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coffeeshades · 7 months ago

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credits to the gif maker!

LOVE IS COMPLICATED - PART VII

—forever winter

summary: the trials and tribulations of falling in love or two idiots who can't get their shit together.

pairing: pedro pascal x actress/singer!reader.

word count: 6.8k

warnings: 18+ (minors dni). angst!!! cursing, age gap, mentions of alcohol and covid. feelings of hopelessness, anxiety. no use of y/n, if i missed something please let me know!

a/n: hello again, here's the next part!! also here are a few songs i listened to while writing this one: salt in the wound - boygenius, flume - bon iver, the gold - phoebe bridgers, for emma - bon iver, forever winter - taylor swift and calgary - bon iver.

happy reading <3

masterlist!

January 19, 2020

Los Angeles, CA

There have always been two versions of you: the person you once were and the person the world has decided you are. The first is the one who existed long before the spotlight, the one with a bit of adolescent angst, dreams bigger than herself, and a heart still learning to shield itself.

This version was taught by her parents that she was special, but the world hadn’t yet caught on. She was the girl who felt small and out of place, who wrestled with who she was and where she belonged.

And then there’s the second version, the one who stands in the center of magazine covers, on the glossy side of fame. She is everything you once dreamed of becoming—and more. You’ve spent the last decade perfecting her image, carving her out of raw ambition and countless hours under the hot glare of cameras. Her Wikipedia page reads like an epic: awards, accolades, achievements—flawless. She’s a masterpiece.

This side of you is never tired. She never shows frustration. She knows how to angle her face when the camera flashes, to smile when the questions sting, and to cry beautifully when accepting awards. She can gracefully discuss the sexism she’s faced in the industry, yet she knows better than to name names or point fingers.

She always sticks to the narrative.

For the longest time, you hoped you wouldn’t need to split into two people. That the version of yourself from years ago would be good enough for the world. But the divide wasn’t gradual—it was sudden. It happened four years ago, the day your ex decided to make you the centerpiece of a bitter, ugly breakup that splashed across every tabloid in the country. Since then, you’ve been caught between these two identities, juggling the woman you once were with the image the world expects of you.

As you sit in the back seat of the car, your eyes linger on your reflection in the tinted window. Tonight is the SAG Awards, another high-profile event where your public persona will take the lead. You watch yourself in the mirror, a familiar stranger, and wonder: Does anyone truly know you? Do you even know yourself anymore?

“There's a line of press when you get out of the car,” Taylor, your manager, says without looking up from her phone. “You know, the usual stuff.”

“Got it.”

You nod, trying to focus on the task ahead, but your thoughts are far away. You look out the window, the city lights blurring into a kaleidoscope of color. No matter how many of these events you attend, it never gets easier.

The car slows to a stop, the muffled sounds of the crowd growing louder through the windows.

“Why isn’t Daniel here?” Taylor asks, breaking the silence.

“He had to fly back to Enstone,” you reply, a pang of disappointment in your chest. “The season starts soon. He’s prepping.”

Last year was a challenging one for Daniel—his racing season wasn’t what he hoped for, and he’s determined to make up for it this time around. His commitment to his craft mirrors yours in so many ways, but tonight, you wish he was here with you.

“Oh, that’s too bad, babe,” Taylor says, her hand resting on your knee in a gesture of sympathy. “When will he be back?”

“I’m not sure; he didn't say,” you murmur. “Hopefully soon.”

The door opens, and the roar of the crowd hits you like a wave. Flashing cameras, the shouting of photographers, and the glittering red carpet stretch out before you. “Looks like we’re here,” Taylor says, stepping out and extending a hand to help you.

You take a deep breath, steadying your nerves. It’s always easier with someone by your side, but tonight you’ll have to do this alone. You follow Taylor’s lead, plastering a smile on your face as you step out into the chaos. The cameras flash, posing and waving, but inside, you feel detached—like you’re watching yourself from afar.

After what feels like an eternity, you finally make it inside the venue, your body relaxing slightly as the noise of the red carpet fades behind you. You’re greeted by familiar faces and smiles, but the exhaustion from keeping up appearances lingers.

“I thought I was going to be the coolest person here, but clearly, you've beat me to it.”

The voice pulls you from your thoughts, deep and teasing. You turn and find Pedro standing there, dressed in a sleek silver suit jacket with black pants, his expression warm and playful.

His presence doesn't faze you; you've been filming for the Mandalorian since November last year, seeing each other here and there, not really spending time together between takes, and not acknowledging what happened at the wedding. You didn't hear from him since production stopped mid-December, only to get back on set early January. Although with everything else he's doing, you barely see him there anyway.

“You look amazing,” he says, his eyes lingering on you.

You glance down at your outfit—a sharp, stylish suit you picked for the night. It fits perfectly, giving you an air of confidence even though, inside, you feel anything but. “Thanks,” you say. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Pascal.” You gesture to his getup, offering a kind smile.

Pedro smirks, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I came over to congratulate you.”

"Yeah?"

“The Achievement Award. That's huge.”

You laugh softly, a little self-conscious. “That sounds like an overstatement for someone who’s only 28.”

He studies you for a moment, his gaze piercing. Pedro has always been able to see through you in ways that others can’t. You can hide from the world, but not from him.

“Don’t do that,” he says quietly, his voice firm.

“Do what?” you ask, but he cuts you off before you can finish.

“Don’t invalidate your accomplishments. You deserve this.”

There’s something in the way he says it—a weight to his words that makes you pause. Part of you wants to argue, to downplay everything like you always do, but his sincerity stops you.

Instead, you nod, offering a small smile.

“Thank you, Pedro,” you say softly. “That means a lot.”

Does it?

He sees right through and holds out his arm, a silent invitation. “Wanna walk in with me?”

For a moment, you hesitate. There’s an unspoken tension between the two of you, a history that neither of you has fully acknowledged. But as your eyes meet, the air shifts. You loop your arm through his, holding onto his bicep as the two of you make your way into the theater together. A camera flash goes off, and you smile. But this time, with Pedro by your side, it feels a little less lonely.

•••

You were sitting at a table when a fellow actor and friend started talking about you on stage. It was surreal, like time had slowed down, and you found yourself lost in thought. You’d been to countless awards shows and accepted more than your share of accolades, but this one felt different. A recognition of not just a role or a single performance, but a lifetime of work—or at least, a decade of it. And you were still young. Too young, part of you thought, for this kind of tribute. Yet here you were, about to be honored in front of your peers, the people who had seen your highs and lows.

The screen flickered to life, and a montage of your work began to play. Scenes from movies that had shaped your career, close-ups of moments that had shaped you. A smile here, a tear there, moments of triumph and vulnerability.

It was oddly like watching your life flash before your eyes—a strange out-of-body experience, as if you were looking back at someone else's journey. The montage moved through the years, capturing not just the characters you played but the changes in you—subtle at first, then more pronounced. The younger you, still full of raw hope and untamed energy, compared to the more seasoned version, who had learned how to navigate the treacherous terrain of fame. It felt like a snapshot of your life in fast-forward, as if you were witnessing your own eulogy.

You breathed in deeply, trying to stay present. It wasn’t the end, you reminded yourself.

The applause was thunderous as the montage ended, and it wasn’t until your name was called that reality snapped back into focus.

You stepped out into the blinding lights, the weight of the moment settling in as you approached the podium. The sea of faces before you blurred slightly in the brightness, but you could make out familiar ones. Peers you respected, younger actors looking up at you with wide eyes, veterans who had paved the way before you. And somewhere out there, you knew Pedro was watching.

With trembling hands, you held the award, the metal cool against your palm. You took a breath, steadying yourself before speaking.

“This is... overwhelming,” you began, chuckling, your voice breaking slightly from the emotion of it all. “I don’t even know where to start. Thank you to everyone who believed in me and to the people who supported me through the ups and downs. This means more than I can put into words.”

You paused, scanning the room, catching sight of Pedro for just a second, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that grounded you.

“When I started this journey, I was just a kid with big dreams and very little understanding of how hard this industry could be,” you continued, feeling the words flow more easily now. “But I learned early on that dreams don’t work unless you do. It’s not just about talent—it’s about determination, grit, and pushing through even when everything seems impossible.”

Your eyes drifted toward the younger faces in the audience. “To the younger actors out there, keep going. I know it can feel like the world is telling you no at every turn, like you’re not good enough or that you’ll never make it, but don’t stop dreaming. Don’t stop working. This industry can be brutal, but it can also be beautiful. Find the beauty. Hold onto it. Work for it.”

A wave of applause broke out, but you weren’t finished yet. You felt a pull, a need to say more, something from the heart. Something real.

“And through all of it,” you said, your voice softer now, “keep the people who truly love you close. In this business, it’s easy to get lost in the noise, in the hundreds of things that try to tear you down or make you feel like you’re not enough. But the people who love you for who you are, not what you can give them, are the ones who will keep you grounded. I’ve met some of my forever people in this industry, and for that, I’m grateful. Despite all the bad and all the heartache that comes with this life, it’s those relationships that make it worthwhile.”

Your gaze wandered again, unconsciously searching the crowd for Pedro, and when your eyes met his, something inside you softened. He knew what you were talking about. He knew the weight of those words better than anyone.

“I’m grateful,” you continued, your voice a little more vulnerable now, “because I’ve been able to hold on to those people. Even when things get complicated even when it feels like the world is pushing us apart. You have to fight for those connections. They’re what make this crazy, beautiful life worth living.”

You felt a lump in your throat but pushed through it, finishing with, “So thank you. To the people in my life who have stuck with me through the good and the bad. This is as much yours as it is mine.”

March 5th, 2020

Calgary, Canada

Life after the awards ceremony didn’t feel much different than before. It was still the same relentless rhythm—work, events, travel, more work. The brief moments of peace in between became rare and fleeting, like whispers in the storm of your career. Daniel’s season was supposed to start soon, and though you’d seen him twice after he flew to France for preparations, something between you felt... off. His distance was palpable, but you hadn’t allowed yourself to dwell on it too much. It was easier to stay busy, keep moving, and brush it off as a phase. After all, the both of you were pulled in so many directions—when was the last time anything felt normal?

A quiet dinner in your NYC apartment, one of the few times Daniel managed to swing by in between training sessions. The table was set with takeout boxes instead of a home-cooked meal—neither of you had the energy for anything more.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you said softly, watching him as he absentmindedly poked at his food with a fork. He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I miss this,” you added.

“Yeah, me too,” Daniel said, but the words were like dust on the air—insubstantial, weightless.

“Is everything okay? You’ve been quiet," you trailed off, unsure of how to breach the distance you felt growing between you.

He hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, just a lot on my mind with the season coming up. It’s…you know, a lot of pressure.”

You reached across the table and placed your hand on his. “You’re going to be great. You always are.”

He gave you that familiar smile, but it still felt like something was slipping through your fingers.

•••

By March, you had flown to Calgary to shoot a horror-adjacent film. The setting—a desolate cabin in the snow, miles from anywhere—was perfect for the kind of chilling atmosphere the director was aiming for. You’d always loved working with indie directors; their stories had depth, innovation, and a sense of grounded reality that the big-budget productions sometimes lacked. It was a reminder of why you fell in love with acting in the first place.

On set, things moved fast. Between takes, you found a quiet corner of the cabin and pulled out your phone to FaceTime with Taylor. She was mid-ranting when she answered.

“There’s a potential shutdown happening, babe. Something about a virus…COVID, or whatever they’re calling it. Have you heard anything about it?”

You’d heard whispers from the crew, but nothing had been confirmed. “I’ve heard some talk around set, but no one knows what’s happening yet.”

“Well, I’m telling you now, it’s serious. This might be the last project you get to work on for a while. Everything else is likely to be delayed. Keep your eyes open.”

You sighed, looking around as the crew moved around with their usual buzz of energy.

“Guess I’ll enjoy this last bit of freedom while I can.”

Taylor chuckled. “Yeah, enjoy it while you’re in the middle of nowhere. Call me if you hear anything else.”

You ended the call and pocketed your phone, the unease settling into your chest. Everyone around the set seemed unfazed, but the air had undoubtedly changed.

By the final days of production, the world was different. Everyone wore face masks, and hand sanitizer became the reigning deity on set.

•••

Reality hit hard. Flights were cancelled. No one could leave. You were stuck in the cabin, snow piling up outside like a barricade against the world, while the virus barricaded you from returning home. You made a grocery run the minute things got a little hectic, filling the place with more supplies than you’d ever seen yourself buy—just in case. The panic in the air was contagious, and chaos reigned for those first two weeks.

You FaceTimed your mom as you unpacked. “I’m stuck in Canada,” you said, laughing softly despite the anxiety that gnawed at your insides.

“Are you serious?” her voice was a mix of worry and exasperation. “You should’ve been back by now. What about New York?”

“I don’t know when I’ll be able to get back. Airports are closed.”

She sighed heavily, the sound crackling through the phone. “Just take care of yourself, honey, alright? Don’t be reckless. Are you alone?”

“Yeah, but I’ll be fine."

Her voice softened. “Be careful, okay?”

“I will, Mom. I promise.”

•••

It was a particularly dark, cold afternoon. The kind where the sky hung low with thick clouds and the cold crept in through the cracks of the cabin no matter how many layers you wore. You had wrapped yourself in a blanket, the silence of isolation pressing down heavier than usual when your phone buzzed on the table.

Daniel’s name appeared on the screen.

You hesitated, thumb hovering over the answer button, but you couldn’t ignore him. Not yet. So you swiped to answer and brought the phone to your ear, forcing a soft, casual, “Hey.”

His voice on the other end was calm, but there was an undercurrent to it—a kind of distance that had been growing for months. "Hey," he replied, his Aussie accent tinged with something heavy. "How’s it going over there?"

You shrugged, even though he couldn’t see it. “You know… same. Snowed in. A lot of waiting.” There was an awkward pause. You filled it with a half-hearted laugh. “How about you? Everything alright?”

He cleared his throat, and you could feel the shift before he even said it. “Actually… I don’t think we should keep this up.”

The words hit you like the cold outside, seeping into your bones, but not with shock—just a kind of muted inevitability. There it is, you thought, the final crack in what was already falling apart.

Your brain hummed with white noise after that. You don’t remember what you said in response, something vague like, “Yeah, I get it.” The words came out on autopilot, and you weren’t really listening anymore. It wasn’t traumatic; it wasn’t the kind of breakup that destroyed you. It was like slowly waking from a dream and realizing it had already ended before you even opened your eyes.

His voice was kind, soft—too soft. “You’re so great, you know that, right? This just… it wasn’t working anymore. For either of us.”

You nodded, though he couldn’t see it. Your mind was elsewhere—on the conversations with Pedro, on the way your heart leaped when you heard his voice instead of Daniel’s. You had known, deep down, for a while now where your heart really was.

“I guess we knew this was coming,” you finally managed, voice steady, as if you were discussing something as simple as the weather.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “But still… I didn’t want it to hurt.”

The niceties and the polite words that followed hurt more than any fight ever could have. It was the kindness of it that made it sting—the acknowledgment that neither of you had it in you to fight for something that had already drifted away. There was no anger, no raised voices, no accusations.

Just two people who had loved each other briefly, now saying goodbye like they were parting ways at an airport terminal.

“Well, take care of yourself, alright?” Daniel said softly.

“You too,” you whispered, already feeling the weight of finality.

And then it was over. The phone went silent in your hand, and you stared at the screen as if it could offer you some kind of closure that you weren’t sure you needed.

•••

The days began to bleed into one another. You were alone in that cabin—snowed in and quarantined from the world. The only connection you had was through your phone, through calls with Sarah and Oscar, who checked in on you daily.

Most days, you found ways to pass the time. You read, you cooked—burned some things, too—and found yourself sitting by the old piano that had come with the cabin. Your fingers brushed against the keys, unsure at first, after so much time spent focusing on acting. But the music came swiftly, like muscle memory. The songs poured out of you, stories in lyrical form, shaped by the silence and solitude around you.

But some nights, the quiet was too loud.

The breakup with Daniel lingered in the back of your mind like a dull ache. You had been okay with it for the most part; you knew it was coming, and neither of you were in it anymore. But there were nights, like tonight, when the weight of it crashed down and the loneliness felt too heavy to carry. You lay in bed, tears wetting the pillow, thinking about how everything had ended in polite goodbyes when maybe you needed the screaming.

•••

One day, in the middle of baking—flour dusting your hands and a bowl of half-mixed batter sitting on the counter—you received a text: “I hope you’re doing okay.”

You stared at it, your heart skipping a beat. You had thought about him every single day and wondered how he was coping and whether he was safe. Anytime Sarah called, you asked about him, telling yourself that it was enough to know from a distance. But now, with that simple text, you caved.

“I’m okay. Are you?”

His reply came almost immediately. “Not really. Mostly lonely.”

Your heart broke for him. You knew how hard it was for him to be alone. He thrived off people, off energy. And now, the world had gone still.

“Wanna talk?” you typed, holding your breath.

“Would love to hear your voice,” came the reply.

So you called him, and the hours melted away as you both talked about everything—about the virus, about work, about how isolating it all was. He asked, finally, “How’s Daniel?”

You hesitated. “We’re no longer together. Haven’t been for a while.”

There was a pause, then a soft, “Oh, I’m sorry.”

You quickly changed the subject, but it lingered between you, the unspoken acknowledgment of what that meant. After that, you spoke almost every day. The isolation became less suffocating, and with each call, you both felt a little less alone.

•••

On Pedro’s birthday, you baked a cupcake in his honor, lighting a single candle before FaceTiming him. When he picked up, he laughed, “You made me a cupcake?”

“Of course I did,” you said with a grin, holding up the tiny treat. “Now, pretend to blow out the candle.”

He played along, puffing his cheeks and making a ridiculous show of it. “Thank you for this. It’s not much of a birthday without people.”

“Well, you’ve got me,” you said, singing an off-key version of Happy Birthday. His laughter filled the space between you.

Later that night, he posted a screenshot of your call on his Instagram story, and the internet lost its mind. Comments flooded in—"Omg, she baked him a cupcake!"—“My favorite best friends!”—and you laughed at the attention it brought.

•••

One evening, as you sat at the piano again, your phone propped up with Pedro on FaceTime, he listened quietly as you played a new melody. “I think the lyrics need work,” you said, biting your lip.

He smirked. “Let me hear them.”

You hummed the first few lines, fumbling over the phrasing. “See, it doesn’t quite flow.”

“Let’s try this,” Pedro suggested, offering a line.

By the end of the night, the song felt whole, and you felt lighter.

The days passed—isolated and cold—but your connection with Pedro was alive and warm again. And as the weeks stretched on, you couldn’t help but wonder: How long until you fucked this up again?

October 5, 2020

Budapest, Hungary

Pedro had always known loneliness. It was a quiet, persistent companion, but in Budapest, it had taken on a new form. The city was beautiful, its streets old and layered with history, but none of it could distract him from the hollow ache in his chest. The early mornings on set, the long hours of filming—the work was steady. But outside of that, the hours stretched endlessly.

He had been filming in Europe for months, and though he loved his job, the thrill of creating something special—the distance—both physical and emotional—was wearing him thin. He had been keeping in touch with you, his constant thread of connection. The texts, the occasional FaceTime calls, were easy and comforting. But he could never shake the weight of what he hadn’t told you. What you didn't allow him to say. It felt like a brick in his stomach.

You lived strangely in his head.

He still hadn’t found the courage to say the words. I love you. They haunted him—a truth he couldn’t bring himself to speak. Every time he thought he was ready, he backtracked, swallowing the confession whole. His cowardice infuriated him. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d been in love with you for years, the feelings growing stronger and deeper, but now… now you were thousands of miles away, and he was stuck in this self-made purgatory.

His thoughts often drifted to his mother lately. She had always known how to comfort him, her voice soothing, her advice simple but profound. What would she have said about you? About his inability to speak the truth? He could hear her in his head, telling him to stop being such a fool, to just go for it. But she wasn’t here anymore, and he felt lost without her, more than he ever let on.

The days on set were repetitive but engaging. The crew was tightknit, and the project was exciting. He threw himself into work, hoping it would distract him. He laughed with the cast, bantered with the director, but when the camera wasn’t rolling, his mind was elsewhere. It was with you.

•••

A few weeks later, after wrapping up in Budapest, he found himself in Switzerland alone again. He didn’t know why he’d come. The scenery was breathtaking, the mountains vast and quiet, but the isolation magnified the emptiness he felt. It was as if everything had come to a standstill.

The stillness weighed on him. The quiet, once a solace, now felt oppressive. He spent his days wandering the small towns, drinking coffee in hidden cafés, trying to convince himself that the solitude was a gift. But he felt shattered, more broken than before.

One night, the loneliness became too much, and he called you. Desperation tightened his throat as he waited for you to pick up, his mind screaming at him to just tell you. The phone rang, and when you answered, your voice was soft, familiar, and full of comfort.

"Pedro," you said, and it was enough to stop him in his tracks.

His breath caught, and the confession lodged itself in his throat again. He had been ready, so ready, but hearing you—he thought better of it. What could he say that wouldn’t ruin everything?

"Hey," he replied, his voice rougher than intended. "Just wanted to hear your voice."

You chuckled softly on the other end. "You good?"

"Yeah, I’m good," he lied, the words heavy on his tongue. "Just…miss talking to you, that’s all."

"I miss you too," you said, and it broke him a little more. The call went on, but he had already retreated into himself, too afraid to say what needed to be said. He listened to you talk about your day, your laugh filling the silence on his end, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was failing—failing himself, failing you.

•••

The next day, he went for a walk. The air was cold, biting, but it didn’t bother him. He needed to clear his head. He walked along the cobbled streets, past quaint houses with shuttered windows, and let the weight of his feelings wash over him. It was overwhelming. His history with you, all the unsaid things, all the moments when he should have acted and didn’t. It crashed over him like a wave, leaving him breathless.

He found a bench and sat, his head in his hands. One day, he thought. One day, I’ll tell her.

December 31st, 2020

New York, NY

The phone call from Oscar came two weeks before New Year's Eve. His voice was warm, as it always was, but there was an unmistakable edge of hope in it, the kind that crept in after months of isolation.

“It’s just something small,” he had said. You could hear his smile through the phone, that charming grin he always wore. “Not a lot of people, you know. Just family and close friends. After the last few months we've had… I think we need this.”

You hadn’t seen Oscar in person in what felt like forever, and the idea of being with people—Oscar’s people, your people—sounded like a balm to the soul. You agreed before he could finish the invitation, the excitement bubbling up despite the world still not feeling quite right.

You got tested later that week, making sure you were safe to attend the gathering.

When you arrived at Oscar’s apartment, the city had an eerie quiet to it. New York was never still, even during the pandemic, but tonight it felt subdued, like it was holding its breath for something more. You headed for the entrance, and the soft sound of music spilled out the moment the doors opened.

Oscar met you with his arms wide open, pulling you into a tight hug. “Look who finally made it,” he teased, his face lighting up in that familiar way. “You look good.”

“You too,” you said, stepping back and taking in the warmth of the room. It was intimate—just the right amount of people to make you feel at home, but not so many that it felt overwhelming.

Before you could take another step, Sarah swooped in, stealing you from Oscar’s embrace with an exaggerated squeal. She enveloped you in a hug so tight you could barely breathe.

“I missed you so much!” she exclaimed, her eyes wide with delight. You hadn’t seen her in ages, and the reunion felt like a weight lifting off your chest. The two of you spent the next few minutes catching up, your laughter blending in with the soft chatter around the room.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw him. He had arrived a little late, typical of him, but the sight of him sent your heart into a dizzying spin. It had been almost a year since you last saw each other in person.

He moved through the room, and when he finally made his way toward you, your breath hitched. He wore a simple black t-shirt, the fabric clinging to his toned chest. His hair was longer, fluffy from the months of lockdown, and his big brown eyes—usually so full of light —looked tired.

But when he saw you, the weariness seemed to lift for a moment.

He said your name softly, stepping close. His arms opened, and you fell into them without hesitation, wrapping yourself around him in a way that felt too familiar, too safe. He held you tight, his grip lingering longer than necessary, like he was afraid to let go.

“Hey,” you breathed against his shoulder, inhaling the scent of him—pleasant, familiar, grounding. The world seemed to fall away for a moment, leaving just the two of you. You pulled back slightly, looking into his face, wanting to say something—anything. You couldn’t live without thinking about him. He consumed your every thought, and somewhere along the way, you had come to terms with how you felt about him.

But the words stuck in your throat.

“At last, we see each other,” he said, his voice quieter than usual, his hand still on your back.

“At last,” you repeated, your heart pounding against your ribs.

You both opened your mouths to speak, then laughed in unison.

"You first," Pedro said, his eyes twinkling with amusement, though there was something deeper there—something lingering just beneath the surface.

But before you could say anything more, Sarah reappeared, her arm hooking through yours as she dragged you away. “Sorry! I need to steal her for a sec,” she said with a laugh, oblivious to the quiet intensity of the moment she’d interrupted.

Pedro smiled at her, though his eyes flicked back to you. "What I wanted to say can wait," he said softly, his voice carrying a promise that sent a jolt through you.

You promised yourself you’d find him later.

•••

In the kitchen, you and Sarah were rummaging through cabinets for more drinks when you heard Oscar’s booming laugh. Turning, you spotted him and Pedro, who now had a ridiculous pointy birthday hat perched on his head. You burst into laughter at the sight, unable to resist.

“Cute hat,” you said, pulling your phone from your back pocket. “Let’s document this moment.”

He grinned, grabbing Oscar by the shoulder and pulling him in for the picture. Pedro tilted his head, drinking from his beer, and Oscar looked up at him with a puzzled expression as you snapped a photo.

“Perfect. That’s going on Instagram for sure,” you teased, and Pedro groaned.

Before anyone could respond, Oscar’s wife walked by, eyeing the hat on Pedro’s head with mock suspicion. Pedro took his cue, unlocking from Oscar and jokingly attacking her with the pointy hat, poking her side with the plastic tip. You snapped another picture, laughing as she swatted him away.

“Send that to me,” she called over her shoulder, and you nodded, tucking your phone back into your pocket just as Sarah handed you a drink.

•••

The night continued, the energy in the room bubbling up as the countdown to midnight approached. Karaoke had started in one of the rooms, and you couldn’t resist.

Pedro avoided it at all costs, standing in the doorway with a bemused expression. After your rendition of Losing My Religion, he caught your eye.

“That was something, huh?” he said, a smirk playing on his lips.

“I was extra terrible just for you,” you shot back, walking over to him. “I know how much you hate this.”

“You’re so thoughtful,” he said.

Just as you were about to respond, a woman’s voice broke through the moment. “Oscar said you were in here,” she said, stepping forward. “Hi.”

You turned to see her approach Pedro, and before you could fully register what was happening, she leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the lips. A casual, intimate gesture that sent a shock of realization through your entire body.

You blink, dumbfounded, as Pedro shifted slightly to make introductions. “This is Julia,” he said, his voice a little too calm for the turmoil suddenly spinning inside you.

Your mind raced, trying to place her. And then it hit you—she was in the group photos he posted from the crew of the movie he was filming in Budapest. One of the producers, you think.

Oh.

Julia greeted you happily, oblivious to the terrible ache now pooling in your chest. You felt your throat tighten, the words you had wanted to say earlier were now swallowed by this unfamiliar wave of jealousy and disappointment. You went mute, unable to find words that wouldn’t betray how much this hurt.

Pedro’s voice broke the silence again, almost too nonchalant. “This is what I wanted to talk about earlier.”

Your stomach twisted. “Oh, great,” you managed to say, forcing a smile that you didn’t feel.

“And you?” Pedro asked, clearly trying to keep things light. “You said you wanted to talk, too.”

Your heart hammered in your chest, and your mind screamed for you to say something—anything—but all you could muster was, “No, um, it was nothing, really.”

Something stung deep inside you. It was a dull ache, gnawing away at your resolve. You needed a way out. Fast.

“It was a pleasure to meet you,” you said to her, your voice tight. “If you’ll excuse me…”

And before either of them could say anything more, you slipped away, making a beeline for the kitchen where Oscar stood.

“Hey,” you blurted, pulling him aside. “He’s fucking dating someone? And you didn’t say a thing?”

Oscar looked at you, taken aback. “I—it wasn’t my news to share.”

You pressed your fingers to your forehead, trying to swallow the embarrassment. “I know. I know, I’m sorry. I just… I can't believe I was about to confess my love for him and make a fool of myself. Again.”

Oscar stared at you, his eyebrows raised. “You were what?”

You laughed, though it was tinged with bitterness. “Yeah. But now? I mean, clearly, it’s just another sign. The timing’s never right. Never.”

Was it punishment? you thought.

Oscar opened his mouth, then closed it, clearly uncertain of what to say. Instead, he walked over to the counter and grabbed another drink. “Here,” he said quietly, offering it to you.

You took it, staring at the liquid swirling in the glass.

"It’s fairly new, you know," Oscar said softly, his voice tinged with hesitation. "Like two weeks or something. It’s not serious yet."

“I just don’t get it,” you muttered, almost to yourself. “I don’t.”

Oscar sighed, his hand finding your back, a comforting weight that helped ground you. “I know. I know.”

You knew there was else nothing you could do right now, so you poured the drink down your throat, feeling the burn as it went down.

•••

“There you are,” Pedro called softly, his voice muffled by the cold air as he stepped through the glass doors onto the backyard patio. The wind hit him immediately, sharp and biting, but the bitter cold felt fitting, almost poetic.

You stood there, your back to him, a silhouette against the frozen horizon. For a moment, he was transported back to the first time he saw you in this very spot, under a much different sky. That night, the air had been warm, filled with the kind of anticipation that crackled with every glance exchanged. You had stood just like this, dressed similarly too, arms crossed against the world, hair cascading down your back like a curtain he desperately wanted to pull aside.

But tonight was different. Tonight, your shoulders were tense, hunched against more than just the cold. When you turned around, your face wasn’t full of curiosity. It was distant, your eyes heavy with an emotion he couldn’t quite name, but that he knew he was responsible for.

"You bolted out of there," Pedro said, his voice strained as he tried to sound casual, but the worry leaked through.

You gave a soft, bitter hum, a sound he couldn’t decipher but felt in his bones. "I was a bit shocked, honestly."

He swallowed, suddenly nervous, fumbling with the words he had rehearsed in his mind so many times but never managed to say. "I know. I wanted to tell you about her, I just... I don’t know. It’s new. I didn’t think it was important enough yet. I thought I’d find the right moment, but it never felt... appropriate. And I didn’t want to make things weird, you know?"

Pedro kept talking, words spilling out as he tried to explain. He mentioned her name—Julia—said they had met on set, that it wasn’t serious yet, that it had barely even begun. His voice grew quieter, more unsure with every sentence, as if he was trying to convince himself as much as you.

See, Pedro hadn't planned on getting into a relationship, not when his every thought was consumed by you, not when he knew he loved you, and yet here he was. He didn't know what he was doing anymore.

But your expression had already changed. He could see the way your face shut down, the way your gaze hardened, and it twisted something deep inside him.

“Don’t apologize to me about your relationship,” you said, the words sharp and cutting. “That’s the kind of thing that makes me feel like I’m some kind of Machiavellian villain.”

Pedro winced, his breath catching in his throat. He hated this. But before he could say anything, you spoke again, your voice lower, more controlled.

"Our time never seems to align, does it? It never has, and it never will. It's funny, even.” You paused, looking away, your voice a strained whisper.

Pedro wanted to scream. He wanted to tell you that he felt trapped between his own heart and the razor-sharp edge of what was right, what was fair. The guilt and longing were choking him, twisting his insides until all he could feel was the jagged ache of wanting something that was always just out of reach.

You took a deep breath, the cold air clouding in front of you like smoke.

"Are you happy?" you asked, your voice barely audible. A mirror of his very own "Do you love him?" from last year.

Pedro looked at you, his heart hammering in his chest. “I’m trying,” he said quietly, the truth in the words landing hard.

You nodded, your lips pressed together in a sad, resigned smile.

“Then that’s good enough for me.”

It was an unspoken agreement—a quiet acceptance that, once again, you were not meant to be. That your lives had written this story long before you’d ever had a say in it.

a/n: enough sadness, their time will come soon ;)

a like, reblog or comment, anything is very much appreciated <3

#pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal angst #pedro pascal fic #my writing #love is complicated fic

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its-avalon-08 · 6 months ago

Note

Hello, could you do a Fernando Alonso one where reader is Carlos' younger sister (and with a 2 year age difference) and has athree year old daughter from a previous relationship, in which she is famous in her own right, like a model, and in which during one of the races that she and her daughter go to to support Carlos, she meets Fernando again, due to their busy schedule and in which the reader has secretly had a crush on him since forever, but is afraid to give herself another chance to fall in love and become just another on his list of conquests, even without realizing that he cares about her and her daughter, and Carlos Sr. realizing this and seeing that Fernando is a good man for her, aside from the age difference between the two, invites him to the Sainz family vacation in their Mallorca villa and during this, Reader realizes how much he cares about her and her daughter seeing him and the girl interacting as if they were father and daughter and decides to give herself another chance and starts dating and slowly revealing to everyone that they are together, from watching the races on his side of AM garage wearing his merch (much to Carlos' despair when he saw his niece exchange his merch for Fernando's) to being spotted doing family activities during non-racing periods and that in the end, after some time together, you both decide to take the big step of living together like a family

Sorry if it was too long

Familiar Faces (fa14)

✦ pairing - fernando alonso x female!reader

✦ genre - child from ex!relationship, cute, fluff, extra long

The sun was relentless that afternoon at the paddock. Y/N Sainz was used to being in the spotlight, but today, she was just a sister and mother, here to support Carlos, her older brother by two years. In one hand, she held the tiny fingers of her daughter, Lucia, while in the other, she clutched a pair of oversized sunglasses, shielding her eyes from both the blinding sunlight and, perhaps, the world of complications she didn’t want to face.

They had been to countless races before, but this one felt different. Fernando Alonso was back in the picture. The man she'd admired for years, who was not only Carlos' friend but also someone she had harbored a secret crush on for what felt like forever. But life had a funny way of making sure she kept her distance—especially after her previous relationship left her shattered.

Lucia tugged on her hand, "Mami, look! Uncle Carlos!" she squealed, spotting Carlos in his Ferrari gear across the paddock. Y/N smiled warmly at her daughter's excitement, but her eyes shifted automatically to the figure next to him. Fernando. He was wearing his Aston Martin gear, laughing with Carlos like old friends. The years had been kind to him—more rugged, more confident. And that damn smile.

“Don’t stare, Y/N,” she muttered under her breath, knowing full well she was doing just that. She picked Lucia up, hoping the small distraction of carrying her daughter would calm the rapid beating of her heart.

"Y/N!" Carlos waved them over, beaming as always.

Fernando turned when he heard Carlos call out her name. His gaze softened as it landed on her and Lucia. “Hola, Y/N. Lucia,” he greeted with a genuine smile, ruffling the little girl’s hair as they approached. His voice had a way of wrapping itself around her, and for a second, she felt the familiar ache of old feelings stir.

"Hey, Fernando," Y/N replied, keeping it cool. She smiled politely, holding her daughter a little closer. Lucia, ever the charmer, clung to Fernando's leg instantly, making the seasoned driver chuckle.

“Looks like I’ve got a fan,” Fernando teased, lifting Lucia into his arms effortlessly. Y/N’s heart fluttered at the sight of her daughter giggling in his hold.

“She does love fast cars,” Y/N said, her voice lighter than she felt. Fernando's interaction with Lucia was natural—too natural, as if he’d done this a thousand times. Seeing them together stirred something in her chest that she wasn’t prepared for.

Carlos smirked, catching Y/N’s expression for a brief moment. He had always suspected something between her and Fernando but had kept quiet out of respect. Now though, he seemed to be observing more closely.

“I’m glad you both made it today. It’s been too long,” Carlos said, pulling Y/N into a warm hug.

“Busy with work,” Y/N sighed, trying to suppress the butterflies that Fernando's presence had triggered. “But, of course, I couldn’t miss my favorite driver’s race.”

Carlos raised a brow in mock offense. “Favorite driver, huh? And here I thought I had some competition.” His gaze flicked to Fernando, who pretended to be engrossed with Lucia to avoid being dragged into the banter.

Y/N laughed, “You’ll always be my favorite.” She gave Carlos a playful nudge before turning her attention back to Fernando, who had Lucia perched on his hip as if it was the most natural thing in the world. It was becoming harder to ignore how right it felt to see him interact with her daughter.

The roar of engines echoed in the background, signaling the start of practice laps, and Fernando handed Lucia back to Y/N. “I have to go, but maybe I’ll see you two later?” he said, his eyes lingering on hers for just a second longer than necessary.

“Maybe,” Y/N replied, trying to keep her cool. “Good luck out there.”

As Fernando walked away, Carlos stepped closer, a teasing glint in his eyes. “You know, he talks about you sometimes. You and Lucia.”

Y/N scoffed, shaking her head. “Don’t start, Carlos.”

“I’m just saying. He’s a good guy, Y/N. And Lucia adores him already.” Carlos’ tone softened, genuine concern underlying his playful words.

Y/N looked over at Fernando, who was already halfway to the Aston Martin garage. She felt the familiar wall of fear rise inside her—the one that had protected her from falling again. She wasn’t ready. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

“Yeah, but Fernando has a reputation. I’m not going to be another name on his list,” she whispered, more to herself than to Carlos.

Carlos frowned, his protective instincts kicking in. “He’s different with you. With Lucia too. Just… don’t close yourself off, okay?”

Y/N glanced down at her daughter, whose big brown eyes were still following Fernando. Her heart ached with the possibility of opening up again. Could she trust him? Could she let herself fall for someone like Fernando?

“I’ll think about it,” Y/N replied softly, brushing a hand through Lucia’s curls.

Carlos patted her shoulder and smiled, “That’s all I ask.”

chapter 2: mallorca invitations

The days following the race weekend were a whirlwind of travel and photoshoots for Y/N. Between balancing her career as a model and being a full-time mother to Lucia, she barely had time to think about anything else, let alone Fernando Alonso. But the memory of how effortlessly he had bonded with Lucia lingered in her mind like a stubborn echo.

Carlos had gone back to Spain to recharge before the next race, and Y/N had followed, taking Lucia back to their family’s villa in Mallorca for a much-needed break. The scent of the sea breeze and the warmth of the sun were familiar comforts, and for a moment, Y/N thought she could put everything—especially Fernando—out of her mind.

At least, that was the plan.

One evening, as Y/N sat on the terrace, watching the sunset with a glass of wine, Carlos came out to join her. “I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” he said, casually sitting down.

She glanced over at him, narrowing her eyes. “That tone of voice means I’m not going to like what you’re about to say.”

Carlos grinned, shrugging his shoulders. “I invited someone to come to the villa. For a few days.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of her wine. “Let me guess, one of your racing friends?”

“Maybe. Just one in particular.” Carlos leaned back, crossing his arms. “Fernando.”

Y/N nearly choked on her drink. “Fernando?!”

“Relax, Y/N. It’s not a big deal,” Carlos said, though his teasing grin suggested he knew exactly what kind of reaction he was expecting.

Y/N felt her cheeks flush, and she hated how transparent her emotions were when it came to Fernando. “Why would you invite him?”

“Because he’s my friend, and he’s got a few days off before the next race,” Carlos explained, leaning forward slightly. “And… maybe because I think you two need a little more time together.”

Y/N set her glass down, her heart rate picking up speed. “Carlos, I told you, I’m not looking for anything. Especially not with someone like Fernando. He’s…” She trailed off, unable to finish her sentence.

“He’s what? Famous? Older? Has a past?” Carlos asked, his tone softening. “Y/N, everyone has baggage. And Fernando—he cares about you. I’ve seen the way he looks at you, the way he’s with Lucia.”

Y/N didn’t respond, looking out at the ocean instead. It was true, Fernando had always been more than just a race car driver in her eyes. He was kind, attentive, and surprisingly grounded for someone who lived in the fast lane. But the fear of getting hurt again was stronger than her desire to take a risk.

Carlos leaned closer, resting a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve been through a lot, I know that. But maybe this time… it’ll be different. And you don’t have to figure it all out at once. Just… let yourself enjoy his company.”

Y/N sighed, pushing her hair behind her ear. “I don’t know, Carlos. I just… I’m not ready.”

“You don’t have to be ready for everything,” Carlos said gently. “But you can be open to it. Just give him a chance, Y/N. For you, and for Lucia.”

Before she could protest further, the unmistakable sound of tires crunching on gravel interrupted them. Y/N glanced over her shoulder just in time to see a sleek car pulling into the villa’s driveway. Her stomach flipped when she recognized who was behind the wheel.

Fernando stepped out of the car, casually dressed in a plain white shirt and jeans, looking as if he belonged here all along. He shot Carlos a grin before his eyes found Y/N. Her breath hitched slightly, but she forced a smile.

“Hola, Y/N,” Fernando greeted, his voice carrying a warmth that made her heart skip a beat.

“Hey, Fernando,” she replied, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, though she could feel her pulse racing.

Carlos stood up, clapping Fernando on the back. “Glad you could make it, man. Welcome to the Sainz villa.”

Fernando’s gaze flicked back to Y/N, his expression softening as he approached. “I hope I’m not intruding.”

“No, not at all,” Y/N replied, forcing herself to smile. “Carlos didn’t tell me you were coming, but it’s… nice to see you.”

She tried to focus on anything other than the fact that Fernando was standing here, looking effortlessly handsome as the setting sun cast a golden glow over the terrace.

Lucia’s excited voice rang through the house as she burst onto the terrace, spotting Fernando immediately. “Tio Fernando!” she squealed, running over to him. Without missing a beat, Fernando crouched down and scooped her up, spinning her around in the air.

“Lucia!” Fernando laughed, his face lighting up as the little girl wrapped her arms around his neck. “You’re getting so big!”

Y/N watched the scene unfold, her heart swelling in a way she hadn’t expected. There was something so disarming about the way Fernando interacted with Lucia—as if he’d known her for years, as if he belonged in their little family unit. It was a dangerous feeling, one Y/N wasn’t sure she could handle.

Carlos shot her a knowing look before standing up. “I’m going to go check on dinner. You two catch up.”

Y/N wanted to protest, to tell Carlos not to leave her alone with Fernando, but it was too late. He disappeared into the house, leaving her standing awkwardly next to Fernando and Lucia.

“You’re really good with her,” Y/N said after a moment, trying to break the tension she felt building inside her.

Fernando smiled, his eyes soft as he looked at Lucia. “She’s a great kid. Takes after her mom, I think.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered at the compliment, but she quickly pushed it aside. “You’re too kind.”

“I mean it, Y/N,” Fernando said, his voice lower now, more serious. “I’ve always admired how you’ve handled everything. Your career, being a mom… it’s not easy.”

She looked down at the ground, feeling the weight of his words. “It’s not. But I do what I have to.”

Fernando shifted closer, his gaze intent. “You do more than that, Y/N. You’re incredible. And you don’t give yourself enough credit.”

Y/N swallowed hard, feeling her defenses weakening. “Fernando…”

Before she could finish, Lucia squirmed in his arms, giggling as she tugged on his shirt. “Tio Fernando, play!”

Fernando chuckled, setting her down gently. “Alright, Lucia. What do you want to play?”

As the two of them disappeared into the garden, Y/N stood there, feeling a strange mix of emotions. Maybe Carlos was right. Maybe, just maybe, Fernando was different.

And maybe, just maybe, she could allow herself to believe it.

chapter 3: a glimpse of family

The warm days in Mallorca passed with the kind of ease Y/N hadn’t felt in a long time. The Sainz family villa was alive with laughter and activity—Carlos had invited his girlfriend, Rebecca, to join them, and the dynamic felt like a true family gathering. Fernando’s presence had blended in seamlessly, which was both comforting and unnerving for Y/N. He was great with everyone, and even better with Lucia, who now followed him around the villa like a little shadow.

It hadn’t taken long for the others to notice.

One afternoon, Y/N found herself sitting on the terrace with her parents, Carlos, and Rebecca. The atmosphere was calm as they watched Lucia play in the garden with Fernando. She was running around in circles, giggling wildly as Fernando pretended to chase her. His laugh echoed through the air as he scooped her up and spun her around, Lucia’s shrieks of joy carrying on the warm breeze.

Carlos’ father, Carlos Sr., watched the scene unfold with a quiet smile. “He’s good with her, isn’t he?”

Y/N’s heart tightened at the comment. She glanced over at her father, trying to read his expression. There was no judgment, only a genuine fondness in his tone. She couldn’t deny it—Fernando was good with Lucia. Maybe too good.

Rebecca, sitting next to Carlos, leaned over with a knowing grin. “I mean, look at them. They look like a little family,” she teased softly, nudging Y/N with her elbow.

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her cheeks flushed at the observation. “Don’t start, Rebecca.”

Carlos, who had been sipping his drink, chuckled. “Hey, I’m just saying. You’d think they’ve been together for years the way Lucia clings to him.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Rebecca added, her voice gentle but sincere. “Lucia really adores him. And he’s clearly comfortable with her.”

Y/N bit her lip, her eyes flicking back to the garden. It was true—there was something so natural about the way Fernando fit into their lives. Watching him now, tossing Lucia into the air and catching her with ease, it felt like they had found some sort of rhythm. A rhythm that Y/N hadn’t expected, and certainly wasn’t prepared for.

Carlos Sr. leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “You know, Y/N, sometimes people surprise you. Maybe you should give yourself a chance to be surprised.”

Y/N glanced at her father, a mix of emotions swirling inside her. “You really think he’s serious?”

Her father smiled knowingly. “I’ve known Fernando a long time. He’s not the man people think he is. With you, with Lucia—he’s different. He cares.”

Y/N wanted to believe him, but the fear of getting hurt still loomed large. She sighed, standing up from the table. “I’m going to check on Lucia,” she said, making her way toward the garden before anyone could continue the conversation.

As she approached, Fernando spotted her and smiled, his gaze softening as Lucia ran over to Y/N, arms wide open. “Mami! Tio Fernando says I can be as fast as him one day!”

Y/N laughed, scooping Lucia into her arms. “Oh, does he now?”

Fernando grinned, walking over to join them. “She’s got the determination for it.”

Y/N’s heart warmed at his words, but she quickly changed the subject, not wanting to linger on the thought of how well they all fit together. “Thank you for keeping her entertained.”

Fernando shrugged, but there was a warmth in his eyes that sent a spark through her chest. “I love spending time with her. And you.”

Y/N’s breath caught for a moment, the casual way he said those words catching her off guard. Before she could respond, Lucia tugged on her sleeve. “Mami, can I go play more?”

“Of course, baby,” Y/N replied, setting her daughter down. Lucia wasted no time, dashing back toward the makeshift obstacle course Fernando had built for her.

Once they were alone, Y/N felt the air shift. The energy between her and Fernando was charged with something unspoken, something that had been building quietly over the past few days. He stepped a little closer, his gaze lingering on her in a way that made her pulse quicken.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said softly, his voice low and intimate.

Y/N swallowed, suddenly aware of how close he was. “I haven’t been avoiding you,” she replied, though the words felt like a lie.

Fernando raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Really? Because it feels like you’ve been running away every time we’re alone.”

Y/N crossed her arms, trying to steady her breathing. “I’m just… I’m trying to be careful.”

“Careful of what?” His voice was gentle but insistent, his eyes searching hers.

She looked away, the truth sitting heavy on her chest. “Of getting hurt again. Of letting Lucia get attached to someone who might not stay.”

Fernando’s expression softened, and he took a small step closer, so close that Y/N could feel the warmth radiating off him. “Y/N, I would never hurt you. Or Lucia.”

Her heart pounded in her chest, torn between fear and the undeniable connection she felt toward him. “You say that now, but…” She trailed off, her voice faltering as she met his gaze again.

Fernando reached out, gently taking her hand in his. The simple touch sent a wave of electricity through her, and for a moment, all her doubts seemed to fade away. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said quietly, his voice full of conviction. “I care about you. About both of you.”

Y/N felt her walls crumbling as his thumb brushed lightly over her knuckles. It was such a small gesture, but it carried so much weight. She could see the sincerity in his eyes, the quiet promise that he wasn’t just another fleeting presence in her life.

Before she could say anything, Lucia called out from the garden, breaking the moment. Y/N blinked, pulling her hand away as reality came rushing back. “I should… I should check on her.”

Fernando nodded, but there was something lingering between them, something unresolved. “We’ll talk later,” he said softly, his voice full of meaning.

Y/N nodded, her heart still racing as she walked toward Lucia, trying to steady herself. But as she glanced back at Fernando, she knew that things had changed. That charged moment between them had cracked open something she wasn’t sure she could put back together.

And maybe… maybe she didn’t want to.

chapter 4: a love confession

The villa was quiet that night, the rest of the family already asleep after another long day of sun, laughter, and shared meals. Y/N stood on the terrace, the warm breeze playing with the edges of her hair as she looked out at the moonlit sea. Her mind was swirling with thoughts—about Fernando, about her daughter, about the conversation they’d had earlier in the garden. She felt like she was standing on the edge of something, something big and terrifying.

Footsteps padded softly behind her, and she didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. Fernando. His presence was magnetic, pulling her in even when she wasn’t ready to face her feelings.

“You’re out late,” his voice came from behind her, calm and steady. “Can’t sleep?”

Y/N smiled to herself, keeping her eyes on the horizon. “Just thinking. What about you?”

“I saw the lights were still on,” Fernando said, stepping up beside her. His voice was low, the kind of tone that made her heart skip a beat. “Figured you might need company.”

Y/N swallowed, trying to steady her racing thoughts. The last thing she needed was another conversation where she danced around her feelings. She wasn’t good at this—the raw, vulnerable side of love that she had been so carefully avoiding since Lucia was born.

“I appreciate it,” she murmured, staring down at her hands resting on the railing.

Fernando stayed silent for a moment, and then, with that same steady calmness, he spoke again. “You know, you’ve been avoiding this conversation. Us.”

Her chest tightened. He was right, and there was no sense denying it. Y/N let out a breath, trying to find the words. “I’m just… I don’t want to make the same mistakes. I’m not like other women, Fernando. I have Lucia, and I need to be careful about who I let into her life. Into my life.”

He stepped closer, so close she could feel the warmth radiating from him. “I know that,” he said quietly. “And I respect that more than you know. But I also think you’re scared of something more.”

Y/N felt her heart pound in her chest, his words cutting through all the defenses she had built. She was scared. Not just of the potential for things to go wrong, but of letting herself care for someone like Fernando. Someone who could break down all her walls and leave her vulnerable in a way she hadn’t been since Lucia’s father.

“I don’t want to be just another woman you get close to,” Y/N said, her voice small, barely a whisper. “I’ve seen how easily people fall in and out of your life. And I don’t want that for me… or for her.”

Fernando’s face softened, and without hesitation, he gently turned her to face him. His eyes locked onto hers, and for the first time, Y/N saw something in them she hadn’t allowed herself to believe was real—genuine emotion, care, and something deeper.

“You’re not just anyone to me,” he said, his voice firm but tender. “I don’t play games with you, Y/N. I don’t flirt just to pass the time, not with you. I’ve felt something for you for a long time. I didn’t say anything because I knew you were going through so much. I didn’t want to complicate your life.”

Y/N’s breath hitched. The sincerity in his voice was undeniable, and it made her stomach flip. “Fernando—”

“I love you,” he said, cutting her off gently. His voice was unwavering, the words falling between them like a promise. “I love you, Y/N. And I love Lucia. I care about both of you, not just as something temporary, but something real. I want to be a part of your lives, however you’ll let me.”

Y/N felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. She had spent so long guarding her heart, but here he was, confessing the one thing she had never dared hope for. “You love me?” she repeated, her voice trembling with disbelief.

Fernando smiled softly, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. “Yes, I do. And I’ll spend as long as it takes to prove that to you.”

The vulnerability in his words broke through all the fear and hesitation she had been holding on to. Without thinking, Y/N stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and pressed her lips to his. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, but as Fernando’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her close, it deepened, filled with all the emotion they had both been holding back.

When they finally pulled apart, Y/N rested her forehead against his, her heart racing but steadying with a new kind of certainty. “I love you too,” she whispered, the weight of the confession lifting from her chest. “I’ve always loved you, but I was just so scared…”

“You don’t have to be scared anymore,” Fernando murmured, his hands still holding her gently. “We’ll figure it out together. You and me. And Lucia.”

The relief that flooded through Y/N was overwhelming, and for the first time in years, she allowed herself to believe that she could have this—happiness, love, and a future where she wasn’t always afraid of what might go wrong.

The next morning, the entire family could sense something had shifted. Y/N and Fernando weren’t hiding it anymore, and while they weren’t overtly affectionate, the smiles, the glances, and the way they gravitated toward each other made it obvious.

Carlos Sr. raised an eyebrow at his daughter over breakfast, giving her a knowing smile. “So… anything you’d like to share, hija?”

Y/N blushed, but before she could respond, Lucia came running into the room, wearing something that made everyone stop in their tracks—an Aston Martin hat. Green. With Fernando Alonso’s logo proudly displayed on the front.

Carlos almost choked on his coffee. “Is… is that… is my niece wearing Fernando’s merch?”

Lucia beamed, oblivious to her uncle’s horror. “Tio Fernando gave it to me! I’m gonna sit with him next race!”

Carlos gaped at Y/N, then at Fernando, who sat across the table looking far too pleased with himself. “Seriously? First my sister, now my niece?”

Fernando chuckled, lifting his coffee cup in a mock toast. “What can I say? She’s a fan.”

Carlos shook his head, muttering under his breath. “Next thing you know, she’ll be racing for Aston Martin too.”

Rebecca laughed, patting Carlos on the arm. “You’ll survive, cariño. It’s kind of sweet.”

Y/N looked at Fernando, who met her gaze with a smile that made her heart skip a beat. They had done it—taken the first step into something real, and seeing her family embrace it, even with Carlos’ exaggerated protests, made it all the more perfect.

As they all gathered around the table, Y/N couldn’t help but feel like she had found her place, her family. And this time, she wasn’t afraid.

and maybe, maybe she was finally in love.

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bellewintersroe · 1 year ago

Text

Jenson Button x FamousReader!2009

this is like a second part (can be read individually) to THIS. Here’s just some more headcannons of what it would be like when Jenson is in a relationship with a famous British celeb who’s extremely popular, especially amongst the party scene. warnings: mentions of sex, oral sex, nothing too graphic but I just knowww Jenson gets down and dirty. mentions of alcohol and some drug use? not to glamorise it we all know celebs ain’t innocent ok. for this case 18+ 😇

Jenson is a cutie ok, the more he falls in love with his SO the more he finds himself looking out for her in the garage. Whether this be before or after his race, just imagine his head poking out of his car, or he’s fully suited, helmet still on, glimpsing around trying to find her.

lots of cuddles, he’d keep an arm slung around her, especially if they’re in public where there’s paparazzi- in that case he’s keeping an extra tight grip on her.

despises the paparazzi ok- he’s a polite man, pretty tame, but British press in the 2000s were VILE and for his girlfriend, he can’t stand the idea of them even looking at her.

helps shields her eyes when the flashes are too bright.

Taxis home together at questionable hours of the morning, limbs sprawled over each other and getting caught snogging in the backseats.

drunk sex- especially when he wins the championship, he’s so smug and proud, fucking into her with all his energy, cos he’s world champion baby 😏. lovesss seeing her legs pinned up over his shoulders.

thanks his girl publicly after he wins his championship.

as I mentioned in the part prior to this, Jenson LOVES going on holiday with her, like he’s a bit of a perv when it comes to seeing y/n in a bikini, especially after he’d already seen to many shoots of her before even meeting each other.

never admits to being a fanboy of her but the smirk would say otherwise.

getting down and dirty on a yacht, hidden by a beach towel whilst he fingers her, he has his sunnies on and he’s smirking, pressing kisses to her temple and whispering sweet nothings.

“you’re doing so good aren’t you?” “all these people taking pictures of you and nobody has a clue what we’re doing.” “should put on a show for them, shouldn’t we?”

so mf dirty, his British accent makes it 10x sexier too.

sex in the pool of a yacht, and every single room in there, wants to try everything with her, but he isn’t pushy in the slightest- Jenson wouldn’t ever come close to making her feel uncomfortable.

They’d deffo see pictures released of them both the next day and giggle because nobody would have a clue what was happening under that towel.

can be really soft in sex, like stroking her face, talking her thru it -omfg I need him.

Deffo wants to try like anal, and certain kinks- I feel like she would too, idk when they’re both drunk they’d decide they wanna try something and sometimes it’s an utter fail.

other times it’s just giggly, exciting sex where they’re both eating fucking whipped cream off one another or something.

soft, gentle moans from him, especially when the sex is more passionate, when it’s rougher I feel like he’d be quiet but let out some grunts whenever he’s out of breath or gets really into it.

He’s a sucker when she goes down on him, like he’s a mess omg- if there’s one way to elicit moans from him that’s exactly how and she’s soooo good at it- he makes plenty of public innuendos about this.

I feel like y/n would wear the smallest little mini skirts, like she’s a Y2K queen and befriends lots of other wags at this stage- constantly pictures walking around the paddock looking cool asf.

Deffo a trend setter, but they’re the type of couple in 15 years that the younger generation look at and go ‘they’re together?!?’

as they get older they deffo become more private, but not secretive.

can spot each other in a crowd instantly, when he wins a race you best expect him to practically JUMP onto her, sometimes he forgets he’s bigger than her lmao.

The cameras go CRAZY for this and their faces are printed all over the newspapers.

Quiet, lazy mornings in England, especially when it’s cold out and Jenson finally has time off- the two of them can really appreciate the quiet side of life at home.

makes him want to settle down- but I think he’d be worried at first about bringing a child into the world- they’re having too much fun with each other, but I think they would calm down after a few years.

occasional bickers, maybe they both walk out of a nightclub and she’s storming ahead of him with a face like a slapped arse. Jenson would make a comment and y/n would be pissed that all the onlookers heard.

Y/n and Jenson’s relationship on the rocks?!

bitch the next morning he’s on top of her having the best make up sex ever.

Seriously their stamina is insane so they fuck like rabbits.

I feel like because y/n maybe has grown up in the public eye? Or fame came in her teens, her behaviour can be fairly erratic at times- like especially before Jenson the partying and boozing was out of control, but being a few years older he really settles her down in life.

like not that she’s troubled (I’m not gonna glamorise it but it’s real life) but it can’t be easy dealing with everything and fame at a young age, I feel like Jenson would take care of her at times, like if she gets wayyyy to drunk he wouldn’t lecture her, but he’d deffo have this sad look on his face, clearly he’s worried.

she’s ok tho, especially with him and like I said she settles down and matures a lot with Jenson.

She’d probs smoke weed every now and then and idk if Jenson would like it, especially when he’s so focused on racing, but he tries it once or twice and would probs just fall asleep immediately.

I feel like he’s so cuddly at times, like in the middle of the night he’d just snuggle up to her. So cute. On holiday on sunbeds he’d be so cuddly, grabbing at her and it causes for some really cute paparazzi pictures.

not to glamorise droogz and drinking but them two probably party a lot in the first year together.

Jenson is the type to eye his gf up from the other side of the room, nods her over or something sexy.

hand would start on your shoulder and end up on her ass- so many headlines the next day…

But yeah they’re such a popular, attractive couple, you either want to be with them or want to be them.

#jenson button x reader smut #jenson button smut #f1 smut #f1 x reader smut #f1 x reader #Jenson button x reader

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sergeantbarnessdoll · 23 days ago

Note

Ooo so I just had this thought come to mind!!

Can I please request a platonic Dad!Steve Rogers x daughter reader where he had a newborn daughter pre serum, and when Steve crashes the plane into the ice, his now 3 year old daughter gets abducted by Hydra. They at first intended to experiment on her but they turned their focus on their main project, Bucky, so they put Steve’s daughter in cryo for almost 60 years until SHIELD finds her in a raid on Hydra’s compound and as this is before Steve is out of the ice and no one knows who she is, she’s put into foster care. Then flash forward to CA: Winter Soldier, Steve is pulled into Fury’s office because a 15 year old girl hacked into SHEILD’s servers (she most likely trying to find out what happened to her when she was little) and Fury had run her dna to see who she was only to found that she is Captain America’s daughter (but she doesn’t remember who her Dad is or that she was born in 1942, but she may get some memories here and there) and Steve would probably start crying on the spot because he thought his daughter wasn’t alive and he’d feel guilty that Hydra got their hands on her. she is in a lot of trouble with SHEILD and Steve gets her out of it by having her use her hacking abilities to help The Avengers. Anyways, she rebels against Steve a lot, sneaks out, and feels angry at her dad because she feels like he abandoned her back in the 40s because he insisted on trying to enlist. When they get Bucky back and he joins the Avengers (I’m sure Y/n used her hacking skills to help and also the Avengers don’t break up) Bucky would be so emotional to see his niece again and she’d confide how she’s feeling about her Dad and I feel like he’d be a big help and Sam would help talk her through the trauma she’s gone through. Bucky convinces her to talk to her Dad and she opens up to Steve, telling him how she felt abandoned and unloved by him and it would absolutely break Steve’s heart and he just holds his daughter close and promise to never leave her again 🥺

Never Leaving You Again » Steve Rogers/Captain America

Pairings: Dad!Pre Serum Steve Rogers x Daughter!Reader with 40s Bucky Barnes, Dad!Steve Rogers x Teen Daughter!Reader with Nick Fury, Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier, Sam Wilson/Falcon, and the Avengers

Summary: Steve promises to never leave you again when you tell him that you feel abandoned and unloved by him.

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, language, HYDRA, kidnapping, feelings of abandonment and unloved, crying, nicknames

Ages of reader: newborn, 3 years old, and 15 years old

A/N: Thank you for the beautifully detailed request @kpopgirlbtssvt 🩵

A/N #2: Italic text is flashbacks. Y/M/N stands for your mom’s name.

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buck-star

GIFS ARE NOT MINE! Gif credits go to the creators.

1942

“What’s it like now that you’re a dad?” Bucky curiously asks Steve.

“It’s a lot to adjust to, but I love it and wouldn’t change it for the world.” Steve answers as he smiles down at you. “Isn’t that right, princess?” He coos at you.

You made a babbling noise as you stared up at your dad and uncle.

“This little girl has no idea how much I’m going to spoil her.” Bucky says, gently and softly rubbing his thumb against your tiny hand.

“Are you trying to make my daughter choose favorites?” Steve jokingly asks.

“Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not.” Bucky playfully grins. “I am her godfather and favorite uncle after all.” He says.

“If anyone is going to be her favorite, it’s going to be me.” Steve says.

“Both of you are wrong. I’m going to be Y/N’s favorite.” Your mom says as she walks in the living room with your bottle.

Steve carefully handed you over to your mom so she can feed you.

“Just know, boys will be boys, sweetie.” Your mom tells you as she feeds you.

You just stared up at her as she fed you. Steve and Bucky playfully rolled their eyes at her.

———

“Do you think Y/N will hate me when I enlist in the Army?” Steve asks your mom.

“Honey, she’s just a baby. She’ll love you no matter what.” Your mom says softly.

“You’re right.” Steve smiles and kisses your mom. “I just needed to hear it.” He says.

———

1945

You were in the living room, drawing on blank pieces of paper. You were drawing more pictures to send to your dad and uncle Bucky. Your mom was in the kitchen getting you some juice.

“Here you go, sweetie.” Your mom says, putting your juice cup in front of you on the coffee table.

“Thank you, mama.” You say with a smile.

“You’re welcome.” She smiles down at you.

Your mom was about to go back to the kitchen to do the dishes when there was a knock at the door. She opened the door to see two Army officers.

“Are you Y/M/N Rogers?” One of the Army officers asks.

“Yes.” Your mom answers.

“We’re so sorry that we have to tell you this, but your husband, Captain Steven Rogers, the plane he was in went down and unfortunately he didn’t make it.” The second Army officer tells her.

Your mom’s heart dropped to the pit of her stomach and tears filled her eyes. You walked over to your mom to see her talking to two men at the door.

“Mama?” You tapped on her leg.

Your mom and the Army officers looked down at you. You stared up at your mom with the look of curiosity on your face and wondering what has your mom upset.

“Why sad?” You asked her.

“Go back to the living room, sweetie. I’ll be there in a minute, ok?” Your mom says.

“Ok, mama.” You replied.

You went back to the living room and picked up where you left off on your drawings to your dad and uncle Bucky. The Army said their condolences to your mom before leaving. Your mom closed the door and went to the living room. She sat down on the couch. At this point, tears were streaming down her face.

“Sweetie…” Her voice cracks. “Mama, has something to tell you.” She says, patting the spot next to her on the couch.

You stopped what you were doing and climbed up onto the couch next to your mom. You looked at her, waiting for her to tell you what she has to tell you.

“You know that daddy loves you very much, right?” Your mom begins.

You smiled and nodded your head.

“Well, umm-” She cleared her throat. “Daddy isn’t coming home.” She says.

“Why?” You asked.

“Something happened to him and he didn’t make it.” She tells you.

“Didn’t make it?” You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion.

“He’s in heaven now.” She says.

“No.” You said. “Daddy and uncle Bucky are coming home.” You say.

“Uncle Bucky is in heaven too, sweetie.” She says.

Your bottom lip and your tears teared up when she said that. You shook your head no, refusing to believe that two of your favorite people are dead.

“I want them to come home!” You say, tears rolling down your face.

“I know, sweetie. I do too.” Your mom almost whispers.

You broke down in tears. Your mom pulled you onto her lap. She held you while the both of you cried together.

A few weeks go by since your mom told you that your dad and uncle Bucky aren’t coming home. You’re not sure how to cope with the fact that they’re not coming home, but you’re trying to stay strong for your mom.

You were sleeping in your bedroom when the door was busted down. You scrambled to sit up. You seen a man dressed in all black tactical gear. You screamed as loud as you could, hoping your mom would hear you and would coming running to your room, but she didn’t. The man covered your mouth with a cloth, your screams muffled by his hand. The more you inhaled the chemicals on the cloth, you grew weak and pasted out.

When you came to, you woke up in an unfamiliar room and strapped to a cold metal table. You began to panic. You tried to squirm out of the restraints, but it was no use. The restraints were too tight. You jumped when the door opened. A man in a suit and a man in a white lab coat walked in the room.

“Hello, Miss. Rogers.” The man in the suit greets you. “I’m Arnim Zola.” He introduces himself.

You stayed quiet, staring at him. If your mom, dad, and uncle Bucky taught you anything about strangers, it’s to not talk to them.

“You’re going to be a new edition to HYDRA.” Zola says.

Zola looks at the man in the lab coat who was prepping an IV needle. He gave him a nod. The man walked over to you. Your eyes went wide and your heart started to pound in your chest when you seen the needle. Your breathing became uneven and tears streamed down your face. You cried when the IV needle pricked your skin. That’s when all of the pain and trauma began…

———

60 YEARS LATER

SHIELD Agents busted down the doors to the HYDRA base. They split up, raiding the place. Everywhere room in the base was clear, except for one… the cryogenic chamber room, which is where you are. An agent pushed the button to open the chamber you’re in. Everyone’s eyes went wide when they seen that you’re just a kid.

“This is sick of them. This child didn’t deserve any of the pain they put her through.” A SHIELD Agent says.

Everyone nodded in agreement. They got you out of the cryo and took you to a hospital to get you checked out. An employee from child protective services was called to your case. She was told where you were found and you didn’t have any family members to take care of you. She put you in the foster care system and hoped that a loving family would adopted you.

———

Curiosity fills your mind. You were wondering who your parents are, where you’re from, and stuff like that. Memories appear in your mind from time to time.

During study hall at school, you decided to do non school related research. You typed your name into Google, wondering what would come up. A lot popped up, mostly of a man called Captain America. You furrowed your eyebrows and clicked on one of the links. It took you to SHIELD’s website. It also showed you a picture of a man who has the same last name as you. You did more digging. You typed a code into your laptop, hacking into SHIELD’s servers to get more information on the man who has the same last name as you.

Little did you know that the hacking you did alerted SHIELD. An alert came up on everyone’s computers. A couple agents went straight to Fury’s office.

“Director Fury, someone hacked into our servers.” One of the agents tells him.

“I know. I’m looking at it.” Fury says.

Fury checked the location of where the hack came from. He also found out that the hacker was a 15 year old girl… you.

“That hacker is a 15 year old girl named Y/N who attends high school in the city.” Fury tells the agents. “Go get her and bring her in.” He instructs.

The agents nodded and went to your school.

“Can I help you gentlemen?” The secretary asks them.

“We were told to pick up girl named Y/N and bring her in for questioning.” One of the agents says.

The secretary states at the two agents for a second, noticing that they’re wearing tactical gear. She also knows that you get into trouble sometimes. She didn’t question them.

“Y/N, please come to the front office.” The secretary announces over the intercom.

You groaned loudly, wondering what you’re in trouble for this time. You closed your laptop and put it in your backpack. You slung your backpack onto your shoulders and went to the front office. You froze when you seen the two agents. You noticed SHIELD’s logo from the website you hacked into on their tactical gear.

“Shit…” You mumbled to yourself.

You tried to escape them by running past them, but they grabbed you before you could. They led you out of the school and out to SHIELD’s vehicle. You got in the vehicle and stayed quiet the whole ride to SHIELD. You walked inside of SHIELD with the two agents behind you. You were met by Fury.

“Take her to interrogation room 1 and take her laptop and other devices she might have from her.” Fury tells the agents.

The agents nodded and took you to the interrogation room. You dropped your backpack on the floor and sat in the chair, slouching in it. One agent grabbed your backpack and took your laptop out of it.

“You can’t just do that!” You say loudly.

“Actually, we can.” One agent says.

“Give us your cell phone.” The second agent says, holding out his hand.

You made a grumbling noise and took your phone out of your back pocket, handing it to him. The agents left the room, leaving you alone in the interrogation room.

“Fucking assholes.” You mumbled under your breath.

You were alone in the interrogation room while SHIELD’s tech team checked your phone and laptop to see why you hacked into their servers.

“Did you find anything?” Fury asks.

“It appears that’s she hacked our servers to get information on Captain Rogers.” The tech agent tells him.

As Fury looked at the picture of Steve that’s on Steve’s SHIELD profile, he noticed similarities between you and him.

“Get a DNA test on her.” Fury says.

A SHIELD agent nodded and went to SHIELD’s lab to get a DNA testing kit before going to the interrogation room you’re in.

“Can I leave now?” You asked as the agent walked in the room.

“No.” The agent said. “Roll up your sleeve and stay still.” He says.

You seen a needle in his hand. Your eyes went wide.

“Hell no!” You jumped out of the chair. “I am not going through that shit again!” You say.

The agent called another agent in the room for assistance. He wrapped his arms around you to prevent you from escaping. The other agent rolled up your sweatshirt sleeve. You yelped when the needle pricked your skin. The agent took a little bit of your blood and put a bandaid on your arm where he took your blood. The other agent let go of you and both of them left the room. You sat back down in the chair.

The agent took your blood to the lab for the DNA test, putting a rush on it. What feels like forever goes by and the results of the DNA test are ready. The lab tech took the results to Fury. Fury looked at the results. The DNA test results revealed that you’re the daughter of Captain America. Fury announced for Steve to go to his office the intercom. Steve was confused on why Fury called him to his office.

“You wanted to see me?” Steve asks as he walked in Fury’s office.

“You might want to sit down.” Fury says.

Steve sat down in one of the chairs that’s in front of Fury’s desk.

“I’m sure that you heard about someone hacking into our servers today.” Fury begins.

Steve nods.

“We found out who the hacker is and brought her here. Apparently, a 15 year old girl was trying to get information on you.” He tells him.

“Why?” Steve asks.

“You tell me. How come you never told anyone that you have a daughter?” He asks.

Steve shifted in his seat when Fury brought you up.

“My daughter is a sensitive subject for me to talk about. I haven’t seen her since she was a year old. I tried looking for her when I came out of the ice, but didn’t find anything. I assumed she died and that was very hard for me to come to terms with.” Steve says.

“You assumed wrong.” Fury says, handing Steve your DNA test results.

Steve looked at the test results. His eyes went wide.

“N-No. This isn’t possible. My daughter is dead.” Steve says in a shaky voice.

“DNA doesn’t lie, Rogers.” Fury says.

Steve was completely mind blown. His eyes filled with tears.

“She’s in interrogation room 1 if you want to see her.” Fury tells him.

“She- She’s here?” Steve asks.

Fury nodded. Steve stood up, going straight to the interrogation room you’re in. His breath hitched in his throat when he opened the door and seeing you for the first time in years.

“What? Do you guys want more blood from me?” You asked sarcastically.

Steve closed the door behind him and walked over to the table, sitting down across from me.

“Y/N?” Steve asks.

“Yes?” You say like a question. “Do I know you?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m your dad.” He says.

“N-No.” You shook your head. “My mom told me that my dad died or something in the Army in 1945.” You say.

“Sweetheart, I know it’s a shock for you. It is for me.” He says.

That’s when a memory flashed in your mind.

“I’m going to miss you, princess. Daddy loves you so much.” Steve say softly.

“Wuv dada.” You babbled.

Steve smiles and kisses the top of your head before handing you off to your mom. He gave your mom a kiss too.

“I’ll see both of you soon.” Steve says before making his way over to the Military Jeep.

The memory ended. Steve put his hand on top of yours. You jerked your hand away and stood up from the chair.

“You said you would come home! You lied!” You exclaimed.

“Princess, I didn’t lie. I had to do what I had to do.” Steve says.

“Don’t fucking call me princess! I’m not a little girl anymore!” You say.

“Y/N, please calm down.” He says softly.

“Don’t tell me to fucking to calm down!” You shouted. “Do you want to know what my life was like after you “died”? My life was a living hell since I was 3 years old! HYDRA took my childhood from me! They injected me with Super Soldier serum and trained me to do things I didn’t want to do! Then I got froze and 60 years later, I got put in the foster care system. Today, I looked up what my life to see who my parents are and now I’m here.” You tell him.

Steve didn’t know what to say. He was completely heartbroken for you. He knows one thing for sure, he wants to kill HYDRA with his bare hands for what they did to his daughter.

“Sweetheart, I tried looking for you. I couldn’t find anything on you and I assumed you were- you know.” Steve says.

“You thought I was dead?” You asked.

Steve nodded.

“What kind of fucking parent thinks that his kid is dead?” You asked.

“I-I couldn’t find anything on you.” He says again.

You shook your head and scoffed. Tears were streaming down your face at this point. Steve stood up and walked over to you to give you a hug, but you backed away from him.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” You hissed.

Steve steps back, giving you some space. Both of you looked at the door when Fury walked in the room, along with an agent.

“I’m sorry, Rogers, but we have to take your daughter in.” Fury says.

The agent walked over to you with a pair of handcuffs. Steve steps between you and the agent.

“You are not putting my daughter in handcuffs.” Steve says.

“Captain Rogers, she hacked our servers.” The agent says.

“It was a huge misunderstanding. She didn’t mean to hack the servers. All she was trying to do was find out who her parents are and she found me.” He explains, looking at Fury.

Fury stares at Steve for a second before looking at you.

“Just make sure she doesn’t do it again.” Fury says.

Steve nods. Fury and the agent left the room, leaving you and Steve alone. Steve grabbed your backpack and got your phone and laptop back.

“I’m taking home.” Steve says.

“Oh, great.” You mumbled under your breath, wondering what your foster parents have to say about what kind of trouble you got into today.

“You’re not going back to the home you’re thinking. I’m taking you home with me.” He says.

��——

PRESENT DAY

Ever since you and Steve reunited, you two haven’t been getting along. You’ve been getting into trouble, not listening, sneaking out, and testing your dad’s patience.

“Y/N, I told you to clean your room yesterday.” Steve says, looking around your messy bedroom.

“You tell me a lot of things.” You mumbled as you continued to scroll through your phone.

Steve snatched your phone, getting your attention.

“That’s mine!” You whined, trying to reach for your phone.

“You can have it back after you clean your room.” He says.

You groaned loudly as he left your room. You took a look around your room. You’ll admit that it’s messy. You just didn’t know that you let it get this bad. You put your dirty clothes in the laundry basket, threw away whatever trash you had in your room, and organized your bedroom. When you were done cleaning your room, you went to your dad to get your phone back.

“I’m done cleaning my room. Can I have my-” The words died on your tongue when you seen your uncle Bucky for the first time in years. “Uncle Bucky?” You almost whispered.

“Doll?” Bucky almost whispers.

You ran over to Bucky, hugging him tightly. Tears filled both your eyes and Bucky’s eyes.

“You’re alive.” You say.

“So are you.” Bucky says.

Bucky let go of you and took a step back, smiling at how grown up you are.

“You’re so grown up.” He says, making you smile.

Steve smiles at the cute uncle and niece moment happening in front of him.

“Did you clean your whole room?” Steve asks.

“Yes I did.” You groaned.

Steve stared at you for a second, making sure you’re not lying. He always knows when you’re lying. He gave you your phone back. You snatched it from his hand and left the room. Bucky frowns as he watches the interaction between you and your dad.

“What’s going on between you and Y/N?” Bucky asks.

“We haven’t been getting along.” Steve answers.

“Why?” Bucky asks.

“I don’t know. She won’t tell me anything. It’s like she hates me.” Steve says.

“She doesn’t hate you, man.” Bucky says softly, putting a comforting hand on Steve’s shoulder.

“Can you talk to her and get her to open up?” Steve asks.

“Of course! I love talking to my niece!” Bucky smiles.

Bucky goes to your room and knocks on the door.

“Who is it?” You asked.

“It’s uncle Bucky. Can I come in?” Bucky asks.

“Yes.” You replied.

Bucky opens the door and walks in your room. He takes a look around your room, seeing stuff a teenager might have in their bedroom.

“Did my dad send you up here to talk to me?” You asked.

“Yes, but I wanted to talk to my favorite niece and goddaughter.” He says with a smile.

“I’m your only niece and goddaughter, uncle Bucky.” You say with a small giggle.

“Point made.” He chuckles.

You sat up against the headboard of your bed and Bucky sat down in front of you.

“What’s going on between you and your dad, doll?” He asks softly.

You shrugged your shoulders and fiddled with your fingers.

“I need a better answer than a shoulder shrug, kiddo.” He says.

“My dad abandoned me and my mom when he went to the Army and he lied about coming home.” You tell him.

“Your dad didn’t abandon you and he didn’t lie.” He says.

“Yes he did.” You said. “It’s like he didn’t want me.” You say.

“Don’t say that, doll.” He almost whispers. “He loves being your dad.” He says softly.

“He sure as hell doesn’t show it. He thought I was dead when he came out of the ice. What kind of parent thinks that his only child is dead?” You say.

“I’m sure he tried his hardest to look for you.” He says.

You shook your head no, refusing to believe it. Bucky seen your eyes tear up.

“Give him a break, doll. He’s trying, but you’re making it hard for him.” Bucky says.

“He’s not trying. He’s not even trying to love me.” You say, your voice cracking.

Tears started to roll down your cheeks. Bucky moved closer to you and wrapped his arms around you.

“Your dad loves you more than anything, doll.” Bucky whispers.

“No he doesn’t. He makes me feel unloved.” You say.

It broke Bucky’s heart to hear you say that.

“Come with me.” He says, standing up.

“Where are we going?” You asked with a sniffle.

“You’re going to talk to Sam. He’s trained for stuff like what you went through.” He says.

“Will you stay with me?” You asked.

“Of course, doll.” He smiles.

———

You are now sitting in the conference room with Bucky and Sam. Bucky told Sam the basics of your feelings towards your dad.

“What makes you think your dad abandoned you when you were a baby?” Sam asks.

“He promised me and my mom he would come home, but he didn’t. He lied.” You say.

“Y/N, you have to understand that nothing was in your dad’s hands back then.” He says.

You nodded and fiddled with your fingers. Your eyes teared up and a tear rolled down your cheek. Bucky put a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“What are you thinking right now?” Sam asks softly.

“My dad doesn’t love me.” You say, your voice cracking.

“Yes he does, Y/N.” He says.

“No he doesn’t.” You said in a shaky voice. “Why would he love me if he thought I was dead when he came out of the ice?” You asked.

“He told me he looked all over the place for you, but he kept hitting dead ends. He didn’t want to come to terms if you were dead or not. That seems like love to me.” He says.

You went silent. If that’s true, then why don’t you feel loved by him?

“You need to talk to your dad and tell him how you feel.” Bucky chimes in.

“Do I have to?” You asked, looking at Bucky.

“Yes.” He says.

“Will you stay with me while I talk to him?” You asked.

“This is something you need to do on your own, doll.” He says softly.

“Ok.” You whispered.

Bucky gave you a kiss on the side of your head. You stood up and went to find your dad. You found him in the lounge room, reading a newspaper.

“Dad?” You say nervously.

Steve was caught off guard when you called him dad. Ever since that day at SHIELD, you’ve been addressing him as Steve, not dad. He put his newspaper down and looked at you.

“Can we talk?” You asked.

“Of course we can, sweetheart.” Steve replies softly.

You sat down next to him on the couch.

“I always thought you abandoned me when you enlisted in the Army years ago.” You admitted.

“Why would you even think that that?” He asks. “I would never abandon you.” He says.

“It feels like you did. I also feel unloved by you because of that.” You say.

“Never say that again! I love you more than anything.” He says.

“You don’t show it!” You rose your voice at him and stood up. “You have no idea how unloved I feel, especially when I was in foster care! The couple who adopted me didn’t even know me, but they loved me way more than you ever could!” You say, your eyes tearing up.

You didn’t miss the way your dad clenched his jaw. He stood up. You had a feeling he was going to yell at you for raising your voice at him.

“Do you want to know what my first thought was when I came out of the ice?” Steve asks. “I thought of you and your mom. I looked all over for both of you. I found out your mom died and I couldn’t find you. I tried to think of ways to find you, but I hit a dead end with every idea that came to my mind.” He tells you.

“You thought I was dead!” You say.

“I almost lost Bucky. I lost my wife. I thought I lost you too.” He says.

You stared up at your dad with teary eyes. You were so pissed off at him that you completely forgot that he lost your mom and almost lost his best friend.

“I never want you to say I abandoned you and I don’t love you again. I did nothing but love you since the day you were born.” Steve says softly.

“You- You promised you would come home, but you didn’t! You broke a promise to me and mom!” You cried.

At this point, tears were streaming down your face. Your knees went weak and gave out under you. Steve caught you before you fell to the floor and guided you over to the couch, sitting you down. He sat down next to you. Now, you’re full on crying and so is your dad. Steve’s heart shattered into a million pieces. He hates see you cry and so upset.

“I am so sorry, princess. If I could go back in time and change how things were back then, I would.” He says through tears.

“I’m the one who should be apologizing. I was so pissed at you that I never thought about what you lost and almost lost. I’m sorry for being a shitty daughter.” You apologized.

“You’re not a shitty daughter, sweetheart. Neither of us could’ve predicted what we went through was going to happen.” He says.

You wanted to say more, but you just continued to cry in your dad’s arms. It’s like being held by your dad for the first time in years made all the anger inside of you fade away. Steve felt guilt bubbling up inside of him even more because of what HYDRA did to his daughter. He can’t go back to the past to fix that. What he can do is never leave his baby again. That’s a promise he’ll never break again.

“I’m never leaving you again, sweetheart. I promise.” Steve promises.

You nodded and sniffled. Yours and his cries stopped after a few minutes.

“I love you, princess.” Steve whispers, kissing the top of your head.

“I love you too, dad.” You whispered back.

“I’ll do anything to make it up to you.” He says softly.

“Anything?” You looked up at him and he nodded. “Can we go to Coney Island?” You asked.

“Of course we can.” He smiles.

Bucky poked his head in the room when he heard Coney Island.

“I swear I wasn’t listening. All I heard was Coney Island.” Bucky says, making you and Steve laugh.

From that moment forward, you and your dad did everything you guys could to repair yours and his father daughter relationship. Yes, you two let Bucky go to Coney Island with you guys. It was the best day all of you had in years.

💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙

-Bucky’s Doll

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sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth · 1 month ago

Text

Bring me a dream, make him the cutest that I've ever seen (Sam x female reader x Dean, spell-induced Crowley x reader)

Crowley and you are struck by a love spell and Sam and Dean attempt to help you. And they’re definitely not jealous. Not at all.

Read it on AO3

Rated T. 4.5k words. Basically Sam and Dean get super jealous when you start smooching Crowley (for magic reasons). Cas is also there (but he's very confused about it all).

You were just raising the hand that was holding the machete, when the witch’s weird, magical zombie bodyguard punched you in the chest.

In the chest.

You went down, knees meeting the floor and hand clutching yourself, a curse brewing in you.

Who the hell hit people in the chest? At least it hadn’t been in the boob.

“You… asshole!” you hissed through clenched teeth, just as the thing dropped, one of the brothers, Sam or Dean, having shot it. Then you heard Castiel yell: “She’s getting away!”

You looked away from the disassembled body parts lying in front of you, just to see the colorfully dressed witch book it through one of the doors. You took a split second to look around.

Dean was fighting two of the zombie guards himself, Castiel three and Sam was just wrestling one to the ground, a few already lying at his feet. So you grabbed the machete you had dropped, pushed yourself to your feet and started sprinting.

Sam was closest to the door, and he saw what you were doing. He elbowed the guard he was fighting, and just managed a: “No, no, no, don’t go alo-” when one of the ones that had been focusing on Cas tackled him. Every bone in your body wanted to help him, but you knew the quickest way out of this was to get the witch and make her take back whatever magic she had used to raise those fleshy freaks.

You ran out of the room, having to correct quickly, the angle at which you turned too tight, the marble floors too slippery. Because of course this witch lived in a mansion with marble floors. Why wouldn’t she?

You saw her halfway down the hall. You had dropped your gun at some point, so all you could do was run after her. You were gaining on her, but not quickly enough.

She’s going to get away, you thought, when all of a sudden she bounced back, almost comically, as if she had run into an invisible wall. You came to a skittering stop, wondering what the hell had caused it. It turned out thinking of hell wasn’t far off, as a second later, you saw first a fancy fair of black leather loafers, and then the rest of the King of Hell come around the corner at the end of the corridor. You dropped your shoulders.

“I thought you said this was easy enough for us to take care of on our own?” you asked, referring to the fact that while Crowley had informed you about the evil witch, he had refused to join you on the hunt, saying it wasn’t his style to run around, brandishing medieval weaponry.

“Clearly, I was wrong,” Crowley replied, looking down at the witch who was groaning as she was lying there.

“Can you block her powers or something?” you asked. “The others are being pummeled by these weird zombie creatures she raised.

“Voodoo,” Crowley sighed, as if you were the most uneducated person in the world to him. But then he snapped his finger.

“That did it?” you asked, a little surprised. Crowley raised his eyebrows.

“Yes, that did it,” he said, disdain in his voice.

Suddenly you saw movement out of the corner of your eye, and just as you were raising your hand the witch was on her feet. She dragged something from one of the pockets of her robe and although you tried to reach her, you were too slow.

She threw whatever she was holding at the ground. You could see Crowley raise his hand to stop her, maybe make her head explode or whatever Crowley did with his enemies these days, but she screamed a few words in Latin and suddenly there was a blinding light, fog, so bright and hot that you had to shield your eyes, saw Crowley do the same.

There was a smell of burned hair in the air and you coughed as the fog cleared. You waved a hand in front of your face and took a few steps forward. There was no trace of the witch, but what you saw instead made you gasp.

The voodoo soldiers had all suddenly fallen apart. Sam was on the floor, and Dean with his back against the wall, Cas in the middle of the room, arm with angel blade raised. They all looked at each other questioningly.

“I guess that’s a good sign?” Dean asked. They quickly collected their dropped weapons, Dean gingerly touching his forehead where a bruise was already forming, while Sam wiped at a cut on his chin. Only Castiel’s face had made it out without any marks.

The three men walked outside, following the path you had gone, but the hallway in front of them was empty. Dean and Sam walked ahead, calling your name, when suddenly Cas waved them over.

“There’s noises coming from that room,” he said, pointing at a door that was slightly ajar. The brothers pulled their guns while Castiel raised his blade. There was still a chance that the witch wasn’t taken care of and that you were in danger.

Dean pushed the door open with one swift move of his hand, rushing into the room, Sam right on his heels. Castiel nearly ran into their backs when they stopped dead in their tracks. He just barely managed to look between their shoulders at what they were seeing.

“What… in the…” Dean managed to say.

The room they had walked into was some kind of conservatory. There were pots of plants and herbs all around, plus an expensive-looking plush red armchair. Crowley was sitting in that armchair, which in itself wasn’t hugely disturbing.

What was though was you, straddling him, holding him by the collar of his suit. Crowley’s hands were on your hips as if that was where they belonged.

You looked up when the brothers and the angel entered, and the reason you had to look up was because you had been kissing Crowley.

Deeply. Passionately.

Both Sam and Dean’s mouths were hanging open, their eyes wide.

“Guys,” you said with a small, embarrassed chuckle. “Don’t you knock?”

They managed to get you both to the car, although you and Crowley refused to stop holding hands the whole time. Dean had the brilliant idea of placing Castiel in the middle seat on the bench, you and Crowley to his right and left, while Sam and Dean took their usual positions in the front.

Sam had to actually grab you by the shoulders and maneuver you to your side of the car, because you were busy waxing poetic about how good Crowley looked in his suit.

“Okay,” Dean said, pulling closed the car door behind him an turning around. “What in the world is going on?”

“It must be some kind of spell or curse,” Castiel observed, just as Crowley leaned forward and winked at you, making you giggle. Sam threw a disturbed look at the both of you, then briefly squeezed his eyes shut to concentrate.

“So,” he said, “we need an, an anti-spell, or a— Would you stop that?” The last words were directed at you because not only had you not stopped giggling at Crowley’s flirting, you were also biting your lower lip, very much distracting Sam. You looked at him, surprised by his sharp tone.

“Jeez,” you said, crossing your arms and dropping back into the seat. “You’re such a killjoy.” Dean pressed three fingers against the top of the bridge of his nose.

“I say bunker,” he said, his tone tense, “and then we figure out how the hell we reverse this.”

“There’s nothing to reverse,” you spoke up. “Why are you getting so wound up about this?” Dean looked at you, the most incredulous look he could muster on his face.

“Because we’re talking about Crowley,” he said, “and you were… kissing him.” He almost spat the word. You rolled your eyes.

“Don’t be mad at them, kitten,” Crowley spoke up, looking away from Dean at you. “They don’t know what it means to know that you have found your other half.” A dreamy smile went over your face and you actually sighed. Cas was frowning.

“I feel,” he said, voice calm, “very uncomfortable.” With that, Dean started the car.

The trip back to the bunker took a while but Castiel’s physical presence and repeated warnings from Sam and Dean stopped anything untoward happening between you and Crowley on the way. Sam kept calling Rowena, but only got her voice mail.

After you parked, Dean took you with him, his hand wrapping around your upper arm, while Sam moved Crowley. They brought you to the library, sitting you at opposite ends of one of the long tables. Sam checked his phone, to see if Rowena had returned his message. She hadn't.

“Okay,” Sam said, running a hand over his face, “then we’ll have figure this out ourselves.” He went to one of the shelves, started taking out books, bringing them to the table. Dean, Cas and Sam each grabbed one at random, starting their research.

"What are we supposed to do?" Crowley asked, looking bored. Dean shot him a look that shut him up.

After a while you stood up, strolled over to a different shelf, ran your hand down the spines. Dean looked up, watching you like a hawk, only to see that you were making eye contact with Crowley. He felt an intense rush of annoyance run through him.

“I can see what you’re doing,” he said, and your head snapped towards him.

“I’m not doing anything,” you said.

“Are too,” Dean replied. “You’re making googly eyes at Crowley, who’s supposed to be your sworn enemy, by the way.” You wrinkled your brow.

“I don’t think I ever swore anything,” you said, then looked at Crowley again. “But I would swear something now.” Crowley grinned.

“What would you swear, my darling?” he asked, then raised his chin a little. “My queen?”

“That’s it,” Dean said, standing up. He got you by the arm again, dragging you out of the lustful looks you were throwing Crowley and maneuvered you to the kitchen. He sat you down at the table and went to the fridge, getting himself a beer. He opened it, taking a long sip, then watched you where you were sitting, pouting.

“There’s no part of you,” he asked, “that recognizes even a little that this is weird?”

“Jesus, Dean,” you replied, “get off it, will you? Why is this bothering you so much?” Dean extended his hand, pointing in the general direction of the library.

“I don’t know how many times I need to say it,” he responded. “It’s friggin’ Crowley.”

“Oh, right,” you said, rolling your eyes. “So if it was someone else, you’d be fine with it?” Dean opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“Yes,” he said, then shook his head. “I mean no, it’s still a spell.”

“It doesn’t feel like a spell, Dean,” you replied.

“Doesn’t change the fact that it is one,” he responded, leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping his beer. You watched him, then slowly got up, joining him at the counter.

“You know,” you said, and he looked at you sideways. “You’re supposed to be my friend. Would it kill you to be a little happy for me?” Dean raised his eyebrows.

“Crowley,” was all he said.

You scoffed. “I haven’t dated anyone in… God, I don’t even want to think about it. You’ve got your hook-ups, Dean, but I get…” You stopped, looked at the counter, running your hand over it.

“I get lonely sometimes, okay?” you said, not looking at him. Dean was studying you.

“You do?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you mumbled.

“But you have me and Sam. And Cas.” You looked at him again.

“You know what I mean,” you said. Dean swallowed.

“I had no idea,” he said, taking another sip. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because,” you said, smiling a little, “you would never let me hear the end of it? Make fun of me?” Dean shook his head.

“No, I wouldn’t,” he said quietly. You both didn't speak for a minute.

“What if it's not a spell?” you finally asked. “I mean, what if I just like someone? Would you be happy for me then?” Dean looked at you, thinking.

“I…” he said, but didn’t continue when you heard footsteps. Castiel entered the kitchen and you both turned to him.

“What’s up?” Dean asked.

“I just needed to get away from him for a little while,” Cas said, then threw you an uncomfortable look. “He keeps talking about… you. And… parts of you.”

You raised your eyebrows at Dean, then started walking past Castiel back to the library. Dean didn’t stop you. He was rooted in place for a few seconds, wondering if he had just given away his biggest secret.

You strutted into the library, making Sam look up from the book he had been studying.

“And I mean, the way she fights,” Crowley was saying. At some point he had gotten a drink, was standing by the bar cart, holding the glass with the dark liquid before him, moving it a little while he talked. “The way she moves her body, the smoothness and roughness at the same time—”

Crowley was interrupted when you walked up to him, grabbed his face and kissed him. His free hand went around your waist, pulling you close and you gasped against his mouth. You heard hurried steps behind you and then Sam was pulling you away.

“Hey, don’t—” you complained but there was no way to wriggle yourself out of Sam’s grasp.

“Believe me,” he said, gently depositing you on one of the chairs. “You’ll thank me for this later.” You huffed, crossing your legs and shooting daggers at Sam when Dean and Cas walked into the library as well. Sam spread his arms.

“Am I the only one still baby sitting?” he asked, voice frustrated. Crowley turned to you. “Should I make them go poof?” You grinned.

“That’s sweet, but they are my friends,” you replied. Crowley rolled his eyes. “We’ll have to talk about that,” he said, “who you've elected to spend your time with.” Sam ran his hand over his eyes.

“I can’t find anything that really matches this,” he said. “There’s more books in the archives, though.” Castiel walked over to Crowley, putting his hand on the demon’s shoulder.

“I’ll take him with me,” the angel said. “So that there are no more… shenanigans.”

Dean frowned. “Shenanigans?”

Castiel nodded. “Yes, shenanigans,” he replied.

“Great,” Dean said, scratching his forehead.

Then the two men were walking off, but not before Crowley threw another lust-filled look your way. You sighed, leaning back in the chair, while Dean went for the bar cart. Sam was standing near you, looking down at a book opened before him.

“And?” you asked, looking up at him. “You close to finding your cure yet?”

“Not yet,” Sam replied, not taking his eyes off the book.

“Maybe because there is none,” you said.

“Everything has a cure,” Sam replied, his voice stoic.

“Ebola doesn’t,” you replied. Sam scoffed.

“What a fitting comparison,” he muttered.

“Don’t you start, too,” you said, and Sam finally looked at you.

“Can I just… focus on this?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Sam,” you said, leaning forward. “Just… let me be happy.”

Sam shook his head. “You’re not actually happy, it’s just the spell telling you you are.”

“So?” you asked, and now you were the one raising her eyebrows. “It feels the same. Why is that so bad?”

"It's not real," he answered.

You shrugged. "Reality's complicated," you replied.

Sam thought for a second, and when he didn’t immediately find a fitting response, he pivoted. “You don’t even know Crowley,” he responded. “I mean, really know him.”

“Oh please,” you said, “that kind of stuff doesn’t matter.” Sam frowned at you. “What,” you said, laughing a little, “I need to know what his favorite song is or, or his birthday or all his hopes and dreams to be in love with him?” Sam nodded.

“Yes,” he said. "That's kind of important."

“Come on, Sam,” you said. “Do you know those things about anyone?” Sam clenched his jaw and he looked down at the table again.

“Yeah, a couple of people actually,” he replied, not clarifying.

“Those are just facts, though,” you said, leaning forward, trying to get him to look at you again. “They don’t mean anything.”

“Some of them do,” Sam said, and looked back at you.

“Like what?” you asked.

“Like…” Sam said, then was quiet for a second. “Like I know you always look at those little cottages online. That you would like to buy one one day.”

You watched him intently as he talked.

"And I know you would like to have a dog,” he said, then chuckled to himself. “But you’d settle for a turtle.” You looked a little awkward for a moment.

“It’s not settling,” you said then, in a small voice. “Turtles are awesome.” Sam grinned.

“Yeah,” he said absentmindedly, as he continued scanning the text. Suddenly he stood up straight.

“What?” you asked, your eyes following him.

“I think I got it,” he said. You leaned over, scanning the book, then frowned. “You really think a guy called Rudolphus the Wistful is gonna have the answer?” Sam looked at you, then chuckled. His fingers ran over the page, going lower, until they stopped.

“Oh,” he said. You looked up at him.

“Let me guess,” you said. “It’s not a spell and I was right all along?” Sam shook his head.

“It’s, uhm,” and then he went quiet.

“What?” you said, suddenly sounding a little worried. When Sam still didn’t answer, you got up, stood next to him and read what it said on the page.

And who that is smytun with a swerd, may oonly be delyuered, bi kissyng of oon that loueth hem.

“What does that mean?” you asked, looking up at Sam.

“It’s Middle English,” he said. “It means that if you’re struck by this spell it can only be removed if you’re kissed by someone who loves you.” You frowned.

“But I already kissed Crowley,” you said, shrugging. Sam looked down at you.

“I don’t think that’s what it means, but I…” he stopped himself, not taking his eyes off you. “I just…” he said but stopped again. You widened your eyes in question.

“You what?” you asked. Sam was chewing the inside of his lip while he was thinking. Then he looked up, his eyes searching for Dean. His brother was back at the cart for a refill across the room, his back to the two of you. Sam nodded to himself, then looked at you again.

Suddenly you felt one of his big hands on the side of your face.

“I just want to try something,” he said, his voice low. Before you had a second to wonder what he meant, he was leaning down, your lips gently meeting. It lasted only for a second, and then Sam was pulling back, his hand still holding you.

“Anything?” he asked. You frowned but before you could say anything, Dean was stomping up behind you.

“The hell are you doing?” he asked, his voice outraged. “That damn spell get you too?” he asked.

Before Sam could answer, you turned to Dean and, grabbing him with one fist by the t-shirt, pulled him towards you and kissed him as well. When you let go of him Dean nearly stumbled from how much he had leaned into the kiss. You looked at the brothers, both their eyes wide in shock.

“See?” you said, raising your hands. “It doesn’t do anything, and neither would a potion or an anti-spell or if I sang a Beatles song backwards. Because it is not a spell.” You punctuated the last words with your hand whirling in front of their faces.

“Uhm, okay,” Dean said, seeming a little rattled. “Somebody catch me up?” Sam collected himself as well, then pointed at the book. He quickly licked his lips, then explained:

“I thought I found something, it says here that the spell can be broken when the affected person is kissed by someone who loves them.” He cleared his throat, awkwardly, while Dean considered the implications of what he had just heard.

“Oh,” he said, also clearing his throat, then added: “Uhm, uh,” and nothing more. Sam narrowed his eyes as they scanned the page again.

“Wait, it says something else,” he added, then read while moving his lips.

“What is it?” Dean asked, sounding as casual as possible.

“Does it say that it’s not a spell and you should just believe me?” you asked in a cocky voice, the brothers pointedly ignoring you.

“It says,” Sam said, and then he sounded sad, defeated. “It says the love must be reciprocated by the affected person, or the kiss has no effect.” Sam swallowed, then shut the book. “I guess now we know why it didn’t work,” he said, his voice clipped. Dean took a second to catch up, then he looked at you.

“Oh,” he said again. It was quiet for a moment, while you looked back and forth between the two men. You were just about to say something when a voice cut the quiet.

“Usually I would ask what in the world the three of you are doing,” Rowena said from the far end of the room, and all three of you looked up at her. “But in this case I think I am happy to live in blissful ignorance.”

“Rowena,” Sam said, “you got my messages?”

“Not here for you, Samuel,” Rowena answered, and started walking over to you. “I’ve heard rumors that my son has been hexed and I thought, where could he be? And of course the first place I looked was here with his sworn enemies.” You raised your hands, then dropped them by your side.

“When is everyone doing all this swearing?” you asked.

“I can’t have people using his vulnerable state to their advantage,” Rowena continued, then made a face. “Or worse, laugh at him. They cannot see us as weak.” There were footsteps behind you and as you turned, Castiel and Crowley came back into the library.

“Mother,” Crowley said, looking less than happy. “I thought I smelled a note of evil incarnate.”

“Fergus,” Rowena responded, “whatever it is that useless voodoo witch has done to you, I’m here to reverse it.”

Just then you separated from Sam and Dean, instead walking over to Crowley, wrapping one arm around him while standing next to him. Rowena frowned at the picture.

“There’s no need for any reversing,” Crowley explained. “We are quite happy. It’s a simple case of us realizing our feeling for each other.” To everyone’s surprise, Rowena’s face lit up.

“Really?” she said, then looked at you. “You two do make a pretty couple. Maybe I won't reverse it.” You giggled, Crowley pulling you closer.

“You’re joking, right?” Sam asked the witch.

“Have you seen the harlots he usually runs with?” she asked. “It’s disgraceful for a king. A partner would do wonders for his popularity.” Then she looked back at you.

“Also,” she continued, “he could do worse, she’s actually useful. As opposed to some people.” Rowena rolled her eyes at Sam and Dean.

“I can think of some uses for you,” Crowley said in a low, seductive voice, looking down at you and leaning closer.

"And what would that be?" you said, looking at his lips.

“You would make a wonderful mother to my heir,” Crowley replied.

A small moan left you and you kissed him deeply. Dean looked like he was about to be sick.

“I need to Clorox my brain,” he muttered.

But the happy expression was also slowly vanishing from Rowena’s face. Castiel was the only one still playing with enough of a full deck to catch it.

“An heir,” he said, looking at the witch. “That would put you where exactly, on the succession to the throne?” Rowena looked at him with an expression so annoyed it might have accidentally set something on fire.

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll revert it.” And before anyone else could react, she pointed at you and Crowley, saying a few words in Latin.

You blinked, then looked to your left and immediately jumped back.

“What in the—” you said while Crowley looked around, confused. You turned to Sam and Dean.

"Why was I touching Crowley?” you asked, voice a little shrill.

“Oh,” Rowena said, “there might be some memory loss accompanying the cure. Might be for the best.” Then she snapped her finger. “Fergus, we are leaving.” Crowley was still confused enough to follow the order.

“Thank you, Rowena,” Sam said and the short woman turned to him.

“You owe me,” she said, then her eyes fell on the book behind him.

“Oh, you were really on the wrong track,” she said, pointing at the book. Dean turned, also looking.

“What,” he said to Rowena, “Rudy not worth the hype?” Rowena scoffed.

“They should call him Rudolphus the Horny,” she responded. “He made up a bunch of kissing cures in the sixteenth century. Got the boils? Kiss someone. Bad with money? Kiss someone. You ask me, he was just trying to get around. There’s no proof that anything he wrote ever worked, but there is some solid evidence that his kissing cure was part of what made the Black Death spread so fast.”

Rowena hooked her arm through Crowley’s. “Anyway,” she said, and then the two were walking off. It was quiet for a moment, then Castiel, Sam and Dean all turned to you.

“How are you feeling?” Sam asked.

“Disturbed,” you answered.

“What do you remember?” Castiel asked.

“Not much,” you replied, then made a face. “I didn’t… touch Crowley any more than that, did I?” When the three men didn’t respond, your eyes widened.

“I didn’t kiss him right?” you said, your voice starting to sound panicked. Still none of them replied, all making faces.

“I need to shower,” you said, sounding defeated, then added: “From the inside, if such a thing is possible.”

“We tried to stop you,” Dean said, “but you were… insistent.”

“Aaahh,” you said, your hands going to your ears. “I don’t wanna hear that.” You pulled up your shoulders, shaking yourself and dropped your hands.

“Did I do anything else weird?” you asked, looking back at the brothers. They both went quiet for a second, uhm-ing and ah-ing.

“What?” you frowned at them. They didn’t answer, and then Dean blurted out: “Crowley talked about knocking you up.” Your eyes went wide.

“I need to…” and then you were walking out of the room, stopping at the bar cart to grab one of the bottles. And off you went. Dean turned to Sam.

“Awesome,” he said in a sarcastic tone.

Castiel watched as the two brothers moved awkwardly around each other, each of them finally settling in a different chair, pretending to read something. The angel shook his head and sat down as well.

#supernatural #spn #fanfic #spn fanfic #fanfiction #dean winchester #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #sam winchester x you #crowley #crowley x reader #crowley x you

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shadowandlightt · 9 months ago

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Of Nightmares and Memories | Thirteen | Azriel X Rhys'!Sister reader

Series Warnings: Kidnapping. Mistreatment. Cursing. Pining. Violence. Depression. Talks of suicide. smut

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven Part Twelve

“What the fuck is that?” You demand, stepping forwards once more.

“None of your concern,” Rhys snaps at you, a shadow of wings beginning to unfurl over his shoulders.

“No,” You say again, “I will not be your pretty little pet. If we are indeed going to war, I will fight. I wasn’t old enough the last time, but I’ll be cauldron damned if I stay out of it again.”

“She has the right to know,” Az spoke up.

“Damn right she has the right to know,” Morrigan says, “You won’t be able to keep her away from this fight Rhys.”

“Enough!” He snaps once more, “Enough.” His head is hung low, like he finally understands that you will not be shielded from this conflict.

Az’s shadows drift towards you, curling around your arm, comforting you in an odd way. But you felt as if the walls of the townhouse were closing in on you. A war was coming. And it would be worse than the one of your childhood. You could feel it, deep in your bones, you would lose those closest to you.

“I need air,” You forced out before running towards the door.

Leave them to their scheming. You needed out, you needed the fresh mountain air. Something to remind you that you were no longer a prisoner. Even if Rhys would be more than happy to keep you locked away in Velaris forever, you knew he wouldn’t. He would let you fight, even if it threatened to be his undoing, because he would never be like Tamlin. He refused to let that darker part of him take control.

You find yourself on the bridge to the Rainbow. Although you still refuse to cross it, much like Feyre, you couldn’t help but come here sometimes to just breathe. Seeing the colors, hearing the music, it still feels like a dream to you. But a very good dream that you never want to wake from.

“Thought I’d find you here,” A deep, silken, voice says as Azriel settles into place next to you.

You can’t help the smile that forms on your lips, so softly it almost isn’t even there. But it was a smile nonetheless, and Az didn’t let it go unseen. He saw every part of you, right down to the fingernails you’d ripped down to stubs.

“You always did read me too well,” You sigh, turning to look back at the river.

They used to have to drag you from this spot, kicking and screaming you might add. This was your favorite place in all of Velaris. Always had been. But you were whole back then, a full person. Now you felt like a ghost, the shell of who you once were.

“Care to walk?” He asks, holding out his arm for you to take.

“Not tonight, Shadowsinger,” You rarely used his title. Mainly saving it for official business. Maybe you were using it in hopes he would vanish, leaving you to wallow in your misery.

War was coming. People were going to die. People you cared about. And there was nothing you could do to stop it. Az would be in the thick of it, along with Cas and Rhys. Your three men, the ones you loved the most, would put their lives on the line again and again to ensure that the right side would win. But at what cost? Who would you lose?

The thought of losing Azriel made your chest threaten to cave in on itself. The breath was knocked from your lungs at the thought as you began to shake. You could survive losing people you loved, but losing Az? The one who seemed to always understand you? The one who seemed to see you? You weren’t sure you could handle that.

“Stop thinking,” Az’s scarred hand gently brushes your cheek, causing you to flinch away for a moment, before reaching up to grasp his hand in order to keep it there.

“I can’t help it,” You mutter, “I feel as if I’m going to lose all of you.”

“You won’t lose me,” he promises, turning you to face him.

“You can’t know that,” Is your only reply, “You can’t even begin to promise that.”

He lets out a deep breath before he pulls his dagger, Truth Teller, the very one you gave him as a child, from its sheath, “I swear on this dagger, on my life as it were, that I’ll always come back to you.”

“Az-”

“No, listen to me, Y/N, we promised as children that whatever we do, we do it together. Wherever we go, we go together, and I plan on keeping that promise. We’ll get through this war, should it come, together.”

Tears burned your eyes. He’s never swore on that old steal before. It was his most prized possession, because it was the first gift he’d ever been given. Not something he had to win in a training circle, but wholly and truly his. You had it made just for him, had the runes carved into it, everything was done with him in mind, knowing what he would one day be.

“Stop it,” You turn away from him again, forcing yourself to focus on the river as you blink away your tears, “You’re making a promise you know you can’t keep. You’re no death god, you have no power over it. Should the-” Your voice cracks, “Should the Mother choose to claim you for herself, there is nothing you can do to prevent it.”

“Stay with me tonight, at the House. Give Rhys and Feyre their space,” He begs, “Sleep next to me.”

“Azriel-”

“Please,” he says, forehead coming to rest against the side of your head, “I beg you. Just stay with me, so I know you’re safe.”

You finally nod, giving into him. Like you could ever say no to Azirel anyway. He was your whole being, even if you didn’t yet know it. But you could feel it, the shimmer of a bond that had yet to awaken.

He flies you to the House of Wind, making sure to add in an extra loop or two just for fun. You don’t let him see how the flight brings tears to your eyes, because the last time you flew was with your mother. You didn’t let him know how it threatened to crack your heart even more than it already was. No, you couldn’t let him know all of that.

He still noticed the way you pulled away from him the second you two landed on the balcony. Your breath was shaky, as you walked away, wringing your hands. You were trying to figure out how to deal with this. You’d rather face the steps than fly again.

The thought of flying again made you want to vomit. How could you explain that something that once gave you life and meaning now seemed so vulgar?

“Are you alright?”

“Give me a minute,” Was all you could say as you worked your way further into the house and away from Az.

You hated pushing him away, hating keeping secrets from him. But the scars on your back seemed to burn with a white hot fire. You needed to forget, had you still been in Spring you would’ve had more wine than you should have and then invited Lucien into your bed to fuck you senseless. The rumors of Autumn Court men fucking with fire in their veins was true.

“What do you need?” Az is behind you in an instant, feeling like you’re longing for something you won’t ask for.

You never slept with Az. Not in that sense. But it’s the only thing you can think of to make the burning stop. To make you forget about everything. It’s the only thing you can think of to forget. Forget about your mother, forget about that day, and all that you lost because of it.

“I can’t ask you for what I want,” You mumble, unable to stop yourself from leaning into him.

You’re half tempted to brave the cauldron damned steps and find a pleasure hall. Surely you could find someone there to please you enough. But the thought of doing anything with anyone other than Az makes you just as sick as the flying did.

When you were with Lucien it was because you never thought you’d see Azirel again. You never thought you’d see the man who made you whole, the love of your life. Now…now that you’re back, and Azriel is right here….you can’t imagine him not touching you.

“Ask me,” His voice is gruff in your ear, “Ask me anyway.”

“Fuck me,” You whine, twisting in his arms to kiss him, “Gods, please Azriel, I need you to fuck me.”

“You need me to make you forget?” He questions, understanding in a way you could never imagine.

“Please,” You beg.

Shadows gather around you, cooling your boiling skin. Within the second, you’re surrounded by darkness as he winnows you to his bedroom. You know it’s his room because you used to sneak into it all of the time.

Nothing had changed that you could see. Weapons scattered around, various weapon racks and cases along the walls. You’re on his bed before you can think, his hands all over you. He’s wild, like he’s finally let go of that thread that keeps him wound so tight. The little bit of control finally let loose.

“Az.”

“Shh,” He whispers, capturing your lips again oh so gently, “I’ll take good care of you. I promise.”

“I’m not fragile,” You remind him, “I won’t break. I don’t need you to be gentle.”

“You aren’t fragile,” He agrees, “But you are precious, and I want to be gentle with you.”

You moan out, feeling his hands, or maybe even his shadows reach for your breasts. You hadn’t been fucked in what feels like years. Maybe it had been years. When was Fire Night? Was that the last time you were with Lucien?

Why were you even thinking of another man when you’re with Azirel? You silently scold yourself. Before you cling to him, holding him as tightly to yourself as you could. You wanted everything with him. You always had. But you never thought you’d ever have this chance.

You thought for sure your father would marry you off to some Lord’s son before you could ever love Az the way you wanted to. Now here you are, hundreds of years later, ready to give him everything you have to offer.

“I want you,” You whisper against his lips.

It didn’t occur to you that Cassian could be somewhere in the house. You hoped that he was flying high above the city, and that all of this would go unknown. But the feel of Azriel’s hands on your skin was enough to make your mind go blank.

The air was thick with the scent of your combined arousal. You could almost taste it. He gets to work on quite literally ripping the clothes from your body. It’s a good thing you weren’t overly fond of the set that Mor obviously picked out.

“See, more of that,” You tease, nipping at his bottom lip.

“Enough talking,” He warns, fingers dipping down to your heat.

It was enough to shut you up, that’s for certain. The feeling of his scarred hands where you’d always dreamt of having them. Having his lips on your skin, working down your body, trailing kisses in their wake.

A moan is released from your lips as he finally inserts a finger, and then another. You’re far from a virgin, he knows this, but it might as well be your first time. You feel like it is. Feel the need to fumble your way through so clumsily that it’s almost laughable.

You’re whispering his name like a prayer, unable to form any other words. It’s just him, he’s all you can think about. All you could focus on. Anything else melted away as he sucked on your clit, pulling you closer and closer to the edge. You’re a moaning mess. Clinging to the hair on his head, pushing him impossibly closer to your core.

You can feel him smile against you, and it sends you over the edge as he chuckles. Your vision goes white and no sound comes out of your open mouth as you convulse. Az keeps working you through it, only stopping once you literally push his head away.

“You…” He stops and shakes his head, shadows are dancing around the both of you, “You’re incredible.”

“Just get over here,” You mutter, grabbing for him once more so you could kiss him.

Despite the awkward angle, you get to work on the laces of his leathers, trying to rid him of his clothing just as quickly as he’d taken yours off. You seemed to forget in that moment that you had powers that would make this much easier, or maybe you didn’t care about them. This felt more primal than your powers.

You free his cock, mouth instantly going dry. You hadn’t expected him to be so big. You never listened to Mor when she used to joke about wingspans, maybe you should have. Truthfully, you weren’t sure it was going to fit, he very well might just split you in two.

As if he senses your apprehension, his hands come to rest over yours, “I’ll be gentle,” He reminds you, “And if you want to stop, you just need to tell me, okay? You can walk out of here, no questions asked.”

“I want this,” You whisper, “I want you, Azriel. All of you.”

His eyes shimmer a little as he swallowed thickly, “Okay.”

He leans down to kiss you again. Any of your worries seem to just melt away under his attention. But you still can’t help but tense up when you feel him line up with your entrance. He gently tries to soothe you, reminding you that he’s going to go slow, reminding you that you’re truly the one who’s in charge.

He takes your breath away as he slides in. Your eyes screw shut, hands reaching for anything to grip onto, whether it be the bed or Az. He hisses above you, arms shaking as he tries to keep above you. His wings are flared out behind him, and you don’t need your eyes open to know that.

“Fuck,” He mumbled, pushing in just a little further.

“I want all of you,” You force out, wrapping your legs around his middle, feet digging into his ass.

“I know,” He grunts, “I know baby. Just give me a second, or I won’t last.”

After a moment or two, he finally pushes in the rest of the way, filling you to the hilt. You’re panting, trying to fill your lungs with air, but it doesn’t seem to be working. Az has his face buried in your neck, breathing just as deeply as you are. Nothing ever seemed to feel so right to you before. That thing inside your chest that always seems to be there for Az just blooms. Growing bigger, begging for more of him.

“More,” You moan out, holding him tightly to you, “I need more.”

He nods and draws his hips back before trusting back into you. His shadows are kissing you, moving along your body with featherlight touches. It only adds to the feeling of Azriel inside you. It’s almost too much, and yet still it’s not enough. You want more of him, you need it. You need all he has to offer. All he can give you. It makes you whine out.

“I know,” He groans, kissing you, “I feel it too.”

His hips snap a little harder, filling you even deeper if it’s even possible. You cling to him to keep you grounded, like he’s the only one in the world who could. It never felt like this before. This personal, this loving. It takes your breath away in more ways than one.

“I’m not going to last,” You whimper, feeling the coil in your stomach tighten even more.

The slow, deep tempo he started begins to become more erratic, thrusts becoming sloppy and harder. You’re a moaning mess underneath him, begging for something, anything. Begging for him.

“Fuck,” He whimpers, literally whimpers from above you, “I’m gonna cum.”

One more snap of his hips, and a flick of your clit, and you’re coming with him. Both falling over the edge together. Moaning and kissing and breathing together. You never felt more connected to a person before. Never wanted to feel more connected to anyone than you wanted to be connected to Azriel.

“I love you,” He whispers to you, kissing your neck.

You wrap your arms around him, stroking his hair, “I love you too, Az.”

“Stay with me?” You never heard him sound so vulnerable.

“I won’t go anywhere,” You promise, kissing his head.

You fell asleep like that, holding one another. Anything you were worried about before had long since melted away. Nothing else seemed to matter but the beautiful Shadowsinger in your arms. He was all that you wanted, all you needed really.

But when the early morning sun shone through the window, you felt nothing but guilt. Because as much as you loved him, you used him last night. It shouldn’t have happened because you needed to forget. The scars on your back seemed to be burning again as you made your way from Azriel’s room, dressed, surprisingly, in fresh clothing that the House left out for you.

You’d forgotten about the magic of this place.

You’re about to brave the steps when you hear a voice from behind you.

“Never thought I’d see you sneaking out of here,” Cassian stated.

“Don’t,” You warn, “Not this morning.”

“Go back to him,” He urges you, “Whatever fucked up thing you’re thinking, forget it. And go back to my brother. He deserves one good thing in his life.”

“I’m not good,” You shake your head, “I haven’t been in a long time.”

He takes a step closer to you, arms wide open, “Whatever happened that day, and what’s happened in the years after, don’t change who you are. You’re still you.”

A lump forms in your throat, and you rush into his open arms. Needing to feel some kind of comfort from someone who somehow seemed to understand what you’re going through. Somehow he knew, and didn’t shy away from it.

“You’re still Y/N, nothing can change that,” He promises you, “We’ve all done things we wish we could take back, things we aren’t proud of. But you survived, they tried to break you but they couldn’t. They failed, and you made it out alive. No one can fault you for the things you had to do to ensure that.”

“But-”

“No, sweetheart,” He shakes his head, “You lived.”

You can’t help but cry. Because it's the first time someone actually told you that it was okay. Everything you did, everything you had to do…it’s okay. You cry so hard your legs wobble, causing Cas to haul you into his arms and walk you into the living room. He sits down on one of the couches, holding you in his lap, letting you cry it out.

It could have been hours later, you aren’t quite sure. But quiet footsteps echo through the now silent living room. You know it’s Aziel, because he’s the only other one in the house, but you can’t bring yourself to move. All your strength is gone again.

“Why is it that I always seem to find you like this?” He asked Cassian carefully.

“Because believe it or not, I’m good at talking to her,” Cassian whispers back to him, “I think she’s asleep.”

“I’ll take her to her room,” Az sighs, “How bad was it this time?”

“Bad enough,” Cas shrugs, “She still blames herself.”

“Do we need Rhys?”

“No, not yet,” Cas says softly, “I think she’s figuring it out. Stubbornly slow, but I think she’s getting there.”

Cassian is silent for a moment before speaking again, “She smells of you.”

“Don’t.” Az warns, his voice not lacking an edge.

“No, I’m happy for you,” Cassian clarified, “You two work well together.”

“When she isn’t running we do.”

“She’ll come around. She has to forgive herself first though,” Cassian assured him.

Azriel comes closer, holding his arms out for you. Cassian sighs and stands, helping transfer you into Azriel’s arms. You instantly snuggle into him, humming in your dazed state. Cassian was right, you were mostly asleep. But awake enough to know that you’re in your love’s arms.

“Take care of her,” Cassian warns Azriel.

“I plan on taking care of her for the rest of our lives if she’ll let me.”

“Good.”

With that, Cas turns and makes for the balcony before shooting to the skies. Leaving you alone in the house with Az once more. You mumble something that Az can’t quite make out, which causes him to gently shoosh you.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you princess,” He promises, “And I’m not going to let you go.”

Tag List

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#acomaf #acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you #acotar fic #azriel acotar #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #Azirel smut #azriel shadowsinger smut

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dark-and-kawaii · 11 months ago

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Tiefling bachelors reacting to someone smacking or coping a feel of his partner's butt in passing? What does he do?

˖⁺‧₊˚✦ Don't Touch ✦˚₊‧⁺˖

✦ Awhhh I loved doing this one!!! We love us some protective tiefling bachelors!!! I hope you enjoy these *nervous laughter* xoxo

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ I feel like Zevlor is a man that pays close attention to his surroundings, so you can count on him when it comes to those who wish to pass on by and cop a feel.

It was such a lovely day in Baldurs Gate, the air was filled with the scents of exotic spices and the colorful sights of stalls brimming with goods from across the realms as you and Zevlor walked through Baldurs Gate. Zevlor, ever watchful, stayed close by your side, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd, “You never know what could happen in a place like this,” Zevlor murmured. His presence always making you feel protected in the sea of faces.

“Oooh look at this one!” you paused to admire a stall with shimmering fabrics,. Out of the corner of Zevlor’s eyes, he noticed a man weaving through the crowd towards you, his intentions clear. Just as the stranger's hand stretched out towards you, Zevlor acted swiftly.

Without hesitation, like the seasoned soldier he was, Zevlor grabbed the man's wrist, stopping him in his tracks, “I’d Mind your hands, if I were you.” His voice was calm but carried a deadly warning. His grip tightening just enough to make the man wince, his face contorting in pain.

The man, realizing his mistake, tried to pull away, but Zevlor's hold was unyielding, “Think before you act, for you never know whom you might run into,” Zevlor added, his tone stern. After a moment, he pushed the man back into the crowd, his eyes never leaving the stranger until he disappeared into the crowd of people.

You looked up at Zevlor, “And here I was going to say you worry too much.” gratitude filled your eyes and you gently kissed his cheek, “always my steadfast shield.”

With a soft smile, his arm finding its way around your waist, he pulled you close, “let’s not allow that to ruin our day.”

For the rest of the day, Zevlor kept you close to his side, his tail gently coiled around your thigh, a silent promise of safety. His hand resting at your side, while you continued to explore the market.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ After everything happened with Lorroakan, Rolan was no longer afraid to get handsy with those that mistreated him or others, especially if it involved you.

Today Rolan found himself walking alongside you, Cal, and Lia through the city during a festival. The wizard would’ve preferred to stay in his tower but you all had insisted that he come with. Cal being the one to convince him, ‘she could get into trouble and need her fancy wizard to come to her rescue for once.’ Is what he had said. Crossing his arms annoyed, Rolan continued walking.

Laughing, you nudged him gently with your elbow. “Come on, Rolan. Even you can't deny it's nice to take a break from your books and potions.” Rolan's lips twitched into a rare, fleeting smile, “Perhaps. But only because the three children are enjoying it,” he said referring to you three.

As you absorbed the joy and laughter around you, a sudden jolt disrupted the harmony. You felt a sharp smack on your rear followed by a leering voice slurring, “Hey, sweetheart, how about a kiss for the brave festival hero?”

Instantly, Rolan's demeanor shifted as he spun around to face the pig of a man. Rolan’s tail quickly brought you behind him, “Stay behind me,” he murmured, his voice low and controlled, but with an unmistakable edge of anger.

The man laughed mockingly, stepping closer. “What's this? The little devil's got a temper, eh?”

Without breaking eye contact, Rolan raised his hand, fingers weaving through the air, chanting under his breath. The air around the man's feet began to shimmer, and suddenly, he yelped as his feet were bound by glowing ethereal chains, rooting him to the spot. Rolan's gaze was icy as he stepped towards the bound man, “I would choose your next words very carefully if I were you," he warned, his voice steady.

Lia and Call watched on the sidelines in awe, proud that their brother got to finally be your protector for once.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Dammon has a gentle heart, is soft spoken, and usually always tries to help someone in need. Confrontation? Nah, not really his jam. He had always been more at home among his anvils and hammers than dealing with confrontation. However, today something snapped, perhaps it was because it involved you.

As his hammer came down, shaping a new blade from glowing steel, a commotion- your voice, had broken his focus. Whipping around, he caught sight of a passerby hastily retreating his hand from your backside with a smirk, leaving you flustered and upset. Dammon's usual calm demeanor went out the window and was replaced quickly with anger and protection.

For a moment, he hesitated, his large, calloused hands tightening around the hilt of the sword. Then, with a swift motion, Dammon pulled the sword from the forge. The metal steaming as it was removed with an orange glow.

He walked over to the man, his heart pounding from the adrenaline of stepping so far out of his comfort zone. Dammon's approach was silent but swift, and as he reached the offender, he held the hot blade just inches from the man’s face. The heat from the steel was evident, a clear threat that no words could match.

"Never touch anyone without their consent, understood?" Dammon said, his voice uncharacteristically commanding, his brows furrowed. The man's eyes widened and he nodded. Pleased with this, Dammon flicked the blade in your direction, “Good. Now apologize.”

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #zevlor #zevlor bg3 #bg3 zevlor #zevlor nation #rolan #holy rolan empire #bg3 rolan #rolan bg3 #Dammon #dammon bg3 #bg3 dammon #tav

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winchestersisterimaginessss · 2 months ago

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request: can you write a story based off the the episode 10x3 where they are trying to cure Dean as a demon. Sam for the most part has kept their sister away from demon Dean but she wants to face him and he’s just evil and trying to break her. The whole story is her dealing with all of her emotions and trauma. Obviously in the episode he breaks out of his restraints and maybe he finds the sister in the bunker and tries to kill her and then you can figure out the rest. Just make it super intense and dramatic and detailed. I just think the whole storyline from 10x3 would be soooo good and I know you’d write it exactly how I imagined it with the perfect amount of angst, comfort and everything inbetween ugh I’m so excited if you can write this. thankkkk you!!!!!

A/N: OH IVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE. I followed the storyline pretty much of the entire episode and it’s SUCH A LONG STORY. I just kept writing and writing, but I felt it was necessary. I wanted to capture every single emotion and detail to really get a feel on this story because it was such an intense episode already. I hope you love this!! ALSO requests are always open like please you can spam me with a bunch of requests and I’d be so happy. Some stories catch my mind a little more than others but if you have requested something already I am WORKING ON IT I PROMISE!! Just some get my mind/ideas flowing way more than others so they get finished first. If you put in a request already and I haven’t done it yet just do it again and I’ll try to speed it up on writing it. Other than that keep sending in requests!! I’ll write anything lol. Also pls lmk how you like this one it seriously took so much effort and I would absolutely love if I got some feedback!!!!!!

Sam and Dean Winchester x Sister!Reader (and a little bit of cas hehe)

You sat in the bunker, paralyzed with fear. Dean was back, but he was still a demon. You hadn’t seen much of him because Sam refused to let you around him, but the little you had heard about him it was clear: he wasn’t your brother anymore. He was cold, his eyes pitch black, and there was no hint of remorse behind them. Your body trembled as you fought to hold back a sob. The door opened, and Sam stepped in—he looked utterly broken. He was carrying a cooler full of blood that would hopefully cure Dean of being a demon.

“Sammy,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. He froze at the sound of your voice, taking in the sight of your trembling form. The fear in your eyes hit him hard, and he longed to shield you from the nightmare their family had become. “Hey, bug, what’s going on?” He asked softly, stepping closer. That’s when you saw him fully—his face was exhausted, but it was his eyes, hollow and drained, that told the true story. His appearance was what absolutely crushed you and before you knew what you were doing, you blurted out an apology.

"I’m so sorry, Sam," your voice cracking with emotion. You fought to keep herself together, but the tears came anyway, spilling down your cheeks. "I’m sorry for everything. For this life... for the constant running, the fighting, the endless darkness. I’m sorry we never had a chance to just be—to be a normal family, to be happy." You shook your head, your breath catching as the weight of it all crashed over you. "And now... Dean..." your voice trembled, and you had to stop for a moment, swallowing hard to keep from breaking completely. "He’s not even Dean anymore. And I don’t know what to do, Sam. I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know how to help."

The tears came faster now, and you didn’t try to stop them. You just let them fall, your chest heaving with each breath. You wiped your face with the sleeve of your jacket, your voice barely a whisper as you added, "I’m just so sorry."

Sam stood frozen for a moment, his heart aching as he watched you crumble. You were apologizing for things you had no control over. It hit him like a punch to the gut. Without thinking, he put down the cooler and moved toward you, his arms instinctively reaching out, pulling you close. He needed to comfort you, to make you feel safe again, even if everything around them felt like it was falling apart.

"Hey, hey," Sam whispered, his voice soft and steady, even though his own heart was breaking. He gently cupped your face in his hands, brushing away the tears that fell from your cheeks. "Don’t ever apologize for this life. You hear me?" His voice wavered, the depth of his love for you clear in every word. "You didn’t ask for any of this either. I know this life has been cruel to us. I know it’s taken so much from us, but none of this is your fault. None of it."

He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you in a tight embrace, holding you like you were the most important thing in his world—because you were. He buried his face in your hair for a moment, taking a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but it was hard. Everything felt impossible. But he knew he couldn’t show you that. You needed him now more than ever, and he’d be damned if he let you feel alone in this.

"You don’t deserve this," he murmured, his voice full of quiet sorrow, but also a fierce protectiveness. "You never deserved any of this. We’re in this together, and I’m not going anywhere, okay? You don’t have to carry this by yourself."

He gently pulled back, his hands still on your shoulders, his eyes full of nothing but love and determination. "I don’t care how messed up this world is or how screwed up we are. We’re family, and that means we fight through this. Together. Always."

He wiped your tears softly, his voice full of reassurance. "You’re not alone, and you never will be. I’m here. I’ve got you, no matter what."

You pulled away slightly from Sam, the weight of everything pressing down on you. Your heart ached for him—he was carrying so much, and you knew he was trying to protect you from the worst of it. But the thought of him facing Dean alone, of him struggling with the monster his brother had become, made you feel like you were suffocating.

“I need to help you, Sam,” you said, your voice urgent but soft, almost pleading. You took a shaky breath, trying to keep your composure. "Please. I want to help you. I can’t just sit here while you go through this alone."

Sam's expression hardened, and his hands tightened around your shoulders, as if holding you back from something he knew was dangerous. His eyes were filled with desperation, but there was a clear resistance there—he didn’t want you anywhere near this. He knew the toll it was taking on him, and the thought of you getting involved, of you getting hurt, made his chest tighten with fear.

"Y/N, no," Sam said, his voice low and firm, though there was a raw edge to it. He shook his head slightly, like he was trying to convince himself as much as you. "I can’t... I can’t let you do that. You’ve already been through enough, and I’m not dragging you into this. I won’t." His hands gripped your arms tighter, his voice cracking with emotion. "I can handle it. I’ll face Dean. But I can’t let you face him too. You’re not supposed to be in the middle of this. I’m supposed to keep you safe. I won’t risk it."

But you shook your head, the fire in your chest growing stronger. You couldn’t just stand by and watch him suffer alone—not when it was your brother too. The guilt would eat you alive if you didn’t help him now.

"I can’t let you do this alone, Sam," you said, your voice breaking with determination. "I need to face Dean. I need to help you. I know it’s dangerous, but I can’t just... I can’t live with myself if I don’t try. If I don’t help you now, if I don’t stand by your side, I’ll never forgive myself."

Sam’s jaw tightened as he stared at you, conflicted. His protective instinct screamed at him to push you away, to keep you safe. But he could see the resolve in your eyes, the way you were unwilling to back down, and it hit him harder than anything else. He wanted to protect you from this pain, but he couldn’t deny you your choice. You had always been there for him, and it hurt him to know you thought you had to do this.

"Y/N," Sam started, his voice rough, but there was no mistaking the concern in it. "I don’t want you to... I don’t want you to see Dean like this. You’ve already been through so much, and I—" He faltered for a second, taking a breath. "I’m not sure I can keep you safe, not with what he’s become."

You stepped closer to him. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the love he had for you and the fear of losing you. But you weren’t backing down. Not this time.

"I have to help, Sam," you said, your voice shaking but resolute. "You don’t have to do this alone. I won’t let you." Your hand gripped his, steady and firm. "We’re in this together. Always."

Sam swallowed hard, his hand reaching up to hold yours, but his eyes stayed on you with that same conflicted pain. Slowly, he nodded, though it was clear how much it hurt him to agree.

"Okay," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "But I’m not going to let you get hurt. I can’t lose you too." He pulled you into another tight embrace, holding you as though he never wanted to let you go, as though you were the one thing still keeping him from falling apart completely. "I’ve got you. And I’ll make sure we both make it through this." You nodded into his chest, but wanted to make sure that he knew you were also there for him. You pulled away from him and walked towards the cooler of blood he had put down.

“Well, we better get started,” you said, trying to sound more certain than you felt as you picked up the cooler. But before you could even take a step, Sam’s hand shot out, grabbing your arm with gentle but unyielding force.

You froze, looking up at him, and the moment you met his eyes, you saw the storm behind them. His jaw was tight, and there was something darker flickering in his gaze, something full of fear—fear for you.

"Wait," Sam said, his voice thick with something you couldn’t place. His grip on your arm didn’t hurt, but it held you still, like he was trying to anchor you in place, to make sure you understood what you were about to face. "Listen to me, okay? You have to be ready for what you’re about to see."

You gulped, but tried to be confident in the situation you found yourself in. "Sam, I’ll be fine."

He shook his head, his hand still on your arm, his thumb brushing over your skin as if trying to calm you. "No, you won’t. You think you know what you're walking into, but you have no idea." His voice lowered, a layer of tenderness creeping in. "This isn't Dean you're going to see in there. He’s a demon, there’s no one possessing him it’s just who he is."

Your stomach dropped, but you held his gaze. “I know Sam." You muttered softly, hearing him say it out loud made you feel nauseous.

Sam’s eyes softened, but the worry never left. He stepped closer to you, his body looming just slightly over yours as if shielding you from something, though you knew he couldn’t protect you from the truth that was waiting for you behind that door. "I know you do," he whispered, his voice rough. "But you need to hear me, okay? It’s different and I’m trying to prepare you in every way possible. He’s going to make you feel things you can’t control. He’s going to manipulate you. He will say things that will make you question everything, make you doubt yourself. He will try to break you."

You frowned, but Sam wasn’t done. He let go of your arm, his hands moving to your shoulders, his touch firm but careful, as if he was afraid even the smallest jolt would shatter you. "He’s good at that. He knows exactly how to twist your feelings—how to twist your memories. He knows how much you love him, and he will use that against you. He will make you feel like you're losing everything. And that—" Sam’s voice cracked slightly as he spoke, but he forced himself to keep going. "That will be the hardest part."

You felt a lump form in your throat, the weight of his words pressing down on you. "I won’t give up on him, Sam. I know what Dean is. I know what he means to me."

Sam nodded slowly, his forehead furrowing in quiet desperation. "I know you won’t," he murmured, and for a brief moment, his eyes softened with something close to admiration. "But he IS a demon now... and he WILL make you question everything. You’ve never seen Dean like this. You’ve never seen him like this before."

He let out a sharp breath, like he was weighing how much to say. "It’s not just about seeing him as a demon. It’s about feeling what he will do to you. He is going to make you think he’s gone. That you’ll never get him back. And it’s going to hurt—so much worse than you think." His eyes were dark now, full of an understanding you couldn’t ignore. "You need to prepare yourself. Mentally, emotionally... you need to brace for it. Because when you see him... you won’t recognize him at all. And that’s going to hurt the most."

You felt the weight of his words crash into you. Sam wasn’t trying to scare you—he was trying to protect you, to prepare you. And though a part of you wanted to shake off his worry, to push past it and rush forward to face Dean, you couldn’t. You couldn’t ignore how much he cared.

"I can handle it," you whispered, but even to your own ears, the words sounded fragile.

Sam’s face softened, but the sadness in his eyes deepened and for a long moment, Sam didn’t speak. He just looked at you, his expression unreadable, torn between wanting to protect you and knowing you needed to do this.

"Just promise me one thing," he said, his voice tight. "When you see him—when you look at him—don’t forget who he was. Don't let him make you forget the older brother you’ve always known." He paused, his eyes searching yours, desperately trying to convey every ounce of his care. "Promise me, please, that you won’t let it break you."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you nodded slowly, determined despite the fear twisting in your chest. "I promise, Sam. I won’t forget him. I won’t give up on him."

Sam let out a shaky breath, the weight of his relief almost visible. He squeezed your hand, then took a step back, his eyes still locked onto yours. "Okay," he whispered, his voice full of quiet, helplessness. "If you need to walk away... you do that. You turn away and don’t look back. Not for a second. Don’t give him that satisfaction, okay?"

"Okay, I wont," you said, your voice steady now, even if your heart was pounding through your body. "I’ll come find you if you walk out. You’re not in this alone." Sam reassured, the concern never leaving his face. You nodded and with one last glance, he stepped aside, letting you walk toward the door. You reached for the handle, feeling the cold metal beneath your fingers as Sam’s steady presence lingered behind you.

And with that, you stepped forward, ready—or as ready as you could be—to face your brother who was now a demon.

As soon as you stepped into the room, your eyes locked onto him, and the air seemed to freeze. The coldness that radiated from him was palpable, like a dark aura pressing down on you. Though his eyes weren’t black, there was something in them—something sharp, dangerous—that sent a chill straight through you. It was the unmistakable presence of evil lurking beneath the surface, twisting everything that had once been Dean. For a moment, you froze, instinctively halting in your tracks as the weight of the transformation hit you full force. You wanted to step back, wanted to run, but before you could think about moving, you felt Sam’s hand gently settle on your back, grounding you. His touch was a steady reminder that you weren’t alone, even as the room felt like it was closing in. You walked closer to Dean and watched as the corner of Dean’s mouth curled into a twisted smirk. The room seemed to grow colder as he took a slow, deliberate step toward you. His eyes—those familiar eyes—were colder than you remembered, and the way he looked at you felt wrong. Like you were nothing more than a toy to him. “Well, look at you. My baby sister,” he said, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “You think you can save me, don’t you? But here I am. And there you are just standing there, scared shitless.”

As Dean's words sank in, the weight of his twisted gaze making your heart pound in your chest, Sam’s hand on your back tightened slightly, as though he could feel the struggle inside you. Without a second thought, he stepped in front of you, positioning himself between you and Dean, blocking your view. His voice cut through the thick, suffocating air, firm but edged with raw emotion. "Dean, stop," Sam commanded, his words heavy with pain.

But then, something inside you—something deeper, stronger—refused to let him win. You couldn't, not without a fight. You stepped around Sam. "You’re still in there, Dean," you forced yourself to say, despite the tremor in your voice. "I know you are. I won’t let you do this." Dean's grin only widened. "You’re lying to yourself, sweetheart. There’s nothing left of me but this." His voice dropped, almost a growl now, "And this—this is what’s going to destroy you."

Your resolve hardened, and despite the absolute terror gnawing at you, you stood your ground. "You won’t destroy me Dean. Not now. Not ever." You replied, your voice much firmer now.

At the sound of the cooler snapping open, you turned just in time to see Sam pulling out the vials of blood, his eyes meeting yours with an unspoken determination. His hands were steady, but you could see the weight of what he was doing pressing down on him.

"You’re gonna come back, Dean," Sam said, his voice tight with emotion, but resolute. "We’re not letting you go."

He walked towards you, the cooler of blood in his hands. Dean eyes zeroing in on it like a predator. "Really?" he sneered, his voice dripping with mock amusement as Sam set the cooler down on the table with a thud.

Sam sighed, trying to mask the frustration but failing. "For what it's worth, I got your blood type," he said, offering a sarcastic half-smile, before clearing his throat and opening the cooler.

Dean’s eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a twisted grin. "Sam," he said, his tone low and dark, "I know you think you're gonna try and fix me, but did it ever occur to you that I don’t want to be fixed?" His gaze shifting between you and Sam. "Just let me go. Let me live my life. I won’t bother you." Dean paused, his eyes locking onto you, and his grin stretched wider. "And I pinky promise not to go after our sweet baby sis first."

Your breath caught in your throat. The fear coursed through you like ice, and your hands instinctively gripped the edge of the table. No, don’t let him see it. Don’t show him how much that scares you. But it was impossible to hide. You could feel your heart pounding, your body frozen in place as Dean's words twisted the knife further.

Sam noticed. His jaw tightened, but he kept his eyes on you, locking gazes for a brief moment, silently urging you to stay calm, to stay strong. You nodded, trying to steady your shaking breath, but it felt impossible. You could see Sam’s anger flickering behind his frustration, but he kept his attention on you, silently grounding you, reminding you that you weren’t alone in this. Sam turned back around to take his attention off of you. “Well that didn’t sound promising.”

“What do you care?” Dean asked, his gaze flicking between you and Sam, his voice dripping with mockery.

Sam’s response was sharp, almost a growl. “What do I care?” He let out a huff and rolled his eyes, disbelief dripping from his voice as he looked at Dean. He was trying to stay in control, trying not to let Dean get to him. His eyes flicked back to you, checking on you again, and in that moment, you felt the weight of his silent support. You had to hold it together—for Sam, for Dean, for everyone.

“You’re not going anywhere, Dean. Not until you’re cured and you will be cured.” You said with so much power behind your words.

Sam stepped forward, starting the ritual, but Dean’s voice cut through the tension once more, this time darker, more dangerous.

“You think I’ll sit here like Crowley and get all weepy while you shoot me up? Well, screw that. I don’t want this!”

Sam rolled his eyes again, frustration now boiling over. “Yeah, I think we pretty much figured that out.” His words were sharp. Dean’s gaze moved back to you. “You don’t even know if this is gonna work, do you? You know I’ve got a hell of a lot more running in me than just demon juice, sweetheart.”

Sam kept his focus on the ritual, his jaw set.

“Mark of Cain, got it,” You muttered, your voice barely more than a whisper, but there was a finality to it.

"That's right," Dean growled, his eyes burning with defiance. You glanced at Sam and saw that the syringes were ready. The tension in the air thickened. You looked back at Dean, trying to mask your fear with a heavy sigh.

"Buckle up," you said, your voice steady despite the nerves crawling under your skin.

"Baby sis, you know I hate shots," Dean muttered, his tone dripping with disdain.

You nodded, your grip tightening around the holy water bottle in your hand. "I hate demons."

As Sam took his final step toward Dean, the air seemed to crackle with the energy of the impending confrontation. Without warning, Dean’s eyes flashed black, and he lunged at Sam with a growl, desperate to stop the ritual.

You didn’t hesitate. You grabbed the holy water and splashed it right into his face. Dean recoiled with a howl of pain, but it was enough to give Sam the opening he needed. With swift precision, Sam drove the needle into Dean’s arm.

Dean snarled, his body convulsing with rage and discomfort. Sam was unfazed and spoke with a steady determination. “Look, we’ve got a whole bunch more of these to go. You could make it a whole lot easier on yourself.” Sam’s voice was steady, but the uncertainty flickered in his eyes. Before Dean could respond, he started grunting aggressively, jerking violently against the restraints.

You glanced at Sam, seeing the look of hesitation flicker across his face, but before you could say anything, he grabbed another syringe and stabbed it into Dean’s arm. Dean writhed in pain, his eyes glaring up at Sam with unrestrained fury.

“For all you know, you could be killing me,” Dean breathed heavily, the words laced with anger.

Sam turned abruptly, slamming something down onto the table in frustration. “Or you’re just messing with me. Either way, the lore doesn’t say anything about exceptions to the cure.” His voice was firm, but the confidence never quite reached his face.

Dean chuckled darkly. “The lore,” he scoffed. “Hunters, men of letters. What a load of crap it all is.”

Sam squinted his eyes, looking him up and down, but kept quiet. “Oh, you got nothing?” He glanced at Sam, then shifted his attention to you. “What about you, sweetheart?”

You gulped, the fear creeping up on you, but you forced the words out. “This isn’t the real you even talking.”

Dean’s grin widened. “Oh, it’s the real me, all right.” His voice dropped, becoming colder, darker. “The new real me. The me that sees things for what they really are.”

The air around him seemed to pulse with something dark, something raw. His eyes locked onto you, and you felt a cold chill crawl down your spine.

“And I can see what you really are. You’re absolutely terrified,” he continued, his voice dripping with venom. “You thought I’d be broken—but I’m not. This is me now. And you? You’re just another casualty. You’re going to burn, slowly and painfully—just like our mommy you never got to know.”

Your eyes widened in absolute shock at the threat and the mention of your mother, shocked he could even think of such a thing. His gaze flickered over you, studying your reaction with a twisted satisfaction. "I could make you beg for death, you know. You think I’m still Dean in here, but he’s long gone. And you’re going to be so disappointed when you realize that."

Dean’s laugh was low, a sound that sent a jolt of dread through your body. “You can’t save me. And you can’t save yourself, either. I’ll make sure of that. But hey, maybe I’ll keep you alive for a while, let you watch it all fall apart. Maybe make you beg for death? Won’t that be fun?”

The venom in his words stung like poison, and it took every ounce of strength not to crumble in front of him. He could see it—the fear was written all over your face, and he was savoring it. He wanted to break you, and deep down, you knew he was capable of it.

Your breath was shallow, and panic bubbled up in your chest, threatening to overflow. The room felt suffocating. Your world began to blur, and you could feel your knees shaking beneath you. “I’ll make you scream! I’ll make you beg for death and watch as you choke on your own blood!” He screamed at you who was frozen in fear. Sam, enraged, stormed toward Dean. His eyes were filled with a fury that only came from seeing someone he loved in pain. Without hesitation, he jabbed the next syringe into Dean’s neck.

Dean screamed, a sound so raw and guttural that it made you jump, your entire body trembling with fear. It felt like the world around you was falling apart.

Sam threw the syringe on the table, turning away from Dean. The tension in the room was unbearable, the air thick with dread. Dean’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and mocking.

“Let me ask you this. If this doesn’t work—you both know what you got to do to me, right?” His voice was cold, menacing. “You got the stomach for that, Sam?! Because I know Y/N doesn’t!”

Your breath caught in your throat, a wave of nausea rising in your chest. His words felt like a punch, each one more suffocating than the last. You couldn’t take it anymore. Your knees buckled as you rushed out of the room, your mind spinning, your heart pounding. You gasped for air, your chest tight, and the world around you felt like it was blurring together. The threats, the fear, the helplessness—it was all too much. You couldn’t bear to hear any more. You couldn’t bear to be here.

The weakness weighed too heavy on you. The fear was too real. You stumbled down the hall, desperate for air, desperate for a moment where you didn’t feel like you were drowning. You were spiraling, every breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps as your body shook uncontrollably. The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, the walls closing in around you. Your hands scrambled for stability from the walls, but they felt foreign, unreal, slipping away from you as if nothing could anchor you. Your heart pounded so violently that it drowned out everything else. The world was blurring, and you couldn’t stop it. You screamed in panic, the noise getting strangled in your throat, swallowed by the terror that was overtaking you. You were shaking so hard, your body threatening to collapse under the weight of the fear. Your breath was ragged, each inhale burning, like you couldn’t get enough air into your lungs. Your legs buckled beneath you, but you didn’t fall. You clung to the walls, nails digging into the surface as if they could keep you from falling apart. Tears streamed down your face, and you didn’t know how to stop them.

Then, suddenly, Sam was there, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you against him. His presence was grounding, but it didn’t stop the panic raging inside you. You trembled against him, clinging to his shirt, your fists clutching onto him like he was the only thing keeping you from floating away into the terror.

“Shh, I’m here. You’re safe, okay? You’re safe,” Sam’s voice was soft but firm, filled with that quiet steadiness you knew and trusted. But it felt so distant through the haze of panic that surrounded you.

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. The fear suffocated you, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t catch your breath. “I can’t—Sam, I can’t—” You gasped, clutching harder, the terror building, squeezing the air out of your lungs.

Sam held you tighter, his hands gently guiding your shaky arms around him as he spoke again, more urgently this time. “Breathe, okay? I need you to breathe with me. In through your nose, slow. You’re okay. I’m right here.” His words were calm, but his voice betrayed how upset he was, how desperately he was trying to keep you from falling into the abyss of panic.

But you couldn’t. The fear was overwhelming, and every breath felt like it was ripping you apart. “I can’t,” you sobbed, your chest heaving. “I can’t breathe, Sam. I can’t...” You were sobbing so hard now, shaking violently, your body convulsing in his arms. “I can’t. He’s going to kill us... Sam, he said it himself. He said it—he’s going to—”

Sam’s eyes widened in horror as your words hit him like a punch. His grip tightened on you, his hands holding your face gently, forcing you to look at him. “No, no, no. Look at me. Look at me.” His voice cracked with emotion, raw and full of pain as he tried to steady you. “He’s not going to touch you. I swear to you. I won’t let him hurt you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The weight of your fear crashed down on you, but you could barely hear him through the fog of panic. “He said it... he said he was going to kill us... I can’t— Oh my God! He’s going to kill me... I can’t—I can’t—”

“No,” Sam interrupted, his voice low but filled with an undeniable certainty. He gripped your shoulders, his thumbs gently brushing the tear-streaked skin of your face. “He’s not going to hurt you. You hear me? And you’re not alone. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere, okay? You’re not going to die.”

You shook your head, but the words didn’t make sense. The terror was louder than anything else, drowning out everything he was saying. But Sam wasn’t giving up. His hands were on you, steadying you, grounding you. His voice was insistent, unwavering. “Breathe with me, okay? In through your nose, slow. You’re okay. You’re safe. You can do this. You’re strong enough to do this. In through your nose... slow... just like that. I’m right here.”

You tried, you really did. But the air still felt thick, like you couldn’t get enough in. You gasped, shaking so violently you thought you might break.

Sam didn’t let go. He cupped your cheeks, his breath steady and warm against your skin. “I’m right here with you. You can breathe. You can breathe. I promise you’re going to be okay.”

His voice, so calm, so grounded, started to break through the haze of panic just a little. You could feel his heartbeat against your chest, steady and strong. Your hands loosened their grip on his shirt, though you still clung to him, desperate for anything to keep you from falling apart.

Slowly, shakily, you tried to breathe. It wasn’t perfect, but the tremors in your chest started to ease just a fraction.

"I'm so sorry," you whispered, barely able to get the words out through the rawness in your throat. "I couldn’t handle it, Sammy. I thought I could… I really did. But he—" You cut yourself off with another sob, pressing your face into his chest, your fingers still clutching his shirt as though it were the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely.

Sam didn’t say anything for a moment, but his arms tightened around you, pulling you closer. He didn’t try to pull away or tell you to stop, just held you through the storm. His hand stroked your hair gently, his fingers brushing your skin with an almost tender urgency, as though he couldn’t bear to see you so broken.

"He scared me," you whispered again, voice broken, barely audible as you clung to him, feeling like a piece of you was slipping away with each word. “I couldn’t stop the fear... I thought I could keep it together, but I... I couldn’t. I’m so sorry." Your voice cracked on the last part, the weight of it pressing down on you like a thousand tons.

Sam pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his expression full of concern and something deeper, something that wasn’t just about fear, but understanding. "Don’t apologize," he said softly, his voice so gentle yet filled with an unmistakable strength. "You don’t have to be sorry. What he said... what he did... It should have scared you. It was pure evil."

You shook your head, still unable to stop the tears. "I should’ve been stronger. I—I thought I could handle it. I thought I could... but I wasn’t ready, Sam. I wasn’t ready for it. I—"

Sam cupped your face in his hands, forcing you to meet his gaze, his eyes soft but firm. "Hey, listen to me," he whispered, his voice low but filled with an unwavering confidence. "You are strong. You’re stronger than you think. You don’t have to apologize. We’re going to get through this, I promise."

His voice held a certainty that slowly, almost imperceptibly, started to sink into your bones.

You closed your eyes, leaning into him again, feeling a sense of relief you hadn’t realized you were missing. He held you for a moment longer, his hands gently brushing through your hair, offering silent comfort. When you finally pulled away, his eyes softened, filled with concern, but there was a quiet determination there too. "Listen, I think you need a little time. Clear your head. You don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to. If you need to get away from this, it’s okay." You blinked up at him, trying to process his words, still shaken but feeling just a little steadier than before. Sam reached for your hands, squeezing them gently. "I’ll be here, with Dean. If you feel ready to come back, you’ll know where to find us." You nodded slowly, taking in a shaky breath as you turned away, your feet carrying you toward the hallway. But as you walked, your steps faltered when you reached Dean’s door. The place that once felt like a refuge, where you and Dean would laugh, talk, and find solace in each other’s company. Now, it felt cold, distant, like something you couldn’t touch. But despite the overwhelming fear still gripping your chest, you needed to be there. You needed a piece of him, something to hold onto, even if it was just the remnants of the past.

With shaky hands, you pushed the door open, the familiar scent of Dean’s cologne filling the air. You didn’t bother to turn on the light. The dim glow from the hallway illuminated the room.

You walked in slowly, your legs weak beneath you as if the weight of everything was too much to carry. Your eyes glanced around at the cluttered room, the remnants of his life still scattered about: a jacket thrown over a chair, a half-empty bottle of whiskey on the nightstand, a few books stacked haphazardly on the dresser. It all felt so wrong.

But you couldn’t stop. You needed this.

Without a word, you collapsed onto the bed, a cry escaping from your chest before you even realized it. The sound was raw, desperate, like a broken thing struggling to survive. You buried your face in the sheets, clinging to them as if they could hold you together. But the weight of it was too much.

The tears came once again—hard and unrelenting, flooding your face, soaking the bed beneath you. You couldn’t stop. You just couldn’t. The grief tore through you like a storm, leaving you empty and hollow. Every sob was a reminder that the man you loved was gone. Every gasp for air felt like it was being ripped from your lungs, suffocated by the weight of what had happened.

Dean wasn’t here anymore. Dean was gone, and all that was left was this twisted version, this monster wearing his face, mocking you. The pain was too much to bear. Your body shook violently as the sobs racked through you, each cry coming out like a wounded animal, a desperate plea to make it stop.

It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. How could everything go so wrong so quickly? How could someone you trusted with your whole heart become someone you were terrified of?

You curled up tighter on the bed, pressing your face deeper into the pillow, as if you could disappear into it, as if you could escape the crushing pain that consumed you.

You felt your body tremble with exhaustion, but you didn’t care. You didn’t know how long you lay there, your body wracked with sobs, lost in a fog of despair. Time had no meaning anymore. There was nothing but the endless ache, the never-ending stream of tears.

Eventually, exhaustion overtook you and you fell into deep nothingness.

Hours later, Sam walked through the door, his footsteps heavy, weighed down by the crushing reality of everything that had happened. He didn’t expect to find you here. But when he saw you, curled up on Dean’s bed, he stopped in his tracks.

The sight of you, so small and vulnerable sent a deep ache through him. It was as if you were seeking refuge in the last place where you felt safe, but now that place was empty—Dean was gone.

Sam’s breath hitched as he slowly walked toward you, trying to make himself as quiet as possible, not wanting to disturb the fragile silence. The sight of you—so broken, so lost—was almost too much for him to bear.

He stood there for a long moment, watching you, but he didn’t want to disturb you. He knew how raw you were, and he didn’t want to make it worse.

Instead, he quietly moved to Dean’s dresser, pulling open the drawers, his eyes landing on old photos. There were pictures of the three of them—of Dean, Sam, and you—smiling, laughing, being a family. The images were so painfully full of life, so full of warmth, and now they felt like a cruel reminder of everything they had lost. Sam swallowed hard, his heart aching in his chest as he sat down on the edge of the bed, holding the photos in his hands, trying to cling to the reminder of who Dean really was.

As he adjusted his position, his knee brushed against you, and your eyes shot open. You jerked awake, panic immediately flooding your system. Your breathing hitched as you looked around, disoriented, your wild eyes landing on Sam.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s me,” Sam said gently, his voice calm and soothing as he saw the fear in your eyes. He reached out, his hand hovering near your leg. “It’s Sam. You’re okay, you’re safe.”

For a moment, you couldn’t process what was happening, where you were. Your heart racing with fear, but then you realized it was Sam.

"Sammy?" You whispered hoarsely, your voice cracking with the remnants of your tears. The moment you spoke, Sam’s expression softened, and his hand moved instinctively, rubbing your knee in a gentle motion.

"Yeah, I’m here," he replied softly, his voice full of that familiar warmth, but there was an undeniable pain beneath it. His thumb traced small circles on your knee, the touch meant to comfort, but you could feel his heart breaking, too.

You blinked, still trying to piece together what was happening, and finally asked, “What’s going on?” He slowly extended the photos toward you. You took them from him, your hands trembling as you looked down at the first picture. It was of the three of you—laughing around a campfire, Dean’s arm around you, Sam’s goofy grin plastered on his face. You ran your fingers over the edges of the photo, the memory of that day so vivid in your mind. “I remember this,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “We ended up by that campfire and it was perfect. I remember feeling so... free.”

Sam smiled faintly, his own gaze distant. “Yeah. We were just... being us. No monsters, no threats, no worry. Just us.”

“Just us,” you repeated, almost in disbelief, as if the simplicity of it was too much to hold onto.

Sam gave a soft chuckle, the memory clearly bringing him comfort, but the sadness in his eyes remained. “You kept teasing Dean because his marshmallows were burnt. You’d pretend to be all disgusted, but we both knew it was because you wanted his.”

A small, bitter laugh slipped from your lips, despite the overwhelming pain. You had forgotten about that. “You know me too well,” you murmured. “I always acted like I didn’t want anything to do with those burnt marshmallows, but I couldn’t resist them. Dean always made them with the perfect crisp.”

“You loved it,” Sam teased softly, a slight twinkle in his eye, though it didn’t quite reach the depth of his sadness.

You both fell into a moment of silence, the memories hanging between you like a fragile thread, so easily snapped by the weight of everything that had changed. Sam flipped through another photo, gently lifting another picture from the stack.

It was a candid shot, taken on a long drive. You were sleeping in the backseat of the Impala, curled up in the corner, your head resting against the window. Your hair was tousled, and you looked so peaceful, a soft expression on your face that spoke of all the exhaustion you’d been carrying.

Sam’s lips curled into a sad smile as he looked down at the picture. “You used to fall asleep so easily.”

You looked at the picture for a moment, the memory of that time rushing back. “I used to be able to sleep anywhere, didn’t I?” You said softly. “I’d fall asleep in the back of the car, on the floor of the motel room... anywhere. It didn’t matter, as long as you guys were there.”

Sam nodded, his eyes softening. “Yeah. And Dean would always make sure you were comfortable, even if it meant giving up his seat or letting you sleep in the front.”

Your throat tightened as you looked at the photo again, feeling the pang of longing for simpler days. "He always took care of me," you whispered, the words barely audible. "Even when things were rough, he made sure I was taken care of."

Sam’s expression darkened slightly, but he didn't say anything for a moment. He turned to the next photo, his fingers brushing over the surface, as if the memories were too much for words.

This one was from another time, a shot of the three of you standing in front of the Impala, the sun setting behind you, casting long shadows on the ground. You were all leaning casually against the car, smiles on your faces as you took a break after another long day. There was something about the photo that captured a moment of calmness, like you could take a breath and believe that everything would be okay.

“That was the summer we finally took a real break,” Sam murmured, almost to himself. “We didn’t have a hunt for a few weeks. Just… time together. I remember feeling like that moment could last forever.”

You smiled at the memory, but the happiness it brought was bittersweet. “We didn’t know how rare those moments would be. It’s like we thought we could escape it all, just for a little while.”

“And we did,” Sam said softly, his voice laced with a quiet sorrow. “Even if it was just for a moment, we were free. We were happy.”

You let out a long sigh, turning your attention to the next photo. It was a picture of the three of you standing by a creek, Sam holding up a fish he had caught. Dean was laughing, looking more carefree than you had seen in years. You were standing between them, holding a fishing rod in one hand, a playful grin on your face.

“We almost didn’t catch anything that day,” Sam chuckled, remembering. “But we didn’t care. It was just nice to be out there.”

You nodded, a soft, smirk on your lips. “We spent hours there and I was the only one that caught a fish.”

Sam let out a chuckle, his finger lingering on the edge of the photo. “Yeah, you’re right.”

You felt the familiar ache in your chest, but you weren’t sure if it was the memories or the overwhelming pain that had been gnawing at you for so long.

“I miss it,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “I miss when we were all okay. When we weren’t broken.”

Sam gently put his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him. “We’re still here,” he said, his voice steady, though the pain was clear in his eyes. “And we’re going to get through this.”

You leaned into Sam's embrace, taking a deep breath, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding you.

“I know we will,” you said, your voice quiet but firm. “You’re not going to stop, Sam. You won’t stop until he’s back. And I won’t stop either. I’ll fight for him. For both of you. For our family.”

Sam looked down at you, his hand resting on your arm for a brief moment. The look in his eyes softened, but there was still a flicker of sadness there.

“You always know just what to say,” he murmured, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. But then, it faltered, as if the weight of the situation caught up with him again. “I need to go give Dean more blood. Just... hang in there, okay?”

You nodded, giving him a small, reassuring smile. “I’m going to flip through a few more photos and then I’m going to face him again. I’m ready, we’re going to get him back, Sammy.”

Sam gave you a long, searching look, his eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and pain. He squeezed your shoulder gently, his thumb brushing over your skin like he was trying to convey all the emotions he couldn’t put into words. “You’re stronger than you know,” he said softly, his voice cracking slightly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He let out a shaky breath, forcing a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He turned and walked out the door.

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone with the photos, the memories, and the overwhelming determination to get your brother back.

You sat in the quiet room, the silence only broken by the soft rustle of photos as you flipped through them. Each one was a little piece of the past, and you couldn’t help but get lost in them, memories flooding back of moments when life felt simpler, when your family wasn’t shattered. You smiled softly at a few, some of you, Sam, and Dean as kids, others of the three of you laughing on the road. Dean’s arm was always around you, a silent protector.

But as time went on, the smiles faded, the weight of the present settling in. You flipped through more photos, trying to hold onto something, anything, to remind you that you hadn’t lost it all.

Suddenly, the atmosphere in the bunker shifted.

The steady hum of the bunker’s lights flickered, and you froze, a chill crawling up your spine. The steady silence was broken by the shrill, jarring sound of the alarm. It was blaring through the entire place, and the lights flashed red, casting the entire room in an eerie glow. Your breath caught in your throat as the ground seemed to vibrate with urgency.

The bunker was on lockdown.

A feeling of dread washed over you, the panic rising as you glanced toward the door. You could hear the buzz of the alarm reverberating through the walls, a constant reminder that something was wrong. Something had happened, and you weren’t sure what.

You stood up, your heart pounding in your chest, the photos scattering around you as you rushed toward the door. The bunker had never gone on lockdown unless something major was going down—something serious.

And that’s when you realized. Whatever was happening, it was happening now.

Your mind raced with thoughts of Sam, of Dean, of everything that was slipping out of control. You ran your fingers through your hair, trying to gather your thoughts, but the alarm kept ringing in your ears, pressing in on you.

Your thoughts spiraled as you heard the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps pounding down the hallway.

No. No, no.

The voice you dreaded pierced through the growing panic like a blade.

“Smart Sam!” Dean's voice echoed, rough and cold. “Put the bunker on lockdown!” His tone was sharp, filled with menace, and it only made your heart race faster, a deep, primal fear clawing at your chest. “I hope you have our sweet baby sister with you because if I find her first…” He trailed off chuckling darkly.

You froze, paralyzed by the sound, your mind scrambling for what to do. A pit of dread opened in your stomach.

The realization hit you all at once. Dean—demon Dean—was loose. The man you trusted, the man who practically raised you, was no longer the one who would protect you. He was the one you had to run from.

Panic rose in your throat as you rushed to make a decision. There was no time. He was close, and you could hear his mocking tone as he stomped down the hall, getting closer. In a moment of sheer instinct, you crouched low, hiding under his bed. You held your breath, praying he wouldn’t find you, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t look here.

The footsteps grew louder, and then—crash. The door to his room was flung open with a violent force. You flinched, pressing yourself further against the cool floorboards, your heart pounding so loudly you thought it might give you away. The door slammed against the wall, the sound reverberating through the bunker, and you squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to stay silent.

Dean’s voice, dripping with dark amusement, broke the silence.

“Well, well, well…” His tone was twisted, mocking, like he was savoring the moment. "Looks like little sister has been rummaging through my stuff. I should've known you'd come crawling back here.”

You could hear him moving around the room, his footsteps heavy as he paced, no doubt seeing the scattered photos that littered the floor, the ones you had been looking through. The ones that meant so much to you. The memories of a time when Dean had been the brother you could count on. His laughter. His warmth. That was all gone now.

He snorted, his voice oozing with cruelty. “You really think you can hide from me, sweetheart?”

You felt every word like a punch to the gut. His presence was suffocating, and the room felt colder, darker with every word that came out of his mouth.

He paused, and for a split second, you thought he was going to leave. But then the sound of his heavy breathing grew louder, closer. He was right near the bed now.

"What's the matter?" His voice dropped lower, taunting. "Too scared to come out and face me, kiddo?"

Your chest tightened, each breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t do anything but stay hidden, the weight of terror pinning you in place.

Then, you heard him bend down, the sound of his hands brushing against the floor. He was too close. The next thing you knew, you could feel his gaze on the edge of the bed, your pulse skyrocketing.

“I know you’re here,” Dean sneered, the sound of his voice creeping along your spine like ice.

A cruel chuckle escaped his lips, the sound as dark and chilling as the red lights flashing through the room. "I think you should come out, sweetheart. Come out and let me see that pretty little face of yours." His voice dripped with venom. "Come on, I promise I wont make you beg for death for too long.“

You fought the urge to scream, fighting every ounce of fear that racked your body. “I’ll be gentle and maybe make it a little quicker than I originally intended… maybe.” He taunted, before moving away from the bed completely.

Then the sound of his boots echoed out of the room and down the hallway. He chuckled darkly, the laughter booming off the walls. “Come out, come out, wherever you are, baby sis. I just wanna play. Don’t you miss your big brother?"

You heard the soft thump of his boots retreating further down the hall, the distant echo of his voice mocking you. Now’s your chance.

You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, trying to focus, listening for his movements to die down. “Sammy! Once I find our sister—Oh! You’ll wish I never had.” He screamed down the hall. You jumped in fright from under the bed as the sound of his voice faded into the distance.

Finally, you heard the familiar creak of the floorboards in the hallway, followed by silence.

The coast had to be clear.

With a soft breath, you pushed yourself out from under the bed, crawling on your hands and knees, barely daring to make a sound. The darkness seemed to stretch around you as you moved towards the door, your heart hammering in your chest.

The hall was empty. You held your breath and moved quickly, praying he wouldn’t hear you. You had to find Sam and get the hell out of this nightmare. You turned the corner, heart pounding in your throat, the brief moment of freedom fading as you collided hard with Dean’s chest. The impact knocked you to the floor and the breath left your lungs. You looked up and was met with his cold dark eyes and subtle smirk which only grew more as you tried scrambling away from him on the floor. “No, no, no, no, no,” you whispered, your voice trembling in pure terror. That's when your eyes caught sight of the hammer in his hand—twirling slowly, almost gleefully, the cold metal gleaming in the dim light as he grinned down at you. “No! Dean, no, please!” You shrieked as you turned and clawed desperately at the floor to get away, your fingers scraping against the cold surface, each movement frantic, full of pure terror. Every inch you gained felt like a victory, but with each breath, you knew Dean was right behind you, enjoying your struggle. You needed to escape. You had to. As soon as you pulled yourself off the floor, you felt it.

A cold, iron grip closed around your ankle.

“NO!” You screamed, thrashing with a force you didn’t even know you had. You kicked, you twisted, you screamed—every muscle in your body locked in pure, unrelenting panic. Your heart raced as if it were about to tear itself from your chest, each shriek more frantic than the last.

Dean dragged you back, hard, and your body slammed into the floor with a sickening thud, the impact rattling your bones, the air knocked from your lungs in a painful gasp, and a horrible crack came from your head. The world around you spun for a moment, and then all that was left was the terror—him, his grip, his presence—everything closing in on you. You felt the cold floor against your cheek, felt your body slacken for a second, but it only fueled your panic more.

“Please, don’t! Please!” You screamed, your voice wild, hoarse, the sound of your cries raw and desperate. “Please don’t do it! Please—please, Dean, I’m begging you, please!” You tried to claw your way away again, but it was no use. Every time you moved, he was there, pulling you back, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. “Please, Dean! Sammy, help! Please, help me!” You screamed, your voice echoing through the bunker.

Dean’s laugh was low, dark, a twisted sound that sent ice running through your veins. “Sammy’s a little held up right now.” He smirked, knowing the trap he put Sam in so that he could get to you. The hammer glinted in his hand, a cold, mocking glimmer that reflected the red lights overhead. “It’s just you and me, kid. Well until Sammy sees your little body lying here lifeless. Oh, he’s going to be devastated when he finds you… well only until I also finish him off.” Your body trembled in terror as your gaze locked onto his weapon, and you could feel the world around you closing in tighter with each passing second.

“PLEASE, DEAN, DON’T—!” The scream ripped from your throat, echoing down the hallway like a cry for mercy, but there was no mercy. There was nothing but the chilling smile on his face as he stared down at you, that cruel gleam in his eyes, his hand tightening on your leg.

“You should’ve stayed hidden,” he said, his voice low, mocking, as if he was savoring every second of your terror. “You never learn, do you?”

You kicked again, harder this time, desperate, but his grip was unrelenting. Tears flooded your eyes, your chest heaving as you gasped for air. “No... no, please... no...” you pleaded, but your words were barely coherent through the sobs. The fear coursing through you was overwhelming, suffocating. Dean didn’t care. His grip tightened around you, and you winced, feeling the pressure like a vice. “Begging me won’t help you,” he spat, voice dripping with venom. “You think that’s gonna save you?” He dragged you roughly toward him, his lips curling into a grin that was nothing but pure malice. “You think crying is gonna get you out of this?” He breathed his hot breath on your face. You were shaking, your body locked in a full-body tremor of fear. Your head was spinning, your heart pounding, and with every breath, it felt as if you were sinking deeper into a nightmare you couldn’t escape. “No, please, please, Dean,” you whimpered, struggling against his hold. The more you begged, the more twisted Dean’s expression became, savoring every ounce of your fear. His hand shot out suddenly, grabbing the back of your head and slamming it down onto the floor with brutal force. Your vision blurred from the impact, pain radiating through your skull, but Dean only laughed—low and sick. His face got closer to you this time, "Don’t think for a second that you’re in control here," he snarled. The hammer twirled in his hand again, slow, deliberate. Each spin was a reminder of the power he had over you. You tried to move, to escape, but your body was shaking too violently, too weak to fight back. “S-s’mmy Please.” You managed to squeak out, but it was barely above a whisper. Dean leaned down over you, his grin wide and predatory. His voice was almost a purr now, but there was nothing sweet about it. "You think anyone cares? You think Sam cares? No... no, sweetheart. No one’s saving you." You screamed, your voice a raw shriek of pure terror as you thrashed beneath him. Dean’s grip loosened completely before you felt his hands wrap around your throat. He tightened them with a suffocating weight. Your breaths gasped as you hands slapped weakly against his chest. "Okay..." Dean whispered, drawing out the words like a dark lullaby, "Let’s see if you can beg now."

This was it. You were going to die. You were going to die at the hands of your brother. The man who always protected you and cared for you.

You stared into his cold eyes as you felt yours start to drift off. But, just before your world went completely dark, the crushing weight was lifted off of you. You turned over and sucked in a desperate breath when you felt hands on your shoulders. You cried out a horrific rasp, flinching away, but Sam’s soft voice cut through the haze. “Hey, sweetheart, it’s me. Its Sam. It’s Sammy. Look at me, okay? Please, just look at me.” His voice cracked, raw with worry, but there was urgency, a trembling desperation you had never heard before. You could barely lift your head. Every breath felt like it might be your last. You gasped, wheezed, every inhale tearing through your lungs, each one harder than the last.

“Can you breathe?” Sam’s tone was filled with panic as he cupped your face. He frantically scanned your face and saw the blood, the cuts, and the way your body trembled. His stomach twisted with a sickening feeling. His thumb wiped away the blood from your temple, but you could feel the tremble in his touch. “Hey, can you breathe?” He asked urgently in one last desperate plea for an answer.

You clutched at your chest, fighting for just one more breath. “S’mmy?” You managed to rasp, your vision blurred and unfocused.

"Yeah, baby, it’s me. It’s me, but I need you to breathe," Sam reassured you softly, cupping your face and lifting your chin up so you could have better access to your airways. “Breathe with me, okay? Slow, deep breaths, sweetheart. In... and out. You’re okay, just focus on me.”

Your body shook with the effort, your chest burning, the air too thin, but Sam’s voice—soft, insistent, like he couldn’t bear to see you struggle any longer—pushed you to focus. "In through your nose, baby, just like I’m doing, slow and deep. You can do this. You’re going to breathe. I need you to do this with me. Please."

You tried to follow his rhythm, desperate to calm the storm raging inside of you. Slowly, each breath came a little easier, though it felt like your body fought against every ounce of effort. You sucked in another shaky breath, and for the first time, you felt the pressure in your chest lift just a fraction. One breath. One more...

And then you heard it.

A scream. Raw. Full of agony. It echoed in your ears, tearing through the fragile calm Sam’s voice had built. You forced your eyes open and jolted up. You body exhumed the last bit of energy it had to see the scene before you which made your blood run cold.

Dean was locked in Castiel’s unyielding grip, his body thrashing violently against the angel’s strength. Cas’s hands were tight around Dean’s arms, dragging him away, his expression unreadable, but his hold relentless. Dean’s voice cracked, a mixture of rage and pain, as he screamed and grunted, trying to fight back with every ounce of strength. His feet scraped against the ground as he was dragged farther from you, but it was useless.

"Sam..." You barely whispered the word, the terror creeping back into your chest. Your heart lurched at the sight.

“No, no, no...” Sam’s voice trembled with panic, his grip tightening on you as if he were afraid you might shatter into pieces. He turned your face back to him, forcing you to focus. "Look at me, please. Focus on me. Don’t look at them."

But you couldn’t. You couldn’t look away from Dean. You could see the fight in his eyes, the desperation, the disbelief that Cas—Cas—was doing this. Dean’s face twisted with a mix of fury, his body jerking as he screamed for freedom, but nothing he did seemed to matter. The angel dragged him away, like he was nothing more than a ragdoll.

You let out a loud painful strangled sob that got caught in your throat.

“Hey!” Sam’s voice broke like glass, desperation thick in the air. His thumb brushed your cheek, but it was frantic, not soothing. “Look at me.” His words were raw, pleading, a cry in the storm. "I’m right here, it’s okay. You’re safe. Just breathe."

His voice cracked again, his words thick with fear, and you saw it—real fear in his eyes. Sam, always the strong one, always the rock, was unraveling, torn apart by the sight of you—of Dean—and there was nothing he could do.

Dean’s screams echoed in the background, and you felt the tremor in Sam’s hand as he held you, his entire body trembling with the weight of what was happening. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”

You tried to focus on Sam. Just Sam. His face was so close now, eyes searching yours, lips moving in a desperate whisper. “You’re safe. You’re with me. I’m not leaving you. I’m so sorry.”

Each breath felt like it might be your last, but you tried, for Sam. You focused on him, on the sound of his voice, his presence anchoring you. Dean’s cries still echoed, but Sam was your anchor. Sam was all that mattered. And slowly, just slowly, your breath began to steady.

“Good girl,” Sam murmured softly, his voice thick with relief. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

He was practically holding you up so he gently guided your back to the wall so he could check you over. Your body felt broken, bruised, but Sam was there—strong, steady, never leaving your side.

His touch was tender, but there was an edge of urgency to it, as if he needed to make sure you were really here, really okay.

“Let me check your head,” Sam said softly, his eyes scanning your face for any signs of a concussion. His fingers gently probed your skull, checking for bumps or bruises. You winced, a sharp gasp escaping you, as he touched the sensitive area at the back of your head. Sam’s eyes darkened with helpless fear.

"Sorry, sorry, baby, I know that hurts," he whispered, his voice thick with guilt. "But I have to check, I need to make sure you’re okay." His words were strained, his hand hovering over your head, checking for swelling, for damage.

The dull throb of your head making it harder to focus. “M’head... hurts,” you rasped, your voice barely audible.

“I know, sweetheart,” Sam whispered, his face tight with concern.

You tried to shift, to sit up more, but the pressure in your neck made your entire body scream in agony, and your hand instinctively shot up to your throat.

“No, don’t touch it, sweetheart.” Sam’s voice broke like glass, and you felt his hand gently pull yours away from your neck.

He was trying to keep you still, but you could feel the weight of his panic pushing against the calm he was trying to create. Sam’s hands were already covered in your blood, but he wasn’t hesitating. His fingers brushing against the swelling bruises. His breath caught as he saw the darkening marks, the deepening shade of purple and blue spreading over your throat. He pressed lightly, as gently as he could, but the discomfort in your eyes was enough for him to stop. His expression twisted with a mix of anger and worry, but his voice stayed soft, steady as he leaned in close to you.

"You’re swelling." His thumb brushed against your skin, his face pale with panic.

Your hand instinctively tried to reach for your neck again, but Sam’s grip on your wrist was firm. "No, no, please don’t touch it," he pleaded as his mind raced on what to do next.

Everything hurt. Every inch of your body felt bruised, torn, like you’d been beaten to the edge of your life. Your face was covered in blood, your head was throbbing with every heartbeat, and your neck—your neck felt like it was on fire, swollen and tender beneath your touch. You couldn’t hold back the sob that escaped your chest.

Sam’s hands were shaking as he carefully wiped away the blood from your face. His touch was tender, but there was an edge to it, the frantic urgency of someone who couldn’t bear to see you in pain, couldn’t bear how fragile you looked in his arms.

“I’ve got you,” Sam murmured, his voice low and full of sorrow. "I’m so sorry... I just need to make sure you’re okay. Just a little more, okay?"

He slowly ran his hands over your face, carefully checking the cuts, making sure none of the injuries were too deep. The blood kept flowing, soaking into his fingers, and you could see the horror in his eyes as he noticed how much you were losing.

“Okay, you’re okay. You’re okay. Everything’s going to be alright.” His words were ragged, like they were being pulled out of him like he didn’t believe a word he was saying, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. He couldn’t let you know how bad it really was.

You noticed the way his body was rigid, like he was fighting to hold it together. His face was strained, his jaw tight, but he wasn’t letting up.

“You’re strong,” Sam whispered to you, his voice thick with emotion. "You’re so strong. Just breathe, baby. Please, just breathe for me."

His hand finally pressed against the back of your neck, gently massaging the swelling to ease the pain, but you could hear the terror in his voice. “I’ve got you, sweetheart,” Sam whispered again, his lips close to your ear. “You’re going to be okay. You’re going to make it through this.”

He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, trying to hold it together for you. But, he’d never seen you like this, broken and bruised, the light in your eyes dimmed by the trauma you’d endured at the hands of someone you loved. His protective instincts screamed in agony, but there was nothing more he could do here. His mind was already racing, searching for any possible way to make things right. Maybe Cas could help.

“I need to grab Cas, alright? Just hold on, I’m coming right back,” Sam said, his voice strained as he quickly got up. The panic clear in his eyes and his movements frantic.

You nodded weakly, barely able to keep your eyes open as exhaustion weighed down on you like a heavy blanket. Just before Sam turned his gaze from you, he noticed them threatening to close. “Hey, no! I need you to keep your eyes open for me, okay?!” He pleaded. You widened your eyes and nodded. “I’ll be two seconds don’t you dare close them!” He shouted as he practically ran down the hallway to where Cas was restraining Dean. Cas walked away from Dean, his eyes locked eyes on Sam’s disheveled presence. “How is she Sam?” He asked, worriedly. Sam breathed out speaking low enough so Dean couldn’t hear, but urgently enough for Cas to understand the extent of it. “She’s in bad shape, Cas. I don’t know what to do. He—he choked her and beat her pretty badly. I just... I need you.” Sam pleaded and Cas nodded. “I’m still not at my full grace. I can help a little bit, ease the pain, but she will need to rest to make a full recovery.” He said, his expression as serious as ever. Without wasting a second, they made their way back towards you, Sam trailing behind Cas. Your eyes were still open, struggling to focus, as Cas knelt beside you. His fingers brushed gently over your bruised neck as he carefully examined the damage.

"Cas?" You whimpered, your voice weak and trembling.

“Yes, it’s me,” he said, his voice calm and soothing. His grace swirled around you, and for the first time since everything had happened, you felt a small bit of relief. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to stop the constant pounding in your head.

You felt a warm energy washing over you, a peace settling deep within. The swelling in your neck began to subside, and the pain that had been gnawing at your body seemed to dull a little with each passing moment.

Sam stood off to the side, watching with wide eyes, a mixture of awe and desperation flickering across his face. Cas' healing grace was a blessing, but Sam knew that no matter how much healing Cas could provide, the mental and emotional scars would remain far longer.

After a few minutes, Cas pulled back, his brow furrowed in concern. “You should feel a little better. Rest, you’ll still need time to fully recover.”

Sam gave a silent nod of thanks to the angel, his eyes never leaving you. “Thank you, Cas,” he said quietly.

As Cas nodded in acknowledgment, you clung to his arm, your grip tightening slightly as you looked up at him. “Thank you, Cas. For everything.” He sent you a sad smile, his eyes full of empathy, knowing you were still trembling in fear, but unable to do anything about the mental scars you now carried.

“You’re going to be okay,” he reassured you softly. You nodded, fully believing the angel’s words, trusting in the comfort he had given you.

The silence stretched on for a moment, but the tension in the air was palpable. Sam shifted uneasily, glancing at you, then at Cas. “Cas, about Dean…” Sam trailed off, his voice tight, unsure of how to continue. His eyes flicked back to you, concern flickering there before he spoke again. “How is he?”

Cas took a slow breath, his expression softening with the weight of the situation. “He’s restrained for now. I believe the cure will work, Sam. We just need time.”

The mention of Dean sent a jolt of tension through your body, and you instinctively shrank back slightly, the thought of Dean still being lost in the grip of the demon unsettling you more than you expected. Sam noticed, his eyes softening with a silent promise to protect you.

“You okay?” Sam asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper. He crouched beside you, his hand resting on your shoulder in reassurance.

You nodded, not trusting your voice. The emotions swirling inside of you were overwhelming, but you couldn’t bear to let them out now, not in front of them.

Sam gave you a reassuring nod, though his worry never fully left his face. “I’m gonna take care of you. You need to get some rest, okay?” He paused, glancing toward Cas. “I’ll be there with you in a second Cas just let me get her cleaned up and in bed first.”

Cas nodded and filled with the quiet certainty that only he could offer. “Rest now Y/N. We will do everything we can for Dean.”

Sam gave a small, appreciative nod to Cas as he left the room, then Sam turned back to you.

His hand was now on your shoulder, supporting you. “How are you feeling now?” He asked softly.

“I’m... better,” you whispered, though your voice was strained, hoarse from everything you’d been through.

He nodded, brushing a tear from your cheek. “Come on,” Sam said softly, his voice as gentle as he could make it. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You nodded, the exhaustion written all over your face. You weren’t sure you had the strength to do it on your own, but Sam was there, steady and unwavering, as he guided you toward the bathroom. His hand was warm against your back, supportive, but his touch was careful, mindful of your pain.

When you reached the bathroom, Sam opened the door and flipped the light on, the soft hum of the fluorescent light filling the silence. He stood there for a moment, watching you as if making sure you were okay, that you weren’t about to collapse. Then, with a quiet sigh, he moved to the shower.

“I’ll run the water for you,” he said quietly, adjusting the temperature, his fingers nimble as they twisted the faucet. “Just... take your time, alright? I’ll be right outside the door.”

You were so tired, so worn down, but Sam’s presence was a small comfort. It gave you the strength to move forward. He grabbed a towel from the linen closet and placed it on the counter, then found a pair of his sweatpants and a sweatshirt. They were oversized, but they would fit. He folded them carefully and set them next to the towel.

“Here you go,” Sam said, his voice softer now. “I’ll leave them right here for you.”

He hesitated, his eyes searching your face for any sign that you might be okay. The last thing he wanted was to leave you alone when you were so fragile. But you needed this time to yourself. To breathe.

“I’ll be right outside. Just call for me if you need anything,” Sam added, his voice tinged with that protective tone he always used, the one that made you feel safe, no matter what.

You nodded, tears brimming in your eyes, your throat tight from the raw emotions still swirling inside you. “Thank you, Sam,” you whispered, your voice hoarse.

He offered a soft, strained smile, his hand lingering on the door handle for a moment. “Of course,” he said simply, his eyes filled with a mix of love and concern. “You’re gonna be okay. I’ll be right here.”

Sam stepped out of the bathroom, closing the door gently behind him. You leaned against the counter for a moment, the weight of everything crashing down on you. It was hard to feel anything other than exhaustion, but Sam had been your anchor through it all, and his care meant more than you could express.

As the warm water began to fill the shower, you let the steam rise around you, trying to relax under the heat, to wash away the lingering fear and pain. You allowed yourself to just exist for a few moments, letting the warmth seep into your aching muscles. Slowly, you scrubbed away the tension, the weariness in your bones easing with every pass of the washcloth. It was hard to shake off the heaviness, but the heat and solitude were helping. Just a little.

After a few minutes, you reluctantly turned off the water, the sudden silence hitting you as the last of the steam dissipated. You stepped out, wrapping yourself in the towel Sam had left out for you. It was soft, warm against your skin, and the faint scent of his soap lingered on it, a reminder of his presence just beyond the door.

You eyed the oversized clothes Sam had left on the counter. The sweatshirt and sweatpants looked almost comical, the sleeves and legs hanging far past your fingertips and ankles. But they felt like a small piece of him, like a shield, so you slipped them on, pulling them as tight around you as you could, trying to feel something resembling comfort in the vastness of his clothes. You tugged at the sleeves, trying to bury your hands in them as you stared at yourself in the bathroom mirror.

Taking a deep breath, you made your way toward the door, the clothes swallowing you in a way that somehow made you feel safe. Your heart ached, but there was something calming in the way they felt. Like Sam was still here, protecting you even when he wasn’t right beside you.

As you opened the bathroom door, Sam was standing just outside, his eyes immediately locking onto you as you walked out. His gaze softened as he took in the sight of you in his clothes, looking so fragile and small under the fabric. You caught a flash of concern cross his face, but he quickly masked it with a gentle smile. He stepped forward, his arms instinctively reaching out as if to steady you.

“You alright?” he asked quietly, his voice tinged with worry as he glanced down at the oversized sweatshirt and sweatpants you were swathed in.

You nodded, offering a weak smile. “I’m... okay. Just... trying to get comfortable, I guess.”

Sam’s eyes softened even further, and he gently cupped your cheek in his hand, his thumb brushing across your skin in a comforting, soothing motion. "Let's get you some rest, alright?" His voice was warm, offering you a sense of reassurance. As Sam guided you gently through the hallway, his hand resting lightly on your back, you stopped, a sudden surge of uncertainty washing over you. You hesitated for a moment before speaking, your voice barely a whisper, “Sam… can I… can I sleep in your room instead?”

Sam froze, glancing over at you with a soft expression that was all tenderness. He could tell you needed something more right now—something beyond just the comfort of the bed in your own room. He stepped closer to you, his face softening, the concern in his eyes deepening. Without a second thought, he smiled gently, his hand brushing against your arm as he nodded.

"Of course, Bug," he said, the nickname slipping out naturally, carrying with it all the warmth he felt for you. “Let’s get you settled in my room.”

He led you to his room, his hand remaining steady at your back as you walked. The space felt different with him in it, cozier, comforting in a way that only Sam’s presence could make it. He pulled back the covers, making sure everything was just right for you.

Once you were comfortably nestled in, he adjusted the pillows around you, making sure you were warm and relaxed. He pulled the blanket up around you, his hand lingering on your shoulder as he gently tucked it in.

“You’re safe here,” Sam murmured, his voice low and soothing. “Just call me if you need anything.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of your exhaustion settle in as you sank deeper into the softness of his bed. He sat down beside you for a moment, brushing a strand of hair from your face. As he stood up to leave, the darkness pulled you under.

You woke with a start, your heart racing in your chest as the soft light from the hallway trickled in. The bed felt familiar, warm, but something was off. You blinked, still disoriented from the deep sleep, and when your eyes focused, you froze.

Standing in the doorway, framed by the dim light, was Dean.

For a split second, all you could do was stare, your breath caught in your throat. A wave of panic rushed through you like an electric shock. No. No, not again.

The terror flooded you faster than you could process, your body reacting before your mind could catch up.

“No!” you screamed, your voice breaking. “No, please, no!” The words tumbled from your lips in frantic terror, your body jerking as you scrambled to get away from him.

The sheets tangled around your legs, tripping you up, making you feel more trapped. You couldn’t think. You couldn’t breathe. You had to get away. You had to get away.

“Please! No, please, no!” You cried, pushing at the bed with shaky hands, trying to free yourself from the blankets that held you down, but they only made you feel more ensnared. Panic surged through your chest as you pushed harder, desperate, but in your frantic attempt to escape, you didn't realize how close you were to the edge.

And then, you lost balance.

With a gut wrenching scream, you tumbled backward, crashing to the floor with a sickening thud, your body tangled in the blankets, your heart thumping in your throat. The impact made everything spin. Your mind was a blur of terror, the only thing you knew was that you had to get away.

You scrambled on the floor, your limbs moving in every direction, hands pressing against the cold wood, trying to push yourself backward into the corner of the room. You couldn’t stop screaming, couldn’t stop the overwhelming terror. Your back slammed into the wall as you tried to put more distance between yourself and the figure in the doorway.

Dean stood there, unmoving, a pained expression on his face. His hands were raised, palms out, as if to show he meant no harm. But you couldn’t hear him. You couldn’t see past the fear and the memories of him that haunted you.

“Y/N, please!” Dean’s voice cracked with desperation, his tone softer, but it didn’t reach you. “It’s me, Y/N. It’s really me. I’m not a demon anymore. Please…”

But your screams continued, echoing through the room, drowning out everything he was trying to say.

Then the door slammed open.

Sam.

His face was a mix of horror and frantic concern as he rushed in. “Dean, what the hell?” Sam’s voice was sharp, filled with panic. “She’s not ready for this!”

You didn’t hear Sam, didn’t see anything but the man standing in the doorway. You were still scrabbling against the floor, shaking, screaming, begging for him to leave, to not hurt you.

Dean hesitated, clearly struggling with what to do. “I’m sorry, Sam... I didn’t think she was going to wake up yet. I just had to check on her…” His voice faltered. “I didn’t want to—”

“No!” you screamed again, your voice hoarse, panic coursing through every fiber of your being. “Please, no!”

Sam moved toward you, kneeling in front of you, his hands reaching out to gently hold your shoulders. You flinched away from him, still lost in your fear, unable to focus on anything but the threat in the doorway.

“Y/N, please,” Sam said, his voice frantic. He was trying to calm you, trying to reach you, but his words barely made it through the haze of panic. “Listen to me. Listen. You’re safe, okay? You’re safe. Dean’s not a demon anymore!”

Your eyes remained fixed on Dean. Your breaths were shallow, gasping for air, but you couldn’t hear Sam. You couldn’t focus on anything but the terror that clawed at you.

“Please! No! No, I can’t—I can’t—” You were barely coherent, your voice raw, still scrambling away, shaking, terrified.

Sam’s own panic intensified as he looked at Dean, his voice sharp with frustration and urgency. “Dean, leave! Now!”

Dean’s face fell, the regret and pain washing over him, but he backed away, slowly, giving you space. “I—I’m sorry.” Before he rushed out the door.

You continued to shake, your chest heaving, the sound of your breath almost deafening in the room. Your hands gripped the floor, trying to steady yourself, to breathe. Slowly, Sam turned back to you, his hands gentle but firm as he held your arms, trying to pull you out of the panic.

“Y/N,” Sam said, his voice softer now but still filled with urgency, “I need you to listen to me. Look at me, please.” He begged and forced you to meet his eyes. “Dean’s cured. He’s not a demon. He’s Dean. You’re safe, okay? You’re safe. It’s over.”

The words finally hit you. "W-what?" You whispered, your heart pounding, struggling to grasp the magnitude of what Sam was telling you.

“He’s cured, Y/N.” Sam repeated, his hands moving to gently pull you into his arms, holding you close as you continued to shake. Your breath caught in your throat. "Are- are you sure? R-Really, Sam?" Your hands trembled as they clung to his shirt.

"Yes," Sam affirmed softly, his voice steady. "It’s over. We did it. He’s cured. Dean’s back. It’s really him."

Relief hit you like a tidal wave, overwhelming and sudden. You could hardly breathe through it, but you collapsed into Sam’s arms, all the tension in your body finally unraveling. “Oh my God!” You cried out in pure relief. Your hands gripped him tight, clutching onto him as if you might float away.

"Thank you, Sam," you whispered, your voice breaking. "Thank you for being strong enough to fix him. To do this... You saved us."

Sam wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer, resting his cheek on your head. "We did it together," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "You never gave up on him, Y/N. You were right there, with me. We made it through."

You nodded against his chest, your tears soaking through his shirt. "Thank you," you repeated, barely able to hold the words together. "Thank you." You took a deep breath, your fingers clutching Sam's shirt as you pulled away slightly. You could feel the heaviness of the moment hanging in the air between you both. The fear, the confusion... it was still there, but something else was creeping in. Hope. Slowly, steadily, but it was there.

“Sam,” you said softly, your voice wavering a bit, “I’m ready. I want to see him. I need to.”

Sam looked at you for a moment, concern still flickering in his eyes. “Are you sure, Y/N? I don’t want you to—”

“I’m sure,” you interrupted, the words heavy with everything you had been holding back. “I need to see him. Please.”

Sam hesitated, but he gave a gentle nod and helped you to your feet. His hand lingered on your back as you walked toward Dean’s room, a comforting presence you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away from. But when you reached the door, you hesitated for a moment, your heart pounding. You couldn’t stop yourself from feeling the tiniest bit of fear as you turned the doorknob. Sam gave you a soft smile of encouragement before he walked away to give you both a moment he knew you both needed.

Inside, you saw Dean sitting on the bed, flipping through the stack of old photos you were looking at earlier, his expression distant. He looked so normal, so much like the brother you remembered. But as soon as he heard you, his head snapped up, his eyes widening when they met yours.

“De?” you said, your voice almost a whisper.

Dean froze, his body tense. His face was pale, but his eyes were filled with pain. In an instant, the guilt in his eyes was almost unbearable, and when he stood up abruptly, you couldn’t help but flinch back, the reflex built from everything that had happened.

He saw it, the fear still lingering in your eyes, and his face crumpled in regret.

“I’m so sorry, kid,” he said hoarsely, taking a step toward you, but still keeping his distance, his hands shaking. “I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I never—”

Your eyes flickered down to the photos in his hands, the same ones you had been flipping through earlier. The memories of the real Dean—the brother who’d always loved you, who’d always been there to protect you, the one who’d never hurt you.

You swallowed thickly, a lump in your throat. With a shaky breath, you took a step forward, pushing past the lingering fear, your voice soft but firm. “It’s not your fault, Dean,” you said, your eyes meeting his. “I know the real you. The one in these photos,” you pointed to the pictures in his hands, “the brother I grew up with, the one who protected me. That Dean would never hurt me. That Dean would never do what... demon Dean did to me.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at him, every ounce of your emotion spilling out in that one moment. “You’re you, Dean. You’re cured. I know you. And that’s all that matters. You’re back. You’re really back.”

Dean’s breath hitched, his eyes filling with tears as he took a slow, shaky step toward you, his voice trembling. “Y/N…” His voice was thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry,” Dean choked out, his voice thick with grief. “I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you, never wanted to scare you... God, I never wanted to be that thing.” Tears blurred your vision as you stepped into Dean's embrace, your arms wrapping around him tightly. His scent, so familiar, was a comfort you hadn’t realized you needed. You pressed your face into his chest, letting the sobs wrack through your body as the weight of everything fell on you. He held you just as tightly, his hands coming up to rest gently on the back of your head, his thumb brushing over your hair as if trying to soothe you. His breath was shaky, his chest rising and falling unevenly as his face pressed against the top of your head.

You could feel his tears wetting your hair as he buried his face against your shoulder, his whole body trembling as well. His tears now mixing with yours. You clung to him, your hands gripping his jacket as you whispered between sobs.

“I’m so glad you’re back, De. I’m so glad you’re here,” you whispered, barely able to speak through your tears. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you. I thought I lost you...”

Dean held you tighter, his voice cracking as he spoke. “You didn’t lose me. I swear, I’ll make it right. I’ll spend every damn day proving that I’m here, that I’m not that thing anymore.”

You shook your head, still clinging to him. “You don’t have to prove anything. You’re back. You’re my brother. I know who you are. That’s all that matters. It’s over now. You’re really back.”

Dean didn’t say anything at first, just held you tighter, both of you surrounded by the warmth of the other’s embrace. The years of fear and pain were slowly being replaced by the quiet, overwhelming relief that, no matter what, you had your brother again. The real Dean.

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