#like idiot what do you mean 🥺 we’re trying to fix this!!!!!

[bixy]

awhile back I realized I was getting pretty badly addicted to my phone and watched all these dopamine detox videos and downloaded an app blocker (it’s called opal HIGHLY recommend) along with always being on do not disturb or I’ll even turn off my phone for good chunks of time, to try to get a healthier relationship with just my phone/social media but it’s still so annoying that my brain is like 🥺 when my phone isn’t being blasted with notifications 24/7

[justagirlinafandomworld]

STAAACEYYYY!!! I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS!!!!!

The pining, omg you did it so well, they're such idiots and I love them. LOL and I love that you went with the name Wynter, it's like a callback to the fic of our youth. And her decorating the entire bunker was awesome!

I'm going to try to address all the things that made me smile, which is going to be hard to not just copy and paste the whole fic, because I was smiling while reading the whole thing! But here we go!

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. 

She bakes him pie when he's gone, she stays in his room when she has a nightmare, and reads his books because they remind her of him. Ooooooh, this is so good already!!!

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

I really love how much Dean is not a morning person, and that right there made me laugh out loud. Don't speak to him unless spoken to, it's hilarious. 😆

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.

You know what, I love how adorable Sam and Eileen are in this. Not just with each other - though they are so sweet and smitten it's fluffy as hell💕; but with Wynter too. They didn't have to play along but they did and that's so sweet of them! But, no, baby, don't think that it was a stupid idea! It wasn't!! 🥺

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.

Yesss, that is his love language and he is telling her every day and every way he knows how!! And yes, maybe maybe you should try saying it out loud Dean!!

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.

Noooooo!! I'm laughing and crying because this is all in the same paragraph which is suiting because this train of thought is definitely what he would do!!! 'Hey maybe I should - nah, if it was something she wanted she'd tell me.' Winchester, you're killing me!!😩

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. 

It was the "He's right there." that squeezed my heart. 😭 This whole conversation was so honest, and I love that they were both saying it without actually saying it - it was perfect and exactly what I was hoping for!! I mean look at this one!!! ⬇️😭😭😭

Wynter fixes her eyes to his, and he can see how much she’s willing him to understand. He does - more than she realizes.

They understand each other, they know each other and love each other on every level outside of intimacy. And yet that last level is something they both want and I'm flailing over it!!!

I'm so, so, so unbelievably happy with this story, Stace!! That last scene in the kitchen was absolute💓 heaven!! 💓The pining, the misunderstanding, the slight jealousy - omg, did I not mention the part where he tries to talk her out of going on that date??? And then when he watches her on the date??? And she knows but doesn't tell him she knows until the very end????!?!?! 🥲💓💓💓💓💓💓

I love it, I love it, I love it, I LOVE YOU THANK YOU FOR THIS BEAUTIFUL CHRISTMAS STORY!!!

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.

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Master Lists: Main // Dean Winchester

Requests are open, info here.

[sunwukongssuccessor]

Pspspspsps’s you like a cat

Could we have some hurt Wukong comfort? 🥺

You cool with like a slight AU of the New Year chapter from the shame temple fic? Also this turned out much longer than I was aiming for!

The sunlight flickered, only a moment, enough to get you to sit up and see a falcon with brown and green feathers make its way to the center of the temple garden. The sight of a bright red monkey tail caused you to shoot up to stand.

You ran, not waiting for him to change back, no thoughts about the world around you.

It was a miracle that he transformed back as your arms wrapped around him. But for a second, it felt like he flinched under your touch.

A moment after he pressed his forehead against the crook of your neck and had his arms hug you back then relax with a huge breath. A huge weight left your shoulders, your own breath of relief almost sounding like a laugh.

He was okay, he was here.

“Sorry I’m late,” Wukong mumbled, his voice with practically none of the vigor you had known him for. “I got caught up in something.”

“I don’t care. It doesn’t matter,” you told him, your arms going up to his shoulders then cradling his head. “None of it does. You’re okay.”

“Yeah... About that,” was all Wukong muttered as the golden sheen from his illusion seemed to burn off of him.

The scent of scorched fur invaded your nostrils, parts of his usually peachy skin looking bright red, the regal getup he wore now having tattered edges.

Your mind started buzzing at the sight, your hold changing from the hug to becoming a support and begin to lead him back to the temple. “We need to treat those wounds ASAP,” you told him as he grunted from the sudden movement.

“Yeah, I figured,” Wukong mumbled, the groan trying hard to sound like a chuckle despite the pain. “I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hold it really.”

“You can tell me about it later,” you hushed. “Let's just get you fixed up first.”

Taking the armor and shirt off of Wukong was a challenge, in trying to avoid touching his burns along with ignoring the complaints and hissing sounds he made.

You placed ice cold rags over the bright red skin, hopefully the pain would begin to subside soon.

“Does it still hurt?” Is all you could ask.

Wukong only answered with a soft huff and a shake of his head, your sights still focused on him and nothing else.

Part of him was wondering of a way to lighten the mood.

“You know, I knew I was hot before but I’ll be sure to turn it down the next time.”

“I’d smack you for that if you’re weren’t like this right now,” you snarked.

“And cause me more damage? You’d never do that,” Wukong called out. “You enjoy my company way too much,” giving an overconfident smile and a laugh to follow at that.

“Wukong, please, I just want you to be safe.”

“Give me a few hours and I should be fine. And I don’t just mean on the eyes.”

“I don’t even know if I should call a vet or a doctor for you,” you spoke aloud. “Speaking of which, can you even get sick? But I have heard idiots can’t catch colds.”

“Can’t get sick when you’re immortal,” Wukong confidently answered.

“Hurt doesn’t cover it from what I’ve noticed,” you said as you began to cover the wounds.

You had managed to find some clean cloth bandages in the bathroom, funnily enough was that Wukong said he got them in case you needed them. The box was placed on the coffee table in front of the couch he sat on.

“That’s not what we’re talking about,” Wukong said, stopping the conversation from taking a detour.

“And yet here we are,” you kept on, some annoyance laced in the tone. “With you sporting some bad burns and a couple cuts. And even if you do heal fast, we should at least keep all those wounds clean so you don't get an infection.”

Wukong let out a groan after that. “Fine, if it’ll stop your whining.”

“Sorry for caring…” You answered under your breath, your mouth trying to stay a straight thin line but a slight wobble of your lips could still be felt.

Wukong saw it, his shoulders dropping just a bit with the breath he took, part of him wondered if his heart was literally sinking from seeing the hurt expression.

Wukong spoke your name, loud enough for your eyes to glance in his direction. “Listen, I didn’t mean it like that…”

Your stare went back to his wounds, hands gently at the edges of the bandages and making sure they were secure. “Then what do you mean?”

“I just- I don’t like seeing you worry,” he answered.

“Because you’re the Great Sage Equal to Heaven?” You guessed aloud, sarcasm easy to hear.

“‘Cause I want to be the one to take care of you,” Wukong told you. “If you have to worry about me, then I’m not doing my job right.”

“I thought you were retired,” you said as a tiny curl came at the edge of your mouth, your voice sounding lighter in tone too. Your hands leaving the bandages and now settling on your lap.

“What? I can’t pick up a side gig?” Wukong laughed as he sat up a bit straighter, a soft creak came from the couch at that.

“Oh, so you admit I’m just something for you to pass time on the side, huh?” You laughed as you copied his posture before leaning closer to him. “I thought you were set for all time with the money you make from royalties.”

The Monkey King let out a burst of laughter from that.

“Know what? I was wrong. You’re more of a full-time job,” he answered, his tone making it clear it was meant in the best way. “Besides, I guess with all the money I make that makes me a capitalist,” he joked.

“Okay, now I have to break up with you,” you laugh back as you shut the first aid kit then stand up, not long after you began to leave the room.

“Babe, wait!”

“No, no,” you already dismissed. “It’s too late, I’m already gone.”

Your smile breaking out across your face as you quickly place the first aid kit back in the bathroom then made your way back to Wukong.

“You saw the end of feudalism,” you spoke again before taking your makeshift seat across from him. “Why are you still like this?”

“Old habits die hard,” Wukong excused. “And I can’t really die?”

“You can tend your own wounds,” you said to that.

“Actually, I think I need someone to help with this aching heart I got here,” Wukong soon told you.

“Grow a new one then.”

“I’m already in pain as is! How can you be so heartless?!”

“You’ve ripped your own heart out multiple times just to prove a point!” You laughed. “It’s amazing that you’re not heartless!”

“Details, details,” Wukong quickly waved off.

“Ah yes,” you pretend to agree. “The unimportant details of your causal acts of body horror.”

You leaned closer to him, making it easy to show your amused smile.

“Well, you seem to like this body quite a lot,” Wukong pointed out with a confident grin.

“I’d like it better if it wasn’t roasted honestly,” you told him as you got closer.

Wukong soon brought his hand to your cheek, your skin feeling cool against his own.

“Am I going to have to deal with this frequently?” You questioned, smile faltering and showing your worry to him. The bottom of your lip wobbled just a bit like before. “Like is this what I should expect on the off chance when you’re out there fighting?”

Wukong’s eyes widened at seeing the change of expression, his eyebrows coming together and mouth opening just the slightest.

“I don’t think I could get used to the smell of you being burnt,” you tell him, a smile trying to form but starting to hurt. You shut your eyes to stop the stinging that came but couldn’t.

Wukong then brought himself closer to you, both hands on your cheeks and forehead pressed against your own, thumbs brushing away the tears that managed to escape.

“Usually, no. So hopefully not,” was all he could really promise.

“Hopefully?”

“Okay,” Wukong answered. “I’ll try not to get hurt.”

“That’s all I ask,” you murmured as your lips practically brushed against his.

“I will for you,” he told you as he placed a gentle kiss.

...

Thanks for reading! If you liked this or any of my other fanfiction please consider donating to my ko-fi!

[ficstogo]

“Kiss on the back” with Barry Berkman please? 🥺🥺🥺

“Jesus Christ...” You whisper under your breath as you see the state of Barry’s back. He only hunched over with eyes closed shut feeling your delicate fingers trace his back lightly. It gave him shivers when your nails grazed his spine. “And super glue was what he comes up with?”

“Honestly, I’m starting to wonder if Fuches has always been this big of an idiot this whole time.” With the supplies needed on the night stand, you go on to clean his back of all the dried blood and try to get as much super glue out of Barry’s wound as you can. You warn him how it might hurt as you try to pick at the super glue that actually made it in his wound. Barry flinches but doesn’t make a sound. You can feel his muscles flex underneath you and each time he does do you rub his back and send small apologies his way.

Once the glue is, for the majority, gone, you go ahead and wipe him down with alcohol and proceed to properly fix him up. You had a frown on your face the whole time hating the thought of Barry getting hurt and being disregarded in his time of need. 

“Alright, you’re all set.” You say as you lightly scratch his back to which soothes Barry in a drowsy state with his head in his hand as he is still slouched over.

“Hmm, thanks...” You both don’t say anything else. You just continue to sooth him with your touches as he hums in appreciation. 

“I hate seeing you come home like this...” You lay your chin between his shoulder blades as your arms lazily wrap around his midsection. 

“I know, but this life’s end is coming close. I just...” Barry pauses as he too thinks of how much he hates all of this. “I’m just ready to leave this all behind. Finally live life the way I want to and be able to take you out and have all my time for you without fear dangling over my head...”

You just kiss his back knowing full well on what he means. “We’re close, Barry. You’ll be able to do whatever you want...” You then go in for another kiss but this time nearby his wound. “And I don’t ever have to see you in pain unless it’s you breaking a leg...”

He chuckles and smiles at that and you smile at having hear it. “Come on, let’s just go to bed. You need to rest.”

Barry nods and stands to take off his pants while you go and turn of the lamp next to you. You both lie down facing each other, looking deep into one another’s eyes. “You don’t deserve to be put through this. You need a good guy who’s got a regular life that won’t put you on somebody’s hit list.”

You place your hand on Barry’s cheek. “You’re the good guy I need Barry and what fun would it be to date some regular guy? Besides, from the things you tell me, everyone around you sounds like they’re complete fucking idiots.” You giggle out.

Barry only smiles as it was comforting to know that you feel that way. With his arm on your waist, he pulls himself towards you and presses his lips on yours for the last time that night.