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rositaslabyrinth · 1 month ago

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Lower back tattoo - Dean W

Dean Winchester x female!reader

You and Dean have always been best friends. Hunting partners. Beer buddies. The one person he can count on. But one glance—one goddamn glance—and suddenly everything changes.

Warnings: explicit sexual content, friends to lovers, tattoo kink, oral (f receiving), praise kink, fingering, soft dom!Dean, filthy talk, tattoo worship, protected sex, no use of y/n

Word count ; 2,345

Minors please do not interact!!!

Dean didn’t mean to look.

Really, he didn’t.

It was instinct, nothing more. A flicker of movement from the corner of his eye as you bent to grab the duffel bag near your feet. One second, his mind was focused on the motel’s water pressure (or lack thereof), the other on that tattoo peeking out just above the waistband of your jeans. Lower back. Inked. Deliberate. And stupidly, unfairly, hot.

For a split second, it felt like the air got punched out of his lungs.

He blinked once. Then again. Tried to look away, failed. The design was something delicate—he couldn’t make it all out. Curved lines. Maybe wings? A crescent? Whatever it was, it wasn’t the tattoo that knocked the breath out of him. It was the fact that you had it. His best friend. His partner. You, who drank from his beer, stole his flannel, teased him about his music taste, slept three feet from him for months without a second thought.

And now here he was, staring at your lower back like a man who’d just been slapped across the face with desire.

Jesus.

He rubbed a hand down his jaw, turning away like he was trying to erase the moment from memory. Like he hadn’t just felt something uncoil in his gut, warm and unwelcome.

“Everything good?” you asked, your voice light, casual. You hadn’t seen him look. Of course not. Why would you? He was Dean. Predictable. Safe. Harmless.

“Yeah,” he replied, too fast. His voice cracked faintly, so he cleared his throat. “Yeah. Fine.”

You gave him a little smile and slung the bag over your shoulder, walking past him without hesitation, and god—how had he never noticed the way you moved before? The way your hips swayed? The way your shirt rose just enough to show the curve of that ink again?

Dean cursed under his breath.

Because now, he couldn’t unsee it. Couldn’t un-feel that jolt of heat in his blood. And the worst part?

He wanted to see it again.

Dean had always been good at keeping lines drawn in the sand.

There were rules to this thing—this life. No attachments, no roots. And when it came to you? There were even stricter rules. Best friend. Partner. Off-limits. The one person who knew how to patch him up when he was bleeding, who didn’t flinch at the dark things he said at 3 AM in some godforsaken motel room. The one who never looked at him like he was broken.

You were his person. Not in the romantic, hearts-and-flowers way. In the “I’d take a bullet for you, and you’d probably stitch me up afterward” kind of way.

And still—still—here he was, days later, lying awake in a too-hot motel bed, replaying that half-second glimpse like a goddamn teenager.

Lower back tattoo.

Delicate. Hidden.

Yours.

Dean shifted on the mattress, arm flung over his face like it could block the image from playing on repeat in his mind.

He’d barely slept since that moment. Not really. Every time he closed his eyes, his brain betrayed him with the sight of that ink and the curve of your back and the way his hands itched to trace it. What would you do if he did? Shove him away? Look at him with that wide-eyed betrayal? Or worse—pity?

No. He couldn’t risk that. He wouldn’t.

So instead, he lay there night after night, counting the ceiling tiles, pretending like he didn’t notice the way your shirt rode up when you stretched or the way your laugh made something tight loosen in his chest.

The next hunt brought you both to some dusty-ass town in Colorado, chasing what looked like a vengeful spirit haunting the ruins of an old mining site. Nothing you two couldn’t handle. You made a good team. Hell, a great one.

You were crouched beside a burned patch of floorboards, flashlight in one hand, EMF meter in the other, when Dean let his eyes fall on you again. This time, he didn’t mean to linger. He just—did.

You weren’t even doing anything provocative. You were focused, determined, a little smudge of ash on your cheek. But your shirt was riding up again, and for the briefest heartbeat, there it was. The tattoo. He could make it out a little better this time.

Wings. A feathered shape. Curving toward your spine like it belonged there.

Something in his chest gave a low, simmering throb.

“You okay?” you asked, glancing back at him, brows raised.

Dean snapped his eyes upward, guilt blooming hot and fast. “Yeah. Just thinkin’.”

“You’ve been doing that a lot lately,” you said lightly, standing. You stepped toward him, brushing dust off your jeans. “Everything good?”

Dean hesitated. He wanted to say yes. He should’ve said yes.

But something rose in his throat before he could stop it. “When did you get that tattoo?”

You blinked. “What?”

He felt the shift immediately. Your voice wasn’t defensive, just surprised. But still—he knew he was treading dangerous ground.

“That thing. On your back,” he said, tone deliberately casual. “Didn’t know you had one.”

You studied him for a beat, and he saw it—the moment realization flickered behind your eyes. “Ah. So that’s what’s been going on.”

Dean frowned. “What?”

You smiled. It wasn’t teasing, not exactly. It was something softer, unreadable. “Nothing. Just didn’t think you noticed stuff like that.”

He laughed, a little too tight. “I notice plenty.”

“Guess I’ve just never caught you looking,” you said, walking past him again. This time, your shoulder brushed his arm, just slightly. Not enough to count. But enough to feel.

Dean turned to watch you go. He didn’t know what was happening, but it felt like the floor was shifting under his feet.

Back at the motel, things got worse.

You were in the bathroom, shower running. He could hear your hum, faint but melodic, echoing through the thin walls.

Dean was sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, trying like hell not to think about how close your body was behind that door. Wet skin. Warm water. That tattoo.

He groaned softly and dragged a hand through his hair. He needed to pull himself together. This was ridiculous. You’d been in and out of motel bathrooms a hundred times. Shared motel rooms a thousand. He’d seen you sleep, bleed, laugh, cry. None of this was new.

Except now it was. Now it felt like every molecule in the room was charged. The door creaked open behind him. Dean didn’t move.

You stepped out, wrapped in a towel, hair damp and curling slightly at the ends.

“Shower’s all yours,” you said, voice light.

He looked up. Mistake.

The towel dipped low at your back, and there it was—bare skin and ink, framed like a damn masterpiece. This close, he could see the shading, the way the lines almost shimmered against your skin.

Dean swallowed hard. Your eyes caught his. Something flickered between you.

Silence.

And then you tilted your head, just slightly. Like you were giving him a choice. Like you were daring him to break the rules you both had pretended didn’t exist.

Dean stood slowly. The room felt still. Heavy. You didn’t step back. You didn’t speak. He took one step toward you.

Then another.

And another.

Close enough to smell the clean scent of your skin. Close enough to see the water trailing along your collarbone. His fingers twitched at his side.

“You gonna ask to touch it?” you asked, voice low. Almost teasing.

Dean’s heart pounded. “No,” he said, voice rough. “But I might beg.”

You smiled—small, secret, and wild. And then you turned, just slightly, baring your back to him. An invitation.

Dean reached out, fingertips hovering just above the ink, not quite touching. “You’ve been hiding this the whole time?”

“I wasn’t hiding it,” you murmured. “You just weren’t looking.”

He let his hand fall—slow, reverent. Skin and ink beneath his fingers. Heat and ache blooming behind his ribs.

Everything was different now. And somehow, impossibly, it felt like it was always supposed to be.

The towel hit the floor with a soft thud. And Dean just stood there, eyes drinking you in like he’d never seen a naked woman in his life. Scratch that—like he’d never seen you.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered, low and reverent.

You didn’t shy away. You let him look. Your spine straightened a little under his gaze, like you were baring more than skin—like you were letting him in.

Dean closed the distance in two long strides, and his hands were suddenly everywhere—your waist, your hips, your back. His fingers skimmed over the curve of your tattoo like it was delicate lace, tracing the shape with awe and hunger. He leaned in, mouth dragging warm and open against your skin.

“You don’t know what you’ve done to me,” he murmured, tongue flicking out to taste where the ink dipped toward the base of your spine. “You have no idea.”

You let out a soft, shaky sound—half gasp, half moan—and Dean’s cock throbbed against his jeans.

He turned you slowly, hands big and warm on your sides. His mouth was on yours again in a kiss that was messier now, hungrier—no more patience, no more pretending.

You were still wet from the shower, water droplets clinging to your skin as he pressed you back toward the bed.

“Lie down for me,” he said, voice like gravel.

You did.

Dean shed his clothes like they were in his way, stripping down until nothing separated him from you. When he climbed over you, he paused—just a beat—to look into your eyes. The weight of it hit you both.

“Still sure?” he asked.

You reached up and threaded your fingers into his hair. “I want you. Every part.”

Dean kissed you like a man starved.

His hands slid down your chest, over your breasts, kneading gently before his mouth followed—teeth grazing your nipple before his tongue soothed it. You arched beneath him, fingers tightening in his hair, gasping his name.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he muttered, dragging kisses down your stomach. “I’ve dreamed about this.”

He settled between your thighs, spreading them with sure, steady hands. And then he saw just how wet you were for him.

“Shit,” he breathed, thumb brushing lightly through your folds. “All this for me, sweetheart?”

You bit your lip, nodding, breath stuttering as he leaned in.

“Need to taste you,” he said, and then—he did.

Dean’s tongue moved with slow, devastating purpose—licking a long, deliberate stripe up your slit before sucking your clit into his mouth. You cried out, hips bucking, but his hands pinned you down gently, one arm curling under your thigh to keep you spread for him.

He moaned against you like you were his favorite meal. “You taste so fucking good.”

You were already close—he knew it. Your thighs trembled, your fingers dug into the sheets, and he didn’t let up. His tongue circled, lapped, and teased until your moans turned into gasps of his name—Dean, Dean, Dean—like a prayer.

Then he slid two fingers inside you, slow and thick, curling just right.

You came with a strangled cry, back arching, thighs clenching around his head. And he loved it—kept fucking you through it with his fingers, mouth still working your clit, dragging every last second out of it until you were shaking under him.

When he pulled back, his chin was slick and his eyes were dark as hell.

“Didn’t think you could get hotter,” he said, voice wrecked. “But seeing you fall apart like that? Fuck.”

He kissed your thigh, then your hip, then up your body until he was back over you.

You pulled him down for another kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue, moaning into his mouth.

“Condom?” you whispered, breathless.

Dean reached into his wallet on the nightstand without looking, fingers finding the foil square like he’d practiced it a thousand times.

But this—you—was different.

He tore it open with shaking hands and rolled it on, then braced himself over you, his cock dragging against your slit.

“You ready for me?” he asked.

You reached down and guided him to your entrance, voice steady even through your heat. “I’ve been ready, Dean.”

He slid in slow.

Thick. Deep. Stretching you until your jaw dropped, breath catching in your throat. He went slow, watching every twitch of your face, every moan slipping out of you as he filled you completely.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, resting his forehead against yours. “You feel so goddamn good.”

You rocked your hips up to meet him, and that was all it took—Dean began to move.

His thrusts were slow at first, deep and deliberate, grinding into your body with every roll of his hips. He held you like he couldn’t bear to let go—one hand cradling your jaw, the other gripping your thigh, fingers digging into flesh.

“You’re mine now,” he growled against your neck. “You hear me?”

“Yes,” you gasped. “Yes—Dean—please—”

He picked up the pace, hips slamming into you now, wet skin slapping and your moans growing louder with every stroke.

“That’s it,” he said. “Take it. Take all of me.”

He fucked you like he meant it. Like he needed to.

Like this was the moment everything changed—and he wanted it to.

When he felt you tighten around him, your cries growing desperate, he kissed your lips, your cheek, your shoulder.

“Come for me again,” he whispered. “Come while I’m inside you.”

And you did.

Your whole body arched, pulsing around him, and Dean lost it—groaning your name like it broke him, burying his face in your neck as he came hard, thrusting deep and spilling into the condom with a low, wrecked moan.

You lay tangled together afterward, your head on his chest, his fingers lazily tracing the curve of your tattoo again.

Quiet. Safe.

Everything unsaid finally spoken in the way he held you, kissed your temple, and whispered, “I should’ve looked sooner.”

You smiled, breathless. “Guess you finally caught up.”

Liz talks : this was lowkey rushed at the end IM SORRY, I wanted to get something about tattoos out since I’m getting my first one next week lmaooo so have fun with this!!

Tag list : @sunsbaby , @starzify , @bluemerakis , @aambearr , @blossomingorchids , @littlesoulshine , @daylighted , @wchswift , @emeraldcrs , @bossyblondie , @lunaleah , @pieandflannel , @sunnyteume , @deanswifeyy , @deansbbyx , @deanswidow , @nymphet-quenn , @multiversefanfics , @star-maker-rain-dancer , @sapphic-destiel

To be tagged in any of my future works please check out this post !!

Any engagement is greatly appreciated !!

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studiogrimm810 · 2 months ago

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Agitated

pairings/characters: (pining)dean winchester x gn!reader

summary: you know you're outmatched for a hunt so you call up bobby for some help but instead he sends dean. now you're forced to deal with his cocky attitude and still somehow get this hunt done. this man will be the death of you

warnings: bickering and annoyance, some blood and a fight scene, fadeaway to sex but nothing too graphic

word count: 5,121

A/N: this is a request!!! oh my god i could not stop writing this. i really hope i captured the pure annoyance they have for each other and also framed it into some steamy sexual tension,, idk, lmk how feel about this one!! :):)

———————

This is the worst. The absolute worst. You knew better than to try and go at this hunt alone but you seriously think you’d reconsider if you knew this was the outcome. You got here early, getting a motel room for yourself and eating lunch while waiting for him. Ugh. Him.

There was a nest of at least half a dozen vamps camped out nearby that you’ve been tracking for a while but you’re out of your league here so you called Bobby.

Ah, Bobby. How you loved him. He was quite the mentor for you when you lost your mother. He showed you the ropes, gifted you a car he pieced together on his lot, and offered a listening ear when you needed it. So of course, when you need help, you call him.

Except this time he’s busy so he sends, what he calls his ‘second-best’, Dean fucking Winchester.

God. You had asked if there really wasn’t anyone else he could send but he insisted that Dean was the best he could do. Bobby and Sam apparently were deep into some research for whatever apocalypse they’ve got on their plate now and they could spare Dean for the sake of your safety. Dean needed to hunt anyways, he itched to get back into action.

So now, halfway through rage eating your lunch, you hear the familiar rumble of Dean’s trademark gas-guzzler and plant your face in your hands. If you wanted to successfully complete this hunt then you needed to just take a deep breath and shove aside your irritations.

You finish your lunch and wait for the text or call saying that he’s got a room and is ready to regroup. That call came a lot sooner than expected.

“Hey, Dean,” you greet indifferently.

“Heya, sweetheart,” you can hear his sarcastic smirk and it makes you roll your eyes, “listen, I’ve kinda got a problem here.”

“What?” You try, but fail, to keep the bite out of your voice.

“Motel’s all booked up and the only other one is across town, looks like I’ll have to bunk with you.” God- of course.

“You’re kidding,” you internally groan, biting your tongue.

“Wish I was, sweetheart,” you can hear his own stifled sigh.

“Don’t call me that,” you scold, standing to go to the door and properly greet him. You open the door and he’s leaning against the hood of his car, pocketing his phone and plastering a fake smirk. You’ve noticed he knows how to make you tick. It usually starts as a feigned sweetness but soon sours as you aren’t receptive. He claims he’s trying to keep the peace between you two but you claim he’s full of shit.

“Whatever, princess,” he uses more sarcastically, as if it’s such a high request to ask to be addressed by your own name. “Hope you’ve got the room ‘cause I’m not sleeping on any floors,” Dean states, rounding his car to get his bags out of the trunk.

Fuck. You could shoot yourself if you had the fucking gun.

“Yeah, about that,” you fold your arms over your chest, squinting from the blinding sunlight you’re forced to face to keep looking at him as he moves. Fucking dick.

“No,” Dean demands, his shoulders slacking from lack of effort to keep his bags held. Yep, he’s pissed.

“I never have to share a motel, Dean!” You shrug with an annoyed bitchface. “I’m not all ‘buddy-buddy’ like you and Sam are. I like my privacy.” You squint at him like that’s a dig and not really a chip at your own lonely ego.

“Well I call the bed sweetheart, you can take the couch,” Dean grumbles, scrunching his nose in a mocking manner as he walks past you and into the motel.

Regardless, this was the last room the motel had so it’s not your fault there’s just one bed.

———

“So, you think they’re camped out here?” Dean asks, looking at the map with his arms crossed over his chest. You nod, nibbling on the end of a pen.

“I’ve been tracking them for a while- it’s their kinda hideout,” you add, thinking of different ways to approach this. Dean turns back as if to say something but rolls his eyes at you.

“That’s disgusting,” he points loosely like the oral act isn’t even worth the energy to spotlight.

“Good thing it’s not your pen,” you retort, looking back down at your laptop and refreshing the local news. Dean just scoffs, walking over to the small fridge provided by the motel.

“No beer?” He baffles.

“I’m not an enabler,” you sass, finding it your current life’s mission to kick him at any turn. God, the nerve to come into your room, make his snippy comments at your fidgets, and bash you for not keeping beer on tap like a fucking bartender. You couldn’t wait for this to be over.

“And I’m not an alcoholic.”

Ha, yeah okay.

You scroll around the 3D map on your laptop, looking for different access points of the rundown building but the shitty satellite rendering is too blurry and bubbly to really make anything out.

“Seriously? That’s what you’ve been wasting your time with?” Dean raises a brow.

“I’m checking my bases, Dean, back off,” you groan, leaning back in your chair and rubbing a hand down your face.

“Just sayin’, you’ll get more info first hand, princess, may as well just get on with it,” Dean insists, “not like we have any way to pass the time,” he’s not letting this beer thing go.

“Fine! Let’s just go, guns blazing,” you sit up, scooting back your chair with the force of which you popped up. You go to ruffle through your bag, grabbing a long sleeve shirt to slip over your tank top.

“You’re gonna be cold,” Dean says plainly.

“Shut up,” you shoulder-check him on the way out.

———

The sun is starting to set, casting a beautiful golden haze across the horizon. You two are headed north so thankfully the sun isn’t blinding your peripheral but instead Dean’s.

The drive is quiet other than the hum of some 80s band, or whatever it is Dean is obsessed with, on the radio. It’s weird, you don’t know why your hatred for Dean blossomed so naturally but it just did. Since the second you were disappointed to find that that is who was the sweet Sam Winchesters brother you’ve been irked by just the reminder of his presence.

He probably started it anyway.

The Impala starts to slow as you two come up to the hidden gravel drive for the abandoned building on Dean’s GPS. The rumble of gravel crunching under the tires is a satisfying dig in your ears.

Dean parks the Impala so you two can go the rest of the way on foot. You both gear up and sneak along the tree line until the building is in sight. It’s an old rangers station- blanketed with moss and vines, shards of glass poking out of crunched window frames, entrance doors missing- it looked completely vacant.

“I’m gonna take a wild guess and say your hunch was wrong,” Dean straightens out of his pre-fight stance. You don’t offer him a response, you just step past him to the entrance to see if there’s even a hint of this being the right place.

There’s nothing.

God, how could you be so stupid? You felt a pit of embarrassment swirl its way around your insides. You couldn’t confront Dean right now. You couldn’t deal with his sarcastic quips.

You have to though, you have to face him to get back to the Impala and back to your shared room. This was torture.

What if more people get hurt because you didn’t find the right spot? The longer you sit and stew the more likely that is to be true. You have to just keep your head on straight and find the next lead.

So with that, you spin on your heel and head back to the Impala. “I don’t wanna hear it,” you mumble as you pass him, this time shifting your shoulder out of the way so you don’t bump into him.

You miss the way Dean’s features soften with understanding and guilt and he decides to keep his mouth shut.

The drive back for you was thick with tension. Your mind ran with how to go about the situation next. What lead to follow and what instincts to trust because apparently this one was wrong.

The drive back for Dean, however, was different. He kept the music to a volume he knew wouldn’t bother you as much and he drummed along to the beat on his steering wheel with his fingers casually, hoping the common habit of his will show that he’s not angry and how you shouldn’t blame yourself so much. That even if it feels as detrimental as it does that in reality it’s not a big deal but just a failed lead.

He doesn’t use his words though. He’s offering common decency and not pleasantries.

You’re quick to duck into the motel as soon as the car is in park and recenter yourself at the drawing board.

Dean hesitates, finding it annoying how much you’re beating yourself up over this. He doesn’t know why it bothers him so much. Maybe it’s because he understands the guilt of not being good enough. Maybe it’s because he just doesn’t want to be around some mopey child. Maybe he doesn’t have to know.

“There have been a few disappearances- the last location they were all seen is this bar. Maybe we could start there,” you’re starting to doubt yourself.

“I agree,” Dean nods from behind you. You turn to look at him, a little taken back by his compliance. No shoving and no pushback.

“Really?” You cock a brow, still finding it odd that he hasn’t bashed you more for your screw up earlier.

“Yeah, I think that’s the next step,” Dean repeats, the annoyance of having to do so showing in his tone. You squint slightly as if waiting for him to say something else but he doesn’t.

“Fine, let’s go,” you walk right back out of the room and to the Impala, not bothering with your jacket or keys.

Dean snatches your keys from the kitchen table and locks up the room. You could thank him but why thank him for locking a door? It’s not like he did anything special.

The bar was in the middle of town so the drive consisted of a lot of turns but was still rather swift. You reach for the door knob but Dean stops you.

“What?” You ask defensively.

“That look normal to you?” Dean points, not matching your tone. What is up with him?

You follow his point, finding a couple making out against the side of the brick building. They look drunk and disoriented but nothing too out of the ordinary for a Friday night outside of a bar.

“He’s faking,” Dean adds, keeping his eyes on the couple but taking your silence as confusion. “He’s not drunk.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Watch,” he leans in a little closer to see them from your angle. “When she kisses his neck he loses his ‘daze’. You can see him scan-, there!” He cuts himself off as the man across the parking lot does exactly what Dean is describing. You look a little closer now, seeing a slimy smirk lift the man’s lips as he grabs the woman with a bit more force.

“Dammit,” you mumble, straightening up in your seat a bit. Before either of you can get out of the car in time, the woman is shoved into a nearby truck and the man climbs in after. Dean fires up the engine and follows the truck from a safe distance.

You beat yourself down a bit, wondering how you managed to miss something so clear. You would’ve overlooked them without a second thought and they turned out to be your next lead. Were you really this bad of a hunter? Maybe Dean was right to have such little trust in you.

“How damn cold do you keep this car?” You hound, wrapping your arms over your chest to try and churn some warmth over yourself.

“I told you you’d be cold,” you could hear the eye-roll without even looking at him. You stare out the window, Dean still staying on the truck's tail.

A few moments pass and you continue to ignore him. “God, if you’re gonna pout about it,” he adjusts, grabbing a spare flannel of his from the back seat, “here.”

“I’m not pouting,” you scoff.

“Sure you’re not. Just take it,” he shoves it in your lap and you hesitate to touch it. “I’m not diseased, princess, you can borrow my clothes. Won’t kill ya’.”

“Whatever,” you mumble, grabbing the flannel and slipping it over your arms. The cloth settles over your skin like a warm blanket and you have to force yourself to ignore how much it smells like him. You feel a need to thank him again but seriously, was it really that special or was he just doing the bare minimum? Or perhaps you were too embarrassed to thank him because doing so would admit that you didn’t entirely dread his presence.

Dean glances over to make sure you actually put it on and hasn't discarded one of his favorite flannels- which he would take as an act of war quite frankly- but is a little stunned to see how homey it makes you look. You're practically drowning in the tarp of cloth, but the way it melts with your skin catches his eyes for a bit too long. To see your hair settle over the pattern like a claim makes him want to never look away.

But he has to because he’s driving and just nicked the rumble strips.

“Driving at night is hard, huh?” You tease, “heard it gets that way with old age.”

“Hey! I’m not that much older than you,” he defends, forcing his eyes in the road ahead and the truck to follow. He can’t let himself wonder why you caught his attention so intensely or why he’s itching to look back for another peek.

Finally, after what felt like years to Dean, the truck turns off into a driveway of an older farm house. Dean drives past and parks off the side of the road around a turn where they won’t be spotted.

Now it’s time to really gear up, but this time it’s a little different. Dean finds himself wanting to make extra sure that you’re set and that you have any possible weapon you might need.

“Stay close, don’t split up under any circumstance,” Dean instructs. He hadn’t done that last time and you want to combat him because who is he to tell you what to do? But the wind brushing over you too carries his scent past your nose again and it’s almost like it shuts you up completely. You just nod in response.

The night sky rained over you two, soft pelts of misty rain dampening your clothes and you’re now really starting to feel thankful for the offered flannel, maybe you should’ve said something. But as you near the home, you reckon it’s not the right time to mention a lousy ‘thanks’ for such a simple offer.

Dean picks the lock of the back door and you follow him in, machete in hand. You can hear voices and laughter flowing from what you guess to be the main room. Dean halts right along the door frame, ducking in to count what they’re up against, he holds up 3 fingers to you and you nod.

On his signal, you both pounce.

The fight is brutal on your muscles since you often forget just how strong vamp’s are. The one you’re up against is at least a foot taller than you and is bulkier than is really fair, but you use the advantage of being smaller to slip out of his grasp and decapitate him from behind.

Dean is next to take care of his opponent and now it’s two against one. The vamp comes after you first, probably thinking you’re a quicker target, but Dean intercepts and slams the vamp

against a wall. You take this opportunity to go to the woman from earlier who is huddled in a corner, watching in horror as this happens.

Thankfully, she is physically unharmed and the adrenaline of the situation has burned through the alcohol she had ingested.

“Hey, I’m not gonna hurt you,” you shake your head with arms braced to show you aren’t a threat. “Can you walk?” You ask. She nods. “Good, okay,” you reach over to the pocket of one of the vamps, seeing a set of keys hooked to his belt loop, and hand the keys to her. “The truck outside. Take it and go- now.”

She snatched the keys and bolts. You breathe a breath of relief at how easy it was to get her out of here. You turn to see that Dean is still fighting the creature and you jump to your feet, approaching them. You bring up your weapon but the vamp sees you in time and shoves you hard. You stumble into a dusty china cabinet and hear Dean call your name. The impact rattles through your body but you have to help. You have to.

Getting to your feet takes a moment, but a pained gasp sets you with a fresh rush of adrenaline. The vamp has latched its teeth into Dean’s neck. He’s paralyzed with pain, raspy breaths barely escaping his gaped lips. That’s all the fucking power you need. You ram into the vamp, getting him to unhook his jaw and throwing him to the ground. In the blood drunken haze, you’re able to rid of its head with a quick swipe of your machete.

Dean groans, sliding against the wall and you drop your weapon, running to him.

“Hey-, you’re okay,” you speak before you have enough evidence to believe it. “You with me?”

“Y-Yeah,” he pants, his head going slack on the side he wasn’t bitten. It’s deep.

“Okay, hold on,” you say, reaching down to rip off a good portion of your shirt to cover the bleeding. He reaches out to stop you. “Don’t worry, it’s not your precious flannel I’m tearing up,” you actually joke. Not as a mock or tease but as an actual joke that you smile for to show your lightheartedness.

“With you? I’d never know what to believe,” he comes back. He doesn’t seem to have enough energy to smile but you can tell the initial joke was receptive.

He hisses as you press the cloth against his wound, your other hand cupping his cheek to keep him in place. His intense screw of pain seems to melt a bit under your touch.

“We gotta get you outta here, big guy,” you pat his cheek lightly, trying to keep him present. “How dizzy you are, can you walk?” You ask, unsure of how much blood he’s lost.

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry ‘bout me, sweetheart,” he slurs. Dumbass.

“You’re so fucking stubborn,” you huff, removing your free hand to grab his own hand. You swear he whined when you did so, but it was so quiet and could’ve been excused as a draw of pain. “Hold tight, okay?” You instruct. You knew if he had enough energy he would be batting you away and demanding he knew how to handle a wound like this and it almost worries you that he’s not. “C’mon,” you snake your arm around his back, lifting him the best you can and thankfully he works with you. You’re really gonna have to start saying your thanks out loud.

You lead him out the front door and curse as the rain has picked up. You can’t walk him through this- between the blood loss and getting wet, he’ll freeze. You set him in a semi-stable looking chair and use your hands to steady his face. The reaction he gives you when your skin lands on his stirs a curiosity in you.

“Wait here, keep applying pressure, I’m gonna get the car,” you enunciate so he can really hear you.

“Ain’t no way in hell I’m letting you drive my baby,” he slurs but you're already fishing through his leather jacket pockets.

“Try and stop me, pretty boy,” you say it as a tease- reprimand for the nicknames he’s bugged you with- but it rolls off your tongue with more meaning than you intended.

He doesn’t fight you as you head off to the hidden location of the Impala. The rain drenched you quickly but you don’t let that slow you down. Dean needs you.

Dean would fight more- he really would. If this were a situation where you needed him or Sammy needed him, he could fight past the haze of blood loss. He could drive his own damn car to safety. If he really needed to, he’s sure his body could supply enough adrenaline to power him through his own petty pain. But that’s just it. He doesn’t need to, and in all reality he can’t but it’s just that if he convinces himself that he’s choosing to let you take care of him then that’s less embarrassing then failing you.

He forces on his consciousness, waiting for the familiar growl of his precious Baby. His chariot to take him far from here and to shelter him in times of need.

And there it is.

He peels his eyes open enough to see you emerge for his car and goddamn. Your clothes are wet and stuck against your skin- his flannel hugging your torso like he should be. To see you in his clothes and in the driver's seat of his car is enough to feel his heart stutter.

“Let’s get you situated,” you announce, slipping your arm to its previous hold around his body. He stands with more strength now and you feel your worry dampen. Dean doesn’t argue and doesn’t make a comment about you driving his car again but he does mumble something about you letting him get in the car by himself so you can get out of the rain. You don’t listen and it ignites the familiar burn of anger in his chest that he’s actually used to with you.

After making sure he’s settled, you close his door and round back to the driver's side, pulling out of the driveway and carefully navigating through the foggy rain and back to the motel.

Light conversation buzzes between you in a primary attempt to keep him awake but also a secondary want to continue to just chat. You’ve never really just talked with him like this before. When you first met, he was quick to flirt and when you weren’t receptive you assumed he took it to heart and turned cold on you. You don’t recognize that Dean right now in the slightest.

He’s able to walk by himself by the time you make it back to the motel. He stumbles out of the car in a stubborn attempt to prove such but you remind him that just because he technically can doesn’t mean he should be expected to. He doesn’t mention how much your statement actually resonates with him.

“Sit,” you instruct, placing him on the king bed that reminds you of your sleeping arrangements. It’s a subtle irk but not enough for you to dwell on again, you have bigger problems to deal with at present. You grab your first aid kit and shuffle through the items and get to work.

The heat is blasting and you managed to get a towel to wrap around his damp frame to keep him from shivering but he’s also got enough energy to combat you, so now you’ve ended up with the towel around your shoulders.

“How’re you feeling?” You ask as you pour the disinfectant over the wound. He hisses but answers the distraction in the form of a question.

“Fine, sweetheart, don’t worry about me,” he says in his usual gruff. No longer slurring. Progress.

“Too late,” you murmur, cleaning the stained blood.

“Awe, someone starting to care? Who gave you a heart?” Dean smirks. You don’t entertain the usual banter.

“You could’ve died,” the words pass your lips with a slight waver. You dry the wound, starting to dress it.

“But I didn’t,” Dean reminds, his eyes watching yours for any hint as to why you got so freaked.

“Yeah,” you say out of obligation and not belief.

“Hey,” he reaches up to stop your working hands and when you don’t meet his gaze and calls your name. “I’m okay,” he repeats once your eyes meet his- you couldn’t help yourself with the way your name sounded on his tongue. “I’ve survived a lot worse.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“It’s meant to.”

You sigh, looking down at his hands around your own now idle ones.

“Okay,” you finally agree, hoping the false belief will settle your nerves enough.

“It’s gonna take a lot more than that to get rid of me,” he jokes with a smirk, “you know how persistent I can be,” he winks and you roll your eyes even if his wink bubbles something in you that’s never been effected by him like that before.

“Shut up and let me finish this,” you push aside his hold and secure the bandage to his skin. After packing back up the kit you start to stand but Dean stops you. His hand grips your wrist gently but the gravity of something not physical pulls you against your will. His lips part like he wants to say something but he doesn’t. He almost looks ashamed as he drops his hold on you like it’s burned him.

“What?” you ask, your voice a whisper.

“Nothin’, sorry,” he shakes his head, averting his gaze.

“You can tell me,” it’s not something you’d ever expect to offer but you can quite help yourself when he looks so pathetic.

“We should get into some dry clothes.”

“Yeah, sure,” you agree, knowing that’s not what he was talking about but accepting it as it is. You grab your bag and get out some comfortable clothes for sleep. You excuse yourself to the bathroom but curse at the broken latch.

“No peeking,” you warn after alerting Dean to the issue and he just scoffs a smirk.

“No promises.” And fuck, he’s glad he didn’t make it because through the crack he catches a glimpse of your shimmering skin as you dry off and replace your outfit with a pair of sleep shorts and a way too big shirt. He admires the cozy feel your clothes give you. As you exit the bathroom he clears his throat and busies himself with getting his bed ready on the couch.

“What’re you doing?” You ask as he lays a blanket over the couch.

“Getting ready for bed,” he says as if it’s a stupid question.

“We can share a bed, Dean, it won’t kill ya,” you use his own remark from earlier against him. You don’t know why he’s suddenly so docile. You worry maybe the injury burned him of his usual spark. “Seriously, don’t make me watch you sleep crunched up on that couch,” you insist.

“Fine,” he subsides, making his way back over to you and the bed. You start to crawl under the covers, sticking to your side but the radiating heat of how close he is makes you want to scooch closer.

“Night, Dean,” you say as he flicks the lamp off but he’s quiet and unmoving, like he has some sort of unfinished business. You push yourself up on your elbow and look back at him sitting on the edge of the bed. “Okay seriously, what’s up with you?”

No response.

“Dean?”

He sighs, turning to look back at you as well. His profile is illuminated by the moonlight pouring in from a split in the curtains.

“Thank you,” his voice is small like you’ve never expected he was capable of. You sit up fully, turning to him with your legs folded.

“You don’t have to thank me,” you shake your head, a small smile pulling up your lips. He doesn’t return the expression.

“You’re a good hunter, yaknow,” he compliments like he won’t get another chance to tell you so. You smile a bit bigger.

“Dean Winchester, did you just flatter me?” You tease.

“You’re strong and resilient,” he continues and your smile falters a bit due to your confusion. “Stubborn and a pain in my ass,” his expression remains a softened yearn. “I never knew why you got to me so damn bad. You’re smart and funny and captivating,” he snaps his jaw like he crossed a line and his cheeks flush. “I- I think I know now,” he finishes after a beat.

“Know what?” You ask, your heart puttering in your chest.

“Why I can’t get you off my mind,” his eyes dip down to your lips, “why, no matter what I do, I can’t forget you,” he looks so pained. So conflicted.

It hits. It all hits. His helpful offerings, your banter, the way he responded to your touch, and the way you felt yourself reciprocating his apparent feelings.

You lean in, you can’t help it, he’s so beautiful in this light- the way his eyes sparkle under it- but he tenses as you get too close so you halt.

“What are you afraid of?” You ask with a simple head tilt.

“I uh-, haven’t got that one worked out just yet,” he scoffs simply and his smile forces a small one of your own.

“Then just shut up for a minute,” you shake your head, leaning in and placing a soft kiss against his lips. It’s almost a ghost of a kiss but you can feel the emotion he funnels into it. He’s soft and gentle at first but his desperation takes over, leading the kiss through a dizzying spiral as he guides you into the mattress, hovering over you and encapsulating you with his radiating heat.

He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t stop kissing you until you’re unsure where your clothes have ended up. He doesn’t stop kissing you until you forget your own name. He doesn’t stop kissing you until your breathless pants slow from your high.

And when all is said and done, he doesn’t stop holding you through the night until the warmth of the sun blesses your exposed skin.

———————

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest) >>check out my other works here

>tags: @blossomingorchids @areswasneverhere

#supernatural #fanfiction #fandom #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #supernatural fandom #spnfandom #spn fanfic #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #supernatural x you #supernatural x reader #dean winchester one shot #supernatural one shot #dean winchester angst #enemies to lovers

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 4 months ago

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It’s My Job

Summary: The reader’s having a rough night but the stranger at the bar decides to offer some assistance when she has nowhere to go...

Pairing: Bodyguard!Dean x reader

Word Count: 1,200ish

Warnings: language, tiny bit of violence

A/N: Enjoy!

______________

Someday you’d have to thank that boy in seventh grade that taught you how to throw a punch.

Don’t put your thumb inside your fist unless you want to break it. Do a small twist of your wrist right before impact to deliver more momentum. Throw your body weight behind it to make it hurt more. That’s what you got for being lab partners with the class bad boy but at least you had a chance because of him.

He neglected to tell you your knuckles would ache, your skin would scrape open and bleed, or even that the adrenaline would make you so jumpy you’d nearly trip on your own feet when you sprinted the hell out of there.

It was eleven at night, your feet taking you to the nearest open door, a bar from the looks of it. You took a deep breath when you got inside, nearly groaning when you saw how dead it was.

“We’re closing up. Tuesday is an early night,” said the bartender, the lone man at the bar swigging down the last of his drink, slapping a few bills down and spinning in his seat to stand.

“No, you don’t under-”

“Out,” said the bartender, your head shaking. “Or I call the cops. I’ve had enough shit for one night.”

“No, I need the cops, I-”

“Out,” said the bartender, shooing you out after the man, the door closing up tight behind.

“No, I...” you said, turning your head to catch sight of the man from the alley hanging out by a wall about three stores down.

“Hey,” said the man nearby, scratching his head, the expression not matching his sour face. “Can you pretend to give me directions while you tell me what the fuck is going on?”

“What?” you said, glancing behind him, the guy’s face in a snarl.

“Don’t look at him,” said the man, making shoulder shrugs like he was confused. “You said you need cops and your hand is messed up so I’m guessing douchebag down there did something?”

“W-Was walking and he grabbed me but I hit him and ran...” you said, remembering what he said, fake pointing to an area behind him, wearing a forced smile.

“I see. There’s a black muscle car just up the street behind you. You walk that way and I’ll deal with the asshole back there,” said the man, a dark smile on his face.

“But-”

“Trust me, kind of my job, sweetheart,” he said, pretending to make a thank you expression, spinning around and walking down the street. You tried to do what he said, not taking too many steps before you heard a thump on the ground, your head turning to find the man shaking out his hand over the out cold alley guy. “He went down like a lightweight. A little proper training and you probably would have gotten him out yourself.”

“Y-Yeah,” you said, the guy pulling his belt from the loops, tying it around the alley guy’s wrists.

“That’ll keep him until the cops show,” said the man, pulling out his phone, giving it a few presses. “Hey Derek...Yeah, it’s Dean. You on duty tonight? Got a pervy assclown down near Chuck’s that could use with an ambulance and an assault charge...he went after some chick in the alley nearby. She got away, bumped into me...yeah, I’ll be sure to tell her what a lucky night she’s having...see you in a few buddy,” he said hanging up the phone. “Cops will be here soon.”

“Thanks...Dean,” you said, the man chuckling.

“You’re very welcome whoever you are,” he said with a smile, squinting his eyes. “You seem super familiar, like extremely familiar. We didn’t go to the same school or something, did we?”

“I’m...I’m in a movie that just came out,” you said, glancing down. “I didn’t realize...”

“Ah, I’ve seen that trailer a thousand times. They won’t stop playing it,” he said, glancing back at the alley guy. “Scumbag like him probably doesn’t give a shit if you’re famous or not. You might want to think about some protection though...maybe a self-defense class at the very least.”

“Maybe...maybe I’ll do that,” you said, nodding your head. “Thank you.”

“I don’t wanna,” you groaned a few weeks later, sitting in a conference room at a protection agency, your manager rolling her eyes at you.

“Okay, your knight in shining armor had a point, Y/N. We were headed down this road anyways,” she said.

“But I took the class. I can kick someone’s ass now,” you said, earning a small laugh from her. “You did too! Anybody messes with us, we got this.”

“Alright Rambo,” she said with a giggle. “Maybe you don’t need one all the time but for events and stuff. Besides, maybe you’ll find a cute bodyguard? Find the Costner to your Houston.”

“I ain’t no damsel,” you said, crossing your arms as the door opened.

“Oh, well that’ll make my job...” said the man in a suit, blinking his eyes at you.

“Dean?” you said, standing up. “What are...”

“I’m a bodyguard,” he said. “When I said to get some protection, I didn’t think you’d actually take me up on that let alone pick my agency.”

“He’s cuter than you said he was,” said your manager, giving Dean a little wave.

“Sara,” you growled, Dean smirking down at you.

“Would you like to start the interview, Ms. Y/L/N?” asked Dean, nodding to the chairs.

“This may seem entirely unprofessional but why were you drinking at a bar by yourself late at night?” you asked, Dean raising an eyebrow.

“I was supposed to go on a blind date that night but got stood up. I was somewhat pissed off so I had a drink or two,” he said. “You should give her a call and thank her.”

“You think I didn’t have the situation handled myself?” you asked, Dean shrugging his shoulders.

“Maybe, maybe not. I took the guess work out of it for you though. That’s my job. You don’t have to wonder if I’ll kick the guy’s ass. You know I will,” he said.

“You’re kinda cocky,” you said.

“You’re kinda stubborn,” he said.

“You’re hired,” you said.

“Already knew I was,” he said, looking you up and down. “My manager will provide you both with a full work history on myself as well as work with Ms. Saxley over there to determine your needs more specifically.”

“That’s it?” you asked, Dean smiling but all business.

“No, you and I are just getting started. Let’s get a coffee down the street and see how well you can follow a few rules to start with.”

_____________

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secretgardensinmymindd13 · 3 days ago

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it’s kind of ironic (and annoying) when some of GA watchers call buddie shippers “fetishizers” because we ship two best friends, but they root for bucktommy

when from what i’ve seen on my screen is that their relationship is just so freaking bad - they kiss, then they go on a date where tommy shames and dumps buck instead of being more supportive and empathetic, despite knowing that this is buck’s first queer experience. he doesn’t show up in the right costume for the bachelor party, he makes a weird joke about buck’s daddy issues (some people find it an icebreaker, but to me it felt inappropriate), they have a 6-month anniversary date where tommy gives buck a present he doesn’t like because he knows almost nothing about him, as proven by the hospital scene where buck’s best friend fills in on the lore. he breaks up with him because he’s insecure. he then tries to shoot his shot once again after their drunk hookup and reveals that he sees buck’s best friend as competition and is glad he’s gone, etc

there’s literally nothing for me to root for

like, if someone does ship two guys just because they’re hot together, then it’s the bt shippers

and they think that we want buddie because we want to “turn everything sexual,” but from all the buddie analyses i read, it’s not even the right point, ‘cause what we actually want is for them to be romantic (which they already are, but an actual confirmation would be nice)

and this whole issue of pairing buck and eddie with people just because they’re hot and available?? it happens with all their past relationships, actually

with ali, natalia, ana, and marisol there was no emotional connection shown - they were just so insignificant and the show just said, “yeah, this is his romantic partner. whatever”

and with shannon, taylor, and tommy, there were too many misalignments and conflicts, so i couldn’t like them either

i won’t say anything about abby ‘cause she was always meant to leave the show and be only at the start of buck’s journey

meanwhile, if i found what buck and eddie have with someone in my real life, i’d literally marry them. and i’m not even that into marriage - but with them, i would

and i would think that maybe the writers don’t know how to write a healthy and interesting relationship between a man and a woman and that’s why the strongest bond is between two male characters (like spn and its poor treatment of the women in dean and sam’s life), but it’s not the case either?? ‘cause bathena and madney exist

hell, sometimes they even make me emotional over random couples during emergencies

so the writers really wrote themselves into a corner with how they’ve portrayed buddie

and i’d think that maybe they’re against it, but all the scripting, acting, and promoting choices starting from season 7 tell me otherwise

either the people who are directly involved in the ship (tim, oliver, ryan, maybe someone else) are that stupid that they don’t see what they’re doing, or the bt fans are stupid because instead of shipping the two characters that actually have a beautiful connection with each other, they are more invested in some random couple just because tommy is hot and very clearly gay

buck and eddie can kiss and sleep with other people all they want, but the truth is, that romantically and emotionally, no one can compare to what they have with each other

and again, this is actually a classic friends-to-lovers trope, when no matter how much you try to build a relationship with other people, you always come back to your best friend because turns out they’re actually the right person for you

there are hundreds of songs, books, and tv shows written about this, and it happens quite often in real life

and if for some stupid reason (like tim minear maybe losing his mind), buddie doesn’t become canon, then i’m still gonna think that i’m right about my interpretation of their relationship and that he is wrong, because it’s the only development that makes sense for their story and for their feelings

and i’m anti-bucktommy till the day i die ‘cause something about people hating all of buck’s previous female love interests, but suddenly loving tommy - even though he’s just as bad for buck as they were - really pisses me off as a bisexual

it just screams biphobic and misogynistic to me

and like, yes, thank you for bi-buck-canon, but tommy is just a placeholder, because the only one who makes buck actually happy and gives him what he needs is eddie

after they get together, the writers can build other close platonic male friendships for “healthy male friendship representation” - like buck and ravi, or eddie and chim, for example

but buck and eddie? these two are in love with each other and they make sense as lovers

#buddie #i don’t consider lfj hot by the way #evan buckley #eddie diaz #bi buck #gay eddie diaz #buck x eddie #911 #911 abc #911 show #buddie canon #anti bucktommy #911 meta

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marvelfanfn2187a113 · 10 months ago

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Workout Buddy

Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by Anonymojs

Synopsis: some drabbles of you growing up as the boys’ workout buddy

“I wanna try!” Dean turned in surprise when he saw you eyeing the weight rack that he’d just finished using. He wasn’t sure how you’d managed to get into the motel gym until he saw Sam hopping on the treadmill—he was supposed to keep you in the room.

“Really man?” Dean called out to Sam.

“She’s fine,” Sam insisted before putting in his headphones and starting up the treadmill. Dean huffed, looking around for something for you to do.

“Here,” he said finally, grabbing a weight bar that had no weights attached and handing it to you. “Like this.” He demonstrated with his own bar—although his had plenty of weight on it, of course.

“I do it!” Dean forgot his annoyance when he saw your huge grin as you curled the weight towards you, just as Dean had.

“Yeah, yeah you are,” Dean encouraged. “Now come over here and I’ll show you how to use the leg machine.”

…

“Hi Sammy!” Sam grunted in surprise when you suddenly jumped on his back. He collapsed from his former push-up position, almost smacking his chin on the floor before stopping himself.

“What are you doing?” He asked.

“I wanna workout with you!” You giggled. “Now up!”

Sam groaned, but listened anyway, pushing himself up before lowering back down, trying to continue his push-up count from before you’d jumped on him.

“Fourteen…” he muttered under his breath. “Fifteen…”

He was struggling to keep count with you giggling and squirming on his back, and eventually he gave up, just lowering and raising himself sporadically to give you a better ride. Your happy squeals and loud laughs were well worth the interrupted routine.

…

“C’mon Dean, it’s not too heavy!”

“Kid, there’s no way you’re gonna lift that.”

“Oh yeah? Watch me.” You pushed Dean aside and took his place under the weight rack, waiting to make sure he was there to spot you—you may have been acting tough, but Dean could lift a ton, and you were just a little afraid that he was right, and his current set was too heavy for you; not that you’d ever tell him that.

“Ok, easy,” Dean said as you slowly pushed up on the bar.

“I got it,” you insisted, your face screwing up in effort as you pushed with all your might. The bar clanged against its holder as it—very slowly, and with great effort—began to lift. “I got it!” You said, triumph painting your words this time. “I got it, I—“ you had slowly lowered the bar, but suddenly you found that you couldn’t lift it back up into the holder. “I don’t got it, I don’t got it, Dean—“

“I got you,” Dean soothed, grabbing the bar quickly with both hands before its weight could overwhelm you. The two of you managed to return the bar to its original position before you quickly stepped away.

“Ok so maybe that’s enough for today,” you insisted, breathing hard.

“Hey, you did good,” Dean said with a proud smile. “But you’re right, you’re done for now.”

…

“Can I come?” Sam turned to see you all dressed and ready to go for a run.

“You sure you want to?” He asked.

“Hey, I’m not Dean,” you insisted. “I happen to think that a little jogging now and then won’t kill you. So are we going or what?”

The two of you returned almost an hour later, sweaty and exhausted yet smiling.

“Gosh, now there’s two of them,” Dean groaned when he caught sight of you. “Kid, haven’t I told you how crazy running is? I mean, take one look at Sam and you’ll see it,” Dean continued, gesturing at Sam. You had to admit—Sam was a sweaty mess.

“Well when we’re running from werewolves and you run out of breath and get eaten first, then we’ll see who’s laughing,” you said with a grin.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dena grumbled. “Go shower, both of you, you stink.”

“Hey, thanks for coming,” Sam said to you as you both headed down the hallway of the bunker to your rooms. “It’s nice to have a running pal.”

“Right back at you. Now get out of here, Dean’s right, you stink.”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @casmustdiee @987coley

#the winchesters #dean winchester #dean and sam #supernatural dean #sam winchester #winchesters x sister #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #winchesters x reader #sam winchester x reader #dean winchester x little sister #sam winchester x little sister #spn sam winchester #supernatural sam winchester #sam winchester spn #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x sister!reader #dean winchester x sister #dean winchester x sister!reader

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itshelfiredean · 7 months ago

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Being Dean Winchester’s Daughter Would Include

1.) Dean teaching you how to drive in the impala, but he’s scared that either of his babies would get hurt so he would make up any excuse for you never to get behind a wheel. This of course ended with Dean catching you and Sam in a driving lesson and you both got yelled at for hours.

2.) Ever since you were in pigtails, Dean would always call you nicknames like “Kiddo”, “Rugrat”, or “Princess”. Your Uncle Sam would keep it rather traditional with “Sweetheart”,“Honey”, or your least favorite “Lil’ Dean”.

3.) Your dad and uncle would make lasting friendships through the years, but would hide them from you because they know that if you get attached, then it’ll break your little heart if they died.

4.) Dean taught you his music taste and basically forbid you to obsess over Bieber or Katy Perry, but you didn’t necessarily ‘love’ his hard rock music taste. You tended to favor Sam’s favorites such as The Beatles, Wings, and the Traveling Wilburys, but Dean got you hooked on Queen, Creedence Clearwater Revival, and David Bowie.

5.) If either your dad or uncle were killed on a hunt or by whoever, they made a deal to take you in no matter what the circumstances were because they would never abandon you like John would.

6.) If you were ever hurt or sick, Dean and Sam would put on this whole show of Dr. Dad and Nurse Sammy. They would dress up in scrubs and check you over all while keeping a playful charade. Your final treatment would always be 20 extra cc’s of tickles and of course rest. Unlucky for you, this carried on well into your teenage years even if they had to drag you down to the infirmary to do so.

7.) You always understood that family doesn’t end in blood. When you were a little girl that reached up to just below their knees, you had the best family you could remember. Uncle Cas was always around and would let you put makeup on him and style his hair, but little did you know that you taught Castiel how to open his heart to people especially to a little girl. That came in handy when he sacrificed himself for the sake of you and Jack against the empty. Then of course you had Grandpa Bobby, or “GrandBob”. Bobby would come off as a nasty old grump to everyone else, but to you he would do anything you said. He practically raised Sam and Dean, but you were different than they were at your age. Bobby saw you as Dean’s precious baby girl who deserved the sun, moon, and stars. And damn-it, he would lasso the biggest star in the sky if you asked him to. You grew up with many amazing men who would do anything to keep you happy, but no one compared to Jack. You were 16 when Jack was born and unlike your dad and uncle in the beginning, you did everything in your power to protect him from your family. You actually helped Jack run away when he was first new, but you knew damn well and Dean dragged your ass back to the bunker once him and Sam tracked you both down. After Dean finally cam around to your side and chose to accept Jack as a member of the family, it made it easier for you to get closer with the devils son. You both were never romantically involved, but your were destined to the two half’s of a whole. He was your Westley and you were his Buttercup. However, Dean wasn’t too happy with seeing you and Jack getting all buddy-buddy, but Sam convinced him that this was really the first friendship you ever had. All through your life, you realized that you had a huge family that loved you, and you loved them in return always.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Y/N age 6

“Daddy, would you still love me if I was bad and mean like Lucifer was to you and Uncle Sammy?”

“Kiddo, I would still love you if you told me that you completely wrecked the Impala”

“That must mean a lot because Sammy told me that you love ‘Baby’ more than anything.”

“You’re my real baby. I will always chose you over a stupid car. But don’t tell Sammy that because it always makes him mad.”

“I love you too, Daddy. I love you more than all of the stars in the sky.”

“I love you more, Princess. With all my heart and each and every grain of sand”

#supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #jack kline #bobby singer #Winchester #dean Winchester x daughter!reader

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bitterkarella · 1 year ago

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Midnight Pals: Hugo Drama

Hugo Gernsback: hey everyone its me, hugo gernsback Gernsback: editor of Amazing Stories and namesake of the hugo awards Gernsback: perhaps you've heard of them? Clive Barker: oh buddy Barker: buddy Barker: we've heard all about them ha ha

Stephen King: they're named after you? i thought they were named after victor hugo Gernsback: ha ha a common mistake Gernsback: but that's fine Gernsback: i'm not mad at all that victor hugo keeps getting the credit Gernsback: i think its funny Gernsback: in fact i'm laughing

Gernsback: ah yes my precious hugo awards! Gernsback: the most prestigious award in science fiction and fantasy! Gernsback: a place for serious business Gernsback: certainly no room for shenanigans here Gernsback: no room for tomfoolery Gernsback: no room for clownish buffoonery

Gernsback: The Hugo -- an award whose very name rings with integrity & honor! Gernsback: it is no mere nebula! no paltry clarke! Gernback: the stoker, the howard, the lambda - none can compare! Gernsback: the L Ron hubbard writers of the future award? pah! dust before the hugo!

Gernsback: only the choicest cuts of science fiction and fantasy would ever achieve the lofty hugo award Gernsback: an award forever untainted by shenanigans or hijinks! Gernsback: now to take a big sip of coffee and read this file 770 report!

Gernsback: what the--?! Gernsback: my beautiful hugos!!! tainted by the foul stench of corruption!!! Clive Barker: yeah boy i bet victor hugo's just sick about it Gernsback: Barker: just sick about what they did to his award Gernsback: Barker: ha ha Poe: clive leave him alone

Gernsback: my hugo!!! you were supposed to be a thing of beauty... not this monstrosity! Dean Koontz: gosh he's so sad about his award Koontz: do you think it would cheer him up if i gave him my nickelodean kids choice award? Poe: i think that would be a very nice gesture dean

Chris M Barkley: [thrusting microphone] Mr gernsback! mr gernsback! a statement for the press? Jason Sanford: [thrusting microphone] how do you respond to the allegations about your award mr gernsback? Gernsback: confound these intrepid newshounds of the 4th estate!

Gernsback: [wiping brow] don't worry, we will be taking measures to fix this Barkley: what are you going to do mr gernsback? Sanford: the people demand an answer mr gernsback! Gernsback: we'll uh Gernsback: we'll nominate an essay called 'Dave McCarty Can Fuck Off Into the Sun'

Gernsback: what a debacle! i cannot believe my good name will now forever be associated with such shady practices! HP Lovecraft: hey when are you gonna pay me for my story you ran? Gernsback: new phone, who dis?

Gernsback: you know who this really hurts? Gernsback: worse than the nominees secretly disqualified for politics? Gernsback: worse than the entirety of Chinese science fiction secretly disqualified for being Chinese? Gernsback: worse than the winners whose awards are now tainted?

Gernsback: the person that this hurts most of all Gernsback: is clearly bitter karella Gernsback: for reasons i can't articulate Gernsback: everyone should immediately go and heap conciliatory praise on bitter karella Gernsback: truly the most wronged person of all

Bitter Karella: [bravely holding back tears] no no it's not about me Bitter Karella: [voice cracking] my only thought is for the hugo community who has been through... so much... Bitter Karella: [stoically gazing into distance] they're the REAL heroes

Gernsback: look how bitter karella keeps a brave face... for our sake! King: god bitter karella is so brave... and so modest! Poe: truly a great goblin Poe: possibly the greatest Koontz: why? what did they do? Poe: dean! show some respect!

#midnight pals #the midnight society #midnight society #stephen king #clive barker #edgar allan poe #dean koontz #hp lovecraft #hugo gernsback #bitter karella #jason sanford #chris m barkley

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ultravi0lence14 · 2 months ago

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WHAT TO EXPECT WHEN YOU’RE NOT EXPECTING

DEAN WINCHESTER X LITTLE MONSTER

SUMMARY: dean and his little monster have their hands full when their foster babies start growing up and bringing home girlfriends and boyfriends.

WORD COUNT: 1.7k

soft spring air floated through the kitchen window, and you found yourself being more content than you had been in a while.

all the kids were growing up, and as time moved on, so did growth spurts and challenging moments.

clara had just come back from her first year in university, and everything was becoming so surreal. lincoln was leaving for college in a couple of months, and the twins were going into their final year of high school.

it was all so jarring, but nothing could’ve prepared you for the screeching 13 year old barreling into the kitchen.

“alert! alert!” marley screamed, hands cupped around her lips as she called out to the entire house. “thatch is bringing another girlfriend back home!”

your body went rigid, hands frozen in the pizza dough you were making. stomping feet came parading down the stairs, and the sight of dean slipping in through the back door with his eyebrows raised was not missed by you.

it was common knowledge around the house that thatcher had awful taste in girls. and that was saying a lot considering he’s only ever brought one girl home.

both you and dean give each other a look, and as he sidles behind you, an arm protectively going around your collar, you turn around and give dean a look that he reciprocates with ease.

screaming dulls out around you two, and you both remember the shit show that was thatcher bringing his first girlfriend home.

her name was sydney, and she was definitely. . . something!

in the first five minutes of her being over, both you and dean could tell that none of the kids liked her. scarlett was never easy to please, so it wasn’t surprising that she was shooting the girl daggers from across the room.

“scar! be nice!” you chided after her third snarky remark, but you honestly couldn’t disagree with the girl; sydney was extraordinarily rude.

a snippy remark at sadie had marley “accidentally” spilling her drink on the girls skirt, and no one batted an eye to the matter.

dean had to be held back by your comforting arms when your family dog, whisky, went to nuzzle his head into sydney’s lap, for the girl to rudely and aggressively push his head away from her with the palm of her hand.

from the corner of his eyes, dean kept catching lincoln giving thatcher a furtive glance, eyes conveying his screaming words that said, ‘thatch, dude, what the fuck.’

in current time, dean smiles at you with a playful grin as he remembers the pandemonium that struck after thatcher closed the door behind his new girlfriend.

an uproar was caused, and you and dean both remember standing back as voices played over each other.

“dear god thatcher, she’s awful.”

“you’ve got terrible taste man.”

“i don’t usually like using this word,” sam spoke up tentatively, voices quieting and all eyes turning to him. “but she was a bitch.”

“i don’t mind using it,” scarlett butted in, hands on her hips. “she was a massive bitch.”

a whistle broke through the room, and you remember the rush of heat that burst through you when dean made the noise with his fingers to his lips. each kid stared at him instantly, and it shouldn’t have been so hot to you that he could command room so easily.

“everyone, quiet!” the room was blanketed in silence, and in that moment, dean looked over at a wide eyed thatcher, still standing by the door. hands crossed over his chest, dean spoke his first words on the matter of thatcher’s girlfriend.

“thatcher, buddy. i’ve got too many questions, but they all boil down to what the actual hell goes on in that head of yours? because she was definitely not a treat to be around.”

this was all around eight months ago, and both you and dean held on to each other a little tighter, mentally preparing for the girl that would walk through your front door.

after countless attempts to calm everyone down, giving them tasks to do in the kitchen as everyone (you and dean included) waited for thatcher to come home, the squealing sounds of tires on the gravel driveway made everyone freeze.

marley was obviously the one to break the silence. “if she’s like the last girl, i don’t know if i’m going to be able to hold my tongue.”

“don’t worry, you won’t be alone.” scarlett retorted, harshly tossing a salad, her hands gripping so tightly on the wooden spoons that her knuckles were white.

everyone was rigid as the front door clicked open, thatcher’s tall and lean frame coming into view. his arm was outstretched behind him, holding the mystery girls hand, leading her into the metaphorical lions den.

“guys,” thatcher called out, eyes blazing as he stared down every single person in the kitchen with a ‘be nice’ attitude. “i want you all to meet hazel.”

spoons clattered in the salad bowl as the girl came out from behind thatcher’s body. dean heard a soft ‘holy shit’ from lincoln, and he swore sadie’s jaw actually dropped.

the girl standing in front of them was far from the mean girl who came over to their house all those months ago. hazel looked like the sweetest thing; eyes nervously bugging behind the large frames of her glasses, hands nervously fiddling with one another.

thatcher practically dwarfed her. the boy standing at an even 6’4 like his uncle sam while hazel couldn’t have been more than 5’5

she had crazy curly hair, neatly pulled back with a thick black headband. her white cardigan fit her perfectly; not too big, yet not too form fitting.

her black skirt was meticulously placed, white socks peaking out of mary jane shoes as her one foot overlapped the other.

thatcher’s arm wound tightly around the girls waist, holding her back against his body as the shell shocked expressions from his family members made the girls body shake. she was nervous, and thatcher had to softly calm her down on the car ride over.

dean watched as his son ducked his head down and rested his chin on the girls shoulder. he whispered something softly in her ear, and hazel visibly relaxed at the calming words coming from his lips.

it reminded dean so much of you and him from back in the day, and it was making him so nostalgic he wanted to vomit.

the silence was becoming too much, and finally, it was his doting wife who broke the silence. “well she’s just adorable!” you squealed, hands clapping together as everyone’s heads swiveled to your happy expression. “c‘mon girls! let’s go make hazel feel welcomed!”

clara, scarlett, marley, sadie, and lily all followed as you scampered over to hazel, softly grabbing the girls hand and pulling her over to the couch. as you all settled in, thatcher walked over to where dean, lincoln, sam, luke, and milo were standing, all eyes placed on him.

“what?” thatcher snapped, staring at each of his male family members and daring one of them to say something bad about his girl.

lincoln just shook his head, a grin pulling at his lips as sam spoke up. “nothing thatch. we’re just a little. . . surprised.”

“why?” he snapped again, instinctively leaning towards where hazel sat in the living room.

luke spoke next, smirking alongside link as milo clutched onto dean from his spot on the kitchen island. “this is exactly why thatcher. we never expected you — brazen, cold, ‘i will kill you if you even step one toe out of line’ — to be with a sweet girl like hazel.”

“yeah,” sam chimed in, snacking on a carrot. “she’s in my math class. i don’t even think i’ve heard her speak once. her head is always down. probably trying to avoid mark wilder-"

“mark wilder!?” thatcher snapped, body immediately going rigid. “what the fuck did that asshole do to her? i swear to god, i’m going to fucking kill that pompous prick if he so much as looked at my girl-“

lincoln cut thatcher off with a laugh, patting his brother on the shoulder with an ease that only brothers had. “and this is exactly what we meant.”

dean just smiled at his boys, loving how his little family melded together. he tried to take a peak over at the couch where you and the girls were sitting, but he couldn’t quite hear what any of you were saying.

“so!” you smiled brightly, squeezing beside hazel with clara on her other side. “how did you and thatcher meet?”

pushing a rogue curl behind her ear, hazel looked at all the girls expectantly, trying to gage each of their expressions.

clara’s eyes were soft, hand delicately placed on hazel’s shoulder in comfort. you were basically bouncing on the spot, lily’s eyes were wide, staring at hazel like she was a princess, and both sadie and marley looked expectant, too excited to hear what hazel had to say.

scarlett was too impassive to figure out.

she was overly protective of her twin brother, both growing up to be dependant on each other. but even scarlett could admit that hazel was perfect for thatcher, so her icy resolve melted a bit and she smiled softly at hazel, encouraging her to go on.

“umm,” hazel started, hands fiddling together. “i’m not even sure how to happened. i was walking out of school and he kind of just ran over and started talking to me. i had no idea he even knew i existed to be honest.”

“how couldn’t he?” you beamed, eyes glowing with warmth. “you’re beautiful hazel.”

“yeah!” lily chimed in. “like a princess!”

“i love your hair.” sadie sighed, stroking her own strands dejectedly. “i wish mine was like yours.”

hazel blushed, but to her shock, her voice came out softly, directed to sadie. “your hair is beautiful, sadie. honestly, you all are gorgeous.”

you beamed, and scarlett couldn’t help but look over at clara, both girls silently nodding to each other in agreement.

this was the girl for thatch. and if he fucked it up, they would kill him.

dean caught your gaze, and he mouthed a quick, ‘we’re getting old’ from where he stood. you smiled, just happy that your kids were happy and with people who made them feel as so. it was a lovely evening, and both you and dean couldn’t help but anticipate the next time one of their kids brought a date over.

TAGS: @titsout4jackles @starzify @daylighted @deansbeer @bluemerakis @figthoughts @haunteres @h8aaz @sunsbaby @littlesoulshine @honeyryewhiskey @cowboysandcigarettes @j2archives @florchids

NAT BABBLES: bree and i have been freaking out over little monster and dean all night it’s not even funny

#nat writes ˚౨ৎ˚#little monster #ultravi0lence14 #dean winchester x demon!reader #dean winchester #supernatural #sam winchester #supernatural x reader #imagine #fluff #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester one shot #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic

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haydenthewitch · 19 days ago

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Bobby Nash is not dead: my predictions for the rest of the season

the military does not release bobby's body to Athena grant or the 118 because of the deadly super virus and all of that. They bury him in a birch box in an unmarked grave with all of the belongings that he brought into the lab (including his cell phone) becuse 'milatry protocal' or whatever the fuck

We see the LAFD funeral procession and the 118 grieving and dealing with the loss. They put an empty official LAFD coffin in the ground. (WE NEVER SAW PETER IN THE COFFIN OR ON SET IN THE BTS. IT COULD TOTALY WORK)

We hear the 911 sound and Maddie picks up. it's bobby. He's freaking out. She's freaking out. She pings his phone and finds his location/

Maddie breaks protocol and calls Athena. She's on bereavement leave, but the second that she hears that bobby could be alive she grabs her gun and badge in order to go get her husband. She calls buck and the entire 118 and they come too.

Maddie is freaking out because bobby is describing the air getting thin; he's going to suffocate in that box and then it will all be for nothing. She asks if there is any way he can punch trough the flimsy wood. she prepares him by telling him to hold his breath and shield his eyes as much as he can; basically don't drown in dirt.

bobby makes it out alive, punching through the wood and crawling back up to the surface (a-la dean winchester season 4 epi 1) and he RUNS into Athena's arms (NO GRAVE CAN HOLD MY BODY DOWN. I'LL CRAWL HOME TO HER)

But hayden, i hear you saying. peter krause is leaving the show. how can bobby nash be alive and not the captain of the 118?

after they cure bobby of super killer very bad virus (via Chekov's lab rat) bobby tells Athena that he wants to retire. He gives a whole speech about how every day he puts on the uniform and he accepts that it's possible he's going to die in the field. He walks through fire and prays that he's going to get home to Athena every night. he tells her that in the lab, he wished it didn't have to be that way. now it feels like god has given him his second chance, and he doesn't want to go back to the possibility of dying every shift. He's going to retire, and live a long healthy life with her.

Bobby sits buck down to tell him this news. Buck is at first upset; how will the 118 thrive without their captain? but he quickly accepts and understands that it's not about him, or the 118, it's the one self-interested thing bobby is doing for himself. Bobby always puts everyone else first (including when it came to who lives and who dies) and this he is doing for himself.

Buck makes a joke about 'well i wonder what shmuck they are going to put in your place. big shoes to fill' and bobby says 'oh i wanted to talk to you about that too.' BECUSE THINK ABOUT IT. he looked at buck in his FINAL MOLMENTS and said "they are going to need you, kid." he took the time to encourage buck to LEAD. when bobby nash promotes Buck to captain, everything comes full circle. including that conversation they had about buck eventually being ready to be captain.

IN CONCLUSION, BOBBY NASH ALIVE AND BUCK BUCKLEY CAPTAIN OF THE 118

oh and buddie canon season 9

#bobby nash is alive #bobby nash #captain evan buckley of the 118 #evan buckley #buck buckley #maddie buckley #athena grant #911 spoilers #911 speculation #911 spec #911 on abc #911 abc #911 show #911 #hayden yaps #hayden yaps about 911 #peter krause may be leaving but bobby is still alive #i'll fist fight tim minear behind a denny's and i'll fucking win #no grave will hold my body down i'll crawl home to her

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alotofpockets · 9 months ago

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Game changer | Daphne van Domselaar x Arsenal!Reader

Where Daphne falls for you, but thinks you are already dating one of your friends

Woso masterlist | Words: 1.4k

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The transfer of Daphne van Domselaar had been a rumour for quite some time before your club finally signed her for real. You were quite excited for the Dutch goalkeeper to make the move over to Arsenal.

You had played against her in the Aston Villa matches this season, and while it was frustrating that you couldn't get a ball past her, your admiration for her grew with each shot that she blocked.

She was a strong and confident player, and had been interested in knowing what she would be like as a person. So, of course when it was announced to the team that she would be joining you, you were the first to offer her a tour.

“Hey Daphne, are you ready for the grand tour?” You ask her after she got introduced during the first team meeting to kick-off pre-season. The warm smile on your face instantly calmed Daphne's nerves. “Yeah, that would be great.”

You show her around and enthusiastically tell her all about the Arsenal training grounds. Daphne immediately felt a sense of security. You were very easy to talk to, and your energy was contagious.

“So, how are you liking London so far?” You ask as you make your way over to the pitch.

“I only got here a couple of days to get settled, but so far I'm enjoying it. Definitely still a lot to figure out and explore.” Daphne replied.

“Well, good thing you have me then!” you wrap your arm around her shoulder in a side hug. “I'll be your tour guide, and show you all the best places.”

While you were training in London, you and Daphne hung out a lot. You kept your promise of being her tour guide, and wanted to make sure Daphne felt at home in the place you had called home for a few years now.

You visited some touristy spots, but you focused on your local favourites. Your favourite parks, shops, coffee shops. As many as you could fit in the short time you had before travelling to the US for your pre-season tour.

During the short time you had known Daphne, the two of you had grown quite close. You loved spending time with the Dutch woman. She was your seat buddy for both the bus ride over to the airport and on the plane to the US.

After the first training, which was just to loosen up their muscles after the long flight, Daphne spent some time with Steph and Beth. “You're both in a relationship, right?” When they both nodded, Daphne continued. “I don't mean to be rude, but I was wondering what it's like travelling so far and not having your partners with you. Is it hard?”

Beth was the first to answer, “Well, Viv and I have gotten used to it a little with both playing for different national teams. So during international breaks we are often in different parts of the world already. We make it work, and always try to focus on the reunion.”

“Yeah, and for me with Dean, it's just been so long, that by now it's pretty normal. I remember the first couple of times being pretty hard, but like Beth said, focusing on the reunion always gets us through.”

“Ah yeah, it must be so nice to reconnect after some time away from each other. Are a lot of the girls on the team in a relationship?” Daphne questions, and Beth and Steph start listing a few of the people.

“Let's see, was that everyone?” Steph asks. “Hm, what about y/n? Isn't she dating that girl? What's her name again, Lily?” Beth questions.

“Oh yeah, I never know with y/n, but I could totally see them being a thing.” Steph adds.

A part of Daphne was disappointed to hear that you might be in a relationship. Of course, the other part of her was happy for you. But, she had felt a connection with you that she had wanted to explore further, but she should probably set that aside until she was sure if you were or weren't in a relationship.

You thoroughly enjoyed your time in America, as you loved exploring new places. With the team you visited a bunch of tourist attractions, besides the training, which you were quite happy about.

When you got back home, you continued training for the upcoming season. Your free time consisted of hanging out with your friends, and your teammates.

It wasn't until the first wsl match of the season that the two groups mixed again. Your friends in the stands while you were on the pitch playing with your teammates.

Once the match is over and you spend some time with the fans, you head over to your friends. You hug Jack, Mila, and Morgan first, and lastly you kiss Lily on her cheek and keep your arm around her as you’re talking with your friends. Daphne looks at the scene in front of her, and with the words from Steph and Beth echoing in her mind, she concludes that you are in a relationship.

As you’re talking with your friends, your eyes keep wandering over to Daphne, as she’s interacting with the fans. Her eyes occasionally flicker over to you, you wave at her the first time that you notice. She smiles back, but the smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Before you can think much of it, Lily nudges you. “So, how is it going with the new goalie?”

“Yeah, she’s great. I think she’s fitting in well with the team.” Morgan cuts in, “You know that’s not what Lily was asking.” Your brow furrows, “What do you mean?”

Your friends collectively roll their eyes. “Do we really need to spell it out for you?” Jack chuckles. “You’ve been hanging out with her all of the time, there has to be more going on between the two of you than just being teammates.”

“We’re just friends.” You say with a shrug of your shoulders. “Then why are you as red as a tomato right now?” Lily teases. “I- eh, cause I’m a gooner. It matches the club colour, you know?”

You could see how disappointed your friends were with your joke, but it’s not like they weren’t used to them by now. “You should ask her out. She’s clearly into you as well.” Mila opts. “What? No, I can’t just do that.”

Before you can protest any further, Lily shouts “Daphne!” The girl looks over at her name being called from your direction and meets five pairs of eyes looking at her. Lily motioned her over, and when she finished signing a jersey, she came over.

She looks between you and Lily with a questioning look. You had stepped away from her side, because you were not agreeing with her calling Daphne over and had a nervous look on your face.

Before your friends could embarrass you more, you took ahold of Daphne’s hand and pulled her back onto the field. “Is everything okay with Lily?” You look at her confused, “You know Lily?” Daphne shook her head, “Well, no, not really. Beth and Steph said the two of you were dating, so I assumed that was her.”

You stop dead in your tracks, “They said what?” You shake your head, “Ew gross. Lily is my best friend from kindergarten, and also very straight.” Even the idea made you laugh.

Daphne took the news as a game changer, maybe the connection and the vibes she had felt with you, did mean what she thought you did.

“It’s funny, because Lily was actually calling you over to get me to ask you out.” Your eyes widened when you realised what you had just said, “Wait! Ehm I-” Daphne interrupts you before you can make a fool out of yourself. “I would love to go out with you.”

Your face lit up, “Really?” She nodded with a chuckle, “Yes, of course. I felt like we were already going on little dates, though we never actually called them that. And well then Beth and Steph put me on the wrong path.”

“I’m gonna need to have a word with those two, can’t start spreading rumours about me.” You laughed together at the situation, before meeting back up with your friends to properly introduce Daphne to them.

-----

💗 If you enjoyed this fic, please consider liking, commenting, and reblogging! You can also supporting me by leaving a tip 💗

#daphne van domselaar #daphne van domselaar x reader #arsenal wfc x reader #arsenal wfc imagine #nedwnt #nedwnt x reader #arsenal wfc #woso #woso x reader

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