#and she had to do it in kansas. and shes back and shes. in so much pain
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also thinking of house's relapse and coach beard (bc i will always think of beard in any capacity), and i do think......if beard remains in richmond with jane, cut off from ted and any other support system he could have (because with ted out of the picture, jane will most likely focus on cutting out the other people in his life, furthering his isolation because that is what abusers do), there is a very strong chance he Will relapse, especially taking into account his drug use had drastically increased throughout the show. he uses their bus driver as his dealer and refers to shrooms as "my medicine". he and jane frequent club scenes, where club drugs (such as stimulants) are highly available, jane is a fellow drug user (i presume just psychedelics, but again, being a club scene partaker alongside beard, who knows) who has left out drugs for beard to take in the past............beard being overwhelmed by coaching (Which historically has been a hard thing for him to grapple with, see: beard after hours) and jane and the pregnancy/baby, and not having his best friend who has been an anchor for him for the past thirty years.................i do not think it'll end well for him.
#especially when brendan said a reason beard had fallen into drugs in the first place was because he loved a woman so badly#and she Broke him so badly that he relied on substances to help#(now beard most likely was already on his path to addiction and a bad breakup didn't Make him do it but. still)#a lot of stressors in beard's life and No ted to help drag him out of the flames#drug addiction /#relapse /#ted getting the call in kansas that beard had relapsed and was back in rehab....
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#it's sucks so much that like 6 weeks later i still feel meh about tl and it's just made me bitter and fed up with it that im not looking-#-forward much to emmys#im only here for the actors nominated and any non-writer noms...#i will not shut up if the finale wins for best writer let that be known#regression of two male characters for last minute love triangle sh*t... trying to give keeley a girl boss ending when they didn't even show#-her being a boss in her own storyline...#ruining all the r/k scenes for s1 and 2 so what would be the point of a rewatch...#making ted so detached and tbh the ep felt detached too and sending him back to kansas when rebecca had an offer right there and not even-#talking with his family all because of his mother showing up once and doing a tell but not show about henry#yes his son is important but ted is more than existing for his son and the last shot just felt like he was d*ad inside#their lead female character's big plot about finally getting someone to love who will treat her right in her life because she wants it...#only for the said guy to be some guy who showed up half way through the show and had barely 20 mins of screen time with her and most of it-#-was him being creepy pushing her boundaries (like ohhh he made her dinner and washed her clothes and didn't hurt her the bare minimum) and#-giving them t/r 1x02 callbacks which was a kick to the face#never mention him again only once after the ep and no seeing him until the last f*cking second on no seeing them together in the montage#quickly shoved in dude who is dutch!ted#freaking teased t/r throughout s3 knowingly with the matchbook and soldier and hallway moment and having ted pining for her in the ep she-#was with boat guy#they have actual build up and it felt natural to go there but they shoved her in with a random dude#and they made a wedding for a toxic ab*sive couple that one writer thinks isn't abusive and also made t/r fans feel sh*t for seeing the-#-love with scenes and parallels THEY WROTE#THEY ACTED...#so yeah f*ck that they don't deserve that win
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NO GRANDMA DONT CRY NOOOOOO
#shes back from her trip. she had to get surgery for a hernia (#(idk if thats what it called)#and she had to do it in kansas. and shes back and shes. in so much pain#she doesn't deserve this#shes been through so much#she made it upstairs but. shes crying. a lot. i feel so bad
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Who is This?: Chapter 1
Pairings: Bucky Barnes x reader
Summary: Bucky had a wife during the 40s, she was left heartbroken after the telegram arrived (missing, presumed dead). It's surprising when 80 years later, she was working behind a bar in Madripoor of all places!
Masterlist | Series Masterlist
Bucky followed Sam and Zemo into a loud bar, he immediately wanted to turn around and go home, why had Zemo demanded he go back to being the Winter Soldier (even if it was one night)?
The sound of heavy drums and guitars also deafened his hearing, a song he had come to learn was The Wild Boy by a band called Duran Duran. A few bartenders and waitresses were walking around, there was only one who stuck out to him - a dark-haired young woman who reminded him too much of his departed wife.
His heart breaks even more, thinking of the woman he had left behind, his girl. The love of his life. Bucky doesn't think he will ever 'get over' her.
The way the young woman walked, carrying a tray of empty glasses (before being tossed an empty bottle by a patron), was so similar to the way his girl walked in the hole-in-the-wall diner she worked in.
She wasn't quick enough to duck under the bar before they got to the door leading upstairs (which was coincidentally next to the bar), Zemo was talking to the bouncer. "Excuse me, gentlemen," the young woman said, squeezing between the back of Zemo and the front of Bucky. Which is when he got a good look at her face.
There she was.
His girl. His wife.
He couldn't even say anything to her, as he was taken upstairs and away from his girl. He could only hope he would be allowed back in at the end of the night to see her.
Y/N Barnes made her way behind the bar, glancing up at the TV where the Kansas City Chiefs were currently playing the Buffalo Bills at Arrowhead Stadium, then down at her phone which showed the live score of the Dodgers game against the San Francisco Giants.
She had been a long-time Dodgers girl, even after she found out they had moved from Brooklyn to Los Angeles.
"Did you see the way he was looking at you?" Yasmine asked, pushing a dry Martini in front of a 26-year-old woman.
Y/N looked up from the glasses she was putting in the dishwasher. "Huh? What are you talking about?"
"One of the men who went upstairs. The way he was looking at you," Yasmine fans her hand for dramatic effect. "I would drop my panties for him in a millisecond."
"Like you don't do that every night."
Yasmine rolled her eyes and served the next half-drunk who had come to the bar.
"Don't listen to her," Anastasia told her, rolling her eyes as Yasmine flirted with her current flavour of the week.
"It's not often I do, darling," Y/N replied, fiddling with Anastasia's curls for a second, before spotting a patron. "What can I get for you, darling?"
He hung off the bar, obviously far too drunk to understand what was going on. "Another beer and your phone number," he slurred.
She shook her head, reaching over and grabbing him another beer. As far as the boss of the bar (whoever that was) was concerned unless they were unconscious- why should you stop serving them? Y/N thought it wasn't right, but no matter how often she voiced this - she was shut down.
She set the beer in front of him and then went to the register to add it to his bill (good thing she currently has his credit card behind the bar).
"Oi, sweet cheeks!" He calls, but Y/N doesn't pay attention looking over at Yasmine and Anastasia with a raised eyebrow. "Sweet cheeks! I asked for your number."
Y/N replied by simply raising her hand proudly displaying her engagement and wedding rings to the drunk. It was only a small diamond (given Bucky worked on the docks before he was deployed), and the plain band she inherited from her great-grandmother.
"What's the matter with that 'un?" He hiccups. "He got you costume jewellery or somethin'?"
Y/N shook her head. "I'm going into the back for a moment," she tells Aidan.
Little did the drunk patron know, all those years ago, this was the date she was handed the telegraph - putting in such blunt words. Her James was missing, they presumed him to be dead. It breaks her heart that they never got to have a proper funeral.
"You alright, honey?" Elizabeth (another one of the waitresses) asked, she had been outside on her break. Elizabeth was the only one who knew her true age and about her James.
"It's the day I found out James was missing," Y/N said, before bursting into more tears.
Elizabeth wrapped Y/N up in a hug, everyone oblivious to the fact that Y/N's presumed dead husband was now running through the bar, flocked by Sam and Zemo, and into the alley behind the bar.
When Bucky was sure Zemo, Sam and Sharon were asleep, he slipped out of the safe house and into the night - determined to find out if the woman he saw in the bar was that of his (presumably? should be?) dead wife.
He eventually made his way to the front door of the bar, the bouncers had long since gone home. He could see lights on in the building and just about make out words being spoken thanks to the Super Soldier serum running through his veins.
He grasped the handle and gave it a push, the door hadn't been locked, as it gave beneath the slight push.
He could see three young women sitting on the bar, a man who was counting the money from the register and another man who was dancing.
The young woman sitting closest to the bar, had golden curls hanging around her head. "Mark, you didn't lock the door!"
The man dancing, Mark, looked over at Bucky, eyes widening when he saw the size of Bucky. "I say we just serve him, then lock the door behind him."
As the bartenders and waitress argued amongst themselves, Bucky's eyes never left the woman in the middle. It looked as if she had been crying. "Babydoll?"
The woman stopped giggling, tipping her head back to normal and looked at him, before dropping her glass as tears welled up in her eyes. "James?"
The curly-haired woman gasped, setting her glass down and giving Y/N a push off the bar.
Bucky held his arms out to catch her as her feet landed on the floor. He couldn't stop looking at her big eyes, he'd always loved her big expressive eyes. He always knew how she was feeling by just a look in her eyes.
"James? Is that you?" Her hand came out slowly, and shakily, as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing in front of her.
"Hi, babydoll," Bucky smiled, tears starting to fall down his cheeks, a heavy sob held tightly in his chest at the moment in time. As soon as her fingers met his skin, Bucky let out a heavy sigh of relief, reaching over and pulling her into his arms. Y/N's arms dug themselves away from his chest and up around his neck before her hand soon started fiddling with his hair.
The couple stood there for a moment, finally finding their slice of peace. Some came barging into the bar, and the dark-haired woman who had been sitting on the other side of Y/N practically demanded Mark lock the door before the Hounds of Baskerville came in.
Y/N was so happy to finally have her James back in her arms, but there was a whirling sound she couldn't let go. "What's that noise?"
Bucky looked from his wife to his arm and back to his bride. "I'll explain everything to you later, but... I lost my arm, and I now have a prosthetic one," he tells her, letting go of her for a moment so he could take his glove off and show her the black and gold Vibranium one he had made.
"Ok, James. It's a good thing you gave me this," she reached beneath her top and pulled a ring out from beneath, hanging from a chain. "Before you were deployed."
Bucky smiled, cupping her face so he could kiss her. Bucky pulled away chuckling a little. "Babydoll, will you please put my ring back on?"
She reached behind her to unclasp the chain, and slid Bucky's band off, "if it doesn't fit we'll get it resized."
"I don't care what size it is, as long as you put my ring back where it belongs," Bucky almost growled, a piece of him falling back into place with the ring back on his finger.
The next morning - Sam, Zemo and Sharon came into the living room, seeing Bucky sleeping on the sofa (Sam was expecting this, after being told by Steve), however, there was a lump lying next to Bucky they didn't recognise.
Sam slowly makes his way over, gently easing down the thick blanket lying over Bucky and the lump.
Lying there, practically on top of the 'bionic staring machine' was a young woman.
"Did he somehow pick up a girl?" Sam whispered. Sam and Sharon were trying to be quiet - however, Zemo (who didn't care) started clattering around the kitchen, causing Bucky to wake up in a start, which then caused the young woman to look up with tired owl-like eyes.
"What the hell is going on?" Bucky nearly demanded, keeping his arms wrapped around his companion.
Sam raised his eyebrow. "I could ask you the same question, Barnes?" Sam looked at the young woman in Bucky's arms. "Who is this?"
Bucky looked down at her, Sam watched as a smile grew on his face. "This is Y/N. Y/N Barnes. My wife."
#bucky fic#bucky barnes x reader#james buchanan barnes#bucky x reader#sam wilson#sharon carter#baron zemo#takes place in the falcon and the winter soldier#this had been going around in my head for DAYS!!!#1k#2k
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Fucking Fungus {Joel Miller x F!Reader}
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 6k
Warnings: SEX POLLEN, dub con, post apocalyptic world, scavenging, guilt, shame, desire, Joel having a bad attitude, mentions of periods, rough sex, neediness, unprotected sex, cream pie
Comments: Coming across Wymore, NE, you hoped to find some much needed supplies for the coming winter but you find that the fungus has mutated in dangerous and frightening ways. Needing to insure that there are more hosts to infect in a very basic kind of way.
🎊��🎊🎉🎊🎉Happy Birthday @storiesofthefandomlovers!!!! I love you and hope you have the best damn day! In thotty tradition, here is a sex pollen to celebrate another year around the sun!🎊🎉🎊🎉🎊🎉
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|| MasterList || Joel Miller MasterList ||
Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.
The world has changed in the past twenty years. None of it for the betterment of humanity. The crunch of the dried leaves grinds under your boots and your head rotates left and then right as you watch, listen. Waiting for any sign of life or more importantly, danger. The weight of your rifle is heavy in your hands, although you hold it down, unassuming but ready to be lifted at a second’s notice.
“I don’t know why you don’t just hook it over your shoulder.” Ellie snorts, her backpack bouncing slightly on her back from the steps that seem so unencumbered by worry. Why should she worry when there are two fully armed adults on either side of her. Her own personal guard in a manner of speaking. “There hasn’t been anything out here for daaaaaays.” She drags the word out like it's the most horrible thing in the world that it’s been peaceful.
Joel snorts, rolling his eyes as you glance over at him and then look back out at the surrounding terrain. “Yeah, that’s why we are on guard.” He grunts, even though his own rifle is on his shoulder. His hand gripped the shoulder sling loosely but he had only just put it up there half an hour ago after you had taken your turn relaxing as much as you can. “it’s too fucking quiet.”
He’s right. After the disasters that had been Kansas City, you had tried to avoid major cities, but even in the small towns, you had come across plenty of cordyceps and clickers. You hate the clickers with a passion.
The isolation can account for a lot of the silence. Miles stretching between remnants of civilization. The crumbling buildings and overgrown roads give the entire midwest a sense of peace. It’s unnerving.
Your grip adjusts, head rolling around your shoulders slightly to try to loosen the knot that builds up in your shoulders after so long. The weight of your pack isn’t as heavy as it should be, the rations not exactly filling since you had to escape that one clicker in Du Bois, Nebraska. Your pack had been ripped and most of the food you had been carrying was lost.
You glance over at Joel, noticing the way his shoulders seem to hang, almost a reflection of the way you feel. “We need to risk a larger town.” You murmur quietly, knowing that his first instinct will be to argue with you. You stumble slightly over a rock and hiss when you feel the hole in the sole of your boots.
“Too dangerous.” Joel snorts, shaking his head even as he watches you regain your footing. “I’ve got some duct tape in my bag.” He reminds you, knowing that you should probably reinforce that shoe before you lose the sole all together.
“It’s not just shoes.” You protest, trying to ignore the way that Ellie groans obnoxiously loud and stomps her foot.
“Come on, man!” She throws her own arguments into the ring. “I need tampons! We could find them if there was jack shit out here, but there’s not. Do you want me to attract wild animals?” She presses, glaring at Joel who looks equal parts horrified and unconvinced. She cracks an evil grin. “Circling us in the wild as I just leave behind a trail of blood? Aaaaand tears.” She adds, lifting her brows. “Periods are really emotional things.”
Biting your lip to keep from snorting, you watch as Joel; normally stoic, no bullshit Joel, can’t seem to string together the words to respond. His eyes slide over to you, almost pleading with you to say something.
Your brows lift in question and he twitches slightly, his dark eyes unhappy with you not immediately jumping in to save him. “We could use the food if we can find any.” You rationalize, smirking when his brows pinch together and he looks like he had just been betrayed.
“Clean underwear!” Ellie adds. “Or….cleaner. And a heavier fucking coat.” She shivers slightly and you can see that is the moment when Joel caves. He acts like a prick most of the time, but he’s got a soft spot for the kid. He won’t admit, maybe not even to himself, but he looks over at the faded and nearly rusted out sign.
You continue walking, not pressing any more and you can hear the grumbling thoughts that are rolling through Joel’s mind. The now half hearted protests about why this is such a bad idea but you wait for the sigh.
Almost even with the sign is when it comes, heavy and it sounds almost pained. Like he is going against everything he believes in. “Stop.” He huffs, shuffling to pull his bag off his back and kneeling down with a groan and the small pops of fifty plus year old knees. Unzipping the pocket where he keeps the Atlas and flips the worn pages to Nebraska. Glancing back at the road behind you and then at the sign before looking at the map. Tracing the route that you had already traveled before looking ahead at the towns that were on highway 77.
Ellie doesn’t say a word but she practically bounces on her toes as she waits for his decision. You know that he’s going to agree, it’s just a matter of which town he chooses. He knows the truth of the situation. Winter is going to come quicker than any of you want, your food supply is low, you could probably all use a new set of boots, and all of you would kill for a halfway decent musty mattress to sleep on. Four walls and a hopefully non-leaking roof over your heads would be the icing on the cake.
“Wymore is coming up in fifty-eight miles.” He taps the map and looks up at you to see what you think.
Ellie shuffles slightly and instead of grinning, you crane your neck to look at the map yourself. “It looks like it’s bigger than the last few towns, but at least it’s not like we are running into Lincoln.” You hum before you nod. “I say we try.”
“Yessssss!” The teenager pumps her fist in excitement and she grins when Joel rolls his eyes. You’ve noticed that like any normal teenager, her favorite activity is annoying any kind of parental unit and pushing boundaries. This applies to Joel whether or not he likes it. “I want to find another joke book too.”
Joel groans but you just turn around, grinning yourself as Joel mumbles under his breath, stuffing the map back in his pack and zipping it up. Joel and Ellie are alike in a lot of ways, especially their penchant for mumbling.
You resist the urge to offer him a hand up, knowing he will be even more pissy if you do. For someone who complains about being older, he gets downright grouchy when he’s reminded of that same fact. “Well then, the quicker we get there, the quicker we don’t have to hear ‘are we there yet?’.” You snort, making Ellie grin shamelessly as she shrugs, knowing she will do exactly that.
“So let’s get going.” She doesn’t wait for anyone, just setting off down the road and leaving the two of you to catch up with her.
****
It takes you nearly three days to get to Wymore. All of you are tired, but Joel is the one who barely sleeps, even when you force him to lay down. It’s as if he cannot stop trying to protect Ellie, and also you, long enough for him to rest. He gets upset when he has to sleep, staying up until he is nodding off. The coffee supply has been exhausted and it’s probably a good thing. He would drink it all day to the point where his hands would shake from too much caffeine. Still he just wouldn’t trust you to make sure that no one snuck up on you for a few hours until he was past the point of being useless.
The first signs of the town are a welcomed relief but it’s also an added source of tension. Each mile that you had traveled had added to the fear that this might be the time that you fail. That something goes wrong and someone else dies. The road here has not been easy and the losses have weighed heavily on all of you. Joel still won’t even mention Tess and you hate it when you wake up in the early morning hours to find him staring down at the broken face of his watch with a look that breaks your heart.
Every approach into a new area can mean danger, either from the clickers or from humans and honestly you don’t know which one you fear more. Your gun is back in your hand, the weight of it familiar and comforting as you pass the first gas station, the windows busted out and dried fungus clinging to the building.
“Fuck.” You hiss, uneasy at the presence of the fungal vines, even if they look like they aren’t active.
“I wonder why it looks pink.” Ellie frowns as she squints at the building. “It’s usually an ugly brown color, right?” She looks towards Joel for confirmation, but he’s busy frowning at the building himself.
“Maybe this isn’t a good idea.” If the cordyceps have spread this far out of town then there’s a possibility there are still active branches closer to the supplies that you are looking for.
“Come on man.” Ellie groans, kicking a dirt clod. “There’s nothing for miles. It’s probably all dead.”
You know that Ellie is probably right, but it’s a risk. You bite your lip, looking over at Joel. “Why don’t we sweep the town and we can see?” You ask, knowing that if everything is dead, you could desperately use the rest. Cordyceps rarely return en masse when the vines have withered and died. It could be a safe place to recharge and for Joel to sleep for more than ten minutes at a time.
You’ve stopped walking as you talk, Joel looking around as he contemplates your alternatives. To be honest, there aren’t many and both of you know it. Not without a lot of backtracking which none of you want to do.
Joel sighs and you know that he’s going to agree. He turns to Ellie. “Don’t fucking touch anything until we say it’s alright.” He points at her for good measure, as if his finger would impress the importance of his words. “Got it?”
“Got it.” She huffs. “Jesus, you act like we haven’t done this before.” You roll your eyes and look away, knowing you shouldn’t encourage her right now.
It takes hours to make your way into the center of town. Not because you are blocked by clickers or avoiding humans, it’s because you are stocking up. It’s like the fungus took over this town and just let it rot. Nothing inside the first few blocks of town is disturbed. No looting has been done here, plenty of supplies to be had.
Both you and Joel have been cautious but slowly optimistic as you’ve found boots and heavy jackets, gloves and hats. A new pair of clothes have been rolled into everyone’s bags and you’ve even grabbed another pack to fill with the mylar sealed packs of camping food from the sporting goods store. It was a miracle that nothing had been ransacked, but it makes you wonder exactly what the fuck happened here. Did the army sweep through and round up all the residents right away? It would make sense, but then why were there dead spores of the fungus here? You haven’t seen one body so far and it makes you nervous.
“This place is a fucking gold mine.” Ellie grins like a kid in a candy store, perhaps because you’ve actually found candy and she has been sucking on the jolly ranchers until the top of her mouth is raw. “Now we just need to find a place to sleep. I want my own room.”
Glancing over at Joel, you expect him to immediately tell her no, but he doesn’t say a word. Continuing to look around like he is expecting a clicker to pop out from the doorway of the local McDonald’s, now completely covered in that strange pink fungus. It’s like he doesn’t even hear her as he frowns at the building.
She takes that as approval and immediately starts talking about how she’s going to spread out. Making you snort when she talks about sitting in her underwear for an hour. There hasn’t been a lot of privacy out here on the road, so you can understand that desire.
“Joel.” You murmur his name softly, knowing that the best thing you can do is to find the motel and get settled down for the night before the sun sets. Even if this town is as safe as it appears on the surface, you would rather not be fumbling around in the dark . He doesn’t look over at you, still staring at the overgrown building as if it’s holding the secret. Maybe it reminds him of the Boston Museum, ominously covered with the tentacles of the fungus and the horrors that you had found inside it. “Joel!”
“What?” His head whips around, body tense as he’s ripped out of his thoughts. Relaxing when he finds you and Ellie staring at him. “We need to find the motel.” You remind him, nodding towards the sun getting lower in the sky. “I think we could all use a good night’s sleep.”
He stares at you for a moment, his eyes searing your face, looking for some hidden meaning beneath your words before he glances over at an eager Ellie. “Yeah, sure.” He agrees, adjusting his rifle to sling it onto his shoulder and adjusts his now much heavier pack on his back. “Probably on the other side of the main drag.”
His new boots thump against the cracked pavement. The roads leading deeper into the town is the guide towards what will hopefully be a comfortable bed and at least eight hours of sleep.
Your own new boots feel pretty good, but maybe a day or so here, going through supplies and really making sure that you can take on the coming winter would be a good thing. Allowing you to break in the shoes without blisters. You’ll have to talk about it with Joel after Ellie sequesters herself for the night.
It’s about another fifteen minutes before you get to the small motel that looks like it will be a good place to spend the night. Half the building is covered in another large cluster of the fungus, the pink hue looking particularly bright in the fading sun.
“We’ll get some keys.” It will be better than breaking down doors, especially since the motel wasn’t equipped with the keycards that the high end hotels had started switching to before society came crashing down.
The bad news is that the motel doesn’t have any adjoining rooms, so Joel and Ellie get into a small spat about her having her own room, Ellie eventually winning after promising that she will block the door with a dresser and he’s allowed to sweep the room before she locks herself in. Half the building is so overtaken by the vivid pink fungus that you swear looks like a big splat of bubblegum thrown over the walls.
She doesn’t even want to have dinner with you and Joel, making the man go through the room and then telling you both goodnight and shutting the door in your face. Making you laugh as Joel frowns at the door, rethinking this entire situation.
“Well, you can have a room to yourself too.” You offer, smirking as he cuts his eyes towards you. You know that Joel would rather everyone sleep where he can keep his eyes on them, so you getting privacy is off the table.
“Shut up.” Joel grunts, walking down towards the next room and kicking it open, watchful even though you’ve both already been in the room and deposited your bags. It’s a nice room, two double beds so each one of you can stretch out and relax.
You laugh quietly and decide to walk down the railing towards the portion of the building that has been overtaken by the fungus. Your curiosity about this variant is finally getting the best of you and you want to get a better look at it.
It’s thick. The tendril that is draped over the metal railing of the second floor, wrapping around it and up the support column. You bite your lip, tilting your head when you see the withered remnants of some kind of flower. What kind of fungus sprouts flowers?
You jump when something touches your back, whirling around to find Joel behind you, holding his hands up. He smirks at you, his eyes crinkling in amusement. “Fuck you.” You hiss, narrowing your eyes and he huffs. “What are you doing?” He asks.
Turning back towards the fungus, you sigh. “This is different from any other kind I’ve ever seen.” You comment, stepping closer to it only to feel Joel reach for your arm to pull you back. “It’s dried out.” You remind him, jerking your head towards the husk of the cordyceps. “Have you ever seen anything like this?” You know that he spent a lot of time sneaking out of the Boston QZ, it’s possible he had seen it before.
He grunts, relaxing his hold on you and he shuffles slightly closer, looking at the flower buds that extend from the tendrils. His own suspicions about anything fungus related is deep, but it’s dried. “I haven’t.” He admits after a moment, narrowing his eyes slightly and trying to think if there is any reason why this pink coloring has the hair on the back of his neck standing on end.
“So it’s something new.” You bite your lip and lean in, feeling the disapproval radiate off of Joel in hot waves but you ignore him. Tilting your head and reaching out to touch one of the dried flowers.
“Don’t-”
The second your finger touches the wilted bloom, it bursts open, spurting you and Joel behind you in a cloud of pink dust. You gasp, holding your breath but there’s no hope for not inhaling the pollen.
“Fuck!” Joel coughs, shaking his head and backing up so quickly he hits the side of the building and reaches out to drag you away from the lingering cloud of dust and starts to practically beat it off the two of you. “We need- we need-” He leans over and starts coughing, obviously having inhaled just as much of it as you had.
“We’re okay.” You gasp, shaking your head and brushing the dust off your clothes. “We- it’s dead. Right?” You hate that you are asking that, but you hadn’t expected that from a dried out fungus.
“It- we should clean up.” Joel blinks, the pollen making his eyes itch and that has to be the cause of the rush of heat that slides over him. It’s just adrenaline. Fear. Anything that would scare both of you would make the slight nip in the air disappear and make you feel like your skin is superheated.
The water is gravity fed. The large cisterns on the roof are still full and while it’s not warm, perhaps a cold shower might be better right now. Joel drags you both to the room and locks the door, although he doesn’t push a dresser in front of it in case Ellie needs you in the night.
In the bathroom, you are shaking as you start to strip down, worrying about how stupid you just were and if you completely fucked yourself. The anxious fear covering the way your skin seems to burn and feel so sensitive to everything. Shuddering when your hand brushes over your thigh as you push your jeans down and kick them off before you pull your shirt over your head and remove your bra.
Clean up. Get the pollen off your skin and cool down. Your body seems to be working on overdrive. Your nipple hard under the cold water and instead of gasping in shock, you moan softly. Enjoying the sensation and reaching for the bar of soap that is still wrapped in plastic.
Hurry up, hurry up. Joel paces around the room, his hands curled into fists. Practically sweating even though the air is cool as the sun sets. His body feels like it’s on fire, like he is battling a sickness.
Over and over again, he goes through the symptoms of the infection of the cordyceps, there’s no veining, he’s stopped and checked his eyes and reflection in the peeling mirror about twenty times in the five minutes you’ve been in the bathroom. And he doesn’t fucking think the fungus makes his cock harder than a fucking rock in his jeans.
He’s not thought about sex in months. Nothing beyond fleeting moments of attraction to you that he swiftly buries under guilt and responsibility. Normally, it is when you’re bent over and your ass is presented to him in such a way that he thinks about sinking into you from behind, or when your shirt pulls tight over your breasts and he imagines cupping them in his hands as you sit on his cock. Immediately dismissed and ignored as he reminds himself of how he had failed Tess, he doesn’t deserve to find warmth and comfort in your arms.
Now, it’s all he can think about. The urge to palm his cock makes his fingers twitch and he almost moves his hand over his crotch before he flinches back to reality and tries to examine his face in the mirror again, wondering if his eyes are bloodshot from lack of sleep or if he is infected.
Scrubbing your body is nearly painful, wanting to stop and touch yourself, but you can’t. You need to get this done and get out so Joel can shower. Still, despite the cold water, you feel like you are on fire when you shut off the water and realize that you didn’t bring your bag into the bathroom. You will have to go out there in nothing because you can’t put those clothes back on. Not until they have been washed.
Moderately dry, you hear Joel bang on the door. “Hurry up.” He growls, making you clench your thighs together at the raspy tone and hating how it spears through you. You know Joel isn’t interested in you, hasn’t ever looked at you like that and the crush that you had on the man had been buried deep.
“I’m done.” You don’t have a chance to be embarrassed as you open the door and Joel practically shoves past you into the bathroom and slams it behind him. “Fuck.” Your annoyance cools the heat for a moment, but it’s only temporary.
The water is icy, but still, Joel curls his hands into fists against the shower wall. He’s fucking hard. Harder than he had probably ever been in his entire life, even when he was a horny teenager and would have fucked anyone who let him between their thighs. He’s not felt like this ever. The need to touch himself builds to the point where his hips are rocking into thin air against the spray of the water. Want clawing up his throat and pooling in his stomach in a heavy knot.
You don’t dress, you can’t. Crawling under the covers of one of the beds, you listen to Joel groan in the bathroom, it’s muted over the sound of the shower but it’s sexy. All of his sounds are sexy, from the low grunts he gives when he’s stiff and sore, to the huffs and groans of annoyance. It’s all sexy to you. The rasp of his voice when he’s not spoken for a few hours.
Closing your eyes, it’s easy to give in, to let your hands drift over your skin. He’s not here, you can take care of this frantic need that is swirling inside you. You just need to slide your hand between your thighs and ease it. It wouldn’t take much more than a few swipes of your fingers against your pulsing and aching clit.
Trying to fight it, you concentrate on your breathing, in and out. Inhaling slowly and holding it so you can exhale when the burn in your lungs tells you that you’ve reached your limit. It helps, but not much. Not when you’re imagining Joel in his shower. Touching him. Being free to touch him and having his hands on your body in return.
Your hands slip over your breasts, squeezing them hard enough to moan softly and your legs shift to press together. Clenching around nothing and wishing that you were full while your hands start to move down over your stomach.
The first touch is almost a relief, your entire core quivering as your fingers press against your clit. It’s overwhelming and not enough. You need more, fingertips pressing and rubbing around the puffed up bundle of nerves. You’re already soaked and can feel it dripping down your slit.
Spurred on by that insatiable need, you slide your fingers around your entrance and start to press them inside. Biting your lip to keep yourself from moaning. Imagining that it’s more, that it’s a cock that is starting to break you open and fill that void that is aching.
You are so caught up in the bliss of that first stretch of your fingers that you don’t hear the shower turn off. The quiet curses coming from the bathroom are muffled by the rush of blood in your ears, the feeling of relief coursing through your nerves and taking over. You don’t hear the click of the lock and the turn of the handle. The door opening doesn't even register as you plant your heels on the bed and push your hips up, needing to get your fingers deeper, not quite reaching the spot inside you that craves fullness.
You don’t hear him until he chokes out a sound that is pained and low, like he’s injured. Your eyes pop open as you lurch up off the bed, your fingers ripping themselves out of your cunt hard enough to make you whimper. Fixed on Joel’s towel draped body, tented over his waist.
“Joel, I-” “Fuuuuuck.” He growls, his eyes closing and his hands bunches into fists, one holding his towel and the other by his side. “I’ve tried to not think about you, about touching you.” His words are rasped out, strained against his vocal cords. “I’ve goddamn beat into my brain that you aren’t to be thought about this way and now, I can’t stop.” His stomach clenches and his body twitches as he struggles to keep still.
Your chest heaves and you see his eyes drop down to your uncovered tits. His jaw clenching and his Adam’s Apple bobbing as he swallows. “I - I need to touch myself.” You admit breathlessly. “I - it hurts so bad and I need something inside me.”
Joel groans again, shuddering so violently that you can see him shake from where you are. “I’ve jerked off in the shower twice and it's still hard.” He drops the towel, revealing his hard and leaking cock, making you whimper at the sight and clench around nothing. “I think that- that we- that the flower-” “I don’t care.” You moan, shaking your head and crawling to your knees and shuffling forward. Showing him all of you and so goddamn desperate to touch him that you think you are about to explode. “Touch me, Joel. Fuck, touch me, please.” You beg, your hands on your own body. “We-” He shakes his head and his face changes, morphs into pain.
“Fuck me.” You hiss, watching as his resolve breaks. His cock bounces as he lunges for you, hard and swift, driving you back to the bed with a bounce. Almost as if he is attacking you.
He’s not gentle. His mouth finding yours in a harsh kiss, your permission unleashing the coils of restraint that he had tried to put on himself. His grip bruises as he hauls you up the bed and settles between your thighs.
You’ve always attributed Joel with rough gentleness. The type of man who would make you ache and then hold you close. Groaning in pleasure when you find out that is exactly what Joel Miller is like. His hands spreading your thighs with a desperation that proves he is just as afflicted by this fungal pollen as you are. His cock hard and pressing against your folds as he rocks his hips forward to line up. Almost unable to find the hole with his eagerness to sink into you.
“Joel, hurry.” Your hands shake, holding onto him and urging him closer to you, frantic with need now that you know that you are going to have him inside you.
“Goddamn, I’m trying.” He hisses, hating to let you go so he can take his cock in hand. Rocking into his own grip as he shuttles his hips forward. “I’m fuckin’ trying, sweetheart.”
You whimper when you finally feel him pressing against your entrance, choking out a sound of need that is animalistic. Only to cry out in bliss as he pushes inside you without another delay.
He groans, eyes cinched shut as he slides inside you to the hilt, burying himself in your heat and feeling that coil in his stomach tighten even more now that your walls are around him. Immediately starting to move just as soon as he fills you, driving by that need and burning in his very veins.
It’s exquisite, the pain and pleasure blending and fusing in your stomach, nerves alight and responding to every small movement. You can’t get enough of him, you need more. Wrapping your legs around his hips, you rise to meet his harsh thrusts. Clenching down around him every time he hits that spot deep inside you that you couldn’t reach with your fingers.
He shouldn’t be inside you, he shouldn’t be touching you, but now that he is, he can’t stop. Turning his head, he presses his lips to yours and slides his tongue into your mouth. Needing more. Kissing you like he had imagined a thousand times before. Giving into every urge he has had since the day he met you and repressed before right now. Snapping his hips forward sharply and pulling every groan out of your mouth to swallow down.
Every thrust makes it better, eases that burning in your core, your cunt slick and squelching every time he drives into you. He absorbs every sound you make, almost greedy for them. His hips jarring as they slam into you. Rocking you both up the bed.
“Oh god,” breaking away from the kiss, you moan into his ear. Closing your eyes as he pants and puffs while he fucks you. “So deep, so deep, Joel.” Your nails drag down his back, making him hiss in pleasure and pain.
“Shit.” He groans your name, lost in the rhythm of his thrusts and the building pressure. “You needed this?” He growls, making you clench down around him hard and whimper his name. “Yessss.” You agree, nodding against the pillow. “Needed it so bad.”
“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight.” He huffs, burying his face against your neck. Continuing to pound into you, and not letting up even though his back is screaming in pain. His body won’t let him do anything but rock his hips. Driven by a need that overrides everything else.
His words make you burn, making you even more desperate for him. Your hips rock up and legs tightening around his waist even more. Loving how his cock stretches you out and scrubs against every nerve in your cunt. Lighting up your body until you are gasping on the edge of that much needed orgasm.
Every plunge into your body brings him closer to cumming, desperate to feel that emptiness, that wrung out filling once he has filled you. He shouldn’t cum inside you, he knows that, but he’s not going to be able to stop himself. He can barely pull back enough to rock his hips back into you.
His arms have banded around you, holding you into place as he fucks you. Deep and primal, as if he is trying to fuse the two of you into one. His cock punches into the depths of your body that you never imagined anyone reaching, but he touches it with ease. Your body pulsing with that need to come apart.
“So close, I’m so close, baby.” You whine, body starting to tremble underneath him. “So close.” Your nails dig into his shoulder, grounding yourself to him in desperation. “Joel.”
“I gotcha.” He groans, eyes closed and his breath fanning against your skin. “I’mma take good care of you, sweetheart.” He promises. “You’re gonna cum all over my cock, ain’t cha? Just like you wanted.”
His words throw you over the edge, that need built up so tight inside you that it busts on the next thrust. Lights careen and collide behind your eyes, bright and beautiful as your whole body ignites into pleasure like you’ve never experienced before. Crying out loudly and soaking him in a wave of your juices. Cumming harder than you ever have before.
Joel growls your name, his hips stuttering as you come apart around you. Unable to hold back any longer. He buries himself deep into your hot passage and paints your walls with sticks ropes of his seed. Panting against your lips as he empties himself body and perhaps his very soul into you.
Both of you pant, relieved and exhausted from the pure exertion of need as you had taken from each other. Joel presses into you, trying to catch his breath, but the fire is still burning low in his belly, his cock still not softening as it twitches inside you.
“Oh fuck.” You feel that same desire still curling in your stomach, not satisfied by the intensity of the orgasm that you are still coming down from. “Joel-”
He huffs and shakes his head. “Don’t-” he presses his lips to your again, body screaming as he starts to move again. “Shhhhhh.”
The need still burns and both of you are still locked in its fiery grip, not yet free from the desire that washed over you from a burst of pollen.
****
“What the fuck man, open the door!” The thudding on the door finally penetrates the bone deep sleep you had finally fallen into. You don’t know how many time Joel fucked you, or how many times he had spend himself inside you as you blearily open your eyes.
Joel grunts, slowly opening his own eyes and unwinding himself from the tangled together position that you had passed out in. The knocking on the door keeps on. “Joel!” Your name is also shouted, Ellie starting to sound somewhat panicked when neither one of you is immediately opening the door.
“Fuck! I’m coming.” He drags the top blanket off the bed and wraps it around his waist before flinging the door opened to blink into the harshness of the sun. “What?” He growls roughly, making Ellie’s eyes blow wide with shock.
“Holy shit, what happened to you?” She demands, pushing into the room and stopping short when she sees you sitting up in the only bed that has been disturbed, the sheet anchored beneath your armpits. “Oh shit, you fucked.” She gasps, turning and shooting Joel an impressed grin. “Way to go, old man, you made a move.” Her grin quickly turns into an expression of mild disgust when she realizes that she’s congratulating you two on having sex. “Uh, I’m gonna go now.” She huffs, wrinkling her nose and pinching it. “It smells in here.” Waving her hand in front of her face, she darts back out the door and Joel just stands there for a moment before he rolls his eyes and goes to shut the door before he thinks better of it. Sticking his head out of the room, he shouts after Ellie. “Stay away from the fucking fungus!”
You snort, grinning to yourself as your body starts to ache. Fucking fungus indeed.
#pedro pascal#joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller smut#joel miller imagine#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller tlou#joel miller the last of us#sex pollen
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DCxDP Prophecy Universe Part 2
Part 1
Damian glared at the envelope. He and Father were in the process of analysing the letter for any signs of toxins, explosives or other traps. Obviously he wasn’t fool enough to open a missive from a questionable source without taking precautions. So far, all their scans had come up empty. Literally. The letter was defying all their attempts at chemical or spectroscopic testing, x-ray and magnetic resonance scans were inconclusive, it defied all properties of ordinary matter. It was frustrating. It was vexing. He was blaming magic.
For all intents and purposes, the letter looked like ordinary paper, with an ordinary wax seal, bearing the initials CW. The looping handwriting addressing it to Damian was precise and neat. Swiping the surface of the letter for chemical traces yielded no results. When Damian had tried to cut off a corner of the paper for analysis it had resisted all attempts, including a laser and a diamond headed cutting tool. Damian’s only satisfaction was that when Father had grunted and taken over the task from Damian, he had no more success than his son. As if Damian didn’t know how to perform the standard array of tests!
It certainly didn’t help that his siblings wouldn’t stop their incessant chattering!
“I’m just saying, ghosts wouldn’t be the weirdest thing we’ve encountered, Red. I’m not sure it would even make my personal Top 5.”
It seemed gossip among heroes travelled faster than the speed of light.
“Really, Nightwing? Ghosts? It’s far more likely to be a meta with something to hide. Or a few screws loose.” Damian could practically hear the eyeroll in Drake’s voice “And since when do ghosts act as glorified mailmen?”
“I don’t know Red, since when do aliens pretend to be Kansas farmboys? C’mon, we deal with magic users all the time!”
“And lets not forget people coming back from the dead” Red Hood interjected over the open comm line.
“Magic is just science we don’t understand yet. Any sufficiently analysed magic becomes indistinguishable from science!”
“B, a little help here?”
“Hn” Father straightened up from his position at the lab table “Oracle, any progress on clearing up the footage from Robin’s mask?”
Grayson threw up his hands with a frustrated huff while Drake smirked.
“The program is almost finished rendering. Whatever scrambler they used did a real number on the video quality. I’m surprised the audio is as clear as it is.” Oracle replied.
“Hn. And the isotope tracer on the money?”
“Sorry B, no hits on the local sensors. Wherever the guy went it’s either outside Gotham or shielded somehow.” she said, mildly frustrated.
“Maybe it’s ghost magiiiiic” Drake sing-songed. Grayson lightly cuffed the back of his head, to which the former Robin responded with a firm shove. Their interaction quickly devolved into a childish tussle.
Damian gave an annoyed huff. “Don’t you two imbeciles have anything better to do?”
“Aww, we’re just here to look out for our baby brother!” Nightwing teased.
“Yeah, we gotta make sure your ghost encounter didn’t leave any lasting psychological damage!” Red Robin added.
Before Damian could retaliate for their needling, Oracle chimed in. “Uh, guys? You’re going to want to see this. Most of the footage was corrupted beyond repair, but I was able to pull some partial stills and, well…” she threw a handful of pictures up on the screen. There was artifacting marring them, but parts of the stranger were visible in each of them. Oracle magnified one that had a pretty good view of his face.
“Holy shit” Drake whispered.
Damian frowned. “What?”
“Dami, he looks like you. Just… older.” Grayson said softly.
“What are you talking about?” Damian snapped.
“Disregard the pale colouring for a second. The nose, the chin… he looks like you if you had a growth spurt,” Drake wrinkled his nose “and went through puberty.”
The commlines erupted into chaos.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Spoiler exclaimed “are you telling me there’s an older version of Robin running around Gotham?!”
“Copy?” Batgirl inquired.
“Don’t tell me Talia cooked up Demon Brat 2.0!”
“Given that he looks older it’s more likely version 0.1 if anything,” Drake snarked, “though there’s the possibility of artificially accelerated growth rates…”
Damian had had enough. “Tt. You are ignoring the obvious - if this is some kind of supernatural entity it likely copied aspects of my appearance in an attempt to engender feelings of familiarity.” he said haughtily, pushing down the uncomfortable churning in his stomach. There was no way Mother would replace him with a cheap copy. She couldn’t! “Besides, the creature has obvious powers and neither of my bloodlines has any trace of the meta gene.”
“That’s ignoring the ghostly elephant in the room.” Grayson chimed in, “Maybe it’s a dead ancestor?”
Drake gave their older brother an annoyed look “Even a time travelling descendant from the future is more likely than that. And delivering a ‘prophecy’ to boot?”
Oracle pulled up an aged up picture of Damian next to the stranger’s, highlighting several reference points. “On closer inspection, there’s a couple of discrepancies. The cheekbones for one - Robin definitely takes after his mother, while our mystery meta looks more like… well… Robin’s grandmother on the paternal side.” she finished hesitantly. “B?”
They turned to look at Batman, who had remained silent during the whole exchange. If they hadn’t known him so well they would have thought him unaffected, but the tightening around his mouth betrayed his agitation.
“There’s no use in pointless speculation until we have more data to work from,” he growled, “Oracle, look for any reports of a meta matching the target. Since our regular methods have failed to yield results, I will contact the JLD about running tests on the letter.” He turned to Drake, “Red Robin, see what you can find on recent League activities. If this is another scheme by Ra’s or Talia we need to know about it.”
“The last thing we need is more demon spawn running around!” Red Hood groaned over the comms.
Damian was furious. This was absurd! To even indulge the possibility that that creature was in any way related to him was making him feel like he had swallowed battery acid. He was the Demon’s Heir! He was not replaceable! There was only one thing to do.
“Robin? Stop!”
He ignored his Father’s shout. He stomped over to the lab table, snatched up the envelope and broke the seal.
Nothing happened.
He unfolded the paper and saw the same handwriting that had been on the outside.
Brother of blood, brother of soul
Never buried but already mourned
In lightning and ice the scorned child returned
To strike down the Demon’s Head
With all that Death earned
Damian’s hand shook. He reread the lines over and over again, refusing to comprehend. He could feel his Father standing behind him, scrutinising the letter as well.
“Son…”
Suddenly, the paper burst into green flames, going up into smoke that dissipated unnaturally quickly.
Silence reigned for a few moments. Then…
“Well that was needlessly melodramatic” Nightwing remarked.
Part 3
#dcxdp#dpxdc#dc x dp#dp x dc#danny phantom#batman#dc domics#batfamily#no beta we die like danny phantom#prophecy universe#the one where clockwork uses prophecies to mess things up (and set things right)#fanfic#congrats bruce it's a boy#clockwork loves melodrama
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wear the hat || d.w
i read exactly one cowboy romance so enjoy (fake)cowboy!dean and the cowboy hat rule
wc: 1.9k
cw: raw dogging, semi public sex, use of petname (sugar), the cowboy hat rule
taglist: @the-last-ry
mdni 18+
you can’t help yourself. dean looks so goofy in the outfit, and you can’t refrain from teasing him about it. on this hunt, for whatever reason, dean thought it’d be best if he poses as a cowboy.
“to get more information from the locals. they’ll never talk if i look like a city boy, sweetheart,” dean says with a simple shrug. there’s a smile playing on his face, and you cann’t help but to roll your eyes.
“dean, you’re from kansas and you wear flannels every day. nobody thinks you’re a city boy. the hat is most definitely overkill,” you tell him as you cross your arms over your chest.
“i’m not taking it off,” dean huffs, matching your pose. you glare at him momentarily. he doesn’t look bad. in fact, he looks hot as fuck, and maybe, that’s why you need him to chill out on the disguise.
you toss your hands up in defeat and follow him into the bar. the two of you split up rather quickly. you’re working your charm on the drunken men for any information you could pry out of them about the missing people while dean made his way to a group of women to do the same.
almost an hour later, you finally manage to get the information you need, and you’re off to find dean. it’s nearing eleven pm at this point and you are ready to go. that is, until you see dean sitting at the bar with a girl who is entirely too close for your comfort.
you and dean aren’t an item, per se, but the two of you have been a little more than friendly on more than one drunken occasion.
you tap on dean’s shoulder lightly in an effort to get his attention. nothing. the girl he’s talking to is shooting you glares every chance she gets. you roll your eyes and decide that there was only one way to get his attention.
so you snatch the cowboy hat off his head and slip it onto yours. dean whips around to face you. you’re expecting him to snatch it right back, but instead, dean just smirks, seemingly forgetting all about the blonde he was talking to a minute beforehand.
“i’m ready to go,” you huff, adjusting the hat on your head. your hands finally rest on your waist, hip popping out. dean doesn’t say anything. just kept staring and grinning.
“dean, seriously? what?” you puff, annoyed at his behavior.
“you know the cowboy hat rule?” dean muses, leaning back to get a good look at you. his gaze rakes over you, sending a shiver down your spine.
“the what?” you ask evenly. dean’s grin grows wider, and you are half tempted to slap it off of him.
“the cowboy hat rule, sugar. wear the hat—” dean trails off. he leans forward until his hand rests against your waist, and his mouth is brushing your ear.
“—ride the cowboy.” your eyes widen as he finishes the phrase. he pulls away just enough to watch your expression change from shock to compliance. he smiles proudly, knowing that you're more than willing to obey the rules.
no words leave your mouth as you nod, allowing dean to drag you through the mess of people in the crowded bar. the cool summer air bathes both of you as dean pulls you through the exit door and ushers you to the impala.
his rough hands in yours had your mind racing with thoughts of what they'd feel like skimming your body. in the three times that you and dean have slept together, both of you were too wasted to remember much about it the next morning. you'd wake up with those delicious bruises on your thighs or hips and hate yourself for not being able to remember what the hell went down the night before. however, you aren't ballsy enough to ask him to fuck you when you’re sober, so you settle for forgotten nights.
your senses snap back to reality when you hear dean clear this throat. that shit eating grin is back on his face when he realizes that you'd been staring at his hand.
"what is it, sugar? got a thing for hands or just mine?" dean teases relentlessly. you roll your eyes at him, shoving his shoulder lightly. he catches your wrist before spinning you around until you're bent over the hood of the impala.
"dean," you gasp, bracing yourself against the black metal. dean laughs behind you and leans down until his chest is flush against your back. his lips brush against your shoulder, and you breathe out a sigh, dropping your head against the cool metal when dean starts to lift the hem of your dress up.
"tell me what you want," dean says softly in your ear, pressing a kiss against your jaw. you have never been more grateful to be parked at the back of the lot.
"you. need you," you whimper, reaching behind you to grasp at any inch of dean you could reach.
"mm, 'm right here, sugar," dean says playfully as he hums against your skin. you groan, shaking your head and letting your hand slip down to dean's wrist. you grab his hand and lower it to your aching core.
"need you here, dean," you say breathily when dean starts toying with your panties. you can hear him inhale sharply behind you, and you arch your back slightly.
"fuck, sugar," dean groans. without warning, dean rips your underwear down your legs, helping you lift one leg at a time until the fabric is completely off your body. the cool air makes contact with your exposed cunt, causing you to hiss in pleasure. the cold doesn't last long because dean is shifting onto the ground behind you. his hands grip at your thighs, nudging them further open before he dips his tongue into your waiting pussy.
you mewl as dean laps at you like a man starved. he hums something against your cunt, but you're too lost in the pleasure to listen. that is, until he slaps your ass. hard. you wince, lifting your head to look back at him.
"answer me when i'm talking to you. being nice enough to eat this pretty little pussy," dean growls, but he doesn't mean it. he'd gladly get on his knees for you, and he'd stay there forever if you'd allow it.
"what?" you whine, eyes rolling as dean sucks your clit into his mouth.
"thought you were supposed to be ridin' me?" dean hums again, clearer this time. he doesn't give you time to answer before slipping a finger into you. you cry out when he adds another almost immediately after.
"yes! yes, i will," you ramble, dropping your head to rest against the car again. your release is so close, and you clench around dean's fingers, his tongue still lapping away.
before you can cum, dean withdraws his fingers and pulls away completely. you jerk your head around to meet his gaze, eyes wide with need.
"no! please!" you beg pathetically, desperate for release. dean grips your chin lightly and pulls you back until he can kiss you, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue. you moan into his mouth before he finally pulls away.
"come on," dean orders, and you nod compliantly as he pulls you up from the hood of the impala. dean slips into the back seat first, pulling you in behind him. you barely touch the leather seats before dean is tugging you into his lap.
his hardened cock strains against his jeans, and you can’t stop from rolling your hips over his clothed bulge. you tug at his shirt impatiently. dean doesn’t object, tossing the fabric off his body and into the front seat.
his hands grip your hips as he leans in to kiss you again. he guides your hips, the two of you groaning at the friction. your arms are wrapped tightly around his shoulders.
“fuck,” dean grunts again. he taps your ass lightly, so you pull away with a huff. your pout quickly dissolves when dean lifts you up just enough to undo the button of his jeans, allowing his cock to spring free.
“oh my god,” you mumble as you stare at his dick. dean smirks before pulling back onto his lap. dean settles your cunt over his cock, but he doesn’t push himself inside of you. not yet. instead, he opts for getting his cock wet with your slick first.
your eyes roll as you slide your pussy against his hardened dick. you grind your teeth when the head of dean’s cock slips against your clit repeatedly.
“please,” you pant. dean hums, watching as your movements get more erratic.
“dean, please. let me ride your cock,” you beg again. your eyebrows are knitted together with your eyes clenched shut.
“go ahead, sugar. take it,” dean grunts before settling into you completely. you inhale sharply when he grips your ass, pushing you even further onto himself.
you brace your hands against his shoulder, dropping your head to rest against one of them. dean gives you a second to adjust before he grabs your hips, urging you to move.
so you do.
you bite your lip, trying to keep your moans and mewls in as you ride dean. you couldn’t remember a time you felt so fucking full. dean’s dick was fucking perfect, hitting every spot that made your vision blur with ecstasy.
you lift your hips repeatedly before settling on grinding against him. you writhe in delight as dean drops his head back against the seat, hands gripping at the sides of your thighs as you continue to bounce and grind against him. you lower yourself to kiss against his neck before burying your face in his shoulder.
“right there,” you whisper repeatedly, nipping at dean’s neck as your hips start to stutter. dean grips your hair in one hand, tugging your head back until your neck is on full display for him. his arm wraps around your waist, holding you flush against his chest. dean groans as he adjusts the two of you until he has the mobility to drill his hips into yours, cousin you to cry out in pleasure. he doesn’t relent as you finally come around his cock.
deans sucks a deep bruise into your neck when he finally comes, muttering curses under his breath when his hips finally settle. the only sound in the car now is the two of you panting against each other. you lift your hips, whining as dean’s cum drips down your thighs.
you look up at dean, but he’s distracted by the sight. his cheeks are reddened, and his eyes are hazy as he watches his cum drip out of your cunt.
“dean–”
“fuck, sugar. gonna have to let you steal that fucking hat more often if it means i get to watch you take my cock like that. you look so fucking pretty like this, sugar,” dean grunts, swiping his thumb through the mess on your thighs. he swipes his thumb up further, pressing against your clit before finally bringing his thumb up to your mouth. without speaking, dean nudges your lips open, making you taste the two of you.
“goddamn it, sugar. can’t wait to use that pretty mouth next time.”
#dean winchester#supernatural#dean winchester x reader#spn#dean winchester x reader smut#dean winchester smut#dean winchester x fem!reader#supernatural smut#cowboy!dean winchester smut#cowboy!dean winchester#dean winchester fanfic#dean winchester fic
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welcome home
barcelona femeni x alexia putellas x youngadult!reader
summary: you find healing after switching clubs
warnings: swearing, bodyshaming, one mention of bodily fluids, I made up names of imaginary players who don't play for the nwsl club mentioned in this fic!!!, bullying, angst, yes there is a happy ending.
you grew up with your eyes on the stars, and your feet on the ball.
at 15, you felt like the world belonged to you—a place where dreams became your reality. you’d trained hard your whole life to make it to the world stage, and by 16, you were living your dream as one of the youngest members of the 2019 world cup roster for the united states.
the national anthem playing, crowds screaming your name as you made the assist to rose lavelle’s goal—it was everything you’d ever wanted.
all of the happiness and thrill faded away when you joined the kansas city current. when you first stepped into the locker room, you were excited. new teammates, new opportunities—it was everything you’d hoped for.
you wanted to make friends, to be part of a family when it came to being with your first professional club outside of your childhood one.
the moment you walked through those doors, you could feel something off. the eyes on you were sharp, intense, cold.
“what’s up, big foot?” macy had said, the team captain, with a grin that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"don't trip over those feet, yeah?" she had laughed, and a few others joined in, but the laughter felt harsh, mocking.
“yeah, we don’t need a kid coming in thinking she’s hot shit,” added jessica, one of the veteran players, her words dripping with sarcasm.
“try not to embarrass us out there.”
you laughed nervously, trying to brush it off as rookie hazing, but the tone was sharper than you expected. you told yourself that it was normal, that it was just their way of breaking the ice.
you couldn't have been more wrong.
practices started to become a war zone. it wasn’t just intense training; it was like they were out to get you. elbows to your back when the coach wasn’t looking, hair pulling, shoes clipped behind your heels to send you stumbling.
once, in a scrimmage, you remember trying to dribble past jessica. the curly-red headed girl came in late with a slide tackle, her studs connecting straight with your shin. you hit the ground hard, gasping for breath, and she stood over you, smirking.
“whoops,” she said, her voice flat and unapologetic. “you should be quicker, portland has fast forwards and you can’t defend them with those legs.”
the coaches didn’t do anything. you’d get up, limp back into position, and hear them say, “come on y/n, toughen up. you’ve got to be ready for contact against portland on thursday.”
they acted like it was all normal, like you were the problem.
in the locker room, it wasn’t any better. they whispered behind your back, cruel comments about your skills, your looks, even your voice.
once, after a tough practice where arianna had practically shoved you into the goalpost, you were struggling to keep your emotions in check as you unlaced your cleats. you heard them in the back of the room, their voices loud and taunting.
“seriously, what does the national team see in her? she’s not even that great,” jessica said, snickering.
“guess they needed a token teenager to fill the roster,” another voice added, followed by laughter.
“she needs to go back to playing with the u18s, kylie you’d do much better than her in the left-back position!”
you bit your lip so hard it bled, staring down at the floor, pretending you didn’t hear them. you never knew what to say. it felt like you couldn’t breathe.
everything you did felt wrong, like you were walking on eggshells every day.
and then came the night that broke you.
it was after that world cup loss to sweden, a moment that already weighed on you like a thousand bricks.
you returned to kansas hoping to throw yourself into training, to prove you could bounce back. but when you entered the locker room, your world came crashing down. your locker was trashed—like a hurricane had blown through.
your training kit was shredded, your cleats filled with some kind of foul-smelling gunk�� obviously period blood due to a used tampon found inside of the locker. and scrawled in black marker across the inside door of your locker were the words,
spoiled, selfish, fat bitch!
you stood there, your heart pounding in your chest, hands shaking so violently you couldn’t steady them.
“what... what the fuck is this?” your voice came out a choked whisper.
kamryn, another girl on the team, walked by, a smug grin on her face.
“looks like someone had a bad month,” she said, fake sympathy dripping from her words.
“i hope you can still play tomorrow, stargirl.”
the nickname fans around the world called you, now being used to belittle you.
you couldn’t hold it in anymore. you yelled at them, your voice cracking with rage and desperation, “the fuck? what did i do to any of you? this is fucking insane and you think i am the problem?”
“you walked in here thinking you were better than us. you got handed everything, y/n. you don’t deserve to be here. you’re a little girl playing a big girl’s game.” jessica walked in, scoffing while smirking at the sight of your locker in the dressing room.
you left that night and didn’t stop crying until your eyes were red and swollen. but even then, the coaches did nothing.
they told you to toughen up, to show “mental strength,” as if their approval could patch over what you were going through. and that’s when you realized you had to get out—before this place destroyed you and any love you had for football.
barcelona was the escape you desperately needed. a chance to rebuild, to breathe.
when you landed in spain, everything felt fragile. it didn’t matter that you were now with one of the best clubs in the world.
the trauma from kansas stuck to you like a shadow. you walked into your new locker room, keeping your head down, afraid to say the wrong thing, terrified of the laughter you thought you’d hear.
but it never came.
instead, alexia, the captain, was the first to welcome you. “y/n! niña!!! so nice to finally meet you,” she beamed, pulling you into a hug that felt warm and real.
“i can’t wait to see you play. you’re from the states? we need to introduce you to keira and lucy– they’ve been wanting to meet you but don’t take their banter seriously.”
every day, they chipped away at your fear. little by little.
when you struggled on penalty kicks one time during training, patri stayed back with you after practice.
“okay you got this!!! by the end of this evening, you will never miss a penalty kick again. trust me! yeah? it’ll be fun.” she speaks with a thick catalan accent.
you were hesitant, scared to mess up, but patri never pushed. she was patient, kind. she’d pass the ball back to you and made you do penalty kicks over and over again until you felt comfortable, until your footwork was smooth, and every small achievement she celebrated like it was a goal in the final.
“see? you’ve got this,” she’d say, and you’d feel the corners of your mouth tug into a smile for the first time in what felt like forever.
it was a few weeks into your time with barcelona, but you still felt like an outsider.
even with the kind gestures, the smiles, the support from the team, you were carrying the weight of kansas like a ghost.
you stayed quiet during team meetings, laughed politely but never loudly, and when the others shared jokes or talked about life outside of soccer, you sat on the edges, half-invisible.
alexia had been watching you. she noticed how you shrunk into yourself, how you seemed to fade into the background during conversations.
during drills, your focus was laser-sharp—too sharp, like you were overthinking every touch, every pass. when you were off the ball, your eyes darted around, like you were searching for threats.
you reminded alexia of esmee when she first arrived last season—new, uncertain. but this was different.
there was fear and sadness in your eyes.
one afternoon after training, alexia pulled you aside. the sun was setting, casting long shadows across the pitch, and most of the team had already started heading back to the locker room.
you felt her hand on your shoulder, and you turned, trying to hide the nervousness in your eyes.
“niña,” she said gently, a small smile on her lips. “can we talk?”
you nodded, biting the inside of your cheek. “sure, alexia. what’s up?”
“it’s about you,” she said, her voice steady but soft. “you’ve been… quiet. more quiet than normal. and i get it, you know, being the new girl and all. esmee and kika were shy when they first came, but…” alexia paused, searching your face.
“this feels different. it feels like you’re afraid of us.”
you could feel your chest tighten, the words getting stuck in your throat. you didn’t want to seem weak, didn’t want to burden anyone.
“i’m not... i mean, it’s just—" you stumbled over your words, trying to find the right thing to say, something that wouldn’t make you sound like a mess. “it’s nothing. really.”
alexia didn’t buy it. she shook her head slightly, taking a step closer to you. “i don’t think it’s nothing, y/n. you barely look anyone in the eye, and when someone even brushes by you during training, you flinch like you’re waiting to get hurt. it’s not normal.”
she kept her voice calm, steady, like she was trying to reassure a frightened animal. “listen... if something happened before you got here, you can talk to me. it’s just me right now. no one else.”
you wanted to brush it off, to laugh and say she was overthinking, but the truth clawed its way up, burning your throat. you clenched your fists, staring down at your cleats, trying to focus on anything but alexia's eyes, which felt like they could see right through you.
“it’s… it’s hard to talk about,” you finally admitted, voice cracking on the last word.
“back in kansas, things were... bad. really bad.”
“what do you mean?” alexia’s voice was a whisper, gentle but urging you to continue. she stepped closer, her hand on your shoulder now, warm and steady.
you bit your lip, feeling the sting of tears threatening to spill.
“my teammates—they hated me. from the minute i got there, they acted like i was the opponent that happened to sneak into their dressing room. i thought maybe it was just... i don't know, maybe i did something wrong. but no matter what i did, they just got worse. they... they bullied me. on the field, off the field... they’d make comments, call me fat, trash my stuff, physically go after me during practice.” you took a shaky breath, your shoulders trembling.
“they hated me for being good– for being called up to the world cup before some of their veterans did. they said i didn’t deserve the call ups at all, that i was useless. every single day felt like... like a war that i was going to lose.”
alexia’s face hardened, and for a second, you thought you saw anger glistening in her eyes.
“and your coaches?” she asked, voice tight with anger. “they did nothing?”
“they... didn’t care,” you said, shaking your head.
“if anything, they made it worse. told me to toughen up, to get used to it, that it was part of being a pro. so i did. i tried to act like it didn’t bother me. but it did. every day, it did.”
there was a heavy silence. alexia didn’t speak for a moment, letting your words hang in the air. and then, she pulled you into a hug—tight, secure, like she was trying to shield you from all the pain you had gone through.
you stiffened for a second, unaccustomed to the softness, the genuine care, but then melted into it, burying your face in her shoulder.
“you don’t have to go through that alone anymore,” she whispered.
“this is your home now, y/n. we’re your family. i promise you—no one will ever treat you like that again. not while i’m here, and i am going to be here for a very long time.”
you felt the tears slide down your face, but they weren’t tears of pain anymore.
they were relief, a feeling you hadn’t let yourself feel for a long time. when she finally let go, alexia cupped your face, making sure you were looking right into her eyes.
“you are so much more than what they made you feel,” she said firmly, her voice laced with emotion. “and if anyone even tries to make you feel like that again, they’ll have to go through me. through all of us. okay?”
you nodded, a small, shaky smile breaking through. “okay.”
“did you go to anyone on your national team about this?” alexia asked, hoping you did.
“i did. alex was the one who encourage me to move clubs. trinity even promised to smash kansas when they go to washington dc to play against spirit.” you laughed, wiping a stray tear from your face.
she laughed back, squeezing your hands. “we’ve got your back, y/n. always.”
and she meant it. over the coming weeks, you felt the shift.
after that talk, alexia made it a point to check in on you.
the small gestures from the team slowly healed the wounds you didn't think would ever close.
when ingrid left you notes in your locker before every match with scribbled encouragements, kika making it a routine to kiss you on the head when you scored a goal past aitana in training, or when mapi pulled you into a bear hug after a tough game reminding you that she is proud of you– you felt at home.
masterlist
#barcelona femeni#woso x reader#woso fanfics#woso community#fc barcelona#alexia putellas#mapi leon#ingrid engen#kika nazareth#trinity rodman
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ow
for @corrodedcoffinfest prompt 'ow'
rated t | 926 words | cw: injury, hospitals | tags: established relationship, steddie, famous corroded coffin
🤕🤕🤕🤕🤕🤕🤕🤕🤕🤕🤕
Steve woke up to his phone ringing. He wouldn’t normally be too concerned about that happening, especially when it was barely eleven at night and Eddie was known to call when he got offstage for the night, but the ringtone wasn’t Eddie���s.
“Gareth?” Steve answered, heart already racing from the adrenaline of being woken up so quickly.
“Eddie fell!” Gareth’s voice was panicked as he spoke.
“Fell? Where? Is he okay?” Steve started to rush out of bed, mentally calculating what he would need to shove into a carry on bag to get to wherever Eddie was.
Dallas? Las Vegas? He forgot.
“Off the stage. He’s in the ambulance and we’re on our way to the hospital now. He was awake and yelling at us to call you when he left,” Jeff answered. Apparently Gareth had him on speakerphone. “I don’t think he hit his head, but he said his leg and hip hurt. Could have broken something.”
“Shit. Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Steve threw his backpack on the bed, shoving his phone charger in first. “Send me the hospital info so I can try to call.”
“No, no. He said to tell you not to rush here.”
“His exact words were ‘’Tis but a scratch.’” Frankie said through the phone. “Which is code for he’s being very brave.”
“Exactly. I’ll be on the next flight to-“ Steve leaned over to check his printed out schedule of the tour. “Kansas City.”
“See you soon.”
****
When Steve arrived at the hospital, the entire crew filled the waiting room. A nurse was standing at the reception desk talking to Gareth, Jeff, and Frankie.
Steve rushed over to them.
“How is he?”
“They won’t let any of us see him. He’s been in recovery for two hours now.” Frankie said over his shoulder as he glared at nurse.
“Apparently Eddie doesn’t want to see anyone.” Jeff said as he turned to Steve. “Not until he saw you.”
“Okay, so let me see him.” Steve adjusted his backpack over his shoulder.
“He’s asleep. Nurse said he finally passed out about 15 minutes ago and he needs rest,” Gareth shook his head. “Dramatic bitch.”
“Wait. Recovery?” Steve shook his head. He needed to focus, figure out what was going on exactly. “He had surgery?”
“They had to repair his knee that he shattered. Idiot.” Frankie said before walking towards the crew.
“He’s just mad it took so long to find out anything. He was worried,” Jeff explained. “Glad you’re here now, man. Flight okay?”
“Got stuck in the middle seat between a business man who spent the entire flight calling his wife a bitch and a woman who spent the entire flight crying about leaving her boyfriend. Also anxious as hell. Pretty sure my leg is still numb from not sitting still.” Steve sighed. “Any way I can just go sit in his room?” He asked the nurse.
“Will everyone leave if I let you?” She asked in return.
“I’ll clear ‘em out.” Jeff promised as he patted Steve’s shoulder.
Gareth gave him a quick side hug before following Jeff to the crowded room.
The nurse still didn’t seem pleased, but she must’ve sensed that Steve would put up a hell of a fight. She nodded her head for him to follow her through the double doors to the elevators.
“Room 3186 is where he’ll be for the next 24-48 hours. Then he’ll either get released or moved to the inpatient physical therapy hall,” she explained as they rode up to the third floor. “That’s usually reserved for particularly slow healers and older people, so hopefully he’ll be able to do outpatient PT.”
“How long before he can go on stage?” Steve asked, already scared of the answer.
“I guess it depends on if he plans on falling off another one.”
Any other time, Steve probably would’ve laughed, but right now, he was full of too much anxiety.
“I doubt he planned on falling off of this one,” Steve snapped back.
She apologized when they got to Eddie’s room. “It’s just been rough dealing with that crowd.”
“Well, he’s got a lot of people who care about him.”
She gave him a small smile before leaving him to go into the room on his own.
Eddie was asleep, but Steve could tell it wasn’t a deep sleep. They must not be giving him strong medication.
Steve set his backpack down by the chair and sat down as quietly as possible.
When he looked over to Eddie, his eyes were open and his lips were turned down in a frown. “Ow.”
“Want me to call a nurse?” Steve leaned closer to the bed, worry creasing his brow.
“I broke my knee.”
“I know, baby.”
“Floor got me.”
“Yeah, it did,” Steve barely managed to hold back a laugh as Eddie sighed. “You wanna hold my hand?”
“Always.”
Steve watched as Eddie drifted back to sleep, his hand loose in his grasp.
He sent a text to Gareth to let him know he was with him and he was sleeping somewhat peacefully. He made sure to tell him they could all head back to the buses and vans if they hadn’t already.
Eddie got released two days later with a very intense PT schedule and a restriction on playing on stage standing up for four weeks.
When he got the cast and bandages off, his first stop was a tattoo parlor, where he got the word ‘ow’ tattooed over his kneecap, just above the scar from his surgery.
#corroded coffin#corrodedcoffinfest#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#gareth stranger things#jeff stranger things#unnamed freak stranger things
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My Past, My Present, My Future
Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader, Endverse!Dean x reader
Summary: You get dragged to the future along with Dean to witness the aftermath of the apocalypse. Follows the plot of "The End" (Season 4, Episode 4)
Warnings: mentions of death, canon violence, cursing, use of pet names. SMUT, oral (F receiving), unprotected sex (P in V), dirty talk.
A/N: If I tell you too much, it'll ruin the story...enjoy!
It had been 2009 when you and Dean had fallen asleep in a hotel in Kansas City. You were awoken by the sound of your boyfriend's voice muttering "What the hell?"
You opened your eyes to find yourself in a completely trashed room--it looked like an actual bomb had gone off. It took you a moment to realize it was the same room you'd fallen asleep in.
"Dean?" you asked in confusion.
He was staring out the window, so you joined him, the two of you now staring out a what remained of the city.
"What happened?" you whispered.
"I have no idea." He looked back at you, worry etched into his face. "We should get moving. See if we can find anyone else."
As the two of you walked through the city streets, you found yourselves completely alone--that is, until you came across a little girl crouched in an alleyway all alone.
As the little girl attacked Dean, you saw the word "Croatoan" painted on a brick wall. Dean defended himself, knocking the girl unconscious.
You simply pointed to the word, a look of dread on your face. Dean's gaze followed your finger and the same expression crossed his features.
"Shit," he muttered.
Suddenly, a group of infected people rounded the corner and spotted the two of you. You both took off running, desperate to avoid becoming their next meal.
"Dead end!" you yelled at Dean, but neither of you had time to figure out your next move. The infected people are still behind you when a heavily armed military unit opened fire on the group.
The commotion gave you and Dean the time you needed to escape. The two of you stayed hidden until nightfall. When you emerged, you noticed a sign on the fence surrounding the entrance to the city.
"Dean," you said softly, pointing to the sign. "Croatoan Hot Zone."
He stepped forward to get a better look. "August 1st, 2014? How...?"
"Great," you muttered. "So we're in the future."
"Apparently...and it ain't pretty."
You shared a look and muttered "Angels," in unison.
You managed to find an abandoned car that still had gas, so Dean hot-wired it and the two of you sped off. You were desperately trying to find a cell signal or even a radio signal when Zachariah made an appearance in the backseat of the car.
"I thought I smelled your stink on this Back to the Future crap," Dean growled.
In response, Zachariah simply began to read a Newspaper he'd brought with him. The headlines were dark, detailing some of the terrible events that had occurred in this morbid future.
"How the hell did you find us?" Dean asked in annoyance.
"Human informants from some of the fringier religious groups," Zachariah answered.
"That guy on the street last night," you said to Dean, who nodded.
"Send us back. Now," Dean demanded.
"No can do. The two of you are staying put in 2014 for a few days so you can see exactly what happens to the world if Dean continues to say no to Michael."
"You're an ass," you muttered.
Dean smirked a little. "As much as I love having (Y/N/N) as my copilot, why'd you have to drag her into this?"
"Don't worry, she'll be fine," Zachariah said with a wave of his hand. "She's here because she might be the only person who can convince you to do the right thing. She needs to see just how bad it gets almost as much as you need to."
Before either you or Dean could respond, Zachariah disappeared, zapping himself back to wherever the hell he hung out.
"Have I mentioned how much I hate angels?" you mumbled under your breath.
Dean simply nodded. "Me too, sweetheart."
"Where we headed?"
"Bobby's."
You kept your thoughts to yourself. Dean didn't need you to tell him it was unlikely Bobby had survived this, especially being wheelchair-bound. He wasn't a fool, but you knew it was better to let him have just a little bit of hope.
**********
As expected, Bobby's house was empty, save for his wheelchair and an absolute mess of junk. Dean was silent as he surveyed the room, putting the wheelchair back upright with a sad sigh.
He went to the mantel behind Bobby's desk and pried it open, pulling out Bobby's old journal. In it, he found a picture of several men with shotguns posing in front of a sign for Camp Chitaqua, Bobby and Cas among them.
He held the picture up for you to see and you exhaled softly. "Road trip?"
He nodded and the two of you headed for the camp. You managed to sneak past the guards, but as you were making your way farther into the camp, Dean grabbed your arm.
You followed his gaze and realized his once-beautiful Impala was parked off to the side completely junked out.
"Oh not you too, Baby," he whispered as he leaned forward to inspect the car.
You would have laughed if you hadn't been staring down the barrel of your own future.
"Dean--" the rest of your sentence was silenced as you fell to the ground, knocked unconscious by someone behind you.
The man was fast enough that both you and Dean were unconscious without a single sound.
When your eyes fluttered open some time later, you found yourself seated in a wooden chair, wrists gently bound to the arms. You saw Dean sitting on the floor a few feet away from you, arms cuffed to a ladder bolted to the floor. He wasn't moving and you whispered his name in worry.
"So you're awake." Had you not been staring at Dean when you heard the voice, you would have been certain it had been him talking.
You looked around, jaw dropping as Dean stepped out from his place against the wall behind you. It was Dean, but it wasn't your Dean. His face looked a little more haggard and the light in his eyes was dimmed almost to extinction.
"Who--how--?" you tried to ask.
"I could ask you the same question."
You looked back over at Dean's unconscious form and the other Dean sighed.
"He'll be fine...as long as you answer some questions. I know neither of you are some kind of supernatural creature--trust me, I tried all the tests. But he carries every weapon on him that I do and well--there's a striking resemblance." He trailed off for a moment. "Then there's you...any chance you can explain why you look like my dead wife's identical twin?"
You were saved from responding by the sounds of your Dean stirring. "What the hell?" he muttered as he realized he was cuffed in place.
"Thanks for joining us," the other Dean stated. "I was just asking your friend here why you look like my doppelgänger. Care to share?"
Dean looked between you and the older version of himself and sighed slowly. "Probably because I am you--well, the you from 2009. And she's (Y/N) from 2009. We were dragged here to 2014 courtesy of Zachariah."
Future Dean nodded. "Sounds like something he would do. He always was a dick."
You smirked a little, appreciating that somethings never changed. However, your mind was still reeling from the words Future Dean had said to you mere seconds before your Dean had woken up...dead wife.
"As much as I'd like to believe you, I need to be sure." Future Dean crouched down in front of your Dean, eyes narrowed slightly. "Tell me something only we would know."
Your Dean flicked his gaze to you for a moment before turning back to meet his own stare. "We were 19. Rhonda Hurley made us try on her satin panties. They were pink. And you know what? We kinda liked it."
You giggled lightly at his admission and Future Dean cracked a small smile and muttered, "Touché."
Future Dean stood back up, turning his attention to you. You were surprised to see the sadness in his green eyes--a look you'd only ever seen once before.
"You haven't looked at me like that since Jo and Ellen died," you said softly.
Future Dean grimaced. "A lot has happened in the past five years, (Y/N). I carry a hell of a lot more weight than I did in 2009."
You waited for him to continue, as you knew he would.
"A lot of shit happened--really bad shit. The apocalypse, demons, releasing the Croatoan virus...we lost a lot of good people, people I cared about." He sighed heavily and ran a hand over his face. "Three years ago, a small team of us tried to infiltrate a demon lair in an attempt to get Lucifer's location. I led one team, (Y/N) led the other. I don't know how, but they knew we were coming. I couldn't get my whole team out, but (Y/N)--she-she fought until the very end. She made certain her whole team made it out of there alive."
Your breath caught in your chest as you let his words sink in. You could hear the heartbreak in his voice, even though it was obvious he was trying to hide it. Your Dean let out a soft pained sound and you felt the strong urge to go to him, but the ropes around your wrists held you in place.
Future Dean continued, "When I found out they'd left her behind, I went back...the demons had already cleared out, having gotten what they wanted. I found her..." He trailed off, gaze finally raising to meet yours. "I found you...broken and bleeding. I held you in my arms as you took your last breath. I carried you back home and I built your pyre. I wouldn't let anyone else near you. I lost something that day I could never replace, and it changed me forever."
"Dean," you whispered softly. Tears filled your (y/e/c) eyes as you stared into his mossy green ones. "I'm so sorry."
He almost laughed at your response. "I just told you that you die because of me and you're the one who's sorry?" He let out a pained chuckle. "You always did love me more than I deserved."
Your expression was soft and your smile even softer. "I don't blame you. It doesn't matter why or how it happened--it wasn't your fault. I make my own choices, as you well know. So if I chose to stay behind to save other people, then that was my decision and the consequences are for me to bear."
He closed his eyes for a few moments, allowing your words to wash over him. He'd never even imagined he would have the pleasure of hearing your voice again, let alone see your smile, or hear your laugh. He felt his armor crack just enough that a sliver of the Dean you had always loved shone through. It terrified him, your ability to affect him even now, but he knew his love for you had never dimmed and never would.
"What about Sam?" your Dean asked, breaking the silence.
"There was a heavy weight showdown in Detroit a few years back. From what I heard, Sam didn't make it out."
"From what you heard?" Dean asked in shock. "You mean you weren't with him?"
"We hadn't spoken since 2009."
You had your own opinions on Dean's decision to part ways with Sam and you'd been very vocal about it. You could tell by your Dean's expression that he was shocked and guilty about how that decision had played out.
Future Dean turned his gaze to you and you saw the same regret in his eyes that you'd seen in your Dean's. But something about his expression and the intensity of his gaze made you wonder if he was regretting the same thing as your Dean.
Future Dean exhaled slowly and averted his eyes again, pulling his invisible mask back down. "I have a mission, so I have to go. The two of you are going to stay here for the time being. I can't have the younger version of me running around the camp and there are quite a few people here that remember you, (Y/N). So stay here and don't cause any trouble."
You shot a look to your Dean who grumbled something about being left chained up. Future Dean gave you one last sad look before going out the door and leaving you two behind.
"How long until you get yourself out of those cuffs?" you teased softly.
"How long until you squeeze your hands out of that rope future me barely tied?" Dean sniped back.
You smiled and shifted your left hand so you could grab ahold of the knot Future Dean had tied. It took you less than 10 seconds to get it untied and even fewer to release your other hand.
Dean shot you a grin. "That's my girl."
You rolled your eyes, scanning the room for something to pick the handcuff lock with. "You're the one who didn't tie them tightly."
"Future me," he emphasized. "Clearly he's got a soft spot for you."
You smirked. "So do you." Your eyes landed on a small pen knife sitting on the table. You grabbed it, holding it up for him to see.
His eyes sparkled with several different emotions and you knew he was reeling from everything you'd just learned. Hell, you were busy compartmentalizing all of your emotions so you didn't fall apart.
"Yeah," he whispered. "I do."
You offered him a sweet smile before leaning down to his level and picking the lock on his cuffs with the pen knife. As soon as he was free, you helped him to his feet.
"Okay, I'm gonna go have a look around," he said. "You stay here."
"Dean--" you started to protest.
"Hey, it's not like I don't want you with me, but you heard what future me said...there are people here who will recognize you--people who know you're dead."
You sighed, knowing he was right. "Fine. Why don't you go first, make sure it's clear, then I'll follow you."
Dean glared at you for a long moment, before his expression softened. He knew this wasn't a battle he was going to win. "Alright. Just stay out of sight, okay? I don't need one of these trigger-happy yahoos shooting you because they think you're a monster or something."
You nodded your agreement and Dean slowly opened the door to the cabin. You stay inside until he beckoned you to join him. You stayed close to the edge of the cabin as you waited for him to gesture for you to follow.
Just as Dean rounded the corner, Chuck Shirley stepped directly into his path, stopping him in his tracks. You stayed back, back pressed against the side of the cabin.
"Uh, hey there Chuck," Dean said.
Chuck started to ask him about what they should do about a shortage of perishable items and hygiene products before realizing Dean was supposed to be out on a mission.
"Yeah, I-uh-I was gonna head out now," Dean lied.
Suddenly, a woman crossed into your field of vision and swung a punch and a kick at Dean. He jumped back and grabbed Chuck, pulling him in-between himself and the angry woman.
Your instincts screamed for you to help him, but you knew you needed to stay hidden. You listened as the woman, Risa, yelled at Dean for spending the night in another woman's cabin the night before.
"You said we had a connection," she snapped.
You almost laughed at that--it was exactly the kind of thing Dean would say to a woman to appease her.
You watched as Risa angrily stomped away and Dean exhaled in relief. He quickly asked Chuck if Cas is around and he gestured to a cabin close by. "I don't think he's going anywhere," Chuck said lightly as he walked off.
As soon as he was out of sight, Dean's gaze landed on you and he waved at you to follow him. You followed closely behind as he entered the cabin, staying just out of sight of anyone inside.
You could hear Cas's voice, but it sounded different than you remembered it being--softer and maybe even lazier than before.
He must have spotted Dean because you heard him acknowledge him as their "fearless leader". You heard Cas tell the women in the room to wash up and prepare for the orgy.
A group of girls walked by you and Dean as you both step into the room.
"Orgy?" Dean asked incredulously.
Castiel simply shrugged as he regarded both of you. "(Y/N)," he murmured quietly. "This is a surprise."
You sighed. "I'd imagine so. I hear I'm dead."
"Indeed you are." Castiel's gaze landed on Dean. "And you're not the Dean of this time. When are the two of you from?"
"2009," you answered.
"Zachariah sent us here," Dean added.
"Ahh," Cas mumbled. "I shouldn't be surprised."
"Okay, so nice to see you and all that, but can you zap us back please?" Dean asked.
Cas giggled slightly and Dean's gaze narrowed in annoyance.
"Dude, are you stoned?"
"Generally, yeah," Cas replied.
Dean looked over at you, but you were just as surprised as he was. You shrugged and Dean let out a quiet groan.
"I don't have powers anymore," Cas said simply. "When the end came, the angels just left...bored with their playthings, I guess. When they left, so did my powers."
"Oh great," Dean muttered.
"Dean," you said in a warning tone. "Don't."
Cas smiled at you and crossed the room to give you a hug. You were a little surprised, but you returned the gesture.
"It's good to see you, (Y/N). You were always the only person who could keep Dean in line."
You couldn't help the chuckle that escaped you at his words. "We've had the pleasure of meeting the Dean of this time. I imagine he's not exactly one to defer to anyone."
For a moment Castiel's expression grew wistful, as if remembering a better time. "He used to, but he changed rather significantly when you died. It's been three years and he still hasn't gotten over your death. He's not the same Dean you knew."
You glanced at your Dean and exhaled softly. "Knowing him, he's just hid that part of himself so far down he's forgotten it even exists."
Dean's gaze met yours and you knew you were right. You could see it is eyes--he knew exactly what losing you would do to him. He knew the kind of man he would become.
Cas glanced back and forth between the two of you and shook his head. "You always could read each other's minds. It's nice to see that again. But I am curious, how did our Dean handle meeting the two of you?"
"Not well," you admitted.
"Pretty sure he was happier to see you than he was to see me," Dean muttered.
You chuckled mildly. "Well I'm the dead one, so it seems fitting."
Dean winced and you placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. He tried to smile at you, but the pain in his gaze ensured the expression didn't meet his eyes.
Before any of you could utter another word, the sound of trucks pulling up sounded from outside the cabin. You let Dean walk out first, followed by Cas. You opted to remain in the shadows just inside the doorway. You could see what was happening outside without being noticed.
You saw Future Dean getting out of one of the trucks and tossing a beer to another man. They cracked them open and the other man turned his back on Dean.
You watched in horror as Future Dean raised his pistol, pointing it at the man's back. Your Dean ran out, yelling for him to stop, but it was too late. Future Dean pulled the trigger and the man fell to the ground.
Future Dean whirled around, coming face to face with your Dean, eyes full of anger. As Dean began to argue with Future Dean, you ran out in an attempt to calm both men. Castiel grabbed your arm, stopping you in your tracks.
The gasps and shocked faces of the people around you reminded of you of the position you'd just put yourself in. Most people were staring at your Dean in confusion, but several gazes had landed on you. You recognized a few of the faces and you knew in your heart these people had known you--the other you.
Future Dean gestured to your Dean and said, "Me and him--it's messed up, okay? But if you need to know something, then I'll tell you when you need to know it."
As Future Dean glanced around, he noticed some people were not looking at him--or at his doppelgänger. He followed one person's gaze and his body froze when his eyes landed on you. Even though he'd known you were here, it was still painfully jarring to see you.
What was worse, was he wasn't sure how to explain your presence--too many people had known you. A few of them had been there when you'd died.
You locked eyes with Future Dean and your heart ached for him. You could see the turmoil in his eyes and the difficulty he was having formulating any kind of words to address your presence. He might not be your Dean, but you still loved him--after all, he was the man your Dean would one day become.
You stepped forward, gently pulling yourself from Castiel's grasp. "Dean," you whispered softly, sad eyes meeting his.
"Some of you might remember my wife, (Y/N)," Future Dean said calmly. "I'm not prepared to explain her presence to all of you, but just know that she's not here to cause any harm."
His statement seemed to appease most of the small gathering, but you saw some darker expressions cross the faces of a few people in the crowd.
Future Dean stepped forward and grabbed your Dean by the jacket, practically dragging him towards his cabin. His gaze landed on you and he gestured for you to follow.
"Didn't I tell both of you to stay put?" he growled as he closed the door behind him.
Your Dean began to argue, but he was silenced by Future Dean's anger.
"He was infected, okay? I've been doing this a long time and you learn to see the signs. I did what I had to do."
"We know that," you said softly.
Both men looked at you in surprise, but your gaze was firmly on Future Dean's face. You wanted him to know you understood--you weren't even sure why.
"You didn't need to kill him in front of everyone," your Dean commented.
Future Dean's gaze cut to him like a blade. "Yeah because seeing my freaking clone and my dead wife was so much better."
Your Dean opened his mouth to continue the argument, but Future Dean cut him off.
"The last thing these people need is to see me arguing with you, okay? They're twitchy survivors who can't handle this. This is my time, not yours, so stay in your lane."
Dean backed off, realizing Future Dean was right. He was nothing more than an observer in this time and he needed to act like it.
Future Dean pulled out three glasses and poured a drink for each of you. Your eyes scaned his face, keen senses picking up on the emotions clearly stirring beneath the calm surface. You wanted to talk to him, get him to open up, but you knew this wasn't the time.
"So what was the mission for?" you asked gently.
Future Dean gave you an appreciative look. "Five years of searching--five long years and I finally found it." He pulled something out of his jacket and laid it on the table. "The Colt."
"How?" your Dean asked in surprise.
"Demons have been moving it around for years, but we finally got good intel on its location."
You felt uneasy as you regarded him. You couldn't read him as well as you could your Dean, but you knew he was thinking about something--something you weren't going to like. "What's your plan?" you asked warily.
"Tomorrow night," he said, dark gaze fixed on your face, "I'm gonna kill the devil."
Shock lit up both your's and your Dean's faces. "We have no idea if the Colt's gonna work!" you protested, fear lacing your voice.
"It's our only shot and I'm gonna take it," he countered.
You glanced at your Dean and you could tell he didn't like the sound of this plan any more than you did. Sure, you both wanted to find the Colt in your time and kill the devil so none of this would happen, but there was no way to know if it would work. No one had ever tried it on an archangel before.
"Can I speak to my wife alone for a moment?" Future Dean asked, further shocking you both.
"I, uhh--" you stuttered.
Your Dean looked at you sympathetically, a sad expression settling onto his face. You knew what the look meant, so you weren't surprised to hear him agree. He stepped outside, leaving you and Future Dean alone.
"You know it's hard for me," he began, "seeing you after all this time."
"It's not easy on me either," you admitted, "seeing the man you become...and knowing I'm not going to be with you much longer."
He looked down in shame. "I know I'm not the man you love." He gestured to where your Dean stood outside. "I'm not him. But I have never stopped loving you--never stoped missing you."
You closed your eyes for a moment. "I know. I can feel it."
"I knew you would," he said softly. "I'm sure knowing what the future has in store for both of us isn't something you'd expected to see."
You shook your head. "I certainly didn't expect to hear you call me 'your wife'."
A small smirk played across his lips. "You get your priorities straight when the world is about to end. Marrying you was the best thing I ever did."
You smiled slowly, but your heart ached too much to continue this train of discussion. "So why did you want to speak alone?"
He inhaled deeply. "I wanted to talk to you without him around to persuade you otherwise."
"Persuade me to do what, exactly?"
His gaze was intense as he stepped towards you. If you didn't know him, it would have frightened you. "When you go back to 2009, I want you to pack up your things and leave. Leave me as far behind as you can--run and never look back."
A mixture of shock and sorrow darkened your features. "I-I can't do that."
He reached out and grabbed your hands, squeezing them tightly. "You have to, (Y/N)," he pleaded. "It's the only way I can keep you safe--alive."
You shook your head. "I can't leave you."
He caressed your cheek gently, his calloused hands molding perfectly to your face. "I need you to do this for me, sweetheart. I know it won't be easy and I-he won't understand, but it's for the best. He'll realize it in the end."
"Marrying me was the best thing you've ever done, but you want to deny yourself that joy? Deny me?"
"I would rather suffer a thousand deaths than watch you die again. It almost killed me, (Y/N). Hell, in a way it kinda did. I'm not that man anymore, and I don't want that for him."
You touched his face gently, fingers grazing against the rough stubble on his cheek. "You're wrong, you know. I can see him in you. You might be older, damaged in ways I can't understand, but the man I love lives in you. You and I both know Dean is going to tell me the same thing when we get back to 2009. It will break his heart, but he will beg me to leave if there's even a remote chance it will save my life."
His expression told you exactly how right you were.
"Looks like you haven't changed all that much--at least not in the ways that matter."
A flicker of pain crossed his face, but he was quick to hide it. He loved you so much it hurt and he knew there was no hope for him. He had to believe that the Dean from 2009 would heal from losing you, especially if it meant you got to live.
"Sometimes, I'll lie awake at night and stare at your picture--talk to it, even. I dream of you often and it breaks my heart every time I wake up to find you're not there. I miss you with every part of my tattered soul."
"Dean..." you whispered, leaning into him.
"I know you don't love me, but I need you to know how deeply I love you, even now. You hold my heart in the palm of your hand, (Y/N). You always have."
You stood on your tip-toes and brushed your lips across his cheek. "You are him," you whispered lowly. "I love him, so I love you. Five years of hell on earth doesn't change that."
Tears filled his eyes and he pulled you tightly against him. He never wanted to let you go, no matter what the cost. He felt conflicted about loving you so much, but he knew without a doubt in his mind that the 2009 version of himself would understand.
He pressed a kiss to the top of your head before settling his chin down against it. He loved the way you fit in his arms, as if you were made for them. He wanted you so badly it hurt--an ache so deep in his bones he knew he would never be rid of it.
It took all of his strength--all his willpower--to pull away, releasing you and taking a step back.
You looked up at him with compassionate (y/e/c) eyes, wanting nothing more than to comfort him, heal his pain. You hadn't been lying when you said you loved him. You could feel the man you loved beneath the hardened exterior, and it broke your heart to see him in so much pain.
Your eyes scanned his face again, but he couldn't meet your gaze. You knew his body ached for your touch--you knew because your Dean had always been that way. It had been three years since Future Dean had felt your body against his, so you knew exactly how much it was killing him.
You sighed, glancing out the little window at the front of the cabin. Your Dean stood out there, shoulders set in that stern way you were used to seeing. Your heart ached for him--you knew it was hard for him to be in this situation. You loved him more than you'd ever thought possible and you knew he felt the same. Seeing the way his future self looked at you likely made him contemplate things he shouldn't have had to bear.
"Stay here," you whispered to Future Dean. You stepped past him, heading for the door.
Future Dean watched as you exited, eyes fixated on the way you moved--desperately trying to commit every inch of you to memory.
"Hey," your Dean said softly as you stepped outside. "You okay?"
"Not really," you admitted. "You?"
He gave you a sad smile and shook his head. "This is a lot harder than I thought it would be."
"I know."
"No, sweetheart, I don't think you do," he said gently, but firmly. "You have an idea, sure, but you don't know--not the way I do. I can see it on his face--on my face. The way he misses you, the love he so clearly feels for you...the emptiness inside of him only you can fill. I know all of those feelings, (Y/N). I can't even fathom the pain of losing you. It hurts to even think about."
You touched his arm gently and he leaned into the touch as if on instinct.
"I know what he's feeling, even if I can't fully experience it myself. I know the devastation I would feel if I lost you--I don't think I'd ever fully recover. Add to that all the loss he's experienced in the last five years and I can understand why he's the way he is. I see myself in him...and I can see myself becoming him."
Dean turned his full attention to you and his next words shocked you to your very core.
"He needs you, (Y/N). I have a bad feeling about tomorrow night and I think you might be the only thing that stops him from doing something reckless. It pains me to say this--to give you up, even for a moment, but he needs you. I know it might feel weird, wrong even, but he's me...and I get him, more than I'd care to admit."
Your lips parted in surprise. "I-I don't know if I can do that, Dean."
He touched your face gently and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. "He's me, (Y/N)...and he needs you. You're his wife, after all. So go."
Your eyes scanned his face for any sign of discomfort, but you only saw sadness. Part of you hated this idea, but the other part knew he was right. You'd felt it when you'd been with Future Dean--felt his need for you so strongly it nearly overwhelmed you.
"I love you," you whispered.
"I know, sweetheart. I love you too."
He nodded towards the cabin and gave you a soft smile. You stepped away, knowing you were about to do something that felt both incredibly wrong and incredibly right at the same time.
"Where will you go?"
"I'll hang out with Cas. Don't worry about me, baby."
You nodded and watched him walk away towards Castiel's cabin. You took a deep breath and steeled yourself before turning to the door in front of you.
Future Dean seemed almost surprised to see you as you stepped back into the cabin.
"Hi," you murmured.
"Hey."
"I can't walk away," you whispered. "Not when you're in so much pain."
He looked at you in confusion, unsure of what you were trying to tell him.
You were typically so good with words, but whatever skill you normally had failed you as you looked into his haunted green eyes. There was no way for you to fully understand the emotions he was feeling, no words to explain how desperately you wanted to heal even the smallest fraction of his soul.
You crossed the short distance between you, practically crashing into him as you grabbed the edges of his jacket and pulled him down to you. The kiss surprised him, but he was in no position to pull away--wrong or not, he craved you like a drowning man in need of air.
His arms wrapped around you and pulled you flush against him, holding on for dear life as he deepened the kiss. It felt as if you were both engulfed in flames, every sensation burning you both--scarring you in a way neither of you would ever heal from.
His hands traveled down your back, slipping under your ass to pull you up into his arms. You wrapped your legs around his waist, lips never leaving his.
He carried you to a small room at the back of the cabin and laid you down as gently as he could onto the mattress. There was no bed--simply a mattress on the floor, but there were blankets and a couple pillows, just enough to be comfortable.
Your hands slid inside his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders forcefully. His lips didn't leave yours as he tugged it off and tossed it out of the way. You pulled on his henley, silently begging him to take it off too, a request he immediately complied with.
He had to pull away from you just long enough to tug the shirt over his head, but the action was enough to ground him. As he gazed down at you, his heart clenched in his chest. You were just as beautiful as he remembered, eyes full of love and adoration--an expression he'd missed desperately.
"I love you so much, (Y/N/N)," he said quietly.
Your expression softened slightly, realizing the pain he was feeling--the mixed emotions racing through his veins. "I love you too, Dean. Don't question that for a second."
He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into the palm of your hand as you reached up to cup his cheek.
"Get out of your head, baby," you murmured. "Focus on me--on this moment--nothing else."
His eyes slowly opened, gaze landing on your face. You began to blush beneath him, his hungry expression heating you from the inside out.
"You're wearing far too much clothing for my taste," he teased, voice low and throaty.
You smirked. "I know you like to rip my clothes off, but these are my only ones--so be gentle."
He groaned, just like you knew he would. Dean was notorious for literally ripping your clothes--he'd ruined more shirts and pants than you cared to admit...not to mention most of your undergarments.
"How 'bout we make a deal?" he murmured.
You hummed in response, so he continued.
"I'll promise not to rip your pants or your underwear, if you're willing to forfeit your shirt."
You looked up at him in surprise. "I don't have another shirt, Dean."
He grinned wolfishly. "But I do."
Realization crossed your features, a small smile curling the corners of your mouth. Before you could respond, he gripped your shirt in his strong hands and tore it right in half, revealing your heaving chest.
"Dean!" you admonished in surprise.
"Sorry, baby--I couldn't wait any longer. You know how impatient I get."
As if to emphasize his impatience, he lowered his mouth to your chest, tugging the cups of your bra down to expose your soft breasts. He groaned loudly before burying his face between them, nipping and sucking at the supple flesh.
You moaned softly, fingers of one hand tangling in the short locks at the base of his skull. Your other hand slipped down his broad back feeling the heated skin beneath the tips of your fingers.
You felt unfamiliar scars, which nearly brought tears to your eyes. You hated the idea of him being hurt--especially if you weren't there to care for him as he healed.
Dean sensed your shift in demeanor and he lifted his head to observe your face. "You okay, baby?"
His soft words brought you back to the present and you offered him a small smile. "New scars," you whispered.
You didn't need to elaborate, he knew exactly what you meant. He could read you just as well as you could read him. "You were there for most of them," he murmured gently.
You relaxed slightly and he sighed before placing a soft kiss to your forehead.
"You know me too well," you remarked.
"You're the love of my life, sweetheart. There's not a damn thing I don't know about you."
Tears pricked at the back of your eyes and you desperately pushed the welling emotions down, choosing instead to focus on the here and now. "I need you, Dean," you whispered. "Desperately."
He had never been one to deny you, and he certainly wasn't going to start now. Besides, his own need was slowly becoming unbearable.
"I'm right here, baby. I'll make you feel so good--I promise."
He wasted no time in removing the rest of your clothing and his own. He wanted to take his time, really feel you, but he knew time was the one thing neither of you had.
"I need to taste you," he whispered into your ear before beginning his descent to your aching pussy.
Some things may have changed in the last five years, but Dean's skills in the bedroom hadn't. The things he could do with his mouth should have been categorized as a crime--his ability to have you screaming and shaking within minutes was still a shock after all this time.
He loved the way you tasted, the way your body reacted to his touch, the pretty sounds you made as he feasted on you. There wasn't a damn thing he didn't love about you, but he had to admit this was in the top five things he missed most about you. The way your body melded with his--two souls intertwining in the most fundamental way, the overwhelming pleasure he could only find in your arms...he'd be a liar if he said he hadn't dreamed of it often in the last three years.
Your nails dug into his biceps as you desperately clung to any part of him you could reach. Your orgasm swept over you seconds later, pulling moans and whimpers from your throat as he continued his assault.
Dean ignored the tugs on his hair, instead holding your hips even more firmly against the mattress as he continued to eat your pussy hungrily. It took mere moments for your whimpers to once again turn to heavy moans of need--your voice hoarse from begging him to keep going.
When your second orgasm crashed into you, your legs shook almost violently against his head, thighs threatening to crush him. He couldn't have been bothered to care--had you actually crushed him in that moment, he would have died a happy man.
He finally relented when you began begging him to give you a moment--just one moment to breathe. He lifted himself up to hover over you, licking his lips happily as he gazed down at you.
"You seem pleased with yourself," you said breathlessly.
"Oh I am." The pride he was feeling practically oozed from his pores. Nothing stroked his ego like making you fall apart over and over again.
You ran your hands up and down his arms in a gentle, soothing manner. He'd always loved the way you touched him--the sweet, loving action something he hadn't been used to before you.
"I love you," he whispered.
You met his gaze and smiled. "All my heart and all my soul, Dean Winchester. Always."
The reply stunned him into a motionless silence. It had been years since he'd heard those words from your lips--he never thought he would be lucky enough to hear them again. In that moment, he felt like his heart had been ripped from his chest, torn apart, and put back together...it hurt like hell, but he wouldn't have traded the moment for anything.
You noticed the change in him and you worried you'd said something wrong. "I'm sorry--"
"Don't apologize," he said immediately. "I just...I haven't heard those words in years and--well, it hit me harder than I thought it would. That was, umm--" he sighed heavily. "It was the last thing you said to me before you died."
His voice was a gravelly whisper, filled with unimaginable pain, and it nearly broke your heart in two. "Dean..." you murmured.
"You have no idea how badly I've wanted to hear those words again--to hear your sweet voice remind me how much you love me. I missed you, sweetheart."
You couldn't have known how he'd react to your statement--hell, you hadn't even thought about it...the words just poured from your mouth like they had countless times before. It didn't matter what year he was from--you loved Dean Winchester with a kind of endless passion that would outlive Death himself.
You knew this experience would change you in ways you couldn't yet comprehend, but you wouldn't change it for anything. At the end of the day, this was Dean, and there was nothing you wouldn't do for him--nothing.
"Make love to me, Dean," you whispered lovingly, eyes bright with desire.
"I could never deny you, (Y/N/N)," he said sweetly. "I won't start now."
He leaned down to kiss you deeply, pulling you back into the warm embrace you craved. As the kiss progressed, your bodies became more entangled, until it was impossible to tell where one of you ended and the other began. It was a feeling you'd only ever felt with Dean, and one you couldn't have explained even if you tried.
After what seemed like an eternity, Dean finally broke the kiss, breathing deeply. "I can't hold back any longer. I need you more than I need to breathe, (Y/N)."
"I'm yours, Dean."
The simple act of giving yourself over to him completely had him wanting to do nothing but worship you until the sun came up again.
He didn't hesitate, didn't overthink--your body was calling to him and he answered it gladly. In one single thrust, he buried himself fully inside you, eliciting sharp groans from you both.
"Fuck, sweetheart--I forgot how incredible you feel," he whispered against your heated skin.
You were breathless and aching, the desire for him to ruin you so overwhelming you couldn't think of anything else. "Move," you pleaded desperately, nails digging into his shoulder blades.
His body mindlessly responded to your pleas, hips setting an almost brutal pace. You both needed this--needed the release that could only come from each other.
You clung to him and he to you, the room filling with the salacious sounds of wet skin against skin and moans of endless pleasure.
"I love the sounds you make when I'm inside you, baby," he groaned. "I fucking missed them so much."
"You feel so good, Dean," you gasped.
"So do you, sweetheart."
And fuck did you feel incredible. He loved you so much and you felt it in every single movement his body made. You hoped he could feel just how much you loved him in return.
"You're the only woman who could ever make me feel like this," he whispered.
You knew exactly what he meant--what he was trying to say. Sex had always been different with you. It had always felt more incredible than with anyone else he'd ever been with. The profound bound the two of you shared made everything better--even sex.
"I never want you to stop," you murmured. "It feels so good."
"Shit," he groaned, your words having more of an affect on him then he'd expected. "Keep talking like that and I'm gonna cum."
"That's what I want, Dean. Want you to fill me up."
He practically growled as he bit down on your collar bone, hips slowing as he tried to regain his composure. "Need you to cum first," he begged.
You rolled your hips against his in response and the sensations he was experiencing snapped whatever remained of his self-control. He grabbed your legs and tugged them flush against his chest and began to pound into you recklessly.
His cock slammed into your g-spot with each thrust, pulling sharp cries of pleasure from your open mouth. Your hands grasped at the blankets beneath you, struggling desperately to find purchase anywhere.
He knew he could get you over the edge this way--he knew your body almost as well as he knew his own. Within a few short minutes, your cries of pleasure turned to screams of his name as one of the most intense orgasms of your life hit you like a tsunami.
Before you could come down from your high, Dean found his own, releasing his seed into your pussy. The contractions of your walls around him milked every last drop of cum from him before he collapsed on top of you, spent and satisfied.
Your arms immediately wrapped around him, holding him tightly against you. You could feel his heart beating rapidly against your chest and you were certain he could feel yours. There was nothing quite like the feeling of being in the arms of the person you love most.
"You're amazing, (Y/N)," he whispered into your neck.
"As are you," you mumbled, pressing your lips into his hair.
He held you almost as tightly as you were holding him and you knew he didn't want to ever let go. Your heart ached for the man in your arms just as much as it ached for the man currently sitting in Castiel's cabin.
Love was the most complicated emotion there was, but this far surpassed any normal situation. Dean Winchester was the love of your life in any time period--past, present, or future. You hated seeing the man you loved in pain and seeing two of him in pain complicated matters beyond belief.
"Where's your head at?" he asked softly.
You chuckled lightly--he really did know you better than anyone else.
"Just thinking about this messed up situation we've found ourselves in."
He sighed quietly. "Don't think on it too much, sweetheart. Zachariah will send you back tomorrow and everything will go back to normal."
"Except for the part where both present and future versions of you want me to leave..."
He lifted his head slowly. "It's too late for me...I'm too far gone, too deeply and madly in love with you to ever push you away. But the Dean from 2009? Yeah he loves you more than he's ever loved another person in his life, but he'll learn to live without you. He has to. Otherwise he'll wake up one day in 2011 without you and he'll feel the way that I do. He'll be forced to live with a hole in his chest that no human being could ever fill, and it'll change him, (Y/N). It'll break him."
Tears streamed down your face as you listened to his words. You knew they were true--knew it was how he was feeling, how he'd felt for years. You didn't want your Dean to feel that pain, but you knew deep in your heart you couldn't walk away. There was no timeline where you could turn your back on the one person that made life worth living...but this Dean didn't need to know that.
"No more talking," you said softly. "Let's just sleep a while."
He nodded and rolled over onto his back, taking you with him. You giggled softly as you nuzzled into his chest, finding comfort in his strong arms.
**********
You awoke to the sound of knocking on the door of the cabin. You felt Dean stir beside you, a grumble of annoyance slipping past his lips. You smiled a little at his moodiness--it was nice to see some things never changed.
You pulled yourself up and got dressed quickly, grabbing a clean henley from the small pile of clothes in the corner. It was much too big on you, but it was all you had thanks to Dean's impatience.
You opened the door of the cabin and found a somewhat sheepish looking Castiel standing on the other side.
"Is, uh, is Dean awake?"
"He mumbled something rather rude when I tried to wake him up, so I let him sleep."
Cas chuckled. "Sounds about right."
"I can wake him if you need him."
Cas looked like he wanted to say no, but knew he couldn't. "Yeah, if you don't mind. We need to start planning for tomorrow if we want this to work. People are starting to talk."
You sighed. "I'll get him up."
You stepped back, leaving the door open as an invitation for Cas to come inside. He chose not to, opting instead to wait on the porch while you went to wake Dean.
"Dean? Sweetheart?" you said gently. "You need to get up."
"Five more minutes," he grumbled.
You laughed and shook him a few times. "Come on, handsome. We've got work to do."
"Fine," he groaned. "Fine."
He sat up slowly, eyes dark with sleep. He looked up at you and you offered him a soft smile, which he instantly returned.
"You're so beautiful."
You blushed. "Get dressed before Cas comes in and sees your naked ass."
"He's probably seen it a couple times by now," he teased as he got up. "Now, where'd you put my pants?"
You laughed. "I think you threw them somewhere over there." You pointed to the other side of the room where a small pile of clothes laid.
He smirked slightly and crossed the room, grabbing his clothes and putting them on quickly.
"What's up, Cas?" he asked gruffly when he came into the main room.
"The team wants to know what's going down tomorrow and uh, past you says we need to start making a plan."
He shot you a look, but you simply shrugged. You weren't at all surprised your Dean wanted to make a plan. He didn't like this whole idea in the first place, so it made sense he would want some kind of plan in place.
"Fine. Gather the team and get them in here."
Cas went off to do as asked. The first person to arrive was your Dean. One look at his handsome face had you rushing to him and wrapping your arms around him. He buried his face in your hair and sighed softly.
"I know this is a little awkward," you said quietly to both Deans as you stepped back.
"Not as much as you would think," your Dean responded.
Future Dean nodded, but remained quiet for a few moments. He fixed your Dean with an intense gaze even you couldn't quite read. "Thank you," he said so softly you almost missed it.
Your Dean nodded his understanding. You realized it really was different for the two of them than it was for you. They were the same man five years apart...they understood each other's thoughts and emotions in a way you never could.
Before you could say anything else, Cas returned with Risa and a couple other people in tow. Risa gave both Deans an odd look before turning her dark gaze to you. You couldn't read her expression, but you felt the jealousy coming off her in waves.
"Well this is about to be uncomfortable," you murmured to your Dean, who just chuckled.
Everyone sat down around the table except for both Deans and yourself. You stood beside your Dean, and you both stood slightly back to give yourselves room to observe everyone.
Risa glared at Future Dean so intensely it made everyone uncomfortable. He gave her a confused look and simply asked, "Why are you pissed at me?"
"Something about you having a connection, but then spending the night in another chick's cabin," your Dean quipped.
You snickered softly, as did Cas. Future Dean shot a glare your way, but you simply shrugged.
"Plus your dead wife is magically not dead, so yeah, I feel some kinda way," Risa grumbled.
"The (Y/N) some of you knew is dead. This one is from 2009--same as him," Future Dean said, gesturing to your Dean. "Now that we've got that out of the way, can we please focus?"
No one dared argue with him.
Future Dean launched into his spiel about killing the devil, revealing the Colt to the other people in the room.
"How do you know it's gonna work?" Risa asked skeptically.
"It's all we've got," Future Dean answered. "We got Lucifer's location from that demon we captured last week. We know where he's gonna be for the first time in years."
"The demon might have lied for all you know," Risa snapped.
"Trust me, he was honest."
Castiel leaned towards Risa. "Dean is very well-versed in the art of getting to the truth."
You inhaled sharply, immediately understanding Castiel's meaning. Your Dean stiffened beside you and you felt the quiet rage simmering beneath the surface.
"Seriously? You went back to torture?" your Dean said angrily.
Future Dean looked at you, a resigned look of sadness on his face. You sighed and placed your hand on your Dean's arm and murmured, "Let it go, Dean."
He caught Future Dean's expression and fell silent again. There was no use arguing about his tactics now.
"Now," Future Dean said as he gestured to the map on the table. "We'll be heading in here."
"That's a hot zone," Cas said. "It's filled with Croats and demons--kinda reckless to just go barging in there don't you think?"
"Are you coming or not?" Future Dean asked, ignoring Cas's objections.
"Of course," Cas responded. "I've gotta ask though, why are they coming?" He nodded his head towards you and your Dean.
"I don't answer to you. Just know that they are coming."
Castiel put his hands up in surrender.
"Why don't you all go get supplies ready and recruit a couple more people," you suggested.
Future Dean nodded his agreement and the others left, leaving you and the Deans alone.
"Now why don't you try that again, but give an honest answer this time," you said sternly, eyes boring into Future Dean's face.
He sighed wearily. "I want you both to see what happened to Sam. Especially you." He pointed to the younger version of himself.
"What do you mean?" your Dean asked. "You said he died in Detroit."
"No, I didn't. I said he didn't make it out."
You exhaled sharply, heart nearly breaking as you realized what he was saying.
Future Dean fixed his gaze on you and you knew your assumption was correct. You instinctively reached out to your Dean in an attempt to ground him--you knew exactly how this information would affect him.
"What's going on?" your Dean asked, looking between you and his doppelgänger.
"He said yes," you whispered.
Future Dean nodded, but your Dean simply looked confused.
"The big yes," Future Dean said tiredly. "Lucifer wore him to the prom."
You gave your Dean a sad look. A flash of pain crossed his handsome features and your heart broke for him. You'd told him back in your time that he needed to forgive Sam--needed to mend their relationship. You didn't realize just how important that mending would be.
"He wouldn't do that," your Dean whispered.
You placed a comforting hand on his arm, but didn't bother to contradict him.
"Well he did," Future Dean snapped. "And when you go back, you need to say 'yes' to Michael. Immediately."
"Absolutely not!" you gasped.
Now it was Dean's turn to comfort you, his hand coming to rest on yours. "She's right. A showdown between Michael and Lucifer would torch half the planet."
"Half a planet is better than no planet," Future Dean insisted.
"If it's such a good idea, why didn't you say yes?" your Dean asked.
"Oh trust me, I tried. But by the time I was ready, the angels had given up and fucked off to wherever they are now."
"There has to be another way," your Dean whispered.
Future Dean fixed you with an expression that made everything clear to you.
"That's why you want me to leave," you began softly. "You know I would never approve of him saying yes to Michael. If I'm not around to influence him, then maybe he'll be foolish enough to say 'yes', right?"
Your Dean looked confused, but Future Dean held your gaze and you knew you were right.
"I really don't want you to die," he said gently. "But I also know exactly what you'll say...and I know the impact your words will have on my choices. Because I already made them."
"You told her to leave me?" your Dean asked slowly. "Even knowing what that'll do to me?"
"You'll both be better off."
"You don't get to make that call," you snapped.
Future Dean sighed and shook his head. "You'll both make your own decisions, but I just want you to have all the facts. Gear up. We move out in 20." With that he walked out the door, leaving you and your Dean alone.
"What if he's right?"
"About saying yes to Michael?" you asked in surprise.
Dean shook his head. "About it being better for you to leave."
You sighed quietly. "He's wrong...about all of it."
"I've seen what losing you did to me--to him...and I'm not sure that's something I can voluntarily experience."
You smiled. "I'm gonna do everything in my power to make sure you never have to."
Dean returned the smile and pulled you in closely. "I love you, (Y/N)."
"I love you too, Dean Winchester. Always."
**********
You were sitting in the backseat of the truck, listening to Cas tell your Dean about becoming human. It was weird for you to see Cas like this, hell he was driving. It was even harder to see how broken he had become and it only made you want to prevent this future even more.
You closed your eyes, desperate to fall asleep--to leave this fucked up, burned out world behind. You wanted to go home--to 2009. There was still time to change the future, to stop any of this from happening. You would give anything to stop it.
You must have fallen asleep because you were awoken by the gentle sound of your Dean's voice telling you it was time to wake up. You opened your eyes, surprised to see it was now light out.
"We're here, baby," he said softly.
You sighed deeply and nodded. You dragged yourself out of the truck and gathered your weapons along with the rest of the group. Your senses immediately told you something was off and one glance at your Dean told you he felt the same.
"Didn't you say this is a hot zone?" you asked Cas softly.
The former angel nodded.
"Then where are all the Croats?"
"Must be in another part of the city," he responded.
You and Dean exchanged a look, neither one of you believing his response.
Nevertheless, you followed the group, searching the rundown city for the building you were going to raid. When you found it, all of your hunter instincts screamed that something was wrong, but this time you weren't the first to voice it.
"Shouldn't there be a shit load of demons out here?" your Dean asked.
Future Dean shrugged. "They must all be inside."
His answer didn't satisfy you one bit, but you kept your mouth shut, choosing instead to observe him closely. The only person who knew Dean better than you was the man himself, which was proven moments later.
"Alright," Future Dean started. "You guys go in through the second story window. The three of us will sneak around back."
Risa looked more than a little concerned with the game plan. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"
She glanced over at Cas, who clearly agreed with her worry.
"Trust me, okay? They'll never see us coming," Future Dean assured them.
"Can I talk to you for a second?" your Dean said firmly, his words more a statement than a question.
Future Dean sighed, but stepped off to the side to speak with the two of you.
"You're lying to them," your Dean said lowly. "Don't deny it--I know your lying expressions, I've seen them in the mirror."
Future Dean sighed in annoyance and your Dean threatened to tell the team about his concerns, but Future Dean stopped him.
"I know it's a trap, alright? I'm not an idiot. They'll go in the front door and create a distraction while I sneak around the back."
"You're sacrificing your team?" you asked incredulously.
"They're your friends! And Cas? Come on, man--this isn't you," your Dean added.
"My inability to make the tough decisions is what got us here in the first place. Look around you--this is the end of everything," Future Dean growled. "It's my job to kill Lucifer and save what's left of this planet, so that's what I'm going to do."
"I can't let you do that," your Dean argued.
Instead of engaging in further discussion, Future Dean jabbed the butt of his gun into your Dean's head, knocking him unconscious instantly.
"Dean!" you yelled, unsure if you were calling for yours or yelling at the Future version.
"I have to do this, (Y/N)," he said softly. "I need you to understand."
Tears welled in your eyes. "I understand why you believe that, but I don't agree. It's not who you are, Dean...the man I fell in love with would never sacrifice the people he loves--not for anything."
Future Dean looked down at the ground in silence. When he lifted his head again, his face was hard--a mask of non-emotion.
"I'm doing what needs to be done," he said firmly. "Stay with him and stay out of the way."
You wanted to reason with him, but you knew there was no point in trying. Yes, he was still Dean, but you knew you would never be able to change his mind. He'd made his choices and he'd had to live with them. Now, he was just trying to make up for all the mistakes he believed he'd made.
"Go," you whispered.
He nodded and moved back to join the others. You watched everyone but Dean head to the front of the building, a feeling of sorrow weighing on your heart.
"Dean," you called softly, prompting him to turn to look at you. "Don't die."
He gave you the smallest of smiles and nodded before running towards the back of the building.
You dropped to your knees and shook your Dean firmly. "Dean, wake up!"
After a few minutes, he groaned and his eyes fluttered open. "Fuck," he mumbled.
"Hey!" You helped him into a sitting position. "You okay?"
"My head's killing me."
"He hit you pretty hard," you said gently.
The sound of gunfire urged him to his feet. "We gotta go."
You nodded and let him grab your hand as the two of you ran to the back of the building. You arrived to a terrifying scene--Future Dean was lying on the ground and a man in a white suit stood above him, his foot firmly on Dean's neck.
Future Dean made eye contact with you seconds before his neck snapped and the life left his face.
"No!" you screamed.
Your Dean grabbed you, pulling you back to keep you from rushing forward. Watching Dean die felt like having your own heart ripped out of your chest--it was a feeling you hoped you'd never have to relive.
The man turned around in surprise and your breath caught in your chest. Objectively, you'd known it was Lucifer--you'd known he'd be in Sam's body--but there was nothing quite like seeing it in person.
Dean instinctively pushed you behind him, putting his body protectively in front of yours.
"Dean, (Y/N)," Lucifer greeted calmly. "It's a surprise to see you here--especially since I killed you three years ago and well..." he looked down at Future Dean's body with a nonchalant shrug. "It must be a shock to see your brother like this."
"Why don't you just kill me now and get it over with?" Dean asked angrily.
"Well that would be redundant. I'll kill your lovely wife three years before I kill you," he said simply. "We will always end up here, Dean. This is the way our story ends."
"Deep-frying the planet and murdering billions of people? What a shitty story," Dean snapped.
Lucifer started to rant about loving God too much and being punished for it...but you'd stopped listening. You could feel the pain rolling off your sweet Dean in waves. You knew what he was thinking--he'd failed his brother and in doing so, destroyed the world.
"I'm not falling for that sympathy-for-the-devil crap!" Dean yelled, pulling you back to the present. "The only difference between you and the monsters I've hunted my whole life is the size of your ego."
If the situation had been different, you probably would have laughed. Dean's fearlessness was something you both loved and admired about him. What's more, you agreed with his sentiment.
Lucifer simply smiled. "I like you, Dean. I can see what the other angels see in you." His gaze landed on you and you felt the rage boiling under your skin. "No hard feelings, (Y/N). Your death was a means to an end--it broke what little humanity your precious Dean had left in him. It's what led us to this moment."
Lucifer turned to walk away, but Dean called after him. "You better kill me now or I won't stop until I find a way to kill you."
Lucifer's smile was cruel. "I know you'll try Dean, but I also know you'll never say 'yes' to Michael, and you'll never kill Sam. No matter what choices you make or details you change, your wife will die in 2011 and you and I will always end up right here."
"You're wrong," Dean whispered, eyes filling with pained tears.
You touched his arm gently, reminding him he wasn't alone. He leaned into your touch, but remained steadfastly in front of you--guarding you with every ounce of strength he had.
"I'll see you in two years, (Y/N)," Lucifer said with a condescending smile. "And I'll see you in five, Dean."
Before either of you could say a word, Lucifer vanished, leaving the two of you alone.
"Dean..." you whispered softly.
He turned to you, his expression full of agony. You reached for him just as Zachariah appeared and placed a hand against each of your foreheads, zapping you back to the hotel room in Kansas City, circa 2009.
Both of you turned to face the offending angel, anger your primary emotion in the moment.
"Now you know what's going to happen," Zachariah said, cutting off any rant either of you could start. "Your only option is to say 'yes' to Michael, otherwise billions of people are going to die."
"How do we know that wasn't just another one of your tricks?" you snapped.
"The time for tricks is over," Zachariah stated. "Saying 'yes' to Michael is the only way you can save the world--save (Y/N)--save your brother.
Dean turned to you, his face full of anguish. It made your heart clench in your chest and you worried for a moment he'd changed his mind.
"Nah," Dean said to Zachariah, jaw set in a firm line.
You smirked a little, watching Zachariah's facial expression turn to shock.
"Are you telling me you haven't learned your lesson?"
"Oh I learned my lesson," Dean countered. "Just not the one you wanted to teach me."
Zachariah stepped towards Dean menacingly. You instinctively stepped forward, more than willing to fight the angel to protect the man you loved. Dean placed a gentle hand on yours to let you know he wasn't scared.
"I have you exactly where I want you," Zachariah began. "I'm going to teach both of you a lesson until you get it through your thick skulls. Neither of you are going anywhere until you say 'yes'."
Dean's grip on your hand tightened and his mouth opened to give some sort of retort when you suddenly found yourself standing on the side of a highway. Dean's hand was still wrapped tightly around yours and a slightly confused Castiel stood a few feet in front of you.
"Excellent timing, Cas," Dean said in relief.
"We had an appointment," Cas stated matter-of-factly.
You chuckled softly and stepped forward to wrap the angel in a hug. He was slightly surprised by your actions, but he didn't pull away.
Dean placed a firm hand on Castiel's shoulder and offered him another smile. "Don't ever change."
You and Dean launched into the story of the last few days for you, and Castiel listened quietly.
"How did Zachariah find you?"
"Long story," Dean muttered. "But let's just stay away from Jehovah's Witnesses in the future."
You chuckled again and rolled your eyes affectionately.
Dean pulled out his phone and started to dial a number.
"What are you doing?" Cas asked.
"Something I should have done in the first place."
You smiled, knowing exactly what he was doing...and who he was calling. You were proud of him and you voiced the sentiment as soon as you were alone.
"Thanks, babe. Turns out you were right all along."
You grinned. "I'm always right."
Dean chuckled and rolled his eyes. "Alright sweetheart, calm down." His voice was light and teasing and it warmed you straight down to your soul.
"I love you, you dork."
He smiled and squeezed your hand. "I love you too."
You were both quiet for several minutes, just watching the road as Dean sped towards your next destination.
"It's still the apocalypse," Dean said suddenly.
"Mhmm," you hummed quietly.
"So you know...the world might still end."
"Hopefully not."
"Agreed, but I'm thinking maybe we should get married."
"What?" you said in shock.
Dean shrugged. "I'm just saying...you're my everything and I want everyone to know you're mine. Besides, if this world really does end, there's no one I wanna be with but you."
"You know, normally the guy gets down on one knee."
Dean chuckled. "I can do that as soon as I stop the car."
You laughed. "Typically there's a ring too."
He grinned. "Don't worry baby--I'll buy you a big diamond ring."
You smiled and grabbed his hand, squeezing it gently. "I don't really need a ring, Dean--and I don't need you to get down on one knee. If you're serious about it, then hell yeah--let's get married."
Dean looked at you hopefully. "I'm dead serious, babe."
You touched his cheek with a smile. "Then let's get married."
He looked at the straight stretch of road ahead, not a car in sight. He leaned over and kissed you quickly, the affectionate gesture expressing his emotions better than any words he could have said.
When he pulled back to face the road, you leaned across the seat and placed a soft kiss to his cheek. Your voice was low as you said the words that had become a mantra in your relationship, "All my heart and all my soul, Dean Winchester. Always."
His smile warmed your entire body--inside and out. It had been weird hearing Future Dean call you his wife...but your Dean proposing to you now, it just felt right.
You rode the rest of the way in a happier mood than you'd felt in a long time. Dean's mood was lighter too, but you both knew it wouldn't last. There was still a lot of darkness to come, but you were both determined to make sure there were happy moments. After all, love was one of the things that made life worth living.
A short time later, you sat on the trunk of the Impala, watching the man you loved apologize to his brother. You smiled warmly as you watched them, overjoyed at the steps they were both taking to make amends.
Dean turned towards you and waved you over. You hopped down and crossed the short distance, passing Dean to wrap Sam in a tight hug. The much larger man returned the gesture, the tension easing from his body.
"Glad to have you back, Sammy," you said as you stepped back.
"Thanks, (Y/N/N)."
"We're getting married," Dean said suddenly.
Sam's eyes widened in shock and you nearly laughed at Dean's sudden admission.
"End of the world and all that," Dean said sheepishly.
You chuckled and Sam expressed his congratulations.
"No matter what happens," you said softly. "We have each other--all three of us."
Both Winchesters nodded their agreement and Dean slipped his arm around you to pull you close.
"To hell with fate," Dean stated. "From now on, we make our own future."
You leaned into him with a smile, appreciating the sentiment more than you would have just a few days prior. At the end of the day, all you had was each other and the love that bonded all of you together. None of you knew exactly what the future held, but you'd be damned if you didn't fight for a future worth living for.
#supernatural#dean winchester smut#dean winchester#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester x reader smut#endverse!dean#endverse!dean x reader#supernatural smut
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Road Trip
It was... It was always just a fight but the last one between Jason and Bruce had been one of their worst and things only escalated after he accused Jason of having something to do with the Joker's disappearance.
It was another thing to hold against him. Another excuse to keep the Red Hood at arms length but Barbara knows Jason wasn't anywhere near Gotham when the clown went missing. Bruce checked. Tim double checked, but she knows because it wasn't like Jason was even trying to hide from any of them.
He was just traveling.
At first it was with the rest of the Outlaws for a bit and on and off after for a while afterwards with the rest of his team joining up at different points along his trip across the country.
He'd spent weeks spent on the road from New York to Pennsylvania before anyone even noticed the Joker was gone, then took a detour down to Atlanta and through Kentucky. The weekend after that was spent traveling between Michigan and Toronto and a surprising sighting in Kansas which was one of the only stops she still didn't understand since he'd have to be traveling all night just to get to that small town he'd been spotted in and Jason didn't seem to be in any hurry.
A part of her had been tempted to call Kara and see if she'd look into the matter for her but cases kept piling up and they got busy. If it wasn't the usual villain of the day causing trouble then it was the power vacuum left behind by the still missing Joker or one the guys getting into trouble. So she left it alone.
Jason didn't seem like he was in any trouble. He'd come back sooner or later. He always came back. Except he didn't. Weeks turned into months, then a full year passed them by as sightings of the Red Hood grew less and less frequent and it was only a preemptive notification she sat up so long ago that reminded her of Jason's absence as she stares down at the computer monitor playing a few seconds of footage displaying a small crowd of people, the Outlaws, some of Young Justice and the Titans along with a few other people who were cheering him on as he slipped a ring on some red haired woman's finger. The context was clear enough but she didn't find out more about the what and why until later that night when Roy sent out an update to the rest of the Titans claiming dibs on being the best man.
The above is just something that I cobbled together after reading a few Jason leaves Gotham fics and the thought of Jazz killing the Joker for (insert reasons) so my mind kind of jumped to Jason living out his best Cinderella moment, chasing after, flirting (along with getting threatened by a pair of overprotective parents) and road tripping with his team while trying to find the woman who lost her bloody baseball bat. After they meet he's just doubling down on everything with the intent of marrying her, Jazz getting her own little road trip, telling Jason where they're going next or even making a game out of if he can find her at the next stop on the Fenton family supernatural hunting/cataloging road trip cause I know they love talking about ghost but the image of Jack and Maddie fighting Bigfoot is amazing.
And the Fentons are happy for the two of them. At least he wasn't another Johnny. They had Tucker check just to be sure while everyone else just kind of assumes the rest of the bat family already knew when it was actually a mix of (we're super busy right now) and (maybe things will be a little peaceful if we give Jason some space) leaving Bruce trying to play catch up and depending on if he's reformed having to outdo Vlad who is already paying for everything.
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Kansas Anymore (2)
Tyler Owens x OC
Summary: In which Riley Owens, the ex-wife of the infamous Tornado Wrangler, has 36 hours to come to terms if moving to a whole new country with their small daughter is something she truly wants to do.
Warnings: Cursing, angst, suggested smut, fluff. ✶ Chapter One ✶
■ Italics = Flashback ■ A/N: You guys are amazing! I just want to say thank you so much for loving this story and follwing the tale of Riley and Tyler ❤️ ■ Taglist is available - just drop a comment! Would love to hear your thoughts, questions, or maybe just drop by to say hello! Can't wait to hear from y'all
TL: @ellesmythe @18lkpeters @hookslove1592, @djs8891, @smoothdogsgirl @queenslandlover-93 @imjustamehbleh @love2write2626 @lt-jakeseresin @starcrossedtrek
“You know when you said that we were going to a show, I didn’t expect it to involve horses and mud.”
I let out a frustrated sigh, my heels sinking into the soggy ground with each step. I had been in Arkansas for less than a month – choosing to attend the college that my father spoke so highly of growing up. As each day passed, it was getting harder and harder to fight the urge to pack all my things and head back home.
My roommate Sarah, who had grown up in the area, laughed as she turned to face me. "Welcome to the South! This is what we call a rodeo. Trust me, you'll have fun."
I glanced around at the bustling fairground. Families gathered around food stalls, the smell of popcorn and barbecue hanging in the air. Children ran past us, their boots splashing in puddles, their laughter ringing out above the distant sounds of country music. Cowboys in worn jeans and hats moved with purpose, leading majestic horses by the reins.
"Fun, huh?" I muttered, trying to pull my heel out of yet another patch of mud. "It looks like a real blast.” Sarah grinned and tugged at my arm, leading me toward the main arena. "Oh, come on! You haven't even seen the best parts yet. The bull riding, barrel racing, and don't forget the rodeo clowns. They’re hilarious!"
As we walked, I noticed the vibrant colors of the stands selling cowboy hats, boots, and all sorts of Western memorabilia. There was an infectious energy in the air. People greeted each other with wide smiles and friendly nods, embodying the warmth of Southern hospitality that Sarah had talked about.
We passed a group of teenagers gathered around a mechanical bull. They cheered each other on, daring one another to take a ride. Sarah nudged me, "Think you could last eight seconds on that thing?"
I shook my head, laughing. "No way! I'd be thrown off in a heartbeat."
A mischievous smirk broke across her face. “Never know till you try.” I rolled my eyes and started to walk away, but her grip on my arm stopped me. “Just once.” Her eyes widened with a playful challenge. “Have a little fun, Riley.”
My eyes glanced between her and the machinery behind her, taking in the sight as a teenage boy was thrown from the contraption, his friends commending his effort with hoots and hollers. The boy, though dusting himself off, wore a wide grin as he rejoined his group, their camaraderie infectious.
I sighed, feeling a mix of reluctance and curiosity. “I’m not wearing the right clothes for that thing,” I said, the excuse as flimsy as it sounded. “Plus, I could break a bone or som—”
“You riding or not, darlin’?” came a loud voice from behind me.
Sarah’s eyes shifted to the voice, and I turned to meet the face of the commenter. He was a tall fucker – had to be over six foot with an overinflated ego. His boots were dusty, and his hat cast a shadow over his eyes, but I could still see the arrogance etched in his smirk. “Excuse me?” I replied, my tone a bit harsher than intended.
“You heard me,” he said, leaning casually against the gate. “You gonna give it a go or just stand there making excuses?” His cocky smile shone bright, and I could practically taste the mockery in his voice. “Too scared you're gonna break a nail?”
I felt the heat rise to my cheeks, not out of embarrassment but anger. I clenched my fists and took a step forward, feeling the rough texture of the ground beneath my boots. “Listen, cowboy,” I said, my voice steady despite the irritation bubbling inside. “I’m not here to play games or prove anything to you.”
Sarah shifted uncomfortably beside me, her eyes darting between us. I could sense her unease, but I wasn’t about to back down. The man’s smirk widened, clearly enjoying the tension he was stoking.
“Prove something to me?” he chuckled, pushing off the gate and taking a step closer. “Sweetheart, you don’t need to prove anything to me.” His eyes slowly moved up my body, lingering in a way that made my skin flush. “Just to yourself.”
The guy raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk centered on his chiseled face. Clearly, he thought he had me all figured out.
I turned back to Sarah, her eyes showing concern as I handed off my purse and coat. “You really don’t have to do this, Riley.” Her tone shadowed her eyes. “Tyler’s just being an asshole. He’s like that with all the girls in town—” She paused shortly. “You’re just the only one who’s ever talked to him like that.”
“Let’s see what you got, city girl!” The Tyler guy hooped, causing those close enough to center their attention on the situation.
Rolling my eyes, I hastily removed my purse, pushing the bag into Sarah’s arms. “You really don’t have to do this, Riley,” Sarah's voice now hesitant as she looked at me with concern. “We can just go somewhere else and have fun, forget about that guy.”
I shook my head in protest, my resolve hardening as I cast one last glance at the idiot across the room. His smirk fueled my determination. “No way. I’m not gonna give that jerkoff the satisfaction of watching me wuss out,” I declared, my voice tinged with defiance.
As I pushed up the sleeves of my designer shirt, a small act of rebellion that would have my mother clutching her inherited pearls in horror, I felt a surge of adrenaline. This was my moment to show that I was not someone to be pushed around, not someone to be intimidated by an urban cowboy fool at a fucking rodeo.
I confidently approached the bull, climbing onto the steel, gripping the handle with white-knuckled determination.
"Hold on tight, darlin," the elderly operator smiled warmly, his weathered face lined with experience and mischief. With a practiced hand, he flipped the switch, setting the mechanical bull into motion.
As the bull lurched forward, the world around me seemed to blur into a whirlwind of colors and sounds. The contraption bucked and spun with unpredictable ferocity, testing every ounce of my balance and resolve. I clenched the reins tightly, my muscles straining as I fought to stay atop the bucking beast. Sarah’s cheers blended with the roar of the crowd, a chorus of encouragement that spurred me on.
Seconds stretched into what felt like minutes, my focus narrowing to the rhythmic movements of the mechanical beast. Just as I started to think I might actually last the full eight seconds, the bull gave a particularly violent twist, sending me flying into the padded arena.
I let out a groan of both relief and exhaustion, feeling the adrenaline slowly ebb away as I managed to flip myself onto my back. As I lay there, breathing heavily, the cool night sky spread out above me like a vast, dark canvas adorned with twinkling stars.
Sarah's figure quickly loomed over me, her expression a mix of concern and relief etched across her features. With a swift movement, she crouched down beside me, her eyes scanning me from head to toe as if checking for any signs of injury.
"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice laced with genuine worry and care as she assessed my well-being.
I slowly nodded my head, a faint smile tugging at the corners of my lips. "I think so," I replied, my sentence trailing off momentarily as I gathered my thoughts. "Was that okay?" I inquired, seeking reassurance after the whirlwind of the mechanical bull ride.
Sarah's expression shifted from slight confusion at my question to a mischievous smile that lit up her face. "Are you kidding me, Riley?" she exclaimed, her voice filled with pride and excitement. "That was more than okay. You had Tyler Owens, the reigning rodeo champion, dropping his jaw so far to the ground that he's gonna need some help putting it back in place."
We shared a laugh as she helped me off the mat, my black slacks now dotted with dust and dirt.
"You did good, little girl," the older man remarked with a warm smile as we exited the gates of the rodeo arena. I shyly thanked him, feeling a surge of pride at his encouraging words, but my smile quickly faded as a tall stranger approached us, his hands casually tucked into his denim pockets.
"Wasn't expecting you to last a second, city girl," he remarked with a smirk that seemed to gleam in the dim light of the night. "Gotta hand it to you though, you make riding a bull look easy."
I met his gaze with a mixture of defiance and amusement, my own smirk playing at the corners of my lips. "Yeah, well," I retorted, taking a step closer to him, the adrenaline of the ride still coursing through my veins. "It's all in the hips, really."
My words hung in the air between us, a playful challenge laced with a hint of confidence. “Is that right?” His voice dropping an octave, sending a shiver down my spine. “Gonna have to teach me your ways then.”
A flicker of a smile danced across my lips, “Me teach you-“ I took a step back. “From what I hear you’re a world-renowned bull rider, probably the best in the county, maybe even the state.” My words boosting his overstrung ego. “I’m sure a bull made of steel is no match for-“ I paused, tilting my head. “What’s your name again?”
“You know my name, darlin.” His words igniting a burn in my stomach.
He arched an eyebrow as I drew near, clearly taken aback by my sudden boldness. His cronies and Sarah exchanged glances, unsure of what was unfolding before them. I could almost taste the tension in the air, thick and crackling with anticipation.
Without a word, I stood before him, my gaze unwavering. The hint of a smirk played on his lips, a challenge in his eyes. But I held my ground, a silent defiance radiating from every fiber of my being. My hand slowly trailing up his flannel covered front, his breath hitching with each touch.
In one swift motion, I reached out and plucked the Stetson hat from his head, the symbol of his false bravado. Placing the hat atop my head, my smile smug as I looked up at him, almost daring him to take it back.
“You shouldn’t let strangers get too close to you, Tyler Owens,” I remarked coolly, the gravel crunching under my heels as I took a step back. “That’s a lesson us city girls learn at a young age.”
10:54am (2.21 hrs since arrival)
“I can’t believe it's been over a year since we’ve seen you and the little bean,” Lilly smiled warmly over her coffee cup, her eyes reflecting a mix of nostalgia and longing. “I mean, we get to talk to her on video chat, but it’s just not the same.”
I nodded in agreement, a tinge of guilt flickering in my chest. “Yeah, work has been so hectic, and I never know where you guys are gonna be, especially during the season. Tyler’s like a butterfly – floating wherever the wind blows.”
Lilly chuckled softly, the sound carrying a hint of understanding. “I know he misses her a lot –” Her sentence paused, a moment of hesitation flitting across her features. “Misses you a lot too.” Her gaze met mine, her eyes reflecting a mix of empathy and unspoken truths. “He still has that picture of the two of you nestled in his visor.”
The photograph that Lilly had taken two weeks after I found out I was pregnant with Caroline. The storm clouds black as night loomed behind us, a stark contrast to the brightness of our smiles that shone as radiant as the sun in the sky.
Tyler had insisted on capturing the moment, his easy laugh filling the air as he playfully teased about becoming parents. Despite the uncertainty and fear that lingered in the depths of my heart, his unwavering support and infectious optimism had been a beacon of light in the midst of the looming storm.
The diner's door suddenly swung open, and in walked Boone, a towering figure with my four-year-old daughter, Caroline, perched high on his shoulders. "Here she comes, Ms. America!" Boone's southern twang echoed through the small space, causing a few of the older folks to turn their heads in mild disapproval. Caroline's infectious giggle, so reminiscent of her father's, rang out as she played along with the theatrics, her smile radiant as ever.
I watched as the two of them made their way through the diner, drawing smiles and curious glances from the other patrons. Caroline's tiny hand waved enthusiastically at the strangers, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Boone, ever the playful uncle, hammed it up for her, making exaggerated gestures and funny faces that elicited peals of laughter from the little girl perched on his shoulders.
As Boone approached our table, I made space for him in the booth, eagerly awaiting Caroline's arrival. Her tiny hands reached out for me as I gently lifted her off his shoulders, her eyes alight with excitement. "Mommy, Daddy said I could go with him and Uncle Booney when the 'nado comes," she announced proudly. "Daddy said there's gonna be one real soon."
My eyes immediately darted to where Boone still stood, his gaze evading mine as he focused intently on the intricate pattern of the floor tiles. "No," I said firmly, my hand instinctively reaching out to gently grasp Caroline's pigtailed braid. "Sweetheart, it's far too dangerous to go with Daddy and Uncle Boone. You need to stay here with me where it's safe."
Caroline's face began to crumple into a disappointed pout, her lower lip trembling slightly. Her eyes, usually bright with curiosity and mischief, now filled with a mixture of defiance and longing. "No, Mommy," she protested, her voice rising in a blend of frustration and determination. "I want to go with Daddy!"
Her attitude shifted suddenly, like a fault line in an earthquake, her small arms crossing over her chest in a display of stubborn defiance. The tension in the room seemed to thicken as her words hung in the air, charged with the raw energy of a child's unwavering will.
I let out a frustrated sigh, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on me. My eyes flicked over to Lilly, her expression a mixture of concern and understanding.
"Caroline, I'm not having this argument with you," I said firmly, my voice tinged with a hint of exasperation. The tears that had been threatening to spill over now glistened in Caroline's wide green eyes, her lower lip quivering with unshed emotion.
"You're not going, and that's final," I stated, my tone leaving no room for further negotiation. The air in the room seemed to thicken with the weight of my words, the tension between us palpable.
Caroline's shoulders slumped in defeat, her small form trembling with suppressed emotion. A single tear escaped her eye, trailing down her cheek in a silent testament to her disappointment.
Lilly sat forward, her presence a comforting anchor. "Caroline, honey, Mommy is just trying to keep you safe. Sometimes we have to trust that the grown-ups know what's best for us, even when it's hard to understand."
“But you go with daddy to the nados.” Caroline's matter-of-fact statement catching Lilly off guard, her surprise evident in the way her brow furrowed slightly.
"Well," Lilly began, her voice gentle yet tinged with a sense of hesitation. "It's my job to go with your dad and help with the tornadoes. But if my mom told me not to, then I would listen to her and stay behind." Lilly and I shared a knowing glance, a silent acknowledgment passing between us.
We both knew her words were a facade, a carefully constructed lie meant to shield Caroline from the harsh realities of the world. Lilly's mother's disapproval of her association with Tyler and the gang was no secret, a source of tension that simmered beneath the surface of their relationship.
The chimes above the door sounded again as Tyler stepped across the threshold. His smile on display as he greeted those in the restaurant, sparking a conversation with the random patrons. “Daddy!” Caroline quickly stood on the booth’s seat, her arms waving in the air to get Tyler’s attention.
Tyler waved goodbye to his admirers, his smile growing even wider as he approached our booth. As he drew closer, I could already anticipate the first thing that would escape Caroline's lips—the reminder of how I had told her she couldn't go with him on a chase, a trait she had undoubtedly inherited from me.
"Hey there, sweet pea," Tyler greeted Caroline, his voice brimming with affection as he stepped behind the booth. Caroline's arms instinctively wrapped around his neck as he lifted her out of the seat with practiced ease. "Have you gotten something to eat yet?"
Caroline nestled her head against Tyler's shoulder, her small frame shaking with soft sniffles. Concern etched across his face, Tyler gently pressed, "What's wrong, baby?" He reached up to wipe away a stray tear that was making its way down her cheek.
"Mommy won't let me go with you and Uncle Booney for the nado chase," Caroline whispered, her voice filled with a mixture of disappointment and longing.
Tyler's gaze, the same shade of green as Caroline, locked onto mine with a mix of curiosity and concern. "What's the deal, Riley?" he inquired, his voice gentle but probing.
My face betrayed my emotions before I could even formulate a response. A wave of unease and protectiveness washed over me as I struggled to find the right words to convey my concerns.
"The deal, Tyler, is that she's just a baby," I began, my voice tinged with a blend of firmness and vulnerability. "She doesn't need to be out in the truck, spinning around in a tornado. It's not safe for you and the guys, and it's definitely not safe for a 4-year-old child."
"I'm not a baby, mommy!" Caroline quipped, her voice filled with a mix of defiance and determination, catching me off guard.
My eyebrows raised in surprise at her unexpected retort. "Well, you're my baby, little girl, and like I said, it’s too dangerous to be out there with daddy. Maybe when you're a little older – say twenty –“
“Twenty!” Tyler exclaimed. “You can’t have her living in a bubble all her life, Riley.”
The atmosphere in the room grew tense as my jaw slacked in immediate anger, my eyes narrowing as Tyler stared back at me. "Excuse me?" I retorted; my voice edged with frustration. "Like you have any control of that, since I'm the primary parent here and you're just someone who comes and goes like the fucking wind you chase!"
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed as Boone and Lilly stepped forward, "Hey, little bean—" Lilly approached Tyler and Caroline, who was actually crying at this point. My frustration with Tyler causing me to forget that she was right in front of me in his arms.
"Why don’t you come with us and help us sell some t-shirts?" Lilly suggested, her warm smile aimed at Caroline, who sniffled and wiped away her tears.
Boone stepped lightly behind me, his easygoing demeanor a calming presence. "Yeah, who's gonna turn down an adorable kid?" he added with a playful grin, trying to lighten the mood.
I hastily ran a hand through my hair as Caroline climbed into Lilly's arms, her giggles filling the room and momentarily easing the tension. Tyler's face remained stoic as he sent glares my way, the unspoken emotions between us hanging heavy in the air.
Feeling the weight of his gaze, I met his eyes with a mix of defiance and weariness. The complexities of our relationship, the unresolved issues simmering beneath the surface, were laid bare in that moment of silent confrontation.
Tyler's voice was low and filled with hurt as he spoke, "That was a really shitty thing to do, Riley. To bring that up in front of Caroline – make me look like a bad dad. Real nice."
I lowered my head in frustration as Tyler stormed past me, his steps purposeful and heavy. The hushed whispers of those around us mingled with the clinking of cutlery, casting a spotlight on our tense exchange. With a heavy sigh, I gathered my composure, steeling myself against the onslaught of prying eyes and whispered conversations. The weight of their scrutiny bore down on me, a reminder of the fragility of our private struggles in a very public setting.
#tyler owens#tyler owens smut#tyler owens x reader#tyler owens imagine#twisters 2024#twisters fanfic#twisters movie#twisters#glen powell imagine#glen powell#glen powell fanfic#glen powell fluff#glen powell smut#glen powell x reader#Spotify
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Prompt fill from the Discord server. This one is courtesy of @tourettesdog
Prompt where Danny keeps showing up like a stray cat at various hero's houses. He just comes and goes and they never know when he'll show up next. He's just this like pseudo-adopted child who will come over for dinner, crash on the couch, and he's gone by morning. No amount of research will tell them who he is past the limited information he's given them
The various heroes are unaware that his stray cat range wanders so far until someone mentions him at a JL meeting and all hell breaks loose.
There's eventually an intervention
Stray Cat Danny
Clark had just got home when he noticed the heartbeat on the fire escape two floors above him. As far as he knew, that apartment was empty, so it couldn't be the residents going out for a smoke. It was weird, very strange, and not his business.
He tried to leave it alone, but the heartbeat stayed on the fire escape for a few hours. Every now and again Clark would hear whoever it was shift, but other than that they stayed quiet. Again, weird, but not his business.
Until it started to snow right when Clark was about to start dinner.
He was just going to make sure whoever it was had somewhere warm to stay. Maybe direct them to a shelter. Clark opened the window and looked up, there was a dark bundle, worryingly still, on the fire escape.
"Excuse me?" Clark called. The bundle shifted but whoever it is didn't respond. Clark grumbled and made his way up to them, squatting down a few feet away.
"Are you alright?"
The bundle shifted, revealing one blue eye and a tuft of back hair.
"''m fine" a young male voice answered. The blue eye closed.
"You know it's going to snow tonight. I'm sure you'd be more comfortable in a shelter than on a fire escape."
"They're full." The boy answered. "All both of them."
Only two shelters for all of Metropolis? That can't be right. Clark looked up to the sky, the snow was starting to come down and he could swear it had gotten colder since he'd been out here. He couldn't leave the kid out here to freeze.
"How about you stay the night at my place? My couch is pretty comfortable, and I'm making beef stew for dinner, Ma's recipe." He let a bit of his Kansas accent show through. Hoping the country accent would put the boy more at ease. He was watching him now with both eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"Did your Ma ever teach you about stranger danger?" The kid asked.
"Not exactly. She taught me to help people out if they need it. Did your Ma teach you stranger danger?"
"No," the boy said, "my mom taught me to put a full-grown man on the ground if I needed to."
That surprised Clark into laughing. "Well, you won't need to with me. What do you say you come inside?"
The boy watched him for another second before shivering violently and glaring at the sky.
"Yeah, alright. Just one night."
"I'm Clark, by the way," Clark said as he closed the window behind the kid.
"Danny." The kid said. He was rooted to the spot just a few steps into the apartment, eyes scanning the room.
"It's nice to meet you, Danny." Clark held out his hand to shake, but Danny didn't take it. After an awkward second Clark cleared his throat. "Uh. The stew is going to be a little while. You're welcome to the laundry and shower if you need it." Danny was pretty clean, but there was visible dirt on his face and clothes. "I might have some clothes my nephew forgot that you're welcome to." Dick was bigger than Danny for sure, but he was closer to Danny's size than Clark was.
Danny gave him a long look, before shrugging off his backpack. "Sure. Might as well."
Clark left to go get the clothes while Danny loaded some of his clothes and blankets in the washer. Once he presented the tee shirt and sweatpants Danny disappeared into the bathroom. When he reappeared he was scrubbed clean, his cheeks rosy either from the hot water or scrubbing.
Danny was even smaller than Clark was expecting. He was downright scrawny. Dick's shirt hung off Danny's shoulders, and Clark could clearly see his collarbones. This kid was not getting nearly enough to eat. Well, he was going to tonight if Clark had anything to say about it.
"The stew should be ready in about half an hour. Feel free to make yourself at home." Clark said. He expected Danny to sit on the couch and watch TV, but instead, Danny found his home office. it wasn't more than a desk with his work laptop on it and some of Clark's better pieces and awards framed and tacked to the wall above it.
"You're Clark Kent, the reporter?" Danny asked, eyes switching between the wall and Clark.
"That's me," Clark said. "You know my work?"
"I read your piece on metahuman and alien rights last year. It was good."
"Thanks. I really liked working on that piece."
"Did you always want to be a writer?"
"uh. No. When I was a kid I wanted to be an astronaut." Clark said, stirring the stew. Danny snorted. "What's funny?"
"Nothing," Danny said, taking a seat at the little kitchen table. "I wanted to be an astronaut, too."
"Yeah? You still could." Clark said.
"Nah. It's hard to be an astronaut without a high school diploma. What made you change to writing?"
"I went through a few different career paths before I landed on journalism."
"Do you like it?"
"I do. I like uncovering the truths people try to hide." Clark said. "You'd make a decent journalist, I'd think. Half of it is just asking the right questions."
Clark served up the stew into two bowls and brought them over to the table with some rolls and butter. "I don't have much in the way of drinks, is water okay?"
"Water would be great, thanks."
They ate in relative silence, Danny was too focused on his food to ask more questions. After they ate Danny nodded off on the couch almost as soon as he sat down. Clark couldn't bring himself to wake him up, so he just covered him with a blanket from the linen closet and headed to his own room.
Maybe in the morning he could make Danny pancakes or waffles and get him some new gloves and a jacket. The question was what to do after that? He didn't want to drop Danny off at a shelter, and taking him to the police would only destroy whatever trust he had gained with the boy. At the same time, he only had a one-bedroom apartment. He couldn't keep Danny here. Clark sighed. He'd have to talk to Danny in the morning and see what he wanted to do.
When Clark woke up he was greeted by the silence of the apartment and it took him a few minutes to figure out why that was wrong. There should be another heartbeat. Fearing the worst, Clark rushed into the living room to find it empty.
The blanket and clothes Danny had used had been neatly folded and placed on the back of the couch, along with a handwritten thank you note.
How did Danny leave without him hearing? Moreover, how'd he leave with the doors and windows still locked?
#danny phantom#danny fenton#dc comics#dp x dc#crossover#fanfic#clark kent#superman#dc x dp#evandarya writes#stray cat danny fenton#stray cat danny
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Will never get over how hilarious the accidental lesbian coding of the koncass "romance" arc was in Batgirl. Like Cass had a 'friend break up' with Steph and immediately the very next issue began observing couples on the street and thinking more about romantic love and whether she should try it and started asking questions and realised that most men were gross actually but Superboy seems kind of OK so she should do the whole kissing and dating thing now right? So she goes all the way to Kansas to try it out and then they fight a rock monster and she's like "Hang on a second I think I'm just lonely and looking for a friend since I lost Steph. I don't think I have any romantic feelings for you at all actually." and they agree to be friends and it's a happy ending and she doesn't for one second analyze the fact that losing her relationship with Stephanie made her want to replace it with a romantic partner.
And then when Steph dies Cass monologues to us about what the funeral was like and says how Steph was her first friend while everyone else is more like family and "Stephanie was... I uh. I can't talk about her now. Is that normal?" (which yes is perfectly normal grief but also the confusion about what exactly separates Steph from the rest of the batfamily and makes her Cass's "first friend" is Something). She then goes on to fantasize twice about Steph swooping in to save her and carrying her away from danger while she's dying. The second time Steph literally bridal carries her in her arms.
Cass will ignore all of this of course and then go on to pat herself on the back when a normal civilian man asks her out for coffee. She declines obviously because she's too busy superheroing but the fact that he asked means she's getting an A+ in the social skills submodule of Romance. She never needs to say yes to any of these of course just the fact that they like her means she's doing a good job and that's all she needs! Anyways time to stare into Steph's eyes and analyze every aspect of what she sees there. As besties.
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Tell me what it takes
Characters: Dean Winchester x Y/N Female character
Summary: REQUEST: Dean realizes after a near-death experience that he has nothing if Y/N isn’t in his life. He searches for her and finds her living in Lawrence, Kansas. When he shows up at her door, she’s shocked but lets him in. Dean struggles with small talk before finally confessing realized he needed her.
Warnings: 18+ romance, nothing too explicit, mostly making love, hurt, couple issues, friends to lovers,
English is not my first language
*This story is my own original story, please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated*
The sound of gravel crunching under the Impala’s tires was a familiar comfort as Y/N stared out the window, her mind miles away from the endless Kansas road. She had been living with Dean and Sam for years now.
It had become her life—hunting, saving people, the usual. She had loved Dean for years, they started out as neighbours, friends, but over time, something had shifted between her and Dean, something she wasn’t sure either of them knew how to define.
She and Dean were inseparable, tied together by years of shared grief, laughter, and battles fought side by side. She had helped him take care of baby Sam when their father disappeared on one of his many hunts.
Dean and Y/N had leaned on each other back then, and as the years passed, that connection deepened in a way that was never spoken about, but always felt just right.
Now, though, feeling it wasn’t enough anymore. She needed more, needed to know, hear it he felt the same for her.
They were staying in a rundown motel outside of town for the night, waiting on a lead Sam had tracked down for their next hunt. As soon as they checked in, Sam disappeared to do more research, leaving Y/N and Dean alone in the room they would share.
Y/N sat on the edge of the bed, her heart heavy as she watched Dean peel off his jacket and toss it over the chair by the window. His movements were as casual as ever, but her mind was racing.
It wasn’t the first time they’d shared a bed, tangled together in moments of passion when the night was too long, and the world seemed too heavy.
They’d kissed, hooked up, and fallen asleep wrapped around each other more times than she could count, Dean had been her first and if it was up to her, also her last. It felt right with him but it always felt… temporary. As if none of it mattered when the morning came.
She couldn’t take it anymore. She knew he cared for her, more than just a one night thing, she noticed he'd stopped sleeping with other girls, he was protective of her and when a man looked at her in a way he didn't like, he held her.
Those are boyfriends trades, right? Than why didn't he ever admitted it to her, or did he made it official?
"Dean," she said quietly, her voice barely louder than a whisper. He glanced over at her, brow furrowing when he saw the expression on her face. “What’s up sweetheart?”
She bit her lip, trying to find the words that had been building up for so long. "We need to talk." Dean stiffened, his jaw tightening slightly. "About what?"
"About us." Her eyes met his, searching for some kind of reassurance, but she found nothing there but his usual guarded expression. "Dean… I need more."
His brow furrowed deeper. "More? What do you mean?"
"I mean… I can’t keep doing this. The kissing, the hooking up, the sharing a bed… It’s not enough anymore. I need to know where we stand. I need to know that this isn’t just some… convenient arrangement for you."
Dean shifted uncomfortably, running a hand through his short-cropped hair. "Y/N, you know I care about you."
"That’s not what I’m asking," she said, her voice wavering. "I need to hear it, Dean. I need to know you... love me, like I love you."
The room fell into an oppressive silence, the only sound the faint hum of the highway outside.
Dean looked away, his face hardening in that familiar way whenever emotions came into play. His defense mechanism.
"Y/N, I…" he started, then shook his head. "I don’t do this type of things. You know that. I’m not good with—"
"With emotions? With feelings?" she cut in, her frustration rising. "I’ve been with you for years, Dean! I know you better than anyone, I never asked for anything, and I’m telling you, begging you, I need to hear you say it. I need to know that this isn’t just… nothing to you."
Dean’s eyes flicked back to hers, and for a moment, she saw something there. Fear. Pain. But then, just as quickly, it vanished, replaced by his usual bravado. He scoffed, shaking his head. "You’re overthinking this, Y/N. You know how I feel. Why do we need to say it?"
"Because I deserve to know!" Her voice cracked, and she stood up from the bed, her chest heaving with pent-up emotion. "I deserve to be more than just the girl you hook up with when you feel like it. I deserve to be loved, Dean. Really loved."
Dean’s eyes flashed, and he stepped toward her, his own frustration boiling over. "I’m doing the best I can, Y/N! This is who I am. You knew that from the beginning. You think I don’t care? I wouldn’t hold you all damn night! I wouldn't kiss you good morning! I wouldn't you know... hold your hand and stuff"
"But you won’t say it," she said softly, her voice breaking. "You won’t say you love me. You only kiss me when no one is around, you only hold me or my hand when you think someone is interested in me. Why is it so hard to tell me, just me Dean, you don't need to shout it of the roof!"
He clenched his fists, his expression hardening once again. "What do you want from me? I can’t just… say it because you want to hear it."
Y/N’s heart shattered at his words, the final nail in the coffin. She had hoped—prayed—that he would give her something, anything. But instead, he was pushing her away.
She took a shaky breath, her eyes filling with unshed tears. "I can’t do this anymore, Dean."
His face paled, his bravado slipping for a moment. "Y/N, don’t act like that, don't —"
"No," she said, her voice firm now, despite the tears threatening to fall. "I can’t keep waiting for you to love me the way I deserve, the way I have loved you since you moved in next door."
"I ran away from home to help you and your dad take care of Sammy. I did anything for you..." a trembling sigh left her "I’m done."
Without another word, she grabbed her bag from the floor and headed for the door. Dean stood frozen in place, his eyes wide with shock, but he didn’t stop her. He didn’t call her back.
As she walked out of the room, the weight of everything hit her at once.
Years of friendship, of love—unspoken and unacknowledged—crashed down around her. She didn’t want to leave him, but she couldn’t keep sacrificing her heart for someone who wasn’t willing to give her theirs in return.
The door clicked shut behind her, and as she stepped into the cool night air, Y/N let the tears fall. She didn’t know where she was going, but anywhere was better than staying in a place where love was always just out of reach.
Inside the motel room, Dean stood alone, staring at the door. His chest ached, his heart pounding in his ears. He wanted to go after her, to pull her back and tell her everything she needed to hear. But the words stuck in his throat, buried beneath years of walls he had built to keep himself from getting hurt.
And so, for the first time in a long time, Dean was alone. Completely, utterly alone, the only thing he truly loved and cared for in this world, beside his brother, just turned her back and walked away.
A year later
The rain fell in steady sheets, drumming against the roof of the Impala as Dean pulled up outside a modest, two-story house on the outskirts of Lawrence, Kansas. It had been almost a year since Y/N walked out of his life, and for most of that time, he’d tried to convince himself he was fine. That he didn’t need her.
But he’d been wrong.
The last hunt had been a brutal reminder of his mortality. He had come inches from death, pinned under the crushing weight of a creature whose claws had torn into him, leaving deep gashes that still ached. In those moments when the world started to blur and his strength began to fade, there had only been one thought in his mind.
Y/N.
He had always pushed people away, afraid of losing them. But in doing so, he had lost the one person who truly mattered. The one person who had seen him, broken and scarred, and stayed anyway.
Dean’s hands tightened on the steering wheel as he stared at the house. He didn’t know what he would say, but he knew one thing: he couldn’t leave without trying. He couldn’t lose her again.
With a deep breath, he stepped out of the car, the rain soaking through his jacket as he approached the front door. His heart pounded in his chest as he raised his hand and knocked. Each second that passed felt like an eternity until finally, the door creaked open.
Y/N stood there, her eyes widening in shock. She hadn’t changed much—her hair was a little longer, and there was a hint of weariness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. But she was still Y/N, the woman who had always been a part of his life, whether he’d admitted it or not.
“Dean,” she said, her voice soft but guarded.
He gave her a small, nervous smile, shifting awkwardly. “Hey.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke, the weight of the past year hanging heavy between them. Finally, Y/N stepped aside, opening the door wider. “You should come in. It’s pouring out there.”
Dean nodded, stepping inside. The house was warm, cozy. A far cry from the cheap motels and the constant chaos of the life they’d once shared. He could see small touches of her everywhere—books stacked on the coffee table, a blanket draped over the arm of the couch. It was a home, something Dean had never been able to give her.
Y/N crossed her arms, leaning against the wall as she watched him. “What are you doing here, Dean?”
He opened his mouth, but the words got stuck. He hadn’t exactly planned this out. He scratched the back of his neck, forcing a half-hearted smile. “I was in the neighborhood?”
She raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Try again.”
Dean sighed, running a hand down his face. “Okay, fine. I suck at this, you know that. I—” He stopped, his gaze dropping to the floor as he searched for the right words. He wasn’t sure there were any.
Y/N didn’t say anything, just waited. And for the first time in a long time, Dean felt like he needed to be honest. No walls. No bravado.
“I almost died,” he said quietly, lifting his eyes to meet hers.
Her expression softened for a moment, concern flashing across her face. “Dean…”
“No, listen,” he interrupted, his voice firmer now. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. About us. About… everything. And for a long time, I didn’t get it. I thought I could just keep doing what I was doing—going through the motions, keeping everyone at arm’s length. But when I was lying there, bleeding out, the only thing I could think about was you. And how I had nothing if you weren’t there.”
Y/N’s lips parted slightly, but she stayed quiet, letting him continue.
“I messed up,” Dean admitted, his voice thick with guilt. “I was so damn scared to say what you needed to hear because… I’ve lost everyone, Y/N. My dad, my mom, even Sam, for a while. I didn’t want to lose you too, so I thought if I didn’t say it—if I didn’t make it real—then maybe you’d stick around. But I was wrong. And I know I don’t deserve it, but… I’m asking for another chance. A real one.”
Y/N’s arms dropped to her sides as she took a slow, steady breath. The silence that followed was almost unbearable, and Dean’s heart pounded in his chest. She was right to make him wait, to make him feel the weight of his actions. He hadn’t just broken her heart—he’d broken their bond. And that wasn’t something that could be fixed with a few words.
But he needed to try.
"You hurt me, Dean," she said, her voice soft but strong. "For years, I was there for you. I gave you everything, and you couldn’t give me the one thing I needed. Do you know how hard it was to leave? To walk away, knowing you’d never say what I wanted to hear?"
Dean swallowed hard, his throat tight. "I know. And I’m sorry. God, I’m so damn sorry. I should’ve told you… I should’ve told you how much...
I love you."
The words hung in the air, thick with the emotion he had been too afraid to show for so long. For a moment, Y/N just stared at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She had waited so long to hear those words, but hearing them now, after everything, wasn’t the easy fix either of them had hoped for.
"Do you mean it?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Or are you just saying it because you’re scared to be alone?"
Dean stepped closer, his eyes never leaving hers. "I mean it. I’ve always meant it. I just… I didn’t know how to say it. But I’m saying it now because it’s true. I love you, Y/N. And I want to be with you. Really be with you. No more half measures. No more running away."
Y/N’s eyes searched his, looking for any sign of hesitation or doubt. She didn’t find any. Slowly, she exhaled, wiping at the tear that had slipped down her cheek.
"I can’t promise it’ll be easy, Dean," she said quietly. "You hurt me. It’s going to take time for me to trust you again."
Dean nodded, his expression serious. "I know. I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll wait as long as you need. Just… don’t tell me it’s too late."
Y/N looked at him for a long moment, and then, finally, she took a step forward, closing the distance between them. She didn’t say anything, but the way she leaned into him, resting her head against his chest, told him everything he needed to know.
Dean wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself breathe. He let himself feel.
And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel alone.
He was home.
The warmth of her body pressed against his was like coming home after years of being lost. Y/N lifted her head from his chest, her eyes searching his face. There was something new between them now—vulnerability, raw and unguarded. For the first time, there were no walls between them, no unspoken words hanging in the air.
Dean’s breath hitched as she looked up at him, her lips parting slightly, and without thinking, he leaned in. Their lips met, soft at first, tentative, as if testing the waters after everything that had passed between them. But it didn’t take long for the kiss to deepen, years of longing and unresolved tension flooding between them like a dam that had finally broken.
His hands found their way to her waist, pulling her closer as the kiss grew more urgent. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer, needing him the way he had always needed her. The fire between them had always been there, simmering beneath the surface, but now it was consuming them both.
"Y/N," he breathed between kisses, his voice low and husky. "God, I love you."
The words sent a shiver down her spine, but this time, she believed them. There was no hesitation, no fear in his voice. Just truth.
Clothes were shed in a frenzy, their hands tugging and pulling, desperate to feel skin against skin. They stumbled their way to the bedroom, never breaking the kiss, their lips and hands exploring each other like it was the first time all over again.
Dean guided her down onto the bed with a tenderness that took her breath away, his body hovering over hers, his gaze never leaving her. "I should’ve said it sooner," he whispered, his lips brushing against her ear, sending a wave of heat through her. "I should’ve told you how much you mean to me. How much I love you."
Her breath hitched as his lips moved down her neck, trailing kisses along her collarbone, her hands gripping his shoulders as her body arched into his. "Dean…"
He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, his hands cupping her face as he kissed her again, slow and deep. Every touch, every kiss, was filled with a quiet intensity that made her heart race. This wasn’t just another night—it was everything they had both been holding back for years.
Dean’s hands roamed her body, gentle but sure, like he was memorizing every inch of her. The way he touched her was different now—there was no rush, no urgency to fill the silence. He wanted to savor this moment, to show her with every caress, every kiss, how much she meant to him. His hands slid down her sides, gripping her hips as he whispered, "I love you," over and over, like a promise.
He entered her slowly, their bodies moving together in perfect sync, the connection between them electric, yet soft and intimate. Each thrust, each movement, was filled with meaning, with the words he hadn’t been able to say before but was now making sure she knew. His forehead pressed against hers, their breaths mingling as their bodies moved together in a slow, sensual rhythm.
"You're everything," he whispered in her ear, his voice ragged with emotion. "Everything I ever needed. I’m never letting you go again."
Y/N’s hands gripped his back, her nails digging into his skin as the pleasure built between them. She could feel every emotion he poured into her, not just with his words, but with the way he touched her, the way he looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered. And for the first time, she believed it—she believed him.
Their pace quickened, the room filled with the sounds of their shared passion, their breathing heavy, their bodies entwined as they climbed higher together. Dean’s lips never left her skin, whispering sweet, broken confessions of love and regret, of promises for the future.
When they finally reached the peak, it wasn’t just about the physical release—it was about everything they had been through, everything they had lost and found again. It was raw, and emotional, and when Y/N cried out his name, she knew that this time, things were different. They were whole.
Dean collapsed beside her, pulling her close, his arms wrapping around her as their breathing slowed. His lips brushed against her forehead, and in the quiet aftermath, he whispered again, "I love you."
This time, there were no doubts. No walls.
She looked up at him, her hand resting on his chest as she smiled softly, her heart full in a way it hadn’t been in years. "I love you too, Dean."
And in that moment, lying together in the quiet of the night, they both knew this was the beginning of something real—something they should’ve had all along.
--
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𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 | brock purdy x fem!reader
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𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | after the loss at the Super Bowl, Brock is understandably mad. His wife is there for him.
𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | smut, pre-established relationship, use of Y/N, piv, unprotected sex, riding, switch!brock, soft!dom!reader, oral m!receiving, fingering, pet names, swearing praise, crying, lots of aftercare, fluff, angsty, sad!brock
My birthday was recently and the first thing I said on it was (no joke) “Brock purdy has a fat ass” WHAT.
Touchdown.
The long game that had been 22-19 (49ers lead) was ruined. The score was now 22-25. The Kansas City Chiefs won the Super Bowl. Cameras panned to where the Chiefs celebrated. They showed Taylor Swift celebrating in the crowd.
They didn’t show the way Brock Purdys wife just immediately dropped to her seat. She put her head in her hands. It wasn’t that she was the one who was sad, it was that she was sad for Brock. He had played amazingly and it was all seemingly for nothing.
Everything was painful after that. The interviews, the autographs, everything. Y/N had pushed her way through the crowds to get to her husband. A security guard who hadn’t recognized her tried to stop her, but he failed. Brock was still a little bit in shock from the loss. Three seconds. Three seconds from a win.
The second that Y/N had his arms around him, it took everything not to break down. He clung to his wife, hiding his face in her hair as he tried not to shake so much. His arms were around her as his fingers were curling around her sweater.
She pulled back slightly to look at him, running her hand through his hair. She kissed him, feeling how shaky his breathing was. He was sweaty and a little bit gross smelling, but that was the least of her concerns.
The moment that they had the opportunity, the couple left. They went back to their hotel. Y/N held onto his hand, pushing her way through the crowds of fans or paparazzi. She wasn’t too worried about her reputation. Her elbow went out, jabbing anyone who got in their way as they went to their hotel.
Brock kept his eyes on her to try and ignore whatever else was happening. They went up to their hotel room and then she kissed him again.
“You did amazing today, baby.” She whispered to him. Brock rested his forehead against hers and sighed.
“I didn’t win though. It was just three se-”
“Shh, you did great.” She put her finger to his lips. She gave him a smile. “Think of it like this: you were three seconds away from winning.” She tried to reword it, but it kind of just sounded the same. Brock frowned.
“I need a shower.”
“Yeah, you do.” She laughed lightly and put her hand on his chest to push him towards the washroom. She opened the door for him and ran the water. It was rare for Brock to be getting the princess treatment. It wasn’t like he was going to complain though. Brock sat on the toilet seat while he waited. She stood beside the shower door, occasionally checking the water with her hand. She motioned for him to come.
Brock walked over to his wife. She looked up at him. Her hand touched his chest again as she frowned, feeling horrible for what he was experiencing. She pulled his shirt off of him. It was a bit of a hassle seeing as Brock was a 6’1 quarterback and she was… not. She had to do a bit of a hop to get it off of his arms.
He was unbelievably sore from the game. His whole body ached and he just wanted to lay down. Y/N got her husband under the water once she was also undressed. He looked down at her like she was the only reason why he was alive. Y/N knew how Brock wanted to just sit down and rest for a moment. She stepped out of the shower and snooped around for a moment. She found a little chair thing that seemed to be for old people or something. She grabbed it and got it in the shower.
“What is that?” Brock was confused when his wife walked into the shower, wrestling with some chair. She grunted and set it down, stumbling. Brock grabbed her waist to keep her from slipping.
“Sit.” She muttered, pointing at the chair. He frowned.
“Y/N-”
“Sit your ass in the chair.”
He sat.
Y/N grabbed the mini shampoo bottles and sat on his lap. She looked at him and touched his cheek softly before sighing. She stood back up for a moment and got the shower head. She held it in one hand, the shampoo bottles in the other.
Brock looked at his wife, his brows knit together. He looked like a sad puppy. She set the shampoo bottles down between their bodies so she could use both hands. She got his hair completely soaked. Her fingers ran through his hair and he let out a groan, head falling forward into her shoulder. She kissed his collarbone and then got the shampoo, rubbing it into his scalp. She massaged his scalp, her manicured nails scraping against his skin, relieving him of some of his tension. His fingers gripped at her hips.
Y/N whispered soft praises to her husband as she felt him begin to calm down in her arms. She kissed his collarbone softly and his cheeks too. His nose was her personal favorite to kiss.
She had washed him completely. His hair, his face, his whole body. Her hands hadn’t missed a single spot of him. They got out of the shower. Brock promised to repay her another time. She knew that he just meant he would repay her with a shower like that. She found that funny, since he did it often.
They laid down together in their hotel bed. Brock’s hair was still wet. Y/N had put her hair into the shower cap, since her hair had been perfectly fine before. They laid there in silence. She had her arms around him. His head was on her chest, nose nestled in the valley between her breasts.
Brocks fingers ran down Y/Ns waist, brushing over the bump of her hip showing where her bone was. Y/N shifted slightly beneath him. He lifted his head slightly.
“Whats wrong?” He asked, concerned.
“Nothing, baby. Aren’t you tired though?”
“Mm… not too tired for you.” He smiled and leaned down to kiss her. The first smile of the night. How could she resist? She kissed him back, fingers pushing into his damp hair. Y/N put her hand on him and managed to push him onto his back. It was easier to push him around in bed than on the field.
Her knees were on both sides of his legs. She arched her back and her chest pressed against his as their kisses grew more desperate. Brock, who was normally the top, was of course trying to get over her again. She tsked softly and kept him under her.
“You did enough work today. Let me take care of you, ok?” She whispered against his lips. Brock groaned and his eyes screwed shut as he felt her press her palm against his crotch. He bucked his hips up towards her hand. Y/N smiled and then pulled away, making her way between his legs. She pulled off his pajama bottoms and threw them aside. Brock watched her with glazed over eyes.
Her hand wrapped around his cock and his eyes screwed shut. It had been a while since they had sex. He had been too busy at practice and she had been working a lot recently. It must’ve been close to two or three months since the last time they had a chance to even touch themselves.
Y/N leaned forward and kissed his tip. He was long, maybe around 7.5 inches, yet on the slightly thinner side. There was a vein that went from the base of his cock and almost to his tip. His tip was a pretty soft pink. There was a beauty mark right on the spot where the tip of her nose ended up when she deep-throated him.
Brock reached down and stroked her hair softly as she took him into her mouth. Her tongue swirled around his cock. She treated him as if she was an artist and he was a sugar cube that she wanted to carve artwork into without turning it into just powder. Brock’s head fell back in complete and utter bliss. She knew exactly how to please him. On many occasions, when Brock was away for a longer time, he would try to mimic what she did. He would try to do the things she did to him. She tried the way she gave him handjobs, but it was harder to cum by his own hand.
Y/N knew his body like the back of her own hand. Brock forced his eyes open as he gazed down at her, his eyes filled with just pure adoration. He loved his wife more than anything. She looked up at him as she sucked on his tip. Then she lowered her head back down. The tip of her nose pushed against that beauty mark.
Her hands gave his balls a soft squeeze, urging him to cum. Brock’s back arched slightly off the bed as he bit his lip. He had his hand on the back of her head as he was about to push her head a bit. She took his hand off of her head and just held if instead. Her eyes met his as she held his hand. The soft and loving act mixed with the way their bodies connected in such an intimate way was enough for Brock to be pushed over the edge.
His climax swept over him in waves, and she could taste it. Not waves as in the soft waves on a lake made by some rain, but the waves in the middle of the North Sea. Brock went to pull his hand away to try to hold back his moans, but she didn’t allow it. His head fell to the side as he panted and groaned. A whine came from his lips the moment she pulled off of him.
“Thank you,” Brock whispered as his wife stuck out her tongue to show that she swallowed. It wasn’t like he would do anything if she didn’t swallow, it was just out of habit. His hands reached for her desperately, in need of her warmth, in need of her love and attention.
Y/N hummed in response to his thanks. She leaned down and kissed him again, making him taste himself on her tongue. Brock grunted at the taste. Her hand was already around his cock again, slowly jerking him off. He jolted at the extra stimulation. His hand instinctively grabbed her wrist as his eyes rolled back.
Slowly but surely, Y/N managed to ease herself onto his cock. About halfway down, she was whimpering and burying her face in the crook of his neck. No matter how much they did this, she couldn’t get used to the sheer length of him. Brock closed his eyes as his hands gripped her hips, urging her to take him further. She slid down the other half with just a quick drop.
“Oh my- fuck!” She moaned and her nails dug into his shoulder. The man who sat under her looked at her, eyes half lidded. His eyes were clouded with love and desire. He leaned forward to kiss her while he tightened his grip on her waist to guide her to slowly roll her hips on his. Y/N trembled but eventually the stinging pain went away. Her eyes rolled back from the way he filled her up completely. His ring was cold on her ass. Her ring was cold on the nape of his neck.
Brock grunted as he thrusted weakly up into her. He was too tired for much of an effort.
He promised to himself and to his wife that he would make it up. He would last longer. Being only three or so minutes in, he was already fighting back his orgasm. His nose was in the crook of her neck as he held his wife as close as possible. Usually, their sex had a bit more energy. Not tonight. Just the soft rolling and grinding of their hips. Y/N had her eyes closed as she let out quiet breathy moans. Just the feeling of him that close could get her to cum.
Brock had let go of her hips. He was basically just hugging her now. His arms were around her waist. His breathing grew more ragged as time went on. She knew his body far too well. She knew what every type of his breathing meant and she knew he was close. His cock twitched inside of her.
“Come on, B.” She whispered to him, kissing his neck softly before leaning back to look at him. His cheeks were red, his lips were puffy. He looked absolutely flawless. His chest was heaving and his eyes screwed shut as he instinctively tried to hide his face from her as he was about to cum. Y/N grabbed his wrists and just held his hands, not allowing him to hide.
Brock’s orgasm hit him like a truck. His eyes rolled into the back of his head as his body twitched. His hips bucked up into her and she nearly fell off of him, but she grabbed the headboard to stay stable.
Y/N continued rolling her hips for a moment longer to help him ride out his orgasm. His eyes shot open as his abs rolled and his muscles flexed. He held her still.
“Did you cum?” He asked once he had calmed.
“Its ok, baby. Tonight was about you.” She reminded him softly. Brock frowned and pulled her off of his cock.
“No, come on. I couldn’t have done it without you.” He muttered as he laid her on the bed. He moved so that he was behind her. Y/N had her back pressed against his chest. His hand slipped down between her thighs.
Her back arched the moment he touched her clit. His hands were aching and his muscles screamed in protest, but he still pushed two fingers into her entrance. She swallowed him up gladly. Brock kissed her jaw as he pumped his fingers deep into her.
“Brock- baby, I cant-” Y/N gasped as her thighs shook and clamped around his hand. He used his other hand to pin her hips to him, taking away her ability to move. It was times like these that she realized that he could really push her around without even blinking.
His thumb toyed with her clit as he added a third finger into her pussy. She gasped and her whole body shook. Brock smirked and sped up.
Her eyes closed as she leaned her head back onto his shoulder. It wasn’t just Y/N who knew his body. Brock knew hers. He knew this was her trying to prepare herself to cum. He also knew he didn’t want her to be all that prepared. His fingers curled and she nearly screamed his name. He immediately clasped his other hand over her mouth to muffle her a bit.
Her hips bucked up into his hand, riding his fingers as she came. Brock hummed in satisfaction and then pulled out his fingers. He kissed her softly, then kicked his fingers clean as he stood up and went to grab a towel.
Even though he had been the one being comforted earlier, he always wanted to be the one to treat her after sex. He cleaned off her body with the wet cloth and then did the same for himself. He dried her off, then himself. Always himself second. Wife first.
Brock climbed into the bed with her and for once, neither minded the overwhelming smell. Her arms were immediately around him as she laid on him for a second. Then she sat up.
“Are you feeling any better?” Y/N asked him softly. Brock cleared his throat nervously. He knew he couldn’t successfully lie to her. May as well try though.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” He lied through his teeth. Y/N opened her arms. Brock frowned, then he moved into them. They hugged, but she never let go. The continuing feeling of her love and the warmth of her comfort was too much. He finally broke down, sobbing as he held her.
They both knew it was bound to happen. Her fingers raked through his short hair as she worked to comfort him. Maybe the next Super Bowl would work in his favor.
#brock purdy#purdy13#nfl football#nfl#nfl imagine#brock purdy x reader#brock purdy smut#nfl smut#superbowl#49ers#san fransisco 49ers#kansas city chiefs
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