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jasmines-library · 1 year ago

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Can you do a Winchester sister fic pls where the sister gets years taken off her life by saving Dean (how Dean took years off his life to save Bobby in season 5) and she’s running out of time and while Sam is finishing up the poker game against the witch to save her, she dies in deans arms (the sister is closer with Dean and always looked up to him and the boys ofc are always protective of her) but then Sam wins the poker game and brings her back

The Curious Case of Dean Winchester

Note: This one was really fun to write. I hope you don't mind that I added my own little twist onto the episode (S5E7) and that it's pretty angsty: I couldn't help myself.

warnings: Death but only brief, swearing once or twice.

Word count: 2.3K (wow it's been a hot minute since I've written like this and i've missed it)

⛤ SPN MASTERLIST ⛤

“Don’t do anything stupid.”

Those were the last words Dean Winchester told you before you split off to search the other side of town. Of course, that is exactly what you did.

As soon as Cliff Whitlow, the missing victim, had revealed the man behind his so-called miracle, you knew exactly what you had to do. The man behind the unusual deaths- Patrick, was a witch- a powerful one at that. And you needed a Witch.

See, Dean had got himself into a predicament. He had made a deal with a crossroads demon so that Bobby could walk again. He couldn’t bear to see him so miserable anymore, so he did what he thought was the right thing to do. Bobby was mad, you and Sam even madder, and you were now running out of time to find a way to get him out of it. It frustrated you that Dean’s impending doom was creeping up slowly on you, ready to grab him at any second, but no one was doing anything about it. So you took matters into your own hands.

You took the elevator around the back of the bar down to the basement after bribing the bartender with enough money to make you cringe. It was rickety and jolted unnervingly as it descended, opening up into another bar. Few people lingered around sipping from glasses of spirits that lined the walls, though you paid little attention to them because your gaze had locked onto him. He sat smugly in a secluded section of the room behind a table a poker game had been laid out on. Leaning back on his chair he watched his latest victim bet away his life. He was using magic to enchant the poker chips, grinning as he scooped the man's chips towards him, watching as his face turned ashen and grey.

“That’s a cruel trick you got there.” You said making your way over to the table.

“Thank you.” He shrugged, rearranging the black and red chips with a smirk. “I take it you’re here for a reason?”

“I want to play.”

He glanced up at you, raising a brow and speaking to you with a thick, Irish lilt. “You look awfully young for someone trying to get more years… that is unless?”

“I’m not a witch.”

“I see.” you were intriguing him now. “How can I help you?”

“My brother. He made a demon deal. I need you to get rid of it in return for my years.”

The witch tilted his head as he looked at you keely. “Now slow down there, princess. Cancelling a demon deal is a very difficult thing to do. Takes a whole bunch of magic and persuasion to do that. Giving me a few years isn’t going to be enough.”

“30.” You laid down.

“Tempting.” He hummed, “But I think we can have some real fun with this. What do you say?”

“Whatever. Just help my brother.”

“Good answer. I’ll play for your brother’s deal. You win, I'll try to cut your brother's deal.”

“And if I lose?”

“60.” The staggering number almost made your heart stop, but you were doing this for Dean. Sam needed him. The world needed him. “But it’ll start slowly until you least expect it.”

“Deal. Oh and one more thing.”

The witch leaned forwards in his chair

“Dean can’t play to replace my years with his own.”

“You must be very desperate.” The witch mused, gesturing for you to take a seat as he began to shuffle his deck of cards. “That or you’re extremely stupid. Who knows. But I like you. You show loyalty to your family and that’s very important. Perhaps, once you lose I might even see if I can remove your brother's deal. I’m feeling generous today.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Just shut up and play.”

“Y/N?”

Dean’s voice made you stop dead in your tracks as you rounded the corner after stepping out of the elevator. He stared at you with an irascible look, though you could see the confusion hidden in his eyes.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He hissed at you. You were supposed to be across the other side of town. When the three of you split up, you took off in the wrong direction to slip into the bar before your brothers found it. You had taken the receipt from one of the victims' jackets and raced down there in hopes that you would make it out before one of them stumbled across it. I guess you were just incredibly unlucky today.

“Planting daisies.” You said sarcastically as you tried to push your way past your brother so he wouldn’t see your face. “What’s it look like?”

“So you found the game?” He queried, chasing after you.

“Yep.”

“Did you stop it?”

You kept quiet and continued on straight. You had lied to Dean hundreds of times before so why couldn’t you bring yourself to do it now?

“Y/N?”

You stopped, turning to face him with a sigh.

“Not exactly…”

You could see the dread on his face now. “What did you do?”

You swallowed thickly. “I played. Okay?”

Dean Winchester stared at you dumbfounded for a moment, his lips twitching as he struggled to process the right words. “And?”

“...I lost.”

Your brother nearly exploded. “Are you kidding me?! The one thing I told you not to do was ‘anything studpid’. And you played some He-witch?!”

“Someone had to do something Dean! I can’t just sit by everyday knowing that you could be dragged away from us any second. I can’t go through that again Dean.”

“You idiot.” He was blaming himself, you could hear it on his tongue; the way he seethed. “Sammy and I are looking for something. We will find something.”

“That’s what you said last time. And I'm sorry Dean, but I can’t. Sammy needs you. The world needs you.”

“And you don’t think we need you?! You can’t go throwing your years away.”

“They’re my years. I can do what I want.”

“How many did you lose Y/N?”

“60.”

Sam bustled through the door trying to balance a tray of drinks and a paper bag filled with fast food. He slid them on the counter and tossed his keys beside them as he called out.

“Are you guys home?”

“In here, Sammy.” Dean emerged from the bathroom and Sam could tell his brother was mad. He was wearing that stern look and his voice was agitated.

“Where’s Y/N?”

“Here.” You bundled through the door, glancing silently between your brothers gripping a candy bar you had wrangled from one of the vending machines. You didn’t really want it you just needed an excuse to get out of the motel room and escape from the tension and side glances that Dean shot your way.

Sam studied you for a moment as you pulled out a chair to slump on. At first glance he hardly noticed it, but he realised that you looked older. Not by a lot, but you moved differently and your eyes were ever so slightly more creased.

“Either of you two wanna tell me what happened?”

“Y/N’s got a death wish. That’s what happened.” Dean stated, rummaging in the bag that Sam had brought back from the diner.

“Oh so I was just supposed to let you die? Again?”

“Yes. Or find another way.” Dean spat back at you but you knew he was scared. Scared and feeling guilty for what your near future might entail.

Sam blinked as the two of you argued, firing words at each other. “Whoa. Slow down. What happened? Did you find the witch?”

“Oh yeah. Y/N found the witch alright, Sammy. Why don’t you tell him what happened, Kid?”

“I played.”

“You what?”

“I played for Dean’s deal to be spoiled… and I lost.”

“Oh God, Y/N/N… How much did you lose?”

“60…” You started, watching the horror cross his features. “But he’s taking them slowly. Waiting until we least expect it.”

“And there’s the punchline.” Dean could have laughed.

Sam was in shock, though he understood why you had done it. He understood why you were hurting. He was there when Dean was taken. He saw how broken up it made you and he saw how you clung to him when he returned, hesitant to leave his side for weeks.

“Oh kiddo.” he sighed “What have you gotten yourself into?”

“You know, I still think I should play.” Sam said. The three of you had just broken into the Witch’s flat. Sam and Dean believed that if they got hold of the chips then they could find a way to get you your years back, but you had been caught and the witch had revealed that the chips had nothing to do with it. That was when Sam was given the idea to play for you. In the meantime you could feel your body changing and see the lines being etched into your face.

“No. No.” Dean cut his brother off straight away. “You’re not good enough. I’m better, Y/N's way better. We both lost.”

“What so I don’t get a say in this anymore? Dean can’t play so I’m the only option we got. I’ve watched you hustle plenty of poker games. Hell, that’s how Y/N learnt-”

“Sammy.” You pleaded. You knew that if this went wrong everything you did would have been for nothing. “Please. No.”

“Y/N. We can’t just let you… you’ll die. We’re going to find you a way out of this. I promise.”

“Take it.” The blonde woman, the one from the bar and the witch’s apartment, was perched on your bed as the three of you hustled back into the room. Dean’s fingers instinctively reached for the gun he had tucked in his waistband. “It’ll help.”

Sam took the parchment gingerly, turning it over in his hands before reading the messy handwriting scrawled across the page. “What is this?”

“The most powerful reversal spell you’ve ever laid your eyes on.”

“And it reverses what?” Dean asked.

“Patrick’s work. All of it.”

“You saying she could be normal again?” Your brother’s hand found your shoulder protectively.

“Her and everyone else he’s ever played.” She said before adding “who’s still alive.”

“Why the hell should we trust you?” Sam scowled.

“Trust me, don’t trust me. I don’t care.” She stood and made her way to the door. “The spell is real.”

“If it zaps everyone, doesn’t that include your man?” Dean asked.

“And me too.” She shrugged, “I look good for my age.”

“Lady, this don’t add up for shit.” Dean said. “Why would you want that?”

“I have my reasons.” her hand went to fiddle with the silver locket around her neck before she fled. “Do it quickly. We leave town tomorrow.”

The spell hadn’t worked.

When Dean tossed the toothpick Sam had smuggled him into the flames he looked up at you with a hopeful glint in his eyes but nothing happened. You didn’t get younger. And Sam was still betting his life away against that witch.

You could feel it now, the way your life was slowly slipping away. At first you didn’t really notice it, but as soon as you began pursuing Patrick, you knew your end was approaching quickly. You supposed that ‘when you least expected’ was a lot closer than you expected. The thought made you bitter as you shuffled into the car, wincing at the way your joints ached the way they would after a long hunt or session at the gym.

Dean glanced at you through Baby’s mirror as he sped down the road towards Patrick’s apartment in search of some more of his DNA. His concern grew as you climbed the stairs much slower than you would usually have done and as you entered his room.

The two of you searched quickly, looking anywhere for a speck of something that might contain just a speck of his DNA. another one of those toothpicks or something. Albeit the pair of you were struggling to find anything.

And then it is you. All at once your joints popped and clicked as your body changed suddenly. You cried out in pain as your brother ran to your side to catch you before you could hit the ground.

“No. No. Not yet.”

You blinked up at him as you struggled to breath, your heart slowing as your body forgot how to function.

“Dean…” Your voice faded as he cradled you in his arms. Your breaths slowing and your eyes fluttering.

“No.” His voice broke as he fumbled for his phone. “No you hang on sweetheart. Come on Sammy, pick up!”

There was no answer as Dean’s phone rang and went straight through to Sam’s voicemail. “Son of a bitch!” he exclaimed as he through his phone across the room, tears streaming down his face as he clung to you. Watching your chest slowly rise and fall. Up and down…up and down…up..and…down…up-

There was nothing after that. You lay morbidly still in his arms as your body ceased to function.

“No! Y/N. I can’t lose you now. Please….”

You did not move and the room was filled with the sound of your big brother’s grief and he sobbed. And then, you took a gasping breath and sat up abruptly in his arms.

Your body had returned to normal. The extra wrinkles around your eyes and the grey hairs gone. Your breaths were steady and your heart was strong.

“Y/N/N?” He whispered.

“Dean?” Your eyes searched him. “Sammy did it.”

“Yeah.” He breathed out, squeezing you tightly. “I knew he would.”

Dean’s phone began to ring from across the room. Reluctantly, he peeled himself away from you as he moved to get it, though his attention never strayed far from you.”

“Dean?!” You heard your other brother over the speakers. “Is she okay?”

“Yeah. You did it, Sam. She’s going to be just fine.”

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suzukiblu · 1 year ago

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Ko-fi thank-you sentences for Sam; further progress in "Match is technically also a Luthor".

The thing parked outside is . . . theoretically a towncar. Theoretically.

Match doesn’t actually think towncars are typically equipped with obvious armor and subtly “concealed” weaponry as accents, though. At least not the kind that’s clearly designed to handle open warfare, anyway. There are tanks he’s seen that were less prepared for open warfare.

“Right on schedule, Mr. Luthor,” the chauffeur says, then holds the car door open for Luthor as the bodyguard slips into the front passenger seat. Match . . . doesn’t actually know what he’s expected to do here. Obviously the chauffeur’s going to be the one driving, but he’s never ridden in a car; only the kind of transport vehicles the Agenda uses, most of which are military-issue or at least militarized designs.

The chauffeur raises a pointed eyebrow at him, still holding the door open. Luthor’s already settled into the back of the towncar and seems to be occupied with skimming the contents of a tablet that was left on one of the seats.

Match . . . doesn’t have any orders. Or even instructions. Or–anything.

He’s supposed to get in the car, he thinks. It’s the logical deduction, that he’s supposed to do that.

But no one’s told him to do that.

Technically, he could still kill any one of them. Kill all three of them, if he’s careful about it. Luthor isn’t going to be able to pull out any kryptonite if he’s having a TTK-induced massive stroke. Technically, he could kill them all and just go back into the facility and–

“‘Joseph’ seems appropriate, but also implies I’m willing to share,” Luthor muses idly, not looking up from his tablet. “But ‘Alexander’ is just too on the nose, and doesn’t account for your brother anyway.”

. . . “share”, Match wonders? Share what?

“Superboy isn’t my brother,” he repeats. Luthor spares him a dry look.

“I’m your father,” he says. “I’m perfectly aware of who your siblings are.”

. . . Match cannot process a damn word that the man just said, so just gets in the towncar and sits stiffly on the opposite side of the backseat. Luthor returns his attention to his tablet and the chauffeur shuts the door. Match feels an odd sense of–he’d call it “panic”, almost, if he was the kind of thing that could feel anything like that.

“I suppose one of you could be ‘Alex’ and the other could be ‘Xander’, of course,” Luthor says, tone back to musing as the chauffeur gets in the driver’s seat and starts up the car. “But that also doesn’t seem like much effort, which seems a bit hypocritical of me after I was just judging your respective manufacturers’ lack of it.”

Match doesn’t know how or even if he’s supposed to respond to any of that. Some of the staff at the Agenda just talked to hear themselves talk; some of them expected him to function as a sounding board. A . . . “rubber duck”, one of the engineers had called him once, laughingly patronizing, though he hadn’t understood the apparent reference.

“I don’t have a father,” he says. Luthor spares him another dubious look.

“Oh, don’t you?” he says. “I designed your DNA myself. You’re a masterpiece, by the way, so you’re welcome for that. A perfect blend of Kryptonian and human. Sublimely arranged and maximized.”

“Biologically, that wouldn’t make you a parent,” Match says. “Superman and Paul Westfield were the only DNA donors to the initial design.”

“It’d actually make me more of one, in my opinion. But I said a perfect blend,” Luthor snorts dismissively, rolling his eyes. “Paul Westfield’s DNA was anything but ‘perfect’.”

Match . . . pauses. What does that mean? Who else’s DNA would . . . ?

Oh, Match thinks.

“The tactile telekinesis is much more effective with Luthor brainpower behind it,” Luthor informs him. “Just for the record. Westfield’s DNA wouldn’t have you capable of crushing cities or splitting atoms.”

. . . oh, Match thinks again.

“Splitting atoms?” he asks slowly.

“I told you,” Luthor says, pointing the tablet pen at him and tapping it against his chest. “You’re a masterpiece. The radiance of a thousand suns. And I am Death, destroyer of worlds.”

Match doesn’t know how he feels about being called a . . . “masterpiece”. He’s an improvement on Superboy, the Agenda’s told him, but it’s not as if Superboy’s all that impressive a baseline to start from, so . . .

So he doesn’t know. He’s still a clone either way; a copy of someone else. A copy of a copy, in fact.

And apparently, he’s also an atomic bomb.

#dc match #lex luthor #sam #longfic #wip: match is technically also a luthor

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bubble-popping · 4 months ago

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day 25! i dont know what to call this au or even how to describe it but i sure wrote a lot for it lmao

"Well, I think that's enough for today. Maybe tomorrow you'll come to your senses," Quackity mused, absentminded as he washed the netherite pickaxe in the flowing lava. He glanced behind him, a familiar sight he'd grown too accustomed to. Dream sat slumped against the back obsidian wall, unmoving, normally white fur closer to a stained beige, head lolled to the side, eyes glazed over staring at nothing. The hybrid looked as good as dead, but Quackity knew better.

How many months was it now? He'd lost track, if he was honest. Somewhere along the line, this stopped being about the Book and about his personal revenge.

But these days, he didn't feel the same thrill he once did. It felt so good to hurt him, make him feel the same pain he'd caused so many others. And yet, for all his talk of godhood, even Dream had limits apparently. He hardly cried anymore, barely whimpered unless Quackity did something drastic. Like when he'd pulled teeth after Dream tried biting him. Or that day he walked in with a razor and a branding iron in the shape of his blocky smile, just waiting for the lava to spill back down. Or the time he'd finally gotten tired of Dream clawing at him and took his sweet time prying each nail from its bed.

He almost felt bad.

Almost.

"I'm feeling like a broken record at this point, Dream. And I'm really not known for my patience." There was no response, hadn't been for hours.

Finally, the wall of lava began to descend and Quackity could see the Warden standing on the other side.

Quackity waited silently for the redstone machine, stepped on, and didn't look back as it returned him to it's starting position.

"Anything?" Sam asked, already knowing the answer.

"No," Quackity muttered, gaze falling slowly to his bloody hands. "Got a water bucket for me?"

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

The prisoner watched the walls drip a never-ending purple substance. He tried to remember other purple things. Enchanted netherite was the first to come to mind. Armor, swords, axes.

Pickaxes.

He suppressed a shudder.

Only then did he notice Quackity wasn't in his cell anymore. Time slipped so easily, too easily. He missed his clock. He missed a lot of things, people, nature. But they were all hazy memories now. Blurs of forest green and sky blue, of headbands and goggles, of friends made family. Their faces were blotched out, vague impressions, and just the first letters of names on his tongue. He missed being able to remember.

There was nothing else to do in this dark box but reminisce, and even that was fading.

He couldn't even remember why or how he got in this place, in prison. He must've done something wrong, but then again, he didn't think it mattered. For all he knew, he'd been here since he was born.

He was sure of three things. He was never leaving this room, Quackity would be back tomorrow--whenever that was--to hurt him again, and his name was...

His name...

Quackity had said Dream like it was a name, but he didn't know what that meant. Who was Dream? What did he like? Why would he be in prison?

He'd trust it for now, if only because he couldn't think of anything else.

Dream moved for the first time in what felt like days. His neck protested the movement, sore from its stretched state. He spotted the single block of water in the corner. Memories of trying to use it as an escape briefly crossed his mind. Immediately after, he recalled the punishment he'd received for it and flinched.

Trying to calm himself with a deep breath only sent him into a coughing fit, and he realized just how thirsty he was. He began crawling to the water, body too aching and legs too broken to walk. The rough obsidian dug into the sensitive paw pads of his hands and through the thin fabric of his orange jumpsuit. He'd grit his teeth in pain if he had any.

Finally, he'd made it to the cool liquid and carefully cupped it to his lips. He wouldn't call it refreshing. After all, it was the same water it had been the day he arrived--whenever that was. The Warden never cared to replace it, or do anything for him really.

He panted after a few handfuls, atrophied muscles shaking with the effort of holding himself up. His eyelids started to flutter, growing oddly heavy. The blood loss must be getting to him.

In that case, he should move back from the hole and try--though he had a good hunch he'd fail--to get comfortable for when he passed out. Maybe this time he wouldn't wake up with a sore, well, everything. But, for some reason, his body wouldn't listen to what his brain said. He was too weak, muscles too fatigued and bones too frail. His strength gave out, and he entered the water with a small splash. His eyes stung as he tried to keep them open, even if all he could see was utter darkness. He kept his mouth closed, trying to conserve his oxygen.

But the instinct to breathe, to live overpowered him. He inhaled through his nostrils, only to be rewarded with a large influx of water burning his throat.

If he wasn't so tired, so exhausted, so battered and broken, he would've panicked. Adrenaline would've flooded his veins like the water filling his lungs. He would've lived.

But, instead...

Dream drowned

#dreblr #dsmp fanfic #c!quackity #bubble writes #daily drabbles #torture mention

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yet-another-deanw-girl · 2 months ago

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Chapter 12: I'm Not a Fucking Princess

||The Prophecy Series||

She knew for 15 years that this day would come. She knew her destiny had already been written. That her death had been foretold.

She knew she would have to stop him. She knew she would have to kill him. And she thought she was prepared for all of it. But the day she met him she realized how wrong she was…

Set in Season 10

Pairing: MoC!Dean x Female!OC

Warnings: the usual SPN, language

Episode mapping: Between episode 10 of season 10 "The Hunter Games" and episode 11 of season 10 "There's No Place Like Home"

Note: The events of this story are following season 10 of Supernatural and are taking place between October 2014 and July 2015. I tried to make sure that all the references to weapons, tech, etc. are accurate with the time period.

AN: This is my first time writing a fanfic but the story has been in my head for too long and it just needed to get out. I hope you like it.

AN: English is not my first language, I apologize for any mistakes.

"Do we have a visitor? Is someone here?" Sam asks when he returns from his morning run. "I can't understand why you are doing this to yourself! The early mornings. The running. We are chased by or we are chasing after things all the time! Why do you do it voluntarily, Sammy?" "Dean, you have to start taking care of yourself. All the burgers you eat are going to kill you someday. So… no one else is here?" "No. Why?" "I saw a bike parked next to the Impala." He wonders. "Next to my car!? It hadn't scratched it, right?" Sam shakes his head and I relax again. "Maybe it is some kid's bike or something. And we don't know anyone that would use a bike." "Dean… your car is in the garage… So it's definitely not some kid's bike…" "It's mine." Ema walks in the library. Fuck! This woman will be the death of me! Well she did say she is probably going to be the death of me, and that will be the death of her. But not right now! Right now she is trying to kill me by other means!

Created with Microsoft Designer

Her hair is pulled away in her usual complicated braid. She is dressed in tight black leggings that mold to her body showcasing her long legs and narrow waist. Her shirt is barely covering her waist and with every move I can see glimpses of the skin of her abdomen, the angry red lines of her scars slowly fading away. And that leather jacket combined with her combat boots… She looks sexy as hell in all black.

Metatron's words flash through my mind. I haven't told anyone about what he had said. He was probably just trying to get under my skin. But I can't help wondering if it is the truth… and does she know about it…

"It's mine." I say and Sam looks at me with wide eyes. "W-what?" "The bike. It's mine." I repeat. "I finally got some of my stuff from Prague." "You made someone send you a bike?" Dean chuckles, and I can't understand why he finds the situation so funny. Of course I made my cousin send me my things, especially my bike… He looks at me from head to toe and continues with a grin on his face. "You had to say you needed a bike. I would have bought you one, with pink tassels, and a bell, and all the other things the little princesses like." "Oh! You are so sweet. And, in fact, you almost guessed the right color." I say with sarcasm. I muse at him underestimating me again. He is going to be surprised about what kind of bike I have. "I know, I'm adorable. So… Purple then?" I nod with enthusiasm, playing the little excited girl Dean continues to believe I am. For the first time, Sam smiles at me, catching up with my plan. "So… wanna see it?" I ask. He thinks we are talking about a bicycle. A freaking bicycle! How old does he think I am!? 10! Let's see how far this can go. "Ahm… yes… sure…" I run to him, taking his hand and leading him to the stairs, climbing up. "We can make ourselves a little race. I bet I'm going to leave you to breathe my dust!" I say looking back through my shoulder. Dean's confusion is so hilarious. Sam is barely holding his laughter, but he puts on a confused expression when Dean looks at him and the younger Winchester just shrugs. It is so good to be on a joke with someone. I miss that… the normal interaction with people. Since I came here it's either Sam's hostility or Dean's concerned looks. Although, my relationship with Sam has improved a little since I translated the book we took from the museum. I finished it a month ago and it took me a couple of weeks to do it and to make sure everything is exact and correct. After the major failure with Metatron, Sam went through it dozens of times without any luck. The book is now in my room and I reread it again and again not because I expect to find anything in it but because it is part of my heritage that I actually cherish.

The boys follow me to the garage and I stop in front of my bike. Dean's jaw drops when he finally realizes we were talking about a motorcycle this entire time.

Image from Pinterest

"What?" Dean looks at the bike, then at me and at the bike again. "This is yours? Are you serious?! No way! What is that?" He is so excited and at the same time so confused. He keeps looking at me and at the bike, shaking his head. "2015 Yamaha R1." "2015? But how?" Dean circles the bike, looking at it from every angle. "It is not out yet!" "Well… That's not exactly true… It is not out for mass production. They will release it in the beginning of March. But… I'm a member of the 'First line' Club. The pre-production is about a year before the official launch and is no more than hundred units." I explain while Dean is marveling at my bike. "6-speed transmission, 998cm3 liquid-cooled, 4-stroke, in-line four-cylinder, 4-valve system, 197 horsepowers" I start with the bike's specs. "2-directional 12-hole injectors, maximum speed of 300 kilometers per hour, 2.7 seconds from 0 to 100 km/h, mat black frame with purple accents… and… well.. some other customizations. She is a work of art." "She is!" "Wanna race?" I ask. I'm eager to feel the February air brushing my face. "Hell yes!" Dean exclaims.

Created with Microsoft Designer

"That's not possible! How could some bike beat my Baby?" "You do realize, that bike is made for racing, right? And… more importantly, I'm a damn good rider." "You drive like crazy! Do you know how fast you were going!?" Dean exclaims. "Yes I do. Somewhere around 220-240 km/h. It was not even close to the bike's limit." "Who the hell drives like that? And the way you took those turns!" Dean ignores my previous comment. "And the 'tricks' or whatever you call them! The back wheel drive I was expecting but the front wheel stunt!"

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"It's called 'a stoppie'." "A stoppie!? You used it to turn around at the end of the road! How is that 'a stoppie'!?" "Well it was a hundred and eighty stoppie… with three-sixty drift…" "Oh my God! Do you have a death wish or something?! You could have killed yourself! In fact, I was sure you were going go kill yourself!" "That's the thing, Dean… I can't. But don't worry grandma, I know what I'm doing! It's not my first rodeo!" I wink at him before going back inside. "Just for the record, after that, you are not allowed near my Baby! Ever!" Dean yells after me.

"Man! This girl is insane!" I laugh. She looked so happy, so alive out there… The smile on her face when she beat me to the finish line… that was… I would do anything to see it again… "Dean, you keep underestimating her and that's dangerous." "And you have to stop treating her like the enemy." "I'm not!" Sam tries to deny and I raise my brow questioningly. "She is just a pawn, like us, in someone's twisted story. She has no fault. And she has a little choice. You heard Cas." "She can try to fight it, just like we are doing! But she just accepted it!" "Why do you think she had not?! What would you do if you knew this since you were a teenager? You think you can fight against your so-called fate for fifteen years without any results and still have hope?!" Sam's face softens. "What do you mean?" He asks, confused. "She was given this prophecy when she was eighteen… She was still a kid…" I can see the compassion slowly taking the place of the anger he feels towards Ema. My brother is finally starting to realize she is in this mess together with us, not against us.

Chapter 13: Split >>

||The Prophecy Series||

AN: Despite everything in this chapter, please always wear your full gear and ride safe.

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littleredwolf · 3 hours ago

Text

Home for Christmas

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: It's Christmas Eve at the Avengers Compound and you and Wanda are busy making festive cookies for the team to enjoy upon their return from a mission.

Warnings: none. This is pure fluff/cosy Christmas content.

Words: 982

A/N: I wanted to have a go at something fluffy and festive, so I hope this ticks all the right boxes! Merry Christmas!

The snow fell in gentle cascades, blanketing the compound in a glittery shimmer that added a touch of magic to the view. Inside, the compound had been transformed into a festive haven, every corner adorned with twinkling lights and tinsel, while Christmas music played softly over the sound system, mingling with the rich scents of sugar, vanilla, and freshly baked gingerbread. It was like a scene straight out of a Christmas movie, so cosy and picturesque.

“I think we may have overdone it,” Wanda mused as the two of you stood at the counter to admire your afternoon's work.

The kitchen sides were covered with trays filled with cookies of all shapes and sizes. There were snowflakes, gingerbread men, Christmas trees, candy canes, Santa, stockings, and even some questionable looking reindeer. To anybody else, maybe it was a little too much, but with a team full of superheroes to feed, you wondered if maybe it wasn't enough.

“I don't think that's possible,” you replied, straightening one of the cookies on the tray closest to you. “The super soldiers alone will get through most of these between them.”

“I'm surprised you haven't made Bucky his own personal batch,” she said with a teasing smile.

At the mere mention of his name, your cheeks flushed and your chest tightened.

It had been nearly three weeks since you'd last seen Bucky, he and a few other members of the team had been away on a mission, and while he'd sent a few texts and the occasional picture (one particularly adorable shot of him and Sam looking begrudgingly festive in Santa hats), you missed him more than you’d like to admit.

The compound had felt strangely empty since he'd been gone, you'd missed his dry humour, his quiet strength, and the way he always managed to put you at ease simply by being there. Your bed had felt too big without him in it each night, and the absence of his arms around you and gentle kisses to soothe you to sleep had thrown your sleeping pattern completely off balance.

The excitement of his imminent return had been bubbling all morning, making you so impatient and restless that Wanda had insisted you do something to keep yourself busy, hence the cookies.

Now you were finished, however, the nervous excitement was returning, and you couldn't resist the frequent glances out the window to see if you could spot the quinjet through the snow.

“You really love him, don't you?” Wanda smiled as she began to tidy everything away, sending the dirty utensils to the dishwasher with a wave of her hand.

You hesitated for a moment, contemplating her words, then slowly nodded. Although neither of you had used the ‘L’ word yet, there was no denying how you felt.

“Yeah, I do. It's different with him, Wanda - I can be myself around him without feeling like I have to dilute any part of my personality. I never thought I'd find someone who just accepts me as I am - even the messy, broken bits! He’s just, so damn perfect, you know? I feel like pinching myself sometimes because it feels too good to be true!” Your tone was light, but there was no hiding your insecurities from Wanda Maximoff - she knew you better than you knew yourself most days.

She reached over the counter to squeeze your hand, smiling softly. “He feels the same way, you know. Anyone can see it.”

Before you could respond, the compound’s security system chimed, announcing an incoming quinjet. Your heart leapt - they were home!

“They’re here!” you exclaimed, abandoning your work and rushing to the window. Through the snow, you could just make out the sleek shape of the jet landing on the pad outside.

Wanda laughed as she trailed after you.“I think you’re more excited about this than Christmas itself,” she teased.

You turned to her with a thoughtful expression. “I'd say it's a draw,” you smirked, and she shook her head with a laugh. You turned to the window again, but the snow was so thick now that you could barely see a thing.

“What are you waiting for? Go and greet your man!” Wanda urged, giving you a gentle nudge.

You didn’t need to be told twice - you slipped on your shoes and dashed outside, forgetting to even put on a coat in your rush. The icy wind bit at your cheeks, but you hardly noticed as the quinjet’s hatch opened and the team began descending the ramp. Sam was the first to emerge, his face lighting up when he saw you.

“Merry Christmas!” he called, waving as he approached and pulling you into a bear hug. “Now, where are the cookies?”

“It’s good to see you too!” You laughed, giving him a playful shove as you sent him on his way, your attention snapping to the next figure emerging from the jet.

Bucky stepped out into the snowy evening, his eyes scanning the landing pad until they found you. His face softened instantly, a slow smile spreading across his lips as he hastily made his way down the ramp.

You didn’t wait for him to reach you. You ran to him, flinging your arms around his neck as he caught you, pulling you close. The familiar scent of him - leather and something faintly metallic - wrapped around you like a warm blanket.

“You’re freezing,” he gasped, brushing his gloved hand over your cheek.

“I don’t care,” you replied, smiling up at him. “You’re home.”

“Yeah,” he said, his grin mirroring yours as he cupped your face. “I’m home.”

He pressed his lips to yours, filling you with so much warmth that it instantly melted away the agony of the last three weeks.

Out of all the gifts you could have written on your Christmas list, being back in Bucky's arms was by far the best one.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fanfic #winter soldier x reader #bucky imagine #bucky x reader #bucky x you #james bucky barnes x reader #mcu fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #james buchanan barnes x reader

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all-for-geek · 1 year ago

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The Company Party

Fandom: Alex Bale/Don't Feed the Muse

Summary: Jared is a private guy. He spends his days alone working for the IT Department, and he's fine with that. He wouldn't enjoy going to some company party. No way.

Word Count: 1,435

This piece of Jared fluff was requested by @sam-harz. I hope you enjoy!

In the dank recesses of Happy Meat Farms HQ, there was a room darker and dingier than the rest. It was a room that few ventured near, but the inhabitant of the room didn’t mind too much. He was never very good with people anyway. He was content with spending his days there staring at the computers, helping Mother in any way he could.

He loved the work he did in IT, genuinely. Every new person or problem was a fun little puzzle sent his way. The hard ones were always the best. Victoria was probably his favorite. He had to search deep in her files to find the hair incident. He had never felt more pride than when he sent that information up to HR.

Something wet and soft nudged against Jared’s hand. One of the mutant dogs had taken a liking to him and lived with him in his room. He had named it Bobbo. Bobbo stared at him, begging for affection that Jared was more than happy to give. He scratched the bottom of Bobbo’s chin slowly and carefully so that his metal hand did not break skin. It wouldn’t faze the mutant mutt, but Jared always felt bad.

A loud thud outside of Jared’s door made him jump in his seat. If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought someone knocked on his door. But no one knocks on his door. Someone must have dropped something outside again. He returned to petting Bobbo, but when the thud occurred two more times, he couldn’t ignore it anymore.

Jared opened his door enough so that his center eye could be seen. It was the new guy, Wesley. He vaguely remembered getting his file when he was first given his Muse, but Jared never got anything after that. He must have been very eager to join the family. Or very desperate. Or both.

“Hello?” Jared’s voice was scratchy from lack of use.

“Hey, man,” Wesley replied with the usual chipper attitude of the others. Jared had never been very good at putting that mask on, but he didn’t need to with his role. “We were throwing a company party, and I figured I would let you know.”

“A party?”

“Yeah, I think it’s something that human businesses do to celebrate milestones or holidays.” Jared rolled his two eyes that were out of view. He knew what a company party was. He could remember a few from before he joined the family. That wasn’t the part he was confused about.

Wesley handed him a flier through the crack in the door. “It’s going to be tomorrow at 8 in the evening. See you then?”

“If I finish my tasks, then maybe,” Jared answered before promptly closing the door.

He looked down at the poster. It was very well made. Someone from the art department must have put it together. Jared tossed it to the side. Wesley was new, so he probably didn’t know how things worked yet. No one talked to Jared, so Jared didn’t talk to anyone. And Jared was fine with that.

Bobbo caulked his head in confusion. Jared shrugged before continuing with his work.

The next day, Jared was where he always was. In his room, working in the dark. It was a surprisingly light day. With the final phase being so near, there were not as many hosts that needed motivation, so it was mostly tidying up the files that he was sent.

Jared pushed his swivel chair through the walls of servers to the TV he had set up in the back. He had been a good boy, so he deserved a treat. He pulled out his Spongebob box set, and searched for the right episode. He settled on “Ghost Host”. The Flying Dutchman had always been a favorite character of his.

Just as the theme song got into full swing, Bobbo started barking. Jared shifted his left eye so that he could see the dog at the door staring at him.

“Do you need to go out, boy?” he asked. He slowly got up from his chair, feeling the pops and cracks from a long day of work. He opened the door, but Bobbo didn’t go bounding down the hall like he normally did. Instead, he stayed on the threshold, staring at Jared.

Jared rolled his eyes. “Do you want me to go with you?”

Bobbo immediately bounded the hallway. Luckily, the dog would stop and wait for Jared before turning a corner. Otherwise, Jared would have lost him before he got out of his room.

As Bobbo continued to twist and turn through the halls, Jared recognized his surroundings less and less. This was definitely not the normal way that Bobbo went to go outside, but Jared quickly shrugged it off. Perhaps, Bobbo just wanted to go for a walk. As long as one of them knew how to get back. Jared would never in a million years have guessed what was on the other side of the door Bobbo just ran through.

As Jared burst through as well, every head turned towards him. Most of his family, many of whom had gone through digestion, but some who had not yet, were clustered in various groups of three or four. Some were sitting at the tables that had neatly been set out. Others were in the middle grabbing more food from the long table off to the side covered in a variety of meats.

It was a party. The party that Jared had had no intention of going to. The one that he had just bursted into like he had. Everyone was staring at him. Was it normal for people to stare at the new arrival to a party? It doesn’t seem like it should go on this long. Either way, he was stuck here now. If he ran, Mother, how he wanted to run, that would be worse. Maybe if he stood there long enough, they would stop staring. Maybe-

“Jared! Hey, man.” Wesley walked over and ushered Jared into the room. Thankfully, everyone else turned back to their own conversation.

Wesley led Jared over to a table where Mark, Antonio, and Carl were sitting. He remembered those three well. Or, there human forms at least. They had all been a handful before they joined the family.

“Hey, Jared,” Antonio greeted, “Oh hey, great job with the information for the Drawing Room. It really stopped Mark from being difficult. At least for a little bit.” He turned over to Mark. “No offense.”

Mark shrugged. “None taken.”

“Uh…thanks.” Jared remained standing, looming over the four. The chairs were designed for humans, so he had to. He missed his special chair.

“It’s great to see you out and about, Jared,” Carl said, “It’ll do you some good to get away from those screens from time to time.”

Jared stared, confused. “You all… want to see me?”

They stared at him. Why do people always stare at him?

“Of course, we do,” Mark chuckled, “Why wouldn’t we?”

“Because I came out incomplete. I am not fully Jared the human the host, but I am not Jared the muse either. I figured that’s why no one ever talked to me.”

The look they all gave him sent shivers up his spine. Why did they all have to look at him with such big, pitiful faces? It was fine. He didn’t mind the isolation. He liked being alone…right?

“Oh shoot, Jared we’re sorry,” Wesley said.

“We always thought that you were just a private guy,” Carl added, Do you��want us to come visit more often?”

Jared was surprised with how quickly he answered. “That would be acceptable.”

On that note, the five continued to make small-chat and enjoy themselves. Jared would tell stories about particularly tricky hosts while the others discussed their own troubles with their hosts. By the end of the party, Jared was sitting down on the floor with Bobbo curled up in his lap. He found himself stretching out his farewell to his family, his friends, for as long as he could. When he got back to his room, he smiled genuinely for the first time in a long while.

In the dank recesses of Happy Meat Farms HQ, there was a room darker and dingier than the rest. It was a room few ventured to often, but those who did could always count on good company and a fun story. The inhabitant of the room didn’t mind the intrusion much. He was happy to spend his days here, helping his family in any way he could.

#alex bale #don't feed the muse #jared warrenheim #jared fluff #my works

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sekhisadventures · 3 months ago

Text

Radiant Song

Deep under the Isle of Dorn

A tunnel lead deeper from the Ringing Deeps into the caverns below the island, and through it walked several people.

At the lead was Dareley Steelhammer, the paladin striding with a strength and confidence he hadn’t felt in decades. True being an earthen came with it’s own problems and concerns, but it had quite literally saved him from certain death and given him the strength to save his friends from Xal’atath’s minions.

Following him was Nelen Fullmoon, the magus having heard rumors about a tribe of humanity living under the isle. When he and the other survivors of Dalaran arrived, many of the earthen asked if they were ‘Arathi.’ This had rather surprised Nelen because as far as he knew the Arathi were gone in the Eastern Kingdoms. Their lands had been ravaged by the past wars of Azeroth and existed as a bare shadow of their former glory.

Along with them were Samantha Montebank, who was curious as to what awaited them as well, along with Laurelgosa who would be needed to scout ahead if they ran into a potentially dangerous situation as she could fly.

Lastly was Sekhi, the vulpera shamaness’s ears twitching as they went further below. She could hear something ahead of them, but she couldn’t quite make it out yet.

“So, th’ earthen o’ Dornogal told me that this be th’ path ta a place called ‘Hallowfall,’ where these ‘Arathi’ types live. It got sealed off durin’ all th’ troubles with th’ High Speaker, but Brinthe ordered th’ path reopened once she took over.” explained the Paladin.

“I wonder what these Arathi are like… I can’t imagine that Trollbane sent any of his people here. The man has his hands full just holding whats left of the Kingdom of Arathor together these days.” mused Nelen as they walked along, the tunnel slowly getting brighter. It wasn’t unexpected, they had encountered quite a bit of light sources down underground. Glowing crystals, bioluminescent fungus, even just holes in the ceiling of the caves letting sunlight in.

Sam looked up and cocked her head as they got further along. The light ahead was brighter now, but… almost too bright. “Guys… is it just me or does that almost look like sunlight?” she asked.

Laurelgosa, still in her visage form of Laura Brightflame for now, nodded. “It… does yes. How odd… we must be several dozen miles below the surface by now… That should not be possible…”

The group picked up the pace, Sekhi rushing along after them as she shifted into her spirit vulpin form to keep up, and then they rounded the corner and stopped dead, staring ahead of them.

It was as if they’d returned to the surface somehow. A huge expanse stretched out before them of verdant grasslands and tall strange flower-like plants, the fields below dotted with cities. Human cities judging by the constructions. Through the air above soared several zeppelins, and there were tall towers glowing with light at each town.

But what gave them all pause was above. Hanging from the cavern’s ceiling, with clouds drifting lazily around it, was a gigantic crystalline object that shined with an inner radiance so bright it was akin to the sun itself!

“By th’ light…” whispered Dareley, “I’ve never seen anythin’ like it… even deep under Ironforge… even in bloody Deepholme!”

Samantha shaded her eyes, “It… looks like there’s markings on it… but I can’t make them out. Its too bright.” she frowned, the light making her oddly uncomfortable. Not hurting her, but it felt like being out on a very very sunny day, too sunny to the point that one risked sunburn.

Nelen made a gesture with his hand, his fingers trailing motes of light. “Its… radiating power of some sort… but I don’t think its arcane. I can’t tap it whatever it is… it… it almost looks like a massive chunk of Azerite!”

“I confess Nelen, I am at a loss…” agreed Laura. “It is unlike anything I have ever learned of in my training as a dracthyr. If Neltharion ever knew of such a thing, he did not tell us.”

Nelen looked back, “Sekhi, what do you think? Do you hear anything coming from it?” he asked.

Sekhi did not reply, the vulpera standing there staring at the crystal, her eyes wide and her mouth slightly open.

“Sekhi?” he asked again, walking towards her. “Er… are you alright?” he added as the other three turned to look at her.

Sekhi didn’t move, she didn’t even blink.

Nelen frowned, then crouched down and waved a hand infront of her face, then snapped his fingers a few times. “Sekhi? Sekhi!” he called out, then took her shoulder and gave it a firm shake.

She didn’t even flinch.

“Blast…” he frowned, then got out his gemstone and drew Nitika’s rune on it. When her face appeared he began to explain the situation, but Sekhi heard none of it at all, or saw it, or even knew he was doing it. The moment she saw the glowing object, she was gone.

Somewhere Else…

“YIP!” gasped Sekhi, looking around frantically, then whimpering and looking around for somewhere to hide!

She was somewhere else now, somewhere dark and foreboding, and all around her were nerubians! It was a massive city of the arachnid people, tall spires reaching to the cave’s ceiling where strange purple glowing fungus grew to light the area. Occasionally a swarm of nerubian flyers would soar overhead, visible against the glow.

After a moment, however, she realized something. None of the nerubians were paying attention to her or looking at her at all. She looked down at herself and gasped. Her body was transparent… rather, her body wasn’t there at all! She was there in spirit, quite literally.

She looked around, her ears flicking, then yipped as she heard a song in the distance. She couldn’t pick up any of the nerubians around her (which she was confused by but not necessarily upset about) but she heard something further in…

She scurred away through the throngs of arachnids, following it. None of the spider-folk even noticed. She went along the path, up some stairs, through the buildings, and then… she saw it.

A huge building stood before her, and carts were going into the entrance. Each cart was laden with sturdy glass and metal spheres, and each one was filled with a viscous crimson liquid… and from it, she could hear the song.

Sekhi whined, her ears folding back as her teeth went on edge. The song was horrible! It was an echoing aria speaking of a thirst for power, for control, a desire to consume and conquer… and the worst part… she recognized it.

She’d heard it in the distance as she and her friends had fled Dalaran’s destruction.

“T-th’ harbinger…” she whined, staring at the orbs, “That’s Xal’atath’s song! But… w-what are those?! Why’s it comin’ from ‘em?!” she whimpered, moving closer to the entrance… and then a woman emerged, floating a few inches off the ground. She was an elven woman, but with runes tattooed on her skin and eyes like black holes.

Sekhi froze, then slowly started walking back as the woman paused.

“Hm?” she murmured, raising her head a bit… and then she slowly glanced towards Sekhi’s direction.

Suddenly, the shamaness felt as if something was pulling on her, and with a surprised yip she disappeared into the ground below.

“… hm… odd. Oh well.” shrugged Xal’atath as she floated away into the city, having finished her observation of the work the nerubians were doing with what was inside the orbs.

Sekhi however, was falling… falling down and down, further and further… going through the dirt and ground as if it wasn’t even there… until finally her descent slowed, then stopped… and she saw below her a massive glowing light.

She winced as the glow filled her vision, so bright it almost hurt to look at… and then…

She gasped, looking around in shock.

A battlefield, a war between the nerubians and some human-like people deep underground, and all around her on the ground were trails of the disturbing substance from the orbs, trailing towards a building in the distance, next to the crystal she’d seen before… except now it was a deep shade of violet, and felt downright menacing to her.

Then, she heard the voice again… the one that she had heard so many times in the past.

HEAR ME.

“Azeroth!” she called out, “I hear ya! What are ya tryin’ ta tell me?!” she asked.

Azeroth’s voice echoed in the vulpera’s mind and Sekhi's eyes went wide. Suddenly, she just knew.

Eons ago, before the vulpera even existed, before any of the modern races of Azeroth ever set foot upon its surface… she saw the war between the Titans and the Old Gods. The fall of the Black Empire, their destruction at the hands of the titan keepers, Y’shaarj’s demise at Aman’thul’s hand that had almost killed Azeroth when the titan ripped the old god from her surface, leaving a crater in his wake.

Y’sharrj’s blood, the blood of all the aquir that were slain by the forces of the titans; the Mogu, the Tol’vir, the Earthen, the Mechagnomes, and the Vyrkul. Each one of the aquir they killed spilled it’s blood onto Azeroth’s surface, and down it seeped into the world. Down deep into the dark places, into the caverns, where it stayed hidden away. Deep pockets of the blood of the nightmarish monsters created by the Old Gods to serve them.

There it had remained for eons, like hidden tumors inside the world… until…

Sekhi cried out and clasped her hands over her ears as a crash so loud that it felt more like a physical blow than a sound ripped through her, and she saw a gigantic flaming sword blast through the roof near her. She had heard tales of it. The massive weapon that had impaled the world through the region known as Sithilus. The sword of Sargeras, fallen lord of the Burning Legion.

As it struck, the pockets of blood ruptured open under the surface, and the blood flowed once more… pooling down into the caves under the world, under Khaz Algar… where the nerubians found it.

The blood warped all that it touched. The plants and land around the blood became twisted and mutated… and the song from it… she whined and pawed at her ears.

“STOPPIT! STOPPIT PLEASE! ITS TOO MUCH!” she cried out, the song of the corrupting blood pounding into her psyche, making her temples throb even outside of her body!

Suddenly, the vision snapped off, and she was floating before the glow once more.

She shivered, “Azeroth… please… what do ya want me to do?”

Hear me…

“I do hear ya! I can’t STOP hearin’ ya! WHAT DO I DO?!” she asked, her tail thrashing behind her.

The glow faded for a moment, then pulsed once more.

… help me…

Sekhi gasped suddenly, jolting upright as Nelen jumped back to avoid the vulpera’s head colliding with his own. Laura was nearby, back in her dracthyr form, as she communed with the Emerald Dream to try to heal her even as Samantha had been insisting that whatever was going on wasn’t physically hurting her. Dareley was kneeling next to her as well, the paladin holding out his hand to her.

“Sekhi… lass… what happened? We thought we’d lost ye fer a minute there…” he asked.

Sekhi looked between them all, then whined, “… I know why Xal’atath is here…” she whispered, “… th’ blood. Under th’ island… its their blood...”

Samantha grimaced as her tentacles twitched in her hair. She and Annulus knew exactly what blood Sekhi was talking about.

The sha were known by another name in old times. ‘The Seven Breaths of Y’shaarj.’ His final gasp when Aman’thul killed him all those years ago when the Black Empire fell. If his breath endured all those centuries… what else might have?

Xal’atath’s goal on the Isle of Dorn. The Blood of the Old Gods and their minions. Under Khaz Algar was a massive well of the void-spawned fluid… and in the hands of a being like the Harbinger it could be an incredibly potent weapon.

#warcraft #warcraft fanfiction #adventures in azeroth #world of warcraft #the war within

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peppasstuff · 2 years ago

Text

One Act Play

Theme: Frustration, Attention, Power

Length:One-act-play

Mode: Comedy

Medium: English

Setting(Time and Place); Late Summer and Living Room

Character/s: Sam, Vincent, Luna and Geo

What will be your name in the play: Vincent

What will you be like?: Wife

Who else can be part on your dream role? Luna, The Maid Ella, A Neighbor Vincent Rivera, The Husband

What will he/they be like?: Maid, Neighbor, Fisherman, Husbańd

Narration: The living room of a typical shore cottage the rented kind; outer door, rear center;

door to kitchen, left; writing desk against wall, right; two or three chairs, cheap stand.

[Curtain discovers Vincent stretched on the couch reading a magazíne, and Sam writing at the desk. Vincent closes the magazine slowly, holds it away from himover the edge of the couch and, with an expression of exhausted hopelessness, lets it fall to the floor. He groans feebly

VINCENT: What's the use? What's the use?

SAM:[tuning a face, sympathetic but preoccupied] Something in the magazine, dear?

SAM: [letting his feet hangover, speaks in a wearied, sing-song voice] The strange woman's

face in the throng- pale, alluring, baffling- with lips like poppy- and that sort of thing. The wind

carving her figure as in warm and sentient marble. Ankles and so on. Perfectly inflamed, our

hero pursues her, careless of the hereafter, reckless of the eyes of the world. Of a sudden, a

vision of his beloved one- at sword sort of thing-and-I didn't read any further. I don't need to. I

know he'll turn around and go home, Sam. Home!

SAM: /still busy with her letter]Fancy!

VINCENT: (starting up with a feverish energy amd kicking the magazine across the floor] They're all the same. That's what's the matter with America! /Relapses on the couch, crosses his arms

over his head and goes on speaking to the ceiling in a tone of musing.] Thank God-er-that is-the gods-nothing like that can ever happen to ás. Isn't it fearful to think of one's spirit cooped up

between four narrow walls like that? [Sam nods, without turning her head.] Now I would have

followed that ankle, wouldn't I? I would have followed it-till it turned to ashes in my-huh-hum-

well, you know. And then, when I came back to you enriched, bringing the spoils of a profound

experience, Saml- you wouldn't mind!

SAM:(looking up now] Mind? Why should I mind, Vincent? Can a thing of that sort tamper with the essential qualities of our relationship? No, No! We've learned better than that, you and I.

VINCENT:[siting p again, with waxing enthusiasm] And you! You'll always feel quite free,too?

You'll never let the silly little inhibitions-

SAM:fenergetically] No, no!

VINCENT: Someday there may be nice chap- I'd rather have it a nice chap-

SAM: Like Ella, Say

VINCENT: [with a slight start] Ella?/Sam 's attention has returned to her letter once more. She folds it, puts it in an envelope and addresses it. Carl,studying her with a light of uneasy speculation, goes on after a moment.] I'm afraid it would raise a bit of the devil in the Painter house, Sam; that's all. You know, Mrs. Ella isn't exactly-our kind. (Sam, still about her business, rises and places the letter among others on top of the desk. Afier another moment, Vincent breaks out in atone of obvious relief.] But he isn't home.you know.

SAM: (turning suddenly to face him] And why isn't he home? Why is he staying away so long?

It's over two months now that he's been away.

VINCENT:[ at a loss] Why-why-I don't know. He probably finds the finishing good down there in Maine, or wherever he is. I-I hadn't thought.

SAM: I had. Vincent l, there's something in the woodpile, I tell you. Mrs.Ella is distinctly evasive. It's all so unnatural. We all came down to this corner of the shore to have a nice, quite summer. And then, of a sudden, he packs up and is gone over night-and no sign of his coming back. There's something behind it, Vincent.

VINCENT: [rising and pacing the floor-petulantl] Pshaw-pshaw! There's the woman cropping out. Pshaw! Why shouldn't he go off fishing and stay as long as he wants to?

SAM: (ignoring the outburst] Iv'e been thinking of nothing for a week but Ella.

VINCENT: [stopping short and staring at her] You have! fafier an instant of confrontation, he sits down weakly on the couch, mops his brow with his handkerchief, and then recovers himself sufficiently to resume in a tone tinctured with venom.] I must say, Sam, this rather sudden interest in one of my oldest friends

SAM: You don't mind?

VINCENT: Mind? (He has the grace to blush.] Oh, m-m-mind? Why? Good heavens, Sam, wh-wh-why should I mind?

SAM: I knew you wouldn't. And, after all, it's his wife I'm concerned about. Poor thing-stranded here all alone.

VINCENT:(more than ever ashamed of himself, mopping his brow vigoroushy] Whew! It's darned hot, I say! I think I'll have a glass of milk, if you'd be so good, Sam. That's a dear.

SAM: (crosses to door at left and calls out.] Luna! Luna!

VOICE OFF-STAGE: Huh?

SAM: Bring Mr. Rivera a glass of milk- right away. And how many times have I told you to say "ma'am" when you speak to me?

VINCENT: (deprecatingly) Why should she say ma’am? After all, my dear, you know she is-

SAM: [turning upon him with some petulance] There are times, Vincent, when your theories-

VINCENT: [quickly] My theories, Frances , are identical with yours; the only point of variance being that I am willing to practice them at home. [Rising, he transfixes his wife with a didactic forefinger. We all talk so largely of the Brotherhood of Man. And yet here is a young girl, a really splendid sort of creature in a way, living close to the throbbing heart of Mother Earth.

SAM: finterrupting] Close to the throbbing heart of the kitchen range, you'd better say. For all your find talk, you don't know any more about her than I do, and that's not a blessed thing-not one single blessed thing, Vincent. For all we know, she may be-oh, for heaven's sake, Vincent, stop looking that way!

VINCENT: [resuming with a heavy, ironical patience] Living close to the throbbing heart of Mother Earth, feeling the life- pulse of the Cosmos-well-damn it all-she's precisely the kind of thing we writ about and talk and make gestures about, the lot of us- you know. Only she is it. She lives it. Shes got something we've lost. Sometimes, you know, my dear, I almost feel-I do feel-in a way.

SAM: (coolly] Yes?

VINCENT: A strange spiritual bon with that creature-something drawing me-irresistibly-like the pull of green things and the damp earth-weird-almost-ah-Pilocene ugh-by the way, you don't mind?

SAM: fwith difficultyy] Mind?

VINCENT: chin in hand] In a way, you know, she's got something or other that we-

[Enter LUNA, carrying a glass of milk on a server]

VINCENT: Ah!

[ With an unwonted energy he moves a small stand beside the couch, half reclines, and waves Luna to deposit the glass on the stand. As she does so he gently captures her hand in his. She endeavors to recover it, profoundly embarrassed, casts a frightened glance at the mistress, then, evidently deciding in her numb and docile brain that this is the accepted thing, remains inert, staring ponderously at her boot-toes.]

VINCENT: [resumes in a tone of dreaming] I wonder if you've ever thought much about yourself, Luna? You wouldn't, though. You wouldn't-that's just the matter with us . No, of course you wouldn't- (Turning to Sam] She wouldn't, would she? [Turning back. ] We've been wondering if you knew how wonderful you are. Luna? Because you are wonderful. You're out of your age. In a world staggering under a Freud, a Trotsky, a Marconi, the Republic of China, and the Imagist Poets you've managed somehow to slip back to the great, all-brooding fundamentals-FoodShelter-Procreatio-

SAM: Vincent!

VINCENT: [mpatiently, to Sam] That, I believe, is the order in which they come. [Lights cigarette.] Or- perhaps I'm wrong. Of course, my deár, if you want to get into philosophics and metaphysics I grant you the old argument does the hen come first and the egg second, or the egg first and the hen

SAM: Vincent! That is a young girl!

[Exit Luna.)

VINCENT: [with an air of hopelessness, shaking his head slowly] Frances, Frances, are we to be always like that? Always slipping back into the old fog-bound superstitions of the mid-Victorian home?

SAM: Oh be quiet, please. It isn't that! You ought to know me well enough by this time. But -but she wouldn't understand. If she could understand-ifit would do her any good-enlarge her life in the least, Vincent-

VINCENT: Understand? Of course she doesn't understand. Do we want her to understand, my dear girl? Enlarge her life? Look, here, my dear, I'm serious. That girl has got something or other that neither you nor I-or any of us in the-the group-could come to in a thousand years of self-centered and spiritual crucifixion-She has got

SAM: [ironically] Exactly what? (Rising)

VINCENT: [inexpressibly shocked at the Philistine question] Why, Sam! Whywhy, she has got she's got-see here, Frances, you know what I mean as well as I do. For heaven's sake, after two years of our talks-our trying to find the the-in our little group, you know-Look here, Sam, you've talked as primitive as anyone. And now you stand here and ask-/Glancing out of the window, he speaks with an air of relief at the diversion.] Oh, here comes Mrs. Ella up the steps.

SAM: fin confusion, extending the half-smoked cigarette] Oh, quick! Take this! [VINCENT starts take it, furtively; then as if bethinking hinself, draws back and confronts her with a grim disapprobation.]

VINCENT: Sam!

SAM: You idiot! [A knock is heard at the door. Sam, wasting no time in further argument, skips about in desperate search for aplace to hide the incriminating object.)

VINCENT: feven more sternly] Frances! Are we to be always that--that kind? (Sam faces him defiantly: then, shamed by his superior sense of honor, puts the cigarette between her lips and pufjs conscientiously. Knocking resumes.] Come in!

(Enter Mrs. Ella]

MRS.ELLA: with a moderate effusivenessto Vincent] Oh, good afternoon, Mr. Rivera. I was just coming up from the beach, you know, and I thought I'd-[ Catching sight of Sam in a cloud of smoke, she gasps, stares desperately at the floor, the ceiling, the desk; then sinks down in a chair.] drop in!

VINCENT: [suavely] Terribly glad. When's mort coming home?

MRS.ELLA: -–he hasn't/Looks from one to the other with a sudden suspicion; then rises

majestically and confronts Sam with an icy accusation.) Mrs. Rivera, your husband asked me that question ten seconds ago, and, if I'm not mistaken, you heard me answered him. (Bursting into tears and stamping her feet.] Oh, oh, oh! I won't stand it! Oh, you're şo mean always pecking at me-

VINCENT: /aghast] Pecking?

SAM: [the same] Pecking at you?

MRS.ELLA: Yes, pecking at me! (She sinks down in the chair, and burying her face in her hands, gives way to uncontrollable grief. The others exchange inquiring glances, shrug their shoulders, and sign with the helpless bewilderment of the falsely accused. By and by Mrs. Ella begins to speak, her cheeks pressed in her palms, eyes fixed vacancy.] I suppose you might as well know. You'll have to, some time. Mor- is-never-coming

SAM: WHAT!

VINCENT: Old mort? Good old mort? For heaven' sake, why not?

MRS.ELLA: You remember the maid we engaged down here the first summer-Abbie Small? Well, she got in trouble. Oh yes, Mort denied it-and denied it and denied it. He would, of course. We got her out of the way immediately; sent her up to the Rescued Magdalene's Home in the city. We couldn't do less. I know the place; it's good and clean and wholesome-not at all like an institution. They have their amusements and things. And--and -[She suffers a momentary relapse into tears. Vincent begins to pace the floor, wrapped in thought. She resumes gravely.] And Mort, when he found at last that the wool would not_ be pulled over my eyes, packed up his things and went away... Perhaps it is best.

VINCENT: [wheeling on her] Best! You can say- Best? My God! [Nothing her look of alarm, in a gentler tone.] You must forgive me, Mrs. Ella. Sitting down on the end of the evangelist.] You say it is best, by your lights. And by my lights, I say it is worse. Worse, because it seems to me you are missing the fundamental significance of life; that you are deliberately shutting the door on life; that you are throwing away an experience! You three! Think of it! How wonderful a thing! Passing together, hand in hand, through the unfolding hours of a miracle! You three!

MRS.ELLA: frecovering the faculty of speech at last Are you crazy? (Appealing to Sam.] Is -is the man-insane?

SAM: with a smile, half sad, half lifted] No, Mrs. Ella. It seems to me he is precisely sane. We have been thinking about it a good deal Vincent and I, and we-

MRS.ELLA: (rising] Mrs. Vera! I can't say how deeply I-Am-LReally, I think I'd better be going.

SAM: (ntercepting her] Now-now! Don't take on so, my dear. Pshaw! You mustn't go off in a huff like this -must she, Vincent? See here; sit down and we' ll have a cup of tea..[Calling Luna! Luna!

VINCENT: Yes, yes-do please sit down. [Calling.] Luna! Luna! Aside.] Where is that girl? [To others.] Wait a second; I'll go hurry her up. (Exit.]

MRS.ELLA: (sobbing genthy into her handkerchief] But my dear, my dear. You couldn't talk that way- either of youif you had been through it yourselvesif you know if you knew the torment of the day-when the girl came to me and told me she wasn't smart?

SAM: [quizzically] Not smart.

MRS.ELLA: Yes. That's the way they put it down here when they are-expecting.

SAM: How quaint! Not smart. Fancy. [Enter Vincent.] Oh, Carl, my dear, Mra.Ella has just been telling me the quaintest thing.

MRS.ELLA: (drawing up and recovering her dignity.] It is a thing I should rather not discuss in-mixed company. Especially with Mr. Rivera

VINCENT: Oh, come now, Mrs. Ella. Don't let's quarrelóver-overabstractions. See here, we'll have some tea and we'll all feel better... Where's that gil? boots.)

(Enter Luna, a dish in one hand, dish-towel in the other. She stands staring gloomily at her

LUNA: Yeh?

SAM: /suggestively] Ma'am?

LUNA: Mom.

SAM: That's better. Now, will you bring the tea thingsquickly!

LUNA: Yeh-mom! (She remains standing there, however.]

SAM: (sharply] Well?

[Luna does not answer. Her lower lip sags; her knees bend a little, and the dish, escaping her

nerveless fingers, crashes on the floor.]

SAM: Good heavens! What is the matter with you? Speak!

LUNA: dully, staring at the floor] I ain't sma't.

MRS.ELLA: favidly] Not smart?

SAM: fweakly, tottering a little and putting her hand to her throat] Not smart?

VINCENT: protesting expansively] Not smart? Dear creature! Oh, you wonderful, simple, primitive creature! Smartness! Pah! [Turning on the others savagely.] Don't sit there looking at

me so-aghast-as if I were uttering heresies. Smart? We are smart -you-and -youand I. And look at us. (Turning back to Luna.] No, no my dear girl. You are not smart, and heaven send you soul something a thousand times more precious than smartness, an element of wisdom-

SAM: Vincent!

MRS. ELLA : [almost screaming] It isn't that, you fool! It isn't that she means by "not smart." Dont you know what it means down here? Why it means that one is in a delicate-

VINCENT: Delicate? You say delicate!" And I say, don't talk to me of delicacy! No, no; look at me as hard as you want to; there's something more priceless in the world than delicacy! We're immersed in it. Yes, rl say it -immersedall the vile little soul stifling inhibitions of soap and tooth-brush, Chinese potteries. I see that I shock you. Well, I am willing to shock you you, Mrs.Ella, and you, my dear Frances. But I tell you that if this girl here this splendid,deep-bosomed, ox-eyed earth-woman, is not delicate, then as for me

MRS.ELLA: [desperately] I didn't say not delicate!" I said in a delicate

VINCENT: [putting his hand to his brow with a sudden new suspicion of light- very weakly] In a delicate what?

MRS.ELLA: Condition!

VINCENT: [sitting down abruptly on the couch and staring into vacancy-after a pause-in a wondering whisper] ConditIon? (TableauLuna staring at her boots; the two women staring at Vincent; Vincent staring at nothing, By and by he turns his head, and starts violently as he meets the accusing yes.] What are you looking at me for? (Seized by a sudden panic, he shakes wild hands at them] Stop looking at me! Stop it, I say! Stop looking at me! Stop stop-stop! The idea-

SAM: Vincent! Oh-Vincent! Vincent!

MRS.ELLA: with a stately sweep to the door] I am afraid I shall have to say Good evening! (Exit in a blaze of glory.]

SAM: with great difficulty-to Luna) You may leave the room.

[Exit Luna, her eyes still on the floor. Carlgazes after her, blank and helpless. As the door closes, Sam sinks on her knees beside the desk, and hiding herface in her hands, shakes with the tumult of her woe, sobbing a muffled "Vincent, Vincent"from time to time. Carsales back and forth rapidly.)

VINCENT: Frances! Ten minutes ago I would have called the man a liar who told me that you, my wife, had a such low-suspicious-mind. Do you hear me? Good God, Sam! [Receiving no

reply, he subsides on the couch and mops his face. Afier a moment he resumes in a harassed soliloqıuy) The world is full of low minds, I suppose-- eternally ready to suspect the worst- licking their lickerish lips for a chance at a man's good name. Pah! [He groans]... Of course, the girl must be gotten away from here immediately. Sam! (Still hearing no answer, he jumps up and move toward her.] See here! Pull yourself together. There are arrangements to make. This poor creature can't be left here to face the sneers of these damned, narrow-souled provincials. She is, in a sense, a-a dependent of ours. It seems to me we can't do less than to send her away to

some place where she will be looked aftercared for. Understood -in the city. Sam, will you listen to me? [Grasping her shoulder, not too gently, he tries to uncover her face. She uncovers it herself.]

SAM: [with suppressed fury] Please don't touch me!

VINCENT: [snapping] Stop it! Stop it, I say!

SAM: Don't touch me!

VINCENT: retreating weakly] But-but I keep telling you-

SAM: Please don't keep telling me anything. I can't comprehend anything now. My brain won't work. I think I am going crazy. (She shivers.]

VINCENT: desperately] But I tell youIt-was n't-ME!

SAM: [her shoulders dropping hopelessly] Denials! Denials! I think I might have been spared this.

VINCENT: But it WASN'T, you know!

SAM: (drearily] If you must make a brute of yourself, you might have been a gazelle-not a jackal. [Vincent stares at her a moment, fascinated; then takes a dazed turn about the room. Somewhere in the circuit he discovers a litle spirit of his own.]

VINCENT: But if it had been, Sam-

SAM: in a sarcastic echo] If it had been-

VINCENT: You wouldn't mind, would you?

SAM: (shrinking backa step, as before an unfair blow] M-m-mind? (And then witha terrible gaiety.)

Mind? I? ha-ha-ha-ha

VINCENT: [relieved] Ah, that's better. That's more like my gil. I knew you wouldn't-even if it-if it -had been.

SAM: Ha-ha-ha-ha

VINCENT: That's right. And now let's think. Have we got a time-table in the house, with connections? And, oh yes, about that address! The what-you-may-call-it Magdalenes' Home. We must get it from Mrs. Ella.The girl mustn't stay here for a moment more than is absolutely necessary.

SAM: (sitting down] What are you talking about?

VINCENT: That place in the city. Mrs. Ella thinks well of it.

SAM: What has that got to do with it?

VINCENT: [ blankly] Why Why-

SAM: Of course, the young woman is to rerńain with us.

VINCENT: WHAT!

SAM: [blandly] Naturally. Why, Vincent, how queer you talk! We you and I-are not going to miss the fundamental significance of life, are we? Were not deliberately going to shut the door on life? We three?

VINCENT: [terribly] I must say, my dear girl, this is a poor time for facetiousness.

SAM: [untouched] We three! Passing together, hand in hand, through the unfolding hours of a miracle

VINCENT: (ponderously] Frances, you are very unkind. You will never-understand me.

SAM: Understand you?

VINCENT: Not in the deeper sense. You are a woman, after all. You still cling pathetically to the grammar- school notion that two and two makes four.

SAM: (unmoved] Ah! And that theories are to be put in practice at home?

VINCENT: [haggardly] Theories! My God! Theories! Ideals! Dreams! Ah, if one could but afford to dream! With a heavy wistfulness.] But that is for the angles, and the young. Happy youth, unencumbered, foot-free

SAM: All of which is to say-

VINCENT: Hang take it all. My affairs are in a delicate conditionFlinches at the word.] -er-it's a

confounded precarious period in my career, my dear girl. Another year, who knows, and I may arrive -if nothing happens. After all, we owe a little something to my career.

SAM: Ah! Your career!

VINCENT: And to our own folks-yours and mine. And-andand to your good -name.

SAM: Quite some good name. You are beginning to think even of that.

VINCENT: fin desperation] But I keep telling you-a loud knock is heard at the outer door. Vincent, stepping to the window, cranes out, then, with a look of consternation, runs and sets his back against the door. It's that Painter woman? What are we going to do?

SAM: Do? What should we do, when everything is so sweet and natural?

VINCENT: Sam, are you insane?

SAM: No, I am precisely-sane. [Another knock.] Let her in, please

VINCENT: [n a pleading whisper] Sam! Sam! [A loudef knock.]

SAM: fcalling] Come in!

0 notes

princessmisery666 · 2 years ago

Text

The Longest Time

Summary: For the longest time, Dean hasn't allowed himself to dream of a future, but Wynter changes things.

Warnings: fluff, flangst.

W/C: 6k

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Eileen Leahy, OFC (Wynter).

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC (Wynter), Sam Winchester x Eileen Leahy.

Notes: the finale didn’t happen; Chuck is gone.

A/N: @justagirlinafandomworld sent me this request, and the muses loved it. Yvette, thank you so much for the inspiration. I had a blast writing this, I Mary Sue’d Christmas, and I ain’t even sorry. 😍🤣

Betas: @deanwinchesterswitch thank you so much!! // all mistakes are my own.

Graphics: dividers by @talesmaniac89

Master Lists: Main // Dean Winchester

The Longest Time

Sam and Dean step out of the Impala in the bunker's garage, tired but happy to be home. Since Chuck’s defeat, it’s been monster-of-the-week type gigs, but it hasn’t made the fights any easier.

Sam opens the back door for Eileen and helps her out, kissing her when she’s on her feet, and Dean smiles fondly as he passes to the trunk.

For the longest time, Dean had given up on a future. He wasn’t living. He had been surviving, taking one breath after the next, going through the motions. Seeing his brother happy causes a flutter of restlessness in his chest, and he thinks of Wynter, likely sound asleep in her bed, and it grows into a bubble of excitement that wants to erupt, but he holds it back.

It’s almost midnight, so Dean doesn’t expect Wynter to be waiting up to greet them, but she was expecting them home, so he’s hopeful there are at least some delicious leftovers waiting in the kitchen.

“I hope Wynter made pie,” Dean muses aloud as they walk the corridors from the garage.

Sam rolls his eyes, “she always makes you pie when we’re gone longer than a day. She puts her anxiety into baking.”

“Well, her anxiety is delicious,” he jokes.

“Y’know,” Sam says, holding the door to the library open and motioning for Eileen to enter first while focusing on Dean. Before Sam even inhales to continue, Dean knows he’s about to start a lecture. “Eating this late is bad for…”

Eileen freezes with a loud gasp a few steps inside the room, interrupting the lecture. The boys hurry to follow, echoing her gasp of wonderment.

The bunker has been transformed into a spectacular Winter Wonderland. There’s a giant Christmas tree, the star on top as high as the balcony in the map room. Soft glowing lights twinkle around white and silver decorations. Glittery reindeer give the impression they are in flight. Plastic robins look as if they could burst into song; the fake snow on the tips of the branches they’re perched upon looks cold to the touch. The baubles glisten and sway slightly in the draft that always seems to be flowing through the room. Large boxes wrapped with silver bows sit below the tree, and Dean gazes with eager curiosity as to what they contain.

“Wow,” Sam says, and Dean agrees right along with him.

“Wynter’s been busy,” says Eileen, spinning slowly to take in the other decorations adorning the library. Larger versions of the galloping reindeer in the tree peek out from between the shelves, a jolly Santa sits on a miniature rocking chair in the middle of the table, and several more strands of sparkling lights are hanging from the ceiling.

Dean smiles as his heart swells. It’s beautiful. He’s never seen the bunker look so…cozy. Wynter has made it a home, one that now feels lived in and cherished. He clears his throat of unexpected emotion, coughing around a quick “Night, guys,” before swiftly walking away.

Leftovers forgotten, he heads straight for Wynter’s room, noting the trail of Christmas that leads him there. Her room is empty, door wide open, bed still made. The fizz of excitement is slightly dampened because he has a good idea of where she is and why.

His bedroom door is open, only enough to let a crack of light in and let him know she’s in there. “Wynter,” he softly calls, pushing the door open. His elation returns at the comforting sight in front of him.

Miracle lifts his head from Wynter’s lap, tail wagging, as he yawns. “Hey buddy,” Dean whispers as the dog jumps off the bed and bounds across the room to greet him. He scratches behind the dog's ears and under his chin while he stares at the sleeping woman in his bed.

The lamp beside Dean’s bed drapes Wynter in an amber glow. She’s propped up against his headboard, her chin resting on her chest, and his frayed and torn copy of The Odyssey lies open across her stomach.

“Damn,” he whispers. She’s as breathtaking as the new decor.

He notices the small red plaid Christmas trees on his desk, surrounded by mini elves with oversized hats covering their eyes, stopped by their large circular noses. He chuckles, thinking they’re kinda cute.

She’s cute. Cute, beautiful, kind, sweet, sexy, funny. She’s a retired hunter, a busted-up knee took her out of the field years ago, but she still does her part. Researches, answers calls, and organizes hunters. When the alternate universe hunters arrived, Sam called her in for help. She’d been there ever since.

Dean sighs, watching her chest rise and fall. He’s had years to see if there’s something more to their relationship, but there was always something in the way. Now that Chuck is gone, and Dean’s decisions are his own, it’s been on his mind more frequently, but apart from sharing a bed when the nightmares wake them, he’s been a saint.

He doesn’t remember crossing the room but finds himself gently brushing the hair off her face and picking up the book. She stirs, taking a deep breath and her eyes flutter open.

The smile she gives him is enough of a gift that he has no need for any of the brightly wrapped packages beneath the tree.

“Hey,” he whispers.

“Hi,” she says, stretching her whole body.

He sits beside her in an attempt not to look at where her oversized tee rides up her thigh. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” she says, shuffling to sit up straighter, “sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

It’s nice to come home to you in my bed. He doesn’t say it, but it must show on his face because, under the ambient lighting, he sees her cheeks tinge pink.

“Nightmare woke me up. I came to see if you were home,” she explains unnecessarily. He knows that’s why she’s in his bed. Other than falling asleep watching some cheesy horror movie together, there’s no other reason for her to be there.

“Wanna talk about it?” he asks, smoothing the wayward strands of hair that fell back onto her face.

She shakes her head, averting her gaze to look at her fidgeting hands in her lap. “I don’t remember it now,” she lies. She’s as easy to read as the book on his nightstand.

“I’m home now,” he smiles when she lifts her eyes again, “give me five minutes?”

It’s an invitation to stay, and he holds his breath while she deciphers his meaning. She nods, chewing her bottom lip worriedly, and he leans forward to kiss her forehead before getting to his feet.

He points at the dog, “keep her company for me, buddy,” he instructs, and Miracle jumps onto the bed to drape himself across her lap.

She smiles happily, stroking the dog. “Hurry back; it gets cold in here without you.”

Wynter flips a pancake just as the toaster pops, and Dean shuffles in, wearing the deadman’s robe and looking adorable in his sleepy state. It’s perfect timing, but she’s kind of mad at herself for not staying in bed and waking up beside him. She knows he wouldn’t have minded, but something about waking up next to him feels a little too intimate.

No one greets him while he pours his coffee, all of them long accustomed to knowing he’s grumpy until at least his fourth sip.

Wynter butters the hot slice of bread, adds it to the pile, and then Eileen plants a kiss on her cheek as she steals the fresh pancake from the pan and the last strip of real bacon from the plate. It’s fine. There’s a whole tray staying warm in the oven for when Dean’s ready to start the day.

Sam piles up his second plate with toast and fake ‘healthy’ bacon before dipping to kiss her cheek too. She chuckles, a happy warmth spreading through her that they are getting in the spirit and obliging her silly idea to spread some joy.

“It smells so good in here,” Dean says, announcing he’s ready to be spoken to.

Wynter chuckles, “bacon, toast, sausage, scrambled eggs, mushrooms, hash browns, and pancakes, come help yourself.”

Dean rushes over, excitedly rubbing his hands together, and stares at the feast awaiting him. Sam very deliberately clears his throat, and Dean turns to look at him.

“If you’re going to lecture me on my cholesterol, save it.”

Sam smirks, and rather than speak around a mouthful of food, he uses his knife to motion toward the ceiling, and Dean’s eyes follow.

She holds her breath while his sleepy brain processes what the mistletoe hanging above her means. Wetting her lips, she takes a tentative step toward him and leans in. Dean clears his throat, practically jumping toward her to deliver the lightest and quickest of kisses to her cheek, then turns to fill his plate, rocking on his heels and avoiding eye contact with her.

Disappointment floods through her like an icy drink, and she quickly switches off the burners. “I’m gonna take a shower,” she says to her own feet as she crosses the room.

Hanging mistletoe had been a stupid idea. She sees it now. Sam and Eileen played along, kissing her cheek every time they were under it, but clearly, Dean was uncomfortable, and she never wanted that.

Dean hasn’t seen Wynter since breakfast, there are only so many places he can hide, but he’s doing a pretty good job of avoiding her.

Ridiculously, Dean pops his head around the kitchen door before entering. He doesn’t want to avoid her altogether; he’s only trying to prevent being alone with her. But he’s safe; Sam is sitting at the table, reading a book.

Dean notices the mistletoe is suspiciously absent as he heads for the coffee pot.

“She made me take it down,” Sam explains without being asked.

“Huh? What?” Dean asks, feigning innocence.

“Said she didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable and asked me to take it down,” Sam shrugs while Dean fills his cup.

“She didn’t… I wasn’t…”

“Dude, you were a deer caught in headlights!”

“I know,” Dean groans, joining him at the table. “I was an idiot. But I don’t want our first kiss to be some holiday gimmick. It should be something special.”

“So you do want to kiss her?”

“What?” Dean says, shocked Sam even has to ask. “Of course I do.”

“Well, that was a missed opportunity.” Sam stares at him expectantly.

Dean scrubs a hand down his face. “Since the whole Lisa and Ben disaster, I never let myself think of a future,” he sighs wearily. That debacle still weighs heavy on him. “For the longest time, I’ve accepted that hunting and being here with you was my happily ever after. But…” he pauses, unsure how to explain it without sounding like a chick flick cliche.

“But you see a future with Wynter?”

“I don’t know, maybe,” he says, shrugging. He doesn’t want to say it out loud. Telling someone your wish is a surefire way to make it not come true, besides if it all goes to shit, he’d have plausible deniability. Chuck’s no longer writing his story, but that doesn’t change who he is. “I do know that whatever happens, I want to do it right.”

“I’m pretty sure she feels the same way about you.”

“You mean Eileen is pretty sure?”

“Exactly,” Sam smiles like a lovesick puppy at the mention of his girlfriend. The smile quickly drops, and he looks sorrowful. Dean knows he’s going to be the bearer of bad news before he even utters a word. “But maybe you should tell Wynter that, sooner rather than later,” Sam suggests, “she’s going on a date.”

“When the hell did that happen?” he grumbles.

“Probably shortly after you shot her down,” Sam guesses with a shrug.

Wynter checks the contents of her bag as she leaves her room; purse, phone, keys, lip gloss, and pepper spray - can never be too careful. She rounds the corner and slams directly into a solid chest. She stumbles back, staying on her feet only because Dean catches her around the waist and drags her into him, crushing her bag between them.

Dean utters a string of curses as she unravels herself from his arms and her bag spews its contents across the floor at their feet.

“Sorry,” they say simultaneously.

“I got it,” he grumbles, halting her descent to pick up her items. He kneels at her feet, collecting up her lip gloss, keys, and phone and putting them back in her bag. He holds the pepper spray and looks up at her. “Expecting trouble?”

“No,” she frowns, “but can’t be too careful nowadays.”

He stands straight again, handing back her bag but holding out the can. “If you’re not sure about this guy,” he says, tugging the spray back when she makes a grab for it. “I can come, sit in the back, and keep an eye on him.”

She doesn’t need to wonder who told him. There’s no reason for it to be a secret, but she feels weird going to meet another man after having spent the night in Dean’s bed, as if she’s doing something wrong. Though she knows her only error was assuming her feelings were reciprocated.

“No,” she says too quickly. “Dates are awkward enough. I don’t need to add you looking over my shoulder.”

“If it’s awkward, maybe that’s a sign,” he shrugs.

“Dating advice from Dean Winchester. Must be a Christmas phenomenon.”

He laughs, and she mimics him, feeling the buzz of excitement she gets whenever her words or actions make the seasoned hunter smile.

“It might not be awkward, but I’d be less tense and nervous if you weren’t there.”

He ponders it for a moment, holding her stern gaze but finally relents, features softening to a reassuring look. “Can I at least give you a ride to wherever you're meeting this guy?”

It’s a not-so-subtle attempt to ask where she will be. She knows he worries, and she’s not one to lay unnecessary weight on his shoulders. “We’re just going to the Coffee Bean.”

“What a cheap ass,” Dean scoffs, “couldn’t even spring for a nice dinner.”

She chuckles at his apparent disgust, “coffee was my idea, less pressure.”

His brow raises as does his volume, “You feel like this guy is pressuring you?”

“No, Dean. I just meant it’s more informal.”

“Oh, okay, got it.” He rubs a hand around the back of his neck. “Well, um, have fun, I guess,” he says, stepping around her.

“Dean,” she calls as he reaches the next corner.

He stops, spinning to face her again, “yeah?”

“A ride would be nice,” she says, and as the words spill out, her heart cracks just a little. If Dean has no problem driving her to see another man, then her assumption that he sees her as nothing more than a friend is firmly confirmed.

Dean steals glances at Wynter as he drives. She looks pretty, light makeup rings her eyes, making them brighter, but she still looks natural, like it was effortless. Sitting beside him in the Impala, he could almost convince himself that she’d made the effortless effort for a date with him - until they approach the Coffee Bean.

“That’s him,” she smiles subtly, pointing out a tall, dark-haired man nervously scanning the street. Dean slows as they pass to get a better look at the guy - to know who he needs to murder if he turns out to be an asshole - and they lock eyes through the window. Other than the too-closely set eyes, the guy looks like he walked off a magazine cover. Everything is too perfect, too polished. Hair neatly cropped, jeans, button-down, and jacket that looks professionally pressed, shoes gleaming in the late afternoon sun, and Dean holds back a scoff. There’s also something about Mr. GQ’s stance…ugh, military. Dean’s not sure which is worse, a male model or an ex-grunt.

“Point one for Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome,” Wynter interrupts his mental assessment as Dean pulls onto the next block, “he showed up.”

“He’d be a fool not to,” Dean says, turning to give her a sincere smile.

She returns it, shying away but masking it as unfastening her lap belt. “Thanks for the ride.”

“No problem.”

He watches her get out and rush to the sidewalk, slowing her step as she nears the corner. She smooths down her coat and squares her shoulders before continuing, and Dean feels his gut twist with every step she takes away from him.

He knows it’s wrong, and he should head home. Preferably via a liquor store, but curiosity gets the better of him. Besides, he tells himself he should stay close by in case she needs him.

By the time he’s found a parking spot and walked back to the coffee shop, they have their drinks and are seated at a table in the middle of the room. They seem to only have eyes for each other, she’s talking, and the guy looks like he’s genuinely listening.

“Sammy, I need a favor,” Dean says as soon as the call connects.

Sam sighs, “Ryan Barnes, retired marine, currently a teacher at the naval academy, excellent service record, pays his taxes, owns his own home, no living relatives.”

“What? How did you…”

“She’s not stupid, Dean. She asked me to do all the necessary checks too.”

“So she’s serious about this guy?” Dean panics, watching through the window as she takes a sip of her coffee to stifle a warm smile.

“Not yet,” Sam explains, “it’s only a coffee date.”

“Only a coffee date? You say that like it means something.”

Sam’s eye roll is in his tone. “A coffee date is a test. It’ll last two hours, two and a half maximum. It’s pressureless; no expectations from either side. It’s just to sort of prove you are who you say you are.”

Dean feels better for the briefest of moments, that is, until Wynter laughs at her purportedly upstanding and perfectly respectable date. He’s clearly passing the test. Dean hopes Ryan is committing everything to memory, all her eye-crinkling smiles and the light touch on his arm.

“Dean?” Sam enquires.

“Yeah, I’m still here,” he says, sitting at a table outside the Coffee Bean. He’s not in her line of sight, but he can see her reflected in the mirror behind the counter. If she looks up, she’ll notice him, but the pair are too enthralled with each other, or so it seems.

“Stop spying on her.”

“What? I’m not,” Dean stammers, “I gotta go,” before hanging up.

He tries to recall the first time he met Wynter but can’t. He remembers it was through Bobby. He must have called her in for help with a case, and then she was always at the other end of the phone, backup when they needed it without question. It’s strange he doesn’t remember their first meeting but knows he’d be lost without her now.

Ryan is handsome and funny. He’s attentive and seems to be genuinely interested in what she has to say. He’s actively listening, not just waiting for his turn to talk, but knowing Dean is watching, she can’t help but compare them.

While Ryan recounts a funny story about one of the cadets in his class, she ponders how he’d fare against a vampire. He’s well-built and athletically slim. He’s run a marathon or two, but she wonders if he’d run and leave her behind if they encountered a ghost. His arms are toned, muscles noticeable but subtle beneath his shirt, but would those arms hold her tight and soothe her after a nightmare? Especially as she couldn’t explain the horrors that haunt her, rising like demons in her sleep. There are no dark circles under his eyes, indicating he sleeps well, and she’s curious to know if he’d forgo sleep to drink coffee with her in the kitchen, talking about nothing and everything to avoid closing her eyes again.

Ultimately, she’s wondering if he could replace Dean. Even as the thought occurs, she stomps it down, realizing no one will understand or know her as well as Dean does.

The subject of her thoughts pulls his jacket tight around his neck; he must be freezing sitting outside. She wants to go out and hug him, give him her warmth, chase away his concerns and tell him that she’d rather be on a date with him instead of the perfectly charming man sitting in front of her.

While some consider it foolish, she’s always felt kissing under the mistletoe is a cute and fun holiday tradition. She had hoped that Dean might use the opportunity to extend the tender forehead kisses to something more. The brief kiss he’d placed on her cheek let her know their affection for each other was not on the same level. While her feelings have grown into something more romantic, his still appear to be firmly in the friend zone. Although, the nervousness he showed afterward was odd…

Focus. She scolds herself, bringing her attention back to the room and what Ryan is saying.

They simultaneously stand, and Dean checks his watch. It’s been almost three hours. Ryan helps her into her coat, and Dean knows he needs to disappear before she sees him. He skedaddles around the corner, heading back toward Baby.

His phone vibrates in his pocket as he crosses the street, and he pulls it out to see Wynter’s name flashing at him.

“Hey,” he answers, trying to sound casual and not as put out as he feels.

“If you’re done spying,” she says, mildly perturbed, “can I get a ride home?”

Fuck. He should have known she’d clocked him at some point. Just because she’s not in the field anymore doesn’t mean she still doesn’t have hunter instincts. She’d have checked her surroundings, even if Dean didn’t see her do it. “Yea, um, I’m two blocks over.”

He rests on Baby’s hood while he waits for her, watching as she strolls toward him. She looks lighter - happier - maybe this guy left an impression.

“I’m sorry,” he says, as soon as she’s close enough, “I didn’t mean…”

“It’s fine,” she says, waving him off. “It’s nice to know you care enough to worry about me.”

“I do,” he agrees, rushing to open the door for her. “I know I rarely say it, but I do care about you.”

“You don’t have to say it, Dean,” she reassures him, slipping her hand over his that sits on top of the door. “You check in when you’re on hunts, so I don’t worry and make sure the bunker is stocked with my favorite treats. You let me sleep in your bed when I have nightmares and stay awake with me when those nightmares scare me enough not to want to close my eyes again. You made me a tape of my favorite songs, even though they’re not all classic rock, and now we can add spying on my dates to make sure I’m safe. So you don’t need to say it. I know you do.”

He stares at her for a moment, wondering how she hasn’t figured it out yet. That’s his love language or whatever sappy saying the kids use nowadays. Everything she just said is how he shows her he wants to explore their relationship. Perhaps he does need to say it. Still, she’s never been a shy woman, and she just went on a date with another guy. If she wanted him, Dean’s sure she’d have said something.

His internal turmoil extends too long, and she folds herself into the car without another word. He doesn’t want to go home and go off to separate rooms for the rest of the night. He knows that’s what she’ll do. After the mistletoe mishap this morning, she’ll hide in her bedroom instead of watching gory horror movies with him.

As he rounds the car, he wonders if suggesting a Christmas movie will encourage her not to hide from him. But a stroke of genius strikes him as he slips behind the wheel.

“So I was thinking,” Dean starts, smiling, “those elves on my desk look a little lost. Wanna help me pick out some more decorations for my room?”

Her face lights up as bright as Christmas illuminations, “I’d love to.”

While shopping for decorations, neither mentioned her date, but it was slowly driving Dean insane. They’d come across the mistletoe section in the store, and he realized he didn’t know if she’d kissed Ryan goodbye. Now that’s all he can think about.

He’s sure Ryan wouldn’t have floundered and missed an opportunity to kiss her like he had.

“Dean,” Wynter calls, snapping her fingers in front of his face.

He shakes his head, refocusing his eyes on her across the booth from him. “Sorry.”

“Where’d you go?” she asks, taking a bite of her burger, extra onion just like him.

He chuckles, “I was regretting not buying that polar bear,” he lies. “It would have looked awesome next to Miracle’s bed.”

“It would,” she agrees, “wanna go back for it?”

“Nah,” he shrugs, taking a bite of his burger.

The food gets stuck in his throat as her phone lights up, vibrating against the table, and she smiles, reading the messenger’s name. She quickly swipes the phone, using a non-burger-greased finger, and reads the message before focusing back on Dean with a goofy grin. It’s a sweet smile but leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

“Isn’t he supposed to wait three days or something?” he chokes, sipping his beer.

Wynter rolls her eyes, “not in this century, Winchester,” she teases, “and not when we’re as old as we are.”

“Hey.” He feigns offense that goes unnoticed. As she swiftly types a reply, he grumbles, “Speak for yourself; I ain’t old.”

“I kinda like being older,” she responds, stashing the phone in her pocket. “I’m more comfortable in my own skin. I feel like I know myself better and know what I want.”

“And Ryan is what you want?”

Eyes squinting suspiciously for a minute, she stares at him. It doesn’t take her long to make the connection, though she asks for clarification, “Sam?”

“Sam,” he nods once.

“And?”

“And what?”

“What do you think?”

“It’s not about what I think,” he counters, “what do you think? Although the goofy smile kinda already answered that for me.”

At the mention of said smile, it returns. “He was nice and seemed genuine. Kind, sweet, funny…”

She trails off, and Dean’s question of “But?” almost drowns out her deep sigh.

“But I don’t want to live a lie,” she explains, refusing to meet his eyes but masking it by dipping and eating cold fries. “I’ve lived through too much, seen too much to have to hide or sugarcoat it. I shouldn’t have to.”

“I get it,” he agrees, “you should be able to explain your nightmares to someone and have them understand it’s not just childish fears.”

She nods, a grateful smile that he understands. “Exactly, but forcing someone into our world just to feel less lonely would be wrong.”

That twists a knot in his heart. She shouldn’t be lonely. He’s right there. He puts down the last chunk of his burger, suddenly feeling nauseous. “You’re lonely?” He doesn’t quite stutter, but the acid in his stomach churns, and he has to work to keep it from rising.

She meets his eyes, and he must look as sick as he feels because she quickly assures, “no, no,” shaking her hands, “that was a poor choice of words.”

She waits until he takes a deep breath and polishes off his beer. He doesn’t have words to ask her to explain, yet she seems to understand he needs it.

“I love being at the bunker with you,” she smiles softly, and while their eye contact lingers, he sees her school her expression as she quickly adds, “and Sam and Eileen. I guess what I mean is I shouldn’t drag someone into our world for a little intimacy.”

Wynter fixes her eyes to his, and he can see how much she’s willing him to understand. He does - more than she realizes. He wants to offer her intimacy and all that goes along with it. He wants to offer himself. But at the moment, he doesn’t know how to say it without sounding sleazy or like it’d be a temporary arrangement.

Dean’s phone rings and startles them both out of their loaded stare. “Hey, Sammy.”

“Where are you guys? It’s been like eight hours?” he frets.

“We’re heading back now,” Dean says, somewhat regretfully. Wherever that moment could have led, it’s lost now.

Dean sits at the head of the table after carving the turkey that looks like something the Lost Boys had conjured in Neverland. Sam’s to his right, Wynter to his left, Miracle at his feet, his family gathered around the table, set and decorated as if they were expecting Royalty.

Hums and sated sighs of contentment filter around the room, everyone speechless as they taste another item Wynter has prepared. Dean agrees and echoes every single one, but the restless thrum rises in his gut again, watching everyone tuck into their dinner. The food, the day, the moment, it’s perfect. Yet, it isn’t complete. He wants to lean over and give Wynter a firm, but casual and familiar kiss, the same way Sam delivers one to Eileen, except he can’t.

“Has everyone got a drink?” Wynter asks, pulling him out of his head. There are grunts, and yeses exchanged. She nods, fretting, “is it all hot enough?”

Dean slips his hand over hers, squeezing it when she turns her palm up and meets his eyes, “it’s all perfect, relax.”

Her smile is tender and thankful until it turns teasing. She leans closer and whispers, “there’s a whole tray of bacon-wrapped fries stashed away for us for our movie marathon later.”

I love you sits on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he says, “you’re awesome.”

For the longest time, he never allowed himself to fantasize about something as ordinary and traditional as a family Christmas, but as he washes down his food with a sip of eggnog, he’s already looking forward to next year.

Dean looks at each person in turn. Bess smiles lovingly at Garth, who’s watching the kids. Gertie leads her brothers in making Miracle perform tricks for chunks of turkey. Jody steps between Alex and Claire before whatever they are discussing explodes into an argument. Doug, the third, feeds Donna a spoonful of bread pudding. Sam accepts a gift from Eileen, kissing her before he even tears open the paper wrapping. The room is rife with joy and smiles, and the delicious aromas of Christmas dinner still fill the air.

But Wynter is suspiciously absent. He’d watched her stalk off twenty or so minutes ago. Donna had given her a gift, an expensive sweater. Wynter’s eyes had welled with tears, and she’d yanked Donna into a tight embrace that lasted almost a full minute. Dean knew because he’d held his breath the entire time, mentally berating himself for not having bought her a gift. Shortly after she’d left the room, Dean assumed she was going to the bathroom or to bring out more food - that he had no idea where she was storing - but she hadn’t reappeared.

He finds her washing the dishes in the kitchen. “There you are,” he says to her back, walking down the stairs.

He sees her raise her arms and swipe at her face with her forearm, but she doesn’t turn to look at him. “Everything okay?” she asks, and he hears the unspoken “I’m fine,” she puts behind it, “someone need something?”

“Everyone’s fine,” he says and hears her try to mask her sniffle under his words. “Hey,” he worries, tugging on her elbow, “what’s wrong?” She doesn’t hesitate to turn to him, dragging her soapy hands out of the sink. Tears streak her cheeks, and he immediately cups her face to thumb them away. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, I’m being silly,” she smiles, chewing her bottom lip while he cocks his brow to tell her he needs more explanation. “I’m about to go full chick flick on you,” Wynter teases, reaching for a towel to dry her hands.

“Hit me with it. I’ve survived heaven, hell, purgatory,… well, you know. I’m sure your chick flick moment won’t kill me.”

“I’m happy,” she admits, “the happiest I’ve been for the longest time, and it just got a little overwhelming.”

“You’re waiting for the other shoe to drop?”

“Exactly.”

“It won’t,” he promises, “I won’t let it.” He doesn’t care what it takes; selling his soul, sacrificing himself, a spell, anything, he’ll do it to make sure this day stays perfect for her. They stare at one another for a long silent moment, the pads of his thumb interrupting the steady flow of happy tears, and he thinks it the most beautiful he’s ever seen her.

Guilt traps a lump of air in his throat. She’d done so much to make him happy the past few days – created a winter wonderland in the bunker, snuck back to the store and bought the polar bear for Miracle, spent days preparing the delicious food they’d consumed, including special treats just for him – while he hadn’t even been able to settle on a single gift for her. He’d tried, but nothing seemed to convey his feelings toward her.

“I didn't buy you a gift,” he admits.

“Seeing you smile is a gift, Dean. I don’t need anything else.”

“You sure?” he asks, somewhat cockily, “cause there is something that I want to give you.”

Timidly he draws her closer, giving her every opportunity to pull away, but she lets him lead. Her eyes slip closed a millisecond before his do, and he holds his breath as lips as soft as velvet brush his like a flutter of butterfly wings before she pushes up on her toes, leaning into him. It’s tender and sweet, and Dean lingers until his lungs burn. Her tongue swipes his lips as she licks away a tear when he pulls back.

“I take it back,” she laughs, a shaky nervousness in her tone, “this is the happiest I’ve ever been.”

He chuckles, exhaling into the small space between them. “I think we might be able to ramp it up to RomCom level,” he teases.

“Is that so?”

“Yep, I think I know how I can make you happier,” Dean smirks, reaching behind him to pull a battered bouquet of mistletoe from his back pocket.

Wynter laughs, “Here I was thinking that you were fixing to get us on Santa’s naughty list.”

“Oh, that will be later.” Moving closer, he holds the greenery above their heads, meeting her mouth in a searing kiss. Dean drops his arm, letting the sprigs fall to the floor as he cups the back of her head. His tongue slips past her parted lips, and the restlessness that’s plagued him for weeks dissipates against the sweetness of eggnog and nutmeg. Her fingers tug at his belt loops, yanking him tight against her. It’s only a kiss, but he feels a sense of serene delirium.

Staring into her glistening eyes as they breathlessly pull apart, he realizes he just kickstarted his future.

Likes/comments/reblogs make the muses happy and look there are handy buttons below to do just that ⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️

Master Lists: Main // Dean Winchester

Requests are open, info here.

#Dean Winchester #Christmas #Dean Winchester fluff #Supernatural #SPN #Dean Winchester x OFC #Sam Winchester x Eileen Leahy #spn #dean winchester #fluff #Dean Winchester flangst #flangst #christmas fic

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ladylannisterxo · 2 years ago

Text

favor for a favor

KINKTOBER 01; thigh riding

Pairings; Sam Merlotte x fem!Reader

Words; 1.1k

Summary; In which Sam needs you to cover a shift but you just want to spend some time with him. Perhaps the two of you can come to some sort of agreement...

A/N; Cheers to a full month of nothing but kink!! Let's get this party started with a little bit of Sam Merlotte 😍

{ masterlist }

“Sam?” You inquire softly, poking your head in through his office door to find him hunched over at his desk punching numbers into a calculator.

“Good, you’re here. I was just about to call you.”

“Oh yeah?” You tease, stepping fully into the room and closing the door behind you.

“Yeah,” he replies, eyes still intently focused on the array of papers scattered before him. “Sookie called out again so I need you to cover her shift.”

Crossing your arms, you huff out an exasperated breath. Of course. The sound captures his attention and he finally pulls himself away from his work to look at you. His eyes soften when he sees the disappointed look plastered across your face.

“Look, I know it’s not ideal—”

“I didn’t come here to work, Sam,” you interrupt, albeit a bit petulantly, “I came here to see you.”

“I understand that.” He sighs and leans back in his chair, legs spread wide before you. “But I really need this and I’m still your boss.”

You bark a laugh. “You see me out there bussing tables and taking orders? I’m off the clock.”

“And even when you’re off the clock, I’m still your boss.”

“Is that so?”

Pushing yourself away from the door, you saunter ever so slowly over to your boss. Sam’s eyes remain permanently fixated on you, work and numbers and waitresses that don’t show up long forgotten. His tongue darts out to wet his lips when your hand glides up his chest as you straddle yourself across his thigh.

“Tell me, Sam, are you still my boss every time we fuck?”

“So that’s what you came here for,” he muses, hands coming up to rest on your hips. “Get me alone in my office, bat those big, beautiful eyes of yours, and maybe I’ll succumb to your whims and fuck you nice and hard?”

“Ain’t no ‘maybe’ about it, baby.”

At his stunned silence, you grin widely and trail your fingers back down his chest to latch onto his belt buckle. Sam groans when you swiftly undo the buckle and pull his belt tantalizingly slow from the belt loops, tossing the leather to some far corner of the room. It’s when your fingers move to pop open the button of his jeans that his hands grip your wrists softly in protest.

“We can’t,” he whispers, cupping your face when you turn to look away. “At least not right now. Look, sweetheart, Arlene and Holly are drowning out there. Tara’s working the bar alone and I’m gonna have to go and help her. All I’m asking is that you throw on one of those spare uniforms I know you keep shoved in the back of your cubby and please, work the floor for a few hours, you know, for me.”

You tilt your head from side to side, pantomiming the need to think over his request. “I suppose I could do this for you but… how about a favor for a favor?”

Sam’s tongue darts out to wet his lips again as his eyes traverse your body perched on his thigh. With a wicked grin and no time to prepare yourself, he flexes the muscles in his thigh. The rough denim rubs deliciously against your clothed heat and you let out a soft whimper, hands flying up to rest against his shoulders for support.

“Oh, that’s what you want, isn’t it?” He asks, placing a delicate kiss to your jaw. “Yeah, I like this idea. I’ll let you get off on my thigh now and then you put in a few hours of work for me. Now, go ahead, get yourself off.”

You nod dumbly, pleasure coursing through your veins as Sam leans back in his chair, returning his hands to your hips. With eager assistance, his rough hands rock you back and forth, back and forth across his thigh and the firmness of his touch mixed with the pressure of his thigh against your cunt has you tossing your head back with a long and drawn out moan.

“Fuck, you’re already so close, aren’t you?” He asks, voice tinged with absolute awe.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you whine, twisting the fabric of his shirt tighter in your hands as you rock yourself harder and faster against him. “Been thinking about you all day, baby.”

“Yeah?” He wonders, pushing his hand down the front of your shorts to rub his calloused fingers against your swollen clit. “What do you think about?”

“Oh fuck,” you mewl, adjusting the rolling of your hips to sync up with the push of his fingers. “I think about how warm and rough your hands feel on my body and the way you taste when we kiss. I think about the way you eye fuck me as I’m working when you think no one is looking and I always, always, always think about how fucking good it feels to have your cock buried inside of me.”

“Goddamn, you think such dirty thoughts about me, sweetheart,” he mumbles, lips trailing against the hollow of your throat. “Come on, cum for me.”

Sam wraps one arm around your waist and pulls you flush against him while the other continues its fast and fierce ministrations against your clit. Latching his lips on the juncture of your neck and shoulder, he sucks fervently against the supple skin and the sensation forces another moan to fall from your lips. You chant his name as if it’s the only word you know and just as you crest the wave of your orgasm, Sam pulls you in for a hard and deep kiss that swallows the screaming moan that tears its way from your throat as your orgasm rips through you.

Giggling softly as you come down from your high, you press delicate kisses across his face. Removing his hand from the confines of your shorts, he cups your face and lands another searing kiss against your lips.

“Feel better?” He asks, a teasing grin on his face.

You shrug. “It’s a start.”

Sam laughs as he assists in maneuvering you back into a standing position. Fixing the flyaway strands of your hair, you then begin shedding your clothes and switching them out for the spare uniform that you do, in fact, have shoved away in the back of your cubby. When you catch his eye, you smile.

“What? A deal’s a deal.”

“Sure and how ‘bout this? We get through the dinner rush and after closing, we go back to my place, I’ll make us some dinner, open a bottle of wine, and then I’ll fuck you all night long if that’s what you want.”

“Gosh, you really know how to treat a lady, Sam Merlotte,” you tease, “but, uh, yes, that actually sounds like a real pleasant evening. I can’t wait.”

“Good,” he murmurs, kissing you once again. “Now, get to work before the boss catches you slacking.”

#sam merlotte #sam merlotte x reader #sam merlotte x you #sam merlotte x fem!reader #true blood #writing by 's'

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wildestdreamsblog · 3 years ago

Text

You showed me love was all you needed

Pairing: Bucky Barnes (AU) x Reader

Warnings: Soft!Dark Bucky, Swearing, Alcohol consumption, Sexual themes, dubcon if you squint, mention of death, drama. If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: HIIIIII. Thank you for all the replies, reblogs, likes! This is a story set in an alternative universe where Bucky is a single dad. Thank you for all the support! Hope you enjoy! (also ohmygod my first smut???????????????) Also we made it to the end!

Gorgeous: Beginning, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, End

"I won't try to change your mind. But just know, when the world tires you, when the world hurts you again- and it will because that's just how it is, I'm here. You can always come back to me. Angel, I'll accept you with open arms."

His words echoed in your mind as you drove away from the town. Did you make the biggest mistake of your life by leaving him? By leaving someone who loved you more than you've ever been loved in your life? Or was this self-preservation? Maybe the only way to find out was to see this through. And so you drove and drove, miles separating you from him, from the life you thought you wanted.

Rebuilding your life took months- months of hard work, of adjusting, of missing them. But you soldiered through it all. You told yourself this was what you needed. You needed to have no regrets that you didn’t follow your dreams.

"Is that you?"

You stiffened before you looked behind you when someone called your name. You smiled when you recognize who it was- it was Bucky's friend Sam. "Hey, it's so good to see you," you went to embrace him when he leaned in.

"Oh my God, how long has it been?" you mused as you stared at him with a smile on your face.

Sam chuckled as he rubbed a hand on his mouth, a thoughtful look on his face. "Five months? Going Six?"

You stared at him, thinking if you should asked about him, about them, if you even had the right to seeing as you up and left when things went hard. Sam smiled at you. He saw the turmoil in your eyes, "Braxton is doing good."

You waited for him to tell you how Bucky was, but you didn't deserve to know how the only man who had loved you for you was doing.

To say that your life without them was bleak was an understatement. There were days when you thought you saw his tall form in the crowd, but then you blinked and before you knew it he was gone. There were days when you could swore you saw his ocean, blue eyes only to end up missing those eyes.

"Hi baby! How are you?" you asked over your phone. Braxton had been calling you weekly, always talking excitedly as he told you about his classes, his friends- but nothing about his father. And just like with Sam, you couldn't asked.

"Hi mommy angel! I miss you!"

"I miss you, too!"

"Are you coming back, mommy?"

You didn't know. You had no answer for that. And so, you went on for another month before you finally had the courage to return to the town for Frances' birthday party. She had encouraged you to follow your dreams, and for that you owe her. You ended up following your dreams, and learned that even that couldn't make you happy- as happy as you were when you were with him.

"I miss you so much, girl!" Frances hugged you, her breath smelling of alcohol as you arrived a little late at the bar and your friends had already quite a few drinks.

"Happy birthday!"

Even with sea of people, you weren't happy. You watched your friends danced the night away with a smile on your face, and a drink on your hand to numb your heart. And even there, you thought you saw a brunette man with those eyes in the sea of people. You looked closer to see if it was him but the crowd hindered your eyes. You blinked and he was gone.

You were driving that same night, the road empty and only illuminated by the moon and a few, scattered street lights. Your car suddenly lurched forward before making a screeching sound. You aimed for the side of the road slowly before your car completely died. Brows furrowed, you opened your door before opening your hood. It was emitting smoke. Looking around to see if you could ask help for anyone, you looked at your phone to start contacting Frances for help. If she was even sober enough. The coldness of the night made you shiver.

You were standing there for a couple of minutes before a familiar black jeep drove by you slowly before parking behind your car. That was the first time you saw him in months, his long and strong thighs strode to you confidently, eyes flicking to your car before finding their way to you.

"Bucky," you heard your voice called for him. His eyes were cold before going to your open hood and taking a looked in it. He scoffed before fishing his phone from his black jeans, "Along the Smith street, yes. A blue toyota. Take it to the shop. The keys are in the ignition. Yes." He ended the call coldly before walking by you and going back to his car. You watched his broad back, he stopped walking, took a pause before looking back at you.

"Well, are you coming or not? I don't got all night. Braxton's waiting for me at home."

Slowly, and probably against your better judgement, you grabbed your purse in your car before walking to his car. You watched him drove, his strong arms gripping the steering wheel as he maneuvered the car. It didn't even occur to you that this road was the way to the next town, or that he should not be here tonight seeing as how far it was from his office or his home.

You were silent as he drove to his house. He claimed he could not drive you anywhere because he had to relieve Dolora, Braxton's sitter. And you knew none of your friends could be reached tonight seeing as they were wasted or on their way to being wasted when you left the bar. You didn't know where to stay when he parked his car. He still had not looked at you unless it was necessary. You found yourself inside his house once again. You were behind him as he walked inside the house.

"Hey Buddy! I bought your favorite dinner!" Bucky was holding in his large hand a box of chicken you remembered Braxton always loved, even back then you had takeouts of that weekly.

Braxton jumped from the couch to run to his father when he noticed you behind Bucky. He aimed for you and engulfed you in his little arms. He was hugging you so tight, as if he was scared you'd vanished if he let go. You could feel the little boy's shoulder shaking as he tightened his hug. You looked up to Bucky's eyes only to find them already in yours.

"Sit," Bucky ordered as he put plates on the table. Braxton was already seated and was telling you bunch of stories, filling you in on the months that you were gone.

You seated meekly beside Bucky, as you eagerly listened to Braxton. "And then tomorrow, we're gonna eat all delicious food! We're gonna go out, right daddy?"

Bucky nodded at his son. "You'll go with us, right, mommy angel?" You looked at Bucky who only shrugged at you, still wasn't looking at you.

"Is there an occasion tomorrow?"

"It's my mom's death anniversary, mommy angel."

Tomorrow was September 21. You didn't know if you should stay, it felt like a family affair and you felt like an intruder. Like the times you stayed there, you read Braxton his story. Bucky didn't join you, and you found him drinking his whiskey from the dining area. You walked to him slowly, his eyes finally on you as he watched you over the darkness of the night. The darkness made him looked like a fallen angel. His hand holding a glass of whiskey he kept swooshing slowly as you neared him.

You offered him a tentative smile. "If you want to leave, you can. But your car would take more than a day to fix."

"Thank you for taking care of it." He always did, even before. He was always taking care of you, he was always fixing things for you. He was so dependable that sometimes it was easier to give in, to have someone take care of you.

"But if you want to stay, you can." He took a sip of his drink, before lowering it on the table with a finality. "The question is, do you want to stay?"

You knew he was asking more than staying for the night. He was offering more. He was bearing his soul to you, willing to stretch out his hand despite the times you turned your back on him.

I've laid it all, angel. All you had to do was take my hand

Bucky's dark eyes followed you as you neared him.

"I'm sorry for hurting you." You admitted in the darkness of the night. You looked down, before having the guts to look at his eyes. He was still waiting for you, still looking at you with his iced cold eyes.

"I'm sorry for leaving." You held his hand, and you were glad he let you. You took a deep breath when even that didn't make his expression change.

"I love you." you leaned in to kiss his soft, inviting lips. Your lips touched, once, twice- but he was still looking at you stoically.

He scoffed before taking a sip of his whiskey, "I want to stay." you finally admitted, because you really did. Bucky might had been intense, and you might had been a coward before, but that was all in the past. You knew he was the only one who could love you like this. And he was the only man you could love like this.

"If you love me, you'll marry me."

And you did.

It was not even a month before the two of you tied the knot.

Bucky never felt happiness as he was feeling now. You were finally, and most officially his. He was carrying the groceries when he found you looking down at a bunch of documents. His blood felt cold when he saw what exactly you were holding.

"Angel?"

Slowly, you lifted your head to look at him. "Bucky, I- I thought you were discharged after she died."

Bucky was gauging your reaction as he slowly lowered the groceries on the counter, his back on you as he started taking them out one by one. "I did."

"It says here you were discharged on September 12.."

You could not know the truth. No one could ever know the truth. He looked up and turned to you, but not before rearranging his face to mimic a nonchalant look.

"Yeah, angel. That was a clerical mistake. I was discharged on September 21. I told you, love." He smiled at you before walking to you and rubbing your belly softly. "You shouldn't be stressed, angel. That's bad for our baby."

Bucky remembered the first time he saw you. The first time he tasted your lips, and he knew you were exactly and perfectly what he was waiting for. He knew you were the one. You were everything he ever wanted and more. And it turned out, you were what Braxton needed as well. And so, he drew you in his life, and you let him like the sweet, little lamb you were. You let him in your life, spent your free days with him, you were basically playing a role that wasn't really yours. But he made it yours. He could not believe how happy he was- until you left him. Until the people around him made you leave him. It wasn't your fault, you were young. You needed to explore.

And so he let you- he let you think you had independence away from him. But he was always watching, waiting for the perfect time to lure you in again. He had always been good with cars, how to fix it- how to break it. He let you get away from him, but he didn't forgive the people who drove you away from him. He was always a maniac when people try to take the things he loved away from him. He knew he needed to be patient with you, to be soft with you. You needed to think it was your decision to return to him.

He could never lose you quietly. It would take more than that, more than breaking his bones for him to even willingly let you be snatched away from him. It would be chaos if you leave him again.

"Where did you get that, love?"

You showed him the envelope containing the return address. Of course, it was Mrs. Lowe. He might just pay her a visit.

END

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Please take note that I give no permission for my work to be reposted or published anywhere other than on my Tumblr account.

REBLOGS ARE MUCHOOO APPRECIATED!!! If you made it this far, comments are highly appreciated! Also, I don’t own the Marvel and any of their work, this is just purely a fanfiction written by a fan!

#bucky x reader #soft!dark bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #soft!dark bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky imagine #bucky barnes deserves a happy ending

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ecto-american · 2 years ago

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Fenton Family Values Chapter 3

Summary: During the yearly family reunion, Danny learns an interesting assumption his ghost-centric extended family has about a curse that's plagued the Fenton family for centuries.

NOTE: Danny is 23 here

Read on tumblr here: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Or on FFN or AO3

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The portal accident was painful. The worst pain he had ever felt, a blindingly hot pain that he'd never forget. His life-changing accident was the central focus of the day, and even now nine years later, it was his clearest memory of that family reunion. He vaguely remembered his parents realizing the portal had activated and their assumptions that the Fenton Curse was somehow behind it, remembering Bryan's low mood and Jazz's attempts to cheer him up utilizing everything she had learned about the grieving process, and some of the obviously-ghost themed games they played.

What was most clear was that final step before the shock, and then. Zap.

He remembered it being over, and the pain slowly fading. His chest had no breath and his throat was incredibly tight, and he couldn't breathe. Smoke was consuming his vision as it surrounded him. Looking at his feet, he was slowly disappearing. Danny tried coughing, choking as he fell to his knees, hands bracing himself on the floor. Ears ringing, but he could hear Sam and Tucker's frantic calls for him. It lasted for forever and another minute, until he felt Sam's touch on his back. Everything seemed to go back to normal. No smoke, no intangibility or invisibility, and he could take in a deep breath.

For years…he assumed it was his powers coming into fruition and settling. That it was a side effect of severe pain, him being unable to control his powers from that very start. But that feeling was so incredibly distinct…It had to be…

Danny's eyes snapped open, and he took in a panicked, deep breath. He recognized the ceiling immediately, and fear overcame him. He was in the funeral home. He could tell by the cold metal-like surface that he was on one of the embalming tables too, and he immediately assumed the worst.

"Oh god, the curse got me," he whispered to himself.

"It did not get you, drama king."

Danny glanced to his right to see Sam nearby, standing next to the table, and he felt a wave of relief at her confirmation. His hand reached out for his wife, and she immediately grasped it, giving him a comforting smile. He couldn't return it.

He slowly sat up, gripping her hand tightly as she passively helped, and he realized that Bryan and Shawn were sitting in chairs dragged in from the office.

"What happened?" Danny asked.

"Danny, you saw her, right?" Bryan blurted out. He snapped out of his chair, taking a hurried step forward to lean on the embalming table.

"Saw who?"

"Mom."

Danny's head jerked to give him an odd look. Bryan looked desperate for a confirmation. Sam leaned into her husband to whisper in his ear.

"Ever since we got you inside, that's all he's been talking about," Sam spoke softly. "He thinks he saw his mom."

"I know I saw her!" Bryan protested. Danny rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. He had a headache, and his back hurt from the gravestone.

"I gotta pee," Danny complained lightly, ignoring his question. Carefully, he slipped down from the table. He began to walk to the door, motioning for his cousin to follow him. "Come with me."

"Wait, wh-oh yeah. You guys can't even be alone to pee," Shawn mused. "Couldn't be me. I get pee shy."

"Fentons have become immune to almost every possible shame at this point," Danny said. "Just look at my dad." Bryan snorted. "Come on."

Bryan followed Danny into the hallway as the halfa dragged his feet to the men's room. They had four bathrooms at the funeral home, all single person restrooms. Three were in the main area of the client area, where services were held and the Fentons met with the grieving families to arrange services. Only one was in the back, where the ghostly magic happened, and it was the closest one.

Danny opened the door, Bryan following him in. Bryan went to the counter to sit on it, Danny taking his own seat on the closed toilet lid without undoing his pants. Instead, he rested his elbows on his knees as he rubbed his face.

"I saw her! I'd know my mom anywhere!" Bryan began. His voice began to pitch with hysteria the more he spoke. "And I think she was alive! She didn't look like a ghost! She looked so real, she looked so human. I've seen ghosts, Danny! She looked exactly as she did the last time I ever saw her! She wasn't pale or green or glowing or anything!"

"...Why did I pick for you to come with me to the bathroom over my wife again?" Danny questioned. Bryan ignored him.

"She might not be dead," he continued to ramble. "She might be alive, and after all this time!"

His cousin continued, and Danny stayed seated on the toilet, silent. He let the other go on as he tried to process everything.

Those red eyes. That smoke. The tightness in his chest. It was too familiar for it to be a coincidence. Danny had been in so many ghost hunting predicaments over the years. Choked out, electrocuted, been on fire, the whole nine yards. He had never felt that sensation before or since…the portal…

"Bryan!" Danny snapped. His cousin stopped talking, his shoulders slumping some. Danny exhaled softly. "I didn't see her. But I did see something. It wasn't Aunt Amy, but it was…it was something."

"Are you sure it wasn't Mom?" The pure desperation made Danny feel terrible.

"Positive," he confirmed.

Bryan exhaled deeply. The cousins stayed silent for a few moments. Danny felt a twinge of pain as he hit his funny bone, and he inhaled sharply through his teeth. It briefly reminded him of the shock.

"So," Bryan spoke up. "Did you really have to use the bathroom, or did you just wanna tell me that?"

"...Nah I actually have to go," Danny confessed as he stood back up to undo his belt.

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"Alright, you guys set to go?" Shawn asked after the cousins both slipped back into the room with him and Sam. Sam put her phone back into her pocket. Danny shrugged, walking over to the wall.

"I mean, we might as well check on everybody while we're here," Danny mused, and he opened up a mortuary cabinet. He immediately sighed. "Because like this. See? Mr. Barlowe's mouth is open and the wires are poking out, he had dentures. I keep telling Grandpa to not use the needle injector to close mouths when people had dentures."

"He does it cause you can tell his hands are starting to get too shaky to do it the other way," Sam commented. Danny nodded in agreement. "He should have just left Mr. Barlowe for you or I to do."

Shawn raised an eyebrow.

"What's a needle injector?" he asked. Danny hid a morbid grin. Bryan already was making an indescribable face.

"It's this tool we use to close the mouths," he explained. "It's this little gun that we put a pin in, attached to a wire. And then we just." Danny put finger guns on his upper gum. "Ka-chink." Bottom gum. "Ka-chink." He snickered at Bryan's disgusted face. "And then we twist the wires together like it's a loaf of bread, tuck them in the cheek."

"Stop it!" Bryan cried out, giving a creeped out, full body shake. "I hate that thing, it's so creepy. That thing alone stopped me from getting into the funeral business."

"That and you faint from blood half the time," Shawn reminded him.

"Come on, Bry," Danny laughed. "We used to play with the needle injector all the time. Grandpa got super pissed cause we injected and twisted Grammy's old dining room chairs together."

"Yeah, but that was before I knew it…did that," Bryan protested.

"But the needle injector just always runs the risk of the jaw opening if your gums aren't the best. Like if you wore dentures for thirty years like Mr. Barlowe did," Sam explained. "So we normally suture them closed. I'll get you the stuff."

Danny nodded, and Sam walked over to some cabinets, fishing around.

"Wait, suture?" Shawn looked fascinated by all of this. Bryan, on the other hand, was sitting down and looking pale. "Like hospital stitches suture?"

"Yeah, exactly!" Danny grinned. "I'm really good at it. Lots of experience stitching up the dead," he joked. He couldn't even count how many times he was stitching up his own arm. He got super good at it, basically a pro by the time he began working here. Though Grandpa Fenton called the practiced skill Danny had a natural talent, and Danny didn't bother to correct him.

Shawn cocked his head curiously.

"Did you intern here or something when you were in like, high school?" he asked. Danny paused.

"Uh. Yeah," he lied.

Sam returned with the stuff, handing it over. Bryan did another creeped out shiver, snapping to his feet.

"I don't wanna watch this," he complained. "Shawn, Sam, one of you, please."

He rushed for the door, grasping the handle and looking back desperately.

"I'll go," Sam offered to Shawn. "You seem interested in the whole thing." She gestured to Danny, who was already beginning.

"Yeah, it's fascinating," he agreed. "Bryan, we should do an episode on funeral homes."

"Oh hell no!"

"I like that, I can use Bryan to demonstrate the needle injector," Danny teased.

"NO!"

"Ka-chink," Danny ignored him. "Ka-chink."

Bryan made an odd noise of disgust, ripping the door open and rushing out, Sam hot on his heels. Danny was choking on laughter as he continued, Shawn also chuckling.

"I'm going to talk him into doing something on funeral homes," Shawn told Danny. "I think it's good to quell some of the fears people have about death."

"Yeah, definitely," the halfa agreed as he continued his work. "I mean. I've been surrounded by death for most of my life in one way or another. Kinda…very intimately familiar with it." He thought about the portal accident. That smoke. That tightness. It was way too familiar. "Between the funeral home, my parents hunting ghosts, and just living in Amity Park, I almost feel like I can morbidly embrace death."

"...When you say you're intimately familiar with it, it honestly gives me the impression that you've fucked a ghost," Shawn said bluntly. Danny looked at him like 'what the fuck man?'. Shawn shrugged his shoulders. "Well, have you?"

"No!" Danny scowled. "I thought you didn't believe in ghosts anyway?"

"I don't," Shawn asserted. "But we've talked to people who claimed they have slept with ghosts before."

"...What?" Danny was absolutely baffled.

"Danny!" Sam's voice caught both of their attention, snapping it away from each other and to the door. "Danny, baby, why are there so many boxes in the hallway?"

Danny paused, trying to process her question.

"...What?" he repeated himself, only louder so that his wife could hear.

"Come here, there's like boxes all over the hallway," Bryan added.

Shawn raised an eyebrow at him, and Danny looked equally confused. He quickly tied off his suture, cutting the excess off before picking up his equipment to put on the counter as he walked to the door, Shawn behind him.

Danny opened the door into the hallway, and he immediately paused. The hallways were always kept fairly clear and clean of anything. So to see it so full of boxes dumbfounded him. Normal moving style boxes, some noticeably older than others. It almost blocked the hallway leading to the back door entirely. Glancing behind him, it nearly blocked that way too, and it gave him goosebumps. They weren't quite trapped. He could clearly see that there were technically paths out, but they seemed narrow and difficult to climb through. If you didn't have intangibility, anyway.

"Were these here when you went to piss?" Bryan asked, his voice hushed as if worried somebody would hear. Danny could see that his cousin had become a bit pale. Whether it was from the needle injector teasing or the sudden boxes, he didn't know.

"They couldn't be," Danny replied, motioning to the other end of the hallway. "We would have noticed on our way in." That observation made Bryan's face drop.

"We weren't expecting any shipments, rights?" Sam asked. She went to one of the boxes, tilting it towards her to scan it. "I don't see any names or labelings."

"I mean." Danny paused. "We are, but who delivers a shipment at this hour? And drops them off like this?"

"I'm recording this," Shawn announced. He began to fish around in his bag for his camera. "This is some weird shit."

"Yeah, yeah! Record!" Bryan encouraged. He seemed to instantly relax at the idea. "Let's see what we can capture!" He glanced over to Sam. "Wait, what are you doing?"

Danny turned his attention to her. Sam had taken her pocket knife out, and she was cutting the box's tape. She glanced at him with a shrug.

"It's in our funeral home," she replied. "I wanna see what's inside. It might be our shipment, who knows? I mean, I doubt it." She had added it upon seeing her husband roll his eyes. "But either way, I wanna make sure it's funeral home stuff."

She opened the box flaps, and she raised an eyebrow. Danny came over to check it out. The first thing he saw was an ancient looking ball in a cup game. He picked it up, turning it over in his hand. There was nothing remarkable or unique about it.

"We're rolling," Shawn announced. The couple made a noise of acknowledgement. "What's in there?"

"A ball in a cup," Danny said, holding it up for Shawn and Bryan to see.

"And some really old clothes," Sam added. She pulled out a neatly folded item of clothing, but nobody could immediately identify the type. Using another box, she gently set it on there and unfolded it, revealing it to be a child's shirt. She glanced in the box, pulling out a pair of pants that unfolded itself as she retrieved them. She set it on a box next to the shirt.

"Lemme see," Bryan requested.

He stepped forward to look at the outfit, Shawn following him. Sam shifted off to the side to let him, tilting the box towards herself to check for more items. Danny peered in too, and the only other item in the box was a wood carved horse.

Danny focused his attention on another box. He picked up Sam's pocket knife, slicing the tape on that one and opening it. Inside was another outfit, this time much more colorful and clearly for an adult woman. He picked the clothes up some to check underneath, seeing a cassette tape player and old headphones resting at the bottom next to a pair of sandals.

"It's another outfit, and like, an old cassette player," Danny announced. Sam put her hand on the box, tilting it towards her to look. Bryan gave a curious hum.

He reached into his pocket for his keys as he stepped to another box. Shawn followed close behind him. Bryan opened the box, checking it out and rummaging through it. Sam peeked over his shoulder.

"Uh, more clothes and some books," he announced.

Sam knelt by another box. Danny passed her the pocket knife, and she repeated the process. The men all stood over her as she opened the container, exposing more clothes. This time, it looked like a suit, and Sam shifted the clothes around to look.

"Yeah, same here," she reported. "Outfit and a set of car keys, sunglasses, and some whiskey."

"Are these all just a single outfit and a few items?" Shawn wondered.

"I guess so?" Danny said. He picked up a few boxes at a time experimentally before setting them back down. "I think so, cause none of these boxes are really all that heavy."

"This is so weird, cause like." Sam paused, collecting her thoughts as she leaned forward on a box. "I can kind of understand having all these random outfits. People wanna be buried in weird things sometimes. But none of these clothes are from the same period of time."

"What do you mean?" Danny asked. "Like, aside from the first one, these all look fairly normal."

"The first set of clothes is like, ancient," Sam explained. "They gotta be from like, colonial times."

"Well yeah, but that's the outli-," Shawn began, but Sam interrupted.

"Those are from the 80s, they gotta be," Sam said as she jerked her thumb to the box Danny opened. "The style, the colors, the cassette player. That's the 80s. Bryan's clearly from like, at least the 40s. Just read the book titles, look at the covers. This box has also gotta be from years ago. Look at this label!" She held up the bottle of whiskey. "And these glasses, they're not modern." She set the bottle down and picked up the sunglasses to show them off.

"Okay, so where did they come from then?" Danny asked. Sam shrugged.

"Beats me," she said.

"This has just gotta be old funeral home stuff," Shawn spoke up.

"Oh, no no no!" Bryan protested. "This has ghost written all over it!"

"Come on, dude, like Sam said, people get buried in weird stuff all the time!"

"Yeah, but like Sam also said, the different eras-"

Danny just watched the two as they began a light argument over how supernatural everything was. He glanced at the wall of boxes, standing on his tip-toes to grab one. He copied Bryan's method from earlier, fishing for his keys to use his car key as a makeshift knife. This outfit was another much older one. He couldn't place the time period for sure, but it had to be really old based on the simplistic items paired with it, the alphabet on a piece of board with some snow gear.

He and Sam continued going through the boxes silently, listening to the Youtubers as they debated. After a few minutes, he felt Sam nudge him.

"Danny," Sam whispered softly, as to not draw the attention of the others. She gave a subtle nod towards the box she was looking in. Danny took one glance inside, and he froze.

Like the others, the box had an outfit and two personal items. A very familiar t-shirt, dark green bomber jacket, jeans, an Apple watch, colorful socks, and a set of sneakers. A notebook and a camera. The couple looked to Bryan as he stood talking to the camera in Shawn's hands, animatedly moving his hands, one gripping the same notebook. And Danny couldn't help but notice that he was wearing the exact same outfit that rested in the box.

#danny phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #danny phantom fanfic #phics #my phics #fenton family values

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cat-induced-fever-dream · 3 years ago

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Acquaintances

Pairing: Wanda x Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Description: Wanda meets someone who doesn’t treat her like a villain, but she doesn’t know who you really are.

Notes: I promise it’s fluff and not a trap. Also sorry about my hiatus, I’m just super unmotivated to do anything. So here’s my feeble offering to try and get back into writing.

- - -

Wanda groaned at the sight of a man with a camera. All she wanted was to pop down to the shops, buy some paprika, but alas, even a shopping trip was gold for the paparazzi. Maybe if she hid behind an aisle he would leave. But she heard the door open behind her. Ducking quickly behind a stack of tuna cans, she scanned the rows for the precious package.

She knew she wasn’t the favourite of the public, and the guilt of what she’d done ate her alive every night, but she was sick of being blamed. All she did was try her best, but this was the kind of thanks she got.

She frowned a little when she saw the man round the corner. She steeled herself, not wanting the tears to spring to her eyes. Turning around to face him, she- There was a person talking to him. You had a shopping bag in your hand, so you must have been another customer. Dressed smartly with a blazer, but paired with jeans and sneakers, you looked friendly, but the cold look you gave the man said otherwise. You exchanged words quietly with the reporter, and he seemed to refuse you, turning back to look at her. Realising that this was the perfect stall to get out of the store, she resumed her search. Cumin, Ginger, Paprika! Quickly glancing back to see how long she had, she saw you hand the man a business card as he hurriedly shuffled away.

“Sorry about that,” you turned to her, looking genuinely apologetic.

“Why?” she asked, it coming out harsher than she meant for it to. “It wasn’t even your fault.”

You shrugged. “You don’t deserve it.”

Wanda frowned again at this. She didn’t even know you, but you helped her out, so the least she could do was be polite. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” you smiled. The two of you started to walk towards to counter. More like she did and you kind of happened to as well. “What are you cooking with the paprika?”

Sliding the bag to the cashier, she turned to face you properly. “I was making a traditional Sokovian dish.”

“I’m a big fan of trying different cuisines,” you replied, eyes sparkling with curiosity. “That sounds delicious.”

Wanda’s not really sure why you’re trying to make conversation, but you didn’t seem to have an agenda, so she indulged you with a response as the two of you walked out of the store. “It is, my mum always had the best recipe.”

“Ah well, my parents weren’t around much, so I can’t say the same,” you laughed, throwing your shopping in the back of what must have been your car.

Wanda hadn’t even realised she had walked with you to your car. That was embarrassing. “Well, it was nice to meet you, but I should be going now,” backing away as quickly as she could without making a fool of herself.

“Wait,” you called, “do you need a lift back?”

“You’re a stranger.”

“Well I know your name is Wanda,” you grinned cheekily, opening the passenger door. “And my name is Y/N. Guess we’re not strangers anymore. So, what do you say? It’s the least I could do, with that man bothering you.”

She’s not sure what compelled her to agree, but she found herself sitting in a plush leather seat as you adjusted the rear view mirror. Tapping the dashboard screen, you pulled up a map to Avengers Tower and backed out of the parking lot.

You didn’t seem to mind that she didn’t make conversation, bopping your head gently to whatever pop song was on the radio. Instead she spent the time trying to figure out who you were and why you were being so nice. “It’s rude to stare, you know?” you winked at her.

Wanda felt the heat rush to her cheeks. “Wha- No, sorry,” she mumbled. She’d done it again, made herself look dumb. You giggle, returning your eyes to the road. Trying not to stare at you this time, she observed the fancy watch adorning your wrist, and the sleek interior of the car. You must be a businesswoman of some sort, since this clearly wasn’t your average suburban car. But you were wearing jeans. Maybe a lower level employee than?

She sat there musing, until the door suddenly opened. “We’re here,” you smiled, gesturing at the grand tower that was now her home.

Why couldn’t she stop being so awkward? This was the third time. Unbuckling the seatbelt, she stumbled out, clutching the paprika to her chest. “Thanks again.”

“Anytime, Wanda.” And with a small wave, you hopped back into your car and drove off.

- - -

Heading straight to her room, Wanda abandoned her plans for paprikash. The whole interaction was quite frankly, baffling. No one was ever nice to her, except for the Avengers. But you clearly knew who she was, driving her back to the tower without an address. Tossing her jacket on her bed, she sighed. It’s not like she’d ever see you again. That’s when she noticed the card peeking out from the pocket. There was a phone number printed neatly on it, and a cursive scrawl underneath. “I am actually interested in the dish though. Could I have the name of it?”

She hadn’t exactly interacted with anyone else, so it must’ve been you. Running her thumb over the ink, she was hit with a renewed sense of energy. Grabbing the paprika, she dashed back down the stairs.

- - -

You’re spinning around in your office chair when your phone goes off. Clicking on the message, a small smile makes its way into your face.

Unknown Number: this is the dish i was talking about

Unknown Number: *image*

Unknown Number: it’s paprikash

- - -

“Hey Wanda,” Tony called, a carefully wrapped package in his arms, “this came for you.”

One look at the scarlet wrapping paper, and she knew who it was from. “Thanks Tony,” she said, grabbing it and running to her room.

Setting the package gently on her bed, she untied the ribbon and unfolded the wrapping paper. Nestled in the middle, a box of cookies.

She grinned to herself. Wanda’s been texting you for a couple of months now, and now she could really say that you’re not strangers. She knows that you can’t cook, but you can bake. You’re a businesswoman “of sorts” you say, and that you’re a pretty busy person. But regardless, you hang out with her, chilling in the local coffee shop, going shopping, even just a stroll around the park. She also knows that this happiness she gets when she sees you is definitely not platonic.

Opening the lid, the chocolate aroma wafts into her room. Her favourite of your baked goods. There’s a note tucked into the side of the box, and she delicately pulls it out. “Be my girlfriend?” she read, the handwriting obviously yours. Wait. Be my girlfriend? She sat there dumbly for a couple of seconds before it hit her. You’re asking her to be your girlfriend. Wanda scrambled for her phone, snapping a picture to send to you.

Y/N: those cookies look delicious, who sent them?

The witch rolled eyes at your antics, but played along.

Wanda: idk, but i just got asked out

Y/N: whoaaaa, did you say yes?

Wanda: yes you dumbass

Y/N: okay, under other circumstances that would’ve hurt, but i’m too excited to care right now <3

Wanda: ...

Wanda: did you try to bribe me with cookies?

Y/N: it worked, didn’t it?

Wanda: i can’t believe i actually like you

Y/N: honestly, me too

Y/N: sorry it’s a busy day, but you wanna come over for dinner?

Wanda: sounds good <3

Y/N: i’ll come pick you up, see you then girlfriend

She didn’t want bugs in her room, so Wanda grabbed the box to put in her kitchen cupboard. Balancing a cookie in her mouth, she was about to close the lid, when a hand pinched one. Eyes immediately glowing red, she locked onto Sam as he backed away, half eaten cookie and hands up in surrender.

“Do that again and I will give you nightmares.”

The Falcon whistled lowly. “Okay. Protective over cookies. Got it.”

“There’s cookies?” Bucky asked, strolling in.

“No.”

“Oh okay.”

- - -

The heroes were sprawled on the couches playing a game of UNO when Wanda came down the stairs.

“What are you doing with that hoodie?” Tony asked sharply.

Wanda furrowed her eyebrows. “This.. hoodie?” she replied, tugging on the drawstrings of the soft item of company clothing she was wearing.

“Yes! That’s my enemy’s!”

She didn’t really want to get into whatever nonsense the genius was spouting again. “My friend lent it to me.”

“You have friends?” joked Sam.

Steve gave the man a warning look. “It’s good that you’re adjusting to life here.”

“I think the important question here,” Natasha said from her spot, “is where are you going?”

“Dinner,” she replied, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. She tried to fight the silly smile that crept into her face whenever she thought about you, but she mustn’t have hid it well enough, since the red headed spy gave her a sickeningly sweet smile.

I hate you, she projected.

Nat winked back.

“Based on the way Miss Maximoff keeps anxiously glancing at the door, there is likely to be someone waiting for her,” Vision piped up. “I have searched the Internet databases, and from what I have gathered, your casual outfit means that you are going with someone you are familiar with. The sharing of clothes is usually reserved for close friends or romantic partners only.”

Of course the android had to get involved.

“Your heart rate seems to be speeding up Miss Maximoff. Are you okay?”

“Wanda Maximoff,” Tony asked slowly, “do you have a boyfriend?”

That’s when all hell broke loose.

“Who is he?”

“Is he hot?”

“Where did you meet?”

“How did you even get a boyfriend?”

“Can we meet him?”

“What-“

“Okay,” she groaned. Well it was bound to happen eventually. She just wished she could’ve gotten even a few months without the teasing. “I have a girlfriend, yes she’s hot, yes I’m going to have dinner with her, and I’ll ask about meeting. I’m going to go now.” With that, she stepped into the elevator.

“Don’t think this conversation is over witchy,” called Tony, as the doors slid shut.

- - -

“Hey,” you smiled as she slid into the car. “What took you so long?”

“The Avengers found out.”

You chuckled at that. “What, did they interrogate you or something?”

“Something like that.” She paused. “They want to meet you.”

“Are you sure?”

“They’re my family, and they’ll love you as much as I do.”

“Cute,” you grinned, “but I don’t know about Tony.”

“Trust me, they’re a mess a lot of the time, but they’re good people.”

You checked through your phone. “I haven’t got anything on around lunch tomorrow. I can come by then, how does that sound?”

“So you’ll come?”

“Anything for my girlfriend.”

- - -

Her green eyes locked onto you amongst the bustle of suits in the lobby.

“Hey.”

You adjusted the grey fabric of your pantsuit. “Hey yourself.”

“Did you wear the suit to impress me?” Wanda asked, delicately tugging on your tie.

“Actually, I’ve got a meeting with the investors later. Gotta make an impression, you know?”

“Well consider me impressed,” she whispered against your ear.

Blushing, you allowed Wanda to lead you to the elevator.

- - -

Clint wasn’t sure what to expect with you. But if Wanda liked you, you were sure to be one of the good sorts. So maybe like a cute girl she met at the cafe or something. He sure as hell wasn’t expecting the confident girl dressed in a suit to step out of the elevator.

All of them were lined up in the common room and he’s pretty sure any normal person would have been intimidated by the sheer amount of Avengers in front of them, but you stepped up to them absolutely unfazed.

“Mr Rogers,” you offered your hand to shake, “a pleasure to meet you.”

Steve was expecting to have to take the lead with introductions, but here you seemed to be handling yourself fine. “Likewise.”

“Is Mr Stark here today?” you asked him.

“He’s a bit busy at the mo-“

Clattering and a string of curses interrupted him. And of course, the man himself stepped into the room, Iron Man debris in his wake.

“Tony,” Steve scolded.

“What? Did you think I’d miss meeting the girl who stole the heart of our cold antisocial emo?”

Wanda tossed a couch pillow at him, but he brushed it off.

“Tony Stark,” he declared.

You shook his hand politely. “I know who you are Mr Stark.”

“And you are...?”

“Y/N L/N.”

The genius might have been singed from his armour, but the moment that name fell from your lips, he yanked his hand away, as if he was burned.

“L/N. As in L/N Corporations?”

“That’s me.”

Abruptly he turned to Wanda. “Do you know who this is?” he hissed. “The greatest rival to Stark Industries. I thought you were introducing your girlfriend.”

You gave him a winning smile. “I am her girlfriend Mr Stark. And you may have made me your rival, but I can assure you that you are not mine.”

Sam snorted.

“What are you doing here then? Are you here to try and steal data? You can’t...”

You paid him no mind as you winked at Sam. Spotting the metal arm, your eyes widened. “You must be Bucky, right? Princess Shuri told me she’d been working on some vibranium projects. I’d love to take a closer look some other day if you don’t mind?”

“How do you know Shuri?” Stark spluttered.

“You think that she only talks to rich boys who need her help? Sorry to burst your bubble.”

Nat couldn’t help but smirk at this.

“Oh and I’ve actually been working on some prototype Widow Bites as a bit of a free time project,” you added. “If you’re interested, your opinion on usage would really help me to refine them.”

“Of course.”

“Traitor,” Tony glared.

It’s at this point your phone began to ring. Glancing down, you offered a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry, I’ve really got to take this.” You turned to face the wall as your friendly tone turned professional.

The Avengers huddled together as your call went on.

“Is she using you for information?” Tony scowled.

Wanda scowled back. “She’s my girlfriend Stark. Not everything is about you.”

He looked as if he was going to say more, but Steve interrupted.

“Look Tony, she seemed like a perfectly lovely girl.”

“Yeah I like her,” added Sam. “She can keep your ego in check.”

“If Wanda likes her, I’m fine with it too.” Clint said.

Wanda gave him a thankful look.

A cough came awkwardly behind them.

“I really hate to cut this short everyone, but something’s come up back at the office. Investors are a pain.”

“Yeah go on back to your investors then,” spat Tony.

“Wow” you drawled, heading back to the elevator, “is the rich card the only thing you can play Stark?”

The light on the wall indicated that the cab had arrived, and you stepped inside the carriage which would take you back down, as Peter stepped out.

“Oh hey Y/N, what are you doing here?”

“I was just leaving Pete, but swing by later, alright?”

“You know it.”

“Oh and I heard you liked the hoodie I gave Wanda, Mr Stark,” you called. “I can grab you one as well, since it’s my company. But I really do gotta run now. Nice to meet you all!” The metal doors slid shut on your grinning face.

There was a silence, before Tony turned on his protégée. “How the hell are you on a first name business with her?”

“We’re friends?” Peter offered.

“Friends?”

“She went to college with me. She was super smart and we hung out and stuff. You know, what friends usually do.”

Squirming under his mentor’s gaze, he continued. “She was too smart for college though, so she dropped out and started her company. It didn’t mean we stopped being friends though.”

“Why didn’t you tell me Underoos?”

“She figured you might overreact, especially with the web sho-“ The boy’s eyes widened, and he made a mad dash for the stairs.

But Tony grabbed his wrist. “What were you saying?”

Peter sighed, running a hand through his hair anxiously. “She helped me out with my web shooters in college, and since then, she’s been developing them with me.”

“What?”

“She knows I’m Spider-Man and I work with her on my tech,” he said slowly.

The man surveyed his teammates, making deliberate eye contact with each and every one of them. “Traitors, the lot of you,” he huffed.

“I mean you gotta admit it,” laughed Sam. “She’s college age, and built an empire to rival you. Not to mention that she’s pretty, smart, has better PR and actual time management skills-“

“Okay I get it,” the genius cut him off.

“Don’t be upset,” Clint smirked, “you can’t lose if you’re not her competition.”

Tony stomped off.

“Don’t worry about him, he’ll come around,” Steve said gently, nodding at Wanda who was fiddling anxiously with her rings.

“She was cool,” added Nat. “Tony can be a pain in the ass, but he knows she’s a good person.”

Her phone buzzed in her hand.

<3: i’d say that went pretty well

Wanda: cannot believe you didn’t tell me

<3: i’m really sorry babe, please don’t hate me

Wanda: i could never

<3: just didn’t want him to stop you from fraternising with the enemy or whatever

Wanda: i’d break the rules for you any day

<3: how romantic

<3: so miss rebel, you coming over tonight?

Wanda: depends if you’re still wearing the suit

<3: anything for you ;)

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda marvel #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x you #scarlet witch #marvel #mcu

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last-herondale · 3 years ago

Text

Casual Encounters

✨Loki✨ pt. 5

Parings: Fem!reader x Loki

Word count: 1.5k

Material: FLUFF oof for the love of mmmhm 😍

A/N: Hello! I am having too much fun writing this fic! Ideas galore, Loki fluff galore!!!! Ahhhhh so fun, anyway please feel free to comment, I’d love to engage with y’all and get some feedback!! Anyway enjoy!!!

💫

“Where are the others?” you asked Loki. Your breath had steadied after the strange encounter with the child, or what you hoped was a child. Loki was leaning against a fallen tree, sharpening a throwing knife as you paced in front of him, your dirty boots making a path in the grass.

“As I told you before,” Loki replied, his voice irritated, “I broke apart from them once I heard you scream. I assumed they were right behind me.” You were infuriated with how calm he seemed to be taking everything. He had hardly even blinked at the sight of the child, and he seemed unremorseful when he had thrown the child against the tree. You didn’t have the patience to scold him about his callousness, as you had done in the past. Your mind wandered to Sam and Scott.

“We should wait for Wanda,” you decided, “She can find them easier than we can, plus I want to be here in case she comes back.” You looked to Loki to see if he would object to your plan, but he just shrugged. “Whatever will sooth you and your incessant pacing. It’s making me nauseous.” You rolled your eyes at him, and opted for plopping down on the ground. Your body itched for action, and you found your eyes scanning the forest for the child. What if it returned?

The sun was beginning to dip beneath the tree line, casting a dim shadow on the forest floor. You wanted to build a fire, as the chill of night was beginning to make you shiver, but you decided against it. You had orders to keep a low profile in the area so as to not alert the authorities. Your energy was zapped, especially after the altercation in the forest, and you felt your eyelids fighting to stay open.

“We should find shelter, if you’re planning on getting comfortable,” Loki mused. It was a smart idea, but you couldn’t leave any indication of human presence within the forest. “And how would you suggest that?” you asked drowsily, leaning your body back on your arms. Loki used his knife to indicate to the nearest tree and slowly indicated up. “Perfect vantage point,” Loki grinned. You arched your eyebrows at him. “Sure, start climbing.”

Loki rolled his eyes. “I was thinking you could just make some sort of water staircase,” he began, his blue eyes flashing with amusement. “I think I’d rather watch you climb like a monkey,” you found yourself grinning. You motioned toward him with your hand half-heartedly. “Shimmy up the tree like a good little spidermonkey. Shoo, now.” You were surprised to be joking at a time like this, but humor seemed to come easily to you whenever you were around Loki. He made you feel so… light.

“A God,” Loki growled, “does not Shimmy.”

You laughed as you picked yourself off of the ground and extended your arm towards the river. Ribbons of water twisted around like threads as you fashioned a ladder of ice up against the tree beside Loki. He looked at you with disappointment. “Staircases are a bit too grand for my tastes,” you smirk. Loki muttered under his breath, but took up the frozen ladder in his hands without flinching. You followed him, the ice stinging your fingers on the way up. Loki found a stable, thick branch of the tree, high above the forest floor and indeed shimmied his way across.

You looked at the branch skeptically, wondering if it would be able to hold both of your weight. Loki stretched out his long legs, and threw his hands behind his head as if he were on a luxurious couch. He looked at you, a wry grin on his face as he patted down beside him. “Come on then, don’t be shy. I only bite sometimes…” You glared at him, almost opting to go to the branch above him, but your fingers were going numb from the ice and so you caved.

You scooted next to Loki, settling cautiously against the branch of the tree, your eyes looking down to the forest below. “Haven’t you ever been told to not look down?” Loki chided beside you, the length of his body pressed to yours as you settled beside him. “I have a habit of not listening,” you muttered, pulling your eyes away from the ground. Loki chuckled beside you, the warmth of him made you even more drowsy. You leaned your head against the bark, watching as the final bit of sunlight was disappearing in the distance.

“Loki,” you said in a low voice. He turned to you, his expression surprisingly soft as you said his name. “I’m worried.” you began. It was easy to open up to him, you found. From the moment you met him, his wry spirit always left you stumbling for words. You had been careful with your heart after losing everything, trust was not something that came easily, and yet your walls seemed to crumble with him.

He held a steady gaze, his brows soft with confusion. “I knew that being an Avenger would come with risks. That at any moment my life would be on the line and I would be expected to sacrifice all I had for the betterment of the world. And I still would, even though I have little to give,” you whispered. Loki opened his mouth to object, but you held up your hand. “I would give it all up, everything, to have them back. But what if I’m not enough? What if I can’t save them and I lose yet another family?”

You trembled softly as you refrained from crying. Loki waited for you to continue, his eyes burning in the moonlight. When you didn’t speak he took in a ragged breath. “I know what it's like to feel inadequate, believe me,” his voice was strained as he spoke, his eyes intense on yours, “But you would not be here today if you were not capable of enduring what most can not.”

“I couldn’t even defend myself from that kid! How can I claim to be capable of saving them if under pressure I become so…weak?” you retorted. “You are not weak, (Y/N),” Loki said harshly, “You are kind, and sympathetic to those around you, of course you could not be expected to hurt that child, anymore than you can be expected to save everyone alone.” You blinked in surprise at his words. Is this what he thought of you? He sighed, exasperated.

“Look, I understand your frustrations, but please do not underestimate yourself, love. Whatever may have happened in the past, however misguided or horrific it may have been, it brought us here today. Do not let your fears overtake you, (Y/N), because they will only taint your mind. And while I, too, fear for the well being of my brother, I cannot let myself be consumed by it, or I will be undone, as I have been in the past.”

“How do you manage it, not becoming undone?” you asked softly. He searched your eyes, his lips parted slightly, making your breath catch in your chest. His hand lifted slowly, his fingers cautious as he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered on your face as he traced the outline of your jaw. Your eyelids fluttered at his touch, and your head swam. “I feel,” he said hoarsely, “That I am more capable, whenever I’m around you.” You had never heard him sound so vulnerable, so raw and your chest ached with every word.

You looked at each other for a moment, the whipping of the wind filling the empty silence between you. There was so much you wanted to say, but your mind was too tired to piece together the right words. Instead, you leaned your head on his shoulder. “Loki,” your voice drawled as you closed your eyes. He chuckled beside you, wrapping one long arm around your waist and pulling you closer. “Sleep, (Y/N),” he murmured softly, his lips resting in your hair. “Don’t let me fall,” you said as you nuzzled closer to his chest. You felt the rise and fall of his chest, and the delicate way he ran his free hand through your hair. “Never,” his voice whispered as you finally allowed yourself to drift off in his arms.

#fem reader #mcu loki #reader x loki #reader x marvel #loki fluff #marvel fanfic club

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