#got a new shirt too with a bigger better collar for sam but i need to edit the sleeves... always something. always a wip

[the-iceni-bitch]

A Christmas Crush

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Fem-Reader

Words: 6693 (yikes)

Summary: Bucky has been infatuated with you for months. Will the Christmas Spirit finally help him make his move?

Warnings: Explicit language, explicit sexual content (just all of it), fluff(I don’t know y’all, I have trouble qualifying this one), slightly dom partner, overprotective partner, SMUT (like over 3700 words of it y’all!), 18+

A/N: Sooo, this was supposed to be like 2500 words guys but I got a bit carried away. Made it in right under the wire for day 3 of my birthday week. This is also an entry for the Merry Hoemas challenge that is being hosted by @amythedvdhoarder​ @chrissquares​ @drabblewithfrannybarnes​ @pumpkin-and-pine​ and @starlightcrystalline​. I chose the dialogue prompt “I’m not going to fall in love with you. I promise.” (from The Holiday). Please enjoy!!

“You better be wearing something nice, Barnes! No cargo pants!” you yelled out to the living area as you finished applying your makeup in the bathroom.

“Yes, boss!” He yelled back at you as he adjusted himself in the dress pants he borrowed from Sam. They weren’t uncomfortable, just tighter than he was used to.

“Dude, leave your crotch alone!” Wilson chuckled at him.

Bucky scowled at him and did his best to focus on anything else. “I can’t believe I let the two of you talk me into this.”

“You know how the boss-lady is, once she gets an idea in her head, there’s no stopping her.” Sam gave him a grin as he lounged on the sofa, sipping a glass of scotch. “Would you relax? We’re going to a club, you literally fought of a group of five assassins on your own last week. This is nothing!”

“I’m used to fighting, I haven’t been dancing since….”

“Oh god, have you not gone out since World War II!” Sam threw back his head and gave a laugh from deep in his chest. “Hoo, boy this should be entertaining!”

The three of you had been on a surveillance assignment for the past three months, and a replacement team had finally arrived to take over for you. Your flight back to the states wasn’t until tomorrow, and you had insisted that all of you find something to do to get over the stir craziness that had taken over. When you found a flyer for a hip hop Christmas party at one of the fancier downtown clubs, you ran back to the suite and insisted that you all head out. Sam was of course down immediately, but it took you a while to convince Bucky it would be a good time.

It was hard for him to not feel like the third wheel sometimes with the two of you. You and Sam loved your hip hop, and Bucky still remembered the first time he walked into one of your sparring sessions while Wu Tang was playing and had to immediately turn around and leave, ears turning red as you and Sam shouted mirth-filled apologies after him. He was slowly warming up to the aggressive music style, but still occasionally pined for the days of the Andrews Sisters and Bing Crosby.

He squirmed in the dress pants again; when did they start making suits so tight? He rolled the sleeves of his deep green shirt up over his forearms, trying to get more comfortable as the lights glinted off his metal hand, when you finally came out of the bathroom.

“You two boys ready to go?”

Fuck me, he thought.

You were wearing a bright red dress that was covered in sequins. It was in a wrap style that was wide open across your chest, exposing the valley between your breasts almost down to your navel. A thin gold chain with a dark green stone dangled around your neck and nestled in your cleavage, drawing the eye as is twinkled in the dying light through the windows. The skirt portion of the dress was short enough that it was almost obscene, and the apex of the wrap was almost up to your hip. You topped off the look with a pair of thigh high black velvet boots.

“Damn, mama, you look good!” Sam whistled at you as he stood up and spun you around with one hand.

“You’re not too bad yourself Wilson. Barnes, you clean up real nice!”

He couldn’t speak. He was suddenly extremely aware of just how tight his slacks were, and he strode over to grab all your coats from the rack and hold his in front of his crotch as he handed Sam the other two, hoping it wasn’t obvious what he was trying to hide as he slipped it over his shoulders.

“Ok, then, let’s head out!” You said, giving Sam a look as he helped you slide into your wool coat. He just shrugged at you before donning his, and the three of you got on your way.

Sam and you walked arm in arm on the way to the club, chatting idly and laughing at the occasional quip. You tried to engage Bucky in the conversation, but he just marched behind you scowling, collar pulled up against the chill in the air.

He couldn’t deny he had developed a bit of a crush on you over the course of your assignment. You always tried to keep morale up in the surveillance house, brightening the air with your laughter as you baked some sort of treat for everyone, or broke out an obscene amount of liquor when two of you had a shared shift off. He still remembered the time you had indulged in the gin just a little too much during a game of poker and passed out with your head in his lap. He hadn’t slept or moved from that position the entire night until he had to relieve Sam in the morning, reluctantly removing your face from where it had nestled during your rest.

He did his best to move past his crush, trying to convince himself it was just an infatuation that needed to wear itself out.

Then he saw you fight for the first time.

Sure, he had seen you sparring with Sam, and may have even done a session with you himself he hadn’t been concerned about how his body would react in such close proximity to you. But when that group of thugs attacked the house last week, he really saw you in action.

You moved like water. Dodging every blow that was thrown at you and landing flurries of strikes of your own that seemed like they shouldn’t have caused any damage but would reduce your opponents to puddles. Bucky almost got knocked out when you had pulled out your knives to spin them through your expert fingers like they were extensions of your will. He’d had to lock himself in the bathroom after the fight to jerk himself off, imagining it was your hands wrapped around him.

Now he watched your ass swaying back and forth in front of him as you arrived at the club, wearing those boots and that dress that made you look like walking sex. His mood soured as he handed his coat to the check girl and shoved his call ticket into his pocket, so he headed to the bar to get himself a drink.

He felt a light touch on his shoulder and gave a wince as he turned to face you.

“C’mon, Barnes, it’s Christmas!” You were giving him a heartachingly beautiful smile. “Wipe that frown off your face and come dance!”

He softened as you looked into his eyes. It wasn’t your fault he felt like a pervert everytime he stood next to you.

“I think I’m going to go grab us a table for our drinks, you go have fun with Sam. Maybe I’ll join you in a bit.”

“If you’re sure?” You cocked an eyebrow at him and bit your lip, and he felt his gut clench and his cock twitch at that look.

“I’m sure. Enjoy yourself.”

You gave his arm a squeeze before ordering yourself a shot of vodka that you immediately tossed back before heading to join Sam on the dance floor.

Bucky took his double scotch to one of the tables scattered around the floor and perched himself on a tall stool. His gaze scanned the dance floor before finding you and he let out a groan.

If he thought your fighting was beautiful, it was nothing compared to your dancing. You looked ethereal and free as you tossed your hair, rolling your hips as your arms raised above your head and followed the motion in your torso before they sank back down and rolled along your sides, highlighting the curves of your body. Sam suddenly grabbed you by the waist and spun you, causing you to throw your head back with a beautiful lilting laugh.

Bucky tossed back his scotch and flagged down a waitress, handing her his card and instructing her to keep the drinks coming. Maybe if he drank enough it would relieve the unbelievable ache he was feeling in his chest.

You and Sam joined him at the table after a few songs. You were breathless and flushed and all he wanted to do was kiss you then take you to an alley out back and fuck you stupid.

“Barnes, you are being a bit of a Scrooge here.” You grinned at him as you nibbled on a pretzel. Sam had headed to the bathroom, and you flagged down a waitress and ordered yourself a vodka cranberry before turning back to him. “I’ll order you to have fun if I need to.”

He grinned in spite of himself when you gave him a wink. “Sorry, Y/L/N, this isn’t really my type of party.”

“Aww, Bucky,” he took in a sharp breath, you’d never used his first name before. “You just need to loosen up. I can lend you a hand with that if you need it.” You reached a hand over and wrapped it around his wrist, giving it a light squeeze.

He almost said something then, but the waitress arrived back at the table at that moment with your drink and you turned to give her a smile and thanks. Sam arrived back from the bathroom then with a bourbon in his hand, accompanied by a beautiful woman with a bright smile.

“Bucky, Y/N, this is Marta, she’s a model!”

“Well hi there Marta, you going to steal my dance partner?” You were giving the girl a massive grin as you teased Sam.

“Yeah, Marta doesn’t really speak English.” Sam grinned.

“Oh, sorry.” You asked her the same question in Swedish.

Marta’s smile grew even bigger as the two of you started babbling away at each other while Bucky and Sam just shook their heads. Marta grabbed your hand suddenly and started to drag you away from the table.

“Be right back boys!” You said over your shoulder as you and your new friend headed off to the bathroom. Bucky watched you walk away and gave a deep sigh.

“Jesus Christ, man, you need to make your move already!” Sam said, exasperated.

Bucky almost choked on his scotch. “Dunno what you’re talking about.” He mumbled, wiping his chin with a napkin.

“Bruh, you’ve been staring at Y/N non-stop this whole night. Not to mention the fact that you were moping around the surveillance house for the past few months like a kicked puppy.” Sam shook his head as he tossed back the rest of his drink. “Oh, and if you thought you were sneaky about your little post-fight bathroom session last week, you are very mistaken.”

Bucky snapped his jaw shut and felt a flush creeping up his neck as he imagined your reaction to the discovery he had been touching himself to thoughts of your body underneath him.

Sam waved a hand at him. “Don’t worry, Y/N didn’t notice. I sprayed the fuck out of that bathroom with Febreze after you left. I am never doing anything like that for you again, though.”

Bucky’s heart rate went back down in relief. “We work together Sam. Even if that wasn’t the case, what am I supposed to say to her?”

“Geez, man, just fucking kiss her!”

“Fuck, Sam, we haven’t even been on a date! Don’t women usually want that sort of preamble?”

“Some women, sure. But don’t treat them like a monolith. Y/N appreciates directness and the worst thing that could possibly happen is she tells you to back off.”

“She could stab me.”

Sam guffawed. “Don’t look so turned on at the thought, dude. She’s noticed how weird you’ve been acting. She thinks you don’t like her. One of the main reasons she made us all go out tonight was to hopefully get you to warm up some.”

Bucky sighed, he hadn’t meant to push you away. “I dunno, Sam. She’s super fucking intimidating.”

“Get over it, Barnes. If you don’t make a move, someone else definitely will.”

“Oh my god, Sam, get your ass out here! It’s Christmas in Hollis!” You and Marta were back on the dance floor now and you were bouncing up and down, waving your hand excitedly at Sam.

“Aw, shit, that’s my jam!” Sam was backing onto the floor now, trying to get Bucky to follow him before giving up and turning to you and his date.

An unsteady woman sank into the seat Sam had just vacated and gave Bucky a lecherous grin before she started talking to him in slurred Swedish.

“Sorry, I can’t understand you.” He shouted at her.

“Oh, American man.” The woman purred at him in what he assumed was supposed to be a sexy voice. “You, me, fuck in bathroom.”

Bucky didn’t hear her. A giant blonde man who looked like a knockoff Thor was dancing behind you now, trying to put his hands on your hips and grind his crotch into your ass.

Bucky watched you turn and place a hand on the intruder’s chest, giving him a polite smile as you stopped your dancing, saying something to him that Bucky couldn’t make out over the music.

The guy didn’t take the hint and put his hands on your waist, pulling you flush against his front and putting a thigh between your legs, edging the hem of your skirt upwards.

Bucky didn’t realize he had been gripping the back of one of the chairs with his metal hand until he heard a crunch and looked down to see he had bent the frame when he clenched his fist.

“Knulla.” The suddenly sober woman said, standing up abruptly and scurrying away from the table.

Bucky found himself striding towards the dance floor, fists clenching and a low growl emanating from his chest.

That dirty fucker was still trying to hump you as you gave him a firm shove, trying to turn back to Sam and Marta. He wrapped a hand around your upper arm and jerked you back. Sam stopped dancing and tried to step in, but the son of a bitch slapped him in the face before turning back to you and smashing his mouth into yours, shoving his free hand up the front of your skirt to try to get at your pussy.

Bucky arrived just as you pulled back from the cocksucker and drew the offensive hand back so sharply, a snap resounded across the floor and he let out a scream.

Bucky punched him in the face before grabbing him by his collar and tossing him away from you as three security guards came rushing to the scene, too late to offer any sort of assistance. Marta managed to intercept them and started screaming at them in Swedish as you and Sam moved between Bucky and the giant Swede who was now a blubbering mess on the floor.

“It’s good Barnes, you can relax.” Sam said.

“Bucky, it’s ok. He isn’t worth it.” You were as close to Bucky as you had ever been. He could feel the heat radiating off you as you put a hand on his chest.

You had never seen Bucky so angry. His jaw was clenched so tight, you were worried the tendons in his neck were going to snap. He was breathing deeply through his nose, nostrils flaring as he glared murderously at the man who had touched you.

“Baby, you can let it go. I’m ok.” You murmured low enough that only he could hear you.

He looked into your eyes and relaxed, taking a deep breath through his mouth and nodding as the security guards dragged your assailant out of the club.

“Good boy, now you owe me a dance.”

Bucky’s look instantly changed to confusion as you dragged him onto the dance floor, giving him a breathless laugh as you started dancing again.

He had no idea what to do with himself. You saw his look of utter helplessness and turned to face him. You placed his hands on your hips and your hands around his neck and looked into his eyes. You’re hips started rolling to the rhythm as the rest of your body swayed in time with the music. Bucky was too aware of his feet and broke eye contact to stare at them, trying to figure out how he was supposed to move.

He felt your hand lift his chin and you shook your head at him before bringing the front of your body flush against his. You lined up your hips to his and started rolling them, your legs on either side of his massive thigh as you gyrated against him. He let out a moan and screwed his eyes closed.

You brought your face against his neck and whispered in his ear. “Just relax honey.”

You dipped your hips slightly and he followed you, nuzzling into your neck and inhaling your scent as his brain finally stopped overanalyzing what he was doing.

You felt the muscles underneath his shirt tightening and releasing as he rolled his body against you and your pussy clenched over his thigh. You gave a soft gasp and hoped the rush of arousal hadn’t soaked through your panties and onto his pants. His hands were pressing into the soft skin of your hips, and you knew you would have light bruises there tomorrow.

You pulled away suddenly and Bucky groaned at the loss of you before you flipped your hair forward and dropped your ass, separating your thighs slightly as you slowly drew your back up Bucky’s front before nestling your ass into the dip in his pelvis that seemed made to fit you.

Bucky growled into your hair and nipped at the soft skin behind your ear before starting to grind himself into your ass. He brought his metal arm to press against your abdomen and push you further into him, while his other wandered up between your breasts, giving one of them a soft squeeze before loosely wrapping his fingers around your throat

You felt him harden against you and let out a small gasp, starting to pull away before his metal arm locked you in place.

“Don’t you fucking move.” He growled in your ear, nipping gently at the lobe with his teeth.

His hips were moving at their own rhythm now, the music forgotten. Neither of you noticed Sam making an exit with Marta, grinning back at you before shrugging his coat over his shoulders and heading out into the snow.

Your breath was hitching softly as Bucky rutted himself against your ass, and the sound was driving him crazy. You could feel your cunt throbbing as it became slick, your arousal soaking your panties and threatening to start leaking down the insides of your thighs. He suddenly stuttered his hips and let out a hiss before stilling.

“Shit.”

He had come in his pants like a teenager, filling his boxer briefs and leaving a small wet spot on the front of his slacks. His arms released you as he stood up straight, leaning his forehead against the back of your head and screwing his eyes shut. He’d never been so embarrassed.

You shuffled the edge of your skirt down before turning around and pressing your lips against his softly. He groaned against your mouth as he brought his hands to either side of your face, tangling them in your hair. You discretely untucked his shirt as you kissed him, covering the evidence of his orgasm graciously. You pulled away before he could really lean into the kiss, and he let out a dissatisfied sigh.

You looked at him through heavy lids, biting at your kiss swollen lips before taking his hand and dragging him to the exit. “We’re going back to the hotel”

You tossed the coat tickets at the girl at the counter, breathing heavily as you tapped your nails impatiently. You snatched the coats from her without a word and tossed Bucky’s to him before charging out the door.

Bucky almost slipped several times back to the hotel as you set a brutal pace. He couldn’t get a read on you now and was worried he’d ruined things already.

You rode the elevator up to your floor in silence, one hip cocked to the side as you clicked the opposite heel against the floor rapidly. As soon as the doors opened, you strode down the hallway like you were possessed and Bucky hurried after you, concern written all over his face.

You arrived at the room first and wrenched the door open, leaving it open behind you as you stepped inside. Bucky was a few steps behind you but stopped at the entrance. He was certain you were going to lay into him as soon as he entered and wanted to take a moment to collect himself. He was running his metal fingers through his hair when your arm suddenly shot out, your fingers wrapping around the collar of his shirt and hauling him inside as he let out an uncharacteristic yelp.

You slammed the door behind him and pressed him up against it, shoving your fingers under his collar and wrapping them around his neck before you smashed your mouth to his violently, clashing your teeth against his before shoving your tongue down his throat.

Bucky overcame his surprise quickly and grinned against your lips as he slid his coat off his shoulders before cupping your ass and giving it a squeeze.

Your lips left his suddenly, leaving him breathless. You gave him a small smirk before sinking to your knees and starting to undo his belt.

“You’ve been keeping this pretty cock from me baby. My pussy’s been gushing thinking about your hot length in my mouth.” You were kissing around the bulge in his pants as you slipped his loosened belt out of the loops and undid the buttons. He leaned his head back against the door and hissed through his teeth. He’d never had a woman speak to him like this before and it was making his cock ache. He jutted his hips forward and you rubbed your face against his cloth covered erection before drawing his slacks and boxer briefs down his legs swiftly, freeing his dick to bounce back up against his abs.

You spat in your hand and wrapped it around him, drawing a groan from his chest. You started peppering soft kisses along his shaft as you ran your hand up and down slowly. “God Bucky, you’re so fucking big, I can’t wait to feel this in my pussy. I need to taste your sweet cum first though honey.”

You softly ran one finger up the underside of his shaft, tracing the vein that ran from root to tip before dragging your tongue in a heavy stripe over the same path.

He wrapped your hair around his hand and let out a hiss. “Fuck, Y/N, who taught you to talk like that?”

 “Mmm, you like it sweetie?” You asked him wickedly as you ran your tongue over the sensitive slit along his tip, lapping up the pre-cum that was starting to collect there.

“God, yes.” He couldn’t believe how much the filthy praises you were giving turned him on.

“I’ll give you as much as I can honey, but I’m worried this cock is going to fuck out my throat.” You took him in your mouth then, relaxing your throat as you drew in his entire length, feeling his balls hit your chin as you swallowed around him.

“Shit!” he thought you were going to go slower and he almost came immediately when you hollowed your cheeks around him and pulled him out slightly before taking him in again, bringing a hand up to fondle his balls.

He braced his metal arm against the door as he started to thrust his hips, fucking into your face as you choked around him, tears streaming down your cheeks and drool leaking from the corners of your mouth.

“God baby, you’re taking my cock so good. That mouth of yours is fucking amazing.” His hips picked up speed and he gazed down at you. You looked sinful, a flush in your cheeks and over your chest as you gazed up at him through thick lashes. You moaned around his cock as his praise caused a fresh rush of arousal to leak from your cunt.

“You gonna take my cum down like a good girl?” His hips were starting to stutter and you felt his cock twitch at the back of your mouth. You let out a tiny whine and tried to nod as he shoved himself all the way in, stilling himself as you felt his release run down your throat.

He pulled his softening cock out of your mouth and wiped the drool from you chin before softly cupping your cheek.

“Stay right there for a second pretty girl.”

“Yes, sir.” You whispered at him, your voice husky now that your throat was raw.

He unbuttoned his shirt and rolled it off over his shoulders, then removed his undershirt and tossed it aside too until he was standing in front of you naked.

You let out a low moan at the sight. His muscles were sculpted beautifully, his chest dusted with dark hair that tapered to a happy trail that led down to his thick cock. The skin around his metal arm was scarred and puckered, and other faint scars were visible elsewhere on his body, giving him an air of danger and menace. Your cunt clenched as you took in the sight, biting your lips as you ached to run your hands over his body.

“Stand up.” He ordered you. He didn’t know what had come over him. He had spent months wanting to beg you for some sign of affection, but now that you were there kneeling in front of him, he just wanted to take it from you. And you were willing to give him whatever he required.

You drew yourself up slowly and he picked you up with one hand and wrapped your legs around his waist. He brought your mouth down to his and teased your lips open with his tongue as he carried you to the bedroom.

He knelt on the bed with you straddling him and started to trail rough kisses down your neck, sucking occasionally to draw a bruise against your skin.

As he reached your shoulders, he wrapped his metal hand through the chain around your neck and gave it a yank, snapping it off you. He drew the shoulders of your dress down, exposing your tits as you arched your back up to meet him.

“God Bucky, please” You whined as nuzzled his face into the valley between your breasts, his stubble scratching the skin there.

“You want something, baby?” he asked you wickedly, kissing slowly up the slope of your breast until he almost reached your nipple, then moved his mouth away again.

You groaned and wound your fingers into his hair. “Need your tongue on me, please baby.”

“Where did you want it sweet girl?” he asked innocently before cupping one breast in his hand and rubbing the nipple with his nose. “Did you want me to lick you here?”

“Yes, yes, fuck!!” His tongue swirled slowly around your nipple, drawing it to a sensitive peak. “God Bucky, that’s so good!”

He brought up his metal hand to palm your other breast and you gasped at the contrast of the cool metal against your warm flesh. He tweaked the other nipple and you groaned. “You want my tongue on this one too, honey?”

“Pleasepleaseplease….” You whispered breathlessly, whining when he moved his mouth where you asked him. You started grinding yourself into his thigh, desperate for release as your pussy quivered and wept.

“No.” He ordered, grabbing your hip with his metal hand and holding you still. “You don’t get to come unless it’s on my cock sweetheart.”

You let out a thin keen as tears leaked down your cheeks.

Bucky brought his face back up to yours, holding your chin with his other hand and kissing you hungrily. You cried into his mouth in desperation.

“You want this cock, pretty girl?”

“God, yes. Please, Bucky!”

“You asked me so nicely, honey. I’m gonna give you what you want.”

He gripped your dress in his metal hand where it had gathered at your waist, gave it a twist, and ripped it off you, sequins and beads flying off the bed and across the floor. He grabbed your panties next and shredded them, bringing their ruins up to his face and inhaling your scent deeply before tossing them aside and giving you a wicked grin. You bent one leg up to start to remove your boots when he slapped your hand away.

“Leave those on.” He growled at you.

He took a moment to pause and look at you, memorizing every slope and curve of your body. He spread your legs wide and gave a low moan when he got a look at your pussy, coated in slick and swollen with desire. He drew two metal fingers softly up the inside of your thigh before running them over your sex, coating them in your arousal and making you moan. He brought his fingers up to his mouth and sucked them clean.

“You taste so good baby girl. Maybe once I’ve fucked you stupid with my cock I’ll eat you out.”

“Unnhh, Bucky, give it to me.” You begged him.

“You need something baby? You gotta be specific.”

“God, need you inside me. I fucking need your cock. Bucky, please.”

“Alright sweetheart. You better have at least five orgasms on my cock sweet girl. Otherwise I might have to spank you.”

He lifted your right leg and looped your knee over his elbow, opening you wide as he brought himself up to your entrance. He slowly drew his length through the slick gathered there as you whimpered, then he slammed into you, bottoming out right away and knocking the air out of you.

“FUCK!!!” you screamed as you came immediately, clenching and fluttering around him as you went rigid and started to tremble.

“That’s one, baby.” He grinned as he started to fuck into you, not bothering to wait for you to come down from your orgasm. “Shit, this pussy was fucking ready for me. Look at you gripping me so good, like you’re fucking made for my cock.”

“God, Bucky!” you whined. “You’re so big, keep moving baby. Fuck that’s so good!”

Lewd squelching noises filled the room, combining with the slap of flesh against flesh as he drove into you hard.

“Mmm, you’re squeezing me so tight, honey. You gonna come on my cock again?” Bucky slipped a hand underneath your ass and tilted your hips just a bit and felt you clench around him.

“Shit, right there. God, I’m coming again. Don’t fucking stop.” Your face screwed up as your second orgasm ripped through you, curling your toes in your boots as your legs quivered with the strain.

“Good girl.” He praised you as you fluttered around him, your release soaking your thighs as it seeped out around his cock. “I’m gonna move you now, sweetheart, get ready.”

His hand moved under your waist and he wrenched you up until you were flush against his chest. The coarse hair there scratched against your sensitive nipples and you gave a soft whine at the change in position.

Bucky stared into your eyes. Your face was a mess. Lipstick smeared all over your mouth and chin. Mascara and tears running in streaks down your flushed cheeks. Mouth open and panting with need and pupils blown wide as you gazed at him through your thick eyelashes.

You looked like the perfect mixture of sin and sex. He had never seen anything so beautiful.

He wrapped both his arms behind your shoulders and buried his hands in your hair, pressing your face to his and forcing his tongue between your lips and teeth, running it everywhere it could reach inside your velvety mouth, growling into you.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and opened yourself up to him, whining as he increased his pace even more and you felt the tension gather in your core again.

“Give me another one, baby. My good girl. Show me how good that pussy is for me.”

You buried your face in his neck and groaned as you felt every muscle below your waist go rigid and another orgasm wracked you. You didn’t know if you could handle two more.

“God, sweetheart, you feel so fucking good. This pussy is making a mess everywhere.”

He pulled out of you suddenly and you gasped, hoping for a reprieve. But he just flipped you so you were on all fours and slammed back into you, making you scream.

“Just two more pretty girl. Then I’ll fill this pretty cunt with my cum.”

You didn’t know how he could last this long as he pounded into you relentlessly. He drew you up straight suddenly so your back was against his chest and you gave a small whimper. Your throat was raw from him fucking it and from your screaming, and the only sound you managed to make now was a stream of unintelligible mewls.

You leaned your head back against Bucky’s shoulder as he brought a hand up to palm at your breast. His metal fingers moved to the apex of your thighs and started drawing rough circles against your clit. You felt tears leaking down your cheeks as your pleasure began to gather. He drove them into you suddenly and you let out a thin wail as your entire body went stiff before vibrating with your release.

Bucky guided your fall forward gently until your face was resting against the blankets. Your arms couldn’t hold you up anymore so they laid limply next to your face as Bucky gripped both of your hips and drew them back to him over and over. You felt drool leaking from your open mouth as you blinked slowly. You were absolutely cock drunk. The sheer number and intensity of your orgasms had made your brain short circuit. He really had fucked you stupid.

Bucky slapped your ass suddenly and you gave a sharp gasp as you came one last time, fisting your hands into the blankets to try to keep from passing out.

“Good girl.” Bucky murmured at you. You could feel the smile in his voice and you felt your cunt clench around him at the praise. His hips started to stutter and you felt his cock twitching inside you.

“You ready for me sweetheart? This pussy treated me so good, I’m gonna fill you up.”

You managed to moan out a single word through your hoarse throat. “Please…”

The wantonness in your voice pushed him over the edge and you felt his hips still suddenly as he released inside of you. The feel of his hot cum coating your velvety walls made you moan like a whore.

“Fuck, baby. That was so good.” He gently lowered himself on top of you and you felt him soften inside of you. He peppered gentle kisses along your shoulders and the back of your neck as he pulled out of you slowly. You gave a contented sigh as he rolled off you and headed to the bathroom. You’d never been fucked so well in your life.

You heard the water running and you managed to lift your head to watch Bucky return, holding a damp washcloth. His abdomen, thighs, and cock were coated in your release, glistening in the soft light of the bedroom as he walked back towards you and sat down on the edge of the bed. The sight of his naked form filled you with a renewed sense of desire.

Bucky rotated you carefully until you were lying on your back and brought his face down to yours and gave you a soft kiss before moving himself between your legs. You heard him suck in his breath sharply when he got a good look at you, drawing your knees apart to get a good look at your pussy.

“Fuck honey, you’re beautiful.”

The skin of your mound and thighs was flushed red where he had thrusted into you repeatedly and it was all coated in the evidence of your multiple orgasms. Your cunt was swollen and pulsing as his cum slowly leaked out of you, collecting in a small puddle on the sheets.

Bucky gently cleaned your thighs and mound with the cloth, being careful to not irritate your already sensitive skin. Then he worked your folds apart with his metal fingers and drew the damp fabric over your slit slowly, collecting his release from your entrance. You gave a groan and pressed yourself into the cloth when he tried to pull it away.

“Jesus, sweetheart, already?”

You propped yourself up on your elbows and stared at him. “Bucky, you promised.”

He shook his head and tutted his tongue at you. “No, I said I might eat you out after I fucked you stupid. No promises were made.”

“Bucky, please?” You begged him, your voice husky with lust.

He gave you a look then moved to kneel between your legs. “Can’t say no to you, pretty girl. Not after this pussy treated me so good.”

You gave a soft chuckle followed by a gasp as he flattened himself on the bed and drew your left leg over his shoulder, softly kissing and sucking down the inside of your thigh before he nuzzled himself into your folds.

He softly licked at your entrance, lapping up the renewed evidence of your arousal as he dragged his tongue up and down your slit before he wrapped his lips around your tiny bud and sucked softly.

“God, Bucky! More…please…” You moaned at him, winding your fingers into his hair and pressing him further into you.

He gently teased two metal finger around your entrance before inserting them slowly, grinning against you as he felt your pussy flutter around them.

He started fucking them into you steadily while he gently sucked at your clit, crooking his wrist to hit your sweet spot as he picked up speed.

“Fuck! Right there! Don’t you dare stop! So, so, good! Please baby!” You started babbling, the pitch of your voice getting higher as he edged you closer to your release.

He latched on and sucked hard at the same time he added a third finger, and you came apart around him, soaking his chin and stubble as your thighs tried to crush his head between them and your pussy clenched and twitched around his fingers.

Bucky crawled back up the bed and laid next to you, drawing you to his chest as he wrapped his arms around you. You nuzzled your face into him and let out a low humming noise to show how content you were.

“God, it took you long enough, Barnes.”

He laughed and kissed the top of your head, pulling the blankets over the two of you and flicking off the bedside lamp.

“You know, you could have made a move yourself.” He murmured against your hair.

“And offend your World War II sensibilities, grandpa? You would have run away screaming.”

“Grandpa?”

“Whatever, you were scared of me. I didn’t want to frighten you off before you took advantage of your crush.”

“Right, crush.”

“Mmm, if this is how you fuck on the first date, what are you going to do when you fall in love with me?” You teased against his chest, your breathing growing deeper as you drifted off to sleep.

“Don’t worry sweetheart. I’m not going to fall in love with you. I promise.” He lied as he dozed off.

The snow was falling heavy over the city. And Bucky was dreaming about marrying you.

[kalee60]

Wondering if you have any thoughts about beefy bucky? And maybe any thoughts about any thoughts that Steve might have about beefy bucky? For a cheeky anon 👉👈

Hoo boy Cheeky Nonnie... Do I have some thots about this??

*ahem - clears throat as it's a little thick for some reason... err - yes, yes I do... Many in fact...

Just to clarify - you mean...

Or even...

I thought so...

Oh - Cheeky anon - you are speaking my language! So I had set out to tell you my thoughts about Beefy Bucky...but Steve came screaming into the room, panting and excited, a light shining in his eyes and suddenly it was all about him... maybe one day I’ll get my say...

This got away from me slightly - hope you enjoy Nonnie! 😘

~*~*~*~*~

Steve tried to not stare, tried to be respectful like his ma taught him, tried to be the responsible adult, hero that he was. He was the paragon for truth, the beacon of all that was good, but all that ran through his head as he looked at his best friend, his semi-recently unbrainwashed best friend, was Bucky’s large frame manhandling him to the bed and doing unspeakable acts on Steve’s body.

He was past caring what these acts might be, he’d be open to anything, try anything - not having had much experience due to time or inclination. But as he sat in the mission brief and watched Bucky playing with a pencil, unintentionally snapping it between his chunky fingers, looking around sheepishly in case someone told him off for breaking SHIELD property - Steve thought about those meaty fingers wrapped around a specific part of his anatomy. A part he knew couldn’t snap off (he’d tried when jerking off - not intentionally, but sometimes he twitched hard in the heat of the moment - and he had super strength after all).

From Steve’s vantage point, a few yards behind Bucky’s immensely broad shoulders, he found his breaths coming in quicker, wondering how it would feel to be picked up and slammed into a hard surface by Bucky, to have all that unrestrained strength pushing him - up against his body. Steve shivered, knowing that, yes, Tony and Thor and the others with the use of their powers or suits could pin Steve for a few seconds - but Bucky - he’d had a similar serum as Steve and it gave him thoughts. 

Would Bucky be at the same level of strength and power, were they evenly matched in every way? And if Steve begged on his knees staring up at Bucky - would Bucky relent and finally give him all he’d been dreaming about since he was sixteen?

Steve didn’t know. But he fantasised about it a lot.

Bucky had always been bigger than Steve, had always towered over him when they were kids, and Steve fit under the crook of Bucky’s arm, snug and nice, knowing that even before the serum, Bucky could have had his way and Steve would let him - even as feisty and independent as he was. But oh god, given half the chance, in a million different ways Steve would have let him.

But then the war happened, Steve had the serum and everything changed - he lost Bucky, had lost his better half, his true north, and that was when Steve lost hope. Until the Winter Soldier appeared - no, when Bucky appeared. Hope welled eternal in Steve for the first time in years, and to now have Bucky before him, it was a dream come true and he was scared to do anything to break the bubble that was surrounding them in case he scared Bucky off again.

So through hungry eyes, Steve watched Bucky closely, helped Bucky with the holes in his memory as best he could, ignored the lack of compassion that sometimes came through, and tried his best not to ogle Bucky’s new physique.

It was hard.

Extremely hard.

Because Bucky was built, he was wide, he was thick and it made Steve jittery inside.

He was unable to hide the most basic of reactions when they sparred, growing stiff the moment Bucky threw Steve over his shoulder like he weighed nothing to land on the mat roughly before straddling him, hand gently around his throat and a smirk on his face. And Steve had to scramble to the toilets for a moment alone - each and every time. Images of Bucky’s muscular thighs either side of his stomach fodder for a slew of fantasies and he only ever felt a little guilty when he came, hand shaking around his dick and Bucky’s name on his lips.

But it was undeniable that Bucky had changed - his quick smiles gone, humour buried away with only a glimpse here and there, but Steve knew Bucky, his Bucky was lurking somewhere in the depths, and Steve was slowly teasing him to the surface. So it would be completely unfair to foist his desires on his friend - a friend who'd never indicated that he liked Steve on a romantic level.

So Steve sat behind Bucky in the briefing, letting his mind wander, allowing his gaze to rake over the back of the too tight dark blue henley, Bucky’s shoulders taking up more space on the chair than Steve’s did - and he watched. 

Steve’s eyes traced the lines of Bucky’s wide stance as he moved in the chair, watching the toned muscles shift under the shirt and he couldn’t help lick his lips, only to look up and find Bucky stalled, stopped in his tracks staring over his shoulder at Steve with something deeply shadowed in his eyes. And Steve had been caught, caught staring like a man dying of thirst and Bucky the only person in the world that had a trickle of water left.

Standing up hastily, Steve fled - heading towards his room on the thirtieth floor, not knowing if the briefing was over or not, not really caring - he’d walked out of them before - it was only a safety meeting about new protocols that Steve himself had helped to create, but he couldn’t sit behind Bucky and stare at his bulk any longer. Bucky might have already realised where Steve’s thought’s had been, and he needed a moment to agonise over it.

He’d only just made it to his hallway, sprinting up the stairs as it was quicker than the elevator, when a huge solid hand grasped his arm, yanking to slam Steve up against the wall and suddenly two very intense blue/grey eyes were staring at him, pinched at the corners, questioning. Steve was no longer concerned about being called out - he was too busy sweating heavily at the sheer muscle Bucky was showcasing by pinning him to the wall, and he flexed, trying to move, but Bucky - oh fuck - Bucky had him. Steve would have to exert a lot of energy to break the hold, and his knees buckled.

Bucky grasped him, holding him upright as he sagged, “hey pal - you okay? What in the hell is going on?”

Steve managed to get his knees to lock long enough to hold his weight, and Bucky wide-eyed and concerned held him trapped. Held him aloft in his strong arms, his flesh one just as huge and muscular as his metal one.

“Yeah I’m alright,” Steve ground out. And he was, mostly - except for the tenting in his cargo pants, something that if Bucky stepped in less than an inch would feel pressed against him in all it’s post-serum glory. And Steve shouldn’t have thought that - what had it done to Bucky if the rest of him had grown so thick.

Bucky exhaled slowly, then looked up at the roof and Steve watched the sinews dance under the skin of Bucky’s neck, the wide hefty expanse of muscle that had to be at least twice the size as before. Steve wanted to lean forward, nip at the jutting Adam's apple, lick it, suckle it and have Bucky tense the muscles so that Steve could trace the hardness under his stiff tongue.

Words escaped him before Steve knew what was happening. “You’re so big.”

Immediately his face flamed because the words didn’t come out like a question, or a matter of fact statement - it was breathy, whispered with reverence, with a tone that couldn’t be disguised - Steve sounded horny for Bucky, and shame welled up.

Shutting his eyes, Steve shook his head, trying to get up the strength to break free of the large hands holding him, but Steve was learning he was a masochist under Bucky's control, Steve wanted it, no matter how he got it - all of that power and force bundled into the man he’d been in love with all of his life, it was too much.

“Open your eyes, Stevie.”

He was powerless not to, not when Bucky called him that.

Bucky’s long hair had fallen over one side of his face, and he peered at Steve, a small frown between his eyes as he worked something out in his head, Steve having seen that puzzled expression many times, usually directed at the coffee machine or at Sam, until suddenly like the dawning of a new day - his face went slack. 

He’d realised something, something big. And Bucky stepped forward, closer, the entire length of his body now against Steve, and although Steve was still a little taller than him, he felt as small as his teenage self while Bucky held him aloft using just his body, and it was only then that Steve realised what Bucky was pressed against and… oh…

What was now pressed against Steve in return.

“Buck…” he said brokenly.

“How long?”

“Errr…”

“How long, Steve?” The demand came with a tightening of hands on his biceps and Steve groaned at the pinch, the pressure, and Bucky threw his massive flesh arm across Steve’s collar bone instead, restraining him, and Steve just about came on the spot. It was too much, the sheer strength, the sheer size of Bucky was making him quake like a teenager with too many uncontrollable hormones.

“For as long as I can remember.”

“Jesus,” Bucky swore and let go, Steve slumping against the wall, and Bucky took one step away, Steve had ruined it - ruined everything.

“Well, are you coming or not?”

Steve looked up at the order in Bucky’s voice.

“Where?” he croaked.

“Your room, it’s closer - I’m going to nail you to your bed and make you scream Stevie Rogers - I have one vivid memory of before the war, and I know it was just a fantasy. And right now... right now I want to make it a reality.”

Bucky strode away, intent in each step and Steve watched the sway of his thick hips, the delectable peach-like ass he wanted to sink his hands and teeth into, and Steve stuck to the spot, couldn’t believe what was about to happen.

“I’m not going to ask twice.”

Steve jumped to attention, and had never ran so fast in his life.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Baby Brothers

Summary: Dean shows up at the reader’s doorstep injured and looking for help. Little does he know, the reader is going to do more than fix up a few cuts for him...

Pairing: Dean x sister!reader

Word Count: 3,100ish

Warnings: language, injury

A/N: In this fic, the reader is 27, Dean 25 and Sam is 21...

______

“Hey, Y/N,” said Dean when you picked up the phone. It was rare for him to call. After Sam went off to college, you had left too. He had been more than angry and you were sick and tired of being the one that had everything put on them. But you still could hear the little brother in his voice. The ‘please help me’ he was quietly asking for.

“Where are you,” you asked, grabbing your purse and keys. 

“Your driveway,” he said. You walked to the front door and opened it up, Dean standing by Baby and forcing a smile. He was bruised and a little bloody and you sighed, waving him over. You ditched the keys and purse on the front table, Dean wincing when he stepped into the foyer.

“I got your floor all dirty,” he said quietly, lifting up his boots. “I’m sorry.”

“De, it’s fine,” you said, taking off his jacket, spotting the blood on his shirt. “Dean, you need a hospital.”

“I’m not going to a hospital,” he said.

“Were you shot?” you asked.

“Vamp slashed me a bit. Dad wasn’t happy,” said Dean. 

“Did he hit you?” you asked, looking at his bruised left cheek. Dean rolled his eyes and you snapped your fingers. “Did he hit you?”

“It was an accident. He got drunk and I pushed his buttons and I fucked up,” he said.

“No. I fucked up. When I left, I should have dragged your ass with me,” you said, picking up the purse and keys again.

“Y/N. I need a stitch job is all. I-”

“No, Dean. You are here because you need my help and I’m giving it to you whether you like it or not.”

Four Hours Later

“I’m gonna leave your medicine on the kitchen counter,” you said, Dean wearily taking a seat at the table. “When’s the last time you ate something?”

“I don’t know,” he mumbled.

“De,” you sighed, catching him wincing in his seat. “Come on. Let’s get you on something soft.”

You put an arm around him and helped him up, Dean pushing you away. 

“Lay off, Y/N. I’m fine,” he said. You grabbed his hair and he whined. “Sis. Stop. I’m not a little kid anymore.”

“This isn’t a scrape on the knee. Don’t be a baby and I won’t treat you like one,” you said, running your hand over his head. “Dean.”

“Shut up,” he said, going to the counter and grabbing his medicine. “Thanks but I’m gone.”

You watched him head for the door when you grabbed his shirt collar gently.

“Deanie,” you said. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Y/N,” he said.

“Deanie.”

“I’m not a little kid.”

“Deanie.”

He went lax and turned around, resting his head on your shoulder. 

“It hurts. Everything fucking hurts and I’m so tired of fucking up,” he said, reaching his arms around you. You hugged him gently, not entirely sure he’d had one in the three years since you’d last seen each other.

“It’s okay. We’ll fix it. I always fix it, don’t I?” you said, rubbing his back. You gingerly walked with him upstairs and into the guest room, helping get him out of his dirty clothes and into the bathroom. You cleaned him off in there, leaving him wrapped in a towel for a moment before you were back inside with his duffel bag. You found a clean pair of boxers and a fresh shirt for him. You left while he changed, helping him with the shirt when you returned. 

He seemed better when you got him tucked into bed with a blanket, promising to bring him up a late dinner in a few minutes.

By the time you came back with some water though, he was fast asleep.

“You’re okay, Dean. I promise.”

“Good morning,” you said when you saw Dean slowly make his way into the kitchen. “I was going to bring you breakfast in bed. How about we eat on the couch instead? I’m sure there’s some cartoons on.”

“Yeah,” he said and you noticed he still had a blanket wrapped around himself. 

Ten minutes later you carried in two plates of eggs and bacon and some orange juice.

“I made your favorite,” you said, handing him a fork.

“You put the maple syrup in with the bacon,” he said with a tiny smile.

“Best way to cook it,” you said. He was quiet as you ate, Dean pushing his plate onto the coffee table when he finished. You set your own down and felt him lean into you, resting his head on your shoulder.

“I’m sorry I called you a bitch,” he said, glancing up at you. 

“Let’s not go down that road. We both said a lot that night I walked away,” you said. 

“I should have stood up to dad for you after Sammy left,” he said.

“It was one week between when he left and I did. Dad, you don’t have to worry about me and dad. Besides, I’m the oldest,” you said.

“I’ve been bigger than you since I was 17,” said Dean as he sat up, fixing his blanket around himself. “He was so angry at you. I was afraid he might hurt you.”

“Dad’s never hurt me a day in his life. I was the girl,” you said, wrapping your arms around Dean. “I love you, De. I’m sorry I never did a better job of protecting you.”

“Y/N. You and Sam were the smart ones. I was always going to be a hunter,” said Dean. You frowned and he pulled back. “Y/N, I chose to be a hunter.”

“No, you didn’t. I didn’t chose to stick around after high school because I wanted to be one, Dean. No kid wants that,” you said.

“You hunted for six more years,” he said.

“I stuck around for my little brothers,” you said. “I was so angry at you when you dropped out of school. You are so fucking smart and you listened to dad and quit.”

“I got my GED,” said Dean.

“After I yelled at you to,” you said, moving your hands away, rubbing your face. “If I had pushed you to do homework more like Sam-”

“Sammy’s younger than us, both of us. I’m only two years younger than you, not even. You had no chance of me listening to you,” said Dean. “Not when Dad was around.”

“When I left, I should have took you with me,” you said.

“If I recall, you never wanted to see my face again,” said Dean, giving you half a smile.

“You were mean...and I was mean. I’m sorry,” you said.

“Me too.”

“Stay here, with me,” you said. He tilted his head and scrunched up his face. “You’re a grown man, Dean.”

“I’ll stick around a few days while I recover but I gotta tag up with dad and see if there’s any new hunts,” he said.

“No. You don’t. I’m putting my foot down. I want you to try this out for a little while. A normal life,” you said. He scoffed and stood up, heading for the stairs. You followed him and grabbed his arm, Dean pushing you back against the nearest wall. You glared up at him and he closed his eyes. 

“I’m sorry. I’ve tried. I had a normal girlfriend for a few weeks. I even told her I hunted and she was cool with it. But that fell to shit and I don’t fit in with normal people or a normal life anymore. What am I gonna do with my GED? How am I ever going to afford a house like this? I have a juvie record. A real record. I will never be like you. You were strong. You never got caught shoplifting. You stood up to dad. I’ve never been able to do that. I will stay a few days and then I’m gone, okay? I’ll try to visit you sometimes, I promise,” he said.

“You still sound like the scared four year old that would hide in my bed except now, you sound just like dad too.”

You stormed up to your room and slammed the door shut. You could hear Dean come up slowly, pattering around in his room before you heard the thud of his duffel hit the floor. Immediately you left, catching Dean in the hall with it.

“I’m going,” he said quietly, dragging it towards the landing.

“Don’t worry about all of that shit or dad. Please. Stay a little while. Take a break from hunting. Please. Can we compromise on that?” you asked as you grabbed the bag. 

“I’ll give you two weeks,” he said.

“Thank you,” you said, picking up the bag and carrying it back. “Come on, get back in your pajamas. You need to have a lazy day.”

“Y/N, what is all this stuff?” he asked as you dropped off a laundry basket full of new clothes to his room that night.

“New undies, socks, shirts, flannels...a bunch of new clothes since a majority of yours have holes. I picked up some different stuff at the grocery store so whatever you want for dinner we can make and all that. If you want something just jot it down on the list and I’ll pick it up tomorrow,” you said.

“Y/N, that’s like super expensive,” he said.

“Dean. I have this thing called a job. It’s all good,” you said. “You need anything else right now?”

“No. Thanks,” he said. You hummed and turned to go, Dean clearing his throat behind you. “Y/N?”

“Mhm?” you said.

“You ever hear from Sam?”

“When’s the last time you two talked?” you asked.

“Two years. I send him a birthday card every year but never heard anything back,” said Dean. 

“Yeah, we talk,” you said, leaning against the doorframe.

“Is he happy?”

You closed your eyes and nodded.

“Yes, he’s very happy. School’s good. He’s got a great girlfriend. She’s in the nursing program,” you said. “Sammy’s good.”

“Good for him,” said Dean, forcing a smile.

“You want to watch a movie?” you asked.

“I’m tired if that’s okay.”

“Yeah. No problem. Get some rest, De.”

One Week Later

“Y/N, what’s this?” asked Dean as he brought in your mail for you. You poked your head out from the kitchen.

“Local community college course offerings. I get one every few months,” you said, going back to the kitchen.

“This is the community college? It looks like some university,” he said.

“I went to school there,” you said.

“You did?” asked Dean.

“Mhm. I was able to work at a bar and take classes and then once I got my two year done, I finished up my four year online while I worked,” you said.

“What exactly do you do? You’ve kinda been home all week,” said Dean as he took a seat at the kitchen table with the catalogue.

“I work for a small firm. We do online investments. It’s a work from home gig which is cool,” you said.

“Wait, so you’re like rich?” he asked.

“I’m not rich, De,” you laughed. “But I do okay on my own.”

“Cool,” he said, flipping through the course offerings.

“You know, most of the classes are pretty reasonable. It’s like 3 grand for a whole year. If you want to take some, I’d pay,” you said. 

“I’ll never be able to get a real job, sis,” he said.

“Can I take a look at that?” you asked, sliding a BLT in front of him. He nodded and swapped with you, starting to eat his afternoon snack as you looked through the book. “There’s mechanical classes. Trade work. Accounting.”

“No accounting,” said Dean with a mouthful.

“There’s stuff in here I think you’d enjoy,” you said. “Hey, you know contractors can make a hell of a lot of money and run their own business and you’d be your own boss.”

“I can’t do that stuff.”

“You killed a ghoul when I was twelve. By yourself. You can totally go to school and start your own business. Big sis knows some good investment areas, just saying,” you said.

“What about the demon that killed mom?” asked Dean.

“Dad will keep going until it is dead. I don’t doubt that and that is his right. You have the right to live your own life too, Dean. You don’t have to hunt. You don’t have to give it up either. I know a part of you enjoys it. You’re so good, way better than I ever was. If you owned your own business...you could slip out on a hunt from time to time. I’d prefer if you never hunted again but you can have both,” you said. 

He finished eating and took back the catalogue, looking through it some more.

“Dad will kill me,” he said.

“No, he won’t. You’re a man. You don’t have to do what he says. You don’t have to do what anyone says. I want you to make your own choices is all.”

“I’d need a place to stay,” he said.

“I got the space. You can even park Baby in the garage…” you said.

“Can you help me fill out an application later?” he asked.

“Of course, De,” you said, ruffling his hair. 

One Month Later

“Yo, I brought home pizza and wings and aced my test today,” said Dean as he walked through the front door. “I hope you don’t got company cause I saw the car in the driveway and…”

He paused when he saw Sam sitting on the couch.

“Hey,” said Sam.

“Hey.”

You stood and took the food from Dean, watching as he slipped off his backpack. 

“I didn’t realize you were stopping by,” said Dean.

“Jess had a thing this weekend and I wanted to come see, Y/N. You too,” he said.

“I’ll give you guys a minute,” you said, excusing yourself to the kitchen. You tried to give them their privacy but only lasted about a minute before you looked around the corner. You smiled when you saw them hugging, Dean looking a bit bashful as they said something to one another. “Food, boys.”

They exchanged a few more words before they came in and loaded up a few plates, the three of you wandering back to the family room. You swore you’d never seen either of them smile like that. They were like little boys again, teasing one another and you smiled, Dean so proud of himself to talk about his classes and his future plans with Sam.

Until you heard a truck pull up outside and you saw them both glance towards the front door.

“Boys. Stay put,” you said, going outside without looking back.

“Hi, sweetie,” said your dad, walking up the driveway. “You got company?”

“Yes. What do you want?” you asked.

“Your brother’s gone awol on me. He says he’s okay but he’s not grabbing new hunts from Bobby. I’m worried,” he said.

“Dean’s perfectly fine,” you said.

“He’s here, isn’t he,” he said, looking at the other car in the driveway and catching the Stanford sticker on the back. “Shit, both of them are?”

“Yes,” you said, holding out a hand when he went to walk past you. “I didn’t invite you into my house.”

“Y/N.”

“Last I checked, I was an ungrateful stuck up little girl that thought she was too good for hunting and didn’t care about my dead mother or my family,” you said, crossing your arms. “Yet I’m the one that raised my brothers. Dean and I raised Sam together while you were off hunting. I am still cleaning up your messes and you know what? Both of them are happy, a lot happier away from you and hunting and it’s going to stay that way.”

“I was fine with Dean taking a short break, get his head on straight so he doesn’t screw up like he did on that hunt but we both know he is a hunter through and through. You and Sam, you’re different. You’re good hunters but you don’t have the bite for it like Dean. He is good at it. He’s talented. Don’t you take him away from that.”

“He is a not a solider,” you growled. “He is a man that is afraid of you. I know you hit him for apparently ‘screwing up’ your stupid hunt. He’s not going near you again.”

“When you have kids, you make your own parenting choices,” he said. “But this-”

“I had kids when I was a fucking kid,” you snapped. “They misbehaved and you know what I did? Timeout. No TV. I didn’t spank them. I didn’t hit them and I would certainly not hit my grown child. So you can either leave and maybe someday when you finally get that demon, you can come back and attempt a relationship with your children or you can stay out for good.”

“You don’t get to make that choice for Dean.”

“I’m his big sister. I sure as hell get to make that choice for him, for both of them, when it comes to you.”

“Y/N,” said Dean as he stepped onto the front step. “Give us a minute.”

“A minute,” you said, sliding past him and into the house. You waited by the front window, Dean inside again more quickly than you expected. 

“Y/N, I’m sorry,” he said. You were about to go off on him when he smirked. “Oh, I can’t believe you fell for that.”

“You little shithead,” you said, hearing the truck pull out. “I’m gonna kill you.”

“I told him if he gets a lock on the demon that killed mom, I’ll come help but until then, I’m sticking around here,” said Dean. It wasn’t exactly the answer you’d been hoping for but it was good enough. 

“I can live with that,” you said, giving him a hug. 

“Me too. Hey after dinner, you guys want to catch a movie?” asked Dean. “Y/N’s treat.”

“Well if Y/N’s paying then obviously,” teased Sam.

“Yeah, yeah. I missed you dorks.”

_____

[sleeperswakewriting]

Have you ever read the rivetra fic "in all of the lives we are" on fanfiction net? Because I did and parts of it are canon in my head. What I really want to ask is :can you too please bless us with a canonverse reincarnation fic?

I haven't read it but I bookmarked it to read later! Thank you for the rec, anon! I have a canonverse reincarnation fic that I scrapped when I first got back into writing. I plan on writing one in the future with a lot more depth, but I'll share this draft since I don't plan on going back to this fic in particular. Warning, meh writing ahead 😅

“And then my soul saw you and it kind of went, "Oh, there you are. I've been looking for you.”

— Iain Thomas, I Wrote This For You

Childhood; where threads begin, or were they there all along?

The world is a cruel place, is the mantra Levi murmured to himself over and over again.

Kenny left him when he was 10 and after giving the police the run around, he found himself in a group home for children with disturbed conduct, also known as, the leftovers in the system. The leftovers that even foster care didn’t want to look twice at because everyone in this shitty place was just as fucked up as the last kid.

Mom, why did you have to die and leave me with Uncle Kenny? Did you know he was a gang leader? Or maybe you knew being part of a gang was better than this hellhole.

He wasn’t stupid, he knew his mother was a whore, and if the feds ever found out he was living in a brothel they would’ve taken him in an instant. So maybe it was luck that he had the amount of time with her that he did.

He still remembered how she desperately tried to shield him from her work, locking him in the closet when he was small, and when he got bigger, hiding underneath the bed and saying very sternly Levi, my love, you can’t make a sound or else mommy is going to get in trouble. Remember to cover your ears, just like we practiced.

And then when she died, it didn’t come suddenly. It was coughing in the middle of the night, him begging her to please let him find a doctor and he didn’t care about the consequences, he just wanted them to be together, but his mother shook her head and insisted she would be fine.

She wasn’t, of course, and Kenny both saved and damned him. He learned how to fend for himself, beat men twice his size, and take their wallet while they were recovering from his blows. He learned how to use a knife threaten people, and while his size threw people off, he used that to his advantage.

Even though he didn’t have his knives here, he knew how to fight hand to hand, and he was itching to land a blow to the next kid who tried to steal his dinner. It was his third month into the group home, and he was on his “last warning” as the head said, and next stop was juvie. He didn’t care, his life was at the end of the line and he was only 11.

“Hey, dip shit. Gimme your cookie.” Levi glanced at the boy who suddenly appeared, some new comer who clearly didn’t know his reputation. The boy was older and bigger than him, he guessed around 13 or 14, but he didn’t care. He ignored him and took a stab at the stale meatloaf.

“Did you fucking hear me? I said give me the goddamn cookie.” Levi sighed at the idiocy of this place, he knew what it was like to starve and despite the shit he gave this place, he couldn’t complain about the three (shitty) meals they got a day and the roof over his head. The company was much to be desired and that’s what usually got him into trouble.

“Tch. Go bother someone else, I’m not interested,” he said cooly, and the boy’s face grew red. Levi balled his left fist under the table, ready to throw a punch the minute he got too close to him.

“You little fucker—“ The boy began, but before Levi could take a swing at him, his shirt collar was pulled back by a smirking brown haired boy.

“Hey, hey, Matty, you don’t want to pick on him. Didn’t you hear that he landed Sam in the hospital last month?” Immediately the boy called Matty paled and backed off instantly.

“This little guy did that? Respect, Sam was a piece of shit anyway,” he muttered the last sentence and waved Levi away.

Levi shrugged and returned to his dinner, not paying the newcomer any mind but the boy took it upon himself to sit across from him, grinning. “You’re welcome,” he said, biting into his apple. “The name’s Furlan. You’re Levi, right?”

“Didn’t ask for your help,” Levi quipped, looking up at the eerily jolly boy, narrowing his eyes. “Since you know my reputation, you might not want to stick around.”

Furlan laughed, and Levi a twinge of irritation as he continued talking instead of walking away like everyone else did. “I don’t think you’re that scary, Levi. From what I heard, you don’t start fights, right? I think the guys think you’re an easy target since you’re…Well, don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re really short. Even though everyone’s afraid of you, I think, if they’re like me, they’re really just impressed that someone around here isn’t afraid to fight the bullies.”

Levi didn’t say anything to that, he was just trying to survive into the next fucking day, and didn’t think of himself as some sort of savior. But, if Farlan believed in him, maybe he wasn’t so fucked up as he thought.

He sighed, giving the boy a once over as he knew the step he was about to take. To be vulnerable. To give a shit about someone else for the first time in forever.

“So, what brought you here?” He said, as if he said those words before, the words rolling naturally off of his tongue not from an 11 year old, but someone who’s carried the weight of a lifetime.

And just like that, the threads intertwined again.

ii. Adolescence; where threads cross over but never touch

“First day of senior year, Eld! I have a good feeling about this—we’re going to ace our SATs, get into the same college, and we’re going to see the world!” Petra exclaimed, swinging her backpack as they walked to school. Eld chuckled, and flicked Petra’s forehead.

“See the world, huh? With what money? I don’t remember you applying to jobs with me and Gunther over the summer, and now you’re broke.”

Petra huffed and took a playful swipe at Eld’s shoulder. “You know I was helping my dad with his business over the summer. Oruo can vouch for me, he stopped by a couple times to help us—for free, no less!” Petra smiled, thinking about the laborious, but fruitful summer that her family had thanks to everyone’s hard work. Her dad’s hardware business was small compared to the big box stores, but their customers appreciated the charm and personalized customer care that the Ral’s offered. “He’s really grown up, hasn’t he? In grade school he wouldn’t be caught doing something without recognition, and I don’t even know if he mentioned to you two that he was helping out Fridays and Saturdays.”

“Hmm, yeah I guess you could say that,” Eld mused, shaking his head internally at Petra’s obliviousness. She, along with him, were usually the perceptive ones in their little friend group, but he supposed being childhood friends blinded her to certain things, like Oluo’s long time crush on her. Sure, he flirted with her, but he flirted with everyone, and it wasn’t until their sophomore year of high school that he started wanting to seriously date only Petra, but she took his advances as one of a matured best friend and less as a guy in love with his best friend. Eld wondered how involved he should get, maybe doing Oluo a favor and dropping a few hints to Petra that Oluo was a great guy despite his arrogance, and he has come along way since their freshman year.

But, the blond knew that Petra’s feelings for Oluo would remain as best friends, and after her most recent breakup with some guy who seemed like a short stint for junior prom and as a member of the girl’s soccer team, she couldn’t very well go alone…well, it wasn’t a surprise they parted ways shortly after prom.

She confided in Eld that she wanted to start college fresh and with new opportunities, and she would be damned if she let a guy decide her future. It wasn’t like she was going to turn down a date from a cute guy, but she wanted to be very clear that it wouldn’t be more than a few casual dates. Besides, she said to Eld and Gunther, one hazy summer evening when they were eating ice cream at the county fair, who needs a significant other when they all had each other? They then raucously toasted with their popsicles in the air to their future, wherever it took them, and love be damned!

[jawritter]

Curves...

Requested by: @prettysourabbie​ 

Can I request a Dean Winchester x plus size reader, where she really shy and dorky but believes that she really bad at sex because she is bigger? And dean shows her that she not 😊💕 I hope this makes sense haha! I know this sound awkward turtle 🐢

Word Count: 4036

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-sized!Reader

Warnings: Smut!, unprotected sex, insecure reader, self-hate, plus-sized reader, unrequited/requited love, angst, self-loathing, fluff.

A/N: As always all mistakes are mine! Please don’t copy my work! Feedback is golden! Hope you guys enjoy this one. 

Want more? Check out my Masterlist!

*****MASTERLIST*****

Sitting alone in the cold and mostly dark library of the bunker, you waited for the return of your two favorite boys. 

Sam and Dean Winchester. 

You’d been working as the researcher for the Winchesters, and well most other hunters in the area, for years.  

You were raised in the life, but you weren’t ever like your average hunter. You weren’t skinny, or athletic, with perfect aim, perfect stamina that it takes to chase down and kill all that shit that goes bump in the night. Much to your father’s dismay, you were always a little on the heavier side. 

It’s not like all you did was sit on your ass, and eat or something either, it’s just how you were built, you couldn’t control it, no matter how much you exercised, ran, ate all that healthy crap; it did no good. You always maintained the same weight. 

Which was… Well… Let’s face it… 

Not exactly the standards of The Next Top Model.

Your stomach wasn’t flat and perfect, your hips were on the wider side, your thighs thicker than your average girl. You weren’t exactly small chested. You were just naturally larger than your average person. Even though you barely tipped the scales at five feet tall.

Your dad said you’d never be good for anything if he couldn’t marry you off, because you were too heavy for “breeding,” which was common in hunting compounds like the one you grew up on, and you couldn’t hunt, then you were useless to him. 

He’d left you at a bar just outside of Seattle, Washington. That’s where you meet your rescuer, and honestly, your favorite of your two favorite boys. 

Dean.

He saw you sitting outside of the side of the bar crying because you didn’t know what you were going to do, he didn’t hesitate to take you in just like you were one of them when he’d heard your story, taking you to your new home, the bunker. 

Instead of discouraging your skills in research, he embraced it. 

Sam helped you get started in this overload of information that the men of letters had collected, your personal heaven honestly, and you’d been here ever since; doing what you could to help the boys behind a computer, a lore book, or a phone. 

You were happy here with your life, mostly anyway. It suited you, and Dean always made sure you wanted for nothing. He would always go out of his way to take care of you, no matter what you needed or wanted.

It didn’t take you long to fall for the overly gorgeous elder Winchester. 

His smile, his bright jade green eyes, that adorable shading of freckles that covered his skin, dusting even his nose, and checks; giving him almost a boyish look. His infectious laugh, his soft auburn hair, the way he cared more about others than he ever could himself.

You had learned to love everything about him, the good, the bad, and the ugly. Even though there were parts of his past that were darker than he’d ever let anyone know. Even though there were things that had happened to him, that had affected him to the uttermost part of his being. 

You loved him anyway. 

Past all flaws, and beyond all reason.

Of course, you never told Dean that. Hell no. You’d never tell Dean any of that. 

Dean liked girls that were supermodel types. 

Bleach blonde, toned bodies, too much makeup, and cheap perfume. Easy lays basically. 

You were none of that. 

You didn’t have the confidence that those girls had, so you just never even tried with Dean. The two of you had a good relationship going, and you just be happy with that, and not do anything like confess your feelings to mess it all up.

The loud opening and closing of the bunker door pulled you from your self-loathing. You hurriedly straightened your glasses, fixed your messy bun, and checked to make sure your led zeppelin t-shirt, that you had borrowed from Dean and yet to have returned, had no stains on it.

You’d been researching some stuff for Garth on a strange case he was working on, probably a Djinn from the looks of it, and hadn’t really gotten yourself together today. You were still in your favorite PJ pants and fuzzy slippers.

"Hey Y/n,” Sam greeted you as he flopped down in the chair across from you, taking his boots off. 

“Hey, where is Dean?” you asked him, listening for, but not hearing the elder Winchester anywhere.

“Dean, uh... Went out. Said he needed to blow off some steam. It was a pretty rough hunt for him... I’m sorry Y/n, I know you hate it when he  goes out and does this…” Sam said, letting his sentence trail off before finishing it.

You chew on your lower lip for a moment, nod your head, reopening your laptop, burying yourself in your work. 

You couldn’t look up at Sam, who you knew was staring at you with some pitiful look, and you didn’t want his pity. You knew your place, and Dean’s arms, even though you wanted to more than anything, would never be your place.

Sam was no idiot, he knew you had feelings for his brother. He just didn’t know what to say to make it better for you right now.

So he got to his feet, patted you on the shoulder, and then made his way to his room for the night. 

You worked through the tears streaming down your face when he was out of sight until your eyes burned too bad to keep working, and your head hurt from crying. So you made your way to your room, and crawled into the bed, the cold lonely bed, and fell into a restless sleep. Your heart beating like it was going to just give up and stop any minute. 

You laid there torturing yourself. Wondering what she looked like? Would she hold him when it was over? Would she be enough to comfort him the way he deserved? Would she play with his hair while he sleeps like you want to do? Would she realize how lucky she was to be in his arms? Cause some people, like yourself, would never get that chance.

—————————–

The next morning you made your way into the kitchen. Your head is still pounding, and your eyes are still red. 

You were wondering if Dean had made it home yet, but you didn’t have to wonder very long. 

As soon as you rounded the corner there he was, probably still in last night’s clothes, pouring a cup of coffee.

For a moment you faltered by the door, and started to just turn around, and go back to your room. 

You didn’t know if you could face him right now, you knew you looked like a whole mess. Last night was harder on you with him going out than it was ever. Maybe it was because it had been so long since you’d seen him. Maybe it was because he had texted you the day before he headed back to Kansas, and promised a movie night when he got home. He must have needed to get laid more than he needed his friend.

You turned around to head back towards your room, but Dean had heard you. His hunter reflexes are faster than your feet. 

Damn him.

“Hey, sweetheart! Want me to pour you a cup of coffee?” Dean said, looking at you over his shoulder, that smile that could stop your heart on his perfect pink lips, lips that some other woman was kissing last night. The signs of that visible with the deep purple hickey that was poking out just under the collar of his shirt.

You just nod, not trusting your voice. 

Dean poured you a cup of coffee and fixed it the way you liked. You wondered how he knew that. You didn’t remember ever telling him how you liked your coffee, he just always seemed to know. 

You made your way over to the table in the corner of the room, and Dean brought your cup of coffee and set it down in front of you.

“So, I was thinking tonight we would lock ourselves in the Dean cave, and do that Harry Potter marathon you’ve been talking about. I’ll order some pizzas and…Y/n, what’s wrong? Have you been crying?”

You cursed yourself for being so damn obvious this morning. You just shrug your shoulders, refusing to meet his gaze. 

“Did some asshole hurt you? Tell me his name! I’ll kick his ass!" 

You had to hold back a snicker at that because the mental image your mind painted of Dean kicking his own ass was quite amusing. 

"No one’s hurt me, Dean, I’m fine,” you tell him, making to get up with your coffee cup, and just head back to your room. 

“Bullshit Y/N, I’ve known you for years, we’re best friends. Tell me what’s wrong.” 

He looked at you pleadingly, and you sighed deeply before looking down at your coffee cup.

“I just let myself get all in my head last night. I’m fine now. I’m just tired. I think I’m going to go and lay down for a little bit. We’ll do whatever you said you wanted to do tonight,” you said as Sam walked past you, giving you an apologetic look. 

Sam was the kind of person who was not going to get in the middle of it, so he just continued to make his way to the refrigerator after his morning run.

“Are you sure you’re okay? ‘Cause you don’t look okay, Sweetheart. Maybe I could just come keep you company, and cuddle with you like we used to while you rest, or until you feel better.” 

Dean made his way over to you while he was taking, and wrapped his arms around you.

As soon as he did you jerked back from him. He looked down at you confused and hurt, but he smelt like her perfume and it made your stomach lurch, bile rose in your throat at the thought of how it got there.

“No offense Dean, but you need a shower,” you said coldly and turned walking back to your room, leaving a very confused and hurt looking Dean, and a somewhat amused Sam. 

Probably because he thought Dean deserved that. 

You wanted nothing more than to cuddle with Dean, but you didn’t know if it wouldn’t totally rip your heart out, especially with him smelling so much like her. 

—————————————–

After about two hours of you crying yourself to the point, you weren’t able to cry anymore in the darkness of your room, hating your weight, hating that you weren’t good enough, hating the fact that you had to wear glasses all the time, hating the fact that you were a nerd, and always were a nerd. Your stomach grumbled, reminding you that you had skipped breakfast this morning, but you didn’t want to run into the boys again, so you had just resolved to lay there when you hear your door open, and close softly.

You could smell Dean’s body wash as he made his way quietly as possible over to the side of your bed. Your back was to him, and the door, cover pulled high up to your chin, your hair pretty much blocking your face from his view.

“Y/N, are you asleep?” Dean whispered. 

You didn’t move, you didn’t say anything, you didn’t really have time to before Dean pulled the cover back, and you felt the bed dip under his weight. Your heart rate jumped up through the roof as his scent surrounded you, and he pulled the covers back over himself and you.

“I showered…I… I don't smell like her anymore… I made Sam check to make sure,” he said, moving his way over closer to you in a spooning position, wrapping his arm around you gently, and pulling himself closer to you.

Your heart was beating so hard now you were sure he could feel it through your ribs, even with all your “extra padding” as you called it. 

“Sweetheart, why didn’t you say something to me before? I’m sorry I hurt you. I didn’t know. I would have much rather come home to you than run to some whore that literally meant nothing to me." 

You made a mental note to kill Sam.

"Sam told you didn’t he,” you almost whispered, your stomach was in a knot at this point. What the fuck was he trying to tell you? You couldn’t do for him what he needed.

“Yeah, but in his defense, you left me standing there torn between hunting down whatever random dude that had hurt you that you weren’t telling me about, and trying to scrap my pride up off the floor,” Dean said. 

It took all you had not to flinch at that. You shouldn't have snapped at Dean, but you couldn’t stand the smell of her either. 

“I’m sorry Dean, I shouldn’t have taken my feelings out on you. You have every right to have sex with whoever you want. She could probably do more for you than I ever could. I know you are not attracted to me. I’m not blind. You don’t have to come in here, and say all those things just to make me feel better,” you said, refusing to turn around and look at him. 

You felt Dean sit up, and for a moment you thought he was going to get up and leave, shattering your heart even further. 

Instead of getting up and leaving, Dean rolled you over to your back with more ease than you thought would have been possible, and straddle your hips with his thighs. Bracing his weight off of you with his hands on either side of your head. You stared into his piercing eyes for a moment in shock. He looked cross between hurt and angry.

“Let me tell you a little something about that whore that you said could do so much better than you for me. Yeah, I fucked her, I’m not even gonna try and deny it, but after she was done I got up and got dressed to go jerked myself off in the car because some whore isn’t gonna get all of me Sweetheart believe that. I’d give my damn right arm to have you, what the fuck do you mean I’m not attracted to you? Every time we’re watching TV together I’m fighting to hide my boner because I didn’t want to freak you out. I wouldn’t be in here with you right now if I didn’t want to be. Why the hell do you think so low of yourself?” 

Dean was still hovering over you, so many emotions on his face that it was impossible to read them all.

“Dean, I’m fat. I’m no good at sex. I couldn’t get you off if I tried to. You still would have ended up having to go and finish yourself off. Very few men want to touch this, very few ever have.” 

You tried to avoid his gaze out of your own shame. Hating yourself at that moment more than ever.

“What? Fat? Baby girl, you are NOT fat. You're gorgeous,” Dean said as he reached and grabbed your wrist, bringing your hand down to his crotch, and resting it over the impressive bulge that had formed his sweats. 

You did vaguely register that he’d skipped the underwear. 

He felt huge, and you couldn’t stop your eyes widening. 

You always figured that Dean was packing, but damn.

“Does that feel like someone who isn’t attracted to you? Baby, I can’t tell you the nights I’ve thought about you just to get off. About kissing every curve, every inch of skin,” his hands let go of your wrist as he trailed them down your sides, and over your up to your breast, causing your breath to hitch in your throat at his light touch.

“Dean,” you said cautiously, his hand slipping under your shirt, fingers trailing lightly over your stomach, the part of your body that you hated the most. 

“Let me show you just how beautiful you are, Sweetheart,” he said, his voice husky and deep. His tongue running slowly over his lower lip as his eyes roamed your body. “Let me show you just how much I’ve always wanted you since the night I met you.”

You laid there underneath him completely dumbfounded for a moment. Finally, all you could do was shake your head yes. 

If you were dumb enough to turn him down now, you would lose him, and your heart couldn’t handle it, it would crush you. So here you were, going to take a chance, and do what you so desperately wanted to do for so long. 

Let Dean love you. 

Dean didn’t hesitate, reaching down grabbing your shirt and pulling it off and over your head, throwing it to the floor. His eyes rack over your body, looking down at your bare chest, you immediately try to cover up, regretting not putting a bra on this morning.

“No, no, pretty girl, don’t hide from me,” Dean said, bending down, and capturing your lips in his with a sweet kiss, slowly kissing away some of the worries, and insecurity. 

Moving his hands down your body he pulled the waistband of your PJs and underwear down your body in one pull, leaving you completely exposed before him. Keeping your mouth busy as his tongue invaded your mouth, kissing you drunk, exploring every inch of your mouth like he’d never get to do it again. 

When he finally had to pull up for air you noticed that his sweats were gone. His thick length standing proudly against his shirt, and slapping his stomach as he pulled his shirt off, tossing it to the floor.

You didn’t have time to get nervous before his mouth was on you again, kissing you deeply, needier than the first time. 

Making his way from your mouth to your throat he sucked his mark onto your neck, one that you’d wear proudly, one you’ve wanted for so long. 

He continued kissing his way down your body, licking at each nipple before sucking them into his mouth, sending a sensation you’d never felt before jolting through your body. Your back arching to meet his hard chest. Little moans fell from your lips as his mouth continued the assault on your hard nipples. 

Satisfied with his work, he began to move down your stomach. Kissing and nipping at the skin there, worshiping your body like no one ever had, kissing your hips, your tights. 

That’s when it hit you where he was.

“Dean, don’t!” you said, right before his mouth made contact with your already dripping core. 

Dean stopped immediately, moving back up your body, placing his lips on yours in a sweet kiss, slower this time than before. 

“I’m sorry, I’m just not there yet. Not tonight,” you said as he pulled away to look at you, your embarrassment filling your checks.

“That’s okay Baby, we’ve got all the time in the world. If you want to stop we can stop,” he said, brushing your hair away from your face.

“I don’t want to stop, I’m just not ready for that specifically. It’s gonna take time,” you said, he nodded his head, kissing your neck and running his tongue along the shall of your ear. 

“That’s okay baby girl, I’m not going to stop loving you, and eventually, I’m going to make you forget all that insecurity you’ve got built up inside. Even if it takes years. I’m a patient man,” Dean said, slipping his fingers down your body, and finding your swollen clit with his thumb as he pushed two tick digits deep side of you, working you slowly, your hips rolling against his hand on their own as he curled his fingers inside of you, hitting that stop no one has been able to reach before. 

He didn’t stop playing your body like a well-tuned instrument until you were coming undone around him, and your walls squeezing his fingers as your orgasm ripped through your body, leaving you a panting shaking mess underneath him as he worked you through your high.

Peppering your face with little kisses he let you come down completely before lining himself up with you, sinking deep inside of you in one smooth thrust. Stretching you, filling you in every way. His thick tip is sitting against your cervix. You could almost feel him pulsing inside of you.

“Fuck, your so tight baby girl,” he husks in your ear, kissing your lips in a tender kiss before grabbing your hips, and rolling you over on top of him like you weighed nothing at all. A surprised squeak leaving your lips.

“Dean, no I’m going to hurt you,” you said, feeling silly, and embarrassed as you sat astraddle of his hips, his cock buried deep inside of you.

“You’re not going to hurt me, Baby. I want you to know just how capable you are of taking care of me, please,” he said, reaching up and kissing the skin of your stomach before grabbing your hips, and rocking your hips with his strong hands. 

All thought processes flew right out the window at that point. 

His tip moves over your most sensitive spots in the most amazing, almost overwhelming to the point of painful, but still pleasurable way, your clit dragging over his hilt with each drag of your hips. Soon you were rocking back and forth against him on our own without any assistance whatsoever. Your bodies molded together like they were meant to be.

Dean’s head was thrown back against the pillow, the veins in his neck visible, and his jaw tightly locked. 

He was beautiful. 

Completely lost in what your body was doing for him.

 Something you never knew was possible, never thought you would ever see, or experience first hand. Just something they wrote about in cheesy romance novels, and fanfiction.

Before long you right at the edge your body shaking on top of him. The sounds and noises that were falling from both of your lips were enough to make a porn star blush. Dean's grip on your hips was now strong enough that you were sure it would leave bruises. You didn’t care though. You let him hold onto you as he fucked himself up into you as you rode him, closer and closer to both of your ends. 

Dean cursed he leaned forward, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you down close to him as he slammed himself up into you and stilled. Spilling himself deep inside of you. His seed coating your walls in warm streams, throwing you into your own end. Waves of pleasure rolling over you both as he slowly thrust into you, dragging out both of your highs.

When both of you had control of your bodies again, Dean rolled you both over to your side, his arms never leaving you. He peppered your face and neck with little opened mouth kisses as he slowly pulled out of your body, and you couldn’t help but whine a little at the loss of contact.

Dean’s lips found yours in a sweet, but searing kiss as his hands started to trace the curves of your body, while still holding onto you tightly. Not breaking the kiss until the need for oxygen became to grate.

“I love you y/n, I have since the moment I met, and I know I’m not much, and I don’t have anything to offer you, the life we live… It’s just not your white picket fence life, but all I have is yours if you will have me. You know how hard it is for me to admit my feelings, but sweetheart, I’ve never been more sure of anything in all of my life.”

A single tear that made its way down your cheek. One that Dean caught, and wiped away with the gentle movement of his thumb over your cheek. 

“I love you too, I’m yours, I always have been, always will be.”

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

Tag List: 

@deanwanddamons​​ @imabitch4jensen​​ @rvgrsbrns​​ @bi-danvers0​​ @onethirstyunicorn​​ @i-love-superhero​​ @akshi8278​ @alanegaming​

[prettyboy-parker]

starker: the omega in the window

warnings: nff at the end, little bit of stucky, omegas are bought

“Steve, man, shut the fuck up.”

The table roars with laughter, except for Steve, who turns beet red.

“Sam, I swear to God. I’m just excited.”

Sam chuckles softly and shakes his head.

“I’m just teasing. But seriously, if I hear Buckyone more time, I’m going to snap.” He warns, clapping the blonde on the back. Tony smiles and looks down at his almost rock-hard pizza. All this past week, Steve’s only been talking about the omega his parents bought him from one of the private schools, a tiny brunette named Bucky. Some of the group has their doubts, like Clint, who swears everything Steve is saying is a lie. His main argument is that the omega is moving in ‘a week’,which is a ‘lame coverup.’

Tony’s happy for Steve, he really is, but it sucks that he wasn’t the first one to get an omega. His parents insist he needs to meet an omega before they buy him, which is ridiculous, because no one actually does that.

“You wanna come get Bucky’s collar with me after school, Tony?” Steve asks.

“Yeah, sure.” The other Alpha mutters, taking a sip of his apple juice.

Steve shoots him a thumbs up.

🌼🌼

“Do you even know where this place is?”

Steve smiles as they walk down the crowded streets of New York, blue eyes flicking around as he searches for Poppy Petals Omega Boutique.

“Yes. Maybe.” Steve replies and Tony rolls his eyes. There’s a light lavender awning a few stores away, and Tony could guess that’s where they need to be. They walk fast, faster than usual, but slow down when the sign comes into view. And holy shit,his heart stops when they reach the window.

There’s an omega in the window, sleeping on the luxury cream loveseat. He’s snuggled under the fluffy white blanket, lips parted as he naps. His face is gorgeous and peaceful, small freckles dotting his nose, glitter sweeping his plump cheeks. Even sleeping his hair is perfect, almond curls splayed on the pillow.

“Steve,” Tony croaks, eyes not leaving the window. The blonde stops next to him, humming in response. The omega opens his eyes, big whiskey colored orbs glinting with amusement. He smiles softly, sitting up and stretching his arms out in front of him. His white sweater slips down his shoulder, exposing the creamy pale skin underneath.

“Close your mouth, you’ll catch flies.” Steve jokes, Tony’s brain trying to think of a witty comeback. The other alpha is already opening the front door, and Tony rushes after him.

The bell chimes on the door, and the inside smells so good, like vanilla and honey. An young-ish woman stands behind the cream wooden counter, thick glasses perched on her nose.

“Hi, how are you?” She asks, turning her attention back to the book in her hands. Steve looks uncomfortable, hands tucked into the pockets of his school issued slacks.

“Um, I need a collar for my new omega?” He asks, the woman not tearing her eyes away from her book.

“I can help!”

The voice is the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. The omega from the window is standing between two displays, smiling wide. Tony’s awestruck, eyes dragging over his milky bare thighs.

“You’re gorgeous,” Tony says before Steve can ask anymore questions. The boy flushes beautifully, bashfully looking at the floor. The woman at the counter pulls Steve to one of the corners of the store, thank god, so he can revel in the omega a little bit longer.

“Thank you, Mr. Stark.” The omega purrs, tucking a soft curl behind his ear.

“Call me Tony, honey,” The alpha responds suavely, finally snapping out of his trance to get his charming, sweet talking personality back. The omega giggles and bounces on his bare feet.

“Hi, Tony!” He chirps, and wraps his arms around the older’s torso. It’s so omegan, hugging instead of a handshake as a greeting. Tony hugs back, and his skin is so soft, he could pet the boy forever.

“I’m Peter!” He giggles when he pulls away, practically vibrating with excitement. Tony yearns to get his hands on that skin again.

“Gorgeous name for a gorgeous omega, I say.” He quips with a wink, squeezing Peter’s bicep gently. The younger lets out a breathy little giggle, nuzzling against the lapel of Tony’s school blazer.

“You think I’m pretty?” He asks softly, eyes wide in disbelief.

“The prettiest I’ve ever seen, Jesus,” Tony, growls licking his dry lips because he’s got an armful of precious omega. Peter hums happily, keening at the praise.

“The sisters at the Pine say all omegas are pretty.” He lilts, and oh, that’s the- that’s the best omega private school in the state. Hell, even the east coast.

“Pine Hill?” Tony repeats as Peter runs his finger over the embroidered Anthonyon his breast pocket.

“Mhm! We get a time back home before visiting week.”

Tony open and closes his mouth a few times.

“Like, where the alphas come and pick an omega?” He confirms, and Peter nods excitedly, then widens his eyes.

“Wait, do you-“ Peter tries to form his words, “Do you want to come?”

“I’ll see if I’m free.”

Peter gasps and bounces up and down.

“Are you serious? I’ve never had an alpha come for me before!”He shouts, squeezing Tony tight. For a split second, the alpha thinks he’s gotten himself in to deep. But, he really wants an omega, and his parents will be proud, and Steve can’t be better than him.

“Yeah. I’ll talk to my parents, okay?”

“Yes! Okay! Aunt May! Guess what?”

🌼🌼

It’s relatively easy to find information on Peter.

With a little digging, he finds the school’s yearbook from the previous year, little Peter Parker with his gorgeous smile and perfect makeup on page 23. May Parker, his aunt, owns the Poppy Petals Omega Boutique, Peter sitting in the window whenever he’s home from school.

He decides to break the news over dinner.

“Mom? Dad?”

Maria and Howard look up from their fettuccine alfredo.

“I, um,” Tony has to cough and clear his throat, “I found an omega.”

Howard raises his eyebrows, almost approvingly. “And?”

“Yeah, well, his name’s Peter. Peter Parker. He goes to Pine Hill.”

His mother inhales sharply. Money’s never a problem for them, it won’t make a dent in their bank account, but probably the fact that Tony even knows what Saint Monica’s is caused the reaction.

“Pine Hill? He must be one of the best trained omegas out there.” She inclines, stabbing at her noodles. Tony nods, Howard still staying silent. “And where did you meet him?”

“I went with Steve to pick up something from that boutique in the city. He was there in the window,” Tony has to pause to take a breath. “God, mom, he’s beautiful.”

Maria smiles softly and Howard looks impressed.

“And visitation week is soon, I presume?” His mother presses. She always needs to know what’s going on and every little detail.

“Yeah, next Monday. The website says we need to call in and schedule an appointment if we have a specific omega in mind.” Tony tells her, pushing his noodles around impatiently. “I can call, if you want.”

“That would be very responsible of you, Anthony.” His father says, and Tony almost shoots him a glare, but remembers that he’s the one that’s going to pay thousands of dollars for his omega.

For Tony, dinner goes by way too slowly. He’s bursting with excitement when his parents dismiss him from the table, scrambling upstairs to his phone. He dials the school’s number, and a woman picks up immediately.

“Pine Hill School for Omegas, this is Abigail. How may I help you?”

“Hi, um, I was looking to meet an omega, possibly take him home?”

“Of course!” She chirps, and Tony leans back in his desk chair. “Do you want us to pair you up with an omega, or do you have one in mind?”

“I was interested in Peter Parker?” He says, and deep down inside he can’t believe this conversation is actually happening.

“Oh, yes! He’s a sweetheart. Is there a day next week which would be best for you?”

“Yeah, I don’t have football practice on Wednesday. That would be best.”Tony tells her, flipping a pen absentmindedly.

“That’s perfect. We have a spot open for 3:15. Will that work?”

“Sounds great.”

“You’re legal guardians will have to attend as well. Can I have a name for the appointment?”

“Tony Stark.”

There’s a silence from the receptionist.

“Mr. Stark, I had no idea. I’ll be seeing you Wednesday!”

“Yup. Thanks so much.”

“Have a nice day!”

He hangs the phone up, lets out a sigh, and smiles.

🌼🌼

“Mom, do I look okay?”

Maria rolls her eyes, squeezing Tony’s shoulder gently. The alpha continues to fiddle with his hair, looking at the reflection on the car window.

“You look wonderful, Anthony. He’ll love you.” She coos, swatting his hand away from his hand. Tony takes a deep breath and turns to the school.

It’s beautiful, really. Built in the late 1800’s, the school has two large towers and a rustic feel from the worn walls. The landscaping is a contrast to the building, greens and purples and blues around the front and down the path. Pine Hill School for Omegas is written above the huge double doors, the gold plated letters glinting in the April sun.

“Come on, we’ll be late.” His father huffs, gravel crunching under his shined Oxfords. His mother grabs Howard’s arm to steady herself, black heels not intended for walking on the small pebbles.  Tony trails behind them, smoothing out his navy dress shirt. There’s more people than he would expect on a normal school day, alphas of all types getting out of their cars and heading inside.

The main lobby is cool, with tall windows and even bigger ceilings. There’s a giant, glittering, gold chandelier hanging over the white marble floors. There’s a receptionist desk to the right, and Tony’s parents wait beside the doors as he checks in.

“Hi, Mr. Stark!” The receptionist greets cheerily. The metal name tag on her desk reads Abigail Walter, the lady he spoke with on the phone. “You’re just in time. Peter and our Head of Affairs are ready to see you.”

“Thank you, Ms. Walter.” He responds with a impatient smile.

“Conference Room 15. Just keep going down this main hall, and it’s on the right.”

Tony flashes another smile and heads to his parents.

“Come on, mom!” Tony laughs, resisting the urge to sprint down the fucking hall to meet his omega. Maria smiles her warm smile, adjusting her blouse and following Tony. They locate Conference Room 15 pretty easily, and the door’s open, Tony’s breath catching in his throat because Peter is sitting at the side of the conference table.

“Tony! Tony!” He squeals, and Tony can’t help but smile wide, sitting down across from him. The omega is beaming, lips shiny with gloss. The woman from the store, May, sits next to him, lips drawn in a tight line. Another beta woman is at the head of the table, dark brown hair pulled into a low ponytail, bangs swept to the side.

“I’m Maria Hill, Head of Affairs at the school. We’ll be talking about how this all works, okay?”

The group spends the next hour going through stacks of paperwork. Peter doesn’t do anything, just sits there and sneaks glances of Tony. The alpha will wink when he meets Peter’s gaze, causing the little thing to flush prettily. There’s a lot of signing on dotted lines, and Tony’s pretty sure his signature has improved the most it ever has before. May agrees to letting Peter into the Stark family. Ms. Hill makes it clear that they can’t bar Peter from visiting his family or friends, which is perfectly understandable.

Truly, Tony will let him do anything his heart desires.

Ms. Hill asks the two to go get Peter’s luggage from his dorm, and the omega jumps up excitedly. It’s the first time Tony gets a glimpse of his school uniform, the top like his own but a pleated skirt on the bottom.

“Alpha, I can show you my dorm!” Peter exclaims, pulling Tony out of the office chair and into the main hallway.

“Peter, slow down!” The alpha chuckles as Peter rushes down the hall, to one of the sets of stairs in the corner. The boy giggles as Tony grips his waist, stopping them before the first set of stairs.

“You’re amazing,” He breathes, Peter pressed to his chest, staring at him lovingly.

“Can I have a kiss?” The omega asks quietly, so innocent and sweet Tony’s heart just melts. He laughs softly and presses his lips to Peter’s. He tastes like cake and cookies, and he’s so inexperienced it’s endearing.

“Mm, Alpha.” He purrs, nuzzling into Tony’s silk shirt.

“We have to get your stuff, baby.”

The pet name slips out so easily, and Peter likes it, if his wide smile says anything.

The omega babbles all the way up the stairs, and through the hallways, holding Tony’s hand as he winds his way through the dorm wing. The other omegas who are in the hall stare at them with jealousy. It pets Tony’s ego for sure, knowing that Peter’s the one who gets him.

They stop at room 237, a handmade sign reading Peter + Harley! in neon script under the worn numbers.

“We have a special knock.” Peter giggles, rapping his knuckles on the door in a rapid succession. The door swings open, a dark blonde omega standing inside.

“Pete, what-“ He stops mid-sentence when he catches a glimpse of Tony.

“Alpha, this is my best friend Harley! Harls, this is my alpha Tony!” Peter shares, pushing past Harley and pulling Tony into his dorm. It’s not terrible, not as big as Tony’s, but it doesn’t matter now.

“Peter, you didn’t tell me Tony fucking Stark was taking you home.” Harley snaps, collapsing on the wooden chair in front of his desk. Peter just giggles as he pushes Tony down onto the bed.

“I did! I said Tony, didn’t I?” He quips, pressing a kiss to Tony’s cheek as he hands him two duffle bags and a suitcase.

“There’s a million Tony’s.” Harley huffs as Peter shucks off his blazer.

“‘M gonna change, alpha, sit tight!” Peter giggles and fuck, he’s undressing down to his white lace panties. Tony has to lick his dry lips, because Peter is stunning, with miles of perfect skin and a tiny omega cock nestled in the lace.

“You’re staring,” Peter teases as he slips on a loose, white button up. It’s stylish, tied in the front with short sleeves. He pairs that with tiny white denim shorts, and he looks like a literal angel.

“How can I not?” Tony smiles as Peter kisses him softly. He hums happily, running his hands on the omega’s tiny waist.

“Save the sex for later, Peter.”

Peter pulls away quickly, face heated in embarrassment. Tony kisses his cheek and coos, slinging the two duffel bags over his shoulders.

“You’re so strong, Tony.” Peter purrs, eagerly peppering kisses onto the elder’s neck. The alpha just chuckles, holding his suitcase in one of his free hands.

“Bye Harley, ‘m gonna miss you.”

Peter squeezes Harley tight, reallytight, and the other omega grimaces.

“Keep in touch!” He squeaks, and Tony follows him out the door. The only sound in the hallway is the wheels of the suitcase on the burgundy carpet.

Peter asks a million questions a minute as Tony carries the case down the steps. It’s not even close to annoying, he answers every question to a T. He spots his parents and May standing in the lobby, making small talk.

“Are you ready, boys?” His mother asks sweetly, and Peter nods. He makes his way over to May, who holds him gently. Tony turns to his parents to give the two some privacy, May muttering something to her nephew.

“Take care of him.” May says to Tony, and he nods vigorously. He may be..a little intimidated by the older alpha and her hard stare. Peter takes Tony’s hand in his, nuzzling close into his arm.

“Alpha?” He asks softly as Tony’s parents shake May’s hand. Tony looks down at his boy, gazing into those wide honey eyes. “Are we going home?”

Tony laughs loudly and kisses those baby soft cheeks, causing Peter to squeal and giggle.

“We’re going to go out for dinner, how does that sound?” Howard speaks up, and Peter clasps his hands together happily.

Dinner is nice.

He orders Peter 3 different dishes, lobster, steak, and shrimp. He’s precious, eating the food with his thin fingers, practically moaning at each piece. The omega even took to nudging small pieces of steak at Tony’s lips, almost bursting into tears when Tony said he has his own food. Peter is thrilled when the waitress asks if they want desserts, and Maria encourages him to order as much as he wants. Peter teared up when Tony put his debit card in the check, expressing how he’s such a good alpha and I love you so much.

“Alpha?” Peter whispers in Tony’s ear during the car ride home, bellies full with expensive meals. “When we get home, can we- can you give me your knot?”

Tony has to bite his lip to keep from growling.

“Yeah baby,” He mutters against the shell of Peter’s ear. “You want my knot? You’ll get it, because you’re such a good boy.”

Tony licks up Peter’s neck, making the younger squirm. He smells delicious when he’s aroused, and Tony can see Howard’s hands tighten on the steering wheel as they pull in their driveway.

“Welcome home, baby boy.”

[holylulusworld]

It was right for a short time

Summary: It’s just wrong…but at the same time so good. But all the wrong things have their consequences.

Paring: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader, a stray cat (named kick-ass), Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson, Sharon Carter

Warnings: angst, pregnant reader, language, a bit of comforting, arguments

Wrong-Right Masterlist

“Great you are back, Y/N. How do you feel?” Sam asks and you eye him suspiciously.

“Why do you want to know? You were one of the people ignoring me after what happened at the wedding.”

“Listen, Steve is my best friend and I was mad as you cheated on him but now I know the whole situation was way more complicated. Cap is a bit…uh…crazy about you.”

“He’s a sick asshole!” You mutter.

“Wouldn’t call me like this, Baby but Sam is right, I’m crazy about you.” Steve chuckles entering the room Natasha prepared for you.

“Where is my cat? Have you seen her?” Worriedly letting your eyes wander you can’t see kick-ass anywhere.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. The little bitch ran out of the room this morning. I tried to find her but so far I had no luck.” Nat stammers seeing your pained expression.

“No! What if Bruce starts to hulk or Tony tries a new suit and stomps on her.” You sniff as your hormones are working on overload.

“Okay,” Steve says clapping his hands. “Sam you and Nat take this floor. I’ll call Wanda to look on her floor Vision and Bruce can check the labs while Y/N and I will take the kitchen and the living room. Somewhere in here, we lost an important member of the team so we will make sure we find this little fur ball.”

Stunned you look at Steve, but he simply shrugs. “She is important to you, so she’s important to me. Let’s start searching for her. If anyone finds her, call me and tell me where to pick her up.”

“Aye, Aye, Captain!” Natasha chuckles leaving the room.

“We need to find her, Steve. I have to give her the meds in my purse.”

“Meds?”

“She got hurt pretty bad, I told you so. These are her antibiotics.”

“Is that the reason you took your purse with you?”

“Hmm…partially. For the meds and the phone to blow up my house.”

“We should better hurry then.”

-----

Leaving the living room without success you are close to tears. You can’t let your furry friend down. Your only hope is the kitchen of the headquarter. Maybe she got hungry and ran in there?

Steve is leading you to the kitchen while his eyes are glued to your swollen belly. Barely recognizing anything else his eyes snap upward when you start squealing.

“Kick-ass!” You call out.

“Yeah, she’s here for a while, doll. Shared my breakfast with the rotten stinker. Look at her, she likes me, just like her mommy.” Bucky chuckles watching the cat lapping at his metal arm.

“Eek…kick-ass don’t lick at him. You don’t know where he had his hands before.” You say carefully patting your cats head.

“You could’ve called me, Buck. We were looking for the furry beast for over an hour by now.” Steve mutters.

“I didn’t know you were looking for the little bastard. Look at her neck, I let Tony made her a cat collar with GPS, so you can find her anywhere in the tower.” Bucky states proudly and your eyes widen.

“You did?”

“Uh, well…I tried to bring some stuff into your room and while I was carrying something into your bedroom this asshole ran out of the room. I was chasing her the whole morning till I finally got hold of her in the kitchen. We shared breakfast as we were both hungry as hell.”

“You let her escape?”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I called Tony and he made this nice collar for her. No more running away.”

“Do you want to put one around my neck too?” You ask and Bucky’s eyes widen.

“I’m not into this whole degrading stuff. I mean I’m a bit dominant in the bedroom, but I don’t like to…ya know…”

“I meant this way I can’t run away you pervert!”

“That’s one great idea, doll. Stevie make a mental note, I need to ask Tony to make us a ring or something to make sure our girl doesn’t get lost in this large building.”

“Asshole!”

“Doll!”

“Guys!”

“What Captain Grumpy?” You mutter.

“Can we not fight about stupid things? We should talk about the future, the babies and how to protect you and our children from Hydra.”

“You’re right…”

“Did she just agree with you Stevie or did I mishear?” Bucky teases but you do not react. Your stomach starts rumbling and you lick your lips seeing the pancakes on his plate.

“Hungry? You can have mine, here.” Bucky says shoving the plate toward your side of the counter. “Eat, they are still warm.”

“Smells good.”

“Buck is good in cooking and stuff. You wouldn’t believe it looking at the long-haired punk.”

“I know he’s good at cooking, Cap. When we used to be a thing, I mean at the times we were better, he made me some food. This was before he lost interest and turned his attention toward other women.”

“Doll?”

“It’s true, James. I refused to have sex with you after three dates and you stopped being nice. You never even called me again. After months you stood in front of my door, drunk and beaten. I had to call Steve as you were babbling stupid things like you only love me.”

“I meant it back then, and I mean it now,” James whispers.

“That’s the reason you were gone three days later?”

“I was gone as I wasn’t good enough for you.”

“But you came back. Forced your way into my life.”

“It wasn’t all bad…”

“No, it wasn’t James. It was right for a while until you decided you had what you wanted and left once again. My mom told me to never let you in again after you took my innocence that night.”

“You took it?” Steve gasps.

“The next day I had to go on a mission, Y/N. It was not my decision. I didn’t want to leave but it was important and top secret. I couldn’t tell you anything.”

“You could’ve said goodbye or told me you will come back, James.”

“I know, doll…fuck I know. When I came back after over four months I saw you sitting in the café with Nat. You looked happy, carefree and so fucking beautiful. I needed to win you over again.”

“And you did but then you left me again. This time it was not for a mission. For over eight years you came into my life and left me alone; over and over again. Every time you came around I knew you would leave. The first years I always hoped you would stay but later I was relieved when you were gone as I had some time to recover, to cope with the aftermath of your presence.”

“Did he hurt you?” Steve asks angrily clenching his jaw.

“Not physically, Steve. I mean he spanked me or stuff, but I wanted him to do so. It was the emotional hurting I couldn’t bear. Every look he gave another woman made my stomach drop as I knew he would go after her and leave me. James was always into breaking up with me so he’s not a cheater…”

“Damn you make me sound like an asshole, doll.”

“You are an asshole! I gave you my virginity and you just left. No even a kiss goodbye.”

“Doll, I’m sorry. I really am but I had my reason. I was just not good for you and so I left but at the same time, I couldn’t stay away. You’re like a drug I’m addicted to.”

“Sure.” You mutter starting to stuff the pancakes into your mouth.

“Whew…and I thought I messed up.” Steve says sitting at the counter.

“You messed things up too, Rogers. Don’t believe you are better than this punk over there.”

“Damn she’s pissed and still so sexy. Do you love it too? I mean when she yells and mutters it goes straight to my little Bucky.”

“You goddamn pervert! Can you think with your upstairs brain for one minute? We are in a beyond messed up situation. I’m pregnant of both of you while Hydra tries to get hold of my babies. I really got no time to discuss your needs. If you need a good fuck call, Claire, same goes for you. Call Sharon, she should know by now it was me sending her the messages.”

“Baby, we only want you and we will prove it to you. Right, Stevie?”

“Right. Now let’s make a plan. The building is safe but as we know by now at least one Hydra agent, your therapist, made it behind safe lines. Tony and I decided to restrict access to our private rooms. The floors with our rooms will only be accessible with special key cards, and only the Avengers will get one, and you of course. Maybe kick-ass gets one too.”

“You think someone might be already lurking somewhere in the tower?” You ask looking worriedly at Steve.

“We don’t know anything, Y/N but Tony wants to make sure you are safe. He messed up with the therapist and feels guilty.”

“That wasn’t Tony’s fault, Steve. He only tried to help me.”

“Next thing…your room is too small for all of us and it’s in an area which can be accessed by only one way. We need an emergency exit, just in case.”

“Why is my room too small for me and kick-ass?”

“Not just for her and you…Bucky and I will guard you from now on. One of us will sleep in your room to make sure you are safe.” Steve explains and you ball your hands to fists.

“No way! I will not allow this pervert to sleep in my bed.”

“Not in your bed, Y/N but I appreciate the offer. That’s the reason we need a bigger room, or rather one of the penthouse suite’s Tony keeps under his thumb.” Bucky says.

“Can this day become more miserable?” You whine resting your head onto the counter.

“It’s for your safety, Y/N. We swear we will not cross a line. Bucky will act completely professional, just like me.”

“Can’t Nat sleep in my room?”

“Please believe is we are doing this to protect you and our babies. Natasha is a hell of a fighter but she’s not Steve or me. Let us be there for you, for once in our life.”

“Fine. But if you or Captain Pervert tries anything I’m going to move into Natasha’s room.”

“Great…uh…so can we show you the room we prepared? Honestly, I didn’t bring something to your room, I was grabbing your stuff to move it into the other room.”

“Lies again, James. Seriously?”

“This was the last one, I swear. Did I mention you look pretty today?” Bucky tries and you roll your eyes.

“Compliments won’t work. Show me the room.”

“Follow me and don’t forget your cat.”

----

Walking behind Steve you ignore the looks Bucky gives you. Distracted by your cat pawing at your shirt you don’t see Sharon standing in the hallway. Her smile is sweet but her eyes, well if looks could kill Bucky would be dead by now.

“Can we talk, Stevie?” She says sweetly and you want to vomit.

“I got no time now Sharon, I have to check a room for Y/N.”

"The crazy chick kidnapping you and sending me these obscene messages. Seriously? Where is the little slut?” Sharon mutters not seeing you standing behind the tall Avenger.

“Uh, Sharon if I were you…” Bucky tries but she cuts him off.

“No one asked you for your opinion, Barnes. You and your sick obsession with the boring, crazy girl. You two are a perfect match. Leave Steve out of this sick game.” She spats now.

“Sharon…” Bucky tries once.

“Shut up! I got to talk with Steve about our relationship. We were so close to getting happy but then this insane chick disturbed our luck. Now she’s gone we can get happy, Stevie.”

“Oh, you didn’t hear she’s back?”

“What? Don’t lie Barnes!”

“Obviously you are not good at your job.”

Glaring at Bucky her eyes darken and she starts clenching her jaw. “That little slut better stays away from my man.”

“I’m trying…I’m really trying, but obviously not just Bucky is obsessed with me and my babies.” You chuckle walking past Steve to give her a wink.

Face pale, lips formed to a thin line she just stares at you, or rather at your baby bump. When her eyes meet Steve’s she knows it’s his baby.

“You are the father of her baby?” She yells.

“Not just Stevie. We are damn good, Sharon. Knocked her both up with our super soldier sperm. If you excuse us now we want to check our new room. Steve will be busy helping the mother of this child getting comfortable.” Bucky says and for the first time, you want to hug him.

----

“Sharon was beyond pissed.” Bucky chuckles opening the door with his keycard.

“What do you think?” Steve asks.

“I think James is right, Sharon was pissed and I was wrong. She’s a bitch, just like Claire.”

“Honestly I meant the penthouse.”

Letting your eyes wander you smile. The penthouse is huge, everything looks warm and cozy. There are huge windows so you can see the skyline.

“Why is the bed so big?”

“Tony likes it comfortable.” Steve lies.

“The bed looks like it’s brand-new, Rogers.” You say pointing a finger at the huge bed.

“Sue me…I thought we could…I mean…I want to sleep with you in the bed, along with Bucky. We want to be with you and that’s the reason there’s a huge bed. I want to feel my babies and you every night.”

“No way, Steve. You promised to give me space and time.”

“I know and we will do so, promised but give it a thought. I will never hurt you again. I love you and Buck is the same.”

“Steve…”

“Just give it a thought, Y/N. For now, one of us will sleep in the room over there. I’ll take the first shift as Bucky will help Tony with the interrogation of the therapist.”

“Will you hurt her?”

“Not if I don’t have to, Y/N but she’s the only lead to Hydra. Maybe she even knows about more moles within the headquarter.”

“You think they will try again to get hold of me?”

“You are pregnant with our babies, doll. They lost me and the others. I guess Hydra would do anything to get hold of you.”

“Then I will stay here…with one of you. I can’t let them get my babies.”

----

“Here’s Agent Carter. I thought about your offer and I want more than money and a position in your organization. I can tell you where to find Y/N Y/L/N. I also can help you get hold of her but I got two conditions. Firstly, as soon as the babies are born you will kill her and the other condition…I want Steve Rogers on my own.” Sharon says glancing at you and Steve talking outside the penthouse.

“You will get anything you want, Agent Carter.” The voice says.

“Then you’ve got yourself a deal. Give me a week and she’s all yours.”

 Marvel Tags

@stuckys-whore, @notyourtypicalrose, @voltage-my2dlove

Wrong-Right Tags

@allonszassbutt, @joe-mazzello-is-my-dad, @gracethegeek9902, @geekysimmerthings

All Works Tags

@meganywinchester, @shikshinkwon, @idioticsky

[sgtjaamesbaarnes]

Caught in the Crossfire [Chapter 1]

Pairing: Detective!Bucky x Mobster!Reader

Summary: Throughout his life, Bucky was always certain of three things; Steve would always have his back, never miss Sunday dinner, and live by the law, at all costs. Until he meets a girl with Louboutin’s and a berretta on her thigh. Will he be able to ignore who she really is? Or will be lose the girl that shows him what it means to truly live?

Word count: 1.8k

Warning: language, violence, sexual and adult themes, 18+

A/N: I’m excited about writing my first series on here. Please don’t forget to comment and reblog to give me feedback. 

The swing shift is never easy, especially on a Friday night. Bucky usually sat behind the wheel of his patrol car flipping through files of upcoming court cases he needed to attend the following week. A possession charge, two illegal open carries and a domestic dispute. All easy enough, but rereading his reports would help refresh the details he would need to recall once he got on the witness stand.

He rubbed his eyes as he looked at the clock, nearly hitting midnight. Only thirty minutes left until he was off for the weekend. That was, unless his best friend and Captain Steve Rogers called him in on a new case.

Bucky reread over the possession charge before he turned the vehicle back on and drove back to the precinct. Walking into the station he noticed things were relatively quiet which wasn’t unusual for this time of night. Things didn’t tend to pick up until about two or three in the morning in Brooklyn.

He threw his folders down on his desk, causing Sam, his fellow detective and more often than not, partner, to jump from the sudden noise.

“Wake up, Sunshine. Don’t get your drool near my stuff.” He kept his eyes on the files as he put them away in his locked desk.

“Oh ha ha. How was the drive this evening Mr. ADHD? See anything good?” Sam lifts his head and rubs his eyes.

“Not unless you call an already drunken bachelorette party and entire frat house of drunken idiots interesting, then no.” He grabbed his jacket off the chair as he stood up.

“Yes that is exactly what I find interesting. You can use the whole cop thing to your advantage on drunk bachelorette parties. They eat that shit up.” Sam chuckles and shakes his head. “Sometimes I don’t know what’s wrong with you man.”

“You know that’s not my style. I don’t do trashy drunk girls.”

“ I wouldn’t know. It’s been what, three years since you’ve brought a girl around here.” Sam teased him.

“Goodbye, Samuel.” Bucky smirked as he turned to leave.

“Yeah yeah, I’ll see you at Sunday dinner. Don’t forget to bring your side this time.” Bucky smiled to himself and waved to his coworker without turning to look at him. A drink. Bucky needed a drink.

He took the subway from the station to the bar by his apartment. It wasn’t a long ride, but enough for a week’s worth of barely enough sleep to catch up to him. Stepping out of the subway, the man made his way to the small bar. There was nothing inherently special about it, but it reminded him of the bar his father used to take him to after he graduated from the academy.

“Old Fashioned please.” He ordered as he sat down in front of the large television that replayed the sports highlights of the day.

“Long day, Sarge?” Stan, the old, greying man asked behind the counter.

“Not too bad, just need to unwind before the day is over.” He smiled at the man. He was always charming and seemed to remember every detail about the patrons in his bar, no matter how short the amount of time it was since they had first walked into the door.

“One Old Fashioned for the gentleman in blue.” He smiled and headed him the drink with a napkin and Bucky nodded in thanks.

Things were calm. The noise from the speakers was the perfect volume as a softer tune played from it. He took his time sipping on the bitter drink, savoring the burn as it went down his throat.

There was a couple that sat in the back booth, cuddled next to each other, both sipping on their beers. Three buddies, all wearing trucker hats, sat at the table by the juke box, laughing with the occasional arm wrapping around another. The pool table was surrounded by a crowd of young men that looked barely old enough to be there. Bucky kept his eyes on them.

They were all dressed in khakis with polo shirts, a tall tell sign that they were of upper middle class. Three wore hats, two had sunglasses hanging from their collars and one had too much hair gel for his own good. The detective chuckled to himself, remembering a time when him, Steve, Sam and Tony tried to leave the house looking like that. Thank god they had Natasha to give them at least a little fashion advice.

They were louder than the others which was to be expected. Young men in their early twenties tend to feed off the energy of those around then, and with this crowd, their night was only just beginning. Cheers and groans could be heard periodically as their game went on, it was obvious that Mr. Hair Gel was winning like he had expected too.

“That’s what I’m talking about. I told you I was the King!” The young man puffed out his chest and cheered for himself.

“Yeah, if you count cheating then you are.” One of the lesser looking men mumbled a little too loudly.

“What did you just say?” Mr. Hair Gel walked to the other side of the table to intimidate him.

“I said you cheated.” Not backing down, the smaller of the two men tried not to show fear.

“And how would I have cheated?”

“You always cheat, Chad.” Of course, his name was Chad.

“Right. Like you would know shit about me. Or is it one of your wet dreams to follow me everywhere?” Mr. Hair Gel, now known as Chad, started to get in the man’s face.

“What? No… all I’m saying is that it’d be nice for someone else to get a chance for once.” The other man finally looked away. Bad move.

“Why would I let anyone else win? This is my world after all. I’m making it that way.” He smirked as he noticed the young woman walking from the back of the bar.

“Speaking of.” He reached out and grabbed her arm. “Hey there sexy.”

The young woman looked him up and down before pulling her arm away from him.

“I don’t think so.” Chad didn’t take too kindly to that.

“Don’t walk away from me.” He grabbed her arm again as Bucky moved to stand up.

“Wait a minute, give her a chance.” Stan smiled at the young lady and Bucky sat back down.

The young woman raised a brow at the young man before grabbing his arm and twisting it with ease. Chad yelped out in pain as she yanked and pulled him towards her then put her hand on his crotch, giving a little squeeze.

“I’m sorry, did I owe you something?” She narrowed her eyes at him as he let out a small whimper.

“No ma’am.”

“What was that?” She squeezed harder.

“NO MA’AM.” He said loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Good. So, you better keep your hands off things that aren’t yours.” She kept her eyes on the young man.

“Now you may want to intervene. She may not let go of him without force.” Stan commented before going back to wiping out the freshly cleaned glasses.

Bucky stood up and moved towards the group, looking at the young men surrounding the scene.

“I suggest everyone call it a night.” He stood over the group, showing his obvious dominance. All the young men other than Chad took off out of the bar, grabbing their things and stumbling over the chairs that they had messed up to begin with. The young woman stood there with Chad still in her hands, keeping perfect eye contact and remaining silent. Bucky walked up to her.

“Ma’am, I think he’s learned his lesson.” His voice was calm and even, showing no threat to her.  She flickered her eyes to him then back to Chad.

“Have you learned your lesson?” She narrowed her eyes.

“Yes, fuck, just let me go.” The frat boy pleaded with her. She finally dropped her hand and stepped back from him.

“Not as much of a man as you thought, are you?” She teased with a smirk as Chad rushed past her.

“Crazy bitch…” He mumbled under his breath and before she could grab him again, Bucky had him by the collar of his shirt, pushing him out the back door and into the alley beside the bar. The young man’s back was thrown against the wall as Bucky got close to him.

“Let me make one thing painfully clear for you. If you ever, and I mean ever, use that tone or those words towards another woman again, I won’t hesitate to let her finish what she wanted to do to you. Am I clear?” All Chad could do was nod slowly back at him. Bucky let up on his grip and let the man fall back to the ground.

“Good. Now leave before I change my mind and let her do it just for the hell of it.”

The young man scrambled to his feet and ran as fast as he could out of the alley way and towards his friends. Bucky turned his head to see the young woman standing in the doorway.

“I apologize for intervening. I wasn’t really in the mood to break up a bigger fight tonight.” She kept her eyes on him as she remained silent. He nodded to her.

“Again, I apologize.” He moved towards her to make his way back into the bar before her hand appeared on his chest and he looked down, seeing they’re closer than he had anticipated. Before he could process what happened, her lips are on his pulling him into a bruising kiss.

He slid his hands up her sides as he backed her against the wall and she moaned against his lips, pulling on the back of his neck to force him deeper into the kiss. His leg instinctively moved between hers to force them apart slightly, but still gave her the upper hand if she wanted to stop. With no objection from her, he kept his lips on hers.

“Why don’t we take this somewhere other than a back alley?” He moaned, moving his lips to her neck. She let out a small chuckle.

“Now what kind of a girl do you think I am?” Bucky smirked against her neck.

“I don’t know, doll. But I think I’d like to find out.” She took that moment to push him away with a devilish smile.

“Oh, I’m not so sure about that. You have a good night… Sarge.” She took a few steps back, and disappeared into the night of New York City, leaving his hair disheveled and his heart pounding fast.

[i4z-0892-il]

Back in the Game

Summary: You were a Hunter once upon a time, but you’d left that life behind. But when the past comes back and knocks on your door, what’s a girl to do?

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word count: 3077

Warnings: Language

A/N: I live for feedback, comments and reblogs!

If you like my work consider buying me a Coffee, or leave me some Feedback!

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Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

What is normal? For most people it’s going to work, meeting with friends, going home, maybe binge watching that new show in Netflix that everyone in the office keeps raving about. “Oh my god, you’ll love it, there’s this twist at the end- and you just have to watch it!”

For others it’s hyper focusing on the things that make them tick:

“The faucet was leaking this morning. Again.”

“Do you know what my Mother said to me last night?”

“I just don’t know if I can keep doing this. He said it’d never happen again, but here we are again.”

Normalcy is something that’s determined by the person living it. Normalcy is supposed to be cookie-cutter houses in suburbia, with 2.5 kids, a steady 9-5 job with an honest income and absolutely no monsters. No fear of the dark, no paranoia about what was really lurking in the shadows or waiting to jump out at you from around the corner. It was going to the park and enjoying a nice day, it was stopping at the farmers market to pick up some fresh local produce. It was anything but the nightmare your entire life had been. And you had gotten so weary and sick of it that you couldn’t will yourself to keep fighting anymore. The battle never stopped, there was always something else somewhere else and someone else that needed saving. You could no longer justify why it had to be you.

It was something you’d rolled around in your head- an Apple Pie Life. Something that started as just a silly thought. Something that was less consideration than it was a passing fantasy. It was nestled in the back of your head, until enough time had passed that it was a blaring horn at the forefront of your mind on a near constant basis. It wasn’t like you’d planned for it to happen, it just sort of did, and then you couldn’t shake it.

The longer it floated around in your head the more disdain you had for the Hunting life. There were parts of it you stayed for, as long as you could. But after a while you couldn’t ignore it, after a while you couldn’t bring yourself to pretend like there was nothing wrong anymore.

Leaving that life was a dream that most hunters had- except for the really disturbed or the ones who’d simply accepted it to be their fates. But leaving it, actually leaving it behind, giving it up for good was another story entirely. It was a decision that was more difficult to make than you’d ever anticipated, and one that was met with more heartache than you’d hoped. It’d been years but you could still hear his voice ringing clear in your mind like you’d just left.

“How can you be so selfish?”

“Selfish? Selfish to want a life outside of this nightmare? Selfish because I want to live?”

“Yes!” He yelled, the fury lighting his emerald eyes on fire. He didn’t even know what he was saying. When he got like this the anger took over and clouded his judgment. He just didn’t want you to leave. That was the long and short of it. He’d lost enough people he couldn’t stand to lose you too.

“No, Dean it’s not! You can come with me.” You pleaded, begged, gripping the collar of his shirt trying to force some sense into him. “We can both go, and make a life together.”

“I can’t do that, and neither can you!” He argued, shrugging out of your grasp, recoiling as if he was disgusted by the notion. “How can you even think that’s an option? There’s always going to be something out there that needs to be put down Y/n!”

“Exactly! There’s always going to be something, but it doesn’t have to be us! There are other hunters and we can’t save everybody.”

“We have to try!” He was yelling at you now, practically screaming, invading your space and making himself bigger, more imposing. You knew it was because he was afraid, he was always angry when he was afraid.

“It’s not our responsibility to save everyone!” You were yelling back, getting right back in his face. He was nearly a foot taller than you but you weren’t one to back down, and you weren’t going to be intimidated into staying. You were yelling because you were furious, and you were furious because you were scared too. And you always got angry when you were scared, you’d never figured out how to handle that feeling.

“It is! It is our responsibility-”

“Why? Why, Dean? Because you’re the only one who can do it? Because the Winchester’s are the only ones out there risking their asses to keep people safe? There are other hunters and there will always be other hunters. And there will always be people we can’t save and I can’t do this anymore!” You screamed, and he shut up. Patience ran its course and you had none left to spare, not even for him. Not even when you saw that broken look on his face, a look that ripped your heart to shreds. You’d gone into this hoping to have a discussion, hoping to just talk to him, maybe he’d come with you. You should have known better. Dean was just as pig-headed and stubborn as you were and he was so attached to this life he could scarcely envision himself doing anything else. He’d always thought it’d be Sam and Him with you at this side til the end, whatever that end might be. “I just can’t live like this anymore…”

He’d known that you were dissatisfied with your life for a long while, never once had he considered you’d actually pull the ripcord and leave. It hurt beyond measure that you’d do it, that you’d walk out of his life. It meant he might never see you again, and he had hoped that what the two of you had built together in those dingy hotel rooms and in his car that it would be enough. That he would be enough for you. But there you were- telling him that he wasn’t. That he wouldn’t cut it for you. That he couldn’t make you happy.

“So that’s it then? You’re just going to pack up and leave, pretend like nothing’s out there? Pretend like you don’t know what’s in the dark?”

“I have to try, I want a life Dean.”

“You have a life! You have one here! With me-” He cut himself off, his voice wavering, fearing he’d crack if he finished his sentence. Of two things he’d been sure:

One. He’d save as many people as he could, kill as many evil sons of bitches as he could and he’d go down swinging.

And two. That you were content with him, that he made you as happy as you did him. Now you were telling him that he was dead wrong, and he wasn’t sure if he could handle hearing it.

“I’m sorry…” You said. That was that, there was no convincing him to go, he’d made it clear he was staying. For him the job would never end, for him there was still too much work to do. For him this was it, he was a hunter, and he’d resigned himself to the life, even if it claimed him. “I can’t stay. I can’t stay and watch you die, and get hurt. I can’t stay and be hurt. I want- I need more than this. The nightmare has to end.”

“Fine. Go.” He snapped with a sneer and a chuckle. He wouldn’t say it outright, but the implication was clear. You didn’t care about him, and you might never have. Shaking your head and clenching your jaw you pointed a finger at him accusingly.

“Don’t you do that to me. Don’t you dare, I love you. I don’t want to leave you, I want to leave all of this!” You defended, waving your hand around you. An arsenal splayed out over the bed where you made love. A gun under the pillow where you should have slept peacefully. Salt at every door and every window where there should have been none. A hotel room that should have been a place to go when you were on a vacation, or away from home it wasn’t supposed to be your home. Guns, machetes, holy water, wooden stakes in the trunk where there should have been tools and sports equipment, anything but what was in it. A car that served as shelter just as much as transportation. And every night some new nightmare waiting for you, never knowing if you’d live to see another day. And if you were lucky enough to survive you’d drink your pain. It was torture. And he couldn’t- he wouldn’t listen to what you were saying. You were hurting him, and that was all he could see. You didn’t just want away from hunting, you wanted away from him.

“You want to go so fucking badly- so fucking go!” He shouted pointing to the door. There was malice in his eyes, he was going to hate you for this. He was going to find a way to hate you for it, because it would be the only way to move past it. And you were going to do the same.

“Fine.” You snipped yanking your bag over your shoulder, computer bag in hand, fingers lingering on the doorknob. Was this what you wanted? Once upon a time you’d wanted Dean Winchester more than anything in the world. He made you happy, held you through your night terrors. He drank with you, and sang with you. Stitched back the pieces of yourself, sometimes literally. He fucked away your pain, and kissed life back into you. There was no one else you wanted by your side, no one else you’d want watching your back. And because of him you had hope, because of him you wanted to live. And you wanted out because he showed you that there was happiness to be had, but this life would rob you of it every step of the way. Didn’t you deserve a fighting chance?

“If you walk out that door-” He started, stopping only when you turned to face him. Your face was blank, but the tears gathering in your eyes gave you away. You didn’t want to go, but it didn’t matter at that point, he wasn’t hearing you. Either you stayed and he’d continue to love you, or you’d leave and he would hate you. And he was going to give himself a reason to do it. “If you walk out that door, you’re throwing everything away. You don’t ever come back..”

You were supposed to drop your bags, and run back into his arms. You were supposed to kiss him like your life depended on it, and take it all back. You were supposed to stay. So when you silently shook your head, and opened the door his world fell apart.

“I’m so sorry.” You choked, closing the door behind you, not meeting his eyes again, because if you saw that one perfect tear roll down his cheek… it would ruin you. Like you’d ruined everything.

The first month was the hardest, the first weeks were torture, but the first days were something out of a nightmare. You’d never cried so much in your life, not through broken bones, not through stitches or pain. It was the grief of losing Dean that did it. It took everything you had not to call, telling yourself he wouldn’t answer even if you did. It might have been a lie, he might have answered, but you were too afraid of it going straight to voicemail, too afraid of him ignoring you to find out. He hated you, you’d given him one hell of a solid reason to hate you, and he told you that you couldn’t go back. And if Dean was anything he was a man of his word.

You’d made your choice. Now you had to live with it.

The thinking about him constantly was what drove you nuts, thinking about what he was doing. Worrying about how much he was drinking, if he was eating, or sleeping enough. Fretting over how careless he’d be on a hunt, knowing he’d throw himself into the job recklessly, because that’s how he dealt with anything unpleasant. The nights you truly loathed yourself for leaving you’d sob over old texts and voicemails, and wonder how you could have ever left him when he loved you so much. The urge to text or call or just send out a line of any kind but knowing that you couldn’t was gut wrenching every time you thought about it. Did he ever think of calling you? If he did you never knew, he never reached out to you. He wouldn’t. You left him there in that hotel, you walked out that door and left him there.

You’d thought about keeping in touch with Sam, but the temptation to ask about Dean would be ever present and that wasn’t fair to Sam. And it wasn’t fair to you. So you let him go too.

Eventually, after much wallowing in your own self-pity you began to find your footing. You were free to go anywhere, do anything, and be whoever you wanted. You had the option to choose where you wanted to start your life, your new life.

You chose Strasburg, Virginia. It was a small postage size stamped town, nothing but locals who’d grown up there and never left. It was quiet, and warm, and it was going to be home. You liked driving it’s long empty back roads through fields of corn, and apple orchards. You liked it’s humid summer nights filled with fireflies and crickets chirping. Your favorite thing was the Blue Ridge Mountains and driving along it’s expanse, seeing the fog roll in over the mountain tops, and the sun set in vibrant and beautiful colors behind them. Eventually it began to feel like home.

One of the more difficult parts was finding honest work, and then doing it. The monotony of the day in and day out was like a form of torture itself, but after a while the routine brought a sense of comfort, and though you never walked out of the bar with what you’d consider great tips, it did bring you a sense of satisfaction. No more fake ID’s, no more money laundering, no more credit card scams. You paid your bills like an honest civilian.

The hardest thing was letting go of old habits, you could take the girl out of hunting, but you couldn’t take the Hunter out of the girl. There was still salt around every entry point in your apartment for months. There was a pistol hidden under your pillow for longer than the salt, and you’d only managed to allow it to migrate to under your bed, not comfortable enough to let it live in a nightstand or a lock box, both just a hair too far from you for comfort. Ignoring the signs was like ignoring the need to eat, it was second nature and you almost couldn’t help it. More than once you’d had to talk yourself out of going to investigate disappearances on your own. It got to a point where you couldn’t even open a newspaper, preventing yourself from falling into the same old tricks. Someone else would do it, someone else would find it and take care of it. It wasn’t your responsibility anymore, this was what you wanted.

After a while, you weren’t even sure when it happened really, but it did, when he would flit through your mind you’d resent him. Truth was you had to, you had to dislike the idea of him, because the alternative was loving him and living without him. He just wouldn’t listen. He was the selfish one, not letting you go, not wanting you to live a life, an actual life. Not wanting to let you go on without him. How fucked up was it that he would force you to stay in that life, knowing that life would be the very thing to kill you both? Why couldn’t he just listen? Why couldn’t he go with you? If he’d had it his way you might have been dead already.

Then one day, sitting in a chair, a book in your lap, coffee in your hand, and that cool autumn breeze rolling through the window, you were content. Happy even. No monsters. No lore. No Apocalypse. No demons to fight, no problems to solve, no victims to save. Just your book to finish reading, coffee to finish drinking, and a warm, soft bed to sleep in. And it was all yours, it wasn’t much, but it was yours. It was a home, it was your home. With your mismatched dining set, and furniture with holes. It was yours. You’d even made nice with the neighbors, and a had a couple friends that you’d visit on occasion. It was unintentional but you kept them all at a distance, they asked too many questions, and you didn’t want to have to lie anymore. So you kept to yourself, coffee and books, content for four years.

It was Wednesday in November. There was an icy chill in the air between the spaces where the rain fell. The sky was gray and overcast and gave the morning that sleepy, stay in bed feel that only dreary days like it could give. Days like this made even the small task of getting out of bed a monumental chore, and you found yourself groaning every step of the way. It would feel like 8:30am all day, and you were prepared to settle in on your couch and binge watch something on Netflix, and you wanted try your hand at knitting one of those blankets where the yarn was as thick as your wrist, and the result looked like a dream come true. You started with coffee, an addiction you’d never be able to kick, not that you’d want to anyway.

The knock at your door startled you, nearly dropping the cup in your hand, not expecting visitors. Pulling the door open your breath caught in your throat as your eyes landed on a pair of familiar green ones.

“Dean…”

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[notforconsumption]

hi this is @runfive!! (from my main blog!) if you're still accepting prompts from the ask meme “Quiet Me” for sam and five or five and simon! (or whichever characters you feel like honestly haha)

Leave a “Quiet Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about one character trying to calm another down.

 This prompt with these characters has such potential but here I am, making it forlorn like I’m not completely predictable.

Edit: Spoilers! So many spoilers for Seasons 2 and 3.

Simon’s high laugh lasts until the fire-door slams shut behind him and then it falls apart into frantic, heaving coughs. There’s a wet rattle in his lungs that he can feel beneath the heave of his rasping that is blood, he thinks, definitely blood.

It could be more, bits of tissue or even bone from his shattered rib. He doesn’t know if that’s possible. Simon isn’t exactly a doctor and he doesn’t know quite where he’s hit, only that it’s hell riding it out and the process hasn’t even really started yet. 

Thought is chased away by the coughs shaking his ribcage until he feels like he’s falling apart, fallen, and all that will be left of him will be dust and the puddle of blood he’s making on the floor. 

Eventually, the fit passes. Or, rather, it doesn’t so much as pass as Simon’s body runs out of air to cough with. He takes what blessings he can and begins the climb up the fire escape stairwell. The fire-door is thick but not guaranteed to be soundproof. Simon needs to find somewhere out for the way for this next bit.

He leans heavily on the wall to keep upright and the rough concrete scrapes an atlas of grazes into his exposed skin. He leaves a dark trail smeared all the way up to the roof door but the important part is that he makes it there.  The bar keeping the building secure may be heavy and his feet leaden, and he’s pretty sure the pain is making him lose time, but he makes it. 

Up all six flights and out, out into the air where the cold tricks him into breathing and no one but the birds can hear him. 

Before, when he had so much to regrow and they didn’t know if it would work, Amelia had to be there. Now they do know. And this time it’s only a bullet wound.

Simon has come to hate eyes on him at the best of times and Amelia’s jabs are only fun on his good days when he can jab back. Days when he’s got more blood in him and fewer holes. He’s not keen on their new tag along being around for this, either. 

Dealing with Runner Five is a whole ordeal in and of itself. The way they watch him, half the time it’s like they’re back at Abel and he’s just cracked a joke terrible enough to make Five cringe and laugh at once- there’s warmth in their eyes like sunlight and a cup of tea after a long run and something that could be affection but after a long rain, after something terrible. The rest of the time Five looks like they’re about to beat his head in with a brick.

So, yeah. An ordeal.

Simon sways for a moment under the soft light of the setting sun before he decides standing takes too much effort. The floor is filthy with rotted leaf litter but it’s better than zombie bits so he takes the easy way down, letting himself fall against the wall beside the doorframe. His back hits with all his weight and the impact triggers another series of wet coughs. Slowly, as controlled as he can manage, Simon sinks down so he’s huddled in the shadowy space behind the open door. 

It’s all he can do to lean there, his head knocking against the cinderblock every time blood forces its way upwards.  

It’s in all his airways, tasting of iron and sweetness, and though it’s so very hard to think when he can barely stay upright Simon wonders what would happen if he drowned in his own blood, his nose and mouth choked full and no air to flush his lungs. Whether that might be the thing to kill him. You can’t heal a deficit of oxygen to the brain, after all. 

It would be a horrible, painful way to die. The idea frightens him, which is why Simon thinks it might be for the best. It would be something like justice, perhaps, to die choking on the fruit of his sins. 

He doesn’t stop coughing, though, forcing himself to expel mouthfuls of dark blood every time his lungs revolt so it spills down his chin and stains his shirt an ever deeper crimson. He’ll throw it over on to the next roof when he’s done. No sense in keeping a zombie magnet or looking like he’s stumbled off the set of a shitty B-horror slasher. 

Until now most of what Simon has been able to feel has been sharp, blinding pain and the peculiar sensation of drowning while shivering from the wind on his skin. Now he begins to feel the sharp cold in his collapsed lung, in the deepest place the bullet reached. He can feel the icy fire begin to stoke around his ribcage as he begins to mend. A new surge of blood and nausea rises up his windpipe and Simon spasms, exhausted enough that he can barely turn his head to the side. The blood bubbles around his lips and sticks in his throat and suddenly drowning seems less like a hysterical what-if and more like something that is actually happening, right this moment, to Simon. 

Chest heaving, he scrabbles weakly at his shirt collar, at his throat. He thinks perhaps if he could claw open his chest and scrape out all the rot inside it would feel no worse. Maybe better. Cleaner than what this is. 

The rational part of him knows he’ll survive, he’s survived worse, but the louder, bigger part of him that desperately doesn’t want to die is panicking. His eyes snap open, and damn if he doesn’t remember closing them, and there are black spots fizzing and expanding to cover his whole sight like the end is come to swallow him up and he no longer knows whether he can’t breathe because there’s blood filling his windpipe or because all the air has left the sky which is quickly turning to black. 

There’s nothing but the fear. 

Then, there’s a hand on his shoulder, another drawing his knees up and apart, firm and warm on his icy skin. (Cold, so cold. Even as his insides roil in a fever.)Simon is tipped forward, his head low between his knees.  The blood comes easier in this position, he does not have to try, a relief. He does not have the energy to keep trying. 

One of the hands settles at the top of his spine, palm flat against his neck and fingers tangled in his hair. The other runs circles across his back, in time with the quiet hums and shushing that wash over him. Simon barely registers that someone must have followed him up here. The nausea and the freezing cold in his lungs and the dizziness just compound the sheer relief of there being someone, anyone at all. Their strength seeping  into his exhausted body is salvation as they take the reigns from his hands that are too tired, too bloodied to keep holding on. 

The deluge from his lungs does not pass easy.

It passes, still. 

The sun is more than halfway gone by the time Simon can suck in enough air to  do more than just keep hacking away. The dizziness that turned his limbs to clay abates but he stays where he is, shivering at the exertion and at the patterns Runner Five is tracing across his back. 

(Because of course, of course it’s them. When have they ever looked into hell and said not me, not today. Of course.)

They’ve brushed his hair through until it is no longer a knotted mess. Five’s hand still rests there, nails scratching at Simon’s scalp in a way that tingles. Everywhere they’re pressed together sends fine tremors through him- from the hand in his hair to the one on his back to where Five’s bare knee just touches the inside of his thigh where they’re sat between his legs. They’re so warm and present and Simon can’t remember the last time someone willingly touched him. Not to comfort, not to help.

He can’t help it. Simon is a selfish man, he knows this better than anyone. He basks in this feeling, this warmth across his cold and tainted skin. 

In some company that doesn’t sneer. 

It takes a little while for him to gather the strength to end this, whatever this is. Why ever Five helped, why ever they had come. Simon looks up just as Runner Five presses their hand against the weeping hole in his chest.

His breath catches on the feeling of it which should be so much worse than it is. There’s the sharp freeze of the abomination in his blood, chasing out the natural death, almost at skin level now and then there’s Five’s hand. So warm in contrast it’s scalding. The clash is pain and rapture and Simon can’t help but wonder whether this is a symptom of  his condition or of being him. 

Five withdraws their hand and Simon almost chases the contact without thought, fatigue making him weak enough to want it and saving him by taking away his ability to move on the urge. He’s so wrecked right now Five could do just about anything and he’d be helpless. They could take his head. He almost wishes they would. 

It takes Simon a moment to notice what exactly Five is holding, their hand held up to his eyeline and stained with his blood. Crimson pools in their palm and trails down the bones of their wrist, wrapping around their forearm like manacles which is distracting in sick sort of way.

Dented and tarnished, it’s the bullet from Simon’s right lung. 

It’s wrong, so wrong that it’s there. That it’s in Runner Five’s hand, that it was ever in him. That it ever came out.

The urge to say something builds like the tide under Simon’s ribcage. To say what he doesn’t know- to damn Five, himself, everything. To thank them, to tell them to fuck off. It rises and bubbles with the need to ask them to stay, to hold onto him and not let the hellfire burn away any more of what is left of him. 

The need rises to the back of Simon’s throat so thick he can’t draw air so he opens his mouth to speak and vomits thick arterial blood onto Five’s shoes. The coughing returns as the ice and his body fight the wound and one another, forcing dead matter from his mouth.

This goes on for a time. The sky fades from bloody pink to purple to grey and Runner Five holds him throughout, their hands strong and warm and there.

Eventually Simon dozes off and Runner Five waits with him, at some point moving so their back is to the wall and Simon’s blood seeps into their hoodie. Simon wakes a few times before he gets around to thinking about getting up, about moving. It’s a while later that he actually does.

[lemonsandstrawberries]

The Pitted Olive, part 2

fandom: Stony (Steve x Tony)

universe: Draq Queen!AU (Tony Stark as a drag queen)

summary: Steve gets the courage to ask Red Velvet to meet with him and finally sees the man under all that makeup.

length: 3 240 words

disclaimer: this fic is written strictly for entertainment. I am not a specialist on drag and my whole knowledge comes from mainstream media. if there is something you will find incorrect or offensive in any way, there is always an option to contact me and politely voice your thoughts instead of flaming. thanks! expect references to Ru Paul’s Drag Race.

a/n: so, after over a month, here is part two. still a work in progress, but for sure there will be more chapters. likes, feedbacks and reblogs are welcomed and needed! hope you will enjoy it!

——————–

The Pitted Olive, part 2 

(part 1, part 2, part 3)

Steve was sitting with opened, alert eyes. He was trying to calm down his pounding heart and pull himself together, but his body didn't listen. As sad as it sounded, Steve was slowly getting used to living in stress. It didn't mean, that he was any better at controlling and dealing with it.

He closed his eyes, breathing in the invigorating smell of coffee and maple syrup. It was early afternoon, and he was sat in an unknown diner, at the counter, waiting. 

Waiting for Red Velvet.

It was a moronic move on his part and he still couldn't believe that he did that. Scratch that, he couldn't believe that Red Velvet actually agreed to meet with him. He closed his eyes going back once more to that moment.

"See you later!"

"Bye, Sam!"

Steve waved to his friend, walking out of the Olive. It was chilly outside, and he put his collar up, needing to rush back home. Staying up late on a work day was never a good idea, especially if you had a morning shift the next day, but it was so worth it. Red Velvet performed twice per week, sometimes three, and Steve never missed a show. Sometimes he felt that he was living from one show to the other, and maybe it sounded pathetic, but it gave him something to look forward to. It was dark outside, and street lamps illuminated his way when his eyes stopped on a person in the alley and he almost walked into the nearest street pole out of sheer surprise.

It was Red Velvet.

She had a long coat pulled over herself, yet he saw the red sequins of her dress sparkling in the dim New York evening glow. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold and she held a cigarette between her lips, the tip glowing with orange and smoke spiraling out of it. She looked as in hurry, like a teenager trying to smoke before someone would catch her.

CLANG!

And so Steve collided with a street pole.

In his dazed state, he heard a small, high pitched giggle, changing into a concerned "are you okay?"

Rubbing his forehead, Steve looked at the woman, blinking rapidly. Maybe it was still the shock from bumping his head, but Red Velvet suddenly seemed bigger. And closer. And touched his forehead.

She touched his forehead.

"Hm, that might leave a bump," she said gently, examining the damage, and Steve's heart did a flip when he noticed that she was towering over him, and dang, that didn't set his mind on fire. He smelled her perfume and felt her warm hands and smooth skin and it easily marked as one of the best moments in his life. Red Velvet took another swig of the cigarette and blew the smoke, her red lips forming a perfect o shape as she turned her head away to not fog Steve. "Better press something cold to it, once you get home."

Steve nodded, feeling breathless. He was completely stunned.

Red Velvet looked at the stranger with some sort of amusement. Like if she knew why Steve was so quiet and took pleasure in it. She took another swig, almost finishing and made a step back. "Maybe you should order a taxi. It's better to not drink and drive," she said as she began walking away.

"I would never do that."

Steve immediately bit his tongue. That was what made him talk? Not her tenderness, her concern, her being next to him, but an offset reminder about road safety rules?

Red Velvet's lips twitched into a brief smile at the answer. She turned around, her long black hair swooping with the movement. "Glad to hear that."

"Um, can I ask you something?" Steve blabbed out, feeling that if he won't take this opportunity, he would regret forever.

Red Velvet tilted her head to the side gently, looking amused again. "Sure," she murmured in a low voice which sent delightful shivers down Steve's spine.

"Can I --- Can I ask you out?" Steve said in one breath, and wow, that didn't come out awkward at all. "For a coffee?"

There was a pause. Red Velvet raised her shapely eyebrows and looked at the entrance to the club, and Steve felt a note of panic, thinking that she was searching for the bodyguard. Of course, he probably wasn't the first one to chase after her.

"I am sorry, sugar, dating is not good for the business," she said, spotting the bodyguard and making a move to call him over. Just in case if things got ugly.

"Not a date," Steve said quickly. Red Velvet lowered her arm, although the move already attracted bodyguard's attention who pointed his eyes at them. For the moment, he chose to stay at the entrance until Red Velvet would call him over. "I am sorry, that came out wrong," he said, putting words together as he talked, "I a journalist and I am writing an article about the nightlife of New York and wanted to do a column on this bar. If I could interview you, that would help me a lot."

Red Velvet, smacked her lips together with a wet sound, sending Steve a calculating look, as if not buying the story at all. He started to lose hope when he still didn't get an answer when Red Velvet opened her mouth.

"For what paper are you working?"

Oh, shit.

"Entertainment Hour," Steve answered quickly, trying to make his voice sound steady, as he remembered the title of one of the gossip magazines with the most colorful covers, standing out on the background of grey newspapers.

"A-ha," Red Velvet said in a monotone, seemingly not finding it impressive at all. It wasn't the most respected magazine in the city.

"Did I say Entertainment Hour?" Steve backtracked, feeling that he made a mistake. "I meant New York Weekly," he said, having in mind one of the grey newspapers this time.

"Oh," Red Velvet face smoothened. Seemed she approved more of a reliable news source than colorful magazines.

"Sorry," Steve apologized again, "I used to work for Entertainment Hour, but then I quit. Didn't approve of their work policy," he continued to lie, feeling more sure of himself when Red Velvet nodded to his words.

"I should still talk this through with the club manager…" Red Velvet said, twirling a strand of silky black hair between her fingers and looking back at the club entrance. The bodyguard didn't let his eyes off them even for a second and Steve gulped nervously waiting for the verdict.

"What the heck," Red Velvet looked back at him and smiled gently. "Let's meet. But I will choose the place."

"Of course," Steve immediately agreed, relieved that his plan worked. He watched Red Velvet take another swig and finish the cigarette.

"Two blocks away from here is a small diner, called Phil's Place. Let meet there at noon, next Wednesday. Okay?"

"Yeah," Steve nodded, holding back a victory dance. Not the time yet.

"Do you have a business card?" she asked and crap. The victory dance should be postponed for much later.

"I actually didn't receive one yet," he lied again, surprised how smoothly it came out of his mouth, "just started working there. But I am Steve Rogers."

"Steve Rogers," Red Velvet repeated and Steve's knees almost bent. He didn't mind his name, considering it quite ordinary and plain, but Red Velvet made it sound charming and mysterious. Probably because she was charming and mysterious. "I will meet you there, Steve Rogers," she said with a small smile, and walked away, round hips swaying with every move and heels making gentle click sounds on the pavement.

Steve watched mesmerized, totally forgetting his tongue. She was already too far away to call his goodbye, and the bodyguard still looked at him, stoic and focused, as if daring him to make one step after her and not hesitating to pound him into the ground if he did. So, Steve turned away, trying to contain his joy and emotions, until he was at a safe distance and had to sit on the ground for a few seconds to process what had just happened.

He had a date. A meeting. A faked interview.

With Red Velvet.

With Red Velvet.

And that's how he ended here. Waiting and growing more nervous. Red Velvet agreed to meet with him, but there was no guarantee that she would show up. He only hoped he didn't appear creepy to her and she agreed just to get rid of him. That won't make things awkward at all.

"Hi. Double espresso, no sugar, please. And for you?"

Steve opened his eyes. The voice was deeper and less husked out, but he recognized the intonation. He snapped his head to the side, eyes widening. She came---

She?

Next to him, was standing a guy, looking back at him. Steve never saw him before. He looked casual and smart, in a fitted steel gray jacket and dark blue t-shirt underneath with a v-shaped neckline, pants matching the jacket and sneakers which gave the whole set a sporty look. He was tanned and had a dark goatee in a style Steve never saw before, and brown hair with a jagged top. But it wasn't until the moment when the stranger took off his sunglasses, showing eyes in the warmest shade of brown, like melted chocolate. He might look different, but it was the shape of the eyes that made Steve sure.

"See, this is my favorite moment," the not so stranger grinned, putting the sunglasses into the breast pocket of the jacket. "The realization. I will take my coffee at my booth," he turned to the blond waitress behind the bar, "anything for you?" he turned back to Steve, "they have really good pastrami sandwiches."

Steve only blinked.

"He will take the pastrami sandwich. And give him a refill, please," he turned back to the waitress, moving from the bar area and taking Steve's wrist to guide him. Steve followed, completely stunned. Hips swaying. Round butt. There was no mistake.

They both sat on the facing sides of the table in a booth, and the guy kept looking at Steve. The same sort of amusement he knew so well.

"You are Steve Rogers, right?" the guy asked, growing weary of the silence. "Please don't tell me I made a mistake and just grabbed a random stranger."

Okay, time to snap out of it.

"It is me," Steve said, blinking more rapidly. "Steve. That's me."

The guy smiled. It was a wider smile than the one he used to see on Red Velvet's face, showing some laugh lines. Maybe that's why Red Velvet's smile was subtler.

"Good to know," he said, "thanks, Beth."

Steve was taken by surprise, when a pastrami sandwich and a glass of orange juice appeared in front of him, while the guy received a small cup of strong coffee and a glass of water. The sandwich looked and smelled delicious, with coleslaw and pink pastrami neatly stacked inside on a thin layer of yellow mustard and a side of cut gherkin, yet he still kept staring at the guy in front of him.

"Are you sure you don't want to eat anything?" the blond waitress, Beth, asked looking at the man with some kind of worry.

"I am sure, you know I don't eat before the show," he replied with a carefree smile.

"That can't be good for you, Tony."

The conversation continued, and there was some scolding and deflecting the reasonable arguments, but Steve spaced out again. Tony. Tony and Red Velvet. Red Velvet was tall, had long dark hair, and milky white skin and icy blue eyes. Tony was more or less Steve's height, had short brown hair, tanned skin, and warm, brown eyes.

He wasn't only a stunningly attractive female, but a crazy handsome male. Steve couldn't wrap his head around that.

"Sorry if this isn't what you expected," Tony turned to him, when Beth was gone, losing the battle over if Tony should or should not eat, and Steve blinked in confusion. Expecting what? The mouthwatering sandwich or the mouthwatering man in front of him?

"I don't go in drag during the daytime," Tony continued, and Steve noticed he lowered his voice a bit, "I don't think I am ready for that yet."

"Oh," Steve said, nodding in understanding. "It is fine," there wasn't anything else he could say to that.

"Good," the guy smiled. "Let's start this again. I am Tony Stark," he said, extending his hand to Steve and Steve shook it. Softest hands ever. "But I would prefer if you didn't mention my name."

Steve blinked again, already repeating Tony's name in his mind over one thousand times, wanting to remember it forever. Wanting to remember the person forever.

"Why?" he asked, fearing that their meeting would end while it just started, and the word came out sadder than he planned.

"In the interview," Tony smiled again, and Steve felt like something slapped him in the face. Right! He got so busy with looking and admiring, he completely forgot about the fake part of the meeting.

"Of course," Steve said quickly. "I will use your stage name," he assured and Tony nodded, taking a sip of his coffee.

"So… what do you want to know?"

Everything. Except he couldn't say that. Steve put a hand into his pocket and took out a small sketchbook he used to carry with himself, where he scribbled some questions in earlier and to make notes.

Tony eyed his set with amusement. "Oh, an old-school journalist," he laughed gently, leaning into his seat, and Steve couldn't see it, but by the movement, he was sure that Tony crossed his legs for a more comfortable position. "I don't see that often anymore."

Steve gave a fake laugh, feeling hot under his collar. He should have forked out some cash for a dictaphone, but honestly, it slipped his mind. Who would have thought that being a fake journalist was such a tough job?

"If you are ready, we can start now."

Tony gulped down the coffee and reached for the water. "Go ahead."

The interview started a bit stiff, but it was all on Steve's part, who couldn't shake off his nervousness. Tony was open and relaxed, answering the questions the best he could, why still keeping some mystery aura around himself. Steve found out, that Tony's love for drag came out from love for fashion and makeup and how it was considered a forbidden fruit in the environment he was growing up, with a strict father and a loving mother. His father planted in Tony a love for engineering and cars and machines, while he used his mother's vast wardrobe and makeup supplies, and the first time he tried on high heels was a magical experience, even if a second later he face planted into the floor as he had tripped himself over. It was tough to find a balance between his male and female side. He never came out to his parents and then, when he turned twenty, he was deprived of the occasion by a careless driver and a head-on collision with his parents' car, left with regret and unknown. And then he found a new family. A family that supported him, taught him tricks of the trade and polished his makeup skills and sense of taste, and out of it all, a new person was born, the part Tony tried to suppress for years. Red Velvet came into existence.

"You are performing drag for how many years?" Steve asked, scribbling intensely in his sketchbook. His hand was starting to hurt, but it would look suspicious if he suddenly would stop making notes.

Tony smiled, a cheeky little smile, "a woman never gives her age," he answered smoothly, "but I am something some would call a seasoned queen."

Oh, that reminded him. "What kind of drag queen would you describe yourself?"

"Ummm," Tony thought for a bit, blowing a raspberry with his mouth. "I personally don't like the term, but I guess I fall into a category of a fish drag."

Steve stopped writing. Did he hear right? "Um, sorry, fish?"

"Fish," Tony confirmed with a grin. "It means that I try to look as much as I can as an authentic woman," Steve nodded, experiencing that first-hand, "it is kinda weird, seeing that my mother was a camp queen."

"Your mother?"

"Drag mother," Tony's smile dimmed into something warmer. "Man, she is terrible."

"What?" Steve asked, not able to control the smile. The comment contrasted so much with the fond smile.

"She was always brutally honest towards me. When I was growing up my dad said to me 'they say sarcasm is a metric for potential, if that's true, you'll be a great man someday', but she brought it a whole new level. She had a softer side too, but not many know about it. And had the biggest smile and the biggest fake eyelashes I ever saw. She taught me how to take care of wigs."

"Sounds great," Steve said, liking the fond tone of voice Tony was using. It had to be great memories.

"Baloney!" Tony gruffed out suddenly, and Steve's shoulders jumped at the harsh tone. "Sorry," Tony giggled, back to his own voice, "that's what she used to yell at me whenever I was trying to be smarter than her."

Steve laughed in relief. He liked this side of Tony. He was feeling they were getting somewhere when Tony looked at the clock and clicked his tongue.

"Well, that was fun, but I have to skedaddle," he said, reaching into his pocket. "I have a show tonight and need to get prepared."

Steve frowned, of course, knowing that. "But it is just 3 pm," he said, not wanting Tony to leave yet. The show was supposed to start in six hours.

"Yeah, but I need time to get in drag. Told you, I am a fishy queen," Tony hummed, taking out his wallet.

"No, please," Steve rushed in, and Tony paused. "Please let me pay. You found time for me, this is the least I can do."

Tony's lips twitched into a little smile. "Alright, thanks. So, I guess I will see you around? I hope you will let me know before the interview will be posted, I'd like to take a look at it before printing."

"Sure," Steve lied, standing up. They said their goodbyes and he watched Tony leave, just to see him as Red Velvet this evening. Or…

"Tony!"

"Yeah?" Tony stopped and turned around.

"Can--- can I come with you? For, you know, interview purpose?"

Tony narrowed his eyes a bit and Steve tried to not crumble under the look. That was a ballsy move on his part. But wasn't everything he did today out of his comfort zone?

"Sure," Tony finally said and motioned for Steve to follow him. "Just don't write down all of my tricks, some things should remain a mystery."

"Okay!" Steve called, way too enthusiastic than he planned to and left some bills on the table, gaining on the brunet, his heart pounding with excitement.

Watching Tony transforming into Red Velvet… That was something Steve didn't know he needed in his life, but he couldn't wait to see it.

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<--- previous part ..... next part ---> 

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tag list 

(if you want to be tagged for updates in this series, send me an ask and I will add your username below)

@destiel-is-classic, @prithvik , @mangakats

[percywinchester27]

Stroke of luck (Part-8)

Pairing: Dean X Reader

Word count: 3800-ish

Warnings: Daddy!Dean, so much of it... trust me, it’s a warning. FLUFF!!

Series Summary: Dark highway, middle of the night, a bad boy driving an Impala, and a Damsel in distress. Too cliche? Think again.

A/N: This is the part that actually inspired the whole series around it. I am in love with it. I hope by the end, you are, too <3 Beta’d by the fabulous @sdavid09.

Feedback is really REALLY appreciated!

Stroke of luck Masterlist

A crowd had gathered right in the middle of it, making it impossible to move around. Dean honked loudly twice, but the crowd didn't budge.

"What the hell?" He muttered to himself before stepping out and making his way through the crowd. The scene that unfolded before his eyes as he walked to the front of the line was disheartening. A girl was standing in the middle of the circle, crying in her hands. All her books were strewn across the asphalt, while her bag was ripped to shreds. Two boys were standing on the other side laughing at her, while she sobbed. When she moved her hand to wipe her tears, Dean caught a glimpse of her face. It was Sam, and she had the most heartbreaking and lost expression her face.

Dean's POV:

For a few minutes Dean couldn't comprehend what was happening. Was she angry, was she hurt? Why was all her stuff scattered like that? Did she trip and fall down? Dean was suddenly worried whether she had hurt herself.

Then the silence broke as one of the boys- the one with light brown hair- let out a cackle of insensitive laughter. "Why you cryin' now? Like you didn't know!"

"Of course, she did!" The other one leered. He was lanky and had greasy, black hair. "She knows how weird she is. She knows she's the freak."

"You heard what she was sayin' right?" the first one prompted. "Purple light killed Aaron," he mimicked in a high pitched voice that did not resemble Sam’s quiet, melodious one at all. She just stood there, staring defiantly up at them.

"We all know what put that crap in her head," Greasy hair continued. "If she ever bothered to get her head out of those fat books, she'd see the world for what it really is.” He looked straight at her. “You might actually look good if you ditched those stupid t-shirts and put some make up on."

"Just learn a lil' from that mother of yours," leered the short one. "Sleepin' round like she does, you could’ve picked up a few tricks, nerd."

"Course her father disappeared!" The two of them burst into a bought of cruel laughter.

A sob ripped free of Sam's chest. She turned on her heel to run away, but in the next second, found her face pressed into a warm softly clothed chest. Dean saw her jerk back for a bit before her eyes met his. When they did, her watery emeralds into his fiery green, instead of pushing away, she threw her arms around his waist and clung to him, fisting her fingers into the back of his suit. She turned her face into him and broke down completely.

Dean felt as though his insides were melting the moment the girl buried her face in his chest. It was nothing like anything he'd ever felt before. The strongest urge to protect her, to hide her from the cruel, cruel world overcame him, and his hands instinctively enveloped around her. The aftermath of the feeling left him reeling. The anger he could understand, the protectiveness, too, but the possessive edge and the tenderness he felt towards her, both shocked and shook him.

"Hey, shhhh…" he softly whispered in her ear. "It's gonna be alright. It's gonna be okay."

Sam only hugged him tighter, clinging to him. Dean found himself comforting her despite the havoc in his own head. This girl didn't deserve to be treated like this. She was smart and sweet and loving. She shouldn't have to cry like that.

Dean lowered his head so only she could hear him. "Stay here, I'll be right back." Sam, however, shook her head, unwilling to let him go.

"Hey, I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right here, next to you. Let me go have a talk with them."

"No, don't," her breath hitched. "They'll say mean things about you, too."

"They can try." Dean leveled his gaze with the taller of the two, the greasy haired idiot. He seemed to be taken aback, but was still staring at Dean sullenly.

Dean could feel all eyes on the two of them and he was sure so could she, but Sam held on, hiding in his chest, from the judgment everyone seemed to be exuding. She was trusting him to protect her. That decided it for him.

Dean gently pried Sam's fingers off his coat, but didn't let go of her hand as he took a few strides forwards. Sam tried to hold him back, but Dean's grip was firm. She needed to see this.

He made his way towards the boys, both of them seemed to be older than eighteen. Either they were drop outs, or part of the community college that shared the same building. From the condition of her things and the way she seemed to massaging her shoulder, it wasn't hard to figure out what had happened. They'd either held her hard, or yanked the bag with enough force to hurt.

"Who are you Mister?" Greasy hair wheezed. He seemed to be the bigger bully of the two. "The new guy her mother is banging?"

Sam's grip on Dean's hand tightened painfully. He could feel her shaking besides him. She seemed to cringe a little, but Dean held on, refusing to let go.

He strode forward and in a swift motion tugged at the collar of the kid, pushing him into the adjacent wall, hard enough to sting, but not actually cause damage.

The boy let out a strangled cry as his head hit the surface.

"Doesn't matter who I am," Dean growled. "What matters is what I can do, you slimy son of a bitch. You touch her again, and I'll break your sorry face."

The guy whimpered pathetically against Dean's grip, clutching at his throat, trying to find a way out. Dean did not budge.

"Am I clear?" He snarled loudly, and the boy nodded pitifully.

"I would ask you to apologize to her, but you don't deserve to so much as look at her, forget about talking to her. Her mom's done a great job raising a kid like that. Your folks don't seem to have gotten it through that thick skull of yours. Now get lost."

Dean released his grip and the boy collapsed on the asphalt floor, coughing and gasping for air. The other kid had disappeared.

Dean turned to the by standing crowd. "Shows over, get out," he called, voice icier than usual. The kids didn't need to be told twice. Within a couple of minutes the parking lot was empty.

Sam was still clutching Dean's hand, quietly crying into the other one.

"Shhh… it's alright, C'mere," Dean said, gently pulling her back into his arms. "Those kids are dicks, don't listen to that bullshit. You're so much better than any of them. You get me?"

She didn't react, just burrowed deeper, and there was that feeling again. A warm ache in his chest that Dean couldn't put a name to. This felt too pure somehow, holding her this way. Dean couldn't help but remember when he was young and small Sam used to hug him on stormy nights when they were alone in motel rooms. For the life of him Dean couldn't figure out why he was suddenly so nostalgic. It hurt in an oh so sweet way, but Dean never wanted to be rid of this feeling.

He gently pushed her back and brought his hand up to cup her face. She seemed unwilling to look at him, like she was suddenly embarrassed. Dean held on, until she looked up, her beautiful eyes shy. "You get me, right? You're awesome. You should be proud of yourself."

At long last she nodded, and Dean smoothened the blonde locks away from her eyes. "That's good," he smiled at her encouragingly. "You wanna sit down for a bit and tell me what that was about?" She nodded once more.

"Alright," Dean said, guiding her to a bench nearby. "You sit here, I'll be back with your stuff."

She was quick to interrupt. "No… No… I'll get it."

"No, you won't," Dean stated firmly. "You sit. I'll go get it."

He made his way towards the torn bag and its strewn contents. Most of it was huge books- SATs, physics, Economics. They weren't course books, but much more advanced. Along with those there were couple novels- Oscar Wilde and Jane Austen. Those idiots must have yanked the bag hard and because of the full to brim contents, it must have split immediately. Dean looked back at Sam. She was rubbing her shoulders, eyeing him anxiously. He smiled reassuringly at her, as he collected all her stuff, even the markers, pens, and chocolate wrappers.

When Dean got to the bottom of the things, he found a worn out College flyer… For Stanford Law.

Really? Stanford Law? Dean thought to himself. That was a weird-ass coincidence.

After collecting all the books, Dean balanced them in one hand, and stooped to grab the torn bag. The fabric was full of all sorts of doodle- quotes from Southern movies, anime, manga, symbols… everything. It was eclectic and fascinating. Dean found himself turning it over to notice that the handles were made of pure silver. He smirked to himself as he remembered Sam pushing them against his skin that first night when he had picked her up. That kid was really smart and for some weird reason Dean felt proud about it. She had been raised right.

When he reached the bench, his shoe caught against a stone and the books tumbled out of his hands once more, cascading over the girl in front of him. She winced as the books hit her head and fell over her feet.

Dean was about to apologize, but a peal of laughter left her, as she giggled at his antics.

"You're such a butterfingers," she managed in between her laughs.

Dean found his heart melting at the sound of her laughter. It was precious. She bent down and retrieved her books, neatly stacking them on one side. She picked the Stanford flyer last and carefully placed it in between the thickest of books.

"So Law school, huh?" Dean asked, intrigued, as he took a seat next to her.

She wriggled her hands in her lap, not quite meeting his eyes, "Ummm yeah."

"That's awesome," Dean told her, his voice sounded happy even to him.

"You aren't going to tell me I'm too young or something?" 

"Nope!" He replied. "I know you're really smart. You can do whatever you want."

"Whatever I want?" She looked up through her lashes, shy again.

"Whatever you want," Dean repeated, simply. There was a conviction in his words because he truly believed in them.

"It's all I've ever wanted. I'm almost sixteen, but I've taken all the classes, even the advanced one, so I'm graduating this year. I'm giving my SATs in a couple of weeks and I really want to get into Stanford pre-law."

The fact that she was advanced didn't surprise Dean whatsoever. "Why Stanford?"

"When I was a kid, my mom told me it's where smart people go," she shrugged.

"Well, I ain't contesting with your mom."

They sat in silence for a while. Dean was lost in his own thoughts until he saw her rubbing at her shoulders again, and anger flashed through him. He willed himself to control his tone before asking. "You wanna tell me what that was about?” He gestured towards the spot where she'd stood crying.

Sam seemed to retreat back into her shell and the wriggling of fingers resumed. Just when Dean thought she was going to ask him to butt out, she spoke in a small voice. "Those idiots used to be high school last year. I think they were friends with Aaron or something. I don't know what their problem is, but they call me names all the time. They call me ugly and stuff…" her voice trailed off.

If Dean was angry before, it was nothing compared to how he felt now. Anyone would have to be blind to call her ugly. She was perfect.

"Don't listen to them," Dean's voice was more insistent that he had intended it to be. "You're beautiful and smart. I meant it when I said they don't deserve to even look at you."

"Really?" her cheeks were tinged with pink as she looked up at him.

"Hell yeah! You're too good."

She looked down, blushing an even deeper shade of red now.

"It's not that though," she said after a while. "I don't care what they say about me. It doesn't matter. But they say awful stuff about my mom, and none of it is true."

"If none of it is true, then why does it bother you so much?" 

"Because it's on the opposite fudging end from reality, that's why!" She huffed.

"What do you mean?" Dean’s curiosity was at its peak. He had to admit that he was intrigued by her mother. She definitely knew her way around the territory, and judging from how she had raised her daughter, she seemed to be sensible and kind.

"I mean everyone judges her because she's so young. She had me when she was only 18, and she's really gorgeous. There's always a couple guys loitering outside the flower shop she owns, hoping to ask her out. She never heeds all the attention."

"All this talk seems to be a case of sour grapes then," Dean mused.

"It is. She's so nice, and she rarely even dates. Just because of how she looks, people say such horrible stuff about her," Sam said bitterly.

"Well then the people here are dicks," Dean stated. His ‘matter of fact’ tone made Sam giggle. Dean’s very bones softened. She was truly a lovely child. And the way she had described her mother, Dean could see where she got it from.

Dean didn't want to assume, yet, he couldn't help but wonder what happened to Sam’s father. A man would have to be a total jackass to leave a beautiful family like that.

"Don't worry about the jerks, kiddo. I'm sure your mom is happy enough to have you."

"She is," Sam smiled wistfully. "She's my best friend. I love her so much. She hasn't had it easy, you know. We used to be constantly moving till I was about seven years old, never stopping in a place for more than a couple of weeks, like someone was chasing us or something. She'd leave for a few of hours to get food and return bloody a lot of times. Mom never talks about those days even if I ask, but I can see the scars sometimes. It's only been about six or seven years since we've settled here. That’s why I want to become a lawyer. So I can make her proud."

"Where was your dad in all this?" The question just tumbled out his mouth. Dean regretted it the moment he said it out loud. It was personal, and definitely prying on his part. It looked like Sam's mom had been through hell. Gang maybe?

Sam, thankfully, seemed unperturbed by the question. "He died when I was a baby," she said, a distinct note of pride in her voice. "My mom says he was a hero and he died trying to save someone. She said he loved me." Her voice became melancholy by the end. "I never knew him."

"I'm sure he'd be proud of the young lady you've become," Dean told her. Sam smiled up at him.

"Yeah, my mom says so, too." A sudden light illuminated her eyes and she giggled excitedly. "You know what? You should meet her!"

"Who? Your mom?" 

"No, the Queen of England," she sassed. "Of course, I mean my mom! You two are so similar. Tell you what, you should totally go out on a date with her."

"Whoa, Kid!" Dean said, taken aback by her sudden enthusiasm. "I'm not the dating sort. I won't be in the town longer than this case." Even as he said it, Dean couldn't help but feel a little sad at the thought of not seeing Sam again.

"Oh, she isn't the dating type either," she gave him a naughty smile. Whatever that was supposed to mean. "Just go out once. How could it possibly harm? It'll be fun!"

Dean thought about it and decided it wasn't such a bad idea after all. He wasn't staying long and Sam's mom intrigued him anyway. He could meet her.

"Alright," Dean acquiesced, "but on one condition."

"What?" Her smile faltered a little.

Dean grinned. "That we’ll remain friends no matter how that turns out." He extended his calloused hand. "Friends?"

A huge grin spread across her face as she slid a delicate hand forward and shook Dean's firmly. "Friends!"

Dean noticed a silver anti-possession charm and witch repelling amulet dangling from her bracelet. Yes, meeting her mom would be interesting to say the least.

"It's a deal then!"

Sam's POV:

To say Sam was tired was a massive understatement. He was used to staying up late nights, working cases, or researching for them, but this one seemed to be somehow taking a toll on him. As much as he might refuse to accept it, Sam knew the reason. He knew it was the hope that pulling him down. No, it wasn't the hope, it was the effort of trying to keep it squished that was so exhausting. All night long he had dreamt of Y/N's face as she had looked at him with terror in her eyes on the night that Dean had died. Sam had been consumed by a homicidal rage, so frenzied by the need for revenge that he hadn't even cared for his long lost best friend. If only he could just find her once and tell her just how sorry he was, how desperately he wanted her back in his life… in both their lives.

At least, one thing had turned out to in their favor. Aaron used to visit that particular red-soiled make out spot after all, so now they knew where to begin their search.

Sam walked around the campus, trying to find his brother. Going through the filing had taken a while, so he did not expect Dean to be hanging around in the parking lot. Sam, however, didn't know where to start looking and the parking lot seemed as good a place as any.

He was still mulling over the case-files, trying his best to keep his mind off other stuff, when he rounded around the corner and the most unexpected scene met his eyes. Dean was sitting on the park bench next to a young girl who was facing away from Sam. She had thick, long blonde hair. From what he could see, Dean was holding her hand, and the two of them were laughing about something.

This was that girl, the one Dean couldn't stop talking about. The girl who was the reason for all of his brother's smiles lately. Sam increased the tempo of steps and soon he was close enough to catch his brother's attention. Dean grinned the moment he saw Sam, turning to the girl besides him.

"Sam," he told the girl, a goofy, proud smile splitting his face, "Meet Sam. He's my brother and nerd extraordinaire. You two will get along."

The girl turned around and Sam's breath caught in his throat. Those eyes, those bright green, brilliant eyes were the ones he could never not notice. He saw them every day of his life.

"You're kidding!" She turned back to face Dean. "Your name is Dean, and your brother's name is Sam? What the hell?"

"What's wrong with that?" Dean asked, and she checked herself, shrugging nonchalantly. Dean seemed to buy it, but to Sam, her expression seemed too perfect, as if she was putting an extra effort into keeping it in place.

"Hey, Dean, why don't you pick up the files from the office? I think I might have left a couple of them on the desk. Get the car while you're coming back."

"Sure thing." Dean winked at the girl once, before walking out of the lot on the other side.

"So?" Sam asked.

"So?" She replied in the same tone. He couldn't help but crack a smile.

"Your name's Violet Y/L/N, isn't it?"

"How do you know?" She immediately sounded wary.

"I read your name in the files," Sam said lightly, but his heart was hammering against his ribs. He didn't know what else to say. The girl was peeking up at him while trying to be furtive about it.

"You're tall," she said out of the blue, and then blushed instantly.

"I get that a lot," Sam said, taking a seat next to her. That's when he saw the stack of thick books. The Stanford flyer sticking out at one end didn’t miss Sam’s attention.

"Hey, if your name's Violet, why does your mother call you Sam?" He asked, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

"How do you know it's my mother who came up with the name?" She narrowed her eyes.

Damn! The girl was too smart for her own good. "Uhhh… it’s a guess," He smiled weakly.

"Well, yeah," she continued, seemingly over her suspicion. "My mom said the name's for good luck. All Sams are smart."

'All Sams are smart.'

"Uhhh yeah," Sam somehow managed through his constricted throat. He was saved from saying anything else as the Impala cruised to a stop right in front of them.

The girl jumped with glee at the sight of the car.

"I think I'm in love with your car!" She squealed, running a hand over the glossy metal body, sighing happily. Dean got out and nodded proudly.

"Me, too."

Dean handed her his card. "Call me if you ever need anything, okay? And I mean anything at all."

She took the card and looked up at him. "You remember the deal right, Deano?"

"Sure do, Shorty," he smiled. 

"Hey, Dean," Violet called. In the next split second she was sprinting towards him.

And like it was the most obvious, most instinctual thing, Dean opened his arms, the girl slamming into his embrace, closing her eyes the moment her cheek pressed into his chest. Dean in turn held her tight, running his hand over her back.

Sam saw the satisfied smile on his brother's face, the absolute adoration with which he held her. Dean pecked Violet lightly on her forehead and she seemed to relax in his hold, both clearly unwilling to let go first. The picture was perfect and surreal.

Sam rolled his eyes upwards, willing the tears pressing his eyes to not roll down, praying for strength so they could face what was obviously coming their way, but most of all trying to behold the absolute jubilation he felt in the moment. How? How had Dean not realized that he was holding his own daughter in his arms?

Please let me know how you liked this chapter?? PRETTY PLEASE? 

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[sophisticated-angel]

Family Ties - Part Six

Character: Dean Winchester

Warning: Hella feels, probably.

Word Count: 2,369

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five

The Parent Trap

Summary: When Ramona doesn’t come back as expected, her parents are stirred into a panic, and Mercy’s true nature comes to light.

Story

  When Dean drifts off, his mind is filled with thoughts of the implications of his ex’s return and his brother’s intention to marry Addison. He doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep until he opens his eyes and finds that the living room is completely dark. Against his side is his wife, out cold. Carefully, he stretches and slides away to stand. The house is silent; Mitchell’s game has been shut off for the night, and Elodie must still be asleep in her crib.

  Stifling a yawn, Dean shuffles down the hall and peers into Mitchell’s room. His stepson is drooling onto his pillow and dreaming happily. Then he checks his daughters’ room. In her crib, Ellie is sleeping with her tiny hands balled into tiny fists on her tiny chest. Dean smiles at the baby and reaches down to lightly stroke her cheek. Lastly, he moves over to Ramona’s bed, intending to give her a goodnight kiss, but her bed is cold, her blankets folded over the way she left them this morning.

  Dean looks over at the digital clock on the windowsill next to the bed. The glowing blue numbers read 10:47. She should be home by now. He searches the room – under the bed, beside and under the crib, on the beanbag chair – but his daughter isn’t in her room. His heart rate picks up, and a prickly, tingling shudder ripples down his spine.

  “Mon Ami?” he calls quietly, stepping into the hallway.

  He searches his room, the bathroom, the den, and accidentally wakes Mitchell when he looks in the boy’s room. The twelve-year-old groans and rolls back over, but Dean asks if he’s seen Ramona. He hasn’t. In the living room, (y/n) stirs, roused by the activity, and turns on the light.

  “What’s going on, babe?” she asks.

  “Ramona’s not here. She was supposed to be home three hours ago.”

  This news makes her perk right up. “She’s not in her room?”

  “She’s not in the house.”

  “Did you check out here? The dining room?”

  “Why would she be in the dining room?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe she read until she fell asleep?”

  “Why are you guys so loud?” Mitchell, sleepy-eyed, shuffles into view.

  Dean is on him in an instant. “Did you see or hear your sister come home?”

  “I said no.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “What’s going on, Dad?” The boy’s voice takes on a tinge of worry.

  “Mitchell, are you sure?”

  (y/n) reaches out and rests her hand on his arm, bringing him down. Her touch sets his mind right, organizes the panic rising in his chest. He turns to meet her eyes and finds his worry reflected in them. Ramona isn’t home, God knows, where she is, but Dean’s heart floods with love for his wife. She’s as scared as him, as scared for Ramona as she would be were they related by blood. No other woman could ever take her place.

  It’s in the midst of this moment that Dean’s cell buzzes in his pocket. Upon answering the unfamiliar number, a young girl’s frantic voice pierces his ear.

  “Ramona? Sweetheart, what’s going on? Where are you?”

  “It’s loud here, Daddy,” she whimpers over the din on the other end of the line. “I think it’s a bar. I don’t like it here. I wanna go home.”

  “Where’s Mercy?”

  A shaky exhale. “She left.”

  Love and relief are washed away by blinding anger. Not again. This time he’s going to kill that bitch. Never again will she see Ramona. She won’t live long enough. Voice flat, a thin membrane keeping fury in check, Dean comforts his daughter, promises he’ll be there in no time and instructs her to watch out the window for him.

  “It’s by the movie theater. She said we were gonna go to the movies, but we didn’t . . .” She’s using a payphone, and her call is timing out, so Dean leaves her by reminding her that he loves her. She’s his sunshine.

  His hand trembles as he tucks his phone away. “Mitchell, your mom and I are going out.” The tremble migrates to his voice. “Stay here and take care of Ellie, okay?”

  Mitchell nods. “Is Ramona okay?”

  “She’s fine,” he lies.

*    *    *    *    *

  When you were a teenager and traveling for hunting voluntarily or not, you played a game: memorize the highway speed traps and have some fun in a car that wasn’t yours. You pushed the car to its limits, slammed on the gas pedal and spun around curves and corners, until it could give nothing more. With Dean in the driver’s seat, this ride in the Impala is just as wild but lacks the fun, carefree, daredevil quality. He keeps quiet and stares straight ahead as if he can get there faster under the power of his own glare.

  The Impala careens into the parking lot of the bar at breakneck speeds. It isn’t directed to a parking spot and halts violently by the curb. Dean bursts out the door like an overdue volcano, and you’re right behind him, ready to turn this establishment inside out to find Ramona, but she followed Dean’s instructions. The twelve-year-old pushes through the doors, blue graduation gown billowing in the cool breeze, cap missing, hair damp from the drizzling rain, and throws herself at her father. In a chain reaction, she bursts into tears and clutches his jacket tightly.

  “She told me to wait outside,” Ramona sobs, “so I did, and it was raining, and she was gone for hours, and she came back with a funny smell, and she didn’t listen when I said I wanted to go home, and then she drove away.”

  Dean holds her in his arms; his hands are claws on the back of her gown. She couldn’t escape him even if she wanted to. Feeling helpless, you run your hand through her hair.

  “She left me again . . .”

  Silently, Dean half walks, half carries his daughter towards the car. When a new vehicle peals in and squeals to a halt, he tenses. Mercedes gets out, and Dean relinquishes his hold and gives Ramona to you.

  “What the hell did you do?!” he fumes.

  “Oh relax. She’s fine, isn’t she? And I came back.”

  “You left her, you bitch!”

  “I forgot she was here! I got a little drunk, okay? Cut me a break!”

  In the split second that follows, some gate drops, and your heart clenches up and sends a vicious chill up your spine to your brain. You manage to focus on the wet, cold, terrified girl whose shoulders are beneath your palms. Dean’s gate is bigger, heavier, and represses a denser ocean of emotions. It slams to the ground so hard and stirs dead leaves, giving you a glimpse of your husband the hunter – fierce, terrifying, and not entirely human.

  “Cut you a break?” he spits. “What do you think these past weeks have been? I let you into my life, into my family’s life, and you ditch my daughter at a damn dive bar!”

  “Our daughter!”

  “She is not your daughter!”

  You try to tell him to walk away, but he’s long since stormed out that gate riding on a black horse.

  “She is not yours! You don’t deserve her, you bitch! You screwed up, and I will never let you near her again!”

  “Oh, I screwed up?” Mercedes jabs a finger into her chest, victimizes herself with one gesture. “How much did you tell your wife before you married her?” Jaw taut, the finger is turned on you. “Did he tell you about the time he abandoned Ramona?”

  “Mercedes,” you try, “please just go. Go now.”

  “Hell no! Make him tell you about the time he left Ramona! You think I’m bad? That baby could have died after what he did! Is this who you want to be with? You wanna spend the rest of your life with a man who abandons his children?!”

  “Mercedes, stop this!”

  “Better get that baby outta there, (y/n)! Get her far away before he kills her!”

  There’s a brief, highly intense snap in your brain, a moment when you want to rip her lungs out. A familiar ‘click’ resounds, and that’s what cuts the urge short. Dean now has a gun, a small revolver he must have hidden in his jacket, aimed directly between Mercedes’ eyes.

  “Get out,” he growls.

  “You’re gonna shoot me in front of Ramona?”

  “Dean, put that away and let’s go home.”

  “Do it, Dean. Shoot me.”

  “Get out!”

  Mercedes scoffs and lifts her hands as she backs towards her car. “You all are a waste of my time. Mark my words, Dean. I’ll come back, and when I do, I will get what I want, and I’ll make your life hell while I’m at it.”

  Numb, you watch the woman climb back into her car and shift gears. The farther away she gets, the lower Dean’s arms go until the revolver disappears into his pocket. Finally, you take a breath and usher Ramona, cold and damp, into the back seat of the Impala. Your husband passes the keys to you and spends the ride home staring out the window. Sam is there when you walk through the front door, forehead creased with worry.

  “Mitchell called. He asked me to come over, said you guys rushed out of here pretty quick. Everything all right?”

  One look around the room should give him his answer: his niece sullenly stripping out of her ruined graduation outfit, his brother sitting at the kitchen counter with his head in his hands, you quietly shaking your head. Though he wants to make things better, he’s intuitive enough to know that he can’t do anything at the moment, and so he tells you Mitchell and Elodie are asleep and slips away. After shutting the door behind your brother-in-law, you come back to find Ramona at Dean’s side and Dean staring into space.

  “Daddy?” ventures the twelve-year-old.

  “Hm,” is the response.

  “What happened when I was a baby?”

  “Sweetheart, you should go to bed.”

  “How were you worse than-”

  “Ramona, go to bed,” he snaps. “I don’t want to talk about it. Leave it alone, understand?”

  “Dean,” you scold, but it’s too late. Tears prick in Ramona’s eyes as she hurries down the hall and closes her bedroom door behind her.

  Casting a disapproving look at Dean, you follow the girl. If there’s one thing you know about children, it’s that they don’t want to be by themselves when they’re hurt and upset, and if they do, they’re lying. She needs someone. You find her curled up on her beanbag chair, sniffling and wiping her nose on her shirt collar. Her hair has begun to dry, and wisps stick up in places.

  When you sit beside the beanbag and rest a hand on the back of her neck, you pick up on tiny, nearly imperceptible tremors; she can’t hold back her sobs entirely. Poor girl. Twice she’s been left by her mother, once she’s seen her with a gun to her head. Pushed much farther, Dean may have shot the woman, maybe not to kill, but his instinct to protect his daughter was too out of control to be useful. Shame is on his face when he enters the room, and his apology is in the kiss he gives Ramona. Holding one of her hands, he sits silently beside her, eyes still but focused on nothing.

  “When you were born,” he starts, “I had a long way to go before I was fit to be a father. I drank too much, for one thing. One night, you were about six months old, I was home alone with you, and I got drunk in the kitchen. I forgot I was the only one there, so I went out to get more beer. I remember being in the checkout lane when I realized you were by yourself, and I went right home. You needed a hug and a diaper change, but you were fine, Mon Ami. You weren’t gonna die, I wasn’t leaving forever, and I have never done it again.”

  Dean licks his lips and pulls the twelve-year-old into an embrace. Quietly, he picks her up and carries her to her bed. He tucks her in, bundles the blanket around her shoulders, and runs a hand across her drying hair.

  “Believe me when I say I love you, baby girl.”

*    *    *    *    *

  It takes Dean much too long to come back to bed. Once he’s done pushing off the inevitable and joins you in the bedroom, it’s almost three in the morning, and he slips in beside you, lays his head on the pillow, and wraps his arms around you.

  “We’ve got an anniversary coming up,” he sighs. “Anything special you wanna do?”

  “I know you don’t want to talk about that. You scared me tonight, babe, and why did you never tell me about what happened with Ramona?”

  “I was going to, I promise. It was my last big secret. I was gonna tell you, but then you said you were pregnant, and . . . I got nervous. I thought maybe you wouldn’t trust me around Elodie, so I didn’t say anything.”

  You turn over to face him. “Dean, one of the reasons I love you is because I trust you with Mitchell. I married you because I trusted you with him and with any future children we might have. What you did twelve years ago doesn’t change how much I trust you.”

  Dean smiles briefly and cards his fingers through your hair. “I’m scared, (y/n).”

  “I know.”

  “Mercedes is a bitch, but she’s – she’s smart. If she wanted to, she could convince a judge to let her take Ramona away, get them to say I’m unfit to be a parent. I don’t want . . .” He exhales – a shuddering sound. “I don’t want to lose my kids.”

  Until he falls asleep, Dean buries his face in your shoulder and lets himself cry just a little bit. He only moves when, a half hour later, his oldest daughter comes in and slides in between her parents.

READ PART SEVEN HERE

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[kdfrqqg]

French Perfume Part 5

Crowley X Reader

Word Count: 1.6K

Summary: Female reader receives a package from an admirer.   She also learns about her special gifts.

A/N: I was inspired to write this section specifically because I wanted to expand on the fact that I believe that Crowley’s love language would be gift giving.

Warnings: language

Catch Up: French Perfume Series

After a day of training and still feeling like you got nowhere, you were exhausted, you dreamt of how to use your new found powers properly. When you awoke, on the empty side of your bed, there was a large white box adorned with a red bow and a dozen red roses in a vase on your dresser. You smiled and couldn’t believe your eyes; your boyfriend had done it again. Standing over the box, you saw another small white card.

(Y/N), You look so lovely when you sleep. It took all my strength not to join you in bed. I want to take you out tonight, somewhere special. Please wear these, I know I got your measurements right. Love Always, Crowley

Inside the box you found, a strand of Mikimoto’s Akoya pearls, a black bra and panty set by La Perla, a pair of classic black Louboutin’s pumps with to the red soles, and a simple black Valentino dress. These were items you never even imagined owning, brands you only ever saw in magazines. You picked up the phone and called Crowley, “Hey baby, so are trying to buy me or something?” You giggled. “Only if it’s working, Love.” He chuckled. “Oh it’s working alright.” You said smugly with a slight chuckle. “Where are we going tonight?” “That’s a surprise. Be ready by 6:30.” He explained. “Will do.” “Darling,” You hummed in response, “I love you, (Y/N).” “I think I love you too.” You responded. “I’ll take it.” He responded and you both laughed before hanging up the phone.

You stripped down to nothing and tied your hair up. You picked up the pearls first, gazing at how beautiful they were. You had only ever owned a fake strand of glass pearls that you bought for twenty bucks at a department store. These were exquisite, perfectly round white pearls, each one was knotted individually, the signature “M” emblem on the back side of the necklace was so dainty. You put them on and stared into ​the full length mirror on the wall. The length of the pearls hit your collar bone just right. You placed your hand to the pearls feeling just like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, when Richard Gere gave her that gorgeous ruby necklace. You just couldn’t stop smiling. Then you put on the heels, they were taller than what you were used to but still felt good, even better they made your legs look hot. You stood naked in front of the mirror with only the pearls, heels and a smile on, you considered taking a photo and sending it to the man who brought the biggest smile to your face ever. You knew if you did that you would never make it to your date tonight and he would be all over you in an instant and you would let him. You strutted back to the box and looked at the delicate lacey black undergarments, they were your size and no need to put them on yet. You were a little disappointed when you saw that the dress was two sizes bigger than what you normally would wear. Really most of your clothes came from Walmart or Target and you just hoped it was just cut small, it was a designer dress after all, and they designed for women who looked like twigs. You slipped the dress over your head and zipped it up. Damn, if that son of a taylor, didn’t pick out the most perfect short sleeveless dress with just the right amount of cleavage. You grinned like crazy, how could someone so evil make you feel so good. You weren’t blind, you knew who your boyfriend was and what he had done. It didn’t matter now, you really were falling for him. You put everything neatly back in the box except for the necklace. You want to wear that for a while and continue to feel special. You put your jeans and flannel shirt on and walked out to the war room. “Hey morning Sammy!” You told him. “Hey!” Sam looked up at you and coughed, “umm… You know you are glowing, like actually glowing.” “I am?” You looked at your hands but couldn’t see it for yourself so you looked into the glass frame on the wall and saw that Sam was right. It was surreal, you had never seen yourself glow before. “So are you glowing because of Crowley?” Sam asked. You looked down and smiled at the floor, “Probably!” You giggled. Sam kept staring at you, “Those are new,” as he touched his collar bone, “did he give you those?” “Yeah” you continued to look down and started to twirl your hair. “He’s taking me out again tonight.” “I’m happy for you (Y/N/N).” Sam informed you. You were surprised by his comment, surely Sam Winchester wouldn’t have approved of your relationship, but somehow he did.  You sat down at your laptop searching for a case hoping not to find one. Cas and Dean walked in, you immediately looked down blushing at Cas. You hadn’t been able to look at him since he kissed you yesterday. His energy was still coursing through your veins. “You look lovely today (Y/N).” Cas complemented. “It’s because she has been glowing,” Sam paused, “because of Crowley” he scoffed. “Really? You can’t like him that much.“ Dean questioned. “Dean, I really do, he makes me happy.” You disclosed. “So where is he taking you tonight?” Sam requested. You smirked, “I really don’t know. He sent me a really expensive dress, and pair of shoes, oh and these!” You touched the necklace again smiling into your hand. You prepared for your date, putting everything on that he sent over and spritzing a dab of perfume on, when you were ready, you never felt sexier. You walked to the library where the boys were. “Damn!” Dean let out. All the men had the same response, they all thought you were sexy as hell even sweet virginal Cas. “He won’t be able to keep his hands off of you.” Sam conveyed. Crowley was five minutes early when he popped in, “You look radiant, Love.” Then he whispered “Are you wearing everything?” and wiggled his eyebrows. Your grin said it all. You didn’t know how to respond to that, you blushed and looked down all of a sudden becoming shy, “Hmmm, very good Darling.” Kissing into the exposed skin on your neck. “Bring her back in one piece.” Dean threatened.

Crowley popped you to a little side street. You looked around, it was busy and there were dozens of Asian men and women walking down the street. “Babe, are we in China Town?” “No, Love, we are in China.” You gulped, “China?” You were a little surprised to say the least. “You know, we could have just gotten Chinese takeout from down the street.” You said sarcastically. “Where is the adventure in that? Come on.” He took your hand and lead you to a small but elegant restaurant that had a table waiting for you both. “They have the best Chinese food in the world.” He informed you. You sat down and looked at the menu, “Darling, I can’t read any of this.” He took your hand, “oh I forgot, let me order for you, Love.” He spoke Mandarin to the waitress, it was super sexy, you loved it when men knew another language. To be honest it was getting you a little wet, you wiggled in your seat and bit at your bottom lip to keep yourself from dragging him off to a bathroom. He wasn’t wrong the food was amazing. “You know this is going to take some getting used to, Crowley.” “What do you mean, Love?” “All this attention! Most guys just buy me a beer and think they can get in my pants but you have been there when the shit hit the fan and you haven’t left.”  You questioned but weren’t sure if you wanted an answer. “You should be treated like a Queen, Love. My Queen as a matter of fact, and as for me, I don’t plan on ever leaving you.” You grabbed his tie and aggressively pulled him to you. His lips intertwined with yours as you​ danced your tongue across his lips. “So does that mean you love me?” He asked. “Maybe!” You smiled feeling the flush run to your face. You did love him but you still weren’t ready to admit it yet. Still hold his black silk tie, “So what is next on the agenda, baby?” pressing a firm kiss on his wicked lips. “I was thinking New York, to go see a show.” He suggested. “As in Broadway?!” The excitement dripped from your voice. “I take it that this something that you would like to do.” “Yes, yes baby!“ You peppered kisses on his cheeks and mouth.

Within a few moments, Crowley had transported you to the middle of Times Square. You couldn’t believe your eyes, you remembered visiting when you were much younger, the lights and noise, you breathed it all in. “Are you coming, Love?” He interlocked his fingers with yours, he could tell he made the right choice as he watched your​ face with an overjoyed look. The musical was amazing. The singing and dancing made you feel alive and sitting next to Crowley, who watched you more than show, was a little overwhelming. “Are you going to watch the show?” You whispered. “I’ve seen it but I have​ never seen you watch it.” He replied. He held your hand tighter and pulled it to his mouth to place a soft kiss on your hand. Man, was he laying it on thick but you had never felt so loved before. You were buzzing from the whole experience or was it that triple espresso you had a intermission either way you didn’t want to go home. “Anything else planned, my dear?” You questioned. “As a matter of fact.” Like that he pulled you into his arms and popped you off to another location.

Honestly, I really do want your feedback!! It may determine how I write my next fic.

“Give it to me! You know you want to!” Writer winks at reader.

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[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Test Run

Summary: Sam is cursed on a hunt and Dean and reader have to take care of him in the meantime…

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word Count: 1,600ish

Warnings: mild language

A/N: Some cutesy fluff for ya…

You were still in shock as you looked at the curious little thing bundled up in Dean’s arms. Dean had wrapped him up in his flannel, using it as a blanket of sorts for him as you took out the witch that had cursed him in the first place.

“Dean,” you said, walking back in to where the brothers had been.

“This is weird, even for us,” said Dean. “My baby brother is a baby. He’s supposed to be bigger than me and here he is, sucking on my thumb in my arms.”

You would have awed at the sight because of how adorable it was to see Dean with a child. You’d talked about having one of your own but neither of you knew what you were doing and were too afraid of screwing them up.

“How do we change him back?” said Dean, Sam’s tiny hand reaching up to grab at Dean’s coat collar. You walked back into the kitchen where the witch had been working and found her spell book.

“Looks like a day and it wears off,” you said, walking back out. “Think we can manage to keep him alive that long?”

Sam giggled as you came over and stared at him, obviously thinking you had been funny. His other hand grabbed your coat as he held onto both of you, tugging it seemed like.

“Come on, we’ll stop at the baby store and then get him home,” you said, moving Sam’s hand away, a pout appearing on his cute face. “What’s wrong Sammy?” you asked, running your fingers through his short brown hair. You never thought you’d see the day where he didn’t have long locks.

“Umpfh,” he muttered, grabbing you again. His big eyes drifted from Dean to you and back to Dean.

“I think he wants us to kiss, the little weirdo,” said Dean, Sam looking like he was verging on tears at the name calling.

“Dean, I think he understands us,” you said, Sam’s eyes moving to lock onto yours.

“Umpfh,” he grunted out again as it dawned on you.

“You always kiss me after a hunt,” you said shyly. 

“Didn’t realize he’d picked up on that,” said Dean, giving you a quick peck on the lips that made Sam smile. “Happy now rolly polly?”

Sam giggled and you and Dean were laughing to yourselves. Maybe this would be fun.

“Y/N, can you change his diaper while I set up this crib, bassinet, whatever the hell it is, thing?” asked Dean, looking like he was having a hard time putting the temporary crib up.

“Dude, he’s a baby but that’s still Sam,” you said, Sam’s face in a scowl. “See? He doesn’t want me looking at him.”

“Fine,” said Dean, grabbing Sam from you and setting him on the bed. “You finish putting that together then.” It took you no time at all to pop the correct fixtures in place, just as Dean was holding up a happy and clean looking Sam. “Let’s put some jammies on you.”

“You’re good with him,” you said, watching Dean grab the light blue onesie from the bag of things you’d bought and lay it next to a giggling little Sam. 

“Hey, Sammy, you mind giving a guy a break and let Y/N get you dressed?” asked Dean, Sam’s little hands reaching for you. “I think that’s a yes.”

Sam struggled a bit as you got him in the warm pajamas but was happy as could be once you zipped him up. You picked him up and put him on your hip, bouncing him and pulling squeals of joy from his lips.

“You’re good with him too,” said Dean, kissing your forehead and then Sam’s. “Let’s go eat dinner and get some food in the little guy.”

You and Dean ate leftovers, both of you too concerned with keeping an eye on Sam in his little high chair stuck on the end of the table to enjoy it properly. You picked out sweet potatoes since you knew he liked them and peas since he’d been on a green food kick lately.

“Please eat the peas, Sam,” you asked, his sweet potatoes taking no coaxing at all but the peas a different story. “I promise, it’s yummy.” You regretted your word choice as Sam pointed at your mouth. “Oh come on, you know I-”

“Y/N, you love peas don’t you?” asked Dean, knowing you hated them more than most other foods. You put on a big smile and forced yourself to take a tiny spoonful of Sam’s baby food, biting back a gag as you swallowed.

“Super yummy, Sam,” you said, holding up the spoon for him as he laughed and took the spoon no problem. “You did that on purpose you little…”

Sam’s laughter told you his adult self was in there, probably having the time of his life bending you and Dean to his will.

“Eh, I’ll give you that one, Winchester,” you said, cleaning up Sam’s face when you’d finished feeding him. “You are stuck with the worst possible people in the world to be taking care of you after all.”

Sam grunted and shook his head no but Dean simply shrugged. 

“Should we read him a bedtime story?” asked Dean, genuine interest in his voice. Sam looked tired after his meal though and you were sure he’d fall asleep soon. You pulled him out of his chair and headed towards your room where you’d set up the crib, Dean on your heels.

“You need anything, you just scream your little head off and we’ll get ya,” you said, Sam taking hold of one of your fingers after you lay him down.

“Night night Sammy,” said Dean, running his hand over his brother’s head. “Be a good boy and we might even go to the park tomorrow.” Sam seemed excited to get out of the house and you ushered Dean out to give Sam some peace and quiet.

“We don’t have a stroller you realize,” you said when you and Dean were in the hall.

“We got that baby carry front thingy you wear on your chest,” said Dean. 

“I’ll run out and grab him some sunscreen in the morning. Baby’s skin is sensitive,” you said, making a mental note to do so when you got up.

“He’s going to laugh his ass off at us when he’s a full grown man again,” said Dean, throwing an arm around your shoulder. “We aren’t doing too bad so far, are we?”

“I think we can get him to tomorrow afternoon,” you said, wrapping an arm around Dean’s waist. “But let’s go take a second to ourselves.”

“Read my mind,” said Dean, scooping you up in his arms and planting you down in the library where he turned on the show you’d been binging. Both you and Dean couldn’t help but check on Sam a few times before you went to bed that night, Sam passed out, his arms sprawled out every which way.

Sam slept through the night without any interruptions which made you panic that something had gone horribly wrong. But his little chest still rose and fell in a perfect rhythm, his lips smacking together and making funny sounds as he dreamt. 

“I’ll say, I’m going to miss him like this, so much easier to boss around,” said Dean, earning a slap on the chest from you. “This has been fun. Terrifying but fun.”

“I know what you mean,” you said, wanting to say more but you both caught Sam stir awake. “Morning, Sammy.”

“Still a little squirt I see,” said Dean, tickling Sam in the chest. “Want me to get you into a new diaper?” Sam grunted and Dean picked him up as you turned your back to give them privacy.

“Still want to go to the park after breakfast?” Dean asked Sam, tapping you on the shoulder as you turned around and saw Dean putting Sam in a little flannel shirt.

“Aw, he’s so cute,” you said, finding a pair of socks to put on Sam’s kicking feet. Sam giggled again and you quickly got him fed and strapped into the baby seat in the car. You spent some time at the park walking around with your boys, Sam seeming to have the time of his life. But what struck you most was how many people told you what a cute family you had, what a cute son you had, what a cute couple you and Dean were. 

“Better get home in case he decides to change back early,” said Dean, walking the three of you back to the car. 

A few hours later you and Dean were watching Sam who was passed out on your bed. You were worried that maybe you’d read the spell wrong and Sam wasn’t changing back anytime soon. But in one flash of an eye, there was a baby on your bed and in the next, a fully grown, naked man. Thankfully Dean had the common sense to put a blanket over him so you didn’t see anything you didn’t want to.

“Baby brother, back again,” said Dean, smiling as he tossed Sam some clothes. 

“Thanks you guys,” said Sam, pulling his shirt on and his boxers under his blanket. He stood up when he was covered and it was a sight for sore eyes to see Sam tower over Dean again. “You two make pretty good parents.”

“Yeah, we uh,” you said, Dean holding your hand in his, “We talked while you were taking your nap. We’re going to try for one of our own.”

“It’s scary but pretty fun too,” said Dean.

“You’re going to do great guys,” said Sam, wrapping you both up in a hug. 

Dean was right. This was going to be fun.

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