#dean domino x reader

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

If I have to deal with brain rot about this absolutely awful man, so do y'all! Really looking forward to playing Dead Money so I can torture you with more.

Dean Domino (Fallout: New Vegas, Dead Money DLC) NSFW Headcanons

Is the King of Swing good in bed? Complicated question; he's too selfish to say that he is with any confidence. It depends on the day, frankly. He was a massive slut back in his prime, and he's perfectly well acquainted with how to show you a good time when the two of you are in bed together. Whether or not he cares enough in that moment to bother to make you cum is an entirely different matter. There are days he wants to show off, wants to hear you tell him how good he is, but there are also plenty of days where he'll happily use your body to jerk himself off and won't think for a second about your pleasure beyond what it'll do for him. On days like that, he wants you wet/stretched enough to take him, but that's all he cares about.

I've discussed this with folks a bit in replies on other posts, but I think it's very worth elaborating on: he would be so fun to dominate. He'd be the world's most petulant, bratty sub, and so confident that you wouldn't be able to break him, that he'll stay cool and in control of the situation, no problem. However, he's sorely mistaken. Dean Domino is a brat who was made to be broken. Tie his ass up and beat him a bit. Edge him until he literally cries. He insists he won't beg; prove him wrong. It's the sweetest sight you've ever taken in. I've never met a single character who needs to have his cock slapped like a million times more than him. And honestly, I think if you gave him the full routine and then treated him completely neutrally over the proceeding few days, as if nothing had even happened, he'd beg then, too, desperate to experience what you made him feel again...though not without a lot of petulant bitching first. How dare you act like you can drag him around by his prick, just because you absolutely can if you do it right...?!

Any ongoing relationship with Dean is going to be a constant power struggle. As insecure as he obviously is, he's forever rearing to "put you in your place" in a litany of ways; talking down to you, insulting you flippantly, all the nonsense you see from him when you interact with him in-game. If you don't push back at him (or show him where his place is, per the previous point), he will absolutely walk all over you, including sexually. Maybe that's what you're into. He doesn't really care all that much as long as he's getting whatever he wants out of you.

Biter. Always has been. Used to get a kick outta fucking actors and actresses and just covering them in bite marks and bruises that would be incredibly difficult to cover with makeup, because he likes attention and he's possessive, even of toys he doesn't particularly want to play with anymore.

Almost never takes off those goddamn sunglasses (because, in my mind, he thinks they make him harder to read...plus, he has super light-colored eyes, and once he's traveling the desert, he's constantly blinded by the sun), but one of the rare times you can guarantee he'll remove them is when you're giving him head. He wants to be able to see every detail of you worshiping him with your lips and tongue.

Obviously he's big into degradation, which is clear in the way he speaks to you, about you and others. He can, however, be persuaded to be rather sweet (though still entirely self-aggrandizing) when he's in a good mood. He'll tell you how gorgeous you look...on his cock. What a pretty voice you have...why don't you sing for him some more so he can hear how good he makes you feel? Every compliment also has to basically be a positive comment to himself, as well.

Leg and ass man. He makes some comments about Vera that hint at this, but he's not usually quite so tactful about it. Will openly grope you in public, both to embarrass you a bit and because he doesn't care enough to hold back when he feels like touching you.

Really enjoys a giving you a good cum facial. He finds it just the right mix of disgusting, dominating, and possessive. If he can find a way to force you to keep his cum on your face, he will. Even better if someone else sees you that way.

[everydayyoulovemeless]

Adventure ↠ Dean x Reader

➼ Word Count » 0.6k ➼ Warnings » None ➼ Summary » Platonic/Romantic, Fluff

“We’re headed to Vegas, darling! You and I are gonna make a name for ourselves. Stars in the center of the wastes!” Dean never seemed to stop talking in the few weeks you'd been traveling with him. He'd just go on and on about what he wanted the future to hold, and currently, he wanted the end to hold both of your names in neon signs and spotted lights. As lovely as it sounded, you weren't exactly one for big crowds and fancy stages, you'd instead want to do something backstage.

"Vegas? I thought you let go of your 'getting rich' obsession."

"I let go of the Madre, not my career." He retorted, brushing the dust and sand off of his suit. "Besides, we're gonna need somewhere other than a shed to sleep in if we want to continue living out here."

"We?" You repeated, smiling teasingly at the ghoul, "Don't say things like that too loud, people might talk."

His eyes flicked over the rim of his glasses, meeting your own momentarily, "So what? Would that really be so bad?"

You shrugged, noting the shift of tone in his voice as he spoke, "Depends, what kind of reputation do you want to uphold?"

He chuckled, "Let me worry about that, dear, I've got most everything worked out."

"Oh yeah?" You said, curiosity dripping from your speech, "What's the plan for when we make it to Vegas?"

"I'll get myself a job, of course! Be an entertainer in one of the casinos and you could do―well, whatever you do best, I suppose."

Whatever you do best? A bodyguard perhaps? You're pretty decent with a rifle, and you made it out of the Madre alive, didn't you? You could act as a hired gun around the surrounding towns while Dean made a name for himself. Yeah, you decided, that'd work out just fine with you.

"Sure, just don't forget about me when you’re famous." You joked. Well, it came out as a joke, but it was something you were genuinely concerned about, you just didn't know how else to bring it up in conversation.

"Forget about you? No, my dear, I couldn't! It's too late for that! So far, you're the only person I've got! Besides, you're too capable for me to simply hire a hit. No, I'd much prefer that you and I were on good terms, from now until we part to our graves." It wasn't the best response you could've gotten, but it answered your question and gave you a slight surge of confidence in the process.

"Alright, Dean, let's go get rich!" You proclaimed, punching his shoulder.

This certainly wasn't what you thought you'd be doing once you escaped, but it wasn't entirely unwanted. The strange relationship you had with the lounge singer could work out nicely if the two of you compromised with each other and worked hand in hand.

Despite what Dean preached, you weren't sure what your future would hold. Everything here with Dean would continue to be one grand adventure―a chance into the unknown with the unknown, but that was all a part of it, wasn't it? If the two of you wanted to begin again you had to let go of the things you found familiar. It was all a part of this unique journey you both decided to trail behind. The biggest difference in the scheme of it all was that now you’d both have someone to fall back on―a plan B so to speak. Someone that you had shared a part of your history with. You had to admit, you were a little excited about what Vegas had in store for you both.

[nerdragenewvegas]

A Well Timed Scandal - Update

Chapter 12: Ain't That a Kick in the Head? [LINK]

Cooper Howard x Reader, pre-war Hollywood setting, kinda slow burn, Cooper Howard is horny & it makes him feel guilty.

CN: Drugging (drink spiking, but kinda dubconny,) almost dub-con, discussion and themes of abuse, a good old fashioned beatdown.

『“Hold on— who gave that sunnavabitch a goddamned table?!” Frank slams his palm down on the front desk of The Tops, making the concierge jump, to which he immediately makes an apologetic gesture with his free hand. “I could’ve sworn I banned that bastard months ago!”

If there’s anything about Frank Sinatra that Cooper can attest to, it’s that he has a temper on him that’s almost unmatched. But, to his credit, Frank does, at the very least, try to reserve his ‘moments’ for things that really deserve it — at least over the last few years, anyway. It’s definitely something that has its benefits, Cooper can admit. Despite the outbursts, Cooper struggles to think of a woman in the business that has a bad word to say about him, including Marilyn; so if Frank Sinatra thinks Dean Domino is too predatory to be allowed inside his casino’s nightclub? Cooper considers that a serious and grave indication of the severity of the situation.

“I don’t know, Frank,” Marilyn responds, her tone gentle, almost like she’s trying to soothe a spooked horse. Honestly, it’s not so different. “But— look, it doesn’t matter— is she staying here?”

“Who?” He asks. “Domino?” He scoffs at this. “He’d better not be, or someone’s spending tomorrow morning in line for unemployment.” Frank pauses and nods at the concierge. “Not you, Ruth, I know you wouldn’t.”

“Ms Honeywell,” Marilyn corrects.

“Right, right, Cooper’s girl,” he pauses, nodding to Cooper, “heard about all that, by the way. I know an excellent divorce attorney if you’re after one.” He turns his attention back to Ruth the concierge. “Is Ms Honeywell staying with us?” He asks.

The three watch as Ruth types away at her terminal, her brows knitted together as she reads. “Mmmm… I’m afraid I don’t have anyone under that name staying in the suites, Mr Sinatra,” she says. “Although we do have a reservation for two for a Ms Honeywell at The Aces tonight. Comped by Mr Davis—“

“Christ’s sake, Sam,” Frank exhales under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose.

Cooper’s jaw tenses, eager to get out of there and keep looking. “Any idea where Dean might have put her?” He asks.

Frank shrugs, throwing his hands up. “How should I know what hole he crawled into when I kicked him out?”』

[amor-ad-nauseam]

Somethin’ Stupid (pt. 2)

Pairing(s): Sam Winchester x reader

Summary :You two are pathetic for each other, so much so that Dean can’t help but take notice. Maybe, just maybe his “playing wingman” will work out alright…

Word count : 3.5k

Tags: Reader and Sam have a crush on each other, fluff, no use of y/n, reader uses she/her pronouns, carheartt!sam, heavy make out, kissing, fade to black, almost smut.

Notes; While this does read as a fade to black i may or may not have gotten a little carried away with myself and wrote part of the smut scene… it’s not included here but if y’all want that lmk!! I am so sorry about how late this is coming out! i’ve been very busy with back to school preparations. Notes and reposts are greatly appreciated

part 1 part 3

“Rise n’ shine, Sammy!” Dean announced, clapping Sam on the shoulder.

Sam flinches awake and like a row of dominos, the guitar that was in his lap is sent tumbling to the floor - creating a harsh cacophony of strings and wood.

The sound causes you to jolt from your slumber. You shoot up in bed in a flurry of confusion. “I’m up! I’m up! Where’s the Rugaru!?” You shout, whipping your head around the room.

“Woah, Good Morning to you too,” Dean chuckles, punctuating the sentence with an obnoxious bite of beef jerky. Sam makes a face. “Want some?” He points the jerky at Sam.

“Hey, Dean.” Sam sighed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He runs his hands down his face. "I’m good, thanks.”

You visibly relax as the real world comes into focus. “Morning, Boys.” You say as the adrenaline wears off. Sam was still across from you, now flashing an apologetic smile and Dean was well- Dean, but in a cowboy hat. That wasn’t too unusual for him. Dean nodded a hello.

“Eh, more for me,” Dean shrugs with another bite. “Anywho,” He bends down and retrieves the guitar from the floor, now with a newly popped high E string. He hoped the motel wouldn’t charge him extra for that. “When’d you become Springsteen?” He smirks.

Sam was in no mood.

Then, his eyes lit up.

“Hey, Dean, what’s that, uh, mark on your neck?” Sam said, a grin only capable of being mustered by the most annoying of little brothers appearing on his lips.

“What mar- “Dean slid his hand down the length of his neck, stopping about halfway in sudden realization. “Oh- “He clears his throat. Mumbling something about getting banged up pretty badly, he dismisses himself to the med kit in Sam’s bag.

“Oh, and that explains why you’re just now getting back at, uh,” Sam glances to the alarm clock. “7am? from a simple salt-n-burn?”

“Uh, yeah.” Dean scoffs defensively. “Cause you see, Sammy, I was actually doing my job.”

The early morning sun filtered in through the blinds and for the first time you realized that the wood paneling on the divider and both doors were made to look like a saloon door. Damn. They went all out with this whole cowboy theme. On the bright side, the sun gave everything a warm almost fiery glow. Despite the rather cozy atmosphere of the room, Sam and Dean were still going.

Only two things in life are certain: taxes and the Winchester’s arguments.

“The job that requires you to receive hickeys from girls in bars?” Sam laughed. He was now stood by the foot of your bed, stretching the tension from his shoulders. Man, even through a t-shirt his back muscles were attractive- carved like a Greek statue.

“Okay, when you say it like that it makes me sound like a hooker.”

“Maybe you are, Mr. hard worker.”

“Don’t objectify me.” Dean rolls his eyes, feigning offense . Dean was leaned over the dresser, looking in the mirror as he tried to cover a small purple mark on his neck with a square gauze patch.

He definitely wasn’t winning this one.

As if suddenly remembering something, his head perked up and he set his sights on you.

“How’s the leg?” He asked, looking at you in the mirror. He did genuinely care about your wellbeing, but it didn’t hurt that you were also a good out.

“Hm?” You were a little distracted; you’d almost forgotten about your leg entirely.

“Oh right. It’s fine really,” you swing your legs over the edge of the bed.

When you look down you find the bandage that was once around your thigh, half undone, twisted about and just an overall mess.

“Right, fine.” Dean chuckles.

“Woah, you okay?” Sam questions.

Before you know it, Sam’s closing the distance between the two of you and the roll of gauze is sailing through the air from Dean’s palm to Sam’s.

“Damn, I thought you were better at the whole first-aid thing, Sammy.” Dean remarks, happy to flip the situation back on his brother.

“I am,” Sam takes a seat next to you. He’s warm. And close. Too close. “But someone.” Damn he smells good too. Like a brand-new book. “Wouldn’t let me.” He said with a teasing expression.

“Hey, I didn’t do too bad.” Your cheeks flush.

“Riiight.” He gently tugs at an end of the bandage, and it unravels like a loose thread in a pair of jeans. “Not too bad at all.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever.” You reply, your face contorting to an attempt at annoyance.

“Hey, cheer up.” Sam smiled.

You couldn’t help but smile in return.

He gently slid his hand to the underside of your knee and placed your leg over his lap just as he did the night prior.

While you were busy tossing the wrinkled bandage into a small barrel-shaped trashcan near the sofa-chair, Sam took the opportunity to let his gaze linger. He drank in every detail of your appearance, hoping to seer it to memory.

For some reason, 3 things in particular stuck out to him: You never bothered to put your hair up last night, the way squinted as the sun reflected directly into your eyes, and the fact that you were still in his Carhartt. That last one especially made his heart beat a little harder.

Your lovely chaotic hair and the sun shining on your face inspired countless fantasies. Some as simple as kissing the tiredness from your expression, others, he felt bad for even thinking.

The minute you turn around his eyes are once again glued to your leg and you’re none the wiser.

“How’m I lookin, doc?”

Dean with his shirt tucked beneath his chin was rubbing ointment on what he wasn’t quite sure if it was another hickey on his abdomen or an actual bruise. Upon hearing your question he perks up, ready to make a dumb Looney Toons reference when Sam of all people beats him to the punch.

“Ah, just peachy, Bugs.” He replied in a nasally imitation of Daffy Duck.

“Huh.” Dean mumbles with some small shock. He watches the two of you from the mirror's reflection. He knew Sam had a thing for you, but this, this was something else.

The way the two of you giggled and just almost leaned into each other with every joke- pulling away in shy stupidity each time you got too close. The lingering eye contact, how Sam’s hand looked almost reluctant to leave you, the way one of you would stare when the other wasn’t looking. The whole thing left his stomach feeling like a pot of warm honey.

Damn. You’ve both got it bad.

An idea.

“Hey guys,” He chimed in.

“Hm?” You and Sam said in unison.

“Oh, sorry no you go- “you said.

“No, it’s okay you- “

“Well, you did fix me up it’s only fair- “just then you realized that your leg was still in his lap. You quickly pull away and smile apologetically. Sam does the same.

Dean just about face palms. You two are hopeless.

“Guys.” Dean clears his throat, capturing both of your attentions once more.

“I'm gonna go out and uh, do something.” Dean said with heavy emphasis on “do something.”

“Oh, okay..?” you said with confusion

“Oh, uh, need help with that?” Sam added, eaqually as confused.

“No! no, sorry…heh… I just mean that you both should stay here while I go make a move.”

“You… feelin’ alright, Dean?” You question.

“He’s still hungover I think.” Sam leans in and mutters.

“Y’know,” Dean turns his attention straight to Sam. “Making a move is always the right thing.”

“…So, you do want my help?”

“No, damnit,” Dean sighs in defeat. “M’goin’ on a coffee run.”

“Oh… okay…” Sam replied. “In that case, make two of ‘em decaf.”

“Aw you remembered?” You say with an expression reminiscent of a teen girl with a crush.

“Yeah, I know how it makes you jittery.” Sam replied, sounding embarrassed.

Dean watches as the two of you sit there smiling like idiots.

Yeah.

Extra hopeless.

- -

The latter half of the day is spent with Dean acting strangely and you and Sam struggling to figure out why.

A couple of theories arose.

“Maybe he is hungover.” You quietly conceded after Dean stretched his legs across the diner’s booth seat when Sam tried to sit down- forcing him next to you.

“Nah, he’s mean when hungover.” Sam replied.

- -

“Maybe we did something?” You suggested when Dean pulled the same diner stunt later at the library.

“Like what?” Sam replied as he studied Deans relaxed demeanor.

“Dunno. Maybe it’s 'cause we bailed last night?”

“C’mon we didn’t ��bail”, you got stabbed and we all know if one of us didn’t stay with you, you’d come crawling back to finish the fight.”

“Fair enough.” You shrugged. “Well, I’m fresh out of ideas.”

“Me too. Just can’t figure out what would make him not tell us details on a case, it’s not like him.”

- -

You also happened to notice that Sam grew increasingly grumpy as the day dragged on.

Whether that was due to Dean, or his uncomfortable sleeping situation last night was lost on you.

- -

“Maybe he got roofied?” Sam mumbled when it seemed as though Dean couldn’t walk in a straight line- continually bumping into you - shoving you straight into Sam.

“Can’t be, after that whole witch thing he’s really careful with his drinks.”

“Hm…”

- -

“Mid life crisis?” Sam proposes in a hushed voice from the huddled corner of a motel lobby.

Dean had bought two rooms instead of the usual one accompanied by “we’re livin’ offa credit card scams and prayers. Besides, we’ve all pretty much seen eachother’s junk anyway.”

“He’s 30” you replied while watching Dean flirt with the woman behind the counter.

“With this job and his liver, it’s midlife.”

- -

Finally, the night had rolled around.

“Been dazed and confused for so long it can’t be true~”

The radio humming as the Impala raced down the road.

Normally, nights like this would be relaxing. Windows rolled down, the sounds of the cold and buzzing night mixed with the same five albums Dean rotated. Empty back roads and the three of you endearingly out of tune as you sang along.

But this night was simply and plainly, dead.

The air in the car had a tension not even Page and Plant could cut through. You all silently sat in your unassigned-assigned seats: Dean driving, Sam shot gun and you in the back watching the night woosh by.

It all came to a head earlier when Dean notified you and Sam that you two were on stake-out duty. You watched as Sam’s expression visibly changed into one of suppressed nausea. Sure, stakeouts usually sucked ass but did the thought of being alone with you really drive him to the point of sickness?

You breathed a sigh, sinking further into your seat at the memory.

Sam steals a glance at you in the rear view- you looked sad. Guess you weren’t too excited at the thought of a stakeout either.

The car stops about 50 yards in the underbrush in front of a dilapidated old building in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere.

The light previously provided to you by the stars was dimmer now due to the thick miles of pine trees stretching high above- looking as though they could touch the sky themselves.

“Aaand we’re here,” Dean said, switching off the ignition

“Mind telling us where “here” is exactly?” Sam quipped.

“Like I said, it’s a nest.”

“Yeah. That’s the problem. That’s about the only thing you’ve said.”

“Okay, fine- look, We’ve had a lot of duds lately and I didn’t wanna get anyone’s hopes up if it wasn’t the real deal.” Dean shrugs.

Dean was an incredibly good liar. Or as he liked to call it, thinking on his feet.

“Wow you are s- “

“Such a great older brother, I know. I’m gonna go walk the perimeter, shouldn’t take too lo-“

“Great I’ll come with!”

You watch as Sam quickly follows after Dean- not even letting his brother get the words out before he’s on his feet and out of the car like he’ll catch the plague if he’s alone with you.

Yeah. Stakeouts really sucked.

From inside the car all you could hear were Sam and Deans muffled voices, but even still, you could tell they were arguing…

“I’m not an idiot, Dean. I know what you’re doing.”

“Well I’d hope so,” Dean chuckled, holding his newly sharpened machete upward to inspect it. “Dad’d kill us if we ever even thought about going in dull and halfcocked.”

“Y’know you’re not the most subtle guy in the world.”

Sufficiently satisfied, Dean re-sheathes the blade and hooks it onto his waistband. “Dunno wacha talkin’ ‘bout, Sammy.”

“You forced me to sit next to her.”

“Leg got bruised las night, had to keep ‘er elevated.”

“Got two rooms?” Sam quirked a brow.

“So? What if i wanted to bring someone back?”

“Dude, you practically threw her into me.”

“Again, the leg. Can’t walk straight.” He shrugs, grabbing a vial of dead-man’s blood and putting it into his pocket.

“Alright, cut the bullshit. I know what you’re trying to do and it won’t work. She’s not into me and i’m-“

“A dumbass.” Dean says sharply.

“E-excuse me?” Sam says, caught off guard.

“The girl is head-over-fuckin-heels for you. you must be a dumbass not to see it.” Dean points an accusing finger at him.

“I-“

“I see the way you look at her, hell, you busted out the guitar for her! ah- don’t give me that look, it was obvious. “

“Okay, fine, you got me Dean.” Sam throws his arms up in an exasperated manner. “I have feelings for her.” He pauses. This is the first time he’s said it aloud. His eyes go to his shoes. “Doesn’t mean she feels the same way.”

“Christ.” Dean slams the trunk, shoves his hands in his pockets and walks around the side of the car. Sam gives a puzzled expression. Dean jerks his head. “Watch this,” Dean says.

With the back of his hooked middle and index finger, Dean knocks on the back window of the Impala.

“Hm?” You lift your head from the book in your lap.

It’s a quick set of movements, but obvious, unthought action: your eyes first land on the source of the sound, Dean. He waves. You smile.

Then, all in the fraction of a second you look at Sam. Your smile falters. A short, flustered breath escapes your nose.

Your eyes go back to Dean, your lips curving into a poor attempt at a casual smile.

“See?” Dean says once you turn your attention back to your book.

“See what?” Sam replies, his voice growing annoyed and incredulous- having not picked up on anything out of the ordinary.

“You really make me wanna punch you sometimes.”

“Wha-, you know what, Dean, is this case even real? Cause if it’s not let’s just go back to the motel and-“

“Okay, Okay.” Dean pushes his arms in a ‘calm down’ motion. “It’s real, Columbo. Here,” He reaches behind his back, past the sides of his coat and pulls the local newspaper from the waistband of his jeans. “Happy now?”

Sam’s eyes skim the headline: Reports of “Cult like behavior” spotted near the old McCrowe house.

Below is a photograph of the dilapidated home they were parked in front of.

“Yes, but, h-“

“How do you know it’s real? Ya don’t. But i know you couldn’t take the risk; Even if you tried.”

Sam frowns, combing a hand through his hair. Dean smiles. “Go get ‘em, tiger” Dean says, patting his brother on the shoulder.

"You're an asshole."

Dean walks away with an extra bounce in his step. Sam frowns, again.

After taking a long moment, partially to regain his bearings, partially waiting till his brother disappeared around the bend, Sam pulls open the door.

“…Hey.”

“Hey yourself.”

That wasn’t awkward at all.

Leaves crunch beneath your feet, and the book carried at your side rhythmically beats against your hip as you walk.

“So… figure out what’s up with Dean?”

“Oh, uhm,” He tosses the newspaper onto the dash as he slides into the front seat to cover his hesitation. “Nope. Not a clue.”

“Eh, I just hope he sorts himself out. If he keeps walking like that i think i’ll be bruised soon.” You chuckle at your own joke. “Guy’s got hips like Shakira, they do not lie.”

Crickets. Literal crickets fill the beat of silence after that joke.

You knew it was bad but damn.

“Ookay… tough crowd,” You mumble.

“Oh, uh, sorry,” Sam said as if he were snapping out of a trance. “yeah heh, Shakira.”

You simply resign yourself to the book in your lap, every once in a while, taking a glance at the house ahead.

Meanwhile, Sam’s gaze never leaves the house for a moment. He had an expression you couldn’t quite place and an almost glazed over look in his eyes.

“Hey, i’m gonna go catch up with Dean, you’ll be fine right?” He says suddenly.

“No,” You slam your book shut and turn straight to Sam. “Sit your ass back down. we need to talk.”

“I’m sorry?”

The words come barreling from your mouth like a falling knife, sharp and unpredictable. “You have been super weird all day- I swear it’s hereditary- Dean acting strange, that i can deal with, but you? i-i don’t know what to do with that.”

A sinking sort of realization sets in. “I- god i’m so sorry.”

“I mean, did i do something? ‘Cause if i did i’m terribly sorry-“

“No, no, you didn’t do anything i swear.”

“Then what is it? i thought things were good and then- Look, if there’s something wrong just say the word and i’m there.”

“i know that but-“

“I’ll listen if you need it, i’m your friend and i wanna help.”

“That’s the problem.”

A beat of silence.

“That you’re my friend, just, my friend. That’s what’s wrong."

You feel your mouth going dry.

The words come tumbling out of Sam’s mouth much faster than he can think. “I-I knew from the moment i met you that you were this super cool and sweet and pretty but also badass at the same time kinda person and then it sorta spiraled into a crush, -which was innocent enough- so i thought it’d go away but then it didn’t and then-“

Every word, every thought, every action, everything within Sam is cut short and fades off when your lips collide with his. Your hands cup the sides of his face. His eyes widen before slowly dropping shut.

A moment later the kiss breaks and you’re sat there, staring dumbly into those gorgeous hazel eyes. From this new vantage point (the middle of the front seat) the gaps between the pines overhead is greater, allowing for starlight to filter in. The parts of his face not obscured by the shadows of his hair were illuminated in perfect detail. The soft edges of his face look almost sharp given the looming shadows, that detail though, is contrasted by the rosy blush spreading on his cheeks.

“…I wanted to shut you up,” You blink. “But I should’ve asked, i’m sor-“

The last of your attempt to apologize is muffled as Sam’s lips crash into yours.

His hand rests on the far side of your neck, his thumb moving across your cheek. The kiss grows in intensity, his tongue licking at the seam of your lips, your breath short and hot on his face. You drop your hands from his jaw and begin to slide them down his torso, eliciting a low growl-like sound from him. You both grow in fervor, the kiss bordering the fine line between sweet and desperate.

His tongue pushes past your lips and begins exploring you with warm desire. A soft sound escapes your throat at the feeling, his body growing warm, breaths shaky, and his tongue needly licking at the inside of your mouth.

Sam pulls away but only for a moment. He takes a quick survey of your face: lips red, breathing coming out in short pants, hair messy and all of you elucidated by the stars outside. You were no longer a reverie- some fantasy far out of reach. You were right there, lovely and more attention capturing than any star. So he says the thought that’s been on repeat in his mind since the moment he met you. What he’s thought on a thousand breathless afternoons when the sun shines just right on your face: “I love you”

“I love you too.” You reply without missing a single beat. you don’t have to think about it, not even for a second. You love him.

Taglist: @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @lillies444lola @wowzabowza69 comment to be added/ removed

[princessmisery666]

Please don't leave. Jensen Ackles and reader

Please Don't Leave

Summary: Friends to lovers to friends, that can work, right? 

Warnings/Genres/Troupes: angst, fluff, Jensen in his thicc Soldier Boy era (that’s a warning in itself!)

W/C: 4.3k

Characters: Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki. Small Parts/Mentioned: Karl Urban, Jack Quaid, Gen Padalecki.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x reader (you - no descriptions of body type or ethnicity).

Notes: For the purpose of this fic, Jensen is not and never has been married. 

A/N: This drabble got way out of hand. 

Betas: @deanwinchesterswitch // any mistakes belong to me.

Graphics: Title card Jensen photo credit - https://twitter.com/_AlanaKing_ Soldier Boy image from Variety. Fly video belongs to me.

Master Lists: Dean Winchester // Main // Made Up Fic Titles

“Help me understand,” you implore. 

The first domino to set off the chain reaction was in the form of a famous and beautiful actress, Mae Nova, sliding into Jensen’s DM’s—a  very detailed offer with an accompanying photo that you saw by no fault of your own. How is irrelevant. Why is the issue. Why didn’t he delete it or immediately set her straight? 

“You’re the one that wanted this, Jay,” you say when he remains silent. “You're the one who pursued me, convinced me we should try and turn the ten years of friendship into something more.” 

“I know.” He sighs, pushing a hand through his longer hair. “And I don’t regret a second of the last six months we’ve been together…” he doesn’t say it; however, the ‘but’ demands attention like a flickering light.

“But you're having second thoughts?” 

“No!” he denies vehemently, finally looking you in the eye. “Don’t put words in my mouth.” 

“Well, one of us has to!”

He shakes his head, exhaling loudly. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, sounding like a broken record. His heart rate is running high, and his chest heaves with every breath, but his vocabulary appears to be running low.

You tsk, fighting back a scathing comment about needing a script writer to make him talk. But it wouldn’t be fair. He’s not a man who runs from his emotions. He’s just trying to make sense of it all like you are. You have to remind yourself he’s not Dean Winchester. He doesn’t look much like him anymore either; longer hair, beard growing almost wildly, no plaid in sight in the Soldier Boy wardrobe at the back of the fancy trailer. 

Is that where the lines blurred? Working together for so long on Supernatural, have you both confused the other for your characters and their feelings toward the other?

“You can stop saying your sorry. I forgive you,” you say, and he turns a watery gaze your way. It almost breaks your resolve, but you realize it’s down to you to be the strong one. “I just need to understand why? Why didn’t you reply and tell her you're in a relationship? You’ve done it a hundred times before.”

“I don’t know.”

To make matters worse, Mae had landed a role on The Boys and would be working alongside Jensen.

“Jensen, you spent fifteen years of your life devoted to Supernatural, ten of those with me around. I think you were scared of the end, afraid of losing such a big part of yourself.” 

“I was,” he agrees, in a whisper as if you speaking the words is the reason for his realization of it being the truth.

“Maybe us being together was a knee-jerk reaction?” you suggest, “a way to cling onto the past.” You take a deep breath, and your chest tightens as if begging yourself not to say the next part. “Maybe you need a clean break, see what the world looks like without Supernatural… without me.” 

“What? No.” He looks offended but can’t hold eye contact and doesn’t offer anything further.

You can’t keep going around in circles, so you make a decision, sitting down at the small table and firing up your laptop.

“What’re you doing?” he asks, rushing to look over your shoulder, perhaps worried you’ll take it upon yourself to reply to the woman. “Searching for flights back home?” Jensen says, panic clear in his tone. Harshly he slams the laptop shut, and you look up at him. “You can’t leave.”

“Give me a reason to stay.” 

“Me, us!” he yells, “we can work this out.” 

You stand up and gently press your lips to his. Jensen’s hand automatically goes to the small of your back, guiding you around the chair to better press himself against you.

The kiss is natural and unhurried, but there’s too much tension in his body, and you know it’s because he feels it, too. This is your last kiss. 

A little breathless, you pull back. “I don’t wanna fight, Jensen.” 

“Me neither.” 

“So let me be the bad guy,” you say, heart aching but trying to hold it together. “Let me walk away before the wound is too big to save our friendship.”

He grimaces as if tasting something bitter but nods once, “I’m sorry.”

It’s been a long day. All Jensen wanted to do was take a shower and crash, but Karl convinced him to go for dinner with the cast and crew. 

The conversation is light, everyone enjoying their food and making small talk. It’s nice enough, but it’s incomplete because you're not there. 

He wishes it was you beside him instead of Mae. The seating arrangements have no rhyme or reason. It just happened that way. But still, he almost resents that she’s the one next to him. So much has happened in the weeks since he last saw you. He wants to share it all with you, and wants to know how you are - if you’re struggling with his absence as much as he is with yours. 

“Okay there, Ackles?” Jack asks, “You're a world away.” 

“Yeah,” he lies, sitting up straighter and smiling. “Just thinking…” 

Karl must know the look of a man missing his significant other because he asks, “About your girl?”

“Yeah,” Jensen admits, sighing heavily. He hasn't told anyone you broke up, and there’s been no speculation in the tabloids.

“Tell us about her. You never did tell us about your first date,” Jack says, “we all know you met on Supernatural, but not the story of your first date.” 

Jack’s an awesome guy, sweet and kind, he doesn’t know the reminder is like a kick in the teeth, but Jensen obliges. 

Jensen hurried across the lot, a coffee in each hand, the brown paper bag containing two cinnamon rolls dangling from his mouth. He was late, and Jared would give him shit for it, but it would be worth whatever Jared threw at him if it improved your morning.

Your latest Instagram post was a photo of a fly swimming in your coffee with the caption: “It was my last coffee pod. This just topped off a crappy weekend😭. #HappyMonday”. You were one hundred percent a coffee snob. You made it in a particular way using a fancy - and stupidly expensive - machine. You wouldn’t settle for the coffee on set. You’d rather go without. However, Jensen knew when you didn’t get her morning beverage, you’d be grumpy all day, and he hated to see you without a smile.

He headed for the makeup trailer, knowing that’s where you’d be. He kicked the bottom of the door gently as a way of knocking, then waited. 

He didn’t expect Jared to be the one to open it. He wasn’t due in makeup for another half-hour, but his lanky frame filled the space of the open door. “Look who decided to show up,” Jared jeered playfully. 

“Shut up,” Jensen mumbled around the bag, walking past him.

You were already there, looking through clothes on the rack, but stopped to smile at him. “Morning, Jay.”

“Here,” he said, handing over the coffee that was for you. “Hi, hey, morning.”

Confusion wrinkled your brow, but you took it. “Um, thanks.” 

“I saw your Instagram, and I know how cranky you get without your coffee, and you said you had a shit weekend, so I wanted to try and make it better,” Jensen vomited words without thinking. “I don’t like seeing you upset, and you’ve been down a lot lately, and I just thought maybe this would help, some, a little, maybe.” Breathlessly he shrugged and prayed the floor would open up and swallow him.

Your smile beamed, and you lifted the cup to your nose, inhaling the aroma, and hummed contentedly, “Mmm. You even got my order right,” you said and stepped closer to him to place a kiss on his cheek.

“That’s cause you're always posting about it on social media,” quipped Jared.

You tutted, rolling your eyes at your co-star but kept your eyes locked on Jensen. Dropping back down from your tiptoes, you said, “Thank you for this. It means a lot that you thought of me.”

“It’s nothing,” he lied. It was everything, and as your kiss dried on his cheek, it reminded him of your evening plans. “I know you’ve got a long day ahead, especially with your date later.”

As part of a charity event, you had agreed that they auction off a date with you. The auction had been silent, so you had no idea who had hired you for the night. Though the studio had assured you they had vetted the winner, you’d asked that he and Jared be in the bar next door in case of emergency.

“Oh god,” you groaned, “don’t remind me. I wish I never agreed to that stupid silent auction.” 

“Ah, don’t be such a downer,” Jared said, winking. “You never know. He might be the man of your dreams.”

Oh god, I hope not. Jensen thought. He’d already had to watch you be in a relationship with Chad, a man who neither deserved you nor treated you well. He couldn’t bear to watch you be with someone else again. He wanted to be next in line, and he would treat you as you should be, like a Queen. He just needed to work up the courage to tell you.  

“I doubt it,” you sighed, and Jensen swore your eyes flicked to him and away again. “Besides, who said it’s a man who hired me?”

“C’mon, you two,” Zara, the makeup artist, said, waving them toward the door, “out! I’ve got to get this one ready.”

Amongst a chorus of goodbyes, Jared and Jensen left. “What is it with you when you’re around her?” Jared asked as soon as the trailer door was closed. “You’re a bumbling idiot, and she’s starting to notice.”

“What?” 

“Yeah, she asked me what’s wrong with you. Thinks she’s done something wrong ‘cause you either avoid her or barely speak to her.” 

“I know, man,” Jensen groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Ever since you put it out there that we could be more than friends, I can't stop thinking about it. I don’t want to blurt it out at the wrong time, so I try to be careful about what I say, but I just end up tripping over myself.”

Jared clapped him on the back, “You just need to fake some of that Dean Winchester confidence.”

“Maybe.” 

“You better find a way to be around her ‘cause you’ve got a date with her tonight.”

“What?” 

“The silent auction,” Jared explained, “I paid for the date with her for you.”

“Jared, what? No!”

“I think Gen will have an issue if I show up for a date with her, and are you really going to leave her sitting on her own?”

“No, but Jared, I can’t,” Jensen panicked, “I’m going to make a fool of myself.” 

“You’re an actor. Just act normal.” Jared suggested before walking off.

Seeing you through the restaurant window, Jensen wanted to hug Jared so tight to thank him he’d crack a rib. But he also wanted to punch him so damn hard in the arm it’d be limp for a week. Why had he agreed to this? Okay, he hadn’t agreed. He’d totally freaked out, drank two beers, took three shots of whiskey, and then forced himself into the waiting car.

He was going to mess this up. He knew it. He was a fumbling, mumbling idiot around you, and dread settled firmly in his gut as he watched you scanning the menu. He regretted the whiskey and allowing Jared to talk him into this. 

He swore he was having an out-of-body experience as his feet took him closer to you. You glanced up when he got to the side of the table, and your face glowed with a smile. “Come to check in on me?” you asked, rising and pulling him into a hug. 

He held you a little tighter than he usually would, savoring the moment before releasing you and taking a seat. “Not exactly checking up on you,” he said, “this wasn’t my idea, but Jared brought you for me.” 

“What?”

“The silent auction, Jared was the highest bidder.” 

Confusion took over your features. “Why would he do that? I mean not that I’m not grateful, I’d much rather be here with you, but I don’t understand.” 

He realized it was now or never. “‘Cause he knows how I feel about you,” he admits, holding his breath for a reaction. 

“Care to elaborate?” you ask after a long silence.

“The truth is, I like you... a lot.” 

“I like you too.” 

“No,” he shook his head, “you don’t get it. I cherish our friendship and don’t want to lose it, but it's more than that. My feelings for you go beyond friendship, and I want to see if we could be more.” 

“I was so nervous,” Jensen chuckles. “I felt like I was auditioning for the rest of my life.” he contemplates it for a moment, “maybe I was.” 

“Well then, it’s good she reciprocated,” Karl laughs. 

“It took her a minute,” Jensen remembers, “but yeah, she came around.”

Your phone rings as you slot the key into your door’s lock. You’re juggling coffee, a pile of scripts to read, dry cleaning, and a bag of groceries. You have no hope of answering without dropping everything, so leave it to ring. You assume it’s Jared checking in on you after seeing the photos on TMZ. Jensen and Mae were pictured at a restaurant in Ontario. 

The phone stops as you enter the kitchen and set everything down on the countertop. 

Gen had already checked in to make sure you were okay, and you’d been anticipating a call from Jared to yet again invite you out to the set of Walker to meet one of the crew he was insistent you’d “hit it off with.” You’d politely declined, having already been on a date that had been pleasant and ended with a goodnight kiss, but you’d told the Padalecki’s it had left you feeling guilty as if you were cheating on Jensen. You needed time to let that feeling pass and allow the wound to heal completely.

You set about emptying the bags of groceries, and your phone rings again. You shuffle the contents of your bag, looking for the device, sure that it will cut off to voicemail before you find it. 

“Hello,” you answer, pressing it to your ear. 

“Hey.” 

Jensen’s voice freezes you to the floor, and you hold your breath. It’s been more than a month since you left him in his trailer, and you’ve only exchanged a few text messages. Why is he calling now? Does he want to be the one to confirm that he and Mae are together?

He says your name when your silence stretches. 

“Um, yeah. Hey, hi,” you say, clearing your throat to rid yourself of the shock.

“You sound out of breath,” he notes, “is this a bad time?” 

“No, no, I just wasn’t expecting it to be you,” you explain, “caught me off guard.”

“Who were you expecting?” he asks, sounding accusatory.

“Jared,” you sneer, unable to stop the ire you feel.

“Sorry,” he says, and the apology tightens your jaw with the frustration it evokes. “I should have called sooner.”

“I haven’t called you either.” 

No one is to blame for the lack of communication. You both needed some space, so you were both right not to call. 

Neither of you speaks for a moment, and you debate whether to tell him you're busy so you can end the call and be done with the awkwardness. But he obviously put his awkwardness aside to call, so you might as well rip the stitches out and reopen the wound if that's what this is about. 

“Why are you calling now?”

“I need you to know that me and Mae aren’t together,” he says, firm and direct. 

You try to interrupt, “Jensen, it’s fine.” but he determinedly continues. 

“The picture they posted was cropped,” he explains. “The whole cast and some of the crew were there. The photo made it look like it was just the two of us, and that’s not the truth.”

“Even if it was, it’s okay.” It’s not okay, and from the moment you saw it, you’ve felt nauseous. Still, you assure him, “You’re free to do what you want. You don’t owe me an explanation.” 

He sighs, and you can hear the scowl in his tone, “It’s important to me that you know.”

You think it’s sweet that he’s taking the time to explain himself, even if it’s not what you expected. But Mae was never the problem. The situation she presented only shone a light into the crack that you had both been ignoring. Yet the information that Jensen has shared is a welcomed relief in the wake of the storm, but it’s just the eye. More questions are coming, questions that will likely only cause more hurt and confusion.

“Why?” you ask, “why do you want me to know?” 

“Because I wanted it to be you next to me…” he pauses. 

You're not sure if he wants you to say something or read between the lines, but you can’t let yourself trust the spark of hope that jabs your heart like a pinprick. 

“Even if we’re just friends,” he adds. 

That pinprick pierces the thin shell you’d managed to build, and it feels like a thousand jagged pieces of glass lacerate your heart, and you chew your top lip to stop the emotion from escaping in a sob.

There’s a loud bang on his end of the line, and someone calls out, “We’re ready on set, Mr. Ackles.” 

“I gotta go,” he says. 

“Okay,” you say, and immaturely add, “Bye, buddy,” before hanging up. 

The party has been a monumental success. You helped Gen, along with a professional party planner, to pull it off.

“So you really had no idea?” You ask Jared once everyone seems to have greeted him and wished him a very happy fortieth birthday. Technically it's not his birthday for another four hours, but the surprise party had needed that early element to make sure it went off without a hitch. 

“None,” Jared says, smiling. “I was fully prepared to fly home tomorrow to spend my birthday with Gen and the kids. I was looking forward to it, actually. I didn’t want a big fuss,” he chuckles, looking around the room, “but I’m glad you helped Gen make a fuss. It’s nice to see all the old faces.”

“Not all of them,” you note sourly, commenting on Jensen’s absence. “He wanted to be here, but you know how tight filming schedules can be.”

“I know,” he nods with a tight, sad smile. “It would have been good to see him. For me, at least.” 

“Don’t.” 

“It’s my birthday. I’m allowed,” he teases.

“It would have been nice to see him,” you agree before Jared can start in on the lecture. “I think. I don’t know. It’s weird and painful, and maybe I'm better off not seeing him until it’s not weird and painful.” 

He laughs, pulling you into a hug. “Sounds like you have it all under control.”

“Absolutely.” 

You mingle with old friends from Supernatural and new friends from the Walker set. The crew member, a camera operator named Vince, is as cute as Jared promised him to be, and you find yourself tucked in a corner talking with him as the night continues.

You hear the cheerful reunion before you see it. People applaud and shout greetings as Jensen crosses the room and embraces Jared in a tight hug. They hug for a long time, whispered words exchanged between brothers, and you see Jared’s eyes tear up. His night is complete now that Jensen is here. 

A few people greet Jensen with hugs and shakes of his hand, but his eyes never seem to focus on them. He distractedly looks around them and seems disappointed when he sees the next person waiting to greet him.

You mostly manage to keep your focus on Vince, but you can see Jensen in your peripheral. You don’t react, but you notice when he finds you. He stares for a long moment, maybe hoping you’ll feel his eyes on you and look at him, but you don’t, and he doesn’t approach.

You're doing nothing wrong, but an uneasiness sneaks up on you. It’s not that you feel like you're somehow betraying Jensen. It’s that you're betraying yourself by denying how you feel. It wouldn’t be fair to start anything with anyone new right now. They’d be a rebound. 

Vince seems to notice your focus has shifted and politely parts ways with you.

You spy Jensen across the room, catching up with Brianna, and head for the bar, needing something more potent than wine to make it through the rest of the night.

If possible, Jensen seems to have grown broader, arm muscles bulky beneath the material of his shirt, and you're definitely a fan of the Soldier Boy look. He looks good with a now-trimmed beard and long hair. The sight sends an ache of loneliness through your chest, remembering how it felt to be wrapped in those arms. 

A shot turns into two, and when the bartender steps away to refill your wine glass, you feel the air next to you shift. You don’t have to turn to see who it is, the cologne gives him away, and as it arrests your senses, he nudges his shoulder into yours. The familiar heat of his body makes your chest tighten. You so desperately want to turn and embrace him, but you know your fragile emotions would crumble under the weight. 

“Whiskey, neat,” he tells the bartender, his voice deep and gruff. He turns his body towards you, one arm resting on the bar, and you sip your drink, silently wishing it was hard liquor again instead of wine.

“Hey,” he says when you don’t look at him.

“Hi,” you respond blandly.

“How are you? You look good.”

“So do you. Really. You look incredible,” you say, without actually looking him in the eyes. 

“I hate having to do the diet and exercise thing, though,” he chuckles, “it was so much easier when all I had to do was wear flannel.”

You laugh, but it's bittersweet because everything was easier when he was wearing flannel. “How’s it all going? Stepping into the shoes of a new character?”

“Daunting, but fun.” Jensen talks, and you do all you can to listen and engage but can’t bring yourself to fully meet his eyes.  

He says your name so delicately it feels like a caress that sends a shiver through you. You close your eyes and know what he’s asking before he pleads, “Please look at me.”

His eyes have always been mesmerizing, and you know if you gaze into them, the spell will be cast, and there will be no escaping him, even when he’s miles away again. He waits for a beat, but your eyes remain firmly shut, and he closes the space between you, demanding attention. 

His exhale wafts through your hair. It’s too close because it's not close enough, and you feel the heartache rising in your chest.

“It was good to see you, Jensen,” you flash a smile in his general direction, picking up your glass.

“Wait,” he says, grabbing your wrist as you turn your back to him. “Don’t leave.”

You freeze in place and turn to look at his hand cuffing your wrist. Slowly you raise your gaze from his hold to his face, preparing yourself for the enchantment of his eyes, but his sad expression is downcast. His chest heaves with a deep breath before he finally looks at you, despondence turning to tentative hope.

“I know I should have said it back then, but I’m saying it now.” His voice is nearly a whisper beneath the muted conversation and ambient music, but it’s clear as a bell to your ears. “Please, don’t leave.”

You turn back to face him, and he takes two deep breaths before he finds the words.

“The last couple of months, I’ve been miserable without you.” He admits, “I’ve had to fight myself to eat, to work out, to do anything that didn’t involve staying in my trailer with a bottle of whiskey. I know that things are weird, but I realized my hesitance had nothing to do with the ending of Supernatural. Yes, I was scared. But I was scared of how easy it was with you, how much I cared for you, how quickly I realized that I am head over heels in love with you.”

You choke out his name as tears well in your eyes, and he steps forward to swipe the first droplet from your cheek.

“I was ready to tell you I’m in love with you, and you were booking flights home,” the heartache of the reminder dims the light behind his eyes, and he drops his gaze to battle whatever emotion he’s feeling. “That scared me more than anything. I didn’t want to say it in the heat of the moment or on the phone, and I was terrified you didn’t feel the same. It doesn’t matter if you don’t. I need you to know that I love you.”

You don’t have words, unexpectedly wishing you had a script so you don’t say something stupid. Then, just as surprisingly, you realize you don’t need words. You take a half step forward and kiss him. Jensen responds immediately, a hand caressing your cheek and drawing you closer as the other slips around your waist to tug you flush against him. 

You tangle your fingers in his hair, and he groans into your mouth. His kiss gets you drunker than any alcohol ever could, and after a moment that could have been a minute or an hour, you feel lightheaded. 

Jensen chases you as you pull back, placing swift kisses on your lips and pressing his head against yours.

“Damn, I’ve missed you,” you sigh.

“Well, don’t get used to it,” he says, “I’m never letting you leave me again.”

Tag List Info

Tagging Dean Winchester and Supernatural List. Sorry if you don't like RPF.

@alexxavicry / @b3autyfuldisast3r-blog / @deandreamernp / @deanwinchesterswitch / @fandom-princess-forevermore / @foxyjwls007 / @jc-winchester / @justagirlinafandomworld / @katbratsupernaturalwhore / @leigh70 / @letsbys-library / @lyarr24 / @mrswhozeewhatsis / @nancymcl / @shanimallina87 / @stoneyggirl2 / @waywardbaby / @wildbornsiren / @writercole / @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior / @deans-spinster-witchs-favorites

Master Lists: Dean Winchester // Main

[deanwritings]

FwB: Chapter 4 - Discretion, Thy Name is Dean

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: FwB - Friends with Benefits.

After walking in on Y/N following a fun encounter, Dean and Y/N decide it would be beneficial and much easier to use each other for their needs. But can they keep it just about sex?

FwB - Master List

Word Count: 3,783

Warning: Smut (in case the title was not obvious) and 18+ themes and language.

Gif:

A/N: Sorry this longer than usual! Been a few crazy weeks at work sot the creativity hasn't been there. Happy this finally struck.

Well god damn. 

Dean was not expecting that when you strolled into the war room. After last night, he figured you both would have been satisfied for the next few days.

But there was something about the way you stared down at him as you leaned against the table, your breasts just a nose-lengths away from his lips. Not to mention the way your sweats hugged your legs, and your damp hair rested on your shoulders, immediately conjuring up an image of you suds up in the shower, steam billowing around your dripping wet body as you rinsed the shampoo away. He was immediately up right and at full attention. 

And as you settled beside him, he hadn’t meant to grab your leg, it just found its own way there, unconsciously sending the dominos tumbling down. 

Then when you had asked him if he had always wanted to fuck you—

A shiver shoots down Dean’s spine at the thought again. You had never been so commanding before. Not to Dean at least. The way you owned his attention and demanded his answer. 

It was fucking hot. 

Dean needed to have control in his life. It’s how he’s survived, despite the numerous deaths. But hell, he had no issue giving the reins to a woman who knew what she wanted and how she wanted it. He was more than happy to oblige. 

He was no stranger to people-pleasing. Or pussy-pleasing. 

Plus, you have never been so forward with him before. Usually when Dean attempted to flirt with you, he was only ever met with an eye-roll or some sarcastic come back. You seemed to shrug off any advances he ever made towards you.

And he knew why; you were too good for him. You clearly knew it too, which is why you would never engage with him before now. 

You had a hell of a lot more to offer than Dean. Despite being a hunter, and having quite the dirty mouth among other things as Dean was now discovering, you had a good heart, and a lightness that surrounded you that seemed to draw people in, despite being a stubborn pain in the ass at times. 

And when the moment called for it, you could easily flip the switch and turn on hunter mode, stowing the light away to take on whatever fight you found yourself in, before that glow reemerged, even managing to bring Dean out of whatever dark hole he was ready to wallow in with just a smile. 

If you asked, Dean, you were the whole package, and whatever lucky bastard managed to catch you better thank his lucky stars you chose him back. But Dean had nothing to offer you, not what you were looking for at least. 

That didn’t stop him from fantasizing about you, long before he ever walked into that motel room. 

But he wasn’t going to admit that to you. There were still a few cards he wanted to keep close to the chest. He did have some dignity after all. 

But he did have to wonder — you had asked him if he was always so horny. He wasn’t sex-crazed, not anymore at least, but he was more than happy to indulge with whoever caught his eye, or himself on nights he was alone. Yet if he had to count, you had done the deed at least four times in the last three days. If anyone was horny, it was you. 

And if you were truly that horny, you clearly were hiding some dirty little secrets in that room of yours since you didn’t seem to go out of your way to hookup with anyone. 

That brings a smirk to Dean’s face. 

He sits back into his chair and kicks his feet up on the table again, picking up his Classic Motorsports and flipping back to the page where he left off on when you walked in. But as his eyes scan the page, he can’t stop his mind from wandering. 

Do you have a stash of toys? He wasn’t well-versed in that area, but he knew about vibrators and dildos. Then there was always the knuckle shuffle, if toys weren’t your thing. He drops his magazine into his lap, curious what your method of choice was as he shifts in his seat as he feels his dick somehow twitch again.

Shit, was he always this horny?

Maybe, but that wouldn’t be a problem anymore, not with your arrangement. 

Which causes a laugh to bubble up in his chest as he thinks about your rules.

When you had asked about rules last night, he thought you meant metaphorically. He never expected you to actually write down a list of rules and sign them. And not just sign them, but have him sign them as well. 

Dean wanted to call you a dork when you handed them to him, but he refrained, not wanting to ruin the fun the two of you had. 

As his eyes scanned the page, they were pretty straight forward for what he would expect for this type of arrangement; protection was a must, hence your strict order to get a condom before you rode his ass like a rogue cowgirl on that very table. The option for either of you to say “no,” though you didn’t see that one coming into play too often considering how the last 24 hours had gone. The exclusivity clause surprised him; you were the picture of monogamy, and Dean had actually expected an expectation of fidelity, yet you were giving him his cake and letting him eat it too. 

Though that rule left him feeling a bit uneasy. 

He was never someone who cheated in a relationship. In the few he managed to hold over the years, he was a one-lady man, and outside of that, he purposely never committed so no one’s feeling’s would get hurt, and no expectations were had.

Sure, you were giving him the go-head to sleep with whoever he wanted outside of your arrangement, but could he really throw that in your face like that? Flirt and hookup with someone while you stood on the sidelines?

It felt sloppy and wrong. 

But maybe he was overthinking it.

Maybe that rule was for you. Outside of sex, you wanted more than Dean could offer, and you weren’t going to stop that search just because the two of you were sleeping together. If you really only wanted sex from him, and vice versa, it only made sense that you were allowed to look elsewhere for more. 

Not that Dean was looking for a relationship, but after all the shit he and Sam had been through, it was nice at times to imagine that perhaps he could have more. Be a man who had no expectation to save the world, or be a puppet to some being’s greater plan. That he could just sit at home with a woman by his side, have dinner, watch some tv, and tuck each other into bed without a gun underneath his pillow.

It was a pipe dream, sure, but could ya blame a man for wishing?

Not that it really had anything to do with Y/N. Didn’t matter that sometimes, instead of fantasizing about you in the shower, he saw you on that couch next to him, or resting against his side as he drove his Impala to anywhere that wasn’t a hunt. 

Nah. 

Had nothing to do with you whatsoever. 

So it was time for Dean to do what he did best, bury the feeling deep down inside until he forgets it’s there and just enjoy the good thing he had going for him while he had it.

After giving the table a thorough cleaning, Dean had resumed his light reading when Sam walked in about an hour later. 

“How was town?” Dean kicks his feet off the table, giving his brother his full attention as he wanders down the stairs with several grocery bags in hand.

“It was fine,” Sam answers nonchalantly. 

“That cute cashier hit on you again?” Dean raises his eyebrows and Sam’s face falls.

“Dude, she’s like seventy years old.” Sam’s voice rises as he defends himself, his shoulders sagging as the grocery bags touch the floor.

“Nothing wrong with an older lady, Sammy.” Dean cocks his head and kicks his feet back onto the table.

“Sam’s dating an old lady?” Both boys turn towards the hallway as Y/N steps into the room. She’s wearing the same cream-colored sweatsuit she was in earlier, but her hair is wetter. 

Dean smirks as she strides by him, taking a seat to his right at the head of the table.

Guess someone needed another shower. 

“I’m not dating anyone,” Sam huffs, reaching down to pick the bags back up. 

“Ohh is it the lady from the grocery store?” Y/N sits forward in her seat, her elbows resting on the table as her Y/E/C glimmer. Dean can’t help but smile as she goads him on. 

“It’s not—” Sam snips, his lips pursing. “You guys suck.” He turns away from the two of you and continues down the hallway you had appeared from. 

Dean shifts in his seat and catches your eye, shooting you a wink. Y/N just folds her lips, attempting to hide that trickster smile of hers as she relaxes back into her chair. 

A silence falls over the pair as Dean continues to watch her, and her eyes narrow at the hunter. 

“Why are you staring at me?” Her brows pull together and her smile fades away to a frown.

“I’m not staring.” Dean gives a light shrug, keeping her gaze. Y/N just huffs and sits up momentarily to pull her phone from her pocket.

“You wanna make it more obvious to your brother that we’re sleeping together?” She rolls her head back and forth before bringing the phone up to her face. That gets a laugh out of Dean and he leans forward onto the table, catching her attention again before he licks his lips and cocks his head.

There was nothing better than winding her up, in more ways than one now, and maybe it was all the sex, okay, definitely was all the sex, but Dean was feeling good, and he couldn’t help himself from poking the bear. 

“Keep making all that noise,” Dean’s voice is low as he raises his eyebrows and nods to her. “And I think you’ll be the one who gives us away.” Her mouth pops open as he leans back in his seat, his smile growing as her cheeks heat up and she opens and closes her mouth, searching for a comeback. 

“Nor was I the one mistaken for a porn star.” Dean lays the cherry on top with one last shit-eating smirk.

“You—”

“Can we please not talk about whatever it is you’re talking about.” Sam suddenly appears behind them with a pre-made salad and water bottle as he walks to the table and takes a seat across from Y/N. 

Y/N’s eyes shoot between the two brothers, clearly trying to discern how much Sam heard. 

Dean really doesn’t care if Sam knows. After a lifetime of sharing motel rooms together, there wasn’t much privacy when it came to sex. It was very obvious when one of the brothers was busy for the evening. But Y/N clearly valued her privacy, and Dean told her he would follow her lead. So discreet is what they would be. Well, as discreet as they could be anyways. 

“You’re a grown man, Sam,” Dean turns to his brother, a light edge to his voice. “You really gonna get your panties in a twist over a little sex talk?” 

Sam rests his arms on the table, his features long as he stares at Dean. 

“I’m not getting my panties in a twist, Dean.” Sam’s voice mocks. “I just have no interest in listening to you talk about porn. I think I heard enough of that last night.” 

Dean exaggerates his frown and just shrugs, casting a glance towards Y/N who watches Sam take a bite of his salad. 

“Whatever,” Dean sumps into his chair and crosses his arms across his chest as Sam digs into his lunch and Y/N buries her head into her phone. 

Dean shifts in his seat slightly, angling himself subtly towards Y/N, taking a quick glance at Sam who seems to now be reading an article on his own phone while he stuffs another leaf into his piehole. 

With Sam distracted, Dean’s eyes find Y/N; she sits back in her chair, with one leg now crossed over her lap as the tip of her nail sits against her top teeth, her Y/E/C eyes scanning the screen in front of her. He’s hoping to get her attention again, maybe to antagonize her a bit more, but she refuses to look at him. Not that he was doing it to be mean, she was just cute when all riled up. And that would be the only way to rile her up with his brother in the room. But she refuses to meet his gaze. 

Dean blows a whoosh of air out of his mouth and slaps his hands on his thighs, getting the room’s attention as he stands. 

“Well this is boring, I’m off to the gun range.” Both Sam and Y/N quietly watch as he leaves before returning to their phones.

You watch as Dean exits the room, clearly having enough of the studied silence among the group. 

You had been enjoying your back and forth with Dean, but the minute Sam showed up, you clammed up. 

The last thing you wanted to do was give Sam a reason to suspect anything was happening between you and Dean. The man was a well-trained investigator with a Stamford education to match. You doubted it would take him long to put two-and-two together if you gave him reason to suspect something. 

You weren’t embarrassed per say, but you were never someone who was very open about your sex life, and it felt way too personal to have to admit to Sam that you were sleeping with his brother, even if Sam was your friend. 

You and Sam had a good relationship, perhaps better than yours and Dean’s at times. You were cut from the same cloth; growing up, you were an honors student, captain of your lacrosse team, and participated in Model UN every year in high school. When you got to college, your ambition continued as you double majored in political science and history, spending a summer in DC before graduating summa cumme laude. You had your heart set on a career in politics, wanting to be in a position where you could help others, make the world a better place. But you never got the chance. Not in DC anyways. That life was stolen from you when a rakshasa killed your roommate and her boyfriend in your apartment one night. You would have been next if it weren’t for Derrick, a hunter in the area who had been tracking the monster. He was the one who introduced you to this world. And at first, you hated him. Hated that he could be tracking the beast and still let it kill one of your best friends, but as you spent more time in your own hunting career, you realized that it was never that easy, or straightforward. 

You had tried to move past what you had learned, tried to return your attention to your job as an assistant for a local congresswoman, but you found yourself spending your nights reading lore, learning about rakshasas and other monsters you thought were just characters from horror films. But after a few months, the work you were doing, fetching coffee and reading through thousands of pages of potential legislation that seemed to work better for those passing the bills rather than the people they were meant to represent, seemed pointless. So you quit your job, packed up your apartment, and hit the road, shadowing whatever hunters you could and spending your free time hanging out in roadhouses, listening to hunters swap stories and strategies, learning as much as you could before you started hunting on your own. 

It was almost a decade later when you first met the Winchesters, having both stumbled upon the same vampire nest in Louisiana. 

Of course, you had heard every legend about the infamous Winchester brothers. They were either the greatest hunters to ever walk the Earth or the worst thing that happened to this world, depending on who you asked. They were the only hunters you had ever heard of that had come back from the dead, multiple times, and there was even a rumor that Dean had killed Death, but no one had ever been able to confirm that one. 

You were grateful for their help, and was surprised at how laid back they were. From everything you heard about the brothers, you assumed they would have huge egos. The Brad Pitts of the hunting world. But they were humble and were happy to have your help, and vice versa. 

You would occasionally run into them over the years after that, sometimes calling them in when you needed a little extra man power, but it wasn’t until last year when they, specifically Dean, asked you to move into the bunker. Actually, it wasn’t so much of an ask, but more of a strong suggestion after Sam and Dean saved you from a particularly nasty banshee that had left you pretty beaten up, leaving Dean to patch you up in their infirmary. 

And once they brought you here, you never left. Figuratively speaking. 

You easily settled into a routine with the brothers, and Castiel when he would occasionally flutter in. 

Sam was very easy to get along with from the get-go. You were book buddies, usually taking on the task of researching while Dean sat back, preferring to be the “muscle.” You roll your eyes at the thought. That was just his excuse to get out of reading endless books on lore. 

You and Sam shared a lot in common, and he quickly became one of your best friends. 

Dean, Dean was different. From the moment you met him, he was clearly a schmoozer. He had that panty-dropping smile that he had no problem using, on you and any other woman who caught his attention. Usually, when he talked with you, it was ladened with innuendos and harmless flirts, especially considering you usually had a boyfriend when you ran into him. He professionally avoided any conversation that would require him to talk about his thoughts and feelings, preferring to keep things more surface-level, and he could deflect like the best of them. But deep down you could see the pain, the heaviness of a lifetime of having the world’s weight on his shoulders. 

Once you moved in, it became a lot more obvious; the sleepless nights, the heavy drinking after hunts gone wrong. He pushed whatever he could down or away. Not that you blamed him. And even though that cocky tease you had first met had faded over the years, it never stopped him from goading you when he found the opportunity. 

And despite everything, he never stopped, never gave up, even when it all became too much. And you admired him for it.

Even though you weren’t as close with Dean on the day-to-day as you were Sam, you always enjoyed the time you spent with Dean. 

And part of that was on you, ever since you developed your crush on the legendary hunter, you limited your time alone with him, not wanting your crush to get the best of you, especially since you were in a relationship at the time you moved in. 

But that had been months ago, and since you had become single, you started staying up later, keeping Dean company when the insomnia struck, and began to learn more about the flannel-dresses hunter, finally peeling back the polyester layers as he cautiously opened up to you more.  

And if you were being honest, when you decided to sneak out a few nights ago, part of it was driven by Dean. Yes it had been a while since you had gotten laid, and yes, your vibrator was getting old and needed some new batteries, but when the three of you had gone out to dinner that night, you had to stomach more than just your club sandwich. You had to watch Dean mercilessly flirt with the waitress, who reciprocated every come on. 

Not that you had any right to, but the whole interaction just rubbed you the wrong way, and set you on the war path to the bar where you met Jordan, and where this whole thing went into motion. 

Funny how life works. 

In trying to forget about Dean, you ended up falling right into bed with him. 

“You good over there?” Sam’s light voice brings you out of your thoughts. You look up, your phone wayside in your hand, to see hazel eyes staring you down. You straighten up in your seat and put your phone on the table and clear your throat.

“Fine, why?” Your voice is a little crisper than you intended, but you were caught red handed drifting off in your own thoughts. Sam just shoots you a soft smile. 

“You just seem to have something on your mind. Anything you want to talk about?” He gently probes. You just take a deep breath. This wasn’t something you could talk about with him, as much as you might want to.

“No, all good.” You assure him with a hopefully convincing smile, but the way he studies you, you can tell he sees through you as he purses his lips.

“Look, if Dean’s still teasing you about the other night—”

“He’s not.” You quickly cut him off, and his eyebrows go up. 

“Okay then,” he draws out the words and sits back in his chair. 

Damn it. Here you were so worried about Dean blowing your cover, you were going to end up doing it yourself. 

You push out of your seat and tuck your phone back into your pocket.

“I appreciate it, Sam, but truly, it’s nothing to worry about. Just reminiscing.” You promise him and he nods.

“I’m gonna go grab a snack. Let me know if you come across anything you need help with.” Sam just smiles and shoots you a thumbs up before you escape from the war room and away from the ever-observant Winchester.

Chapter 5

FwB Tags

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[derelictlovefool]

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Author: Achilles, he/him & they/them pronouns

Status: Hobbyist, low writing activity

Writing: OC x Canon, Reader Insert, Original Fiction

Requests/Suggestions: Open

note: i'm a full time student so any requests I get will be done when and if I have time and they spark my interest!

Active in regards to fandoms & characters simply means most enthused about and interested in writing, inactive means least interested in writing but still willing if the idea sparks my creativity.

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active | inactive | semi active

Far Cry 5 | Supernatural | The Last of Us | Marvel | DC | Doctor Who | Sweeney Todd | The Witcher | Dying Light 2 | Z Nation | Inkheart | Bridgerton | Slashers | Outlast | Resident Evil | Overwatch | Undertale/Deltarune | Ib | TWD Telltale | Motor Crush | The Arcana | Kingsman

❝​🇨​​🇭​​🇦​​🇷​​🇦​​🇨​​🇹​​🇪​​🇷​​🇸​❝

active | inactive | semi active

Faith Seed | John Seed | Joseph Seed | Jacob Seed | Sharky Boshaw | Hurk Drubman Jr | Adelaide Drubman | Jerome Jeffries | Mary May Fairgrave | Eli Palmer | Grace Amestrong | Joey Hudson | Staci Pratt

Dean Winchester | Sam Winchester | Castiel | Charlie Bradbury ||| Joel | Tess ||| Wade Wilson | Tony Stark | Pepper Potts | Bucky Barnes | Steve Rodgers | Thor Odinson | Bruce Banner | Natasha Romanoff | Clint Barton ||| Harley Quinn

The Doctor (4, 9-15) | Jack Harkness | Rose Tyler | Donna Noble ||| Sweeney Todd | Mrs Lovett ||| Geralt of Rivera | Jaskier/Dandelion | Yennefer of Vennenberg ||| Hakon | Aiden | Lawan | Frank ||| Alvin Murphy | Roberta Warren | Addison Carver | Cassandra | Sarge | George St Claire

Mo | Dustfinger ||| Penelope Featherington | Benedict Bridgerton | Anthony Bridgerton | Colin Bridgerton | Eloise Bridgerton | Violet Bridgerton | Kate Sharma | Edwina Sharma ||| Jason Voorhees | Michael Myers | Bubba Sawyer | Brahms Heelshire | Thomas Hewitt

Eddie Gluskin ||| Ethan Winters | Karl Heisenberg | Alcina Dimitrescu | Donna Benniviento | Slavator Monreau | Mia Winters | Chris Redfield | Leon Kennedy | Ada Wong | Claire Redfield

Jack Morrison | Gabriel Reyes | Cole Cassidy | Genji Shimada | Hanzo Shimada | Mei ||| Sans | Papyrus | Asgore | Undyne | Mettaton | Queen ||| Gary ||| Calax Gothard | Domino Swift | Lola Del Carmen | Sonoya Vernilion ||| Asra | Nadia | Dorian | Portia | Muriel ||| Merlin/Hamish Mycroft

OC's: David Thorn (Slasher), Z (God Symbiote), Xander (Robot)

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Tropes I enjoy writing:

Variations of the Enemies to Lovers/Friends to Lovers | Childhood Friends | Neighbour across the hall/street | Mutual Pining | Devotion and Obsession | Making each other worse | Making each other better | Romance in Violence | Ride or Die Friends | Royal Guard/Gardener x Royalty | Crime Boss x Bodyguard | Dog Coded x Cat Coded | Fuck Love Triangles Make it Poly | Fake Dating | Meet Cute and more!

❝​🇼​​🇮​​🇱​​🇱​ ​🇩​​🇴​❝

— male/trans/enby/gn!reader (I'm here for the guys and gays)

— oc x canon, oc x oc, canon x canon, reader x canon, reader x oc

— sfw & nsfw

— platonic, queer-platonic, romantic, familial, etc.

— headcannons, one-shots, multi-parts

— AU's, crossovers

— gore, violence, toxic relationships, death/angst

❝​🇼​​🇴​​🇳​❜​🇹​ ​🇩​​🇴​❝

— fem!reader (There's thousands out there already y'know)

— genderbends

— pregnancy related topics

— self harm topics

— incest, paedophilia, zoophilia, necrophilia and any of that nasty crap

— non-con

— infidelity

— Characters I really don't know or care about </3

[the-insomniac-emporium]

How about a bit of yandere Dean Domino?

{I ended up going with Pre-War Dean, where the reader is a longtime rival (of sorts) of his. Enjoy!}{-J}

“Don’t fret so much, doll. I’ve got the whole thing handled! There’s nothing to worry about,” the man chimed, flashing one of his signature grins. One of his hands rested on the small of your back, meant to be an unspoken reassurance. Instead, it made you shift a little, uncomfortable with the level of familiarity Dean was showing. The two of you weren’t friends, no matter how often he said you you were. At best, you were occasional acquaintances in (minor) crime. You had a fair share of mutual rivals, so to speak, and sometimes worked together to get in their way. This was just another one of those ventures.

“Let’s just get this over with,” you snapped, pulling away from Dean. Though you had turned away from him, you could practically feel him scowling behind you, his guise of happiness evidently abandoned. Not that you minded; his ‘showbiz’ act always got on your nerves. A little acting would help for this job, but not yet, and not directed at you. Dean was going to use that infamous ‘charm’ of his to get you access to backstage. Unfortunately, his attention span was notoriously, well, short. Or at least when there were plenty of showgirls around. “Try not to get distracted by any pretty people this time, alright?” You joked, glancing back at Dean for a moment. He rolled his eyes at you, but otherwise didn’t respond. So far so good, you thought.

Moving forward, the two of you started the first part of your plan…

There’s a gun in your face. The barrel is clean enough to shine, reflecting the showlights above. You gulp. Once, twice, three times- but the lump in your throat doesn’t disappear. Trying to step backwards, you felt yourself hit the wall, and prayed that this wouldn’t be the end. For the first time in your life, you honestly hoped Dean would appear out of thin air. Surely he’d be able to get you out of this mess, right?… That was one of his specialities; getting out of messes, that is. Of course, it would probably be easier for him if you even knew what had gone wrong. Everything had been perfectly fine until you had slipped into your rival’s dark dressing room. Then  the lights had suddenly turned on, revealing a very angry bodyguard, who had chased you onto the stage where a dance group was currently practicing.

Before you had realized what was happening, one of the dancers (a masked man wearing a dashing tux) had cornered you, then pulled a gun on you.

“Sorry, doll,” the man purred, voice achingly familiar, “I’m afraid you’ve already missed the curtain call. What a shame, really… I’m sure someone wanted to celebrate your final performance. Oh well, best not to dwell on such things, right?” The realization hit you like a sucker punch. You were left breathless for all the wrong reasons, lungs struggling to push past the weight of understanding. Dean had betrayed you. Even if you had never considered him a friend, you hadn’t expected him to turn on you. Confused, and a little hurt, you tried to stutter out some sort of response, only for Dean to press the barrel of the gun to your lips. “Shh, the spotlight is on me, dear. Not you. This is the final song, and I’m doing a beautiful solo, am I not? Just close your eyes. There’s nothing to worry about.” And with that… he pulled the trigger.

[lost-between-letters]

I'm Not Sick

Pairing: Dean Winchester X Reader (she/her)

Requested by: @nancymcl

Prompts: “Get back in bed, you’re sick.” - “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay. Just breathe.”

Warnings: mentions of sickness, the beginnings of a panic attack (or at least what I experienced as one in a mild form)

Word Count: 820

Summary: someone's got the flu and is not happy about it (hint: it's Dean). Naturally, Y/N has to convince him to take care of himself.

A/N: I don't know if this is entirely comprehensive or even living up to the prompts but oh well. I like it

It had started out innocently enough. A few coughs here, a hidden sneeze there. Just a scratchy throat, no biggie.

Only that 'no biggie' turned into a silly little monster called 'flu'. That thing where you were supposed to stay in bed and let people coddle you.

Not swinging a machete. And yes, Y/N had learned that the hard way.

Yeah well, tell that Dean Winchester.

"I'm fine!" He insisted nasally, eyes barely able to track her movements as she reached over to feel his forehead. He was burning up.

Y/N studied his pale face pointedly. Followed a beat of sweat from his hair line to his neck. Dean was definitely running a fever.

"You don't look fine."

"But I am," he insisted and swung his legs over the bed, making to stand up.

Even from behind, Y/N could tell that the fast movement wasn't doing him any favours. Dean was swaying on his feet by the time he was standing straight. Of course, he was too stubborn to admit to it openly.

"You're not fooling anyone with the way you're supporting yourself on the night stand," Y/N pointed out softly and got up as well, "get back in bed, Dean. You're sick."

"'s jus' a little cold," he said and promptly started coughing.

It wasn't stopping this time. Long enough for Y/N to round the bed and pat his back, hoping to get him back to breathing.

When he eventually got enough air into his lungs, Y/N gave him the best bitchface Sam had taught her. "Just a little cold?"

"I'm-"

"Get your ass back into this bed Winchester or I'm sicking Sam on you," she threatened.

That worked. With indignant grumbling, Dean got under the covers.

Y/N couldn't resist on tugging them a little higher and leaning over to place a kiss on his heated cheek. "I'll get you something to eat, okay?"

"I can do that myself, you don't need to-" uncontrollable coughing interrupted him once more. This time it sounded like something was caught in Dean's throat. That something snowballed as his eyes fixated on a point behind her head.

Y/N didn't know what was happening but she knew that she had to do something to help him. So she got him to sit up, hoping that his lungs were just too tightly squeezed together. But that wasn't working either.

Dean was just gasping shallowly, a panicked expression crossing his face as the oxygen didn't seem to stick. And that scared Y/N more than anything else.

"It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay. Just breathe."

Y/N was leaning over him, hands hovering where he could see them as she took deliberate slow breaths. She just hoped that it would guide him enough to get back into the rhythm.

While fending off her own panic attack. What was happening? Why was Dean reacting that way? It surely couldn't be just the fact that he had caught something, could it?

Eventually it worked. Dean's muscles relaxed and he fell back into the pillows, face paler than ever but his breathing pattern back on track.

"Baby?" She asked tentatively, hands just shy of touching his face.

"'m sorry," he mumbled, and then, "shouldn't have been stupid like that."

"You're not stupid," Y/N said quickly and cupped his cheek, "what happened?"

"Stupid fever happened," Dean grumbled - or maybe his voice was just that wrecked. The fact alone that he admitted to being sick proved just how shaken he was.

And that in return shook her. God, her mind was a goddamn domino tower.

Y/N waited for him to elaborate this time.

"It's just-" Dean waved his arms around; a strangely helpless gesture on the hunter, "I thought I saw somethin' movin' behind you. Nd I can't do shit right now."

Oh.

"It's okay baby." It took all of Y/N's will power to not climb into his lap and cradle his head to her chest. Because that would likely jumpstart another coughing fit. But oh, she wanted to so badly. "Nothing can get us here. We're safe."

"I know that!"

Dean threw his hands up, agitation in every unwilling bone. And winced when it shot straight through his chest. "Told ya it was stupid."

"But it isn't," Y/N insisted. "It's sweet and a little overprotective and you, Dean."

"So-"

"If you say stupid one more time, I will spoon feed you for the next seventy two hours," Y/N threatened.

Because that was how they worked. If it wasn't her doing the threatening, it was Dean. To get her to eat, to get her out of the bathroom, whatever.

But right now, Dean was on the receiving end. And it worked.

"Fine, you torturess."

Y/N smiled sweetly. "And now you'll let me put a few pillows in your back and make you chicken soup."

Dean snorted. "Knock yourself out sweetheart."

Oh she was planning on exactly that.

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[youwerenevermeanttofeelalone]

Apple Pie | Dean Winchester

✦ pairing — Dean Winchester x female!Plus Size Reader

✦ fake dating AU

✦ word count — 2.9k

✦ summary — you bring Dean to your family's Christmas dinner so they stop bugging you about being single.

✦ warnings — angst, mutual pining, no mentions of hunting but not an AU either, reader has two sisters and a brother, mentions of food and beverages, christmas, fluff.

✦ author's note — this was supposed to be up the 24th but a power outage ruined my plans for three days. Sorry.

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You bounced your leg, head pressed against the backrest. Not having to drive was a relief and that was about it —you didn't know how you were going to pull this whole charade off.

If Dean hadn't been the one behind the wheel, the one coming with you, then you would truly be fucked. But he offered, oh so sweetly, to go with you, to pretend to be your partner so your mom would stop asking when you would finally bring somebody home for the holidays.

Nobody would do a better job than him. You and Dean clicked from the moment you met and soon he became your best friend so your mom had heard things about him; and because she had heard about him, she always asked if something was going on between you. She wasn't the first person to assume you had some kind of secret romance, Dean's brother was convinced you had been together for over a year now, and your neighbor swore she had seen you kiss a couple of times.

Pretending to date him would be easy enough — physical affection was already present in your dynamic, pet names poured out of him like it was nothing, and he was so easy on the eyes that gazing at him in a lovesick haze didn't sound far-fetched. And that was the problem, this was how things should be.

You would never tell him you felt that way; if he could tell you did, he had decided to look past it many times. He was easy to like, he might have been used to it by now.

The only thing left for you at this moment was hoping your heart would survive this.

Your mom beamed as she opened the door, ushering you and Dean in to protect you from the cold afternoon.

“Where do you want me to put this, sweetheart?” Dean asked, referring to the gifts he had been helping you carry.

“Come, let’s put them under the tree.”

“Get comfortable you two,” your mom told you, “I’ll bring you something to drink.”

He followed you into the living room while your mom disappeared into the kitchen. Dean looked around, taking note of every photo on the walls and every ornament in the room.

You tugged your gloves off and dropped them on top of your purse, moving to arrange the gifts under the tree, careful not to disturb the order the others were in. Dean handed them one by one, hovering over you while you sat on your heels for comfort.

You looked up at him and the moment you did, you regretted it. His eyes were already on you, a lazy smile on his face. “I think this blue one would look good next to the purple bag,” he gave his opinion.

Almost in a daze, you nodded and took the wrapped gift from his warm hands.

“Your fingers are like icicles,” he lightheartedly complained.

A chuckle escaped you as you went back to arranging gifts. “You know my fingers get cold easily.”

He extended his hand as you made a motion to stand up, offering his help. Dean always did that, he was always there to help, to break a fall, to make things better. You took his hand and using his strength as leverage, you stood up.

Instead of dropping your hand, he grabbed the other one and pressed your palms together, enveloping your hands with his to warm them up. You couldn’t not look at him, despite knowing his big pretty eyes would sparkle with mischief like they did when you played domino.

“Am I interrupting something?” your mom giddily asked from behind you.

You craned your neck to look at her. Letting go of Dean’s hands upon realizing she was carrying two mugs, you turned around and took a mug in your grasp. Dean immediately did the same, thanking your mom.

“Tell me about yourself, dear,” your mom sweetly prompted him.

You recognized that voice, the one she used when she was flustered. And who could blame her?

Dean had no problem talking, or charming her. But you had known it would be easy with her — she only asked about your love life because she wanted you to be happy whereas your dad wanted to make sure you had what he called a normal life. Your siblings were married, your oldest sister had kids already, your brother was in the process of adopting, and your other sister was pregnant. Building a family was what your dad deemed normal, what your siblings had aspired to therefore you should too.

You asked yourself if there was something wrong with you one too many times, if you were broken or malfunctioning. Ironically, meeting Dean made you see other people were in the same boat.

Somebody called your name and you had to twist your entire body to look at your dad. Placing the mug on the coffee table, you stood up and walked towards him. While your mom had always been okay with verbal greetings, your dad always demanded a hug from his little girl and you would never deny him.

The hug was warm thanks to his thick jacket. His gloved hands came up to fix your hair, something he did since you could remember. And before parting, he told you how happy he was to see you.

You couldn’t hide your relief upon hearing him say that, making the stress of coming up with a convoluted story about a partner oh so worthy.

And Dean, Dean who always picked up when you called in the middle of the night, Dean who knew how important this was for you, Dean who said yes to being your faux partner in a heartbeat, Dean smiled so brightly at the sight.

You smiled at him in reflex and watched as he stood from his seat to approach your dad with an extended hand. They shook hands, introducing themselves as your dad and your boyfriend respectively.

It did something to you, hearing them say it. Dean was proud of having you as a best friend, you knew because he always made sure people knew that was what you were; he even corrected Sam when he called you his friend. ��Best friend, Sammy,’ he had said, stressing the trust between you.

Some lines between you were blurry, you could admit as much, but it came with being so close. Dean could draw the organization system in your fridge by memory and you could name every movie on his living room shelves, even the ones still wrapped in plastic. You had no problem being just that, best friends, hiding your feelings for him was second nature now.

And for today, maybe even tomorrow depending on the weather, you would have to bring those walls down.

You followed your mom into the kitchen as Dean and your dad fell into a conversation about cars. She handed you apples so you would peel them and dice them. “He’s nice,” she casually said.

“I’m glad you approve,” you said, only half-lying. You turned around to wash your hands.

“I’ll approve once George approves.”

You laughed, patting your hands dry with a green towel. “How come we’re the first to arrive?”

“George and Blake are having lunch with Blake’s family and dinner with us.”

You hummed, picking up the vegetable peeler. “Sarah?”

“Must be on her way.” She made a pause, watching you drop the first apple into a bowl of water and lemon. “You didn’t ask about Kate.”

“I assumed she wouldn’t come.”

Your mom’s sigh confirmed your assumption. Her disappointment was understandable, but your very pregnant sister wouldn’t be allowed to board a plane.

“I can make the pie on my own, mom, take a break,” you assured her after a few minutes.

She smiled at you and nodded, taking your word for it. She giggled on her way out and before you could ask why, another voice filled your ears.

“Did you say pie?”

You giggled too. “Yes, Dean, pie.”

“Have I told you how much I love you today?”

Your heart skipped a beat. Doing your best not to sigh, you went along with it, “I don’t think so.”

He got closer to you. “Well, I do.”

You hummed. “Pretty sure you just want to make sure I add enough cinnamon.”

Dean’s laugh filled the kitchen. He dropped a kiss on the side of your head and leaned against the counter, watching you.

Cooking under his eyes was such a common occurrence that you almost felt weird when he wasn’t there to watch you. He was a good cook himself, but there was something about cooking for him —or with him— that made it one of your favorite activities.

The doorbell rang and your mom squealed. Before you could tell Dean to brace himself, you heard your niece’s voice. Lily was the oldest and so talkative she could become too much sometimes — you adored her for it.

A familiar face peeked into the kitchen; pretty, warm, home. Sarah.

Sarah, your dearest sibling, the person you loved the most, gave you one of her soft smiles, the ones she reserved only for you from the moment you were born. She loved you, so much, so fucking much that she had almost stopped talking to your dad when he insisted you needed to be like her.

You put the rolling pin aside and without a second thought, crossed the kitchen to hug yourself to her. Sarah’s arms had already been open to welcome you, to protect you from whatever was haunting you. It was like she could see it in your eyes — you wouldn’t be surprised if she could.

“Is that a new perfume?” she softly asked, not letting you go.

“Yeah, a birthday gift.”

“It suits you.”

Your name was yelled in unison and you pulled away from Sarah to greet your nieces. They had gotten taller since you saw them a couple of months ago and as pretty as your sister.

Then the hard part came: introducing Sarah and Dean. If you had been truly dating him, you would have only cared for her approval.

Lily immediately started calling him uncle and asked if he wanted to play with her. Before Sarah could tell her to leave him alone, Dean accepted.

She gave you a questioning look. You shrugged.

"Blake might get jealous," she joked.

But Blake didn’t get jealous, he was far too curious about your partner to be. It wasn’t that you disliked Sarah’s husband because he was great, but you and Blake were closer in age therefore closer as people. That also meant that George was suspicious of a lot of the people you were connected with.

George, meanwhile, wearily bombarded Dean with questions. Your brother had always been good at interrogating people and it used to lead to fights at dinner when he realized he was being lied to.

You held your breath every time Dean opened his mouth to answer each question like you used to when you were trying to lie to George when you were younger.

Dean handled every question so well, as though he had thought this through the night before. You would never be able to thank him enough for being so kind and warm to your nephews, so charming with your siblings, their partners, and your mom, so talkative with everybody who bombarded him with questions and compliments alike, so Dean Winchester that it drove you crazy.

You needed air. Or at least a moment alone to collect yourself.

"I'll be back in a moment," you announced as you put your gloves on.

Dean frowned.

“She always does that, don’t worry too much,” your mom told him. “Christmas makes her sensitive.”

But that couldn’t be it — Sarah’s frown and George's sigh told him as much. So Dean nodded and still stood up, excusing himself for a moment.

You wiped the snow off the step and sat there, looking down at your boots and the contrast against the white snow underneath.

Your family was all too accepting of him and it overwhelmed you. On one hand, you were glad they had gotten along with your best friend; on the other hand, they believed him to be your partner and you had no idea what you would paint the fictional breakup as.

The silent moment you sought wasn't granted. The door opened behind you and you just knew it was him — Dean didn't know when to drop things, when to stop.

He sat beside you but didn't say anything, at least giving you the upper hand there.

“I used to sit here and watch the other kids play after dinner.”

“You never joined them?”

“I was too shy.” They were all married now, they probably didn’t even remember the chubby girl that used to watch them from the front steps. They wouldn’t care if they did either. “I think they would have said yes if I had asked, but you know…”

Perhaps he didn’t know by experience, but you were certain he would understand.

Dean nodded. He did understand, always.

“So what are we doing here freezing our asses off?"

How could you possibly tell him you were overwhelmed and saddened at the same time? And how long would it take him to figure it out if you didn't?

There wasn't a good way to say it, a coherent manner to formulate everything you wanted to say yet feared to even think about.

"They like you," you simply said.

"Huh?"

"My family."

Breathily, Dean asked, "Yeah?"

"Oh, come on, you know they do."

"I hope they do."

He was killing you and he had no fucking idea. “Really?”

“They’re your family, of course I want them to like me.”

You huffed as you smiled, resting your head on his shoulder. “Thank you for coming with me.”

He put his arm around your shoulders. "Are you kidding? I'm already looking forward to next year."

You inhaled deeply. You wanted him there next year, and the next, and the one after.

“I mean it.”

“I’ll come up with something so you can come next year,” you quietly assured him.

Dean sighed. He gently pushed you off him and stood up. He brushed the snow off his pants.

Craning your neck up, you asked, “What are you doing?”

He deflated and crossed his arms. You could tell he wanted to say something, in fact, you knew he would, but you couldn't stand the position you were in.

Not only physically even though looking up at him was uncomfortable, but emotionally. Standing up, you steadied yourself by grabbing the handrail.

"Just spit it," you prompted him.

“For a moment I thought we were on the same page.”

Fuck. Explaining this to your family would be humiliating. "I don't... Are we... not?"

"Today has been great. Your family is great."

"I—yeah, it's been fun."

Dean rubbed his forehead in exasperation. "This isn't how things were supposed to go." Under his breath, he muttered, "Fuck, Sammy was right."

"Dean?"

"I... maybe this is not the place to talk about this."

"Doesn't matter, talk to me."

He clenched his jaw, prompting you to take his face in your hands. "You can tell me anything."

Bringing his hands up to rest them on top of yours, he gave you a watery smile. "You're killing me, love. I thought this would be fun and... and it has, but I didn't think it would hurt this bad."

You opened your mouth to speak, but only your breath came out. Condensation floated between you and you wetted your lips. "We can leave early if you want, I can make up an excuse."

He frantically shook his head in your grasp. "Sam told me this would happen and I didn't listen... I just can't deal with this anymore." He called you by your name. "I can't keep acting like I've been pretending today."

Removing your hands from his face, harshly pushing his off, you grabbed him by the jacket and kissed him. Dean's hands landed on your hips as he brought you closer, returning the kiss in a smothering fashion, angling his face to deepen it.

It bordered in calculating, as though he had planned this. Perhaps he had — you weren't above admitting you had thought about it, fantasized even.

You only parted when a gust of wind reminded you just how cold it was outside. Dean huffed a laugh.

Letting his jacket go, you took one of his hands to check the time on his wristwatch. "It's almost time for dinner, we should go back inside."

Dean let out a tiny whine, making you smile against his lips. You gave him another kiss, this time a short one. "Two more minutes."

"Okay, two minutes," you gave in, wrapping your arms around him.

Dean held you to his chest, tightly so. "Should we talk about this, or...?"

"What's there to talk about?"

"Dunno. I thought maybe you wanted something more formal."

You laughed, nuzzling against his warm chest. "Like a love proclamation?"

"Or dinner," he suggested, "maybe both?"

"Is it an invitation?"

"Honey, it is whatever you want it to be, but be upfront with me."

"We sound like teenagers."

Dean hummed in agreement. "Just wanna do things right."

"We might be a little bit past that," you admitted.

"Do you mind?"

"Not at all."

"Well, neither do I." He gently pushed you off him, hands still ghosting your back. "Let's go back inside, I promised Lily we would decorate cookies together."

God, you loved him. And by the look he gave you as you smiled at him, you were almost sure he loved you too.

[winchester-girl67]

Don’t Say A Word (Part 6)

Summary: Dean shows up a little late to the party, but that might be just when she needs him the most; even if she won't stop pushing him away.

Masterlist

Pairing: Bodyguard!Dean x reader

Word Count: 2,498

Warnings: language, angst, reader held against her will, arguing, tracking without permission, mentions of PMS (cramps), pining if you squint, slow burn, a little cuddling/fluff

A/N: Dean's kinda cute at the end.

_____

“You good?” Dean questioned, glancing between you and the road.

“What?”

“Are you hurt?” He asked, reaching across the space between you to pull open your sweater. He patted you down with his hand as he looked you over for any obvious signs of injury, but saw none and let go a heavy breath. His hand, still on your stomach.

“I’m fine,” you said, shoving away his arm and wrapping yourself back into Mason’s sweater. "I'm getting real tired of being manhandled though."

"Then stop getting yourself into situations that call for it." Dean grunted, turning his attention back to the dark road ahead.

"Excuse me but this whole domino effect started with you." You glared.

Now that you were feeling better and Dean was talking, you were starting to remember why you disliked him so much.

"Whatever you say, princess."

"Ugh, if you're gonna start with that princess shit again, I'm gonna need a drink." You groaned, rolling your eyes and punching the dial to turn off the radio.

You smirked to yourself when you noticed how Dean gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. Obviously disapproving of you touching his car controls.

"Dido." He agreed.

You didn't realize when you started to shake. Probably from the shock of everything that had happened because you didn't feel all that more cold than usual. Dean sighed, turning up the heater in the car and aiming the vents he could reach towards you.

“You sure?” He asked, filling the empty air space.

“Sure about what?” You furrowed your brow at him and tucked your hands into your sleeves, curling the cuffs around your fingers.

“That you’re alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“Really? Because-“

“I said I’m fine, Dean, so I’m fine. Alright?” You snapped, you knew he was trying to be nice but honestly couldn't care at the moment.

“You don’t sound fine.” He pushed, a slight frustration in his voice as he rubbed the scruff on his jaw.

“Then stop listening... Turn on your fucking radio and leave me alone." You whined, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Fine, I will.” Dean growled, punching the button for the car stereo and cranking it up.

“Great!”

You shifted in your seat to face the window, watching the outline of trees whip by the star filled sky. You were starting to get tired, the day weighing on you.

“Great,” Dean sighed heavily, shaking his head and glancing at you again. He palmed the scruff on his face roughly before dialling down the volume until the radio was just white noise, cutting through the thick air in the car. “I’m right here, Y/N, whether you wanna talk or not. I’m here.”

He reached over grabbing your hand that rested on your knee and gave your fingers a reassuring squeeze. Normally, you would’ve ripped your hand away, but his palm was warm so, instead you gave him a nod of your head and a barely there smile. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t need a little reassurance after everything and, so what if it was Dean holding your hand. His thumb brushed over the skin on the back of your hand, twice and then pulled away.

You’d come to realize that Dean wasn’t a man of many words, not when they didn’t need to be spoken. And still you understood him, or were beginning to. Small gestures like that meant more than just holding your hand. It was reassurance that he was there for you even if you didn't get along all the time, or ever. You just didn't understand why he was still here. Maybe he felt guilty, this whole mess was his fault after all.

You felt a twinge in your gut, a soreness that rolled into a full on cramp. A subtle reminder that your time of the month was coming and you pulled your legs up onto the bench seat, hugging your knees to your chest until it passed. Just your luck that recent events and mother nature would line up on the same night. Although, isn't that how it always went; stress usually played a factor in the timing anyhow.

“I didn’t need you to save me, you know.” You said, just so he knew and he shot you a dirty look. “How’d you find me anyways?”

“I put a tracker in your shoe.” He shrugged nonchalantly.

“Sneaky, bastard.” You cursed, pulling off your left shoe and searching it. Of course, you didn’t find it until you took off your other one and looked under the sole.

“I needed to protect you.”

You chucked the tracker at him and he flinched, “I never asked you to."

“I do it with all my clients, Y/N. That’s my job. Who else was gonna save your ass?” Dean argued, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel tightly.

“I am not your job, Auburn is your job! Just because you mistook me for her doesn’t mean I’m suddenly her or that you’re suddenly getting paid. As soon as Jody finds out that you’ve been protecting her roommate and not her, you can kiss that fat cheque of yours goodbye.” You'd had enough, you were fuming and holding nothing back now. You didn't even care if he were to pull over and kick you out of the car.

“My fee is nonrefundable and my contract is ironclad. If some bratty actress chooses to willingly leave the country without my protection, that’s on her. Besides, I don’t do airplanes, that’s also in my contract.” He explained.

“Aw, is big, bad bodyguard afraid of heights?" You teased, practically able to hear Dean's jaw clenching in response. "Just for the record, I didn’t need you to save me. I got out of there on my own and I would’ve been fine on my own.”

“Understood,” he responded, calmer than you thought he would have. "Can I ask you something? You do everything ‘on your own’- Is that like a complex, or do you just not trust anyone?”

“You can drop me off at the next motel.” You said, ignoring his question.

“Not happening, princess.” He shook his head, his irritation showing in the way he took a sharp corner off the highway and onto a country road.

“I’m only in this situation because of you, jerk.” You hissed, shooting him an ungrateful look. “I hate you.”

Dean nodded, glancing over at you before mumbling almost as if to himself. But you still heard, “I know. Feeling’s mutual.”

Neither one of you spoke again for the longest time. You didn't even ask where you were going, somehow you didn't care. You were numb to the fact that you had zero control. Just going along for the ride and when the time came, when you got the chance, you'd leave him.

You were exhausted both emotionally and physically, especially with your period coming. You just wanted to go home and lay down.

_____

It was hours after Dean had picked you up outside of the warehouse. Most of which you'd spent staring out the window, watching the dawn break. Only trees in different shades of green to landmark where you were. Until, you came to a stop at the end of a thin dirt road that looked more like an ATV trail.

In front of you stood a small log cabin with a rusted tin roof that had seen better days. Moss and vines creeping up the porch and over the windows. The place looked like the forest was trying to swallow it whole and you wondered if it had ever been kept up over the years.

“You can't be serious." You muttered when Dean climbed out of the car. He walked around to your side and pulled you out by your arm. "Why are you doing this?”

“I’m not doing anything except keeping you safe.” He claimed, keeping a grip on your arm as he unlocked the front door and pushed you inside.

He flipped on the lights since it was still dark inside, despite the early morning sunlight which was blocked out by the forest overgrowth outside the windows. You were pleasantly surprised the place even had power at all. A feeling that was immediately squashed by the many pots and buckets that lay across the dingy hardwood floor. Half-filled with water from the last time it rained.

“By holding me against my will in some backwoods shit-hole?” You questioned sarcastically.

You glanced around, spotting a worn red leather couch and a coffee table positioned in front of an old stone fireplace, and an ancient looking tube television sitting in the corner with bunny ears. It was essentially a one room cabin with a small kitchenette and a bathroom at the back next to a set of bunk beds.

There was no way you were taking the top bunk. Having to climb up the frame this close to your period every time you had to pee or get anything wouldn't be ideal. Though, you weren't exactly thrilled at the thought of sleeping underneath a man the size of Dean on a frame that looked as old and rickety as this one did.

“You’ll thank me later.” Dean said flatly.

“Doubt it.”

You settled into the cabin, thankful it wasn't supposed to rain any time soon and Dean collected the couple of bags from the Impala. You turned on the TV to find fuzzy images of shows you didn't know the names of, flipping through the channels by hand until you gave up and flipped it off. Sighing in both boredom and annoyance as you paced around the cabin.

“I don’t get it," you blurted out after a while, wondering aloud, "I annoy you to no end and I'll admit it's on purpose most of the time, and you openly agree that you hate me back… And yet here you are still. When you have every reason to walk away.”

“Whether you like it or not, your chances are better with me than without me. The fact that you're not Auburn is a minor detail." Dean explained, "So, I'll leave when the job's done."

“And how long is that gonna be?”

"A week or two, maybe longer… depends when your roommate decides to come home from her little vacation. Until then, if they confused you for her once, chances are they’ll do it again.” He insisted with a raise of his brow, taking a sip of the cup of coffee he'd made for himself.

This was ridiculous, Auburn's vacations weren't always little. You remembered the last time she'd taken off was for three months while she and her boyfriend visited wine country in Italy.

“And this is your safe house...?” You asked, glancing around. “Do we have to stay here the whole time?”

There wasn't much to the place and you knew it wouldn't be long until you and Dean were at each other's throats again. Lack of wifi or decent cable did things to you that you weren't proud of. Not to mention that you were already in a bad mood with the cramps getting worse.

“I don’t see why not, it’s off grid and my uncle doesn’t use it anymore since the wheelchair. My little brother’s the only other person who’s been up here within the past five years and he always gives plenty of notice. Besides, we’ve got everything we could possibly need, right here. I make a point to stock up this place before starting a job, just in case. We could live here for two months before having to go to a grocery store.” Dean bragged with a smirk when he saw the hope dim from your eyes.

“I don’t know if I can look at you’re stupid face that long.” You said, ceasing your pacing to slap your hands against your thighs and stare him down. His face really was stupid, most of the time. "This is all your fault, you know. If you hadn’t taken me, they never would’ve thought I was her.”

“I made a mistake, sue me.”

“Maybe I should."

“You know what. I’ve had it with your bullshit attitude. I screwed up. I get it. Now I’m trying to fix it. I’m trying to protect you and you need to let me do my fucking job. And you live with her so there’s no guarantee that they wouldn't have made the same fucking mistake that I did. So just, calm the fuck down already.” Dean growled, glaring back at you.

“I’m taking the bottom bunk.” You said, ignoring him and flopping down on the lumpy mattress.

You turned against the wall so you could pretend you were anywhere else. With nearly anyone else.

“Whatever, princess.” He muttered, opting to make himself comfortable on the couch with his jacket folded into a pillow.

“Asshole.”

It had been a rough night and things were starting to hit you hard emotionally. You were frightened and feeling helpless even though you managed to escape without help earlier. But it was a close call for sure and you were worried about the next time they found you. Which at this point, you were convinced was inevitable. They would eventually figure out that you were, in fact, not Auburn and then what would they do with you. You didn’t have the money for ransom and neither did your family, so there’d be no reason for them to keep you alive.

You managed to wait until Dean had fallen asleep to let the first sob out. But by the time your pillow was soaked, you felt the mattress dip behind you and a palm lay on top of your head. You shuddered and a fresh sob racked through your body as you hugged your pillow closer. You just wanted to disappear into the comforters like an ostrich with its head in the sand, but it wasn’t working.

“Shhh... Easy, Y/N." Dean hushed, his voice gravelly with sleep as he continued to pet your head.

He brushed your hair back away from your face and your skin tingled where his fingertips met your ear.

“I don’t need you-” You sniffled, but he cut you off.

“Would you relax for once and let me comfort you,” Dean yawned and you turned to glare up at him with red rimmed eyes as he sat next to you on the edge of the bed. “I’m tired. I've been up all night looking for you and I don’t feel like fighting right now. How about we call a truce, just for today?”

You didn’t say anything and just rolled back over, wiping your cheeks clear of tears. Dean took your silence as compliance and his fingers resumed playing with your hair. This time you didn’t protest and unconsciously leaned into his touch, shutting your eyes when the last sob died on your lips. It wasn’t long after that that you fell asleep to his gentle caresses, dreaming of his promises that everything would be alright.

_________________________

A/N: Read part 7 here

_________________________ 
 Dean/Jensen: @akshi8278​ @laycblack​ @thoughts-and-funnies​ @mrsjenniferwinchester​ @crustycheeks​ @kazsrm67​ @sexyvixen7​ @lyarr24​ @suckitands33  @eliwinchester99​ @yvonneeeee​ 

Forever SPN: @hobby27​ 

Don't Say A Word: @lacilou​ @mlovesstories​ @spn730015​ @hunni-bunny​ @ria132love​ @fmstafford  @spideysimpossiblegirl​ @houseforwhores​ @siospins2​ @globetrotter28​ @nt-multi-fandom​ @maggiegirl17​ @iprobablyshipit91​ 

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

You mentioned ghoul scent markings-- can you elaborate on that? Explain it and dump any other thoughts you have about it?

So, I feel like ghoulification would heighten all of the senses (*within the confines of what tissues can remain intact over long spans of time, like centuries; we see older ghouls, especially, with things like cataracts, etc. that would would obviously impact your perception), but the sense of smell especially. Smell is widely considered to be the "weakest" of the human senses, but if you were constantly regenerating the smell receptors that are physically closest to your brain, along with having basically one massive nostril, I'd think you'd at least smell SOMEWHAT more effectively.

I've seen people assume that, as ghouls eventually lose their noses to decay, they have no sense of smell, and (absolutely no disrespect or anything) I find that sort of funny. The olfactory sense ultimately originates in the brain, like any other sense, and the smell receptors that pick up on odors are not only found in the cartilaginous parts of the nose AKA the part that would rot off.

Scent memory is also one of the strongest kinds of memory, as the olfactory bulb that processes smells is located very close to the amygdala and the hippocampus, the memory centers of your brain. For this reason, I think that many ghouls, but particularly ferals, would be incredibly sensitive to smells, even if their particular "nose" is weak from decay. I'd imagine that ferals, as they slip further and further into the sort of aggressive, rotting dementia state we see them in, would still be able to connect with some human memories through smells. I think this may be one of the things that draws them to people so easily, even when you're trying to sneak past them.

Imagine moldering away for years and years, rational and conscious thought basically lost to you, and then, for just a breath, you smell a long-lost loved one's perfume, a favorite food you haven't tasted in decades, a fresh rain after a long, long dry spell. Just for a moment...you can remember.

All that to say that I think smell would be a very big deal for ghouls. Especially the smell of people they care about. One day, the memory of that smell may be quite literally all they have left.

I'm not sure most of them would be conscious of the fact that it's scent marking, but it wouldn't be uncommon to find ghoul lovers (ghouls who are lovers AND those who love ghouls) swapping clothing, reveling in their partner's smell enveloping them and vice versa. Taking their lover around other ghouls and knowing that the fact that the others can smell them all over you means they know you're theirs. Ghouls smelling another ghoul on you and knowing all your business without you even having to say anything.

(Plus...it's just a fun excuse to not have to pull out, you know?)

[rckflg]

CHARCTER MASTERPOST

enjoy :) hope you like this free food

i will link each character’s masterlist in this post

MOVIE MASTERLIST

STAR WARS UNIVERSE

han solo

princess leia

luke skywalker

padme amidala

anakin skywalker

obi wan kenobi

kylo ren

general hux

poe dameron

rose tico

finn

boba fett 

fennec shand

din djarin

paz vizsla

cobb vanth

HARRY POTTER & FANTASTIC BEASTS

harry potter

hermione granger

ron weasley

ginny weasley

george weasley

fred weasley

charlie weasley

bill weasley

neville longbottom

oliver wood

seamus finnegan

dean thomas

cedric diggory

luna lovegood

cho chang

fleur delacour

pansy parkinson

viktor krum

voldemort/tom riddle

bellatrix lestrange

fenrir greyback

lucius malfoy

narcissa malfoy

igor karkaroff

barty crouch sr

barty crouch jr

professor severus snape

alastor moody

sirius black

remus lupin

nymphador tonks

newt scamander

theseus scamander

MARVEL & X-MEN

black widow / natasha romanov

yelena belova

hulk / bruce banner

antman / scott lang

tasm!spiderman / peter parker

hawkeye / clint barton

hawkeye / kate bishop

echo / maya lopez

kazi

nebula

daredevil / matt murdock

mobius m. mobius

deadpool / wade wilson

negasonic teenage warhead / ellie phimister

cable / nathan summers

domino / neena thurman

storm / ororo munroe

mystique / raven darkholm

wolverine / james howlett / logan

rogue / anna marie

phoenix / jean grey

cyclops / scott summers

havok / alex summers

jubilee / jubilation lee

banshee / sean cassidy

quicksilver / pietro maximoff

angel / warren worthington

x-23 / laura kinney

magik / illyana rasputina

wolfsbane / rahne sinclair

mirage / dani moonstar

nightcrawler / kurt wagner

magneto / erik lensher

please let me know which version of the x-men characters you would like me to write for when requesting

BIRDS OF PREY

harley quinn

huntress

black canary

renee montoya

victor zsasz

THE SUICIDE SQUAD (1&2)

harley quinn

rick flag

captain boomerang

polka-dot man

ratcatcher 2

bloodsport

peacemaker

LORD OF THE RINGS

merry brandybuck

pippin took

aragorn

legolas

gimli

arwen

boromir

faramir

elrond

eomer

eowyn

haldir

THE HOBBIT

bilbo baggins

thorin oakenshield

kili

fili

dwalin

THE LOST BOYS

david

marko

paul

dwayne

star

michael emerson

STAND BY ME

ace merill

denny lachance

eyeball chambers

billy tessio

TWILIGHT

carlisle cullen

esme cullen

alice cullen

jasper hale

rosalie hale

emmett cullen

edward cullen

bella swan

charlie swan

billy black

jacob black

seth clearwater

leah clearwater

paul lahote

sam uley

TELEVISION SHOW MASTERLIST

THE MAGICIANS

eliot waugh

quentin coldwater

julia wicker

alice quinn

margo hansen

penny adiyodi

kady orloff-diaz

mariana andrieski

henry fogg

fen

PENNY DREADFUL

vanessa ives

ethan chandler

dorian gray

brona croft

victor frankenstein

THE UMBRELLA ACADEMY

vanya hargreeves

klaus hargreeves

luther hargreeves

allison hargreeves

diego hargreeves

ben hargreeves

lila pitts

CHARMED (1998)

piper halliwell

pheobe halliwell

prue halliwell

paige halliwell

leo wyatt

cole turner

CHARMED (2018)

macy vaughn

mel vera

maggie vera

harry greenwood

abigael cain

niko hamada

PEAKY BLINDERS

tommy shelby

john shelby

arthur shelby

ada shelby

finn shelby

polly gray

alfie solomons

luca changretta

aberama gold

bonnie gold

johnny dogs

STRANGER THINGS

jim hopper

joyce byers

dr alexei

robin buckley

steve harrington

billy hargrove

max mayfield

NETFLIX’S DRACULA

dracula

SHAMELESS (US)

fiona gallagher

ian gallagher 

carl gallagher

debbie gallagher

lip gallagher

mickey milkovich 

kevin ball

veronica fisher

male!reader platonic &/or smut & fem!platonic!reader only for ian & mickey

CRIMINAL MINDS

spencer reid

penelope garcia

luke alvez

aaron hotchner

elle greenway

kate callahan

CARNIVAL ROW

rhycroft philostrate

vignette stonemass

tourmaline

GRIMM

nick burkhardt

hank griffin

captain sean renard

seargent wu

monroe

rosalee calvert

adalind schade

trubel

N0S4A2

vic mcqueen

maggie leigh

tabitha hutter

DOCTOR WHO & TORCHWOOD

9th doctor

10th doctor

11th doctor

12th doctor

13th doctor

simm!master

missy / gomez!master

dhawan!master

rose tyler

yazmin khan

river song

bill potts

nardole

captain jack harkness

toshiko sato

owen harper

MISCELLANIOUS

PEDRO PASCAL

the mandalorian / din djarin

javier pena

maxwell lord

whiskey / jack daniels

dave york

fransisco ‘catfish’ morales

marcus moreno

OSCAR ISAAC

poe dameron

nathan (ex machina)

apocalypse / en sabah nur

kane (annihilation)

gomez addams ; platonic!reader or familial!reader only

JOEL KINNAMAN

rick flag

takeshi kovacs

pete koslow

erik heller

stephen holder

ed baldwin

ANDREW GARFIELD

tasm!spiderman / peter parker

[nerdragenewvegas]

CHAPTER 3 UPDATE

Chapter 3: The Art of the Hard Sale

He squeezes his eyes shut and runs his free hand through his hair. He’d considered it for half a second. He had, like it wouldn’t be so bad. Like it’d be easier to explain to everyone than the truth, how you were at least kind and pleasant — selfless, even, given how you were ready to pass up on your big break for the sake of his own comfort — and most people could understand something like that if they got to know you.

It’d be a damned sight easier to explain to Janey once she stops accepting ‘daddy’s been so busy with work that he needs to sleep a little closer to work for a while’ as an excuse. And, if he’s 100% honest with himself? There is a part of him he’s not proud of that doesn’t hate the idea of re-entering society quicker than he should with a beautiful, young, trophy girlfriend on his arm, legitimate or not…

But there’s thoughts, and then there’s actions.

New Fic: A Well Timed Scandal

A Well Timed Scandal - Cooper Howard/Female Reader. Pre war (will go into the post-war timeline.) No current content warnings but I'll be tagging as I go. Will be multi chapter. Johnny places his cigarette in the carved out groove of the ash tray, leaning in and resting his elbows on the desk, like he’s leveling with you. “You wanna know why we cast Gilda in Empire on the Nile?” He asks. “Because there was one too many rumors about Keith McKinney being a fan of ‘Greek stuff’ for us to contend with. Now, originally, we just wanted them seeing each other,” he admits, “but I’m not gonna complain with the results.”

“So you want me to marry Cooper Howard?”

He shakes his head, laughing under his breath. “Marry? No, no, lets play that by ear,” he seemingly assures you. “What we want — need — you two to do is make it look like you’ve been having an affair.” You must look like you’ve seen a ghost. This is insane. “Explains his divorce, gets people talking about you two as a pair, gets eyes on this movie you’re filming together — now, don’t go outright saying it, of course. We just wanna’ make people read between the lines, get them curious enough to get them into the theater to see the chemistry on the screen.” 

[memarrymilf]

I Only Ever Wanted You

Lady Lesso x Clarissa Dovey

Leonora is a reader, the goddess across from her was not. That however did not stop them

AN: I just love them so much and I want them to be happy.

Leonora of Gavaldon, that is who she is, lonely Leonora. She wishes that she could remember a time when she wasn’t alone. She hadn’t made any friends here- always so sure that she was destined for more.

No one wanted to play with me as a little kid,

She had a feeling; this place would be different. A place where everyone was like her, where everyone would understand. She refuses to be that lonely girl once more.

so, I’ve been scheming like a criminal ever since.

She sat between them, her classmates, all of them dressed in black. She likes that- she felt like it made her belong. No one would think she wasn’t meant to be there if she looked like everyone else. On the other side of the hall, the enemy. She was quickly informed that they- the Evers- were the “good guys” and she was meant to be a villain. Even speaking with them was strictly forbidden.

They claimed that it had something to do with the order of things. She believed them. She felt someone staring, and when she searched for the eyes that had to be resting on her she met honey brown. Dark skin and pale hair, for a moment Leonora was convinced that she was looking into the face of an angel. That would have been less surprising than being scooped up by a branch bird and flown to a school that she was convinced was a fairy tale.

The first night you saw me, nothing was going to stop me.

Leonora wanted to know more. She was perfect, she didn’t know her name- who she was, but she knew just by looking at her that she was special, she was perfect. Leonora would know more; she would make sure of it.

nothing was going to stop me.

She didn’t want her to think that she was staring, so, she did the only logical thing that she could think of, she waved. The girl’s face shifted from perplexed to the brightest smile that Leonora had ever seen. She was certain that if she wasn’t already sitting her knees would have betrayed her.

This was wrong, she could feel it. This was against the rules- she had just gotten here and here she was preparing to break them.

How evil of her.

The Deans made their entrance, droning on about something that Leonora was convinced would not be nearly as important as looking at the goddess across from her. The speeches didn’t matter, not the way she did. No matter how hard she tried- she couldn’t keep her eyes away, couldn’t pull her focus from her. The girl that sat next to the goddess looked between the two of them raising her eyebrow.

What if I told you none of it was accidental?

The girl looked far too pleased, it irked her. When she looked back at the blonde beauty, she was met with a similar gaze to her own. The girl had a smile, and Leonora found herself wanting to do anything to keep it there.

Leonora knew that this would not be easy, it was against their rules. They wouldn’t make them easy to break.

You see all the wisest women had to do it this way.

When they left the hall back towards the school for evil, Leonora couldn’t help but look back at the girl. She was looking at her too. She made friends with a girl named Maleficent, she had wings and horns, and called herself a fae. Leonora had no idea what that meant, but she was sure that she would find out later. Maleficent told her about the forest where she had lived all her life, about the different creatures and what they did and what they looked like.

I laid the groundwork and then just like dominos cascaded in a line.

The classes were intriguing, and Leonora absorbed as much of the information as was humanly possible. During breakfast, lunch, and dinner, she would trade secret looks with the goddess, who she found out from Maleficent, was named Clarissa Dovey, the daughter of a fairy godmother. She did have that magical glow to her that Leonora could not comprehend. It seemed as if they had both come to the conclusion that the only way for them to keep trying these secret looks was by throwing almost merciless insults at each other.

I'm only cryptic and Machiavellian ‘cause I care.

They met in the woods between the two schools, learning everything they could from each other. They sat under the summer sun and basked in the warmth- not the warmth that the sun would provide, no, the warmth that came from holding onto one another.

They danced in the rain, and stared at the moon, Leonora would lay next to Clarissa on those summer nights and listen to her ramble about constellations. Leonora would sneak off to the library during the day and learn myths and stories about each star so she too would have something to share during those nights.

Back in Gavaldon Leonora rarely looked at the stars, there was no one there to share it with so what was the point- back then they were just stars. Now however the stars began to accumulate names and stories of their own, the stars became a map that would always lead back to Clarissa.

On more intimate nights when they would lay under the willow tree, wrapped up in each other’s arms, Leonora would chart the constellations in the freckles scattered so perfectly over Clarissa’s body. She named them all, giving them their own stories. Clarissa taught her how to curl her hair with her fingers, restoring them to what they were when she was young.

Clarissa made her way to her wish fish lesson with Y/N, she liked to believe that they were friends. Clarissa had no idea what was waiting for her, she was a first-year student here after all.

When the professor explained the lesson, she became nervous. What if she did the wrong thing? What if she truly wished for the wrong thing? What would these people think? Her mother would be upset, she just knew it.

When it was her turn, Y/N hit her side with their elbow, waking her from her trance. She made her way towards the water; she saw the glittering scales in the water. Slowly getting onto her knees, she reached out her finger and the water began to glow.

In the glow, she saw red curls and then blue eyes that pierced through her soul.

Her hand didn’t let go of the water and for a moment she thought the lake would consume her. A punishment for lusting after the enemy, for loving a villain.

A hand held hers and from the lake, Leonora emerged gasping for air and soaking wet. Clarissa grabbed onto her, hitting her back softly to relieve her of some of the water in her throat.

“Are you really that jealous of a Never’s looks Clarissa?” A girl laughed from the back. Clarissa paid her no mind too entranced by Leonora to even care about what was being said.

Y/N rolled her eyes, “She’s not jealous, they’re lesbians.”

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

The new year was here and as Clarissa prepared to meet the new students that would be entrusted into her care, she could not help but feel that she envied them.

She missed those times when all she worried about was the next time she would be able to slip away to see Leonora in their special place, the space between. where two worlds came to meet, where she would never be out of reach.

The Evers were sat on their side of the Hall, the Nevers on the other, and Leonora next to her.

the turned the ring on her finger a few times, reminding herself that even though she couldn't reach out to Leonora right now, they would always be tied together. It would always be her; she would always be the one thing in Clarissa's life that was right. That was good.

As ironic as it may seem.

Lady Lesso was someone's happily ever after, and Clarissa Dovey was ever so grateful that it was hers.

[twelvegods]

our little secret

pairing/s; draco malfoy x fem!reader

warning/s; none

word count; 2.2k

summary; anon “hi! can i request a draco malfoy x gryffindor reader and it’s set in 4th year and the reader is badass and kinda cunning with people that mess with her and one of her friends as a joke is like “wow, i wonder why the sorting hat didn’t put u in slytherin.” and draco overhears this and says something like probably because she would look horrid in green. and then, the reader wears this beautiful green gown to the yule ball and looks amazing and then some fluff. thank you! i hope that made sense”

a/n; it makes sense anon! hope i did ur prompt justice! i really went and had fun w this one and i really like the friendship dynamic i made w dean seamus and lavender? tell me what you think!

“has anyone asked you to the yule ball yet, [y/n]?” lavender brown asked you in between forkfuls of shepherd’s pie, nudging dean thomas who was sat next to her. they both snickered as you scrunched your nose at them mockingly. in one swift movement, you flicked a pea at lavender and rolled your eyes.

by now, it was almost common knowledge among the four houses that you were the serpent among lions. they were constantly teasing you about the fact that no one from your house had the courage to even approach you, much less ask you out to the ball, despite the lot of you being from gryffindor.

not to mention, even harry bloody potter, the chosen one, had commented on the fact that you were more suited to be in slytherin back when you were second years, when he experienced your ambition and resourcefulness firsthand.

“i don’t plan on anyone asking me to the ball, actually.” you started, puffing out your chest arrogantly, a smirk on your face, earning raised eyebrows. “i’ve got my sights set on the one cedric diggory.”

“you’re kidding, the hogwarts champion?” seamus finnigan blinked dumbfoundedly from beside you, making his presence known. “girls his year were turned down, what makes you think you’ve got it?”

you narrowed your eyes at him. “that sounds like an insult, you know. but…”

you then shrugged at seamus and turned to glance across the great hall to where the said hogwarts champion sat amongst his hufflepuff peers.

just as the two of you made eye contact, you winked at him flirtatiously. seamus let out a whistle in awe as cedric ducked his head with an evident blush on his face. you turned to grin triumphantly at your friends, wiggling your eyebrows at lavender.

“it’s a wonder why the sorting hat didn’t put you in slytherin, you know.” dean chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief.

lavender gaped as she watched cedric get teased by his friends as he recovered from your apparently fatal wink. “a right old mystery that was.”

“but something about that kind of confidence doesn’t feel quite gryffindor, does it, lav? dean?” seamus mused, touching his finger to his chin and donning a mock-thoughtful look. “to me, it seems a little—”

“ssssslytherin,” the three of your friends hissed in unison, wiggling their fingers at you just like draco did to harry the year before, during your care of magical creatures class with the slytherins. it quickly became an inside joke between you four, before falling into fits of laughter. you couldn’t help but join them. it was just practically silly at this point.

“slytherin? [y/n]?” you heard someone comment from behind you and a sort of domino effect occurred as you and everyone within earshot all turned towards the voice instinctively.

draco malfoy was sat directly behind you and had twisted around to face you, his usual proud smirk etched on his face. he was flanked on each side, as per usual, by his goons, crabbe and goyle respectively.

pansy parkinson sat directly across from him and looked particularly displeased at your interaction. right next to her was daphne greengrass, who you could’ve sworn was giving you an almost knowing look.

“eavesdropping, malfoy?” you tilted your head at draco, who just infuriatingly grinned in response. you didn’t want to address the fact that it seemed to create some sort of tension in the air, like the people around you just sucked in their breaths and held it.

they didn’t know if they expected the two you to fight or jump each other’s bones, that’s how charged the air was. out of the corner of your eye, you caught fred and george placing a bet.

draco continued, as if trying to grab your attention before you turned away . “i mean, sure, you would’ve been a lovely addition to the snake pit had the sorting hat called slytherin but,” he looked you up and down slowly, not unlike a predator addressing its next meal, and a funny electric feeling followed where his gaze touched your skin. you suppressed a shiver. “i doubt you’d even look good in green.”

when he met your eyes, they were practically twinkling with mirth. he was thoroughly enjoying this. and his statement was blatantly laced with a challenge.

you lifted an eyebrow in response, because two can play at that game. “red doesn’t seem much like your color either, draco.”

you drew out his name, almost like a sigh, not realizing how close the two of you were slowly leaning towards each other. draco’s lips twitched, like he was trying to hold himself back from grinning.

“is that so, [y/n]?” he retaliated, his line of sight dropping to watch your lips as he leaned close enough that you could smell his scent. he smelled very much like expensive cologne.

you nodded stubbornly, holding his gaze as his eyes met yours once more. “oh, absolutely.”

he held your eyes for a few more moments, watching you watching him, before you decided to break away first, heart beating wildly like a hummingbird’s wings. of course, draco being draco, always wanted to get the last word in.

“see you at the ball, [y/n].” draco quipped in a sing-song voice as he too went back to his meal. you just huffed and rolled your eyes for the nth time, seemingly unfazed. your pulse told a different story.

back at the gryffindor table, seamus, lavender, and dean were all staring at you, their own meals practically forgotten. the few first years nearby mirrored them, but looked away pretty quickly when you glanced their way.

lavender was the first to recover, leaning forward as her eyes flicked to the two boys, as if checking to see if they witnessed the same thing. “what the bloody hell was that?”

dean cleared his throat, amusement in his tone. “it was like the two of you were… in your own little bubble or something.”

“well, it looked like they were flirting to me,” seamus shrugged as he helped himself to another serving of mashed potatoes.

you rolled your eyes and laughed nervously. “he was just teasing me, is all. trying to challenge me too, i think.”

“there was definitely a challenge in there somewhere.” lavender narrowed her eyes before leaning back and giggled menacingly, something that only lavender could achieve.

“well, if there’s one thing i know about [y/n] is that you love a challenge.” lavender grinned and winked, “drop ‘em dead, love.”

night of the yule ball

turns out, you didn’t ask cedric to the ball. you decided to go stag last minute, which earned you knowing looks from the seamus and dean while lavender just blew out a frustrated breath.

two hours later, you were starting to pick at your hair, moving strands and loosening curls before lavender slapped your hand away, tucking the last of it into the low bun you specifically asked for. you shared earlier in the afternoon that you were going for an effortless sort of look, as if you’d simply just woken up glamorous.

at this, lavender looked at you weirdly for a whole minute, her lips pursed, before disappearing behind your head, muttering, “if you wanted to look like you’d just rolled out of bed it wouldn’t be so glamorous, you know.”

she ducked, laughing, as you tried to smack her with a pillow.

when you finished with your makeup, you watched lavender brush back her hair. for the first time in your four years together as dormmates, it was pin drop straight, and changed so much of her face that you couldn’t help but stare. as you did, she simply shared how much of a drag it would be to do it daily and that she preferred her hair curly anyways.

momentarily, you’re reminded of how lavender and hermione would’ve been really good friends had certain circumstances been different.

as you made to stand with her, lavender smirked, eyeing your dress. it was the most dazzling emerald green, silk dress that hugged you in all the right places. the v-neck strappy neckline kept you modest, while at the same time, a teasing slit ran up all the way to the top of your thigh, right from where the dress fanned out up to just below where it cinched at your waist. and best of all? it had pockets!

you tucked your hands into said pockets, twirling for lavender as she squealed in her own fuchsia colored gown. she tugged at her tube top, bedazzled with gems that faded out at the waistline to the point that they looked like stars, and interlocked her arms with yours.

“off we go,”

when you reached the top of the stairs right before the corner that turned towards the great hall, you sucked in a breath at the sight of draco leaned against one of the pillars, his hands tucked into his pockets. you watched him lazily scan the crowd, like he was looking for someone but didn’t want to appear as such.

lavender smirked, following your line of sight. she cleared her throat as she subtly pushed you in the slytherin prince’s general direction. “right, so. this is where i leave you, moppet. i’m going to go mingle with the others, as it is an inter-school event, and you should too.”

you didn’t take your eyes off of draco’s blond head of hair, not even when lavender left your side when her date called out to her. you had just taken a single step down the stairs when his head swiveled towards you, as if sensing you, and he pushed himself off of the pillar.

you didn’t know why you blushed a beet red when he did, you assumed it was because because he was impeccably dressed in a maroon five-piece suit. his jacket, vest, and pants sported your house’s colors, as your own outfit did his, while his dress shirt was black and his tie a bright silver. it was well put together for sure, but you would never admit to checking him out in a million years.

“you look magnificent, [y/n].” draco approached, holding out his hand to you, which earned him a questioning look, even though you knew what he was asking. he smiled sheepishly, glancing around that no one was nearby, “would you like to accompany me to the ball?”

“i’m sorry, but is the draco malfoy asking nicely?” you teased, bringing forth that scowl you know so well. he instantly dropped his hand to his side and clicked his tongue, his insecurity getting the better of him, the tips of his ears turning into a color that matched his suit.

he began to turn away, embarrassed. “‘s’alright then, i’m sure pansy’s—”

you laughed at his reaction, taking his dejected hand softly in yours for the first time in a long while. “kidding, draco. you can tease, but i can’t?”

if anything, draco blushed deeper. your smile grew, pulling him closer to you. you soaked up this side of draco like a sponge. it was a side that you were lucky to witness in abandoned hallways between classes, or just before the tree line of the dark forest, or in the quiet courtyard well after curfew.

you supposed this “relationship” of yours with the slytherin prince started in third year, when you found him crying under the quidditch bleachers when the teams had made their way back to the castle. you started as friends, but somewhere along the way, he kissed you.

and you kissed back.

“i suppose we should go together, hm? seeing as you’re dateless, as am i. how odd. unless pansy’s…?”

draco blinked at you, puzzled and a little distracted by the way you absolutely glowed, before shaking his head. “pansy’s not an issue. never was. i’ve been waiting forever for you to show up, you know.”

you were pleased at his assurance. you felt him interlock his fingers with yours as the two of you stepped into the great hall. you knew by the way he squeezed your hand that he was asking for bravery. and brave you were as the great hall erupted into chatter when they noticed who had walked in.

a gryffindor and a slytherin. dressed in each other’s house colors. hands interlocked and eyes soft. you thought about how your friends would never let you live this down.

and glancing at the three of them in the corner, jaws dropped, you knew you were in for a wild ride with them later. but right now, your attention was on the boy holding your hand like it was you two against the world.

and in a way, it was.

“my father will hear about this, you know.” he whispered softly in your ear as numerous pairs of eyes followed you while he twirled you on the dance floor.

as you leaned into him though—tucking your head into the crook of his neck, his expensive cologne wafting over you like a lavish hug—it was like the rest of the world melted away, leaving you and him swaying to the music.

you hummed from where you were, eyes closed as though to make the moment last longer. “no, he won’t.” you reassured him, lifting your head to meet his brilliant blue eyes.

“it’ll be our little secret.”

that was the farthest from the truth as the two of you danced together in the crowded hall, beneath a blanket of pseudo-stars. but draco appreciated the sentiment, and pulled you closer, touching his cheek to the top of your head as you danced the night away.