiverse // @wayward-and-worn // @waywardbaby // @weepingwillowphoenix // @yvonneeeee

[deanwinchesterswitch]

Hitting your dash soon!

Chapter 8 of The Girlfriend Who Remade Christmas.

Pairing: Dean x Nicole {Nico/Nic} OFC

Summary: Making new friends leads to an emotional confession.

Posting July 30, 2023, along with an interactive companion piece.

Summary: A promise given is a promise kept.

Pairing: Dean x Fem!Reader

A companion fic to I Promised but can be read separately.

Posting August 4, 2023

Summary: Timing is everything

Pairing: Dean x Fem!Reader

Posting August 11, 2023

The tag list for all my Dean Winchester fics is Love Me Some Pie. Let me know if you'd like to be added.

Love Me Some Pie tag list:

@123passwort // @akshi8278 // @asgoodasdancingqueen // @calaofnoldor // @compresshischest09 // @deaneverafter // @deans-baby-momma // @deans-spinster-witch // @deanwanddamons // @globetrotter28 // @iamsapphine // @idreamofplaid // @impala-dreamer // @iprobablyshipit91 // @irgendwas122 // @jerkbitchidjitassbutt // @justagirlinafandomworld // @justrealizedimmascifygurl // @ladysparkles78 // @lyarr24 // @mimaria420 // @mrswhozeewhatsis // @musicissmylife // @mvdeanw // @pallographsunspot // @princessmisery666 // @raisinggray // @shawnie74 // @thinkinghardhardlythinking // @thoughts-and-funnies // @waynes-multiverse // @wayward-and-worn // @waywardbaby // @weepingwillowphoenix // @yvonneeeee

[deanwinchesterswitch]

Question...

For those following and reading The Girlfriend Who Remade Christmas, how many of you would be interested in aesthetics or an interactive online journal with 'Dean's' photos?

[zepskies]

Join the fun!

The event runs the entire month of July 2023. Plenty of time to share your love for authors, artists, and creators.

Authors, artists, and creators are you looking to branch out into a new fandom? Or are you needing a bit of inspiration for your favorites? Check out the prompts and characters eligible for submission.

TGWRC Christmas in July Event

[princessmisery666]

I freaking love these 2. The flirting like a new couple, but the understanding of each other is just *chef’s kiss 😘*

Drunk Nic is my fav 🤩

The Girlfriend Who Remade Christmas

Square: Whiskey ~ @spnchristmasbingo

Song: All I Want for Christmas is Whiskey ~ Dan Rodriguez

Pairing: Dean x Nicole {Nico/Nic} OFC

Summary: Previously withheld information comes to light and leads to a titillating compromise. Nicole is a lightweight.

Warnings: Fluff; Bit of emotional turmoil; Sexually suggestive flirting; Implied sex; Mild language; Drinking-getting drunk; Canon divergence; POV switches-indicated

Word Count: 4272

Beta: @princessmisery666

Credit: @talesmaniac89 made the wonderful title card and dividers

Part Seven: We Three Kings of Everything, Jack and Johnny, and Jim Beam

Nicole leans back in the chair, legs stretched out in front of her, sipping a glass of water as she admires her sleeping beau’s face. Striking good looks is an understatement, but when he sleeps, really sleeps, it’s like seeing a rapturous union with the divine. And no, she’s not exaggerating; Dean’s face is the epitome of da Vinci’s Golden Ratio. She knows. She’s had the pleasure of seeing that face nearly every day since they met and has memorized every angle and curve, every wrinkle and freckle. Plus she verified it by overlaying a picture of Dean with the ratio mask diagram. 

Near perfection, from any viewpoint, alluringly tousled hair, an unfair amount of thick, down-soft lashes, the slight uplift at the corners of those insanely lush pink lips framed by that sinfully seductive scruff. It’s hard to believe he was—well, she supposes he still is—one of the most feared men in the universe and not gracing the covers of magazines as everyone speculates if he has discovered his own fountain of youth because damn, he’s aged like a fine whiskey. Her perusal hasn’t even made it to the exquisite form, barely covered by the sheet when her toes curl and teeth sink into her bottom lip.

“Like what you see?”

The honey-coated, whiskey-graveled voice—fully immersed in the purple prose this morning, I guess, but honestly, there’s no lie in any of it, so why not go with the flow—ripples over her like a heatwave in the Sahara, and Dean is the oasis. Laughing silently at her over-the-top sentiments, she takes another sip of water before setting the glass down.

She slinks over to the bed and knees up onto the mattress. “Yes, I do like what I see,” she hums as she crawls over him, “I adore what I see.” Dean chuckles as he rolls onto his back, and she stretches out on top of him. “I lust after what I see.” Laying her head on his shoulder, she nuzzles into his neck. It’s her favorite spot in the whole world—resting on top of him, strong arms holding her secure, hearts mere inches apart as they beat together. Nipping at his ear, she whispers, “I ordered breakfast with extra bacon and two pots of coffee.”

A deep chuckle vibrates through his chest. “Such a sweet talker. You really know how to rev me up, don’t cha.” 

“Well, I certainly hope so.” Slipping a leg between his, her fingers trace along his collarbone and down his pec to tweak a nipple. A knock at the door and a muffled call of ‘Room Service’ has her slipping from his arms as he growls in disapproval.

“Hey, you’re not going to answer the door like that, are you?”

Looking down her body at the oversized t-shirt she’s wearing, she shrugs, then twists to look at her backside in the mirrored closet door. “Everything’s covered,” she laughs. “I’m sure they’ve seen a lot more.” 

Dean’s brow furrows as he puckers his lips. “Well, don’t bend over.”

“Oh, don’t worry, sweetie,” she turns and bends forward, mooning him as she slaps her ass, “this is all yours.”

“Son of a-”

With a laugh, she exits the bedroom and crosses through the living space of their suite to answer the door.

“I could get used to this.” Stretching out his legs, crossing them at his ankles, he leans back in the chair. It’s still early enough that the heat isn’t oppressive yet, but he can see a shimmer over the sand in the distance. “But, three nights here? The camera equipment. That’s a lot of money, Nic.” 

He knew that her work was gaining traction—he reads all the reviews on her site—but he hadn’t really thought about what that meant financially. When he asked her about it last night, she’d brushed it off, saying she’d been earning passive income from selling stock photos and had taken extra jewelry commissions for the holidays. He feels guilty for not knowing just how successful she’s become, for not supporting her more, but he also feels like there’s something else.

“I get that you don’t wanna stay in the crappy motels we usually do, but a cheaper hotel would have been fine. Or you should have put it on the card.”

She reaches over to squeeze his hand in hers. “We talked about this. I wanted this to be from me, something special for you… for us.” He bobs his head, and she continues, “It’s not a big deal. I had a lot of sales because it’s the gift-giving season. It’s already started to slow down. After the holidays, I’ll be back to being a starving artist.”

“Exactly. That’s why you should save your money and not spend it on this.” 

Her coffee cup hits the table with a thud, and he cautiously watches as she rises to skirt around it and stands in front of him. Planting a foot on either side of his calves, hands on her hips, she challenges, “Since when are you worried about money and how it’s spent?”

Straightening, he reaches for her hips to pull her closer. She resists at first, shuffling forward when he persists, but remains standing as he looks up at her. “Because it’s your money, Nic. You earned it. It didn’t come from hustling pool or the magic credit card or some other fraudulent means. You worked for it.”

Gripping his wrists, she removes his hands from her waist, dropping them as she steps back to lean against the railing. Dean shifts in the seat, squinting back at her as her eyes seem to bore into his soul. He knows that she’s shoveling through the layers of his crap. Sometimes it scares him how well she can read him. When the corner of her mouth curls upward, he knows she’s uncovered the smoking gun he hadn’t really been trying to hide.

“I know this isn’t some bullshit neanderthal thinking that the man should be the breadwinner. You don’t think that way. Which leads me to believe there are some misguided feelings of guilt and doubt about what you deserve being stirred up by the uncertainty you're experiencing regarding your future.” 

Dean gulps. On the one hand, he loves the comfort and immediate understanding that comes from the bond they share, the trust they’ve built over the years, and the give and take to accommodate the others’ needs. On the other hand, it can be very disconcerting, especially when he’s the one in need. 

 “Well, okay then, Dr. Phil.” There’s a twitch of her lip, and then she clears her throat, her stern face slipping back into place.

“Dean, you know that if you want to talk more about that, I’m here whenever you need me. Right?”

“Yeah, of course. And you know that you can talk to me about anything. Right?”

 A slight nod and the pucker of her lips as she briefly looks out at the landscape indicate she knows he isn’t gonna let it drop that easily. “This is supposed to be a vacation,” she says after a few moments. “We’re supposed to be enjoying the things we never had a chance to enjoy before—having fun. Debating finances is not my idea of fun.”

“Who's debating? I'm just saying...”

Pushing off the railing with a hum, she closes the space between them, straddling his lap as she crawls into the oversized deck chair. “Fine, but it’s not a big deal. So don’t turn it into one.” She fiddles with the hem of his shirt sleeve while the other hand rests on his chest. “I got a year-long photography contract with a national magazine for a series of articles and online posts they’re going to run.”

“Whoa. What?" He grips her shoulders, holding her at arm’s length. “How is that not a big deal? And why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was going to tell you last week when I got the first check. Take you out for burgers and pie to celebrate. But then…”

She tucks her chin, biting her lip, shifting nervously in his lap, and it hits him. “But then I blew up about all the Christmas stuff. Sulking like a jerk.” He feels like such an ass. She put everything on hold to make him the center of her focus, and he hadn’t even bothered to check in on what was happening with her. “Shit, I’m sorry for making you feel like you couldn’t share that with me. There are two of us in this relationship. You matter, too.”

“I know,” she looks up with a soft smile, “but relationships aren’t always fifty/fifty either. Sometimes it’s about the needs of one person more than the other. There’s always a give and take. I’ve lost track of the number of times you ignored everything to take care of me.  Right now, your needs outweigh anything I have going on, and I have no qualms about putting you first.” Her knuckles graze over his jaw, palm coming to rest on his cheek. “I want to focus on you.”

Placing his hand over hers, he cages her warmth and croaks, “I hit the jackpot with you, didn’t I.” Overcome by the reverence and adoration he feels for her, he leans into her touch and closes his eyes.

She gives him a moment to try and sort through it all, flattening her other hand over his pounding heart, grounding him. Once again, ignoring her exigencies to tend to his. 

Dropping his hand as he flicks his eyes open, he gushes, “I am so proud of you, Nico,” and pulls her into a hug.

“Dean, you-“

“Don’t,” he says, releasing her. “It is a big deal. We-”

“Stop,” she exclaims, covering his mouth with her hand. “Can I finish my sentence?” He winks. “Don’t you dare lick my hand,” she laughs, pulling it away as he parts his lips.

She growls at his laugh but then steals a quick kiss which shuts him up. 

“You’re the reason I got the contract.”

“Uh, how?” He’s thoroughly confused. He doesn’t remember taking part in anything.

“Do you remember when I first mentioned that I was kicking around the idea of whether to offer images as stock photos?”

“Yeah,” he draws out the response as he recalls the conversation. “You were worried that no one would like your subject matter.”

“That’s right. Then you went and did a bunch of research on it. You sent me links to sites about finding one’s niche, determining prices, what pitfalls I should watch for, and which stock photo sites you thought would work best for me.” Draping an arm over his collarbone, her fingers play with the hair at his nape. “You also sent links to photography assignments. Along with a note telling me that you believed in me and if people didn’t like my photos, they could piss off.”

Laughing, he rubs a hand over her forearm. “I don’t think those were my exact words.”

“No,” she smiles. “They were a little more colorful but also sweeter. My point is that in those links was the application for this job, and your note gave me the confidence to apply. So, you earned this as much as I did.”

“You did the work, Nic. I didn’t do anything you wouldn’t have done for me.” The piqued expression and displeased tilt of her head say more than any words, and he reluctantly surrenders. “Fine, but we’ll have to agree to disagree on this one. We should still celebrate. Anything you want to do.”

Chewing on her lip, she takes a moment to think about it. “Anything?”

The suggestive smile should have been his warning, but he would do anything to make her happy. “Anything,” he repeats with conviction.

“Alright. No more talk about money, where it came from, how much is being spent, or who it’s being spent on. Since you still seem to believe that it’s solely mine, then I should be able to spend it however I want. So… for the duration of this trip,” eyes darkening, the pitch of her voice drops, “you will be a kept man, Dean Winchester.”

“Whoa, uh,” fingers digging into the sides of her ass cheeks, he sucks in a breath, “that’s, uh, not where I expected this to go.”

Cheek resting against his, palm sliding up the back of his head, her fingers tangle in longer hair, and the upward cant of his hips is unpreventable when she tugs his head back and whispers, “Show me how you’ll earn your keep.”

Exiting the bathroom later, she hears Dean in the other room talking to someone and stops in the bedroom since she’s currently only wearing a towel after their shower. When there’s no audible reply to his question, she assumes he’s on the phone. Stepping into the doorway, she finds him staring out the window, phone to his ear, wearing nothing but his boxers. It’s a glorious sight, and she reclines against the door frame. Eyes gobbling up the feast presented to her, she only catches snippets of the conversation, letting it fade into background noise.

“Just put it away somewhere, and I’ll look at it when we get back.” Running a hand through his damp hair, the sculpted muscles of his shoulders flex and extend beneath smooth freckled flesh as he listens to the other person. “I don’t know. I don’t even know where we’re going.” There’s another pause, and then, “Uh, the first day was kinda rough, but it’s all good now.”

When his tone changes, she realizes that he’s getting ready to end the call, “Yeah, yeah, I’ll text ya in a couple of days,” and quietly makes her way over to him. Slipping her arms around his waist, she presses her lips to the dip between his shoulder blades. “Hey, I gotta go. Thanks, man.”

Dean lifts his arm, and she ducks beneath it as she slides around to face him. “Sam? Everything okay?”

“Uh, yeah. There was a package for me in the mail, and he was checking to see if it was something I needed.”

“Do you? I could text him, give him the address of our next stop where he can send it.”

“No. It’s, uh… it’s just a spare part for Baby. Nothing needed at the moment.” He seems distracted, deep creases marring his brow. Before she can press further, he deflects her attention by dragging a finger along the edge of the towel, then hooking it over the fabric and gently tugging. “So, where are we off to today?”

“Oh, you’re going to like it.” Turning, she lets the loosened cotton fall to the floor, putting a little more sway into her step as she saunters toward the bedroom. The hiss of his indrawn breath makes her giggle as she throws over her shoulder, “I just need to check something first.” 

“Is it your plan to kill me on this trip?” Dean challenges, following her into the room, ogling while she makes a show of putting on her underwear and bra. “You keep that up, and we won’t be going anywhere today.”

Opening her laptop, she finishes buttoning her shirt, waiting for her emails to load. Seeing one from the distillery, she excitedly clicks it open, shrieking in delight as she reads the message. Dean is instantly at her side, and she quickly flips the device closed.

“What? Everything okay?”

“Better than okay.” Grabbing his wrist, she twists it to view his watch. “Oh. We need to get going, though. Get dressed.”

Dean’s eyes widen as they pull into the parking lot of the whiskey distillery, “No way,” and the excitement he radiates sends her heart soaring. “We doing a tour?”

“Yep. Plus, we get to be on the bottling crew! That’s what the email was about this morning.” 

“You mean we have to work?” he pouts.

“Yes,” she lightly pats his cheek, “but you’ll still get to sample plenty at the tasting, and we each get to take home one of the bottles of whiskey we bottled!”

“Awesome.”

“Oh, this is some damn good whiskey. I think this one is my favorite.”

Sitting on the floor, back against the couch, with Nic sitting between his outstretched legs, Dean’s laugh is free and easy. The tour of the distillery had been fun and informative, and even though being on the bottling crew had been serious work, he’d thoroughly enjoyed the tasks assigned to him. Doing physical labor, working alongside the master distiller, and learning about the whiskey-making process, energized him in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. The weight that’s been dragging him down became a little lighter. It had been a good day.

“That’s what you said about the last one, and the one before, and the one… “

She slaps his thigh, giggling. “Shut up. It’s this one, for sure. I like the toffee finish. Oh, and that drink made with this,” she lifts her tasting tumbler, “and the prickly pear syrup… yuuuummm! You liked the boulevder, white bole… bullevarder, right?”

“White Boulevardier.“ Dean corrects with an amused shake of his head. “Alright, you lightweight. I think it’s time to go to bed.”

“Wait, nooooooo… It’s still early.”  

“Yeah, and you’re already drunk.”

“I’m not drunk; that’s just a hard word to pronounce,” she pouts.

“Yes, it is,” He concedes, wrapping his arms around her and kissing the top of her head when she leans back.

Nic sighs, “That place was so cool!” 

“It was. Thank you for taking me there.”

“Hey,” she downs the last of her drink and clumsily sets the glass on the table, “what if we made whiskey in the bunker?” There’s a hiccup and then a soft snort. “Could call it Surpu… Supernatural SpiritsTM. ‘Cause, we deal with ghosts and stuff, and alc’hol are spirits, too.” She slaps his thigh. “Get it?”

“I get it.” Laughing with her as she giggles and giving her an affectionate squeeze. “That’s actually not a bad name,” he hums.

“I know,” she states, head flopping back onto his shoulder with a sigh. 

Content in the moment, he rests his cheek on her temple and thinks about what she suggested, contemplating the logistics of such a venture. Obviously, they couldn’t start a distillery at the actual bunker, but maybe a location nearby. Preoccupied, she nearly gives him a heart attack when in a surprise move, she jumps from his hold and whips around to sit on her knees, bumping into the table in the process. Dean quickly reaches around her to save the open bottle from tumbling to the floor. 

“The festival is tomorrow, right?”

“Uh, yeah.” He’s gonna get whiplash trying to keep up with the subject changes. “About twenty minutes north of here, the guy said.”

“Marcus.” She nods her head. “He was a great tour guide and a kickass bartender.” Poking him in the arm, she declares, “That’s where we’re goin’ t’morrow.”

“Let’s see how you feel in the morning,” he smiles, grunting when she aggressively backhands his chest.

“You don’t wanna go ‘cause of the tree light… ning.”

“Well,” he laughs, “trees and lightning are a bad combo.”

“Of course, they are, silly, but what’s that got to do with anything?” She throws her hands in the air with an adorably perplexed look, and he has to tilt his head back to keep from getting socked on the chin. “Only CRAZY people would stand near a tree when it’s lightn’ out.”

“Alright, that’s it.” Pushing off the floor, he stands, bending to slip his hands beneath her arms to pull her upright, holding onto her to keep her steady.

Once her feet are under her, she shakes him off, though. “I can walk on my own,” she grumbles. Wobbling as she spins, she throws her hands out to steady herself and giggles, “Ooopsie.” Dean offers a hand, and she bats it away, striding toward the room. 

Throwing his hands up in surrender, he chuckles, “Go for it.” He follows, ready to catch her if she stumbles. She makes it to the bedroom doorway without incident, but as she turns with a gloating smirk, his warning, “Watch out!” registers a second too late, and she runs into the wooden casing. 

“Owwww!” she giggle-whines, face scrunching in what he assumes is supposed to be anger but looks more like a sad, grumpy cat. ”Why didn’t you warn me?”

“I-” Knowing it won’t do any good to argue the point, he shakes his head in defeat, and guides her into the room, reluctantly but obligingly stepping back when she pushes him away again.

He leans against the wall, arms and ankles crossed, still within close proximity. She starts to ramble as she undresses, muttering under her breath. Denim and purple cotton land at his feet after she shimmies out of her jeans and underwear, kicking them away. 

The flutter in his heart as he keeps an eye on her catches him off guard. It’s not the stirrings of lust but something less tangible. It’s been a while since she’s drunk this much, the last time being several months ago after a rough hunt for the both of them. The copious consumption was meant to block the horror rather than celebrate any win. He’d forgotten how carefree they could be when the buzz came from enjoyment. They have a chance at a life filled with moments like these... if he could just accept that.

His thoughts are interrupted when Nic’s angry cry draws his attention, and he chokes back the laugh seeing her aggressively flap her arms in front of her trying to untangle them from her shirt. As he reaches out to help, it lands on the floor in a flurry of fabric and air. Popping the front clasp on her bra, she wiggles out of it and whips it across the room with a whoop. 

“Hate wearing those.”

“Well, I’m not opposed to you never wearing one again,” he mumbles, eyes drifting downward. This time the stirring he feels is definitely lust, and it ain’t in his heart. Clearing his throat, he woefully but resolutely suppresses the desire. While he would always take the opportunity to appreciate the shapely form of the beautiful woman standing before him, he would never take advantage of her. 

She stamps her foot with a huff, and his eyes quickly travel up her body. Arms raised above her head, her plush bottom lip protruding in a full pout, he realizes she’s been waiting for him to put her sleep shirt on her, and this time the burst of laughter comes unbidden. He quells the laugh to a low chuckle when she whines.

“Oh. Sorry.” Snatching up the garment, he helps her into it and then guides her to sit on the edge of the mattress after pulling the bedding down. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” She huffs but nods in agreement.

Quickly finding the bottle of aspirin in his bag, he taps two into his palm, then fills a glass with water. Squatting in front of her, he holds out the painkillers, “Here, take these,” and helps her drink from the glass, setting it on the nightstand when she’s done. “Good girl.”

“You’re the best boyfriend ever,” she hums, a finger nearly taking his eye out as she tries to tap his nose. “Except… “

Nic waves her other hand in the air, and he swiftly grabs both her hands, laying them in her lap and holding them there to prevent any bodily injury to himself. “Except?”

“You’re not really a boy friend.” She twists her mouth in dismay, and her brow furrows like she’s deep in thought.

“No?” Curiosity gets the better of him, and he patiently waits for her to continue.

“No.” She shakes her head. “We’re obviously more than friends. I mean, we are still friends, but we’re more. Sexy more,” she slurs. “AND!” she practically shouts, making him rock back on his heels in surprise. “You are NOT a boy. Well… techanickally, you are a boy… ” Pulling a hand free, she holds it above her head, but lowers her gaze to his crotch with a giggle, tongue brushing over her lips, “a very big boy,” and he has to bite his tongue to remain silent. When her hand lands heavily on his shoulder, she looks at him solemnly and matter-of-factly states, “And you do not have cooties.” 

Damn, she’s adorable.

“You’re HOT!” 

“I am?” The grin plastered on his face since they left the living room makes his cheeks ache.

“Yeah,” she vehemently nods, “smokin’… noooooo… ssssizzle…in’.” She licks a finger and presses it to his shoulder, hissing. “Smokin’ and sizzlin’,” her eyes suddenly widen, like a light bulb flipped on above her head, “like bacon! I could eat you up, just like b’cn.” 

Nic cackles hysterically, and he barks out a laugh, causing her to squeak in alarm. “Sorry,” he says, smoothing a hand over her hair to soothe her. Gripping her shoulders, he gently pushes her back. “Why don’t you lay down?

Without warning, she jerks forward and, with a stinging slap of her palms to his cheeks, tugs him closer, pressing their foreheads together. “Dean…”

Her eyes begin to gloss over as they roam his face, and he gently prompts, “Nico?”

“I love you.” Throwing her arms around his neck, she sniffles, “Soooooooooo much.”

“I know, honey. I love you, too.” Shuffling her up the bed, he tucks the sheet around her. 

Eyes falling closed, she sighs, “G’night, Handsome.”

“Night, Gorgeous,” he whispers, brushing the back of his finger over her cheek.

Love Me Some Pie tag list:

@akshi8278 // @asgoodasdancingqueen // @calaofnoldor // @compresshischest09 // @deaneverafter // @deans-spinster-witch // @deanwanddamons // @flamencodiva // @idreamofplaid // @jerkbitchidjitassbutt // @justrealizedimmascifygurl // @ladysparkles78 // @michellethetvaddict // @mvdeanw // @shawnie74 // @thinkinghardhardlythinking // @thoughts-and-funnies // @waynes-multiverse // @wayward-and-worn // @waywardbaby // @weepingwillowphoenix

[princessmisery666]

Dean is a bad backseat driver 😝 but they are on the road and the adventure can begin 🥰

The Girlfriend Who Remade Christmas

Square: Road Trip ~ @spnchristmasbingo

Song: Run, Run Rudolph ~ Lynyrd Skynyrd

Pairing: Dean x Nicole {Nico/Nic} OFC

Summary: Nicole is reminded of how annoying Dean can be when he’s stuck riding shotgun. Challenges and frustration threaten to derail the journey before it’s barely begun.

Warnings: Angst, A bit of fluff, Implied sex, Language, Canon divergence

Word Count: 3725

Beta: @princessmisery666

Credit: The stunning title card and dividers were made by @talesmaniac89.

Author’s Note: I promise good times lay ahead. 

Part Six: Take the Freeway Down

“Awesome!” She pulls him into another hug, “You can do anything you set your mind to, Dean,” then steps back after a quick peck on his cheek and points toward the table. “Pack your gear. We’re headed out in ten.”

“What? Now?”

“Yep. I packed your duffle while you were in the shower. The car is stocked with our favorite snacks and ready to roll.” 

She smiles broadly, her voice buzzing with excitement but he stands frozen in place, feeling somewhat ambushed. “What if I had said no?” The smile falters, and the sparkle in her eyes diminishes, making him wish he hadn’t said anything. Biting his lip, he turns his head, not wanting to see the disappointment that he caused.

“Hey.” Her voice is as gentle as her touch, and he leans into the hand on his cheek as she urges him to meet her gaze. “Dean?” 

Nic’s other hand strokes along his upper arm while she waits for him to look at her or say something. He feels a little like a petulant child but knows he’s being ridiculous. Nic never has and never would demean him or his feelings. A quiet moment passes, and he finally turns to face her. Instead of discontentment, he is met with a warm smile and a perceptive stare. 

The moment his eyes meet hers, she declares, “I would have unpacked the car, and we would have devoured the snacks during a movie marathon. You know I would never willingly do anything to hurt you, and I’m not going to force you into anything.” Delicate fingers trace the shell of his ear, smooth palm coming to rest against his neck, as her softly calloused thumb strokes his jawline. “I’m asking you to keep an open mind, but the entire trip is about you… for you. If you don’t want to do something, we won’t do it. If you want to come back home, we will come back home.”

“Simple as that?” he breathes, chest tight with apprehension.

“Simple as that.”

Not for the first time, and most probably not for the last, he marvels at what a lucky son of a bitch he is to have her in his life. “Okay.” the agreement bursts from him in a rush of air, and a tiny ripple of excitement shimmers deep in his chest.

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” He squeezes her shoulder, adding with a little more enthusiasm, “Let’s do it!”

“Alright. I’ll grab the things you need from the bathroom while you get all this together.’ With a quick pat on his arm, she heads out of the library. “Meet me in the garage.”

Dean walks into the garage with a minute to spare. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. We’re not taking Baby?”

Closing the hatch on her Jeep, she turns to face him. “No.”

“How can you call it a road trip, then?”

Taking the camera bag from him, she places it on the passenger side backseat and walks around the front of the vehicle. “You know I love Baby, but you rarely let me drive her, and you don’t know where we’re going.” She holds up a hand, “No, I’m not telling you. It’s a surprise.”

“But-”

“You’re working for me, remember? Besides, we’re going to need the 4-wheel drive.”

“Where the hell are you taking me?”

“It’s a surprise.” Pulling a cassette from her back pocket, she tosses it to him to try and forestall further questions. “I made you a mixtape for the trip.”

Lips pursed, his brow furrows as he reads the label. “Christmas rock?”

“Only a few are Christmas songs.” She shrugs. “I think you’ll like them, though, especially the one by Corey Taylor.”

“Who?”

“The guy from Slipknot.” Adding, as he nods, “That one’s right up your alley at the moment.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ll understand when you listen to it,” she teases. “Come on. I wanna get on the road.”

Dean looks longingly at the Impala as he passes by, running a hand over her hood. “Sorry, Baby, the boss is being a bit of a tyrant.”

Laughing as she rolls her eyes, Nic climbs into the Jeep, quietly elated that Dean agreed to the trip. She knows she blindsided him, especially with the quick departure. However, she didn’t want to give him a chance to overthink it. While she does hope to change his attitude about not celebrating the holiday, her main goal is to help him understand the driving force of his emotional turmoil so he can find a way to process those feelings and move forward in a manner in which he’s comfortable.

“I can’t believe we’re taking a so-called road trip without Baby,” he whines as he slips into the passenger seat.

“Let it go, dude.” Holding her phone out of sight, fingertip hovering, she checks in with him one last time. “Do you choose to accept the mission?”

“You need to let it go.“ Laughing, he leans over to kiss her before settling back and fastening his seatbelt. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

She remains silent, the keys dangling from the ignition, and arches a brow when he looks at her expectantly.

“Alright, alright,” hands waving in the air, “I choose to accept the mission.”

Nic’s finger taps her phone screen, and the theme from Mission Impossible fills the car’s interior. With a howl of laughter from Dean, she starts the engine, and they set off.

They’re only about three hours into the drive when the leg bouncing starts. 

Since it rarely occurred, and the last time it happened, she had slept through most of it while Sam drove, she’d almost forgotten how thoroughly annoying Dean could be as a passenger. First, there had been random bouts of tongue clicking along with other mouth noises, which alternated with finger tapping on the door frame and heavy sighs as he shifted in his seat, now the dull thud of his heel hitting the floorboard with every twitch of his leg.

“STOP!”

“What?” he asks, all innocent-like as if he doesn’t know what he’s doing.

“The leg!” She flicks a hand at him. “Chill, dude. Or I’m going to pop that kneecap.”

“Let me drive for a while,” he huffs in response.

“Nope.” The corner of her lip curls as she stares at the road ahead. “Why don’t you take the time to get to know your equipment better.”

“Phfft. I think I know how to work my equipment just fine.”

Leave it to Dean to turn her innocent comment into a dirty little innuendo with an eye wiggle and a bit of added grit to his voice. Well, two can play that game. “Yeah, you do,” she breathes, doing her best Harley Quinn impersonation, biting into her bottom lip as she slides her palm along his thigh, fingers dragging over denim to play with a belt loop. The muscles of his legs tense, and he swallows hard. “But it doesn’t hurt to learn something new.”

“You never had any complaints before,” he growls.

Nic presses her thighs together. Her whole ploy nearly backfires as she strains to keep her voice even and the car on the road. “Oh, I’m not complaining. I’m protecting my interests.” She makes sure to hit his ticklish spot as her fingers dance over his side, and his body jerks in response. Silently laughing, she continues to tease him. “I want to make sure that you are prepared to hold up your end of the bargain.”

“Pull over, and I’ll show you how prepared I am.”

That voice… hypnotic, throaty, and resonating with the promise of pleasurable torture.

Focus, Nicole!

He shivers as her fingers trace a path up his arm, nails scraping over the nape of his neck. She catches the movement of his hand as he adjusts his growing bulge and can feel his eyes boring into her profile. With a quick glance in his direction, she gives him a wink as she reaches behind his seat. “So… you know all about the F-stop values, shutter speeds, ISO, and metering modes for pictures taken during the blue hour versus the golden hour. Action versus still. Midday versus midnight, ” she purrs, pulling the camera bag forward.

Dean grunts, smirk crumbling when she drops the case into his lap and giggles.

“You know you’re gonna pay for that later. Right?”

He tries to sound menacing, but it only makes her laugh harder. “Aww, come on, admit it. I got you.” She pokes him in the ribs, and he bats her hand away.

“Whatever.” He flips the case open and stares at the contents, looking a little like a deer caught in the headlights.

“You didn’t bring the manual, did you,” she chuckles, opening the console between them. She pulls out a small leather-bound journal and a copy of the manual and hands them to him. 

“What’s- Oh,” he exclaims as he opens the journal. “It’s like your hardcover logs.”

“I thought you might prefer a leather one.” Returning his smile with a shrug. “I’ve added some notes on the first few pages. Tips I learned over the years.”

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense,” he bobs his head, reading one of the pages. 

Removing the camera, he sets the case on the floorboard between his feet and lays the book open in his lap. Nic smiles and hums softly along to the radio as Dean becomes engrossed in camera settings.  

When he gets bored of reading and tinkering with his new toy, which doesn’t take long, Nic tries to distract him with discussions of movies and music. As predicted, Dean like’s Corey’s little ditty—enthusiastically shouting his agreement with each new line. Their conversation then somehow turns into dirty joke-telling until the banter gets so filthy that she has to pull over onto an overgrown dirt road so they can relieve some tension.

It went downhill quickly after that. A tire blew, and they found themselves stuck in a small village in the middle of nowhere until the local garage opened. Dean refused to go any further on the old spare than the twenty miles it took to get to the sleepy little town’s 24-hour diner across the street from the repair shop.

“I told you, nothing good happens,” he laments as they enter the restaurant. “With our luck, if we try to go further, the spare will blow, and we’ll die in the desert, vultures picking our eyes out.”

“Drama queen,” Nic coughs into her hand.

A dirty look is all she gets as he continues to rant. The only relief she gets from his fidgeting and complaining is during the four-hour nap he decides to take around two in the morning. As he lies in the backseat snoring, she sits on the hood of her car in the diner’s vacant parking lot. The tears staining her face glimmer like crystals in the starlight as she stares blankly into the indigo sky. Frustration burns through her. They’re only a few miles away from the dark sky community where she had wanted to spend the early morning hours watching the stars together. Eventually, she quietly slips into the car and manages to get about an hour’s sleep before he wakes her to get breakfast.

The first hour back on the road after the tire incident is silent and strained. Dean is the first to try and diffuse the stress, reaching over to run his hand over her thigh, “You doing okay?” 

Tired, with disappointment still hovering near the surface, she doesn’t trust herself to keep from crying again and quickly responds, “I’m good.” The half smile plastered on her lips, not fooling him.

Turning his hand palm up on her leg, he patiently waits until she entwines her fingers with his, then brings her hand to his lips and gently kisses each knuckle. Though the tension is broken, they each remain quiet, settling into their own thoughts.

Eventually, pen-clicking and complaining about the number of holiday songs on the radio began. At one point, she slaps his hand away from the dial after he zealously flipped through the channels for five minutes, using his words against him that the driver picks the music; shotgun shuts his cakehole before ramming the tape back in. When the leg bouncing starts again, Nic is done. 

It’s still early in the day, but rather than knifehand him in the throat, she asks him to search for a hotel in the area, which again triggers his disapproval about not being allowed to drive. She loves the man dearly, but honestly, there’s only so much one person can take.

“It’s too early to stop.” Kicking the door closed behind him, he whines for the millionth time, “If you’d just let me drive, we could keep going.”

The planned nine-hour drive for their first day became a twenty-one hour, fourteen-minute, and thirty-two-second rollercoaster ride through Hell—yes, she knows precisely how long she’s spent in close proximity with the sexy and charming, but getting on her last nerve hunter. And yes, maybe she is exaggerating a bit, but dealing with Crowley had been less harrowing than having Dean Winchester as a passenger!

“Christ, would you shut up about driving already? I don’t want to keep going, Dean. It’s not a race. We’re not heading to a hunt to try and save someone. Can we just take a breather? Enjoy the time together?” she snaps, exasperated, immediately regretting it.

Turning to find the face of a scolded puppy, she sighs, her heart clenching with sadness. When his pout deepens, a laugh bubbles in her throat. She will probably never understand how he can make her want to go from wringing his neck to cradling him like a wounded animal to wanting to ravage his body in under thirty seconds.

Dean drops the duffles as she sets the laptop and camera bags on the table, “I’m sorry,” they apologize in unison, reaching for one another. He cradles her head against his chest, and she slips her hands beneath his shirt, flattening her palms against his back, trying to connect with as much skin as possible. 

Nic pulls back first, “Dean-”

“No.” Framing her face with his hands, he squats down to her eye level. “I’ve been an ass most of this trip. I know it.”

She chokes on a laugh but shakes her head. “You-”

“Let me…” Tilting his head, he looks at her imploringly. “I need to say this.” When she nods in agreement, he scrubs a hand down his face and stands upright again. “I, uh… it’s strange, you know, it doesn’t feel right being on the road without a plan, not knowing where we’re going, the fact that there’s no monster to fight. It just feels…” Inhaling, he drops his head. Lips pressed together, the dimples make a brief appearance before he says in an explosion of air and uncertainty, “I don’t know… like I’m out of place. I have no clue what to do. I never believed I would have a chance at something like this… something more for us. I-“ he blinks, swallowing hard, “you know what, never mind. I told you all of this already.” Shaking his head, he shifts his gaze to stare despondently over her shoulder.

The slumped shoulders and defeated tone of his voice make her throat tighten with emotion. The whole reason for the trip was to help eliminate those feelings, not make them worse. “Dean…” she reaches for his hand, “I’m so sorry. This… this was a dumb idea.” Dropping his hand, she fishes the keys out of her pocket, holding them out to him. “Here. We can go back home. You can drive.” Jangling the set of keys, she attempts a smile. “I need to sleep anyway.”

“No, Nico, that’s not-” Jaw clenching as he turns and walks away, he runs a hand through his hair. “I- “ Spinning back to face her with watery eyes, he pinches the bridge of his nose, appearing to struggle with finding words but then sets his shoulders, locking eyes with her. “I’m sorry. I know you’re trying to help. I don’t want to go home. I want to relax. To take a breather and enjoy this. I just… I don’t know how. It’s not an excuse for how I’ve acted, though, and I am sorry for that.”

Swiping a tear from the corner of her eye, her lip trembles, “Uh… o- okay.”

“Oh, honey. C’mere.” Opening his arms, he strides toward her, folding her into an embrace as she falls into his chest, arms cinching tight around his waist. “Shit, I’m so sorry, Nico.”

She’s so damn tired that she doesn’t even try to stop the blubbering. “I just… just… wanted…” 

“I know. It’s alright. ” Dean kisses the top of her head, shushing and cooing at her as he moves them toward the bed to sit, situating her in his lap as he gently rocks them. 

They stay that way for several moments, and when the tears finally subside, she mumbles into his chest. “Will it help if I tell you where we’re going?” Dean loosens his hold, and she wipes her face on his dampened t-shirt before tilting her head to look at him. 

Smiling gently at her, he thumbs a final tear from her cheek. “No, I don’t wanna know. Maybe getting out of my comfort zone is what I need to do.”

“Alright,” she sniffs, “but if you change your mind, I’ll tell you.”

Smoothing a hand over her hair, he smiles, “I won’t,” then kisses her forehead, lips lingering until she pats his chest.

“I need to pee.”

As she slides off his lap, Dean chuckles, asking, “Food or sleep.”

Stopping outside the bathroom door, she asks, “Can I take a look at your pictures?”

“Uh,” he rubs a hand over the side of his neck, “sure.”

“Yay. Pictures, food, then sleep.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Seated in front of her laptop a few minutes later, she sees his smirk out of the corner of her eye while he settles on the edge of the bed as she clicks on the folder containing the pictures he’d taken that day. Halfway through the journey, and after everything that happened, she began to wonder if he would take any, but at a particularly scenic rest stop, she’d come out of the restroom to see him snapping a couple of shots. It’s hard to suppress the eye roll and snort of laughter as the thumbnails load. 

All the images are of rocks.

Dean snickers softly, and she knows he’s waiting for her to admonish him or make a sarcastic remark. He thinks he’s so clever. Instead, she clicks open the first photo without a word. After a few moments of silence, he moves to the window and rocks on his heels as she studies the picture. “The composition is good,” she finally says. Reviewing the next image, she compliments him on the focus area. 

After the fourth one, he sits beside her, laying the open journal on the table, asking questions, and taking notes on her suggestions.

~~~~

A dull thud and the delicious scent of coffee greet her as she rolls to her side, snuggling deeper into the covers. Peeling an eyelid open, she’s assaulted with a blinding smile and glorious eye crinkles as Dean squats next to the bed. “Time to rise and shine, gorgeous,” he chirps.

“What time is it?” she groans. It feels like it’s way too early for so much cheeriness. 

“About six.”

“SIX?” she grouses, covering her head with the blanket, continuing to mumble.

Dean pulls the bedding away from her face and chuckles, “Didn’t quite catch that.”

“I said… screw you,” she grumbles, clearer so he can’t miss it. “It’s too damn early. We don’t need to leave until eight.” 

“Well, if we don’t need to leave until eight, you could screw me,” he teases.

Trying to wrestle the covers back, she huffs in annoyance and slaps at his hand, muttering about annoying, too-cheery morning people, but a tiny part of her is thrilled he seems eager to carry on with the journey. Giving up when Dean yanks the bedding entirely off her, she whines, “There better be some damn good coffee in that cup.”

~~~~

Today’s stretch had gone a lot smoother than yesterday. They’d taken a detour into Farmington, NM, for lunch and spent a couple of hours walking around the city and taking in the local culture.

Dean was more at ease, a smile gracing his face more often than not. The crossbody leather strap sat on his shoulder, camera at the ready, resting against his hip. She noticed he’d taken more pictures throughout the day, too. He had fallen short of the quota yesterday with only twelve, but she wasn’t about to reprimand him like a kid that didn’t do his homework. She was just happy he’d made an attempt.

Dean whistles low as Nic pulls into the hotel's entrance that evening. “This is a helluva lot nicer than where we normally stay.” He winks, voice coated in exuberance and lush pink lips forming a mischievous grin. “Sammy’s gonna be pissed when he sees the credit card bill. First the camera equipment, now this.” He laughs, tilting his head out the window to look up at the ornate four-story structure.

Delight in his excitement spreads through her veins, and tears press at her eyes. She hadn’t realized how much she missed seeing the joy he found in the simplest things and hopes the rest of the trip will bring more of that out of him. Before the emotions can take complete control, she blinks the tears back and climbs out of the car.

Opening the hatch, she hands the keys to the valet as another staff member places their bags on a luggage rack. Dean’s standing a couple of feet from the car, looking out over the desert scenery. Lifting the camera, he takes a couple of photos as the sun dips beyond the horizon.

“Then I guess it’s a good thing it’s not on the magic credit card,” she states, stepping up next to him. Dean’s confused expression is adorable, and she can’t help but giggle. Gripping his hand, she tugs him toward the revolving door. “Come on, handsome. This is just the beginning.”

[princessmisery666]

Love their interaction with Ellie and Bill, it’s like a ghost of Christmas future 💜😍🥰

The Girlfriend Who Remade Christmas

Square: Food Coma ~ spnchristmasbingo

Song: Mistletoe and Holly ~ Frank Sinatra

Pairing: Dean x Nicole {Nico/Nic} OFC

Summary: Making new friends leads to an emotional confession.

Warnings: Sexually suggestive flirting; Implied sex; Fluff; Melancholy-Nicole gets emotional; Mild language; Canon divergence

Word Count: 5,006

Beta: @princessmisery666

Credit: @talesmaniac89 made the wonderful title card and chapter headers.

Part Eight: Fancy Ties an' Granny's Pies

Nic squints an eye open. It’s bright, too bright, and she groans, throwing an arm over her eyes to shelter them. 

“Was just coming to wake you.” 

The mattress dips as he sits, and she rolls to curl around him, laying her head on the knee he props on the bed. “Hmmm, so warm and solid.” Her fingers play with the material of his boxers as her eyes travel up his shirtless torso, giving him a wink.

Smoothing a hand over her hair, he chuckles, “Are you still drunk?”

“Nah.” Giving the firm flesh of his thigh a nip before rolling onto her back, “A little groggy,” she throws her arms above her head, arching her back in a full body stretch with a satisfied sigh when the facet joints crack. Flicking her tongue around her mouth, she smacks her lips together, adding, “And I think something crawled in my mouth and died. Otherwise, not bad.”

“Well, that’s appealing.”

“Isn’t it?” Puckering her lips, she reaches for him, “Give me a kiss,” but he slips from the bed with a laugh.

“Why don’t you take care of that whole,” he wiggles a finger in the air, “mouth situation, and I’ll order breakfast. Or, uh, I could serve myself up on a platter,” he taunts, with a smart-ass grin and eyes crinkled at the corners.

“Ugh,” she groans, pushing herself upright. “That’s not going to go away anytime soon, is it.”

“Nope,” he laughs.

With a deep shrug and a wink, she laughs with him, “You know what? I stand by it. My guy’s H-O-T …hot. Smokin’ hot and almost as tasty as bacon!”

“Almost? Someone need a reminder?” The challenge in his eyes, coupled with the seductive, domineering edge of his tone, sparks an answering defiance. 

“Oh, someone needs a reminder, alright,” swinging her legs off the bed, she stands, dragging her fingers up his torso, “but it’s not me. I think,” she pinches a pert nipple, eliciting a hiss, “you need to be reminded,” her nails scrape up and over his shoulder, as she glides around behind him, “of exactly who is in charge this time.”

His hands fist at his sides, muscles roll and flex beneath her fingertips as she rakes them down his back, but he remains silent. Massaging an ass cheek before giving it a firm whack, she dances away, laughing as she calls over her shoulder, “Order breakfast while I’m in the bathroom, and then we’ll see about that taste test. Oh, and Dean,” she waits for him to turn, “please order extra bacon. We’re going to need it.”

His hushed ‘Fuck me’ makes her chuckle as she closes the bathroom door behind her.

Nicole looks up at Dean, chewing the piece of bacon he places on her tongue, using his thighs as leverage to push up on her knees. With a hum and a sweet smile, she swallows the tasty morsel, “I don’t know,” fingers curling into his flesh, her head tilts in contemplation, “it’s a tough call. Both are just so …yummy.”

Dean’s grunt of disapproval makes her giggle, and she places a quick peck to the top of a thigh, scraping a nail down the length of his other. “I think I need to gather more data.” 

“Well,” he reaches over for another slice of bacon from the tray on the side table, “you better get to it then,” before settling back into the couch cushions and spreading his legs a little bit wider.

“You ready to go yet?” he calls from the living room a while later. “Daylight’s burning.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get your panties in a wad,” she chides, fastening her necklace as she walks into the room. “Why are you in such a rush? Thought you didn’t want to go.”

Dean shrugs as she steps up next to him. “Changed my mind.” 

“Uh huh, and why is that?” With a sheepish grin, he hands over his phone. Staring at an image of a table full of pies, she asks, “What am I looking at?”

“I looked up the festival, and there are a bunch of beer and food vendors. One of them is a pie shop.”

“Ah, I see.” It’s tough, and his big cheesy grin doesn’t help, but Nic holds back the laugh that threatens to burst from her chest and pouts. “So, it’s not about wanting to spend time with your adorably awesome and oh-so-loving girlfriend. It’s about getting buzzed on craft beers and scarfing down pie.” 

“Not true.” Slinking an arm around her, he roughly pulls her against him, burying his face in her neck, nipping and licking the tender flesh. “It’s about enjoying all three of my favorite food groups.” Sharp teeth gently tug on her earlobe as he pulls away.

Smacking his arm, she giggles. “Well, after that amazing breakfast you served me, I suppose I could return the favor with a special treat and nightcap later.”

“That’s my girl,” he cheers, smacking her ass, “now let’s get this show on the road.”

As they exit the elevator into the lobby, Nic asks, “You want to drive today?”

“Seriously?” Dean looks like she just handed him a giant rainbow slinky, and she can’t help the giddiness that bubbles inside her.

“Yeah. As much as I love being in control, it does feel weird doing all the driving. Besides, I want to look at your pictures from yesterday.”

Once they’re on the road, she pulls out her laptop, wiggling in the seat until she’s comfortable as his latest pictures load. When she gasps, Dean glances over, ready to ask what’s wrong, but she raises a hand to forestall any questioning.

A few minutes pass as she scrolls through the images, and then a whispered, ‘Wow’ before she falls silent again. After another ten miles of silence, he can’t take it anymore and nervously asks, ”That bad?”

“Bad? Hardly,” she chuckles, finally looking at him. “These are wonderful. You’re a quick study.” Dean’s ears tip pink, but his smile is broad, and she can’t help but reach over and give his arm a comforting pat.

“Yeah?” His tone is doubtful. Face pinched in uncertainty.

“Oh!” She clicks her tongue and sits up a little straighter, a wide grin parting her lips as she starts typing. 

Curiosity piqued when she starts humming to herself, he leans to the side, trying to see what has her so excited while keeping one eye on the road. “What are you doing?” 

Without looking at him, she lightly pats his cheek, nearly poking his eye out while pushing his face away. “Watch the road. I’ll show you when we get there.”

Thankfully, it’s a short drive, and he doesn’t have to wait long. However, sitting in the parking lot, Dean squirms with anticipation when she fails to acknowledge they’ve reached their destination.

“You’re worse than a two-year-old,” she huffs, finally looking up from the computer, a teasing smile meeting his sullen pout.

Gesturing toward the park and rows of vendor booths beyond the windshield, he whines, “Food. Beer.”

“Chill, dude. I’m sure there are still plenty of pies and alcohol to stuff in those adorable cheeks and fill this bottomless pit.” With a wink, she pokes him in the belly, receiving an epic bitchface as he swats her hand away.

Ignoring the remark, he asks, “You gonna tell me what you’ve been doing?” pointing a finger at her laptop.

“Oh, yeah!” Placing the device on the console between them, she takes him through the online travel journal she created to showcase his pictures of their trip. “What do you think?” 

“It’s a- a cool site, but what do we need it for? We can look at the pictures anytime we want and already know where we’ve been.” 

“Well, I was hoping you’d be okay with me sharing it on my blog. I won’t be posting every picture you take, just some highlights. It will be a little memento of our journey, like a digital scrapbook. Plus, it will showcase your photos. You never know where that might lead.”

He runs a hand over his thigh, the other clenching around the steering wheel. “Uh, I don’t know. They’re not that good, and we are still hunters. Still need to stay under the radar.” Pursing his lips, he mentally catalogs all the ways this could backfire. “Why would anybody want to read about our trip?”

Nicole understands his hesitancy. She had a bit of a meltdown after sharing her first works online. He’s probably thinking about those damn Edlund books too. “Hey, I won’t post them if you don’t want me to. It’s just a fun little way to share our experience with others. A chance to share your unique perspective, like we discussed.” 

If he chose to pursue a career in the field, there’s no doubt he’d be amazing at it.

“But, speaking professionally, and not as your girlfriend, these photos are very good. Yeah, the first ones are a little rough, but you can already see your progress.” 

The tightness in his body eases as she continues. “Not everyone will be interested, but there will be people that will enjoy following along. Maybe they want to gain insight into a place they’ve never been or hope to travel to someday. Or they want a reminder of a favorite spot, see what your take is on a place they’re familiar with. Some just like sharing the joy in someone else’s adventures, and a few simply like being nosey. We won’t post pictures with any identifying features in them.”  

Dean bobs his head, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “No names? No faces?”

“You know I don’t use my real name on my blog. I’m not going to start now.” Eyeing him with barely contained enthusiasm, she adds, “No personal details whatsoever, all metadata removed.”

“You really think they’re good enough for your site?”

Expelling an exaggerated breath, she rolls her eyes. “Do you remember my first photos? The first pieces of jewelry I made years ago that are now shoved away in that box?” A smirk forms, and he opens his mouth. “Eh!” she cautions, holding up a finger. “Don’t say a word. My point is no one starts out an expert. But yes, these are fabulous pictures. You should be proud of them."

The cheeky smile remains as he ultimately relents. “Fine. But I get the final say on what’s posted. Like, uh, what’s the deal with this one of the bartender?” The smile shifts, lips twisting and pursing as he reads her comment. “Really?” Brows knitting together, he side-eyes her. “You thought he was ‘incredibly charming’?”

Excited as she is about him agreeing to share his photos, it’s hard to contain as she explains, “He was! Oh, and did you know that his wife Abbey is one of the distillers?” Dean's features ease at the mention that Marcus is married, and Nic suppresses the giggle bubbling in her throat at his snit of jealousy. “She created one of the signature whiskeys for the season’s Distiller’s Cut.” 

“Oh, yeah! She was nice, and that was the whiskey in my drink, right?” His smile is contrite but more relaxed, and he refrains from saying more about her comments in the posts. He kisses her forehead, then sighs, “Alright, show me how to do this.”

“Well, I already have everything set up for the past few days,” Nic scrolls through the site to show him the images she’s uploaded, “all you need to do is click here to share the link. Tomorrow, we can update the journal together so you can see how it works. You good with that?”

“Works for me.” After sharing the link, he slips the laptop under his seat and pulls the keys from the ignition. “Alright, let’s get some grub.”

Head resting on his shoulder, Nicole snuggles in closer to his warmth, thankful she’d brought her jacket. It’s still much warmer than back home, but the temperature has dropped to align more with the season. Since Dean ignored her advice to bring one, she’d bought him a hoodie from one of the brewery stalls that also carried branded merchandise. He’d flipped for their signature stout and signed them up for the company’s membership program with a promise to visit the brewery in the spring.

After nearly putting himself into a food coma with a metric ton of carb-filled fried foods, they found a bench away from the main throng of people, watching the sun sink lower in the orange-washed sky. 

The rumble beneath her palm resting over his belly is a warning, and she quickly sits up out of the path of the loud belch he emits. Crinkling her nose when she catches the tail end of it, she waves a hand in front of her face. “Geezus, Dean!”

“Sorry,” he chuckles, giving her a sheepish grin.

“Well, I guess I should be thankful that it’s not as bad as Sam after one of his monster burritos.” His laugh is loud and boisterous, and Nic snorts, causing a few people to turn their heads, but neither of them notices. Laughter fading, she pats his stomach. “Is there room for pie now?”

“Pfft, of course!” he huffs, rolling his eyes and feigning shock. “You doubt that I would have room for pie? You wound me.”

“How imprudent of me,” she teases back.

Dean’s features soften as he brushes his thumb over her chin before picking up her hand and kissing the back of it. “Thank you.” Another kiss to her hand, and she curls her fingers into his. “Thank you for planning this trip and for always supporting me.”

Heart doing a little fluttery thing in her chest, she leans forward to kiss him but is abruptly forestalled when he turns his head to the side to let out another burp. Exhaling in disgust, she sits back. “Way to ruin the moment, dude.”

“I’m sorry,” cupping her face in his palms, he pulls her in to kiss her forehead, “again.”

Hand on his chest, she pushes him away and stands. “C’mon, let’s go get your pie.” Dean grips her hand with exuberant delight as he walks beside her.

They don’t have to wait in line long at Granny’s Pies. The crowds have thinned around the vendors’ booths as people make their way to the center of the marketplace, where the massive 35-foot tree is ready to be illuminated. 

While Dean decides which twelve slices he wants for his diabetes-inducing sugar fest, aptly named the Confectionery Coma Sampler, Nicole peruses the selection of ties in the adjacent booth. Humming in approval, when she picks up a burgundy tonal abstract number and slides the soft, satiny finish over her palm. 

“Excellent choice.” Nic looks up to find an older woman approaching her from the right. “Is it for that tall drink of water?” 

Nic chokes on a laugh as the woman wiggles her eyebrows and tilts her head in Dean’s direction. It takes a moment to compose herself, but Nic finally responds, shooting a fond smile in Dean’s direction. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

“Well, I’m guessing he looks good in just about any color,” the woman hums in approval before looking back to Nicole with a smile, then thumbs over her shoulder. “I got one of my own. Forty-two years last month.”

Nic looks to the back of the booth to find a tall, distinguished-looking gray-haired man rearranging a display of pocket squares, who gives her a cheeky smile and a wink when they make eye contact. When he joins them, he swats the woman on her ass, and she snorts, backhanding his chest while chastising. “Bill, behave.”  

“Well, that’s no fun, darlin’. But I suppose, since we have a customer, I’ll try and contain myself.” His hand moves to the small of her back, but the smirk remains on his lips.

The sense that she’s looking at an older version of Dean and herself washes over Nicole in a swell of emotion, and she can’t help the smile that spreads over her face. Being reminded that they now have a chance to grow old together—live a life outside of all the darkness and suffering—unexpectedly fills her with undiluted happiness, and she reaches over to hug the woman.

“Oh, my.” The woman pats her on the back. “You alright, dear?”

Nic steps back in shock, swiping a tear from her cheek. “Wow, uh, I’m so sorry. I, uhm, I don’t know what …why I did that.” 

Taking another step back, she stumbles over a booted foot. With cat-like reflexes, Dean lifts the large box of treats he’s carrying above their heads and moves in close behind to support her body as she falls into his chest while Bill’s calloused but warm fingers grip her elbows to keep her from toppling to the side.

“You alright?” the men ask simultaneously.

Sucking in a breath, Nicole nods, tucking her chin in embarrassment. Dean twists to set the box on the table next to them, then gently grips her shoulders. 

Bill releases his hold, “Ellie, would you grab the girl some water?” and steps away.

Turning her to face him, Dean brushes his fingers over her forehead and down her cheek, not so discreetly checking her temp, and Nic tilts her head back to smile up at him. “I’m okay.”

The twist of his lips and arched brow warns her that he doesn’t believe her, but he nods, accepting her assurance—at least for now.

“Here you go, sweetie.” Ellie rubs a hand over her back. “You sure you’re alright? You want to sit down for a minute?”

“Thank you, but I’m fine. Really.” Dean’s hands drop to lightly grasp her around the waist as she takes the proffered bottle of water, drinking half of the cool liquid in one go. Resting a hand on Dean’s forearm, she hands him the bottle and turns out of his hold, looking to Ellie, “I’m sorry for creating such a commotion.” Her gaze flicks to Bill, then back to Ellie. “You just reminded me of something …someone, and it took me by surprise.”

After a few more minutes of fussing, Nic’s had enough and goes for a distraction tactic. Locating the burgundy tie she’d dropped, she holds it up for Dean to see. “What do you think?” 

He’s still eyeing her like she will keel over any second but hums, “Nice.” Nic smiles, pulling out her wallet, wanting to pay for the item and make a break from the scrutiny, when he interjects, “But I don’t need fancy ties anymore. You know, with the shift in work and all.”

The pouty scrunch of her face quickly shifts into a smirk when she spots a cobalt blue gradient striped silk. “Who said,” slinking back over to him, she lifts his hands, “they’re for your neck,” then wraps the material around his wrists, “when they’ll look even prettier, here? Oh, look at that.” Pushing up onto her toes, she purrs into his ear, “You know how sexy I think you look in blue.”

Giving him a smug smile as she steps back, she silently congratulates herself on a successful mission. She knows that typically he would turn the tables with a dirty little comeback, but since they’re amongst strangers, he’s not so bold, and she delights in the outcome. A dark pink flush creeps up Dean’s neck to the tips of his ears, his mouth gaping like a fish out of water. 

Bill roars, doubling over with laughter as Ellie giggles beside him. Nicole joins in on their merriment as Dean shakes the material from around him, tossing the strip of cloth at her with a gruff, “Get that one too,” as he turns to pick up his sampler of pies.

She does indeed purchase that one, along with the burgundy abstract and another dark blue silk with tiny white and gray squares. The older couple obliges in letting her take a couple of photos, and she even convinces Dean to join them for a selfie of the four of them after promising not to post it online.

The rest of the evening is spent watching the tree lighting ceremony, dancing to the music of the local bands that grace the concert stage, and enjoying the time together. They run into Bill and Ellie as they stroll through the light display walk, and Bill invites them for a drink at his friend’s bar.

One drink leads to two, then three, and before long, the two couples are sharing stories of their lives, laughing and marveling at the similarities of their relationship progression. Nic bites back tears on more than one occasion, but as the night draws to a close, she can’t hide them any longer.

Stretched out in the booth, she leans back against Dean, relaxed and sated by good food, alcohol, and even better company. Dean’s arm is draped over her shoulder, their fingers entwined as their other hands rest on the table. His chest's steady rise and fall and the low rumble when he speaks lull her into peaceful contentment.

The men are debating the merits of the Shelby GT350 when Nic brings Dean’s hand to her lips, kissing each knuckle, and he pauses to kiss the top of her head. Ellie chuckles, and Nic turns to smile at her new friend. “You two remind me of a younger version of us.” Setting a hand over Bill’s, she gives him a loving smile when he turns to place a kiss on her forehead. 

Nic sucks in a breath and tears well. Dean’s entire body tenses behind hers, immediately sensing her distress. She drops her free hand to his thigh, giving it a squeeze of assurance, but there will be no escaping an explanation this time. He is already pulling her in closer as he sits up straighter.

“I’m so sorry. Did I say something wrong, sweetie?” The degree of concern marring her countenance for someone she barely knows sends Nic over the edge.

“No. No, you didn’t- I-” Tears spill down her cheeks, her body shaking as she struggles to get her emotions in check. Dean’s arm lands across her lap, releasing her hand to cradle the back of her head as she rests her forehead against his jaw. Out of the corner of her eye, she notices Bill pushing a stack of napkins in her direction and she grapples for one, steadying her breathing as she cleans her face. Dean murmurs in her ear, hand running over her thigh soothingly.

When she feels calm enough to speak, she kisses Dean’s cheek and shifts to face the couple across from them. Reaching for Ellie’s hand, Nic shares a shaky smile. “I’m sorry. I’m not usually such an emotional wreck. What you said about- about us reminding you of yourselves,” her fingers flutter, and Ellie grips tighter in support, “that’s the same thought I had earlier. That- that while watching you, I was looking at an older version of Dean and myself.” The cork has been popped, and now everything is spilling over.

Leaning forward, her other hand grips one of Bill’s. “Dean and I-” he smiles encouragingly when she glances at him over her shoulder. Being the amazing man he is, he nods approval, understanding what she’s about to share. She mouths, ‘I love you’ before turning back around.

“The …jobs Dean and I had before were dangerous, sometimes extremely so. A couple of times, I nearly l- lost him.” Dean’s hand strokes over her spine when she chokes on the last words. With a deep exhale, she forges on. “For years, it was a constant teeter-totter of worrying about what might happen and trying to live in the moment. Enjoy the time we had together. Always the possibility that any given day was the last one we had. I know that’s still a possibility, but what we did, the cases we took on, made that a bigger threat—almost a certainty. I tried not to let myself dream of a future because I was never sure we’d have one. At least, not to- together.” Dean shifts in his seat, hand stalling on the small of her back.

A barrage of questions will be headed her way when they are alone, but now that she’s voiced it, the weight it held eases, and she’s thrilled to let it go.

“This trip, it’s the first time in years that we haven’t been looking over our shoulder, wondering what big bad thing is headed our way next. I haven’t fallen asleep terrified that tomorrow we’ll share our last kiss, that the other shoe will drop, and my life will be torn to pieces.” Both Bill and Ellie’s fingers tighten around hers, and she gives them a watery smile. “Dean mentioned earlier that things had recently changed for us, and they have. Our lives are much calmer now. But watching you two, seeing the connection, the teasing, and the love you share, kicked something loose. It reminded me that we-” Pulling her hands free, she turns and cradles Dean’s face in her palms. “We have a chance. A chance for a long, long life together.”

A single tear slips over his lashes as his arms encircle her, crushing her against his chest. Face smashed against his neck and hands trapped between their bodies, she can only hum agreement when he whispers, “We’re going to talk about this later.”

Bill clears his throat, “Well, that was a lot. You alright, darlin’?” The deep, rich timbre of his voice is distinctive but so similar to Dean’s that it fills her with unutterable serenity. It wouldn’t take a huge stretch to imagine them as father and son. 

Whoa, okay. That was an odd thought—time for some sleep.

Nicole chuckles, pushing against Dean. “Yeah, I’m sure when you woke up this morning, you didn’t say, “Ellie, let’s spend our evening with some stranger spilling her emotional baggage to us.”

As everyone chuckles, Dean scrubs a hand over his face, Nic gathers a wad of napkins to dry hers, and Ellie tuts, “We’re not strangers. Not anymore. I’m honored that you felt comfortable enough to share that. And I can see that it made you feel better.” She slides out of the booth, and Nic does the same, meeting her for a hug. 

Both men follow to stand beside them. Bill claps Dean on the shoulder as they shake hands, “Good to meet ya, son. You take good care of your girl.” 

“You too, sir. And I will.” Exchanging a warm smile, they mimic each other, placing an arm around the waist of their respective partners. 

Nic gives Ellie another quick hug, and a quiet thank you, hesitating for only a moment before throwing her arms around Bill’s waist to give him a quick squeeze. Chuckling, he smooths a hand over her hair, “You two be safe out there.” 

Sensing Nic is about to burst into tears again, Dean bids the couple a Merry Christmas, promising they will come back to visit soon, and steers her toward the exit.

“You said Merry Christmas.” Nic sing-songs the words as they walk toward the parking lot, the grin she wears nearly splitting her face.

“What?”

Turning to walk backward in front of him, she playfully pokes him in the chest, reiterating with glee, “You wished Bill and Ellie a Merry Christmas!”

“I- uh,” his forehead creases, eyes flicking left, then right, eyebrows popping before stammering, “Yeah, well, what of it? I was just …being polite. No need to make a big deal about it.”

While she doesn’t want to push too hard, inside, she is bursting with joy. With a jump, she wraps her arms around his neck and hoists her legs up around his waist. Unprepared, Dean stumbles, arms instinctively encircling her, body twisting slightly to take the brunt of the fall if needed. He manages to keep them upright, as well as hold onto her keys while she peppers his face with kisses. “I love you. And I love your sweet, soft center, Mr. Tough-guy.”

Dean grunts, pressing the key fob as they approach the car, bringing the Jeep to life. She starts to untangle herself from around him, but he traps her between the car door and his body. “So you didn’t think we had a future together?”

Nic blinks, trying to catch up with the shift. The tension in his body, the specter of pain that never quite leaves his eyes becoming brighter, makes her insides twist with anguish.

She runs a thumb over his brow, then cups the back of his neck. “Of course, I knew we would be together. It was always about the time. About not having enough of it because even if I get a hundred years more with you, it will never be enough.” Pulling him in for a kiss, she slips her other hand beneath the hoodie and t-shirt to find warm flesh.

His chest vibrates as he moans, hands gliding up her sides as she drops her legs from his waist to straddle a muscled thigh. Her fingers play at the waistband of his jeans, and his tongue brushes along her bottom lip, but Nic breaks the kiss, “Did you hear that?”

“Nico-” he groans.

“Shush!” Grabbing the keys from him, she turns off the car and wriggles free. Walking to the edge of the parking lot, she spins, straining to hear the sound again. A cry comes from her left, and she takes off with Dean hot on her heels.

“Hold up!”

Rounding the corner of a small utility shed, Dean crashes into her, nearly sending her sprawling when she stops without warning. Grabbing the back of her jacket, he steadies them both and peaks over her head. “Well, son of a bitch! Is that-”

“It’s a baby!” Slipping from his grasp, she rushes toward the car seat holding the infant.

“Nicole, wait!”

Love Me Some Pie tag list:

@123passwort // @akshi8278 // @asgoodasdancingqueen // @calaofnoldor // @compresshischest09 // @deaneverafter // @deans-baby-momma // @deans-spinster-witch // @deanwanddamons // @globetrotter28 // @iamsapphine // @idreamofplaid // @impala-dreamer // @iprobablyshipit91 // @irgendwas122 // @jerkbitchidjitassbutt // @justagirlinafandomworld // @justrealizedimmascifygurl // @ladysparkles78 // @lyarr24 // @mimaria420 // @mrswhozeewhatsis // @musicissmylife // @mvdeanw // @pallographsunspot // @princessmisery666 // @raisinggray // @shawnie74 // @thinkinghardhardlythinking // @thoughts-and-funnies // @waynes-multiverse // @wayward-and-worn // @waywardbaby // @weepingwillowphoenix // @yvonneeeee

[princessmisery666]

I love Nic and Dean together so much 🥰 she’s so good for him 🥰

The flirting is brilliant, the angst is perfect 😍 and Dean’s doubts are heartbreaking but perfectly canon 💜

The Girlfriend Who Remade Christmas

Square: Photographer AU (might be a bit of a stretch, but that’s what your imagination is for😊) ~ @spnchristmasbingo

Song: A Little Christmas - Ryland James

Pairing: Dean x Nicole {Nico/Nic} OFC

Summary: Dean receives a gift but isn’t pleased about the proviso… until he hears about the compensation.

Warnings: Flirting and more flirting; Implied sex (lots of it); Some angst was thrown in for good measure; Canon divergence

Word Count: 3488

Beta: @princessmisery666. Thank you!!!!💗

Credit: The stunning title card and dividers were made by @talesmaniac89.

Part Five: Let Me Show You

Rolling onto his side, Dean contentedly hums, eyes landing on the bare shoulder of Nicole’s sleeping form. It’s the first time in a week that she hasn’t slipped from their bed before he woke. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he gently tugs her back against him. Chilly flesh brushes over his shins, and he yelps in surprise.

“Cold,” she mutters, shivering as she wriggles closer. 

“I can feel that,” he chuckles. The room does feel colder than usual. As he debates whether to get up and check the furnace, the old ductwork groans to life. The outside temperature must have dropped overnight. He’ll adjust the thermostats later. Right now, he wants to snuggle with his girl and curls around her, “C’mere, I’ll warm you up,” hissing as he lets her slip her feet between his legs.

“S’rry,” she groggily slurs.

Chuckling, he kisses the back of her head. “It’s okay.”

As her body warms, the pattern of her breathing evens out, and he knows she’s fallen back to sleep. Yesterday had been busy and long. She’d made good on her promise to make it worth his wait, and it was well past midnight by the time he slipped from between her legs for the final time that night and fell onto the bed next to her, worn out and sated. He has no problem letting her sleep a little longer, especially when she’s snug in his arms.

He’s still kind of tired, too. The emotional rollercoaster of the previous day had taken a toll. It was great seeing his found family all together, but by the end of the day, the Christmas overload had him feeling like the grinch Nic had accused him of being. Since they have no plans for today, he pulls the covers tighter around them, shifting down to nuzzle into her neck. The faint aromas of vanilla and cinnamon lingering on her skin, combined with the heady scent of sex, lull him back into blissful slumber.

The next time he wakes, she’s sprawled on top of him, a leg thrown over his hips, an arm draped across his chest, and her face pressed into his neck. “Comfy?” he asks, knowing she’s not asleep, her fingers drawing figure eights on his shoulder.

“Very,” she laughs, sliding fully on top of him while kissing along his jaw. Straddling his waist, she kisses his cheek, his forehead, and the tip of his nose.

“Well, good morning, gorgeous. Didn’t get enough last night?”

“Never enough…” she moans, wiggling against him, “of you.”

Cradling the back of her head, an arm around her lower back,  Dean sits up before rolling them to the side until he’s hovering over her.  

Nic pushes her fingers into his hair, interlacing them at the back of his head. Smiling coyly, she pulls him toward her. “Morning, handsome.”

It’s another hour before they leave the room to take a shower together. She can’t seem to get enough of him today, but he’s not gonna object. Close to another hour passes before they’re finally dressed and headed hand in hand toward the kitchen. Miracle happily trotting along in their wake.

“I’m starving,” she whines.

“I’ll bet you are,” he laughs, letting go of her hand to throw an arm over her shoulders and pull her against his side. “That was quite a workout this morning.”

She giggles, sliding an arm around his lower back and splaying a hand over his stomach. “Sorry.”

Dean tugs her hand from his stomach, bringing it to his lips to kiss her palm. “Hey, I wasn’t complaining.” Using her hand to pat his stomach, he grins down at her. “But, definitely worked up an appetite.”

“M&M cookies and fudge?”

“Can’t believe I’m gonna say this,” Dean shakes his head, “but I think we need something a little more substantial.”

Nic stops short, halting him with a hand on his chest. Squinting up at him, she slaps the back of her hand against his forehead.

“Ow! What the-”

“You feeling alright? Maybe we should get you back to bed.”

Growling, Dean bends to pick her up and flips her over his shoulder. “Woman, I need sustenance and coffee.” Miracle barks loudly, tail animatedly wagging, as Nic’s peal of laughter echoes through the hallway. She’s still laughing as he sets her down in the kitchen, ensuring she’s steady on her feet before releasing his hold.

Nic begins gathering ingredients as he starts a fresh pot of coffee. Pouring himself a cup before it’s even finished brewing, not caring that the first tentative reviving sips nearly scald his tastebuds while he absently scratches between Miracle’s ears.  

She turns, holding up a bottle of the good maple syrup and a bag of powdered sugar when he steps up to her side and sets a steaming cup on the counter for her. “Hey, are there any unfrosted donuts left?”

“Yeah, a few. What are you thinking?” 

“Maple glazed, topped with…” Dean immediately knows where she’s headed, and they exclaim together, “bacon!” 

Smiling proudly, he squeezes her waist. “A woman after my own heart.”

“I thought I already had it,” Nic pouts. 

“You do, honey.” Kissing her forehead, he pulls her into a hug. “Every last piece of it.” 

It was a mess of duct tape and glue when they first met, but the entirety of it belonged to Nic from the start. Whenever his heart lies damaged and shattered in his chest, she gathers up the fragments, patching and mending with vigilance and devotion. It had been a dark, horrific job at first, but with each fractured piece that was unfixable, she replaced the missing shards with pieces of hers until it was whole again. It terrified him that she would lose too much of herself, that it would destroy her. He worried that he would lose her and, in turn, lose himself. 

It never happened, though. Every time she shone a light against the darkness of self-doubt and loathing he mired himself in, fought the demons that forever plagued his mind, or pulled him from the depths of guilt and despair, she seemed to burn brighter, hotter—a beacon fire to guide him home. 

It took him a long time, and honestly, there are still days filled with doubt, but he’s come to accept that she’s where she belongs, and it’s with him. If there’s one thing he can bank on in this crazy world, it’s her unwavering stubborn commitment to keep moving forward. He’ll never understand why she bound her heart to his, but not one day goes by that he’s not grateful she did, especially now that they have a chance at a life together. Something a little more conventional. 

So why am I having such a hard time accepting it?

Sam clears his throat as he enters the kitchen, stopping Dean from spiraling down a rabbit hole that keeps opening in his path. He kisses the top of Nic’s head and releases her, turning to see Stacey standing just behind his brother. Wriggling his eyebrows, he exclaims gleefully, “Morning, Sammy.”

“It’s S-” 

Dean quickly cuts him off with a nod in Stacey’s direction. “Good morning.” 

“Good morning, Dean,” Stacey politely replies, moving to stand beside his brother, “Nicole.”

“Stacey! Glad to see you’re still with us.”

After Sam had given Stacey a tour of the bunker areas they commonly use—Dean had overheard Nic’s whispered suggestion to Sam that maybe they ease her into the knowledge of the more unconventional rooms—the four of them had sat in the library, sharing a bottle of whiskey, filling her in on all the things that go bump in the night. There was still a lot she didn’t know, but after the basics had been covered, Nic had excused them from the conversation. 

“Food?” Nic whispers, tugging on Dean’s shirt.

“Right.” He claps his hands, rubbing them together. “You two lovebirds eaten yet? Food, I mean.”

Sam’s bitchface is epic, and Stacey blushes as she tries to hide her face in Sam’s arm. Nic snorts under her breath.

“I was just going to fix us something,” Sam stiffly replies. 

Dean directs his attention to Stacey. “Let me guess. He offered to make an egg white omelet with kale?” 

Stacey smiles and nods, slipping an arm around Sam’s, but Dean can see in her eyes that a tasteless pile of rubbery fluff stuffed with grass isn’t on her list of top menu selections.

“Right.” Dean shakes his head. “Okay, we’re gonna make you a proper breakfast. It won’t exactly be a fry-up, but close.” 

She looks surprised. “You know what a full English breakfast is?”

“Sure do, but we ain’t got any of that blood sausage,” Nic does a whole body shiver, making him chuckle, “or baked beans.” Snatching a pan from the rack, he twirls it in his hand. “Coffee’s ready. Grab a cup and take a seat while the master works.”

At her very sweet request and a promise of a surprise afterward, Dean’s in the garage a couple of hours later, giving Nicole’s Jeep a tune-up. Music from his favorite radio station plays in the background, and he hums along to the Seger song, smiling as his thoughts wander again to the past couple of days. 

Although he initially resisted and was upset that his kitchen would be crowded with people, spending time with his found family had been good for his soul. Good food, great company, and even Sam’s boozy eggnog didn’t taste half-bad. He had fun learning how to make donuts, only had to break up one fight between Claire and Alex, and was only mildly annoyed when Garth hugged him goodbye, but something still felt…off.

Talking to Nic had lifted some of the weight he’d been carrying. Maybe she was right when she said that admitting aloud how he felt may be the first step to understanding it. Nic and Sam had seemingly slipped into the new rhythm of their lives with minimal difficulty. His baby brother has a girlfriend and a chance at a normal life. Something he always hoped would happen for Sam. While Sam's dorky lovestruck expression during breakfast will be great fodder to use later, it made him happy to see it. 

Nic has always been resilient. No matter how many times she gets knocked down, she manages to find a foothold that sets her off on a new course, usually dragging him along for the ride. He doesn't really mind. He'd literally follow her to Purgatory as long as they were together. But he'd always been comfortable in his own skin, sure of his place in the world, even if he sometimes hated where that was. Now he feels out of step, like he’s on a different playing field altogether, unable to find his footing to keep up with her. 

The song ends, and sadly, it seems even the classic rock station is not immune to playing a holiday tune now and then, and as he clips the housing closed over the new air filter, the chords of a melancholy ballad fill the air. Closing the vehicle’s hood, he quickly makes his way over to turn off the radio before the carol can trigger an even bigger wave of doubt about his future and thoroughly pull him under. He needs to get a grip on his emotions. If Sam can find some Christmas spirit, he should be able to, also. 

As if she has a tracking spell on him, Nic meets him at the doorway to the garage with a huge grin and a beer.

“Kind of early, isn’t it?”

“It’s after two,” she shrugs, “and you’re not driving anywhere.”

He leans in to kiss her, but her nose crinkles when his thumb traces her cheekbone, and she sniffs. “Eww.”

Dropping his hand, he pulls back, concerned, “What?” 

Grabbing his wrist, she brings his hand up to inspect it. Oil and grime are wedged beneath his nails and cover his cuticles. “Normally,” she runs a hand up his arm and pushes up on her toes to nip at his earlobe and purrs, “I wouldn’t mind getting down and dirty with you, but I need you to go take a shower and then come to the library.”

“I thought we didn’t have any plans.”

She’s gone with a laugh before he even registers she’s left, hollering over her shoulder, “Don’t take too long.”

Less than thirty minutes later, he walks into the library, showered, shaved, and hair still damp. Sitting on the table is a stack of boxes wrapped in plain brown paper adorned with a single green bow. Nic is nowhere in sight. Skirting the table to get a closer look, he finds a simple white tag with his name and frowns. 

If this is supposed to be a Secret Santa gift, it’s not much of a secret. He hadn’t even wanted to participate in the stupid game, but everyone had given him such a hard time that, under duress, he finally drew a name. He made it clear to everyone that whoever’s name was on the folded piece of paper would not be getting a present and insisted that he didn’t want a gift from whoever got his name. He didn’t need the added guilt of receiving a gift but not buying one. Fortunately, he’d drawn Nic’s name. At least she will understand why she hasn’t received a present once all the names are revealed.

Lifting the top package, he tests the weight of it, turning it over in his hand; it’s heavy. There’s not a lot of movement when he shakes it, and his curiosity finally gets the better of him. Tearing the paper away, he’s shocked by what’s revealed. If the image on the box is to be believed, it contains a digital camera, and he quickly opens the package to verify the contents. It is, indeed, a very expensive digital camera. Removing it from its inner wrapping, he opens the housing to find the battery already installed. Pressing the on button, the battery meter shows it's full, and he snaps a picture of Miracle lying on a cushion in the corner.

“It’s not a Secret Santa gift,” reading his mind—he tries to remember if he ever tested her for psychic abilities—she enters from the war room, “It’s not even a Christmas present. It’s simply a gift.”

“Good to know since it’s slightly over the $30 stipulated budget, and it’s not exactly a secret.” He holds up the tag containing her handwriting.

“You going to open the rest or just stare at ‘em?” She faces him across the table, rocking on her heels.

Suspicious of the reason for the gifts, he tears into the next one with cautious excitement. After opening the final box, he stares, stunned at the array of equipment laid out on the table—a wide angle, a standard, and a telephoto lens, a Speedlite flash, a filter kit, an extra battery and charger, several SD cards, a cleaning kit, a travel tripod, and a case to hold it all. It’s an amateur photographer’s wet dream come true.

“Why?” he breathes, placing the lens he’s been fiddling with back in its box.

“I want you to find him.”

“Find who? And what does all this-” Greeted with a teary-eyed smile, he inhales sharply. “Nico?”

“I want you to find the man I see every time I look at you.” The tremble in her voice is like a pickaxe chipping away at the ice encasing his heart. “The man that’s more than the labels forced upon him. The intrepid, courageous man who took down god to save a world where only a handful of people know what he sacrificed to ensure everyone lived. The ingenious man that created an EMF meter out of a Walkman. The man whose hands contain the strength to snap a phone in two but cradle my face in the gentlest of holds when he kisses me.”

She swipes a tear from her cheek, and he blinks away one of his own, swallowing down the lump forming in his throat as she strolls toward him.

“The intelligent, swift-thinking strategist who’s funny, mischievous, and kind. The man that fought through the darkness to shine a light and love on all that welcome it.”

Her hand is pressed over his heart, and he can’t contain the tear that slips down his cheek at the flood of emotion for the woman standing before him.

“The man with a heart bigger than Texas.”

Said heart is hammering like it’s going to crack open his ribs. He grips her shoulders and stutters, “I- I don’t know if I can.”

Heat radiates from her palm as she puts more weight behind it, “You can,” fingers curl into his shirt, as she thumbs away his tears with her other hand, “we can.” Winking with a cheeky grin, she adds, “I have a plan.”

A firestorm of hope. It’s the only way to describe her. His chest heaves, and he chokes out around a half-sob, half-laugh, “Of course, you do.” Tugging, he locks her in his embrace, resting his cheek on the top of her head, tears of gratitude seeping into her hair.

A couple of minutes pass, and she squirms against him. “Can’t… breath.”

Dean sniffs, chuckling as he loosens his hold. Immediately sliding her arms around his neck, she pulls him down into a hug of her own, whispering in his ear. “I love you so much. I just want you to see your potential and find a path that fulfills you.”

Taking a step back after giving her a quick squeeze, he scrubs a hand down his face and clears his throat, trying to regain some composure.”Okay. Let’s hear it.”

Nic squeals, clapping her hands as she bounces in place. He arches a brow in caution, “I said I’d listen. I didn’t agree to anything.”

“You’re right.” Bobbing her head, she uses the hem of her flannel to wipe her face, moving closer to the table. “I’ll lay it out for you. We’re taking a road trip, going on a quest, as it were.” Walking her fingers across the tabletop, she picks up the camera. “We’re going to pretend that we’re in an alternate universe. I’ve hired you as my photographer. We’ll be documenting the mundane to the extraordinary in our search,” bringing the viewfinder to her eye, she snaps a picture of him, “for the elusive enigma… Dean Winchester.”

“Seriously?” he grunts, and this time she arches a brow in warning. Raising his hands in surrender, he bows his head, “Continue.”

“Let me show you the world out there waiting for you. The one filled with beauty, hope, and light. The one that you rarely got to see. In return, I want you to show me-“

“Oh, I can show you the world, baby,” he snarks, wiggling his eyebrows at her, but she ignores the punny innuendo.

“-your perspective of the world.”

Bewilderedly gawking at her, he asks, “And how am I supposed to do that?” 

“Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to take at least twenty pictures per day.”

“TWENTY?” He breezes over the reference.

“It’s not that many, and hey, I don’t care if every picture you take is of a rock. At the end of the day, I want to see at least twenty images of whatever you find interesting. Whatever speaks to your heart or sparks joy.”

“So what, now you’re Marie K-“ The lip bite and snicker cut him off, and he shakes his head in amused disgust. “Nice setup.” The giggle bursts from her, and though he tries to keep it inside, a laugh rolls out from his chest in response.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it. I was concerned after you ignored the whole Mission Impossible lead.” Setting the camera on the table, she takes one of his hands in hers. “Seriously, though, remember what I mentioned before? About making new memories? This is a way for us to do that: you, me, sun, fun, and relaxation. Let me show you what you sacrificed your life over and over again for. It’s time you enjoyed it.”

“I guess,” he huffs. “But-” he raps his knuckles on the table as he looks over to Miracle.

“But nothing. Sam and Stacey will take care of Miracle and hold down the fort.” At the mention of his name, the terrier mix lifts his head and barks, seemingly in agreement. “See, even he agrees,” she laughs. “C’mon,” she coaxes. “There are more than enough hunters to cover any cases that might pop up. We don’t have anything else going on. What do you say, handsome?  You, me, and the open road?”

“What if I say no?”

“Oh, did I forget to mention the pay? It’s good food, lots of alcohol, a road trip, and as a bonus, unlimited sex… with me.”

“Let’s go, gorgeous!”

Love Me Some Pie tag list:

@akshi8278 // @asgoodasdancingqueen // @calaofnoldor // @compresshischest09 // @deaneverafter // @deans-spinster-witch // @deanwanddamons // @flamencodiva // @idreamofplaid // @jerkbitchidjitassbutt // @justrealizedimmascifygurl // @ladysparkles78 // @michellethetvaddict // @mvdeanw // @shawnie74 // @thinkinghardhardlythinking // @thoughts-and-funnies // @waynes-multiverse // @wayward-and-worn // @waywardbaby // @weepingwillowphoenix

[princessmisery666]

🥹🥰

OMG 💜I love it!!

First of all, the not going to bed angry - there’s enough bullshit going on that they shouldn’t bring it to the bedroom - peeerfect 💝

Miracle 🐶 😃 yay he’s here to keep Dean company while Sam and Nic are busy.

Sam’s girlfriend sounds wonderful (not so sure about the English accent though 🤣😝)!! I love that Nic just introduced herself and they became friends ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥meeting the entire family might be a bit daunting though 😳😬

Dean’s still being a grinch but maybe some family time will cheer him up 💝

The Girlfriend Who Remade Christmas

Square: Creating New Traditions ~ @spnchristmasbingo

Song: Deck the Halls ~ Nat King Cole

Pairing: Dean x Nicole {Nico/Nic} OFC

Summary: Nic and Dean hold in feelings as they each try to find common ground regarding the holiday. Sam’s secret is out.

Warnings: Flangst, mild language, canon divergence

Word Count: 3122

Beta: @wayward-and-worn. Thank you for helping get things on track.🤗😘🤗

Credit: @talesmaniac89 made the gorgeous title card and divider

Author's Note: This chapter is dedicated to my wonderful friend, Stacey (@princessmisery666). As you know, this past year has been rough. Your friendship and support through all of it are so greatly appreciated. Love ya!!!❤️❤️❤️

Part Three: Hail the New

Dean wakes the next morning to an empty bed. 

Last night she’d found him in the library where he was waiting for her. She draped her arms over his shoulders, leaning down to whisper, “I’m sorry”, and kiss his cheek. He’d responded in kind before rising, capturing her hand in his and letting her lead him to their bedroom. 

Not long after they’d officially become a couple, she’d made him promise they would never go to bed mad at each other. Said that they had enough bullshit going on in their lives that they didn’t need to bring it into the bedroom. He’d initially thought it was cheesy but had come to appreciate it over the years. 

The thought of not falling asleep next to her would always leave him feeling sick. With her lying in his arms, he feels whole. She keeps his inner demons at bay. On the rare occasions they are separated from one another, he usually chooses not to sleep. Instead, he stays up reading, watching movies, or roaming the bunker's cold vacant hallways, his thoughts always landing back on her.

She’s feisty and stubborn, calls him on his bullshit, and takes him down a peg or two when needed. He loves her all the more for it, but when their stubbornness is pitted against each other, it’s like hell on earth. Again. 

He doesn’t feel guilty about his reasons for not wanting to do the whole Christmas thing. However, he knows that despite the trials she went through growing up, Nic still enjoys the season, and he does feel guilty for putting a kibosh on her plans, especially after initially agreeing to them. It’s not that he hates the holiday, but as he said, nothing good ever happens to them. Like Nic, he hoped this year might be different, but he can’t seem to ‘get into the spirit’.

Part of their agreement is that if there are things left to discuss, they will address them when they wake up the following day. He knew if he talked to her, she would listen… really listen, not judge him. He just hadn’t found the will to do it yet. Deciding not to let it drag out, he’d opened the way for a discussion as they’d gotten ready for bed. 

~~~~

“Are we okay?”

“Of course we are,” she smiled, shimmied out of her jeans, and tossed them in the laundry pile. 

“Because, you know, I could explain, for the millionth time, all the reasons why Christmas sucks.” Miracle trotted into the room, and Dean closed the door behind him as the pup settled into his bed.

She’d paused, shirt half unbuttoned, the creamy skin of her thighs bared when she’d thrown her hands in the air, and bit back, “Dean, what’s the issue?” 

He bit his lip and tried to steer his wayward thoughts about his head being squeezed between those muscular, gorgeous thighs back to the conversation he’d started. He cleared his throat and shrugged, “I just want to make sure you understand why I don’t want to celebrate.”

“I believe I do, but you know you can talk to me about it, right?”

Dean nodded as she removed her jewelry and placed it on the nightstand. When he didn’t respond further, she continued.

“I know that growing up the way you did that the holidays sucked for you. Mine weren’t always that great, either. I thought, well hoped,” lips briefly pressed together, she yanked the bedcovers down, “that since we now have a home and no big bad threat looming, we could try something new.”

He wanted to talk to her and explain the emotions that had been plaguing him the past few weeks. How left behind, he felt while she and Sam seemed to be moving forward and navigating their new lives with minimal struggle. Wanted to tell her about the loss of purpose he felt since ‘the family business’ had been relegated to a side hustle. Wanted to let her know that he was ready to start putting himself first once in a while but that he didn’t know where to start. It might not exactly be how he’d envisioned it, but the fairytale he talked about wanting but never believed he would have is coming true, and he doesn’t feel like he has a place in it.

“Dean?”

She popped the last button on her shirt, and he decided that discussion could wait for another time, so he deflected. “I can think of some new things I would prefer to try.” She laughed when he shot finger guns at her. When she snorted, he laughed with her. Once their amusement settled, he reached across the bed. “Seriously, though, we’re good?”

“Yes,” she winked and let her shirt drop to the floor, “we’re good,” then slipped her hand into his.

~~~~

After a couple of rounds of blissful activity, she had asked if he wanted to discuss anything. Curling around her, he assured her that he was fine—he was good. 

So much for putting myself first.

He told her that he didn’t have anything to talk about, and though he still isn’t ready to have what he is sure will be an intensely charged conversation, it’s a little disconcerting when he finds her pillow vacant and the sheets cold. She rarely leaves the bed before him, and he worries that maybe he has missed something. He aggressively tosses the covers aside, and the sudden movement causes Miracle to sit up, an expectant tilt to his head as he stares from his bed across the room.

“C’mere, buddy,” Dean pats his chest, and the pup scuttles across the floor, hopping onto the bed. Turning his head to avoid a full-face lick, he catches sight of the note propped against the light on his nightstand. He gives Miracle a big hug before reaching over for the folded card.

Flipping it open, he throws his head back with a roar of laughter, reading the first line, ‘You were VERY good!’, causing Miracle to bark and howl in response. The dog pounces around, pulling and twisting the bedding, and Dean takes a moment to calm him before reading the rest of the note.

‘Sorry, I’m not there. Needed to run some errands. I’ll bring back some pie.’ 

Tilting the small card, he smiles, seeing the shiny imprint of her lips as a signature, and brings it to his nose. The faint aroma of the honey-flavored lip balm she wears dispels the last of his uneasiness.

“Whelp,” Dean sighs, rubbing the top of the shaggy mutt’s head, “looks like it’s you and me again today, boy. What should we do?”

Bored out of his mind, Dean absently flips through channels. It’s a barrage of Christmas movies, holiday cooking shows, and ads hawking cheesy decorations, cheaply made toys, and useless gadgets. Pressing the off button, he tosses the remote onto the table. Miracle lifts his head from Dean’s lap at the disturbance and looks up excitedly.

Running his hand down the dog’s back, he mutters, “I don’t know about you, bud, but this isn’t cutting it.” Since their lives have calmed, the days of idleness are running together into a neverending blur of sloth. He’s not sure how much longer he can handle it before he goes all serial killer.

Looking at his watch, he jolts with concern. It’s almost 3:00, and he still hasn’t heard from Nicole. Donna had texted him a couple of times, asking off-the-wall questions like what his favorite donut was and his preferred choice of toppings. Not random at all, but whatever, he’s always down to talk about food. His phone vibrates as he reaches toward his back pocket, chuckling as the word ‘home’ appears on his screen beneath Nicole’s name as if she read his mind.

“Let’s go see our girl,” he smiles at Miracle, who trots happily next to him out of the room and down the hallway.

Nic is setting bags on the wooden table as he and Sam walk into the kitchen from opposite directions. “Hey, glad you’re both here,” she smiles. “Would you mind getting the rest of the things out of my car while I put the groceries away?”

She turns into his embrace when he grabs her hips, wrapping her arms around his neck, and whispers, “I brought you two pies.” 

“Sweet talker,” he smiles into the light peck he plants on her lips. Sam clears his throat, and Dean pulls her closer, intensifying the kiss. 

Nic lightly slaps his chest when he finally lets her go. “You just can’t help yourself, can you.”

Wiggling his eyebrows, he teases, “Not when it comes to you.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” Raising her own brow, she fixes him with a stern gaze, letting him know that she knows the deeper kiss had been more about annoying Sam than a greeting of affection to her.

With a smirk, he turns to Sam, “C'mon, Sammy. Let’s do as the lady asked.”

As they head out of the room, she laughs to herself, hearing Dean chastise his brother. “Did you hear that? Two pies. Nic NEVER forgets my pie.”

With the brothers helping, the groceries were put away in record time. Setting the last jar of peanut butter in the cupboard, Nic laments, “I’m starving. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.” 

“Well, you bought enough food to feed a pack of wolves, so why don’t I make some sandwiches?”

“That would be wonderful.” She squeezes his ass as she passes behind him. “Thank you.”

“Hey, watch it, Grabby McHandsy.”

Smiling sweetly, she pouts, “I couldn’t help myself.” 

“You two make me sick,” Sam huffs, but Dean hears the undertone of amusement and laughs.

As he begins to pull ingredients from the fridge, Nic asks Sam to help her with the rest of the packages on the table. 

Carrying a plate of food for each of them, Dean joins them about ten minutes later in the library. Nic pours him a drink as he sets a plate down in front of her. “Who are those for?” he asks, spying the stack of brightly wrapped boxes on the other table.

“Just a few small gifts for family and friends. There’s one for you,” she tosses out and hums between bites, “Best food ever.”

“It’s just a sandwich.” Dean amusedly shakes his head. “You always say that.” 

“That’s because it’s always true.” Holding her glass in salute, she cheers, “To the best chef I know. Thank you.”  

Setting his plate down, he hands the final one to Sam. Moving to the end of the other table, he sifts through the boxes, looking for one with his name on the tag. Shaking it when he finds it, he asks, “Can I open it?”

“Yep.”

The too-quick response makes him eye her skeptically. “It’s not a gag gift, is it? Nothing’s going to pop out and try to scare me? Cause you know, I don’t scare that easy.”

“Cat,” Sam coughs, trying to hide his smirk behind his hand.

“Yorkie,” Nic mumbles, biting her lip as she turns away.

“Very funny. Two comedians, huh? You do remember that I nearly died, right?” he huffs.

Nic smiles sweetly and pouts, “I do, babe, and I’m thankful every day that you didn’t.”

“Hmph,” he rolls his eyes in annoyance, “whatever.”

“Go ahead. Nothing weird is going to happen.”

Excitedly ripping off the paper, he then places the box on the table to open it. Peeling back the layer of tissue paper inside reveals red and black checked flannel, and he teases, “Are you regifting the shirt you stole from me?” 

“Ha! Now, who thinks he’s on Comedy Central.” She pulls out the material and stands, holding the garment up to him.

“Pajama pants?”

“Yeah, I thought they would be fun to wear for-” She cuts herself off, clears her throat, and then grabs an unwrapped box, quickly opening it to show him the contents. “They match mine, and I thought they could be part of a new tradition. They’re soooo soft and will keep us warm on movie nights. But it's not a big deal if you don’t like them.”

Her wide grin and sparkling eyes do a number on his heart, and he can’t help but return her smile as he leans down to kiss her. “Thank you.”

Taking the box from her, he sets it on the table next to his, noticing a name he doesn’t recognize on one of the packages, and asks, “Who’s Stacey?”

“A new friend and Sam’s girlfriend,” she matter-of-factly replies.

Sam chokes, spitting the bite of the sandwich he just took back onto his plate, and Nic quickly covers her mouth, trying not to snort as she laughs. 

“I knew it!” Dean blurts, pointing a finger and leveling a smug look at his brother before snapping his head back in her direction. “Wait, how did you know?”

“After a post office run a while back, I decided to treat myself to a coffee from the bookstore cafe that I like. I caught sight of Sam through the window as I was crossing the street. He and a curly-haired woman were making lovey-dovey faces at each other.”

Dean snickers when Nic puckers her lips, imitating kissing noises, and Sam huffs that he was doing no such thing.

“Anyway, I knew Sam would clock me the moment I entered, so I came home and waited for him to tell us about her, but he never did. A couple of weeks later, I was in town again to pick up some holiday cheer I had ordered. She was in the cafe, sitting at the same table. I knew Sam was still at the bunker, so I decided to introduce myself. See if I could find out how serious things are and whether I needed to have the ‘don’t hurt my best friend or I’ll have to kill you’ talk with her.”

Sam slumps in his chair, his cheeks almost crimson, and Dean can’t help the proud smile splitting his face. She loves to tease Sam almost as much as he does. Watching his brother’s discomfort grow as Nic continues to speak fills him with wicked glee.

“She was leery of me at first. Thought I might be a jealous ex or a significant other he lied about not having. Once I told her I was in a relationship with his brother, we bonded over having something in common. After all, dating a Winchester isn’t exactly a piece of cake.”

Both men straighten with righteous indignation, but Nic rambles on between bites of Dean’s sandwich that she begins to eat. He opens his mouth to scold her for stealing his food but quickly snaps it shut, reminding himself that she hasn’t eaten since early this morning. He can make another one for himself later. Besides, watching Sam’s flustered irritation is too enjoyable to interrupt.

“She’s a writer… fiction. Good at it, too. She’s let me read some of her stuff. We exchanged numbers and emails and met for coffee several times. I like her. She’s smart, unpretentious, has a sharp sense of humor, and a lovely English accent.” She winks at Sam over the last comment. “We became pretty fast friends, so I invited her to join us on Saturday.” 

“What’s going on Saturday?” Dean suspiciously questions.

“The entire family is coming over.” 

“The entire family? Wait. Is that why Donna has been texting me about donuts?”

“Yep, Jody and the girls, Donna, Garth, Bess, and the kids.” She chuckles, looking over at Sam, “and Stacey.”

Sam’s shoulders roll, and his chest puffs, but she preempts his bitching. “You know, she believes in the supernatural. I know you haven’t told her what we do, but you might be surprised about how accepting she would be of the facts.” 

“Everyone? In my kitchen? Absolutely not!” Dean grouses as he strides around the table, the delight in Sam’s embarrassment shoved from his mind.

“I thought we could have a cookie exchange. Bake some treats? Just spend some time together.“ Nic quickly blocks his exit, placing her hands on his chest. “Look, none of us had a normal childhood. Or anything remotely considered traditional. The good memories are few and far between. It doesn’t have to be a Christmas celebration. We’d be creating our own tradition. We can call it whatever we want. You know, hail the new,” she cheers. “It’s deep-fried dough and piles of sugar. We’ll have pizza and beer. All the things you love!”

Dean inhales sharply, and he’s sure she can feel his heart pounding against his rib cage. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he runs the other through his hair. She’s trying to find a compromise—a way for both of them to enjoy the emotionally charged time of year.   

A warm hand cups the side of his jaw. “You don’t have to join us, but I hope you will. Just think about it?” 

“Yeah… I can do that.” Pulling her into a hug, he whispers, “Can we talk later?”

Arms wrapped tight around his waist, she nods against his chest, whispering back, “Of course.”

Shoving the emotions back into their designated compartments, he brushes a lock of hair back at her temple, then steps back. 

“So what’s in this bag?”

“Shit.” Nic’s hand shoots past his in an attempt to grab the bag’s handle first but ends up knocking the package clear off the table. As their hands grapple to catch it, they both miss, and it lands heavily on the cement floor. The sound of glass shattering fills the space.

Dean’s eyes widen as Miracle rushes over to see what the commotion is about. Nic squats down to grab his collar, “No,” she admonishes him, picking up the bag with her other hand. 

Nic looks up at Dean, eyes misted over as she asks, “Will you please take him while I make sure there’s no glass on the floor?”

“What was in the bag?” 

“N- nothing.” 

“Nico-”

She looks back at the floor and sniffs, “Just take him, please.”

She’s clearly upset about the broken item, but unsure how else to help, he takes hold of the dog’s collar and gently tugs, “C’mon, boy,” taking a few steps away.

After looking over the area, she stands with the bag in hand. Swiping a hand across her cheek, she mumbles, “Floor’s clear; gonna go throw this out,” and practically sprints from the room.

Turning to find that Sam looks as shocked as he feels, Dean asks, “You know what was in there?”

“Not a clue,” Sam shakes his head and shrugs.

Scrubbing a hand down his face, Dean growls, “Son of a bitch.”

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