#and sam and daniel are just sliding along the floor on their backs

[donttouchtheneednoggle]

Yet another Stargate text posts :')

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3)

[hoe-for-underrated-characters]

nice and slow || daniel larusso - nsfw

prompt: you and daniel finally get the weekend to yourself, finally being intimate after you had your newest addition to the larusso family

warnings: sexual intercourse (p in v), postpartum sex, oral (female receiving), gentle sex, praise kink

lowercase intended and second person pov

"hey, mommy." daniel says in a baby voice, making your month old daughter, leah, wave at you by gently moving her tiny hand.

you giggle. "hi, sweetie." you say and kiss her forehead.

"so, my mom is taking sam and anthony out and they're spending the night." he says, readjusting the baby in his arms. "she wanted to know if she could take leah too?"

you sigh. "i don't know, baby, we haven't been away from her since she was born."

"there's a lot of things we haven't done since she was born."

you roll your eyes, but deep down, you know he's right. you felt sympathy towards your husband, he had to be desperate by now. now that you're healed and took some time to yourself, you figure it's time to hop back on the horse.

"alright, she can go. what time is she coming?" you ask.

"around six."

you look at the clock. about an hour to shower and get yourself all dolled up for him.

why not make it special?

♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎

six crept up quickly, and before you know it, you're kissing your kids goodbye and smothering leah with love for your first time departure from her.

"bye mom." anthony says, giving you a kiss on the cheek.

"yeah, see you tomorrow." sam kisses the both of you and takes baby leah in her car seat. "be careful, we don't want another one of these."

"samantha."

she smiles. "bye mom."

"i thought they'd never leave." daniel says after they're gone.

"daniel." you scold, but you can't help but smile.

"so, where do i take you first? kitchen table, the island, the couch?" he asks. "the possibilities are endless."

"i think we should stick to the bedroom for now. nothing too extreme." you suggest, remembering how different the first time postpartum those other times felt.

he smiles and kisses you gently.

"sounds great to me, sweetheart."

he sweeps you off your feet and you gasp. "daniel, put me down! i'm too heavy! i haven't lost all of my baby fat, you know."

he doesn't say anything, he just takes you upstairs and lays you gently on the bed.

"(y/n), you need to quit worrying." he says. "you do this everytime you give birth. i assure you, there is nothing to be insecure about."

you kiss him softly. "i love you."

"i love you too, sweetheart."

he takes off your shirt and he stares at your chest. "wow, all for me, huh?" he questions, eyeing your new lingerie as he plays with the little bow on it.

he sees the uncertainty in your eyes and he shakes his head. he starts kissing your neck. neck, to collarbone, to your lace-covered breasts, to your stomach. your postpartum belly isn't completely gone yet.

"i don't want you to hate what carried our children." he orders. "or any part of you, for that matter, my perfect girl."

he unties your sweatpants and you make a mental note to start wearing jeans again.

"you aren't gonna go down on me, are you?" you whisper.

he chuckles and nods. "that's the best part, (y/n/n)."

"oh."

"hey, we don't have to, you know. i just thought you would want to." he says.

"no, i do. i do." you say, grabbing his hand and placing it on the waistband of your matching underwear.

he grins and slowly slides them down your legs. his breathing hitches as he spreads your legs.

"baby, you look so beautiful."

you blush. "hey, no fair." you say, tugging on his shirt. "off."

he unbuttons his shirt and throws it on the floor. he unzips his slacks and pulls them off gracefully.

you help him with his briefs, and basically yank them down his legs. you lick your lips in want as you stare at his hard cock.

he chuckles. "that eager?"

"hey, you're 'eager' too."

he kisses you softly and lays you down and gets on the bed along with you. he lays on his stomach, dipping his head between your legs.

he kisses the inside of your thighs, then place a kiss on your clit.

you missed this.

he starts licking, swirling his tongue, sucking, anything; it's like he's hungry or something.

"fuck." you whisper, intertwining your fingers in his brown hair. oh, how you missed this.

♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎

"please, stop edging me, please, daniel." you whine.

"cum."

and you do. you cum hard. it was truly a soul-shaking, mind-blowing experience you've had in a while.

"sh-shit."

"feel good?"

"very." you say breathlessly. he raises up with a big grin across his face. "your turn."

"i don't want anything in return."

"but-"

he cuts you off. "this is about making you feel good, alright? being inside of you is enough."

you kiss him softly. "started taking my pill again." you say.

"thank God." he says. "let me know if anything hurts, okay?"

"i will, don't worry."

you giggle and he slowly pushes into you, not filling you all the way.

he groans, trying his best not to thrust.

"you can start now, it doesn't hurt."

you moan and he grunts as he fills you all the way up with his cock.

"you're so perfect." he says, thrusting hard, but slow.

"faster, please."

"hey, we have all the time in the world right now. we gotta be gentle; let's take it nice and slow."

you nod.

he circles your clit with his thumb, and kisses your neck.

"i missed this so much." he whispers.

your mouth hangs open as he hits that special spot inside of you, causing you to grip the sheets.

"fuck, yes, i'm so close!"

"cum for me, beautiful." he says. "shit, i'm gonna cum too."

you clench around him, cumming harder than you had previously.

"fuck, i love you!" you whine.

he cums inside of you, cursing and muttering your name.

"love you too."

both of you sticky with sweat, you kiss each other softly.

"so, you think we can do that again?" he asks.

you laugh. "of course; it's a given."

[mylittleredgirl]

@nerdgatehobbit sent me a 🌹 for SG1 and tumblr tried to save you from my response BUT here i am again.

this scene is Very Heavy and from the post-fail safe apocafic AU that made me ask about population genetics, where they fail to save the world and join the alpha site evacuees as The Last Survivors of Humanity, etc. (cw: past unhealthy relationship; alcohol; abortion)

--

Sam was pregnant once before, when she was twenty-five and engaged to a man who would one day try and take over a planet. They used condoms, except sometimes, when she drank too much to insist. She knew exactly which bottle was to blame.

She has always been more attuned to her mind than her body, but she noticed, even before she was late enough to worry. She remembers it now, remembers the queasiness, the sore breasts, the creeping awareness that something was different, something was wrong. Her hands swelled, just enough that her engagement ring dug into her skin. She remembers standing in the bathroom with bare feet, bare legs, slicking her fingers with soap. The ring wouldn’t slide off and she couldn’t breathe, like she was choking.

The panic passed. She took care of it, and she left him.

She never regretted it, not once. When she first crossed paths with him in the concrete corridors of the SGC, it flashed through her mind—a four-year-old, the ring she gave back, Mrs. Jonas Hansen—but the accompanying thought wasn’t what if, but thank God. After he died, she never expected to think about it again.

For five years, she didn’t.

She remembers the days before she got up the courage to go to the drugstore and buy a test, when she counted and re-counted the squares on the calendar and prayed that she would start bleeding. She thinks about that now, every time she does.

“You have time, Sam,” Janet tells her, with a reassuring stroke of her hair, like she used to give to Cassandra. They’re all so much more tactile, now that they live on top of each other, now that there are so few of them. ���There’s nothing wrong. You’re under a lot of stress.”

“And you aren’t?” Sam had her chance to keep the human race alive seven months ago; more of that weight is on Janet, now, along with the growing weight of Daniel’s child.

Janet strokes her hair again. “Bodies are different.”

Sam thinks she can hear envy in her voice, alongside the sympathy. Janet has never lost her composure again, but Sam can’t forget the night in the storage room, kneeling on the cold floor and holding on for dear life.

In the morning, Sam goes off-world, and she exhales.

[one-chicago-fanfiction]

Countdown Fics: 7

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: Sarah Reese knows she's asexual, but what she doesn't know is how to talk about it. When her sexuality is revealed in the workplace, Sarah doesn't know if she can handle it. Luckily, Doctor Charles and Doctor Abrams have her back.

After a while, it became one of those things: people thought Sarah Reese was just intensely private. It hadn’t been much of an issue to start with. The longer she was at Chicago med, the more she ended up adjacent to these conversations—people talking about private lives, love lives, sex lives. Sarah mostly smiled, mostly nodded, mostly found a reason to slip away from the conversation before it was deemed her turn to contribute, to offer something of herself to these people she saw every day.

The truth was, Sarah hadn’t spent much time talking about being asexual. Talking it through with herself, sure, but when she was the only person in the room it was easy, it was just a simple fact. But when she was with her colleagues? It was like there wasn’t space in this conversation for her, like the expectation was that sex was an ultimate goal, an essential. People saw her talking to doctor Rhodes and assumed the flush in her cheeks was because she wanted to sleep with him, not because he was confident and sharp and she was still learning how to trust herself at Chicago med, to believe herself when she reminded herself she wasn’t out of her depth here.

Doctor Charles was the first person to spot it, this something small and not the norm. He very rarely took part in those parts of conversation either, but would smile warmly, would listen to everyone, would offer advice where constituted. He would talk briefly about his marriages, his kids, an old boyfriend. Always giving tidbits, nothing more. And he was watchful, eyes that saw through all the pretence and practised social cues around him. And he was the first person to follow her one day after she excused herself from the conversation at Molly’s.

She hadn’t gotten far. She was at the bar, trying to decide what else to order, noticing the barest tremble in her hands when he slides onto the stool beside her, gestures for another drink himself.

“Hey there,” he said, and his eyes flicked to her trembling hands, just for a moment. She pulled them under the bar, forced a smile.

“Hey,” she said, could hear the strain in her own voice, kept that forced smile on her face as if it was enough to hide the truth behind it. She couldn’t look at him, chose to scan her eyes over all the expensive whiskies behind the bar instead, stored on sleek wooden shelves, protected by glass, a barrier between them and the world around them. Sarah loved Doctor Charles. She was sure of that now, that the warmth in her chest was about family, and fondness, and implicit trust. But still there were parts of her she’d left unspoken, and now she didn’t know how to change that, or even if she wanted to—if it was safe to.

“So,” said Doctor Charles, their drinks placed before them and slid across the bar. His eyes were on his whisky at least.

“So,” said Sarah, not wanting to reach for her drink just yet. Her damned shaking fingers.

“You left the table pretty swiftly there,” said Doctor Charles. “Did something upset you?”

“No,” said Sarah. “No, no. N-nothing like that. I just, uh…don’t have much to say about…certain things.”

“Mhm,” said Doctor Charles, watching her with that half smile of his, giving a little shrug as he took the first sip of his whisky. He sighed after the sip. “You much of a whisky drinker, Reese?”

“Not really,” she said. Doctor Charles hummed.

“Eh. You wanna give it a shot sometime, you let me know. I’ve got a lot of recommendations.”

“Sure,” said Sarah. “Thanks. You know, I think I’m gonna, uh, go, actually.” She couldn’t help it, that feeling in her chest. All of a sudden she found she just wanted to be alone, tucked away in her apartment. She could go home and do some work there. She could while away the night, and her thoughts. That, she decided, was what she wanted—needed, even.

“Woah,” said Daniel. “You don’t want your drink? You just got it.”

“No,” said Sarah, zipping her coat, fixing her bag onto her shoulder. “No, that’s okay.”

“You know,” he said then, “you remind me a lot of myself.” That halted her. Despite the sudden urge to leave, the desperation to be alone, she wanted to know this, wanted to hear about the parts of themselves people saw in her, in the hope that maybe there’d be some part of her reflected back in Daniel Charles in turn, something she could cling to in moments like this one.

“I do?” She asked. He nodded.

“You do. I used to run away from conversations too, excuse myself, always coming up with a brilliant reason not to answer questions about myself. Of course, I’m not really like that anymore. That was mostly before I came out, you know? But I get it.”

“Oh,” said Sarah. “N-no, uhm. Doctor Charles, I’m not—“

“Woah,” he said, holding up his empty hand. “I’m not asking you to define yourself, Sarah Reese. Frankly it’s none of my business, and maybe I’m wrong, you know? Believe it or not, that can happen sometimes. I just wanted you to know, if there’s anything you do wanna talk about, you can come to me. My office door’s always open. My phone’s always on.”

There was an earnestness to him as they spoke, a gentle sincerity that almost made Sarah want to say it, to share this simple fact about herself with another person in her daily life. Everyone else got to do that, why shouldn’t she? She opened her mouth to say it, and in the end, what came out was, “Thank you, Doctor Charles. I, uh…thanks.”

He smiled, didn’t press. Sarah Reese downed her drink and went home.

It came out a couple weeks after that. At first, Sarah felt like it was her own stupid fault. She’d gotten close to someone, a new paramedic for one of the nearby firehouses. They’d met in the ED a few times, talked, flirted she guessed, and then gone out for a couple dinners. He’d invited her back to his apartment, and both times she’d declined, because she knew what he wanted from that, and she hadn’t been able to tell him yet that she liked him, that she would very much like to see where things might go with him, and that she was asexual. She’d wished it was an easier conversation. She’d wished her mouth knew the shape of the words better, wished she’d started learning to navigate this sooner. But there was nothing she could do about that now, nothing but pretend it didn’t scare her, and tell him.

So she told him, and for a moment—just a moment—he looked like he was fine with it, that he might ask her some questions, that he might just smile and nod and tell her that was cool, might thank her for telling him, then invite her to his place once more. He didn’t. He was, she later decided, a jackass about it—the way a lot of straight men she’d met had been. She’d dated a couple girls who were cool with it, and a person who’d had a lot of questions and done a lot of research themselves, but most of the guys wore the disappointment on their faces like she’d struck them.

All of that had gotten to her when it happened, but none of them had done what this guy went on to do. None of them talked about it like he did, dropping patients off at the ED and mentioning it to anyone who would listen. Doctor Rhodes had found out while making conversation with the guy over paperwork. Maggie had been in the vicinity, along with some nurses she barely knew, and somehow or another it spread through the hospital like something they couldn’t cure.

The next time Doctor Charles talked to her about it, he found her in the staff room. In all honesty, she was hiding in there, sitting on a chair with her head in her hands, wondering if she’d imagined some of the looks she’d been getting these last handful of days. Maybe if she’d told people sooner, taken ownership of it in that way—but then, wasn’t that what she’d been doing by choosing who to talk to and when to do it?

It almost felt like high school all over again, until Doctor Charles sat beside her that day with a sigh, smiled softly at her when she looked up.

“You know, Reese,” he said, “like any other sexuality, asexuality goes back as far into history as human beings can comprehend. Further, even. Oh, and—that guy you were seeing? Believe me when I say people are saying way more about him than they are about you.”

“He’s right,” came a voice from the door. Sarah hadn’t even heard it open, and neither, by the look on his face, had Doctor Charles. He glanced at her, almost apologetically, as Doctor Abrams wandered into the room, over to a locker, fishing his coat and duffel bag from it. He looked tired, like he’d clocked too many long shifts, bags under his eyes as he moved methodically, looked at her with the same frown he gave everyone, even those he was fond of.

“I just…” she started. “I just didn’t mean to become…hospital gossip? It just feels…I don’t know.”

“Mm,” said Doctor Abrams. “If people have nothing better to do than talk about someone else’s sexuality, their problems are bigger than they think yours are. You shouldn’t hide in here though, Reese. Pretty sure you’re needed somewhere on the floor. Pretty sure you need to start ignoring anyone who wants to make you uncomfortable for being yourself out there. Or anywhere. Just my two cents.”

“Doctor Abrams,” said Sarah, that familiar warmth growing in her chest once more. “That’s so…sweet.” She looked at Doctor Charles, looked at the grin he tried to suppress as Doctor Abrams stopped what he was doing, and gave her a look of something close to dismay.

“It is not,” he said flatly. “It’s a simple fact. Right, Daniel?”

“Right,” said Doctor Charles, fighting through that suppressed laugh. “And hey, Reese—Sam and I are thinking about grabbing some drinks after shift. You wanna join?”

“Yeah,” said Reese. “Yeah, I really do.”

[calaofnoldor]

Drug of Choice

Characters: Dean x Reader (gender neutral)

Words: 3,790

Summary: A night of drunken rambling leads to an unexpected change in your relationship status.

Warnings: angst, language, alcohol, feelings of inadequacy, very slight allusions of alcoholism/talk of drug addiction, reader likes the sound of their voice a bit too much when drunk, fluff, implied smut

A/N: written for @deanwanddamons 1st blogiversary and 2k follower celebration challenge! my prompt was “I wish I knew how to quit you“ which is bolded in the fic. congrats on the incredible milestone, sorry this is late! also for @spnfluffbingo and it fills the mood board square for @girl-next-door-writes‘ Make Me Feel Bingo challenge!

Square Filled: Kissed to Keep Quiet

MASTERLIST

It was four in the morning when Dean finally came home, and the bottle of Jack Daniels that sat before you atop the library table was over a quarter of the way through.

The heavy thud of his boots against the bunker floor drew your dark-adjusted eyes toward his shadowy figure, while the alcohol in your bloodstream loosened your lips, "How was she?"

"Jesus- Fuck!" There was a slight commotion before the lights flickered on, forcing your eyes to shut against the onslaught of sudden brightness. "Y/N??” Dean’s gruff, alarmed voice shattered the previously eerie silence, “What the hell are you doing sitting in the dark by yourself?"

Your eyelids lifted an experimental sliver but you kept your gaze directed down at the glass of whiskey in your hands. "It wasn't dark when I started."

Dean narrowed his eyes when he noticed the slur behind your words. "Started what? Are you drunk?"

His second question prompted a dismissive snort from you, "Hunters can't get drunk; you should know that by now, Dean."

"Yeah alright, we need to get you to bed." The man of your dreams began to make his way over to you until your gravelly words ceased his steps.

"I can't sleep... you haven't answered my question yet."

"What question?"

"How was she?"

"Who?"

You looked at him like he was crazy, "You know, the girl from the bar, the one with the curly hair… the one that was climbing onto your lap when I left?"

"I don't- there was no girl," Dean stumbled. His lips were parted and his eyebrows pulled together in an ever-gorgeous expression of bewilderment, but you were too busy examining the way the newfound light danced along the lustrous amber liquid between your fingers to notice.

"Oh," you grumbled in response, sounding a bit disappointed, which only served to deepen those adorable lines of confusion between Dean’s brows. "She sure was pretty though.” There was a pause as you pondered his declaration before blurting out in disbelief, “You really didn't fuck her in the back of Baby?"

"What- No! Y/N, there was never a girl and nothing happened, OK?" He sounded genuinely serious, so you conceded.

"I'm sorry."

"Why- why are you sorry?"

"I know you needed to blow off some steam after today, after I pissed you off by fucking up the hunt." You ventured a glance up at him through your lashes and the unadulterated pain in your eyes almost had Dean reeling back in surprise.

"What are you talking about? You didn't 'fuck up' the hunt," he argued, shaking his head as if to accentuate his point.

"Course I did. I got you hurt and I nearly let that dickbag get away."

A weighted sigh escaped Dean, "Y/N, you have to know that wasn’t your fault, and it’s not like you haven’t done the same thing for me. Besides, I wasn’t pissed off, I was... I was scared, OK?”

You were about to take another sip of your drug of the night when you lowered your glass to let the irrepressible giggle leave your system, “Scared? Since when does the big bad Dean Winchester get scared? And if he did, he definitely wouldn’t be talking about it out loud. Are you sure you’re not the one who’s been drinking?”

“I mean, I have been drinking but that’s beside the point. Look, Y/N, why don’t we talk about this tomorrow, alright? You’ve just gotta sleep this off.”

"Pft. This isn't something I can just sleep off. Trust me, I've tried." There was a tickle in your throat that alerted you of the oncoming word vomit, but your friend Mr. Daniels seemed to be gaining complete control of your tongue; it was all he was ever good for really, “I’ve also tried drinking it away, but clearly that doesn’t work either. There’s just- so much- of it, of you… and now, now you’re in me-“ Dean’s eyes went wide but you were no longer at liberty to stop, “and I can’t get you out. Sometimes I don’t even think I want to. But I don’t think I can keep going like this any longer either… all this waiting, and wondering, and watching.” Some fragment of sobriety within you recognized how ridiculous and melodramatic you sounded and it gave you enough sense to avoid eye contact with the subject of you’re alcohol-induced speech, as if that could help you elude further embarrassment.

“OK, you’ve gotta slow down, Y/N/N. What the hell are you talking about?” At this point, Dean had moved to take the seat across from you, subtly sliding the bottle of Jack out of your reach as he sat down.

A mirthless laugh was your reply, "Of course you don’t know. Why would you?“

“What does that mean? Why wouldn’t I? Y/N, what’s going on?”

But you ignored his questions and answered with one of your own, “Why am I never enough? You know what, don't answer that; that was a rhetor- rhetor…”

“Rhetorical?”

“Yes!” you exclaimed, flailing your index finger in his direction, “Yes, that’s the word. See, even your brain is too good for me.”

“What- why would you say that? Y/N, you know that’s not true. And why do you think you’re never enough? You’re plenty enough.” Concern now painted Dean’s features. He hated seeing you this way, broken and depressed, trying to drown your feelings in whiskey; he’d figured that was his trademark amongst the bunker residents. And he couldn’t understand how someone as incredible as you would think themselves unworthy of anything. Whichever son of a bitch made you feel this way would pay, Dean swore it.

“Then how come you never pick me?” you countered simply, deciding it was finally time to call out his hypocrisy.

The accusation floored Dean. He scooted back in his seat as he stared at you with a slack jaw, utter perplexity swirling within his emerald eyes. Over the years, Dean had garnered an inkling that you felt some kinda way about him, but he never really let himself believe, and not once did he think he could be hurting you. On the contrary, he always figured it was his own hopeful heart playing tricks on him. Even now, he wasn’t entirely sure he was hearing you correctly, or that your drunken state could be trusted, though he remembered you once told him that you were always the most honest version of yourself when you drank, whiskey in particular.

“I watch you go out with waitress after bartender after waitress, but I’ve been here the whole time, and you never consider me. It’s like I don’t even exist, like I’m not even an option, like I could never even help you scratch that itch, at least not as good as any barfly across the Midwest could.” You were aware that this was getting out of hand, but you couldn’t seem to find the brakes. “But that’s not even the real problem – I mean, sure, a roll around the hay with you would probably be mind-blowing as fuck – but it would never solve the root of it, never be enough for me.”

Dean had been studying you meticulously as you spoke, your words starting a fire to the embers of his soul, breathing life into a long-forgotten hope that brought him both joy and fear. “What would? Be enough for you, I mean?” His tone took on a raw sultriness that matched the intense, borderline predatory glaze of his eyes. Needless to say, Dean hadn’t expected your sardonic laughter to fill the air, and your sudden frenzied, carefree state certainly took him off guard.

“Nothing!” you laughed, “I don’t think anything will ever be enough for me! C-cause you’re like this drug that I’m hooked on and it’s just so fucking hard to get off… I mean, it’s also hard to get off without you now, or thoughts of you anyway...” Your tangent was quickly overcome when you remembered the topic of your initial spiel, “But it’s like everything about you draws me in! From the way you reference classic literature even though I’ve never seen you pick up a book that’s not about lore, to the way you rebuild Baby from scratch like it’s no big deal, to the way you’re so good with kids even though you never got to be one yourself, to the dumb way you bottle up all your feelings and never let them see the light of day yet still manage to do so much good in the world, t-to the way you get excited over classic rock and crappy horror movies and pie, and don’t even get me started on the way you love Sam! I mean, it’s just all of it! It’s your strength and perseverance through literal hell, it’s your huge fucking heart despite the mask of swagger and charm, it’s that stupid grin you get when you make a dumb joke and Sam rolls his eyes at you, it’s just those god damn lips in general! And then you walk around looking like that!?” you gestured wildly at all of him, “I mean, who gave you the right?!”

Dean looked like he was about to respond, but you cut him off. There really was no stopping your tirade now, “I’m like an addict who can never get enough, and when you leave, I get feelings of withdrawal, and I don’t know how to fucking deal with those either… You’re so deeply ingrained in me; I don’t think I’ll ever be able to flush you out of my system. And I just-“ you took a rare pause to heave a large breath before admitting quietly, “I wish I knew how to quit you. I really do, because as much as I love you, and trust me, it’s a whole fucking lot – God, does it feel good to finally say that out loud – but for every ounce of love that I have for you, for every bit of you that I’ve inhaled, it hurts just as much. Because you don’t feel the same, and you never will, and I don’t blame you, because you’re Dean fucking Winchester and you could have whoever you want with just a wink and half a smile, and you deserve to have whoever you want-”

“Are you done?” Dean was quick to latch onto the brief respite in your monologue, “Fuck, Y/N, you really have no idea what you do to me, do you? What you are to me?” His head shook in disbelief while his troubled green eyes searched yours.

“What I am to you? I’m your hunting buddy, Dean. The one you call when you need an extra hand with a vamp nest or an extra set of eyes to scour the books, the one who stays up with you when you have nightmares about the souls you tortured in hell, the one you sing rock songs out of tune in the car with, just never the one you go to for a booty call,” you finished with a bitter laugh.

Dean’s head had never ceased it’s shaking, even as he got up and walked around the table towards you. “Only because you’re worth so much more than that. Y/N, you deserve so much more than me.”

It was your turn to shake your head. How typical, you thought as you rolled your eyes and stood up to meet his eye line, “Don’t give me that bullshit, Dean. I know you’re trying to let me down easy and that’s nice of you and all, but you can’t fool me. I know you too well, Dean Winchester, and I know there’s no way in hell that- Mmf!“ The rest of your words were intercepted by Dean’s lips on yours.

The feeling was unexpected but not at all unwelcome. There was an urgent force behind the kiss as he pushed his mouth against yours with gentle yet firm ferocity, bracing your head with large hands cupping both sides. It felt as if he was desperately trying to convey a message to you, to disprove your woeful words of self-pity, or perhaps he just wanted you to shut up. You, of course, responded with tremendous enthusiasm regardless of his intent, grasping blindly at his forearms while slotting your tongue and lips around his in an increasingly frantic manner. You didn’t care if the kiss wasn’t good for him; this might be your only chance to take what you need from Dean Winchester, if only a tiny fraction of it.

When he finally pulled back, you were both panting for air. Dean still held your head in both hands as he leaned forward to rest his forehead upon yours. “Dammit, I shouldn’t have done that; you’re drunk... Do you at least believe me now?”

A slight grimace contorted Dean’s features as his mind was suddenly bombarded by a multitude of conflicted thoughts and feelings, feelings of desire and regret and bliss and unease, but when he caught the dazed look in your eyes, Dean made up his mind, “Ah, what the hell, you’re probably not gonna remember much of this anyway. Look, Y/N, you’re wrong. I do feel the same way about you; I have pretty much ever since I saw that magnificent ass of yours.” Pausing to chuckle at his own words, Dean licked his lips, still able to taste the whiskey from yours.

“The only reason I fucked around with those other people was because I couldn’t stand not being able to have you,” he continued through closed eyes and gritted teeth before filling his chest with a deep breath, “Like today, when I saw that fucking werewolf come at you, I nearly lost it. The thought of anything happening to you scares me shitless, and I didn’t know how to process that feeling, so I let that girl at the bar get close. I was trying to fill the hole you created but it was pointless cause in the end, just like every other time, I couldn’t go through with it. Every time I try to forget about you, your face shows up in my head,” he growled in that low, throaty tone that always seemed to reverberate down to your nether regions.

“But I- I wasn’t lying when I said you deserve more than me. Y/N, you know me. I’m a broken, twisted, shell of a man. I’m-“

“Poison, I know,” you finally lifted your head away from his so that you could look directly into his dazzling eyes. Dean’s hands slid down along your neck and landed on your shoulders while yours remained on his forearms, not willing to lose all contact. “I know what you’re gonna say. You think you’re poison, that being with you puts a target on my back, that loving you is a death sentence… Did I get that right?”

Dean gave you a miniscule nod and a look of resignation as he reluctantly released you from his hold, forcing you to let go as well when he took a large step back. You suddenly felt extremely sober, the effects of the alcohol and that kiss all wearing off instantaneously, “And you hate yourself. No one hates you more than you, Dean.” Your voice was hardly a whisper now, “But that’s OK, cause I hate myself too, for never being able to make you realize that you are so much more than you give yourself credit for, that you deserve all the things you think you can’t have, that you can have them all and still be Dean Winchester.”

You watched as Dean’s eyes began to water and when a single tear rolled down his cheek, you couldn’t hold yourself back anymore. Approaching him as slowly as you would a nervous animal out of its natural habitat, you stopped directly before him before cautiously raising your arm to wipe the offending tear away with your thumb. Your eyes seemed to be locked in a silent exchange of colossal magnitude, expressing everything mere words could not, from harrowing regret to agonizing self-inflicted torment to desperate desire. It was the yearning in his shimmering eyes that gave you the courage to speak your next words, a runaway tear of your own joining the whispered plea, “Please, let me show you.”

When your eyes fluttered open the next day, they were greeted with the most beautiful sight you'd ever awoken to. Dean’s face was barely a foot away from yours, and the man himself was already awake, staring directly at you. He was lying on his back with his head turned towards you, while your body was twisted to face his. A bedside lamp was on, allowing you to marvel at the breathtaking perfection in front of you, and despite the booze having long since evacuated from your veins, your mouth still imparted the first thing that came to your mind, “You know, I've always wanted to count your freckles,” you murmured honestly, “Maybe map them out like tiny constellations so I can memorize them better, so that one day I could trace them even with my eyes closed.” Your fingertips moved of their own accord as you spoke, gliding softly over his cheeks and across the ridge of his perfect nose.

Dean caught your hand in his and kissed it repeatedly as his magical olive eyes continued to bore into yours, never once leaving your face. His pouty lips curved into the slightest smile as if he were afraid to rear hope yet couldn't fight the peaceful thrill you were bringing him by simply lying next to him. “You’re not still drunk, are you?”

“Not unless it counts to be drunk on you… Sorry, that sounded a lot less cheesy in my head.” You cringed but Dean’s smile broadened.

“And no hangover?”

“No, I told you, hunters can’t-“

“Get drunk. Yeah, I heard. So does that mean you remember everything?”

“I don’t think I could forget that kiss if I wanted to; my brain wouldn’t let me.” You glanced down at his gorgeous mouth before meeting his gaze again, “I meant it all, you know? Everything I said was the truth. Every word.” You moved your thumb to graze his lower lip and he puckered his lips to kiss it.

“So did I, every word… Especially the part about that sweet ass of yours.” The hand that wasn’t holding yours roamed down to grab at your butt cheek with a hefty yet tender squeeze, causing you to squeal in delight. When you settled down, he moved your hand to place it above his heart, “You know I’m no good at chick flick moments, but you can trust me when I say I’m addicted to you too.”

The sincerity in his voice sent butterflies through your stomach and your smile felt invincible. “I hope you know that when I called you a ‘drug’ I didn’t mean it in a derogatory way. Some drugs are good for you. Some drugs can save your life,” you whispered as you fisted lightly at the soft cotton of his t-shirt.

“I wouldn’t go that far, sweetheart.”

“Isn’t that what you did yesterday?” Dean was about to retort but you sent him a raised brow and a look that said ‘don’t test me, I’ve got loads more evidence where that came from’ so he simply looked down with a small grin. “Does it still hurt?” You motioned to the white bandage on his shoulder where the werewolf had scratched him up yesterday when he jumped in front of you.

Dean shook his head, “Right now I can hardly feel it. Actually, it hasn’t hurt at all since I kissed you.”

The corners of your mouth lifted some more at his words. “See, that’s what I mean. To me, you’re like coffee on an early morning, morphine when I’m hurting, tranquilizers when I’m freaking out, Zoloft when the world’s got me down, mixed with a shot of ecstasy, and quite possibly the most potent form of Viagra known to mankind.” You might have lingered a moment to chuckle at your own joke, thinking ‘it’s funny cause it’s true’. Dean belted a guffaw himself and you were quite pleased as you continued, “You’re everything I’ve ever needed, all wrapped up in one beautiful, self-loathing man.” You stroked his stubbled jaw and caressed his cheek, letting your words waft softly across the distance between you, hoping he could sense the veracity within them, “And I just want you to let me love you, let me get high on you, so I can show you how good you are. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

A wave a sadness flowed through Dean and he lowered his gaze from yours. “This could end bloody.”

“I know,” you nodded, “But it’s so much better than the alternative... It was getting a bit too hard to bear, even if you were only eye fucking all those other suitors. Besides, if it means I get to kiss you whenever I want, it’ll be worth it. And if it means I get a chance to prove to you how worthy you are, then it’ll be more than worth it.”

“I was only staying away because I wanted to protect you from me, but I didn’t realize it was hurting you. I never wanted to cause you pain; Y/N, I need you to know that.” Dean’s warm, calloused palm ran up your arm, it’s gentleness in stark contrast to his fierce tone, while yours continued to cup his cheek.

Astounded by the passion behind his words and the utter beauty of his face, you whispered in awe, “How are you so perfect?” Seeing the cogs begin to turn in his brain, you quickly moved your index finger to press against his plush lips, “Shh, just let me say it. Baby steps, Dean.”

He took your finger and guided your arm to wrap around his wide shoulders, careful of his injury, then reached out to pull you snugly towards him until your bodies were completely flush, your chest heaving against his. “Well do we have to take baby steps with everything? Cause now that I’ve finally got you in my bed, I was kinda hoping you’d let me take you for a spin in it. Maybe find out if it’s really – how did you put it again? – ‘mind blowing as fuck’ I believe were your words?” That signature smirk of his that always brought you to your knees came out to play.

Your laughter fanned across his face, and the smile on your face was effervescent, “You really are one hell of a drug, Dean Winchester.”

thank you for reading! as always, feedback is marvelously appreciated!

TEAM IDJITS: @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @carryonmywaywardbucky​ @swiftlymoniquesblog​ @moosewinchester​ @sams-sass​ @thinkinghardhardlythinking​ @jotink78​ @winifrede​ @writingforthelonelysoul​

TEAM SQUIRREL: @deanwinchesterswitch​ @deandaydreaming​

[kinglazrus]

Not Your Danny – Ch 4. Who Understands

Previous | First | Next | FFN | AO3

Word count: 3739

The memorial notebook sits open on Jazz's desk. For the twenty minutes, Jazz has sat here with her rule and pencil carefully tracing out a template for the event schedule. The hour of the event, pencilled in as one to two p.m., is broken into fifteen-minute increments which have three bullet points each. The bullet points, along with the fifteen-minute boxes, are colour coded and measured out to perfect, equal distance.

At the top of the page, the words "Memorial Schedule" are written in a loose, flowing script and dark ink. Eraser smudges behind the ink are the only indication of how much time and care Jazz put into making those letters.

Now, the blank schedule stares up at her, waiting only for Jazz to finalize the plans. The memorial itself is still three weeks out, but it is still too soon. Even though they buried Danny a fortnight ago, the memorial feels more final. Jazz doesn't want to say it, but she already knows why she feels this way.

Danny was a halfa. He was her sweet, human brother, but he was the town hero, too. There's a chance, no matter how slim, that he might still be out there as a full ghost. There has to be a chance. It doesn't matter that he died as Phantom. It doesn't matter that Sam and Tucker themselves were there to see his ghost half fizzle out, see the human body it left behind. There has to be a chance.

The funeral was for Danny Fenton, but the memorial is for Danny Phantom, for the whole city to mourn the loss of their hero. For Jazz to acknowledge that her brother, in his entirety, is gone forever.

Suddenly, looking at the notebook makes her feel nauseous. She closes it and shoves it aside. It's late enough now that she could go to bed, but she doesn't feel tired, not physically. After the fiasco at dinner, Jazz wants to shut everything out for a little bit. Pretend she lives in her own bubble where everything is fine.

How could she have forgotten? Seeing Dani's human face certainly took her by surprise, but she was not unprepared for it. Unlike their parents, Jazz didn't have trouble separating Fenton from Phantom. They were the same to her and looking at Dani's ghostly face was already close enough to seeing her little brother. Instead of the face itself, Jazz was stunned to see Dani in human form at all. At the same time, it brought her comfort. Dani and Danny, no matter how similar, are not the same. But having her here, seeing her do the things Danny used to do...

It's so easy. Having Dani fill her little brother's place on the couch when the watch TV. Having her by Jazz's side when they cook. She can't help it. It's almost like having Danny back, so soon after they lost him. And every time Dani doesn't fill that hole, it hurts in a way Jazz never expected.

She rubs her eyes and leans back in her chair. Maybe she should go to sleep after all.

—

"You want us to host... a memorial?" her mother asked. It was obvious Maddie had been crying that day, her eyes red and puffy. Perhaps not too long before Jazz came to talk to her parents.

Jazz herself had been in tears not too long ago when Sam phoned her with the idea. She nodded. "Yes. I know it's only been a few days, but this is Sam's idea and I think it's a good one. Mom, Dad..." she took a deep breath, bracing herself. "I knew. All along, I knew about Danny being Phantom. And it was so important to him. A memorial to Phantom could help you come to terms with not knowing about this side of Danny."

Maddie's hand, flat on the table, curled into a fist. "Jazz, we haven't even... the funeral is tomorrow. I've been on the phone with Alicia all day because she can't make it down in time. Chartering a plane costs too much and there isn't a flight out for weeks. I know this is important, but—"

"I think it's a good idea," Jack said. Stretching forward, he reached across the table and patted Jazz's shoulder. "But I think what you mother means is that we need time to consider it. It's hard adjusting to all this."

"I know. But promise me you really will think about it? It would mean a lot to him." Jazz waited until her father nodded. "Okay. I'll just... yeah. Think about it."

She left the kitchen in silence. That went okay. A shorter conversation than Jazz would have liked, but small steps are still steps. She needed to text Sam later and let her know the verdict, as tentative as it was. For now, she will leave her parents to think, hoping they eventually agree.

Halfway to her bedroom, a noise from Danny's room made her pause. She couldn't be certain, but it sounded like the squeak of his bed springs. Tip-toeing closer, Jazz stared at the crack under his door. A faint white light shone through.

"Danny?" Jazz whispered.

There came another creak.

Jazz's breath stopped, caught in her throat. She crept closer, pressing her hand against the door, and eased it open. In the dark of Danny's room, the figured outline in glowing light leapt from the shadows, impossible to miss. The aura, far brighter than the dim light of hall, nearly blinded Jazz, but its colour was unmistakable.

She pushed the door open. "Danny!"

The figure flinched and threw themselves into the air, twisting around to face Jazz. She slapped her hand against the switch on the wall, flooding the room with orange light. No longer blinded, she found herself now face-to-face with a Phantom. Not Danny, though, but Dani-with-an-I.

She looked horrible, her white hair caked with mud, dirt smeared along half her face. Suit wrinkled and damp.

"Oh, my God, Danielle." Jazz gasped.

"It's true?" Tears welled in Dani's eyes. "It's true? He's gone?"

"I'm so sorry, I didn't even think..."

That was all Dani needed to hear. She spun away and bolted, flying through the wall.

"Dani, wait!" Jazz called after her, but the young halfa was already gone. Jazz threw the window open, leaning out over the alley to a dangerous degree. Searching the sky, she tried to find and trace of Danny's clone, but everything around her was dark. Not a single glimpse of silver light to be seen.

Jazz pulled herself back inside and dropped to the floor, hands pressed over her mouth. She had forgotten, completely, that there was another person out there important to Danny, someone who wouldn't know about his death right away. In the days since Danny's death, Danielle's existence hadn't crossed Jazz's mind. It made her feel rotten. Dani had been important to Danny, but she slipped so easily from Jazz's memory.

However, through the wave of guilt, Jazz could not forget that single moment before she turned on the light. No more than a second, but still the happiest she felt in days, when she saw the aura of a Phantom and believed that her brother had not died after all.

—

The star shirt fits well, better than Dani expected it to. She drapes her hoodie across the back of Danny's desk chair before sliding in front of the mirror. It fits and it looks good. Looking herself up and down, Dani blushes. She has never thought of herself as a self-conscious person but seeing herself in something other than her regular hoodie fills her with warmth. She likes wearing something that doesn't look two times too big for her, showing off more of her form.

Although she has never said it out loud, that is part of the reason why she likes being in her ghost form so much more. The pants, the crop top, she likes them so much better than her human clothes. Until now, they were her only option, since she didn't want to cart around a backpack full of clothes, but now she has a room. She has a place to keep things, her things.

She could actually have things. The temptation to own stuff has always eluded her, but the longer she stays at Fenton Works surrounded by things that are not hers, the more she understands.

Dani rarely stays in one place for so long. Only a week and one day, but it feels so much longer. Looking at herself in the mirror, she's struck by the realization that this is home now. She has a home. Her mind still struggles to wrap around the idea, but the word does not feel so foreign anymore. After Vlad, all she wanted was freedom, and she got it. But while roaming the world was fun and exciting, it was also incredibly lonely.

She had always had Danny, though. Their relationship wasn't perfect, and they never acknowledged how they were related beyond the loose label of cousins, but she had him. And then he was gone without her even realizing.

Dani didn't know what to expect when Jazz extended her the offer of moving into Fenton Works. And, to be honest, she still doesn't know. Things are strange, and still lonely sometimes, but not bad. That has to count for something, right?

She toys with the buttons of the shirt, wondering if she could somehow tie the bottom, wear it shorter than it is. As she considers the style, her hands drop to the waist of her shorts, bright red and loose. They don't go with the shirt very well. Unfortunately for Dani, she has already been through all of Danny's clothes, and she does not like any of his pants, even if there were some smaller, older pairs that might have fit her.

There is a hint of promise, though. Dani has seen how much junk fills the Fenton garage. They are the kind of people who hold on to things until they absolutely do not need it anymore. Judging by Danny's drawers and closet, clothes get the same treatment as any other junk.

Jazz must have a few old pants lying about. A skirt sounds nice. Dani has never worn one of those, but girls always look so pretty in them.

Her door is open when Dani makes the trek down the hall. Jazz herself is slumped over at her desk, arms folded under her head.

Dani walks into the room and pokes Jazz's shoulder. "Did you sleep at your desk last night?"

Jazz wakes with a start, flinching at Dani's touch. She rubs her eyes, then the side of her face. A thick red mark overtakes her cheek where it had been laying on her arm.

"Dani?" Jazz's voice is thick with sleep. She sits up, stretching her arms and arching her back until it pops. Her neck cracks a few times as she roles her head. "What are you doing?"

"Do you have any old clothes?"

Jazz blinks. "It's rude to walk into someone's room without warning them."

"You were asleep, though. Clothes?"

Blinking a few more times, Jazz clears her eyes and looks Dani up and down. Her gaze lingers on the shirt. "That’s..."

"Found it in Danny's closet. I can't believe he actually wore something like this."

Jazz shook her head. "No, he didn't like it. Sam got it for him as a joke, because of the stars. I don't think he ever wore it."

"Really?" A smile breaks out across Dani's face. If Danny didn't wear this shirt, then technically that makes it hers. She owns something now.

"Yeah. Did nothing else of his fit? It's okay if you want to wear it. I think that would feel better than packing it all up," Jazz says. "You don't have any clothes besides the pyjamas Mom bought, right?"

Dani actually forgot that she has those. "I went through his clothes already. Didn't really like them much. Do you have a skirt?"

Jazz's eyes go wide. "A skirt?" For reasons' Dani can't fathom, Jazz says it like it is the strangest thing in a world. Dani wanting a skirt? Preposterous. "Danny never liked skirts."

There it is. "Duh, Danny was a dude."

"I know, but I mean. He wasn't comfortable in that kind of clothing before he transitioned. Your hoodie and cargo shorts aren't so different from what he used to wear, so I thought..." Jazz trails off, but her point is already made.

"Jazz, I'm comfortable being a girl. I like being a girl. Being made from his DNA doesn't make me his clone."

Jazz opens her mouth to correct Dani.

"You know what I meant." Dani wraps her arms around herself, feeling small like she did her first day here. "I don't know why I need to keep saying this, but I'm not Danny, okay?"

Jazz grimaces. "I know, Dani. I'm sorry if I made you feel like you were."

That isn't what Dani meant, but she doesn't press further. "So, about that skirt?"

—

Later that day, when Jazz asks Dani if she wants to watch a show, Dani says no.

—

"What did you do when you weren't in Amity Park?" Jack asks. The question comes out of nowhere, as they always do. In the few days since he took Dani's samples, she has seen him outside the lab far more often. Joining them at mealtimes, coming upstairs in the evening. Sometimes she hears the heavy beats of his approach moments before he pops into the room with a question on his tongue, like now.

Dani holds a moment, her gaze lingering on the models surrounding Danny's desk, before spinning in the chair to face Jack. "I travelled."

Jack, rightfully so, takes her answer as an invitation and comes further into the room. "Oh, yeah?" He sits down on the bed facing her. "Where did you go?"

"All over. I mostly stayed in the United States, at first, but there's so much stuff to see out there. The pyramids were awesome."

Just as Dani found her rhythm with Maddie and Jazz in her first days at Fenton Works, she and Jack seem to be finding what works for them. She likes the time they spend together. His questions feel genuine. Sometimes, he asks her about what being a ghost is like, what abilities she has. His eyes glow with fascination every time she answers. Dani has never seen anyone so engrossed by a single topic before.

But her favourite times are when he asks about her. What does she like? Does she have any hobbies? She gets the feeling that this is how Jack shows interest in people, by asking about themselves, and she returns the favour whenever she can.

"Have you ever been to Egypt?" Nudging the desk, Dani pushes herself back and forth on the chair, turning slowly in place. Her eyes keep catching on the models she had been examining when Jack entered.

Danny had a lot of models, all of them related to space, apparently. Planets, spaceships, little astronaut figures. Much like the posters on his wall, Dani sees no use for them, but Danny obviously liked them. He has two spaceships that look identical. One sits on his desk, safely kept behind a glass box. The other stands tall on the shelf above the desk.

"No." Jack's voice pulls Dani back to the conversation. "Mads wants to go, though. What was your favourite place that you saw?"

Dani has to pause and think about this. The pyramids are high contenders. She went to Japan for a few weeks last year and explored the natural landscape. There was so much beauty there. She has been to a lot of beautiful places, but none of them are her favourite.

"I don't know where it was. It was back when I could barely hold myself together, when I was destabilizing, remember?"

Jack nods. Dani told him that story only yesterday.

"Flying was really hard then, and it made me tired. I got lost a lot between cities if I wasn't following a highway. When I was heading back to Amity Park, I passed out once when flying." Dani hugs her knees. That was one of the scariest moments of her life, second only to melting in Vlad's lab. Before passing out, she could barely see, the sky and the ground blurring together. Her very core ached and, when the darkness started creeping in, she thought she was done fore.

"I woke up in this woman's home. She found me out in the forest and took me in. Didn't care that I was a ghost. I stayed with her for a few days. She actually... she offered to let me stay forever." Dani said no, of course. She had to get to Amity Park, to Danny, to get fixed. "She didn't even know me, but when I told her I didn't have any family beyond a cousin, she just... said I could stay. I left as soon as I could fly again. Haven't been able to find my way back."

Jack's heavy hand settles on her head. He ruffles her hair, the small act of comfort filling her with warmth. "Sorry you didn't get to take that chance, kiddo."

Dani ducks her head and rubs her eyes. There are no tears, but she needs the excuse to look away. There is a weight behind Jack's words, one Dani can feel, but not decipher. She thinks, perhaps, that Jack's words aren't entirely for her.

"So, what were you doing just now?"

Grateful for the distraction, Dani slides the chair over so Jack can see the desk. "Looking at stuff."

Her endeavour of going through of Danny's things has proved harder than she originally thought. It's so easy to get distracted by some small trinket, and she often finds herself wondering what Danny did with it, why he kept it all. Cheap toys from fast food restaurants. Paper airplanes stuck between book pages. A ball of rubber bands bigger than Dani's fist.

At first, she only wanted to look, commit these items to memory. Jazz said it took time before people put away a lost loved one's things, and even though Dani didn't understand, she would respect it. But Jazz's comment about the clothes has been lingering in her mind all day.

Despite Dani's own assurance of her personhood, was there anything she could like only because Danny did? She thought she might find the answer if she pondered long enough, but so far all its done is made her question why people collect things.

She touches the box encasing spaceship.

"That was his favourite."

Dani starts, jerking her hand away from the glass. For a moment, she forgot he was there. His face is turned toward her, but his eyes fixate on a point to her left. Dani doesn't need to turn back around to know what he's looking at.

"What is it?" she asks.

"Space Shuttle Columbia, the first of the Space Shuttle program. At least that's what Danny said it was. I can never tell the difference."

Dani looks from the Columbia to the second model on the shelf, this one smaller and lacking a protective case.

"Are you sure they aren't the same shuttle?" she asks.

Jack chuckles. "Absolutely. Danny never let it go if anyone mixed the two up."

"What's so special about this one?" Dani taps the Columbia's box.

"It was maybe the third model that he got? The first two were pretty cheap. He saved up for them himself. Took a while. I didn't even realize he had them until he mentioned wanting a third. Didn't even realize he liked space so much... I bought this for him a week later and gave it to him after school."

Dani nods along as Jack speaks, although she doesn't see the point yet. Lots of people have expensive things; that doesn't automatically make them special.

"We built it together. I wasn't interested in stars and astronomy, but Danny asked me to help him with it, so I did. I never got why it was his favourite, though. He had better ones, models he saved up for penny by penny. He made that one"—Jack nods to the model on the shelf—"with Sam and Tucker. But sometimes, I think..."

Jack falls silent.

Dani catches his reflection in the glass display case. He has one hand pressed over his eyes, the other fisted at his side. Dani has yet to see either Maddie or Jack cry since coming to Fenton Works, and she thinks that streak is about to end.

"I know we weren't the best parents. There've been times when we've... neglected our duties to focus on ghosts instead. I never thought about it before, but it couldn't have been easy on a couple of young kids. All I ever wanted was for Danny to follow the Fenton family footsteps. But space was his. And sometimes I think he liked this model the best because it was the first time I showed any interest in something he liked."

Jack shudders as he exhales.

Dani resists the urge to go invisible. This heart-to-heart stuff really isn't her thing. Their little question and answer sessions have been fun, but talking about the woman in the forest was already deep enough for Dani. Now things are getting a little too intense.

If Jack does start to cry, she might flee out of sheer awkwardness. He doesn't—thank God—but when he pulls his hand away from his face, he looks old and tired.

Dani racks her brain for something to say. "I think... maybe... he liked it the most because it showed that you loved him, not just because it was about space. Or something."

Jack meets Dani's eye through his reflection and cracks a smile. "I guess if anyone could say what Danny might think, it would be you."

The words cut through her.

"Right," Dani says, her voice empty. "Sure."

Jack nods, as if Dani has revealed some great truth to him, and turns away. His footsteps are louder as he heads for the door, more like his regular self. Dani has no doubt that Jack is leaving this room feeling brighter than before.

All Dani feels is an uncomfortable twist in her gut.

Previous | Next

[secretaryunpaid]

Drifting on a Memory …

____________HIGH EMOTIONAL TRIGGERS_____________

Word Count : 1475

Rating: Explicit storyline (no sex involved in this chapter, labeled explicit for other triggers)

Triggers: Depression, suicidal ideation/attempt, alcoholism, confusion, trauma, life

Pixelberry characters: Samuel Dalton (TNA), Daniel (TRR), OC: Dahlia Schuyler (TNA)

Sam had started the awful habit of combining prescription drugs with excessive amounts of bourbon. He had fallen into a downward spiral beyond anyone’s control.

Reaching a point of desiring death for himself, he would lie in a wooden box literally attempting to drown his sorrows away... never succeeding ... his mother’s face would always come before him just as he’d finally convinced himself that he could actually go through with it. Angry at himself for wanting death... angry at himself for cowardly choosing life... he couldn’t find his way back to peace...

He couldn't stop thinking that if he’d just come home directly, and not been selfishly indulging in bourbon that had led him into spending the night with Dahlia, Alina would still be alive. He would not see the disappointment and fear in her eyes… he would not constantly hear his cries as she turned to look at her death face on … he would not see the subway train dragging her along, brakes screeching that awful pitch that ushered her away forever…

He could not stop seeing her lifeless form crushed under folded metal, blood spatters giving what remained a new shiny coat of thick crimson color, its life depleting as it dried …

He could not stop feeling someone pull him back, not allowing him to run to her… to be at her side… to… to…

He had no reasoning, no understanding, no comfort… no … no Alina …

His mother’s warm and crushing embrace being the only feeling, he had become just an empty shell … hating himself for living as she died … hating himself for having felt moments of blissful release with another other than her … having not held her once more … not hearing her voice coo, “Sam … I love you…”

On this particular night, Sam had lost all care of anything ...He was out wandering aimlessly … Blindly walking, vision transitioning in and out of focus … dragging his feet as if magnetized to a metal floor…

He makes his way over to a corner booth, falling clumsily against the table as he fumbles into the soft leather … Daniel makes his way over, asking, “Ah… blues getting overwhelming? What poison does the night call for?”

His head hung, almost too heavy to lift, wobbly leans toward the voice barely heard … “Buhbon … mos sspensive ya got …,” is the slurred reply. “Ba-llul…pls!...,” he sings out, slamming a lazy hand against the table.

Danny nods in empathy, seeing the brokenness of tonight’s patron … business slow at this hour, he moves swiftly to help with this request for liquid healing.

The antique jukebox clicks a few times, sullying the painful silence with the tunes of “Tennessee Whiskey” by Chris Stapleton.

The dagger-like pain comes in rapid succession as the vision of Sam kissing Alina by the lazy bonfire the couple had made on a cabin vacation that Alina had begged Sam to take her on plays before his eyes. She had visited her friends for an impromptu reunion since all of them happened to be in the same city in what seemed like forever. And, although Sam was a more isolated personality type, he couldn’t refuse any request that Alina made.

As Daniel placed the bottle of bourbon in front of Sam with a bucket of ice cubes, he placed the glass down, pouring Sam’s first few ounces of liquid therapy, “First pour of your troubles are on me, man… Hope it does the trick for you.”

Sam’s pocket buzzes to his surprise, almost startling him back to life… He barely makes out the name before tossing his phone carelessly onto the tabletop, causing it to slide completely to the opposite edge. He has no desire for conversation … unless the grim reaper himself comes calling …

With Alina gone from his life, and the twins visiting extendedly with his parents, he didn’t have to report in, and was damned grateful of it…

He winds his head along to the tune of misery currently squeezing life from his heart and bleeding memories from his mind … the dizziness providing a peace somehow as he snakes his head from shoulder to shoulder.

He can even feel her body against his as they grind into each other, enjoying the smell of one another, the taste of their kisses, the tendrils of her hair racing down his neck and shoulders as she lays her head gently into his neck, turning to plant a teasing kiss just before lowering again, this time in search of his steady heartbeat… it was the calm that always relaxed her beyond all explanation… the strength of its pulsing beats masked with extreme vulnerability to her touch .. He could feel her grasp of his hand, her tiny fingers interlacing with his own oversized but tender fingers.

Hearing her soft laughter, as he teases her waistline, her hand in his, gliding along with his, feeling the doubled sensitivity, as her side twitches in excitement. “Sam…” The seductive call of his name … just before he bends, nudging against her forehead, gently lifting her head, capturing her plump lips in the most sensual acknowledgment of their happiness…

“Clink … Clink … Clink …” More cubes added to the empty glass, but as he pours, only the bottom of the glass is covered … he bangs the empty bottle down on the table, signifying the need for another …

As he brings the second bottle, Daniel becomes overly concerned … “Well, you’re really going heavy on the poison … I don’t think you need … “ “Gib !!!,” Sam growls … Without further argument, he slides the new opened bottle in front of Sam, removing the empty one … “Look man, you won’t be dying in here tonight… Who can I notify to come get you?...”

“SHE’S GONE !!!,” the only clear words he’s said tonight, “Zairs nowon !!!,” Sam rages out inconsiderately.

“You need to settle up now man… I’m calling a car, or an ambulance … depending…”

Sam tosses his wallet on the table…

“Uh, no … You’re gonna have to pull your payment out for me sir…,” Daniel begins, but Sam drinks straight from the bottle, sensing his time to leave has come… He can barely hold the wallet steady, but pulls out all of the cash in his wallet, shoving it drunkenly into Daniel’s hand… “Kee tp!”

Sam takes the bottle, fights to stand a second time after falling back onto the bench, spilling the bottle's contents over himself as it slips from his grasp, tumbling to the floor. Mumbling angrily what must be a frustrated curse, he forces himself up finally, ambling towards the exit… staggering into what he thinks is composure… his phone and wallet left behind, he exits into the rain …

The cold drops beating against his unprotected frame provide a numbing cold, but do nothing to assist his withdrawn demeanor. He takes a few steps before the cars passing along the flooding street blind him, causing him to fall against the building … pressing his hand to the glass for support, only for it to slip away… his weight shifting him into a brief clumsy dance until he regains his footing… Using the touch of the building against his fingertips, he makes his way along …

**** Daniel ****

As he makes his way over to sanitize the booth and clear away any trash or spills, he takes notice of the cellular vibrating its way off of the table, but catches it just in time, also seeing the wallet on the table as well… He grabs it and rushes out the door, but there is no sign of the patron in sight …

The cell rings again, this time Daniel answers and explains how he came to be in possession of the phone… The female says that she is close by and will come retrieve the items for her ‘boss’... He explains the direction he’d seen him turn upon exit, but couldn’t say for sure if he’d gone that way…

Moments later, she has collected Sam’s belongings… taking a hurried pace in the direction Sam was last seen… She breaks into a frantic run, now yelling out for Sam, blinking away the raindrops hindering her view… “SAM !!!!”

As she reaches the building’s edge, she stumbles over something… She turns her phone’s flashlight on… finding a bruised and bleeding Sam…

She turns him over, his eyes roll open and upward, and then close …

“Hello, I need an ambulance! You’ve got to hurry, PLEASE !!!! I’ve found Sam Dalton unconscious…”

[phantomphangphucker]

Ectober Day 26: Aim - Would You Like Some Bullets With That, Sir?

Vlad would absolutely have a few people who want him extra dead and maybe one or two actually willing to try. Too bad that doesn’t really work when the guy’s already half-dead. In fact, it does pretty well nothing other than provide mild amusement. Danny gets more of a kick out of it than the billionaire does though.

Danny and Vlad were having a decent walk and talk, a decent bonding experience. Surprising, he knows. But one of the key words there was ‘were’, because of course him and Vlad can’t be getting along without pissing off the universe.

Danny had been pointing the straw of his green tea matcha Frappuccino, with more than a couple espresso shots mixed in, at Vlad; trying to explain the nuances of food-related puns, because if he’s going to influence one thing it’s going to be Vlad’s tendency to use foods as swears. Vlad wasn’t exactly being receptive but hey, neither was Danny on the whole ‘etiquette’ lessons the man was trying to give him. But all that got interrupted when a big ass stereotypical white van pulled up with a screech and the doors slide open to a dude with a fucking machine gun. Well fine, handheld Gatling gun is more accurate but sounds a little less cool; besides it’s still technically a machine gun. Which is, in Danny’s opinion, massive fucking overkill. Vlad would be inclined to agree.

Needless to say, they get shot. A lot. Repeatedly. It’s very loud.

All the bystanders around physically pause, stunned a bit stupid that this was happening in Amity of all places not to mention rather desensitised to violence; regardless everyone starts booking it because, y’ know, big ass gun. Vlad actually crouches and moves to cover his head while flashing angry red eyes, he’s dealt with a fair few assassination attempts but in broad daylight? Really? He’ll give them a few points for having the guts. Danny meanwhile, is way too used to getting shot at to even react beyond just standing there at first, before glancing at his cup -which is draining all its contents through the holes onto the road- and grumbling a bit. The gun man stops when Danny bends over and starts laughing though. Even Vlad gives Danny some concerned looks as Danny waves the gun guy off with one hand on his knees, “sorry! It’s- it’s just! Just that! No ones ever-ever shot me! Shot me with a real- real gun!”. Danny sits on the ground and continues laughing while effectively bleeding out of multiple holes as flesh starts moving to slowly repair itself; which clearly the men have noticed and are scared shitless by, as both he and Vlad can feel, see, and smell the fear coming off the truck.

Vlad huffs, stands himself upright and goes about brushing off and inspecting his suit. Huffing again and turning to the van, crossing his arms, “I do believe you owe me a new suit, young man”. Someone inside the vehicle chokes. Danny thinks that’s a pretty reasonable reaction here. But there’s literally zero fucking point of them acting human here, because fuck they were both riddled with bullet holes and their blood was very literally splattered around the ground. Might as well scare these assholes a little.

Hence why Danny sticks a finger in one of the larger holes due to multiple bullets going through the same general area and giggles, “huh, that tickles”, and grins meanly at the driver who looks absolutely disturbed and too far into shock to try driving away yet. Though thinking of it, Vlad might actually try to kill them; tit for tat was absolutely Vlad’s primary go-to in any situation. Hence their arguably insanely prank wars. So Danny stands up and promptly launches himself inside the vehicle, knocking over the man with the bloody machine gun -seriously, how is that not overkill- and landing with his feet on the guys chest. Danny’s pretty sure the guy wet himself. Which, ew, but understandable.

“Okay I’m feeling nice because this is absurdly hilarious and would qualify as some ridiculous ass overkill for normal folks. Kinda pointless against immortals though, dontcha think?”, turning his head to look at Vlad -who’s quirking a single well-groomed eyebrow while his eye goes about repairing itself- through the door, “what do ya think?”.

Vlad walks over calmly and humming, “well I’ll give them points for accuracy, they hardly damaged the surroundings at all. Which I find I can appreciated since that avoids me having to make yet another dip into the damages funds. And I’ll be generous and give another point for dramatics; board daylight, middle of the city, biggest high-powered rapid-fire weapon anyone’s ever aimed at me, the sudden loud noise. Why I’m almost impressed. But I do find the overall end result to be rather lacking”. Vlad kicks one of the front tires hard enough to puncture it while the driver starts scrambling and fumbling to attempt at driving off. The psssssh sound the tire makes actively increases the smell of fear filling the van. Understandable, these guys had effectively just lost their getaway vehicle.

Danny chuckles, “aww, looks like someone’s not going anywhere anytime fast”, Danny grins meanly and flashes his green eyes. The guy passes out. “Ah damn, he passed out”, shrugging, “eh, hopefully he’ll think this was just some bad dream”.

Vlad hums as he climbs in, ecto-beaming another guy in the head to knock him out. Huh, guess Vlad’s really truly genuinely chilled out some in the evil villain department. “Yes that would be preferred, Daniel. I take it Phantom will be delivering these men to the jailhouse after having shielded the mayor and a young boy at the last second”.

Danny snorts as he gets off the gunman and kicks the driver in the head; the guys head bouncing off the steering wheel and obviously knocking him the Hell out. “Obviously. And hey, why not say Phantom healed any injuries to boot. Not like anyone’s sure about the power set of that spooky bastard”, and smirks. Talking about himself like a different person was arguably not necessary right now, no one was around after all, but hey it was kinda funny.

Vlad nods, riffles through the mens’ pockets and pockets all their cash. Which Danny rolls his eyes at, “old bank robber habits die hard?”. Vlad rolls his eyes, “hardly. This is simply to repay me for the damages. This was a nice suit I’ll have you know”. Which Danny rolls his eyes right back at him over while Vlad hops out of the vehicle, looks around, readjusts the remaining scraps of his suit, and saunters off; grabbing a surprisingly intact handkerchief from a definitely not intact pocket and starts dabbing blood off his face, hair, and hands. Danny’s not going to question why the man doesn’t just phase it off or reabsorb it into his body again.

Danny closes the vehicle doors purely to attempt at not transforming directly in open view in the middle of the street. Grabbing up the three guys before pausing and deciding eh why not and telekinetically floating the freaking machine gun onto his back and making that invisible. Flying off through the vehicle's roof.

-

Danny unceremoniously drops the men on the jailhouse floor, “gotcha a present. They tried to unload, like, a bazillion bullets into the dear ol’ mayor”.

Officer Jay sighs, “we were getting some calls about a shooting? But with regular guns”, motioning a few other cops to drag the guys away.

Danny chuckles and nods, “try machine gun”, the cop almost chokes while Danny continues, “not that that is particularly effective on intangibility”.

The cop looks him over, obviously noticing the healing bullet wounds here and there. Healing however many bullet holes takes time you know! “Obviously you weren’t quite fast enough”.

Danny shrugs, “eh, blowing a bunch of holes in a ghost doesn’t really do much other than make a mess. Mayors cool though”.

“That’s... good”, Jay shakes his head, “well, we’ll take care of these guys and I doubt they legally had a machine gun. You didn’t just leave that out in the street did you?”. Danny waves the guy off nonchalantly, “Fenton was there too, took it as his plundered booty”, he makes a point to make that last bit sound pirate-like. The cop sighs and rubs his temples, “so there’s a seventeen-year-old running around with a machine gun”.

“Yup”, absolutely popping the ‘p’.

Danny easily hears the guy mutter, “somedays I would really like to quit”, before looking back to him, “well that family has every weapon license known to man, so I’m not even going to bother. Have a good day and a fulfilling afterlife”. Danny salutes with a cheeky grin before phasing up through the roof.

-

Sam and Tucker don’t so much as blink from Danny suddenly appearing from around a corner and barging in-between the two of them, “hey guys, some guys left me a little present”

Both give a mildly interested and slightly worried, “oh?”. Which is fair, Danny has described getting a taser stuck in his leg as ‘a present’ before.

He grins a bit psychotically, makes the gun visible, and whips it around to be holding it in his hands, “a machine gun!”.

Sam slows her pace slightly, just enough to no longer have a freaking mini-gun pointed at her stomach, “that’s nice Danny”. While Tucker looks much more excited, “Holy frick that’s awesome. Where’d that come from though?”.

Sam sighs, “or more specifically how and why. Ghosts don’t exactly use human weapons and ‘some guys’ is vague as shit”.

Danny chuckles, because that who ordeal was still stupid funny. “Curtsy of one poorly informed assignation attempt in dear ol’ uncie Vlad”.

Tucker blinks, “wait, someone actually tried to assassinate him”, then pauses, “wait no, of course someone tried to assassinate Vlad. He’s Vlad”. Making all three chuckle while Danny fiddles with the massive ass barrel.

All three grin viciously when they spot Dash and co. across the street. Danny deciding to yell, “hey Dash!”, and easily tilting the machine gun up due to, y’ know, super strength, and fires off a bunch of bullets into the air; extending his intangibility to the bullets of course so that they don’t actually hit anything and forming some ectoplasm ‘round his friends' ears so he doesn’t, like, blow out their eardrums or some shit.

Dash stares at him a little bug-eyed before scowling, sticking his arms out to the side, and shouting back, “I haven’t bullied you in a year! Why you still giving me vague ass death threats!”.

Danny cackles, aims the gun to shoot the sign over the assholes head, and riddles it with bullets, “it’s payback bitch!”. Sure Danny would never have done that if he wasn’t absolutely certain his aim was so fucking flawless that there was zero chance of him hitting anything other than what exactly he wanted to. And sure, maybe he swirled some invisible ectoplasm around the bullet trajectory too but no one needs to know that. Dash predictably staggers back, flips him off, and books it down the road.

Danny lowers the gun with a chuckle, “that was fun. So worth getting shot a few times”. Sam blinks at him and looks more than a little not impressed, “you actually got shot, Danny”.

Danny rolls his eyes, “what, in any world, would make you think I didn’t get shot”. Sam just huffs, obviously having no argument for that. Because yeah, Danny always got shot or stabbed or electrocuted or set on fire or a lot of other things.

Tucker shakes his head, “and yet you look totally fine”.

Danny rolls his eyes, “Tuck, what can a regular ol’ bullet do to me”. That gets both his friends to blink and give him disbelieving, “wait, they weren’t even ecto-bullets”. Tucker shaking his head with a laugh at Danny’s nod, “wow, whoever really did, like, zero research”.

“I know right. We scared them real good though”.

Tucker laughs a bit more, “never before have I actually wished to be at a shooting”, shrugging, “first for everything”.

“Amen to that”, Danny emphasises that statement by smacking the gun.

End.

[youralternantpersonality]

The Note

Paul x Reader: The Note

Anon request: Hey! so I just wanted to do a request. [Paul: He finds reader lost and cold in the forest.] and (if you can) [Embry: Reader was part of Victoria’s army and he imprints with her while they're fighting.] Thanks! I just love your stories.

Warning/Authors Note: Just know, the reader has curly hair but your hair color. Mentions having anxiety and indirectly saying depression. Also, I feel like it is necessary that I post in hopes that it takes other's minds off of everything that is going on. I know it doesn't do too much, but I hope it helps and does enough. 

Embry’s request can be found here

***

Stupid Janie, stupid Daniel, they can go fuck themsel-

“Fuck!” I said, falling. I scratched the palm of my hands to catch myself. I look back, and I can hear those cheating bastards calling for me.

“Y/n! Come back!” Janie said.

“Babe! Come on! Where are you!?” Danie called. Ha, yeah, right, like I’m about to go anywhere near you guys. I hurry up and continue walking towards my house. I cannot believe what I just witnessed. My “best friend” and my now ex-boyfriend were fucking! Are you fucking kidding me!

“Y/n! We can explain! Please come on, girlie!” Janie said. Really bitch! Why should I? How could you? I knew I should’ve listened to that note in my locker. A few weeks ago, I received a mysterious message in my locker saying,

Don’t trust Janie and Daniel.

They used to date and still see each other now behind your back.

Please end it with them both! Save yourself.

Whoever wrote it had horrible penmanship, but I should’ve listened. I saw the signs, the way they glanced at each other not long after Daniel and I started dating. Daniel always tried to include himself when Janie and I wanted a girls day and how he “conveniently” shows up. Fuck! I’m an idiot. And not only was I an idiot for not listening to the note, but I was also stupid because I was so caught up in my thoughts that I am currently lost.

I can hear Janie and Daniel from a distance where I should’ve turned to and try to follow their voices. Not long afterward, I find myself lost again! I stopped hearing their screams about 10 minutes ago, and I’m scared. There’s supposed to be a storm, and it’s already getting dark.

I look around to see if I notice any sign of familiarity, but I find nothing. I stop and close my eyes as the adrenaline rush I had earlier declined, and I lost it. I slide down a tree to the left of me and cry. I can’t believe I thought they both cared about me. When I first moved here last year, Janie quickly searched me out and befriended me. At the time, she always talked about an ex that she loved, but it never worked out. Had I known that ex was Daniel, this whole mess would’ve never happened. I now wonder how long this fiasco has been going on. Right after we got together. Must’ve been at the point where Janie said she was over him. The hoe! Now, here I am, lost in the forest, in need of bandages for my hands and knees. Suddenly, a light drizzle comes down. Encouraging me to get up and run out of the forest. Or at least attempt to.

As I’m rushing, I feel someone or something following me. I look around and see nothing due to it getting darker and darker. I try to go faster without tripping, but my clothes start getting heavier and heavier as the rain gets harder and harder. I tripped again, and as I was trying to get up, I hear a branch break next to me. I freeze and take small shallow breaths as I slowly lay down on the floor to blend in as much as possible with the ground.

“Y/n?” I plop open to see Paul. He was a grade older than me, but we shared history and gym together. I usually see him around Jared and Embry at school. What the hell is he doing here?

“Paul?!” I say, trying to get up. Without asking, he lifts me up with ease and carries me out of the woods.

“What the hell are you doing all the way out here? You could’ve gotten yourself killed! Don’t you know how dangerous the woods are? There was a band from coming in here for a reason.” He says in a low, angry voice. I roll my eyes and grab onto him tighter when he jumps down from a small step.

“I didn’t intentionally get lost in here. I…saw something, and I was trying to get away from it. I got lost along the way on accident.” I said in a low, quiet voice. He stops to look at me and signs.

“Okay. I’m taking you to a friend of mine house where you can get cleaned up. Then, you’re calling your parents and telling me what happened.” I nodded my head and laid my head on his shoulder. I didn’t realize how scared and tired I was until Paul stopped again and held me closer to him.

“Hey, it's okay. There’s no need to cry, my love. You’re okay now, I promise. Nothing or no one is going to hurt you again. I promise.” Paul says calmly in my ear. I didn’t realize that I was crying. With it raining and his body warm enough to dry my clothes, I’m shocked I didn’t acknowledge it. I just nodded my head, and I couldn’t stop myself.

“I caught them,” I said quietly.

“I know I saw it.” I look up at him.

“What?”

“I saw. I saw you run out of that bastard's place crying, and I saw them run after you with barely anything on. it wasn’t hard to put two and two together.” I hid my face even more and cried. This is fucking embarrassing. To not only have someone witness this shit but to witness it and then tell you they did was worse.

“I should have listened to the note. Someone put a note in my locker, telling me to leave them alone. I should’ve listened! Had I listened, I wouldn’t be lost in the woods crying and wouldn’t need anyone to save me.” I look at him. “You know, whoever put that note in my locker, I should say I’m sorry for not listening, and thank you for warning me. Hell, I might even bake them something!” I leaned more against Paul’s shoulder. He shrugs and says,

“No need for apologies, beautiful. You’re very much welcome, and I like peanut butter chocolate chip cookies and banana nut muffins the most. Better yet, can I have both?” He asked, nonchalant. I turn to look at him.

“What did you just say?” Making sure I heard right.

“I said, you don’t need to apologize; I’m happy that I can help, and I like peanut butter chocolate chip cookies and banana nut muffins.” He says, looking at me. I snap out of it when I hear the loud thunder, and Paul gets back to moving.

“YOU sent me that note? Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Would you have listened?”

“Yes.” He gives me a look that said, ‘we both know you’re lying.’ “Okay, I see your point. But why? Why did you warn me?” he didn’t say anything. He looked ahead and ignored me.

“We’re here. Emily and Sam know you’re here. And by the way, don’t stare at Emily. Sam hates that.” he said in a monotone voice. I looked towards where he was staring and saw a small house with windchimes and plants. We step inside, and I am immediately consumed with warmth and the smell of banana nut muffins. A woman, who I assume is Emily, rushes over with towels to lay on the floor and wrap me up.

“Oh, thank god you found her. Come on, Y/n, let's get you cleaned up.” I take off my muddy shoes and follow Emily into the bathroom.

“Sorry for the weird introduction, but I’m Emily. Here are some clothes to change into. Just put your clothes in this bag and come on out.” I nod and smile, and she closes the door. I look at myself in the mirror and shake my head. My eyes are puffy, and my mascara is running. I grab the washcloth and wash my makeup off and try to get it off her towel. I strip my clothes and place them in the bag. I take down my hair and scrunch it up gently with the towel to get the excess water out of it, then proceed to dry my body off. I put on the oversized sweater and sweats, and some socks that I can tell were new. I place everything in the bag and double-check myself. I look decent enough, and I head outside.

When I step out into the main area, Emily, Paul, and I assume Sam, were waiting for me. Emily comes towards me, grabs my hand, and leads me to the kitchen where she laid vegetable soup and a roll for me.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to do this.” She looked at me and smile,

“It is no problem, Y/n. How are you feeling?” she asked; I smiled.

“I’m okay. Nothing I can get through.” She gives me a sad smile and nods her head. I feel a rush of heat next to me and look over to see Paul. He rests his arm around the back of my chair and plays with my hair.

“You have dirt in your hair.” Emily throws a bun at him.

“Really, Paul?” he shrugs his shoulders and smiles slightly, making Y/n smile back. Emily walks out of the room, shaking her head.

“Thank you for saving me out there. Probably would’ve still been stuck out there too.” I said, playing with my untouched soup. He shrugs again and continues playing with my hair.

“I’d do it every day if I have to. Just don’t make me, deal?” he says, looking at her with a grin. She nods her head and smiles. Then ask,

“You never answered my question.” He stops twirling my hair and looks at me, takes a deep breath, and shrugs his shoulders again,

“Eat.” I proceeded to do so, “I didn’t want to see someone as sweet as you get hurt by a bastard like Daniel. You don’t deserve to be with someone who would hurt you. You deserve a man who would take your feelings into consideration, love you unconditionally, and be by your side. Someone who will always look at you,  go to you, and never give anyone else the time of day. You deserve love and constant assurance that you guys are okay to lessen your anxiety. To brighten up your hard days. To make you happy, smile, and laugh all the time.” He hesitates and looks at me while I wait for him to finish. I give him a smile of encouragement, and he continues with less skepticism and more confidence. “I can promise that I would be there 99% of the time, but give 100% of me to you.”

“Really? Me?” I whisper with a smile. I think back on the first time I saw Paul. It was my first day last year, and I was lost. I looked for someone to help me find my way, and I tapped on the friendliest face I could see.

One year ago: The first day of Sophomore year

“Excuse me, do you know where room 1135 is at?” I say to one of the tall men of the group.

“Oh yeah! It's right around the corner on the left, three doors down, and it’s going to be on the left. You’re the new girl, right?” The guys say in which another responded.

“No shit Embry. Why else would she be asking for direction?”

“You never know. She could’ve been a regular student here and has amnesia.”

“I have to agree with Quil on that one,” Embry said.

“How are we related?”

“Ask Jacob, Jared. It was his great-great-whatever grandfather's seed.”

“And on that note, I’m going to leave. Thanks, Embry?” he nods, and as I turn to leave, I run into an even larger man.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” I say as he catches me. I look up, and I see who I now know is Paul. I look up at him, and he seems pissed, but before he could say anything, he looked at me and stopped before anything could come out of his mouth.

“Oh shit!” laughs, Jared.

“No fucking way.” –Quil

“You owe me $20.”—Embry.

“Fuck!” –Quil and Jared say together. I turn to look at them and step away from a shocked Paul.

“Um, thanks for the directions and catching me. Sorry for running into you. Bye, guys.” I said, walking around Paul to hurry and get to class.

Present-day: Emily’s house.

“Yes, you.” He smiles and continues, “how about this? I know it might feel too soon for you, but what if I take you out on a date. A real date. I know you just broke up with-”

“Yes,” I say without a problem. He looks at me, surprised.

“Yes?”

“Yes. Daniel and I were ending after that note. I started to put away the rose-colored glasses and see what was going on. I just needed proof of everything, and, well, I saw it.” I said. Thinking back on it but clearing it out my head to look at Paul. He had the cheekiest smile, his smile that shows his tiny dimples.

“Well, if that’s the case, I definitely deserve those treats.”

“Oh my god.” I laughed and tossed a piece of my bread at him, which he easily caught in his mouth. Now, this relationship is something I could count on being real and true

MasterList 

[klovenhooves]

Johnny Lawrence and the Five Love Languages, Chapter Three: Receiving Gifts

It took him two weeks to get back to Daniel. Those fourteen days were a blur of legal conversations, skimming stacks of papers, finding ways to make sure Kreese’s influence over his students hadn’t warped them beyond recognition. By the end of the first week, Kreese had been removed from Cobra Kai, Johnny had secured the ownership of his dojo, and Hawk had been identified as the ringleader of the vandalism excursion. Johnny sent him with Miguel to return Miyagi’s Medal of Honor to Daniel personally.

 And then Tommy died.

 The second week was like wading through water too deep. He, Bobby, and Jimmy pored over Tommy’s documents, his whole life spread over the small space of a desk. Johnny had no idea how to handle someone’s affairs after they died, and it didn’t seem like Bobby or Jimmy did either. So they spent a few days trying to pack up his stuff, realizing far too late that they had no one to give it to. Most of Tommy’s clothes ended up donated to a local charity, and Bobby took the rest of his stuff to put into storage until they could figure out what to do with it.

There was no family; no one but them.

The funeral had been a nightmare, the wake a nightmare with booze. He left Cobra Kai alone during that week, confident that Miguel was still making sure Kreese couldn’t sink his hooks into anyone.

 He came home at the end of the second week, bone tired and prepared to sleep for another two days, if given the opportunity, but instead of rest, he found Daniel LaRusso standing on his doorstep.

 “Didn’t you hear?” he called, startling Daniel out of whatever reverie he was in. “I’m not home.”

 Daniel gave him a bracing look that told Johnny someone had already informed him about Tommy’s death. “Miguel told Sam you were coming back today,” he explained. “I thought I’d bring you something.”

 He noticed the package in Daniel’s hand as the words left his mouth. “You don’t have to –”

 “It’s customary to send flowers,” Daniel interrupted as Johnny fumbled with his keys in the lock, “but I figured whiskey was more appropriate.”

 Johnny didn’t answer, but pushed his door open and stepped aside to let Daniel through first. The place seemed emptier now that it had been empty for a week, and Johnny wasted no time in grabbing two glasses from his cabinet and holding his hand out for the bottle.

 “Thank you,” Daniel said as Johnny twisted the bottle open, the label cracking in the silence. “For sending Hawk –”

 “It was the least he could do,” Johnny answered, pouring a generous amount in each glass.

 “Still,” Daniel took the offered glass and held it up. “To Tommy.”

 Johnny had to swallow past the lump in his throat. He took a sip of the whiskey, the smell alone reminding him of the wake, of acquaintances with casseroles and black suits on squeaky pews. He watched Daniel finish the whole drink in one swallow, his mind trying to find its way back out of the week’s memories.

 “What do you do?” Daniel asked when Johnny didn’t say anything.

 “What do you mean?”

 Daniel carefully put his glass in the sink behind Johnny, his arm just barely making contact with Johnny’s jacket. “I mean when something bad happens. What do you do?”

 Johnny held up his glass, whiskey still lingering at the bottom. “You’re looking at it, kid,” he said.

 Daniel rolled his eyes. “Anything else?”

 Johnny shrugged. Nothing seemed particularly appealing right now, other than standing in his half-dark kitchen, listening to Daniel talk. He took another sip of his whiskey. “Trying to cheer me up, LaRusso?” he asked.

 “Well, you’re certainly not making it easy,” Daniel groused, leaning against the counter. Johnny watched him lean, his worn Mets shirt riding up as he leaned back. How obvious would it be if he told Daniel that this was just fine?

 Or maybe it was that it didn’t really feel right to be having fun so soon after Tommy’s death. Just yesterday he had been hauling Tommy’s old dirt bike into storage, memories washing over him. Today he was considering putting all of that out of his mind for a chance at mild amusement for a few hours. Wasn’t that disrespectful?

 “Come on,” Daniel broke through his thoughts, gently extricating Johnny’s glass from his hand. “We’re going to the beach.”

 “We’re what?”

 “You said you were going to teach me how to surf,” Daniel pointed out, crossing his arms over his chest. “So, go get your stuff, we’re going to the beach.”

 Johnny huffed a laugh, eyes searching Daniel’s countenance for the punchline. “You’re serious,” he said when he found nothing but sincerity.

 “Absolutely serious,” Daniel said, crossing out of the kitchen and back into the living room. “Go get dressed. I mean it. Wetsuit and everything.”

 “I’m not putting on that wetsuit,” Johnny called back on his way to his bedroom. He felt exhaustion seeping into every movement, languid and delayed. He was too tired for this. Still, he grabbed some black trunks from a long-forgotten corner of his drawers and put them on.

 He met Daniel in the living room in a black muscle shirt and black trunks.

 “If I fall asleep in the ocean, you better become a lifeguard,” he warned.

 Daniel smiled, the quirk of his mouth looking more sad than happy. “Something tells me just sitting on your surfboard in the water is going to make you feel better.”

 Johnny shrugged, but unbidden, he remembered spending hours at a time just sitting in the water, his feet submerged, after Ali dumped him, and again after the All Valley in ’84, and then again when his mother died. There was no way LaRusso could know about that, was there?

 He turned away from him to get his surfboard out of the closet in the hallway, his eyes landing on the white bag on the floor as he did. He scooped it up. He had planned something different, but this was as good a time as any.

 “Here,” he said, passing the bag over to Daniel, who looked taken aback. “I noticed yours were looking a little run down,” he continued as Daniel peered inside the bag, his eyes meeting his before he pulled out the little clippers. “You use those on your bonsais, right?”

 “Yeah,” Daniel said softly, looking down at the shears like he didn’t know what to make of them. “I – you – you got these for me?”

 Johnny huffed a laugh. “No, LaRusso, I stole them.”

 “When did you have the time?” He let the stealing line slide by uncontested.

 “The day after I helped you clean up your dojo,” Johnny supplied, grabbing his keys from the counter, leaving Daniel behind, staring down at the gift.

 ***

 He still couldn’t decide what to make of it when they pulled up at the beach, Johnny dozing lightly in the passenger seat. It had been a battle to convince him not to drive, won only because Daniel threw bungee cords at him and told him to shut up and just strap the surfboard to the roof already.

 The silence of the drive did nothing but allow Daniel the space and quiet to obsess over the little clippers currently sitting in his cup holder. He found his eyes straying to them more often than he’d ever admit. He still couldn’t figure out what they meant.

 When had Johnny even seen his old pair of shears, admittedly rusted and creaky from old age? And why had he taken it upon himself to buy Daniel a new pair? It was a thoughtful gift, sure, but did Johnny do thoughtful gifts?

 He had more questions than answers.

 Along with those questions, he had questions for himself to mirror them. Why had he decided to go by Johnny’s place on the night he was coming home? His condolences could have waited a night. He hadn’t spared a whole lot of time for thinking – Sam had wandered by, thrown out as an afterthought that Miguel mentioned Sensei Lawrence was coming back into town tonight, and then Daniel was up and grabbing his keys before he could examine why.

 Perhaps it was simple curiosity. Johnny had been Kreese’s lackey, his surrogate son, for as long as Daniel had known him. And then, that day at his dojo, he climbed out of the balance pond and faced his mentor, all steely gaze and clenched fists, and told him he wanted nothing to do with him anymore.

 Daniel hadn’t even been given the opportunity to say anything. He just stood there, dripping, eyes wide and mouth half open, while Johnny enumerated all of the reasons he realized Kreese had been behind the vandalism of Miyagi-do. He thought about that afternoon every day while Johnny was gone, first to make sure Kreese couldn’t endanger his students, and then gone to see and bury Tommy.

 He had questions he wanted to ask, thoughts he wanted to say out loud, but now wasn’t the time. There were more important things than Johnny’s allegiance, especially tonight.

 Johnny jerked awake when he put the car in park, his eyes dark in the shadow. Daniel just gave him a momentary smile and pushed the door open, content to let him wake up while he unhooked the surfboard.

 “You aren’t wearing swim trunks,” Johnny pointed out when he finally wrestled the surfboard down.

 “All clothes can get wet,” Daniel shrugged, toeing off his shoes and leaving them behind on the floor of his car.

 Johnny didn’t answer, and Daniel wondered if he was also thinking of their time in the balance pond. How Johnny had definitely leaned in for a kiss before they were interrupted. How Daniel had definitely not stopped him.

 “Who told you about Tommy?” Johnny asked on their walk toward the water, the ocean a gentle giant ahead of them, sparkling in the moonlight.

 “Bobby,” Daniel said, pulling his shirt off and leaving it behind on the sand. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Johnny doing the same. “Apparently you talked about me to him.”

 Johnny almost stumbled, a momentary loss of balance that a normal observer wouldn’t have caught, but Daniel carefully noted it and continued.

 “He wanted to warn me that if you came back trying to pick a fight, there was a reason.”

 “Bobby fucking Brown,” Johnny muttered under his breath, the comment almost lost by the sound of the waves. And then he stopped walking. “How does Bobby have your number?”

 Daniel shrugged, trying to read the expression on Johnny’s face from the side. “Maybe you gave it to him.”

 “No, I didn’t,” he said, so sure of himself that Daniel wanted to ask how he knew, why he was so confident that he wasn’t just handing out Daniel’s phone number to other people.

 Bobby had always been the most reasonable of Johnny’s friends, in Daniel’s opinion. He had watched him, from the relative protection of Miyagi’s side, try to defend Johnny the night he lost the All Valley; he had seen him go pale when Kreese shoved him away and tightened his hold around Johnny’s neck.

 “Do you talk to them?” Daniel asked as the water slipped over their feet, a cold and sharp reminder of their reality. “The Cobras?”

 Johnny scoffed at the name, the sound lost by the waves. “I should, shouldn’t I?” he asked, looking over. His eyes were painfully sad.

 “Their numbers are in your phone,” Daniel pointed out, the water rising up to his knees.

 Johnny put the surfboard down in the water and held it in place with one hand. “It’s not that simple, LaRusso.”

 And oh, did Daniel understand him. How many friends did he have that he regularly talked to? None, if he excluded family and his own employees. He had plenty of phone numbers in his contacts, plenty of people who were quick to catch up with him at the club, but were they friends? Would they miss him if he died? He understood that terrible loneliness, and how hard it was to crawl out from under it.

 “I suppose not,” he said, and he could see Johnny looking at him from the corner of his eye, searching for an explanation, a story to go along with his offhand comment. Daniel didn’t give him one.

 “Come on, LaRusso,” he said finally, patting the surfboard. “Up you go.”

 The water was just above waist height, the tide strong enough that it was constantly tilting Daniel off-balance. He heaved himself onto the surfboard as gracefully as possible, feeling at least marginally satisfied with himself when he didn’t immediately fall off.

 “Up you go,” he said, patting the surfboard in front of him. Johnny furrowed his brows, mouth twisting into an amused grimace. “Come on, Johnny, get on the surfboard.”

 “I thought I was teaching you how to surf.”

 “I lied,” Daniel shrugged. “Besides, you’re way too tired for that. Get on the damn surfboard, don’t be a baby.”

 Johnny eyed him curiously, long enough that Daniel almost took back his suggestion, almost abandoned the enterprise altogether. Maybe he had miscalculated – perhaps he had misunderstood Johnny in the balance pond two weeks ago. And then Johnny bit his lip and pulled himself onto the surfboard, hardly jostling Daniel at all, settling on the surfboard with his back to Daniel.

 “You could call them,” Daniel said to Johnny’s back, the sentence flowing out of his mouth with ease now that Johnny wasn’t looking at him. “Your friends.”

 “They all have lives, LaRusso,” Johnny muttered, his feet barely kicking. “Careers, wives, children –”

 “You could be a part of it –”

 Johnny scoffed, the movement driving his back into Daniel’s chest. “I can barely handle my own career, my own kid.”

 “You don’t have to handle your friends, Johnny.”

 “They’d have to handle me.”

 A wave jostled them and Daniel instinctively wrapped his arms around Johnny’s middle, trying to keep himself on the board. Johnny went still – all the way down to his feet – until the wave passed and the board mellowed out. He took his arms back, making sure to gently remove them, and considered Johnny’s statement.

 He didn’t say anything – Johnny didn’t give him the time.

 “Sometimes it feels like friendship doesn’t exist,” he said into the darkness, his head tilted just barely upward to look at the moon. “We’re just near each other – if we weren’t, we wouldn’t be friends.”

 Daniel couldn’t tell if he was talking about the Cobras or about Daniel himself.

 “I know,” he said.

 “Tommy was sick,” Johnny said, leaning back until he was pressed completely to Daniel’s chest. “I didn’t even know.”

 Daniel let his hands settle around Johnny’s middle, fingers threaded together to keep them together. “Sickness happens.”

 He remembered his father, vivacious and friendly one day, withdrawn and weak the next. The smell of the hospital that seemed to permeate all of his clothes, even down to his skin. The sad way his eyes would look when he turned his wistful gaze to the window near the end. Like he was waiting for it.

 “I could have –”

 Daniel held him tighter. “You were there when it mattered.”

 Johnny kicked one foot in the water listlessly. “Every day mattered, LaRusso.”

 Daniel didn’t say anything. He could feel the familiar ache that came with nostalgia, bittersweet and tender. It, along with the warmth of Johnny’s body pressed to his chest, the lulling of the waves, made him feel peculiarly dreamy.

 “How did Bobby get your number?” Johnny asked after a long bout of silence.

 Daniel closed his eyes and rested his forehead on Johnny’s shoulder. “Jealous?” he asked.

 Johnny exhaled a laugh, lost to the sound of the waves. “All the time,” he said.

 “You gave him my number when you were drunk,” Daniel murmured, pulling his head off of Johnny’s shoulder and pulling him farther back, comfortably lounging. “He told me himself.”

 “Why did he really call you?”

 Daniel looked down at him, blond head resting over his heart. “So I could be here when you got back.”

 Johnny shifted, his eyes just barely managing to catch Daniel’s before he looked out over the water again. “Did he tell you about the ocean?”

 Daniel furrowed his brows. “I don’t think so.”

 “How did you know I like being out here when I’m sad?” Johnny asked, turning to see Daniel more completely, his head now on Daniel’s bicep, the surfboard tilting with their weight just enough to make Daniel uncomfortable.

 He sighed. “Because I’m paying attention.”

 They stayed that way for a long time, in comfortable silence, long enough that Daniel felt the moment Johnny drifted off to sleep, head resting on his chest, close to his neck. He let him sleep for an hour or so, holding tightly to him, the wind sending him the smell of the ocean and Johnny’s shampoo, thinking of Bobby Brown and his father and all of the others.

 They drove home in peaceful silence.

[wiener-soldiers]

operation omega - AV-616 (ii)

summary: years after the avengers dismantle HYDRA, the group remerges more dangerous than ever. their modus operandi? infiltrating foreign governments, stealing and reproducing their weapons, and selling them to terrorist groups. when the us government approaches the avengers for help on a secret operation with a secret asset, they are reluctant to agree. it isn’t until their quinjet almost gets shot down in the middle of nowhere when the understand that omega means business.

pairing: bucky barnes x SEAL!reader

words: 2.2k

warnings: light swearing, mentions of violence

a/n: these chapters will get longer i promise

taglist: add yourself here!

OPERATION OMEGA MASTERLIST

Somehow, despite all the resource’s the Earth’s mightiest heroes had, they were all still crammed on the smallest Quinjet they had.

They had strict orders from Secretary Ross to pack lightly and take the smallest Quinjet they had. Despite saying that they may be at this location for several months, Ross said that everything they needed would be provided for them.

By who? He didn’t say.

There actually wasn’t much anyone knew about the secretive mission they were going on, aside from the debriefing packet full of intel Secretary Ross sent to them, coordinates to an unknown location and the fact that it was secret.

In all honesty, he had no problem with the mission being so secret. Tony and Steve seemed to trust Ross enough to understand that this mission was legitimate and important, but they still pressed for more answers every chance they got. Eventually Ross hissed something along the lines of, “It’s too fucking important for me to tell you over the phone,” which shut the both of them up really well.

Bucky was too used to just following orders, despite not grasping the whole picture—first in the army, then with HYDRA. Besides him and maybe Sam, he could tell that everyone else was a little on edge with the secrecy of it all.

“We should be there in fifteen minutes,” Clint calls from the cockpit.

“Wherever ‘there’ is,” Sam says quietly, causing a small fit of tired giggles to erupt in the cabin.

Bucky was hunched over, eyes trained on the strip of clear floor in the middle of the Quinjet. The Quinjet had no windows, so the clear strip in the floor was a good indicator of location. Wanda sat to his left and Banner to his right. He hadn’t really said much the whole flight, focusing on listening to Tony quietly discuss his concerns with Steve and figuring. And, of course, figuring out where the fuck they were going.

Wanda nudges his foot slightly, and Bucky immediately thinks, What?

Wanda then slides the toe of her foot towards the clear strip in the middle of the fuselage. Bucky knows that she’s asking; Did you figure out where we’re going?

No, Bucky thinks and Wanda sighs dejectedly beside him in response.

Wanda points to the clear strip with her toe once again, then taps on his knee twice. One tap, yes; two taps, no was one of their unspoken rules. Bucky once again knows she’s asking, Do you know where we aren’t going?

Bucky furrows his brow slightly and thinks, Not that close to a coast, probably still on this continent but I’m not sure which country. Temperate or boreal forests in the mountains, so we’re not that far south. But that’s all I got.

Wanda nods. A few beats later, she points to clear floor one final time before nodding in the direction of the cockpit, Does Clint know where we’re going? He has coordinates.

Bucky shakes his head and Wanda slumps in her seat, the back of her head hitting the fuselage wall behind her. The coordinates Ross was given were encrypted; Bucky thinks to her. He gave us an algorithm to decode it once autopilot was engaged, so no one know where we’re going except for the stupid computer.

Wanda’s silence is enough acknowledgement for him. They sit in more silence before Bucky thinks to her, Any more questions?

He can feel her roll her eyes amusedly and taps his knee twice, No.

Are you okay? Bucky asks once more.

One slightly aggressive tap to the knee, Yes, asshole.

“Okay, I’m just gonna say it,” Bruce says from beside Bucky. “Does anyone else find this extremely fishy? Ross—who we don’t work for, by the way—gives us intel about HYDRA and tells us we have a secret mission with a secret asset at a secret location and we’re all supposed to believe it? And how the hell is the public not gonna question why the Avengers basically disappeared for several months?”

“Don’t worry about PR, we have staged press releases lined up just in case something like this happens,” Natasha says from across from him. Bucky raises his eyebrow at her, and she shrugs in response.

“It’s clear what the mission is,” Steve answers from his spot in the cockpit. He is leaning against the co-pilot’s seat where Tony is sitting, reading the intel Ross gave them, “He wants us to take down HYDRA.”

“But how Steve? And why go through all this trouble?” Banner counters.

Before Steve can answer, a male voice cuts through the radio, forcing everyone to be quiet. Tony reaches forward and flips a switch, making it so the radio plays through the PA system.

“I’m sorry, say again?” Clint says as everyone stares at him with wide eyes.

“AV-616, you are in restricted airspace. State your purpose of flight now as defiance to do so will force me to ground your plane,” the stern male voice repeats itself.

Clint looks around the Quinjet with wide eyes before hesitantly saying, “I apologize. We were given coordinates and a flight path that requires us to fly through this location. Over.”

The line goes quiet for a little while and Steve hisses, “Barton, what the hell is going on?”

“If you get us shot down, I’ll kill you myself,” Sam grumbles, anxiously taping his foot.

“I did nothing but plug in the coordinates and that stupid algorithm Ross gave us. The flight plan is his shit, not mine,” Clint barks back.

“AV-616, do you copy?” A new voice cuts in. It’s a woman’s voice this time, Bucky notes and everyone glances at each other in surprise.

Clint clears his throat, “This is AV-616, I copy.”

“AV-616, that price on my head, was that dead or alive?” the woman asks, and the cabin goes silent.

Sam speaks first, “What the fuck is she talking about?”

Steve immediately goes into Captain mode, “Barton, figure out the fastest route out of here in case something goes wrong. We have the smaller Quinjet, use mountains as cover in case we try to get shot down. Stark, track all incoming projectiles, either in here or with your suit. Sam and Nat, prep any artillery. If something comes, I want you on guns—”

“Steve! This could be a code,” Natasha interrupts. “We’re at a secret location, maybe she just needs confirmation that we are supposed to be here.”

“AV-616, do you copy?” the woman asks.

“She’s right,” Banner says. He stands up and makes his way to the cockpit. “Tony, is there anything in the brief about a code?”

“Shit, let me double check—”

“Don’t remember. See if he starts shooting,” Bucky cuts in.

“Dude, what?” Sam asks him, eyeing him incredulously.

Bucky rolls his eyes, “It’s from a movie, dumbass.” He stands up and makes his way to the cockpit, motioning to Clint to turn on the radio to let him speak.

“This is AV-616, say again?” Bucky says.

The radio crackles from the other side of the line, “The price on my head, was that dead or alive?”

“Don’t remember. See if he starts shooting. Over,” Bucky says. He feels the entire cabin take a breath.

After what feels like a lifetime, the other end of the radio cackles once again, “AV-616, you’re clear to land. See you soon, over.”

The Earth’s mightiest heroes sigh in relief as Clint navigates towards the open field the coordinates led them to. Bucky catches Steve’s gaze and he offers the blond a slight smirk, “It’s from Inception. I’m surprised you didn’t recognize it, with it being on your list and all.”

Steve rolls his eyes, “Just get your stuff, jerk.”

The clearing, as it turns outs, wasn’t actually a clearing. As Clint got closer and closer to the ground, the suspecting grass shifts and slides to the side, revealing an underground hangar filled with three jets and other vehicles. As soon as the Quinjet hits the bottom and the cargo door opens, mechanical creaking is heard above, and the large steel doors slide shut.

Bucky wonders what feat of engineering was needed in order to pull that off.

At the bottom of the cargo door is a man in an all-black uniform. Something about him absolutely screams military to Bucky, but he can’t put his finger on it. It’s most likely his posture and the fact that standing so close to some of the most famous people in the world doesn’t phase him.

“Your late,” was the first thing he said, directed at Steve mostly. He notices striking similarities between the two; both with piercing blue eyes and blond hair. Steve stands a little taller, but the man’s gaze is way tenser than Steve’s natural one.

“Sorry, had a little trouble landing,” Steve retorts before sticking his hand out to shake.

“I’m Steve Rogers.”

The man grasps his hand, “Lieutenant Jackson Daniels. Call me Jack. It’s an honour, sir.”

Bucky was right about him being in the military.

He hears Tony snorts behind him, being the last one to leave the plane, “Jack Daniels? Like the whiskey?”

Jack smirks, “Whiskey was my call sign on SEAL Team Six. Feel free to call me that if you like, Mr. Stark.”

Sam lets out a low whistle and the rest of team let out quiet laughs as Jack shuts Tony up. Bucky can’t help but notice how Wanda stares at Jack’s face as he talks to Steve. He smirks and thinks, Didn’t know blonds were your type, Maximoff.

Suddenly, Bucky trips over seemingly nothing. He looks up and catches the magical red glow fade away from Wanda’s fingers. Bitch, he thinks to her. She smirks in response.

“If you’d all follow me, the rest of the team is waiting in the command room,” Jack calls out to the mass of people around him.

He leads them out of the hanger and towards an elevator. The elevator is huge and faster than what he’s used to. He catches Steve’s eye and offers him a slight smile.

“Doing okay, Cap? Little freaked out by your look-alike?” he asks, nodding towards Jack who is answering every question Tony throws at him either with a “No,” “That’s classified,” or “You’ll see.”

His best friend lets out a small laugh, “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Something this secretive?”

“Something that feels so…army. I dunno, it feels comforting. Familiar, I guess.”

Bucky offers him another smile, “I know what you mean.”

The elevator screeches to a halt and the thick steel doors slide open, revealing a network of dark hallways, grey walls, and concrete floors. Jack steps out first and gestures them to follow him, “You’ll all have your own rooms, but we should probably brief first.”

“Where are we?” Bruce asks, stepping out of the elevator hesitantly after him.

“I’m afraid telling you the exact location is classified. Hell, I don’t even really know,” Jack answers.

“Are you going to show us the asset?” Tony asks, following him out of the elevator as well.

“Asset?” Jack asks.

“Ross said we have a special mission with the asset.”

Jack smirks, “We’re the asset.”

“Who’s we?”

Tony’s question was answered not a second later. Jack lead them into a dark room being illuminated by desk lamps and screens covering literally every surface. There are five desks all in a line, with three monitors each. Bucky even noticed the tabletop was a screen, as each of the four desk occupants worked away in their desks. He assumed the unoccupied desk belonged to Jack.

“Captain, they’re here,” Jack shouted. No one sitting at their desks turned around and Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, until he followed Jack’s line of vision upwards. Behind the five desks was an elevated loft at the back of the room where one final desk sat. It was bigger than the others and had the best view of the collection of files, photos and videos projected on the wall across from it.

At the desk sat a woman, presumably Jack’s captain. Her eyes were trained to the screen in front of her until Jack called her name once again. Her eyes shifted toward his, then scanned the rest of the Avengers who had slowly filed in.

The woman then stands up. Sporting the same black cargo pants and boots as Jack as well as a grey tank top and dog tags, Bucky got the feeling that everyone on this team was ex-military, too.

The woman smirks at Jack slightly, “Omega, we got visitors. Look alive.”

The rest of the Avengers immediately recognize her voice as the voice from the radio. The watch as the walks down the stairs so she can speak to them. She stands beside Jack, facing the rest of the Avengers with a lazy smirk, “Sorry about landing. This base is secret, so we don’t want any unsolicited guests.”

Natasha counters, “Do you threaten to shoot everyone who flies by this place?”

“Only the people who don’t know the confirmation code. Or the people who don’t join this frequency when they’re a mile away. Which, by the way, you guys did neither,” the woman says nonchalantly, amused glare directed at Steve.

“We never got a—”

“It’s the first page of the briefing. That Inception quote was a last resort, which was also found in the briefing by the way. If none of you fuckers watched Inception, I would definitely shoot you down,” she cut Steve off.

“…That’s on me,” Tony sighed, “I skipped the first few pages because looking at all those protocols made me bored.”

“And with that, I’ll finally introduce myself. My name’s Captain Y/N Y/L/N. This is Omega.”

THREE: NAKED

[katehuntington]

Title: As I Live And Breathe Fandom: Supernatural Characters: Dean Winchester, Y/N, Sam Winchester (mentioned) Pairing: Dean x female reader Words: ±3100 words Description: Y/N and Dean go out after a case in need of unwinding. But when they arrive at the motel after a night full of beer and shots, they decide to unwind some more. Warnings: NSFW, 18+ only! Language, alcohol intoxication. Smut, slightly dom!Reader, striptease, oral sex (male receiving), unprotected sex, begging, fluffy end. Author’s note: Served up, drunk smut topped off with fluff. Thank you, @littlegreenplasticsoldier and @hannahindie for being awesome betas! Hope you all enjoy!

     The brisk air hits Y/N like a wall, as she stumbles out of a local bar in Fort Benton. Autumn has opened the door to the first cold nights of the season in the state of Montana, where the Winchesters and herself just rounded up a Wendigo hunt. She needed to be among people after having spent three days in the woods off the grid, but now that she’s struggled through the suffocating crowd inside the apparent place-to-be in this small town, it’s liberating to be alone and out in the open again.

     Carefree, she spreads her arms and stretches her back, the alcohol coursing through her veins a perfect pain reliever. Thin air mattresses, uneven ground and restless nights have taken their toll, but right now, she feels peaceful. Content, she closes her eyes and turns her face skyward, enjoying the cool night air.

     “Hey, wait up!”      Dean’s voice interrupts her moment of bliss and she turns towards him, her body two beats behind on her vision. God, she really shouldn’t have downed that eighth shot just to prove to the oldest Winchester that she is not a lightweight.

     The hunter slows his pace when he’s next to her, carrying a shit-eating grin as he attempts to stay on the sidewalk, despite the sway in his step. Seems like Y/N isn’t the only one who had a little too much to drink.

     “If it isn’t our damsel,” he challenges.      “I’m not your damsel. I could have had that guy with ease,” she sneers at him, referring to the big bloke that made a move on her at the bar.      “The guy was taller than Sam!”      “So? I didn’t need savin’ by you,” she mutters, her speech lazy. “I was fine. If he had touched me, I would’ve given him hell.”      Dean chuckles. “Really?”

     A glare at the sarcasm comes his way, then she lingers, taking her partner in. His spiked hair is tousled, Jack Daniels hazing his eyes. She cannot help but to notice the strong line of his jaw, nor the three day stubble. If it wasn’t for the scar tissue on the edge of his brow and his chin, he could have tried a career in modeling for a brand like PME, or Levi’s. Yes, Dean is a handsome man, and he knows it.

     “You know staring is impolite, right?” Dean catches her in the act, as he fiddles with the keys to room 110 of the Pioneer Lodge Motel.      Y/N shrugs, not flustered at all. With a personal best when it comes to her blood alcohol level, confidence is not something she lacks right now.      “I’ve never been a girl of etiquette. I can admire the view whenever I want, Dean.”

     Struggling to fit the key in the lock, he laughs, the sound rumbling in the back of his throat. It triggers something inside her, a knot forming in her lower abdomen, but she suppresses the signals received by her brain.      “Just admiring?” he tests, finally pushing open the door.

     With a scoff she shakes her head. Boy, he really doesn’t know boundaries, does he? But before she can throw back a witty comment to let him know that it’s not going to happen, Dean closes the door behind them with his hands flat on the wood, trapping her between his strong arms.      “Because you can have a taste if you like,” he challenges, his voice even lower than usual.

     Stunned, she stares at him, her eyes bouncing between his. All of a sudden, Dean seems less drunk than he did a moment ago in the streets. He’s waiting in suspense, a speck of nervousness seeping through the arrogance.

     Every ounce of self respect yells at her to push him off, get herself a tall glass of water and sober up. It’s Dean, for fuck’s sake, the one person she butts heads with most, the one guy she can’t get a grip on and surely will drive her insane one day. Of course she’s not going to take his offer. Right?

     But her body responds differently. That knot that she only slightly felt earlier, grows larger, tighter. It needs unwinding. Now.

     Dean expects her to have a counter ready. Yet this counter isn’t one Dean predicted. More smart talk, more sass; absolutely. An assault on his lips? Not in his wildest dreams. And yet it’s exactly what she does and before he can blink, he feels her mouth on his. Despite the surprise, he responds in an instant, kissing her back fiercely. His stretched out arms that cage her buckle, allowing her to fold hers around his neck, her fingers carding the hair on the back of his head. All brakes are off, because she opens her mouth for him and allows his hungry tongue to dance with hers.

    The two colleagues are about to take a side road they have never dared to explore, but both are desperate for some kind of release after months of monster hunting and no personal space. Cramped motel rooms, Dean’s provoking comments and Y/N’s sassy remarks. The tension, always the tension.

     Dean’s never kept it a secret that he finds her attractive. If it wasn’t for their clashing egos, they would have reached this moment a long time ago. Maybe it’s exactly because of their contradicting characters that this feels so electrifying.

     His hands move down her waist, following the curvy lines to the small of her back, until he can fully palm her ass. He steps back without ever removing his mouth from hers, almost stumbling from intoxication. Y/N, however, is able to multitask despite her alcohol consumption. Lasciviously, she pushes the plaid flannel off his shoulders, the fabric falling to the ground, as they shuffle across the room.

     The kitchen counter hits his lower back hard as she shoves him, but Dean doesn’t even wince, too busy releasing the woman before him from her shirt. Breaking their kiss, he pulls it over her head, immediately picking up where he left off the moment the top is discarded. They pause when his T-shirt ends up on the floor too, the reveal covering the hunter with as many goosebumps as he has freckles.      They gaze at each other for a few seconds, curiously taking each other in. Dean’s eyes roam over her body, from her denim clad legs up to the scars on the skin now revealed - without a doubt a result from years on the hunting - to a pair of gorgeous breasts cupped by her black laced bra. Nothing can prepare what he is about to witness in her eyes. Lust in its purest form has darkened them so wholly, that he’s about to yell  ‘Christo’ at her, but Dean knows it’s arousal that causes her pupils to dilate almost fully.

Y/N watches the hunter, who is apparently unable to focus on anything else but her. Dean stares at her in a way no man has ever looked at her before, but she cannot help wonder; This must be an act, right? He’s like this with all the women he spends his nights with. Could he actually be this turned on by her? The woman he challenges, insults, argues with all the fucking time?      Her gaze lowers down to his crotch, where his hard member stretches the fabric of his jeans. Oh my, she’s certainly doing things to him. Wonderful, wonderful things. Then she realizes that all this friction, all the frustration and the high voltage, it needs an outlet. Being each other’s antipode is creating a pull that is impossible to deny, nor resist.

     Her eyes meet Dean’s again, a devilish smirk adorning her face. Slowly she steps back. Calculated, she takes off one boot, then the other, and continues to unbutton her jeans, running down the zipper tortuously slow. Her hands move behind her back, unclipping the black laced bra she wore just in case she would get lucky tonight, and she slides it off her arms, revealing her breasts and hard nipples. Last but not least, she hooks her thumbs inside the waistband of her jeans and pushes them down together with her matching underwear, stepping out of the puddle of clothes at her ankles. The private show she gives her partner is much appreciated. She doesn’t have to be a psychologist to determine that much.

     Dean’s jaw had dropped during the striptease, his dick still growing at the sight of her. Unable to hold back any longer, he pushes himself from the counter, dashes over and crashes his lips to hers. He needs to feel her, taste her, run his fingers down every inch of her body.

     As they maneuver towards the bed, she runs her palm over the bulge in his denim, pulling an grunt from deep within him. Grinning almost sadistically, she does it again, forcing him to break the kiss and close his eyes. Needing to keep her mouth busy, she presses half a bite, half a kiss behind his ear, dragging her teeth down Dean’s neck.      “Fuck, Y/N…” he breathes.

     With a skillful flick of his fingers, he unbuttons his jeans one-handed, offering enough space for Y/N to press her hand flat on his lower abdomen and slide it into his boxers. The skin-on-skin contact makes his head spin and the woman that is working him over like she has done so her entire life, muffles another one of his groans with her soft lips. Jesus Christ, the things she’s doing to him.

    She kneads, grinds, then drags her hand up and down his rock hard shaft, first slow, then faster. When he shudders and moans louder, clearly worked up by her attention, she slips her hand out and kneels to pull his jeans down. What springs free causes her eyes to grow big at the sight, and Dean grins mischievously at the surprised expression on her face. Blessed with being bigger than average has its perks, especially combined with the set of skills he’s picked up along the years. Dean’s sure this is going to be a great night.

     Seductively, Y/N glances up from her position, meeting his eyes, and Dean smiles down in awe. Having the huntress on her knees in front of him is something he never expected to experience, but here she is and it humbles him. Waiting for her to make a move, he cups her face, swiping messy strands from her cheek. There they are again; those mesmerizing, captivating eyes as if he’s looking into those of Medusa herself. One certain part of him has definitely turned to stone with not much more than a look.

     She keeps a hold of his gaze, inching closer. Then she places a gentle kiss on his base, right where the vein runs up, her tongue peeking past her lips. He stiffens and cannot help but to buckle forward slightly when she takes him into her mouth. He fights to stay upright, his core is so tight that it hurts. Just bearing witness to how comfortably Y/N pleasures him, an act so intimate, it overwhelms fast. Shit, he can’t take much more of this.

     His fingers get stuck in her hair and he squeezes it tight into a fist,  trapping the locks between his digits. Dean then tugs gently, requesting her to stand.      “C’mere,” Dean murmurs, his free hand slipping to her neck, guiding her lips to his again.

     The action is genuine, tender and almost lovingly, and it catches Y/N by surprise. Not sure what to think of his affectionate ways, she allows him to guide her towards the bed, the two of them almost slow dancing. His calloused hands explore her shapes and curves, the trailing touches feather light. Then her calves hit the bedside and she topples back, pulling him with her as she squeals. Dean braces himself to prevent crushing her under his weight. Still influenced by the alcohol, she giggles unstoppable, drawing a wide grin from her partner as well.

     Look at her, just look.

     The know-it-all tough chick that screams ‘don’t mess with me’, sprawled underneath him in her perfect, naked form, all giddy and smiling eyes. Dean wishes he could stay here with her forever.

     The curve formed by Y/N’s arched lips evens out as she drowns in his green irises. A flutter in her chest erupts, one that she has felt before. She knows that the path she’s following is a doomed one, but she refuses to dwell on that thought. And so she leans up, drawing him close and taking him down with her, kissing him deeply. She feels his arousal twitch against her inner thigh while his fingers trace her breasts, massaging them. Dean grinds into her, eager for friction, desperate to get inside.

     Without moving her lips from his, Y/N reaches between their bodies, guiding him towards her entrance. Slick with arousal, she clenches around his length as he slowly pushes in, his groan of relief hanging in the air of the motel room. Dean filling her completely triggers his bed-partner to lay her head back, sighing with pleasure. Her bare throat invites him, and as he rolls his hips, he buries his face in the junction between her neck and shoulder. Kissing her burning skin, he picks up the pace, bottoming out completely.

     “Oh, God…” she moans as he runs into her sweet spot again and again, like a beating drum.      “You may call me Dean,” he teases.      “Shut up and keep going,” she gasps, getting lost in the build up.

     He doesn’t have to be told twice and drives into her again. The friction is almost too much to handle, the heat close to unbearable. The little spark that she felt the moment he offered a taste of him, has grown into a firestorm and it will not take long for her to explode.

     Somewhere far in the back of her mind, she knows she’s baring her soul to her colleague. Hunting is a terminal profession. Most hunters don’t make it to thirty-five, the ones who do, die alone. To compensate for a short life full of terror and pain, she decides to make every moment count. She needs to live, Dean and her both do. And if they aren’t living right now, they never will.

     Dean’s fingers press in the hollow between her shoulder blades as she arches into him. Bucking up to meet his thrusts, she folds her legs around his waist, changing the angle slightly. Eyes closed, he manages to pull in sporadic breaths, trying to last as long as he possibly can, but Y/N’s intensifying moans don’t exactly help, neither do her walls, which tighten around him.

     “I - I’m right there,” he breathes.      “Talk to me,” she whispers, the request coming out more like an order.      “You feel so good… Fuck, I’m gonna...” he pants, shuddering. “Please… I need to c--”

     His plea is cut off by a satisfied, long groan, louder than all the others, when Dean comes hard, filling her up with a few more thrusts. Y/N isn’t far behind. Despite his own high, Dean slips his fingers in between their bodies to find that sensitive bundle of nerves, circling it rapidly. It triggers a series of moans to leave her plumped lips, each one a little higher, sounds of pleasure filling the room as a mind-blowing orgasm rips through her.

     He slowly works her through it, aware how sensitive she is right now. As he does he watches her, sprawled out under him, bare breasts heaving as her chest rises and falls, her eyes closed in bliss.      “Holy... Fucking… Shit…” she utters, out of breath.      He chuckles as his fingers leave her heat. “No argument there.”

     Dean pulls out reluctantly, laying his drowsy head on the pillow as he waits for the pumping muscle in his chest to calm. It takes longer than usual, and he knows in the back of his mind it has nothing to do with endurance, nor with the alcohol. It’s her. She’s the reason why his heart continues to race. Because deep down, he wants so much more than this.

     She glances his way, aching to have him inside again. Seeking some sort of physical connection, she turns towards the hunter. Propped on her elbow, with her chin resting in the palm of her hand, she lays her other hand on his chest. His heart is still beating fast, but it gradually steadies. Eyes closed, he reminisces over what just happened, the corners of his mouth drawn in a small smile. Y/N huffs, amused, watching the handsome man, because he’s not wrong. God, that felt amazing.

     “Dean?”      “Hmm?”      She moves closer, drawing circles on his skin.      “That guy who made a move on me back in the bar… Did he make you jealous?”      He opens his eyes and glances at her from under his long lashes. “Why would you think that?”      “Because you came to the rescue,” she elaborates. “Even though I could have handled him with ease.”      “Then why didn’t you?” Dean wonders.      “I dunno…” she answers, shrugging. “Sometimes it’s nice to be a damsel.”

     He smiles at that, lifting his arm to fold it around her shoulders, pulling her into his chest. She tucks her head in the crook of his neck, snuggling into him as she kisses his pulse point. Suddenly she becomes aware of how intimate this is, and how she wants to stay in this new favorite place. It scares the hell out of her. Nervous, she contemplates, allowing a silence to become evident between them. What if their actions caused a shift?

     “Tonight doesn’t change anything, right?” she checks with him.      “It doesn’t?” he mocks. “I quite like the sound of you calling me God.”      She punches him in the stomach and Dean lets out a ‘hmpf’, laughing at her fiery counter attack. The sound warms Y/N’s tired muscles and sobers her up as it sheds light on her clouded soul. That’s when she begins to grasp what Dean does to her, what this could become, and for a short second, she’s brave.

      “Do you feel it too?”

     It remains quiet for a few dreadful long seconds and her courage seeps away. As she thinks of an attempt to cover the misstep, Dean places his curled index finger under her chin, lifting her face to his. He doesn’t say anything, just gazes into her eyes with an adoration she hasn’t seen in them before. Unable to believe the message in his evergreens, she excuses his behavior.

     Remember that he drank a lot, Y/N. He might not even remember this in the morning. This is the alcohol talking, not Dean.

     Not wanting to get her hopes up, she keeps repeating the mantra in her head, but he cuts her off. A tender kiss brings every thought that was swarming in her head to a screeching halt and all she can feel is him.

     Dean wouldn’t flat out admit he loves someone. He doesn’t know how, never having learned how to express himself in that way. But the hunter doesn’t need to tell her with words, actions speaking for him. His nose nuzzled against hers, the brush of his lashes on her soft cheeks as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. His thumb tracing her soft skin, the look he gives her when they part again, full of hope, endearment and warmth.

     She knows what he can’t voice.      Dean feels it too.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if  you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work  or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page).

[h-o-l-l-i]

Love Never Hurt So Bad

Dean Winchester X Reader

Word Count: 1.5K

Warnings: language

Author’s Note: Requests are open again! This is going to be a new SERIES! Please give me some feedback so I can get better as a writer!

Requested by the amazing, brilliant, talented @coffee-obsessed-writer (Ooo I have a request! Its honestly been a really rough week (Chuck help me its only Wednesday) but I could use some fun, flirty, (smutty if you're up for it, no worries if you aren't), Dean Winchester maybe with the song "I Hate Myself for Loving You" by Joan Jett? Long, short, drabble, series lol, whatever you are feeling, darlin'! xoxo)

tag list: @coffee-obsessed-writer // @roonyxx // @mrsjaxtellerfan

want to be added to a tag list? Let me know!

Part 1

You slumped down in the ripped, red high barstool and placed your elbows down on the bar-top with a thud. The bartender placed a clean glass in front of you, “Long day?” He raised an eyebrow to you, tipping the bottle of Jack Daniels. You gazed up to him through your long, thick eyelashes and let out a half chuckle in response. “So, what’s a beautiful lady like you doin’ in my bar, in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere at,” his deep brown eyes darted over to the clock that hung crookedly on the wooden wall above the entrance of the bar, “going on 4 am?” His attention turned back to you as he leaned his body casually on the bar near you.

“Work.” You stated simply, setting the small glass back down.

“You a cop or somethin’?”

“Yeah. Something like that.” He opened his mouth again to speak again but you interrupted him sharply, “I appreciate your interest chief but—” The jingle sounded to alert someone else had entered the empty bar. Your heart fluttered with happiness that you would be going home with Dean Winchester instead of this wart of a man, bartender.

“Two beers.” He held out his bruised fingers and then ran his hand through his growing hair, ruffing it around some. Your heart skipped a beat with the look he gave you, his hair slightly messy; making you melt deeper into the old chair you sat in.

“You got it.” The bartender smirked then looked into your blue eyes before nodding in realization before fetching your drinks.

***

“You okay?” Dean sipped from the bottle, staring straight ahead.

You took a moment, gathering your thoughts, nodding, your voice soft and subtle, “Yeah. What about you?”

His head gently swung to your direction, his eyes full of pain and hurt, tears beginning to burn at the corner of his eyes, “Yeah.” His lips pursed together, his dimples gracing his perfect face. He cleared his throat and slid from the chair, reaching into his wallet and laying a couple bills down, “You ready, Y/N?”

You twisted your body to your left and your feet met the ground, bits of dried mud releasing itself onto the sticky floor, marking your territory. You grabbed Dean’s hand in your, squeezing it gently.

***

“You should sleep, Y/N. It’s been three days since—” Dean started.

“You haven’t slept either so don’t even try any of that, Winchester!” You snarled, punching his shoulder playfully, his teeth glistening in the passing street lights.

“All right, we can find someplace and get a couple rooms for the night.”

“A couple rooms?” You raised your eyebrows, “Dean, we barely had money to cover those two beers.” You scoffed, “Get out of here with ‘two rooms’” you mocked, making him laugh silently.

“You want to share a room with me?” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Don’t get your hopes up.” You winked at him.

***

The impala rolled to a stop, the neon light flickering, casting a red hue through the windshield. “I’ll get the room, you can grab what you need from the trunk.” Dean’s exhausted voice commanded. You nodded in response, yawning.

***

“Room for two.” Dean raised his eyebrows and closing his eyes, wiggling his head hoping to shake his sleepiness.

The manager turned at the sound of Dean’s groggy, rough voice, “You’re in luck, friend. Got one room left.” He paused, handing Dean the key, his eye catching your figure leaning against baby, “You’re a lucky man.” He pointed to the window, Dean’s emerald eyes followed his finger.

He chucked, rubbing the back of his head with his rough hand, raising his eye brows, “Yeah, I am. She’s amazing and I don’t deserve her.” He sighed, “I just hope she doesn’t wise up and realize she’s too good for me.” He laughed awkwardly before nodding and bowing out of the small motel office.

***

He walked briskly over to you, dangling the keys from his finger, “Room 18.”

“Awesome!” You exclaimed with the small amount of energy that you still had. “I cannot wait to take a nice hot shower and go to bed!” you slumped your shoulders as you walked side by side with the older Winchester. “Oh!” You raised your voice causing him to go into save the world mode, “maybe I can get five hours sleep instead of the usual four!” You laughed, “What?” You smile faded seeing Dean’s guard fully raised.

“You scared me, Y/N.”

Your jaw dropped open slightly, “I. Y/F/N. Y/L/N. Scared Dean Winchester. The. Dean Winchester?”

“Shut up! I wasn’t even scared.” He scoffed, pursing his lips and shaking his head, you laughed back at him, “Whatever…” he finished.

“You and Sam always pranked me, consider it payback from all of the years on the road as kids.” Your hand accidentally brushed against his as you walked up the steel staircase. Your heart skipped a beat and your breath caught in your throat when his piercing eyes caught yours.

His lips curled up slightly, his cheeks blushing a little bit, his voice so softly said, “Sorry.”

For a moment, all time had stopped and it was only the two of you in the whole entire world; no monsters, no armageddon, nothing; just you and Dean. 

You never thought that you would find love, not in your line of work anyway… You knew Dean since you were kids, your father hunted with John, so you were dumped at Bobby’s along with the Winchester brothers. As time rolled on, people died, your father never came home from a hunt one night, so you called John.

He came and picked you up, he had no idea what to do with you so he took you in; and everyday after that you fell more and more in love with Dean Winchester.

“You can take a shower, I’m going to go get some food, the usual?” He asked you.

“Sounds good Winchester.” You said closing the bathroom door.

Your guard went up instantly at the sound of a lamp crashing to the floor followed by shuffling, you kept the shower running but got out, wrapping the rough motel towel around your body. You leaned down the the heap of clothes that lay on the floor where you stripped, you found your knife that you always had on you, it was your father’s…

You readied yourself and slowly and very quietly cracked the door open, your heart thumping up into your throat, your eyes welled with tears and you closed the thin door again; sliding your back down until you were seated on the tile floor, tears running down your cheeks.

You sat there for almost thirty minutes before there was a knock at the door causing you to jump and wipe your eyes.

“You okay in there?” Dean’s voice boomed.

“Yeah. Um.” You stood up, furrowing your eyebrows and reached a shaky hand to turn off the shower, “I’ll be out in a second.”

A minute later you opened the door, your wet hair making small rivers running down your shoulders. Dean’s attention went from his greasy burger to the woman who stood half naked in front of him. “I forgot to bring my bag in there with me…” you muttered, your voice shaking from anger and pain in your chest.

He nodded and tried his hardest not to give in and let his eyes wander your body. “Your, uh, food is over there.” He pointed from the bed, his words almost inaudible from the amount of food that was shoved in his mouth.

“I’m actually not that hungry. It cool if I take the Impala?” You asked digging though your bag, gathering your clothes instead of your nightwear.

“Where are you going?” He asked you, his voice thick with concern, “You okay, Y/N?” He inquired, swinging his legs around, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You lied. He took notice but he knew better than to pry, he knew you so well in some respects but in others he was a complete stranger to you.

He nodded, wiping his hands on a napkin then bringing it to his lips, “Okay. Just, call me if you need anything. Okay, Y/N.” He came over to give you his keys, his hand lingered on yours for an extra moment, “Be safe.”

You remained silent but nodded your head once, tightening your jaw, your hand squeezing the cold metal keys. You were startled by the manager who was getting ready to knock on your door, you stopped your fist seeing the fresh towels he was clutching, realizing he wasn’t a threat you slid out around him and briskly descended the staircase, jogging over to he impala.

“Oh, boy. Maybe she did wise up…” the motel manager stated, his bushy eyebrows raised, his eyes following the sound of the impala leaving the lot. 

“What?” Dean asked him curiously.

“Whatever you did, you’re in the dog house with that one.” He warned, pushing the towels into Dean’s strong arms and turning on his heel. Leaving Dean there alone in the empty room, without you.

[jamie-leah]

Dancing Shadows- Part 1

Bucky x Reader 

Summary: You’re a fire elemental that has been in love with Bucky for a long time. He doesn’t know and you can’t tell him because of his girlfriend. And with an enemy threatening you and everything you love, will you and Bucky find each other before its too late? 

Word Count: 2060

Warnings: mentions/implied sex, violence, angst, swearing?

A/N: This was originally going to be a oneshot, sat down and now 13,000 words later...so here’s another series. I’ll continue it if you want me to? Not a lot of Bucky in this part, but it will get better. Enjoy Lovelies! Permanent tags are OPEN, and tags for this series are OPEN!

Series Masterlist   One Shot Masterlist 

You lie awake in bed cursing yourself and your stupid broken heart. You look to the side at the clock and see that its 4 in the morning. You look on your other side and see the guy you brought home in the hopes he’d make you feel better since the alcohol failed.

You couldn’t sleep. You felt guilty and yet you had done nothing wrong. You sigh as you get out of bed. You pull on a pair of shorts and a shirt. You go to his side of the bed and shake him rather roughly until he opens his eyes. He gives you a lazy smile and you feel your stomach turn. It only gets worse when he speaks to you, “hey, what are you doing? Its still night time”. You ignore him as you pick up his clothes and shove them at him, “I need you to leave now”. You hope he’ll be quick and quiet, you hope no one finds out.

The guy, Dan? Derek? Dean? Looks at you in disbelief but he soon gets over it as he starts putting on his clothes, shooting daggers at you the entire time. You’re not really phased, being an Avenger will do that to you. You open the door to your room and pop your head out to make sure the coast is clear. Once you’re satisfied you turn back to Derek?

“Look Derek-,”

“It’s Daniel”, from the tone of voice you can tell the irritation is becoming anger.

“Okay, sorry Dan, but we both knew what this was and now I think its best if we go our separate ways”. You give him a quick smile before gesturing to the door. He sighs as he walks out the room and you close behind him. He carries on huffing and puffing and stomping his feet, so you stop him, “Hey Daniel, I know you’re feeling a bit annoyed by this, but can you please keep it down, I don’t live alone, and I’d rather not wake anyone up”.

He shrugs your hand off his shoulder, his features deepening in anger, “maybe you should have thought of that before inviting me back here”.

“Okay Dan, that was a little rude, but I’ll let it slide. But please don’t piss me off, I really don’t fancy killing you tonight”.

He scoffs, “killing me? You?-“

You cut him off with a shove towards the elevator, “you’re getting on my nerves now, just get to the elevator and leave”.

You didn’t jump when you heard the voice behind you, you were surprised but didn’t jump, “you heard her, I think it’s best that you leave”. You don’t turn around, knowing the voice of Captain Steve Rogers anywhere. Dan leaves pretty quickly after that, Steve telling F.R.I.D.A.Y. to make sure he leaves the building. And when the hall is finally silent you take a deep breath and face Steve.

You can see the concern written all over his face. Steve wore his heart on his sleeve most of the time and its one of the reasons you love him, he’s like the brother you never had. Sadly, you also saw disappointment somewhere in his eyes, “that’s the third time this week Y/N”.

You heave a sigh, having had this conversation for the third time this week, “I know Steve, I’m not great at maths but even I can count to 3”.

Steve shakes his head, “don’t deflect with sarcasm”.

“You know me so well Steve”.

“I do. I know you so well that I know if you keep doing this you’re going to hurt someone. You’re not always the best at keeping your emotions in check and for you that has consequences”. You know he’s right, but you’re not entirely sure what to do about it. Steve walks the short distance between you and engulfs you into a hug. The warmth from his bare chest a comfort to you. You feel a tear slip out before you can hold it back and he squeezes you a little tighter.

You mumble into his chest, “it’s getting harder and harder Steve…to watch him and her”. Steve doesn’t say anything, as he holds you tighter in the early morning light.

Breakfast came too soon. You weren’t ready to face the day, but these days you never were. You walk into the kitchen to find Sam cooking and dancing to the radio. Nat, Bucky, and his girlfriend Jessica were sitting at the island.

Your stomach tightened but you bit your tongue as you walked in with fake confidence. Sam turns around with a smirk, “there she is, our very own party animal. You were out late last night”. You laugh, and you cringe at the easiness of it. You hate how the lie is natural around Bucky and Jess. You hate how he doesn’t notice that its fake. “Well, you should know Sam, the night is meant to be enjoyed”.

You felt His eyes on you, but you willed yourself to focus on Sam and his reply. He whistles low, “sounds like someone had fun”. You don’t answer, unable to carry on the lie of how shit the night really was underneath the surface.

Instead you change the subject, “I hope that bacon is for me Sam”.

He turns to give you a wink, “you bet”.

You hear a giggle and you want to throw up. It causes you to look as you take in the smile Bucky gives to Jess, a secret joke passing between them. You catch Nat’s eye and find sympathy. You were sick of the sympathy. Your whole life just seems to be one huge pity party.

When F.R.I.D.A.Y. spoke, you were grateful she was asking you to head to the meeting room, not even waiting for the end of her sentence before leaving the room. When you reach the room, you find Steve and Tony all geared up. Steve speaks, “get suited up, there’s a situation at the World Health Organisation based in Switzerland. We need you to put out some fires”.

You don’t ask any questions. Before you know it, you’re taking off in the jet. It doesn’t take long to get there. There were more than a few fires to put out, half the building had collapsed. You turn to Steve as the jet lands, “what the hell Steve? This is a huge disaster, why isn’t the whole team here?”.

Steve looked out over the damage, “I…when we received the call for help they said it wasn’t that bad…”. As soon as the jet door was open Tony flew out into the fray. You run out with instructions to put the fire out and rescue anyone you can. It seemed that none of us knew who or what did this, but we didn’t have time to think about it.

In your comms you could hear Steve calling the tower asking for more help. You reach the ruins and run straight in. The roar of the fires drowning out the screams of people running outside.

Being a fire elemental meant that you could smother the fire, essentially absorbing its energy. Absorbing so much energy was draining and painful to contain and you were nervous at how big the damage was. But Steve reassured over comms that the others were coming.

You make your way through the building putting out the fires and finding a few survivors. You feel your energy drop as you make your way over rumble. You don’t hear anything behind you until you’re punched in the back so hard you go flying across the rubble. You feel the rocks tear at the skin on your hands and face. You land face down, pain racing up your spine. You manage to cough out, “Steve”, before you’re picked up by your scruff. You feel the ground leave you as you’re turned to face a man, bigger than Steve and Bucky combined, wearing a black mask that looked like a skull.

He stares at you, his eyes look black too, it unsettles you as you feel fear making it harder to regain control of your breathing. You hear Steve, frantic in your comms along with Tony. You bring your legs up, plant your feet on his chest and push. The guy lets go in surprise and he stumbles back as you tumble to the floor again. Even with the wind knocked out of you, you manage to roll back on to your feet as the assailant recovers.

You take a few seconds to figure out what the fuck you should do. You can’t risk using your ability right now, with so much stored energy you risk bringing the entire building down. You would run but he’s blocking the exit.

You can’t think further as the guy moves faster than you would have expected. You barely keep up with your blocking of his punches. You can feel your arms bruising already. You dodge a punch that was dangerously close. Your small size compared to him was the only advantage you had as you managed to run passed him. You head for the exit, not bothering to see if he was following. You finally speak on comms again, “Steve…I need…back up”.

You can still hear the guy behind you as you will your feet to move faster. Then you hear Bucky on the comms, “where are you Y/N?”. Your heart hurts and swells at his voice.

You manage to get out, “north side-“, before you feel yourself tackled to the rough ground. You’re flipped onto your back, stones and debris digging in as the guy straddles you. You squirm but holding onto the fire inside of you is taking everything you have. You struggle harder when his hands cover your neck, squeezing harder with each passing second. You try to focus on staying awake as your lungs scream for air.

You watch him close his eyes and breathe in while squeezing harder. When he opens his eyes, you were shocked to see them glowing purple. Then it hit you. You realised who he was and that’s when you realised the energy you had taken from the fires was growing weaker and weaker. He seemed to be taking the energy from you.

The edges of your vision were darkening, making his eyes seem more vibrant. Without warning he was ripped from you, your body automatically seeking air as you sputtered and coughed. You’re vaguely aware of Steve catching his shield until Bucky’s face comes into focus, concerned, and panicked. He cups your face, getting you to breathe along with him. When you finally feel like you can breathe again he helps you up. Every muscle protests the movement but thankfully the adrenaline is still pumping enough for you to push through it.

From the corner of your eye you see the mysterious guy get back up, flames licking at his fingertips, his hand aimed at Steve. You push Bucky out the way as you jump in from of Steve. The fire hits you with such force that you slide backwards, absorbing as much of it as you could. Over the roar of the fire you see the boys struggling to move from the spot they’re standing in. The guy looking at them with his eyes glowing again. You see his other hand come to life with flames but before he can use it you will the fire to your body quicker instead of fighting the flow. Soon enough the flames on his other hand die out as his eyes find yours.

You know you’re taking too much energy too fast. Your skin heating up as waves of hotness crash inside you. Your head is on fire and the pain brings you to your knees. You know the boys are yelling at you but the roar of the fire and pain in your head drowns them out and yet when the stranger speaks his lips don’t move. When you hear his voice, its as if he’s standing right next to you, whispering in your ear, “let go child. Your powers crave release”. When the last of the flames reached you, the guy was nowhere to be seen. But you couldn’t dwell on that fact as you felt the pain all over your body, the burning, consume you. You were unconscious before you hit the floor.

Permanent Tags: @glimmering-darling-dolly , @justakpopfan4 , @overlywhelmedfangirl

[hhoshiii]

Happy Birthday, Lance!

Title: Home

Summary: Lance and Keith go home for his birthday, but what does home entail?

Pairing: Mostly fam stuff, but always some Klance

Rating: K+

Genre: Family/Birthday/Angst (sort of)/Home

Word Count: 1801 Words (They somehow keep getting longer...)

Lance was alone. It had been a few months since the Paladins of Voltron had to say goodbye to the castle of lions and head off, away from those memories, only holding on to the lions that they all piloted.

Lance was sitting in the red lion, longing for home ever since they got Shiro back, but he was nervous. He knew that the paladins were heading home. He knew he was going to see his family, but what would they think? He had been presumed dead all this time. He went missing and never returned, at least not until now.

He kept thinking of all that could go wrong when he got home until he stopped his lion. Stopped in the middle of space, looking down, tears forming in his eyes.

“Lance, a-are you okay?” Keith called out. The pilot of the black lion flew over to where Lance had stopped.

Keith placed on his helmet all the way and hopped out of the lion, slowly moving towards the Red Lion.

Heading inside he heard small cries and saw the familiar body curled up on his chair.

“Lance?” Keith was worried, distant and worried. This isn’t something he wanted to be. He wanted to be close and hold Lance and tell him everything was okay, but he didn’t. He didn’t even know what was going on.

“S-sorry. I really don’t mean to be like this. This is so out of character for me, it's just–” Lance cut himself off, actual tears streaming down his face.

Keith stood there in shock. He was used to the happy-go-lucky guy who always had a smile on his face, but instead, he wore a face of dread, a face of sadness, and Keith didn’t like that.

“What if I go home and they don’t even want to see me? I’ve been gone for too many years and they may not even remember me. I-I just disappeared without warning and that must be the most painful thing for my family.”

Keith sprung himself towards Lance and carefully wrapped his arms around him. Tears were sliding down his suit and landing onto the metal floor of the lion.

“I-I can’t do it, Keith,” Lance whimpered.

“Lance, I know you can, you’re the strongest guy I know and you have such a strong connection with your family. They miss you, I know it. They want to see you alive, they want to see you come home, scars and all.”

Keith’s words were comforting, soothing, everything that Lance wanted to hear. He was scared to go back home. It had been almost four years, four years that he’d been missing.

“Is it okay if we keep going?” Keith asked.

“Yeah, I want to go home,” Lance replied, holding onto Keith’s hand.

“Then let’s get going!” Keith and Lance both smiled. Before walking out of Lance’s lion to get to his own, Keith placed a small kiss on the top of Lance’s head.

Lance smiled and got into his ready position to start flying.

All the paladins flew off, heading towards home.

July 28

A few short, but insanely long days later, they finally reached it. The overlooking view of home, somewhere where they had all longed to see.

“Are you all ready for this?” Keith asked, flying towards the blue and green land that they all called home.

“You know I am!” Pidge called out, smiling and sitting in her lion, Matt by her side. They were ready to go home.

“I can’t wait to have my moms food again and to see my sister! I’m so excited!” Hunk exclaimed.

“Shiro?” Keith asked.

“I’m going to go and see him. I need to see him. It’s been too long,” Shiro exclaimed.

“That’s good. You need to. It’s all you need to do,” Keith replied. “Lance? Are you ready?”

“I am. I really, really, am!” Lance’s voice seemed tense, but calm. Keith knew he was ready. He knew he was ready to go home.

“Then let’s go!” Keith finished, flying faster, all of the Paladins following behind.

“This is Matt Holt, ally of the Paladins of Voltron. We are landing near the Garrison base, please be warned,” Matt exclaimed. He had rewired some of Pidge’s lion so he could get in contact with the Garrison.

“Understood Mr. Holt, we will have a site prepared for you. Please land on Base C,” the Garrison worked responded.

All of the Paladins followed Keith over to Landing Base C and placed their lions down.

The first person out of their lion was Shiro, Keith, and Krolia. Keith wanted to immediately get Shiro to safety. The next two were Matt and Pidge, followed by Coran and Allura.

“We have to find Dad!” Pidge exclaimed.

“They probably already told him that we were here. Just give him a–”

“Matt! Katie!”

With Matt being interrupted, a familiar voice called out to them. It was Sam Holt.

“Dad!” Matt and Pidge ran over to their father and gave him a large hug.

At that exact moment, Lance got out of his Lion and witnessed the family reunion, or at least the half family reunion.

“Matt, Pidge, Sam, if you could please bring Shiro to a medical site, he needs it, badly,” Keith asked, more commanded, saying that as he walked over to Lance.

“Are you ready?” Keith asked, reaching for Lance’s hand.

“Yeah, I want to go home.” Lance intertwined his fingers with Keith’s as the two walked off to go and grab a bike.

Once the two had a bike, the two rode off. Lance’s home wasn’t too far off from the Garrison, but right now, it felt like an eternity.

Lance wrapped his arms around Keith’s torso as they kept riding.

About ten minutes later, they reached the outside of Lance’s home. This was somewhere he hadn’t been in a while. It’s not like he didn’t see his family when he was at the Garrison, but he was dorming, so he didn’t really have a chance to go home often.

“Lance, you can do this. I know you can,” Keith said, comforting Lance.

“I know. I know I can do this,” Lance replied, letting go of the grip on Keith’s hand and walking towards the bright blue door.

Three times he knocked. Three times.

Lance saw the door handle turn, and heard screaming from inside, pattering feet, a dog barking, it sounded like home, but it didn’t feel like it yet.

Opening the door was an older woman, presumably Lance’s mother. She had tears streaming down her face. Lance ran towards her with open arms as she embraced him, holding him tight and not letting him go.

Coming towards the door was an older gentleman and two adults, looking a little older than Lance, his father, and his older brother and sister.

“¡Lance! ¡Mijo!” Lance’s dad called out, joining the hug, as well as his brother and sister.

“¡Mamá! ¡Papá!” Lance was crying. The tears were everywhere, his face bright red. “I’m home.”

“You are. You really are. Lance!”

“I brought someone with me too, I have others that I would like you to meet, but I have someone really important to me that you have to meet.” Lance dragged his family outside and signaled for Keith to walk over.

“Mamá, Papá, this is Keith, m-my boyfriend.” Lance was shaking, he gripped on Keith’s hand, intertwining his fingers with Keith’s, holding him close.

“Keith, it’s very nice to meet you. We know a little about you from the good ol’ Garrison days, but now, now we finally get to meet you,” Lance’s dad said. “I’m Joseph, that wonderful woman there is Rosa, my wife, and behind us are two of Lance’s older siblings, Daniel and Veronica.”

“It’s very nice to meet all of you. It’s wonderful to meet all of you!” Keith was smiling ear to ear. He had never had someone accept him so quickly, but the McClain’s, they took him in right away.

“Everyone else is inside, there are a few people that we would like you to meet, and there’s something we’d like you to see,” Rosa said, dragging Lance and Keith into the house.

“Lance!” a voice called out. It was an older girl, probably no more than two years older than Lance.

“Cam! I missed you so much!” Lance cried.

“We missed you! We heard you went missing and broke, all of us,” she cried. The two embraced for a long time before letting go.

“There’s someone back at the Garrison that I’d like you to see, but we can do that later,” Lance finished and walked into the family room.

Sitting on the floor were piles and piles of bags and presents, lining the walls of the living room. Sitting in the middle of the room was a small table that had some cards on it, a picture of Lance, and Lance’s favorite dessert, one he had every year on his birthday, panetela.

“Mamá? What’s this?” Lance asked. He gripped Keith’s hand harder and his face started to burn a bright red, small tears forming in his tear ducts.

“We’ve been doing this every year, on your birthday. This is what we did,” Rosa exclaimed.

“We never wanted to give up on you, so this is what we did. Lance, this is the first birthday we’ve had with you in years,” Joseph cried. It was obvious how much he missed his son.

“It completely slipped my mind that today was the 28th, all I wanted was to go home, and I’ve never been happier to go home in my life.” Lance was full on crying.

Lance sat down around the small table sitting in the living room and opened up on of the cards. On the front, it said Tío Lance. Reading from the card, a singular tear fell down and landed on the blue paper below.

Lance opened up another card, still crying. All of them saying the same message, Lance, we miss you. Happy birthday. We hope you come home soon.

All of them relayed that same message or something along those lines. Lance set down the final card after opening them all, stood up, and walked over to his family who was huddled around him.

He opened up his arms, wide, and brought them all in. He was still crying and it was very apparent that the rest of the family was crying too.

Keith was sitting out though, he didn’t feel like he was meant to be there. He didn’t feel like he belonged, but as usual, Lance opened up his arms more and brought Keith in, bringing him close and thanking him.

As the family remained in the embrace, Keith whispered to him:

Happy Birthday, Lance. Happy Birthday.

[a-winchester-fairytale]

Amazing

Summary:  Inspired by Louden Swain's song AMAZING

Word Count: 2,383 (no warnings)

A/N: I wrote this for a project for Rob and Louden Swain, run by @mrswhozeewhatsis to show them how much their music inspires us.  The song I chose was Amazing, because the lyrics mean a lot to me. 

It was very personal to me to tell a story from the readers POV, and it just never came out in a way that I felt was good enough for Rob's song.Instead I tried writing it from Dean's POV.  The story changed some, but the major things that I take from the lyrics, I feel are still there. 

I hope you enjoy reading this story, and please check out the song Amazing (along with their other songs) if you haven't already.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rob - You give so much of yourself to your fans, especially through your music. We could never thank you enough for sharing your words with, not only the SPN Family, but with the world.  You have the most calming presence of anyone I have ever met and I am so grateful that you are here.  See you in Vegas! <3

It all started at the end. 

The end of the road, the end of a song, the end of a life.  That’s where I found everything I never knew I wanted, and my world started turning again.

She was sassy, among other things.  It was the sass that caught my attention.  I’d never heard a girl talk like that to someone she barely knew, certainly never heard one talk to me that way. 

I had walked into that little bar on the south side of a dead end road somewhere in the middle of North Dakota.  Sam and I had been hunting nonstop for a month, and he finally decided to stay the night in that run down motel room.  I just couldn’t sleep, my nerves too wound up and my mind wouldn’t stop thinking about how we lost the one person we were trying to save.  So, I did the only thing I knew to do and took off in my baby, just the two of us – windows down, music turned up, motor racing down the open road.  Don’t know how I ended up making a wrong turn, but maybe that was fate playing a card.  Who knows anymore?  I mean, at some point you just have to stop asking questions.

I guess I had been sitting there about an hour, just sipping on some rotgut whiskey when I first saw her dancing with her friends.  I envied her a little, that carefree feeling that I hadn’t felt in so many years I barely even remembered it existed.  I tried not to stare, I really did, but she must have caught me looking anyway.  As soon as that song ended, she walked away from those girls and came to sit at the bar beside me.

“You’re a Winchester.”  She accused, and I leaned back a little, wondering if I knew her from somewhere, as confident as she was about it.

“Dean.”  I answered, my eyes catching a hint of a hunters tattoo. 

She ordered a beer, turning those big blue eyes on me and smirked.  “I knew it.”  She praised herself and I had to chuckle a little.  “The minute I saw that car outside I figured it had to the famous impala of the Winchesters.”

“The one and only.”  I confirmed, beaming just a little.  I’m proud of that car, built her back up from scratch more than once.  Baby was our home, and if I’m being really honest, that car to me is like a part of the family.

She stayed perched up on that barstool for quite a bit of that night.  We chatted about cars, music, and of course hunting.  Last call came before I expected and she ordered a glass of Jack Daniels and slid it in front of me as she hoped off that barstool.

“Here, have the real stuff.  That cheap whiskey will kill you.”  She told me and I laughed.

“Most things in my life will.”  I joked, but her expression changed.  She almost looked sad to hear me say that.  Maybe it was my imagination, because she didn’t say anything about it.  Instead she grabbed my phone off the counter and started typing into it.

“Now you have my number.”  She said, handing the phone back to me.  She winked, and then turned to walk away to where her girlfriends were waiting with what I’m sure was the third degree.

“I don’t even know your name.”  I called after her.  She turned, flashed a smile that I swear made me want to make her smile for the rest of my life.

“If you want to know, you’ll have to call.”  She teased. 

I couldn’t help myself, so I waited until she was out of the door before I pushed CALL on the screen.  I could hear the laughter in her voice when she answered.

“And now you have mine.”  I told her and flipped the phone closed, figuring two could play this game.

+++

Sammy pestered me the entire ride back to the bunker the next day, but in his defense, I did have a stupid grin on my face that wouldn’t go away no matter how hard I tried.  I didn’t tell him about her, although I’m not sure why. 

I wandered around the bunker that next day, just trying to stay busy.  Nothing could keep my mind from going back to the thought of her.  The smell of her perfume had obviously found a permanent home in my nostrils, and all I wanted was to hear that voice again.

“This is crazy.”  I muttered to myself after I went into the kitchen for the third time, unable to remember what on earth I wanted in the first place. 

I had never really been lonely before.  I wasn’t even sure if I could call it that.  I was sitting in my room, staring at the phone in my hand when I suddenly just gave in and dialed her number.  I still felt like my life was my own, I just wanted her to be in it. 

“Took you long enough.”  Her voice brought a smile to my face and just made me feel …. I don’t know….happy?

“Are you going to tell me your name, or do I just get to call you Sassy?”  I threw back at her and she laughed. 

I had felt silk before and I could still remember how soft and smooth it was.  That’s how her laugh sounded – like silk.

“It’s Y/N, but Sassy works too.”  She replied.

+++

We talked on and off for weeks after that.  Finally, Sam and I had a case an hour from where I first met her.  I was so excited to see her again.  Even Sam teasing me about it couldn’t ruin my mood. 

We pulled into town, and I didn’t even wait to see what our motel room looked like.  As soon as Sam stepped out with his bag slung over his shoulder, I practically floored it.  I knew Sam would spend the first few hours interviewing people and doing research, and although I usually helped him, it wasn’t my favorite thing to do.  Honestly, I couldn’t have concentrated on anything, knowing she was so close and not being with her.  Thankfully, I think Sam understood that because he didn’t baulk at doing the leg work alone one single time.  Instead, he let me go, just telling me that he would call once he knew something.

As soon as I saw her, I felt my heart racing.  It actually made me a little nervous because it only did that when I was in the middle of a hunt and the adrenaline kicked in.  

She smiled, hoped in the passenger seat and turned the radio on like she belonged there.  “Hey, driver picks the music.”  I teased a little when she started flipping through the old box of cassette tapes I had on the floorboard, but she cocked her head at me and laughed.

“Not while I’m around….unless you want to let me drive that is.”  She said, putting her hand out like I was going to give her the keys.  I just shook my head and shifted into drive.

“Not a chance.”  I told her, glancing sideways to see her smile and shove Led Zeppelin in the tape deck.

She gave directions one step at a time, refusing to tell me where she was taking us.  I grumbled a little, but it was just for show.  I didn’t care.  All I cared about was that we were together.

We ended up just outside of town near the clearest lake I had ever seen.  “This is it.”  She announced, climbing out of the car. 

 It was fun, like the kind of fun I used to have when I was 21, laughing and joking around like we didn’t carry the weight of the world on our shoulders.  I knew that in the end we would both go back to hunting and heartache.  I could tell she knew it too.  

“Do you ever wish you weren’t a hunter?”  She asked, lying across the hood of my car.  I didn’t answer right away and she turned to look at me, sitting up as she did.

“Not anymore.”  I finally answered her.  Normally I would just make up some crap, but something about the way she looked at me that night made me want to tell the truth.

“But you did once?”

“Sure.”  I admitted.  “Somedays when it feels like nothing we do will change anything, I wonder what it would be like to have a family and the white picket fence – all of that.”

Don’t get me wrong, I love my life. The ‘family’ that I have shared it with can make any darkness brighter.  My life's an adventure movie – just like Indiana Jones, James Bond, or Batman even.  You can call me conceded maybe, but hell, I’d watch it.  Sometimes though, I wonder if I’m the only one who would. 

“What changed your mind?”  She pressed, and I felt my lips turn up into a grin.  The way she listened so intently to everything I said, it made me feel like she really cared.   

“I just realized that even if, in the end, no one else knows my story, I wouldn’t change one single thing.  I know who I am and what I’ve done.  Sam and I may live up to the hype about Legacies and Men of Letters, or we might not.  Either way, what I did with my life – it mattered to me.”

“I wish I had met you before I started hunting.”  She said, looking up at me with such sad eyes that it hurt me.  It was that same look she had the first night at the bar.  

“What is it?  What’s wrong?” I asked, not even trying to hide the concern in my voice.  She didn’t answer right away, instead sliding off of the hood.  I did the same, and tried to wait patiently, although the suspense was killing me. 

What was I supposed to say?  I couldn’t tell her what I wanted to – that I wasn’t going anywhere until she let me inside her head.  That wouldn’t have worked with me, and as much as I hate to admit it, it never worked with Sam.  That instinct only ever drove us apart, and that’s the last thing I wanted to happen with her.

“I know what’s out there now.  If I had met you before I started hunting, I wouldn’t be so scared to lose you every time you drive away.”  She admitted, not looking at me until she was done. 

 I didn’t know what to say, and my silence fueled her nervousness.  I could feel it as she rambled a little.  “It would be different if I could hunt with you and carry around angel grace to save you when you get hurt, but….”

She stopped as soon as I laughed.  I didn’t mean to, and I think she took it wrong at first.  She just looked so cute like that, and I guess it felt pretty good to know that she cared about me enough to wish for that. 

I reached out and ran my fingers along her cheek, taking away a tear that I saw falling from her eye.  When I did, she looked up at me and leaned her face into my palm like it was the first time she had human contact in years.  I knew that feeling.  I had felt that way so many times over the years, and that’s a feeling that no amount of alcohol can take away.

“You don’t need angel grace, sweetheart.  You save me every day.”  I whispered without even thinking about it.  As soon as I said those words, I think they shocked me almost as much as they did her.  What was more surprising was that I realized I meant them. 

I loved the way she looked at me then, blushing a little at the sentiment.  It was strange at first, seeing myself through someone else's eyes.  Those eyes were filled with faith in me.  A look that said I mattered, and that no matter how things ended up, I was enough.

When she finally reached up and kissed me, I saw what my life could be like with her.  I knew I should be helping Sam with research, or tracking down some monster.  All I could think about was wrapping my arms around her at night, and pulling the covers over our heads to drive away the morning. 

We climbed back in the car after that and I put my arm across the seat behind her, my fingers lightly grazing her shoulder.  Instinctively she slid closer to me, pressing against my side as we sped off – windows down, music playing, and a motor racing down the open road.

++++

“And that’s the story of how I met your mom.”  I told the little bundle curled up next to me on the couch.  This small little creature looked up at me with the same blue eyes as her mother and it melted my heart every single time.

“But, if she didn’t have angel grace, how did she save you?”  She asked, scrunching up her nose.  I laughed at that.

“She has something even better than angel grace, sweetpea.”  I told her, looking back and forth and then leaning really close like I was going to tell her the biggest secret in the world.  It was fun to watch her eyes get big with amazement every time I did that. 

“What, Daddy?  What does she have?”

“Amazing grace.”  I told her stressing the words and she gasped.  It was everything I could do not to double over with laughter.  “It’s more powerful because it is made purely of love.  That’s why it’s amazing.”

"Wow, really?"  She asked, the biggest grin on her face.  I nodded.

"You know what else?"  I encouraged and her face got so serious and she shook her head.

"No, what?"

"You have it too."  I told her, booping the tip of her nose with my finger.  She giggled and pushed my hand away - pretending to be embarrassed.

Yep - I couldn't get enough of that Amazing Grace.

Read more from my Masterlist here

Tags: (let me know if you would like to be added or removed)

@just-another-busy-fangirl @imagining-supernatural @aubreyreadsstuff @jensen-jarpad @your-modern-shakespeare @wildfirewinchester @jpadjackles @wonderfulworldofwinchester @akshi8278  @tamtamlov @aubreystilinski  @wildatheart15 @notnaturalanahi @underestimatemethatwillbefun @chelsea072498 @mogaruke @mamapeterson

@nichelle-my-belle  @impala-dreamer  @samsgoddess @deansleather  @waywardjoy @imadeangirl-butimsamcurious @supernatural-jackles @wi-deangirl77  @deanwinchesterforpromqueen  @memariana91 @plaidstiel-wormstache @chelsea-winchester @fandommaniacx @revwinchester @castieltrash1 @supernaturalyobessed   @winchester-writes @evilskank-inthemegacoven @maraisabellegrey @winchestersmolder @bennyyh @clueless-gold @deanwinchesterxreader @winchester-family-business  @there-must-be-a-lock @just-another-winchester @canadianjelly @realgreglestrade  @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @deathtonormalcy56 @spn-fan-girl-173 @whywhydoyouwantmetosaymyname @mrswhozeewhatsis @kayteonline @babypieandwhiskey-library @deantbh @chaos-and-the-calm67