#mostly i don't want to sit through netflix's crap

[kradogsrats]

truthfully a little pissed that they hyped up a first look at the panel openly on the internet like 2 weeks before (a point where it would be next to physically impossible to gain entry) and we plebs aren't getting it until whenever Netflix feels like doing their shitty song-and-dance

iirc when they screened s4e1 at SDCC or wherever it was, it was a total surprise to everyone in the room that there was any footage being shown, not "tee hee come to our panel to see the opening of the season"

[pamwritessometimes]

The Great Invasion — Chapter 4

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: In a world turned upside down, where monsters hunt and hunters are the prey, Y/N must choose: follow the new rules to stay alive or join a rogue band of hunters determined to reclaim power and change the game for good.

General series warnings: dark themes, gore, kind of apocalyptic vibes, language

Chapter warnings: aftermath of a panic attack, visions and flashbacks, revisiting character death, being captured. Tell me if I missed something!!!

Series set after Season 15.

Somewhat canon-divergent.

Theme song of the chapter: The Middle by Jimmy Eat World.

Catch up on Chapter 3 here

Series masterlist

Chapter 4: Hey, Don't Write Yourself Off Yet

The tea wasn’t helping.

Sam had made it with all the care of someone who actually knew how to be nurturing, but at the end of the day, tea was just leaf water, and leaf water wasn’t gonna fix your brain. Not after the absolute trainwreck of a day you’d had.

You pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, fingers curling around the warm mug as you tried — key word being here: tried — to pretend like you weren’t still shaking.

It was fine. Everything was fine.

Except, of course, for the part where you’d had a full-on panic attack in front of half the damn bunker. Cas had been there, Sam, some of the other hunters. All of them wanting to experience the circus. And Dean.

Dean, who had cleared the room like he actually gave a shit.

Like, actually stepped in and made everyone leave. Which was weird. Because yeah, he was protective of his people, but you weren’t his people. Not really. You were the weird outsider with a past so messy it needed its own Netflix docuseries.

But here he was. Sitting on the edge of the bed like he belonged there, arms crossed, eyes watching you with that signature Dean Winchester blend of concern and mild irritation.

And then — softly, carefully, quietly, like he was trying not to spook you—

“What did you mean back there? When you said everything you believed was a lie?”

Oh. We’re doing this now.

You took a long sip of your tea — mostly to stall, partly to avoid answering. It tasted like nothing. You stared down at it anyway, willing it to have the answers.

It did not.

“…How much did the others tell you about me?” you asked instead, your voice quieter than you wanted it to be.

Dean exhaled through his nose, tilting his head like he was deciding how much to say. “I know you came from a world that didn’t leave a lot of survivors,” he said finally. “Beyond that? Not much.”

You let out a bitter laugh at that, the sound of it was way harsher than you intended, but you didn’t respond immediately. What the hell was there to say? You weren’t sure you even knew where to begin anymore. There were so many lies tangled in your brain, so many goddamn things that you still didn’t understand about yourself.

“A survivor” you repeated, shaking your head. “That’s one way to put it.”

Dean didn’t say anything. Just waited. Which was somehow worse.

You swallowed, fingers tightening around the mug. “I know people despise me here… Hell, I despise myself” you said, voice breaking before you could stop it. “While they barely survived, somehow, those goddamn demons wiped my ass clean with golden toilet paper.”

That got a reaction. His eyebrows pulled together, but he didn’t interrupt.

“It wasn’t just survival” you went on, voice bitter. “It was comfort. Luxury. Five-star meals. Silk sheets. A guard outside my door, making sure the wrong demons didn’t bother me. And the whole time, I told myself I wasn’t one of them. That I wasn’t working for them. But the truth is, Dean…”

You forced yourself to meet his eyes, your voice dropping to barely a whisper.

“I was their damn mascot.”

Dean leaned back slightly, rubbing a hand over his jaw. He wasn’t looking at you like he was judging, though. Just… thinking. Processing. “So what changed?” he asked. “When did you start seeing through the crap?”

You dragged a hand down your face. “When I started asking questions.” Your lips curled, the memory stinging. “But even then, Barbas always had answers. He had this whole story. A twisted fairy tale about why demons invaded Earth. About why Rowena was the real monster.”

Dean furrowed his brow, curiosity and concern flashing through his eyes. “What did that bastard tell you?”

You hesitated, because saying it out loud felt stupid. But you forced yourself to anyway.

“He told me Rowena was a tyrant. That she turned Hell into something worse than it had ever been. That she ruled with cruelty and chaos, making even demons suffer under her whims. According to him she was so power-hungry she made Hell unlivable, not just for damned human souls but for demons, too.”

Dean scoffed. A short, disbelieving noise.

But you weren’t done.

“Barbas said the invasion wasn’t about power. It was about survival. That Malgathor and his people were the good guys, fighting to escape Rowena’s reign of terror. He made it sound like Earth was their only chance.”

You laughed, but it was a hollow, ugly thing. “And I believed him.”

Dean let out a slow, sharp breath. Ran a hand through his hair like he was physically trying to keep himself from saying something wrong.

“But you’ve met Rowena now” he said. “You know that’s not how it went down.”

Your hands trembled as you pressed them against your face.

“Yeah” you whispered. “Now I know.”

For a second, neither of you spoke. The silence sat heavy between you.

Then—

“Hey” Dean’s voice was softer now. “You’re here. You got out.”

Your breath hitched.

“It’s not that simple” you muttered, shaking your head. “I–I keep getting these flashbacks. Scraps. Pieces. I can’t tell what’s real and what’s just— lies Barbas planted in my head. I—” Your voice cracked. “I believed him. For so long.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment again, but something really caught his mind.

Dean’s whole posture shifted. His shoulders squared, his expression hardening.

“That’s what those visions are, aren’t they?” he said, putting the pieces together out loud. “When you freaked out in the war room. When I found you in the storage room.”

You nodded as you pulled the blanket tighter around yourself. “Yeah.”

His eyes flicked over you, scanning your face like he was looking for signs you were gonna crack again. “What do you see? In those visions?”

You should’ve lied. Should’ve brushed it off. But instead...

“I see Barbas. I see demons. I— I can’t move, and I don’t know why and there’s this awful metallic taste in my mouth, and—”

“Alright, alright, enough” he interrupted, his voice low and soothing. “You don’t… Don’t have to go through that again” He reached out, resting a hand gently on your shoulder, but deep down, something gnawed at him.

If you played the part they wanted you to… why torture you? Why go to all the trouble of breaking you down, only to wipe your memory? Was that just for control? Or was there more?

It didn’t add up. But he didn’t want to press further. He glanced at you again – the way your face twisted in pain, like you were about to break all over again. The last thing he wanted was to push you into another panic attack. Yeah, no way was he pushing that button.

Dean’s voice cut through the spiral, firm but gentle. Like he was pulling you back from the edge.

“Look, I don’t know what kind of mindfuckery they pulled on you” he said, “but you’re here now. With us. And we’re gonna figure this out.”

“Hey” he said softly, trying to catch your attention. “You want another mug?”

You shook your head.

Dean then stood with a stretch that seemed more for show than necessity like he wanted to fill the silence with anything other than words. He turned toward the door, his hand hovering hesitantly near the knob like he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to leave. 

“Then get some rest” he said and his voice indicated it was an order disguised as a suggestion. “You probably haven’t had a proper sleep in a while.”

His fingers barely brushed the doorknob when you blurted, “Wait” The word came out rough and strained, like it had fought itself up from your chest.

Dean stopped instantly, glancing back at you with a mix of curiosity and caution, like he’d just spotted a landmine on a well-trodden path. “Yeah?”

You swallowed, suddenly regretting every decision that had led you to this moment. “I just thought… you’ll already sneak back into my room–”

“My room” he corrected automatically, his lips curling into the kind of smirk that could either infuriate or disarm you, depending on the mood. Tonight, it did a little of both.

You rolled your eyes, more out of habit than annoyance and then continued. “–so I figured… maybe you could just… stay.”

Dean blinked, his eyebrows climbing just a fraction higher, and for a second, you could tell he was debating whether to make a joke or take you seriously. “You want me to stay? While you’re asleep?”

“No” you blurted out, the word tumbling out like you’d just been caught swiping the last cookie in the jar. It came out too quickly, too high, and you could practically feel the cringe ripple through your insides. You recovered as best you could, rolling your shoulders and adding, “But you’re gonna do it anyway, aren’t you? So at least this way, I get to pretend it was my idea.”

It was a lie and you knew he sensed it too. But you couldn’t bring yourself to admit that his presence right there in the room was the only thing keeping the creeping panic at bay

Dean stood there, one hand still on the doorknob, his expression softening in a way that made your chest tighten. He wasn’t laughing, wasn’t teasing, no… he was just looking at you. And for one terrible, fleeting second you thought he might actually say no, might leave you in the room to battle your messy thoughts alone.

“Alright” he said after a few agonizingly long seconds. He took a couple of steps back into the room and dragged the chair closer to the bed, leaning back into it. His legs stretched out, but he didn’t say anything else.

“You… sure you’re good there?” you asked, half joking, half genuinely concerned.

His mouth twitched at the corners, and you swore he was fighting off a full-on grin. Instead, he leaned back even more comfortably, folding his arms across his chest, like he was preparing for an impromptu nap. Of course, you knew better and you knew Dean didn’t need sleep.

“Chair’s fine” he said, shrugging nonchalantly. “Don’t worry about me. I’m versatile.”

You snorted despite yourself. You settled back into the bed, sinking further into the blankets, trying to ignore the strange warmth spreading through your chest that you couldn’t quite place. This wasn’t how you imagined the night would go. Hell, you hadn’t even known what you were doing when you opened your mouth a few minutes ago. But there he was, sitting there like it was the most normal thing in the world, and it… it didn’t feel so bad.

“Goodnight” Dean said. “Try to get some sleep.”

The bunker’s library was a warzone of books and exhaustion.

Stacks of ancient tomes and dusty manuscripts towered precariously on every available surface, as if daring someone to knock them over. Notes were scattered across the long table, half-finished theories scribbled in frustration. The air carried the faint scent of old parchment, ink, and coffee so stale it could qualify as an eldritch entity.

Sam sat at the head of the table, flipping through a thick, leather-bound text with the focus of a man desperately trying to find a needle in a hell-sized haystack. Castiel stood by the wall, staring at the demonic script with all the enthusiasm of a man reading tax codes. 

If he even knew what tax codes were!

Several hunters were sitting around the space, their focus mostly on their respectively assigned books or the method of sneaking out to the toilet without having to come back anytime soon.

But most of them abandoned those attempts. Too much was at stake. 

 “Alright, uh…” Sam said earlier. “We’re looking for something, anything, on Malgathor. His possible lair or residence, his past, his weird demon cult of Hell traditionalists, whatever we can get.” He glanced around at the group, when his eyes landed on the stack of dusty tomes Joe had haphazardly flipped through and abandoned in frustration. “If you’re staring at the pages like that, you’re not gonna find anything. Focus. Please.”

They tried. But there was so much a pack of human could do.

In short, they were suffering.

And Joe was the loudest about it.

“Why the hell are we even doing this?” he groaned, shoving a book away. “Shouldn’t Champ Girl be handling this? I mean, isn’t she, like, the expert on demons?”

Sam sighed. “ “She’s resting. Had a rough afternoon.”

His tone made it clear: don’t push it.

Joe, of course, pushed it. “Must be nice”  he muttered, flipping another page with all the enthusiasm of a man being forced at gunpoint to read. “Getting beauty sleep while the rest of us are inhaling mold spores.”

Before Sam could respond, Inez — who had been quietly working and not being an ass about it — spoke up. “I swear if I have to hear you whine one more time, Joe, I’m gonna make you sleep and it won’t be beauty-related.”

A beat of silence.

Then, from somewhere down the table, a quiet “Oooooh, shit” from one of the other hunters.

Joe grumbled something that sounded vaguely like touchy, but he shut up, which was a Christmas miracle.

It was mind-numbing work but not the kind that lets your brain wander peacefully. No, this was the cognitive equivalent of running a marathon in goddamn flip-flops. The manuscripts the hunters were slogging through were a glorious mess of ancient scribbles, what Joe swore were drunk notes, and indecipherable symbols that looked like someone had sneezed mid-cursive. Some even resembled the result of a writer’s misguided attempt at art therapy. 

The room was filled with collective groans as the group flipped through the relics of some long-dead scholar who clearly had a personal hatred toward future generations… or had a vendetta against user-friendly design. Because fuck these books and myths.

Whoever coined the phrase knowledge is power clearly never met these very pages.

Useless. Absolutely useless.

And then—

“Oh my God.”

Inez practically leapt from her chair, slamming her hands onto the table so hard that one of the precariously balanced book stacks collapsed instantly.

Sam was immediately at her side. “What? Did you find something?”

She nodded so fast her ponytail nearly took flight. “Yeah. Right here—” She jabbed a finger at the text in front of her. “There’s a reference here to a place called the Vale of Ashes. Supposedly it’s a nexus point for higher level demons, a sort of gathering place for when Hell’s elite have business topside. It’s been inactive for centuries, but if Malgathor’s trying to pull something big, it’d make sense for him to use it.”

Sam’s brow furrowed as he considered the new information. “The Vale of Ashes… I don’t remember coming across that name before.”

“The Vale of Ashes…” Castiel stepped forward, and repeated the words. “Yes, I heard of that, I think. It’s more than a gathering place. It’s a sanctuary for demons powerful enough to shield themselves from detection, even from angels. If Malgathor’s there, it’s no wonder we’ve struggled to locate him.”

The mood in the room immediately shifted.

No more tired sighs. No more half-assed research.

This was real. This was something.

Joe let out a dramatic groan, flopping back in his chair. “Great. Just fuckin’ great. So, not only do we have to find this place, but we’ve gotta figure out how to break into a demon fortress without getting turned into ash ourselves.”

“Joe” Sam said with the measured tone of a man hanging by a thread. “Either help or get out. Your call.”

Joe put his hands up. “Fine, fine. Just saying.”

Sam ignored him, turning back to Inez. “Does the book say where it is? Anything about coordinates, landmarks, anything?”

“Not yet” Inez admitted, though she was already scanning the surrounding pages, her brow furrowed in determination. “But if this book mentions it, there’s a good chance the rest of the details are here somewhere.”

Sam took a step back, nodding. “Alright. This is good. This is the best lead we’ve had.”

The exhaustion in the room was still there, but now it had a different flavor. Less soul-crushing despair, more determined, caffeine-powered focus.

Because for the first time in weeks, they had a real shot at finding Malgathor.

And there was no way in hell they were letting it slip away.

When you woke up, the first thing you did was check the chair.

It was stupid. You knew that. But still… your eyes darted to the chair pulled close to your bedside, like maybe Dean was still there.

He wasn’t.

And that stung a little more than you were willing to admit.

Well. Not totally empty. His jacket was still there. A tangible sign that he hadn’t completely ghosted you — yes, pun intended.

You groggily glanced at the clock. 

7 a.m.? Wait, really? 

You did the math quickly: eight whole hours of sleep. A full night’s rest. 

This was… unprecedented. 

Who even am I? Some kind of… morning person now? you wondered.

For the first time in what felt like forever (okay, two years, to be exact), you hadn’t woken up drenched in sweat, gasping like you’d just outrun a hellhound. None of that today. No nightmares. No panic.

And that? That felt like a goddamn miracle.

You sat up, stretching your limbs with the grace of a middle-aged dad who just realized his alarm doesn’t go off for another 20 minutes. It was a nice change. Maybe you were ready to face the day. Or at least face the weird, slightly claustrophobic town this bunker had created.

As you made your bed like the grown-up you are, pretending to not be in a safehouse, your eyes lingered on the chair again, now with a better angle.  It wasn’t empty and not just because of the jacket. 

A shirt. Freshly folded. Just sitting there, like it was meant for you.

Your lips twitched into something dangerously close to a smile as you picked it up, slipping it on without a second thought.

Comfortable. A little oversized.

Perfect.

And then came… hunger with an obscenely loud rumble of your stomach. The kind that hits hard, like your stomach suddenly remembered it existed and was personally offended by the lack of food. It grumbled so loud it was probably audible in Heaven.

You sighed. Okay. Food first. Existential dread later.

You ventured toward the kitchen.

But as soon as you got within earshot, you stalled. Voices. Clattering dishes. A full goddamn house.

Great. Awesome. Perfect timing, Y/N.

You hesitated in the doorway, self-doubt creeping in like a bad ex. Déjà vu hit like a truck, this was the war room disaster all over again. You scanned the room and— yep. There he was.

Joe.

Your greatest fan. (Hah, not!)

Breakfast is overrated anyway. 

The great escape was forming in your mind: quick pivot, retreat to your room, and maybe come back when the place was empty. But just as you began to shuffle backward, hoping no one had spotted you, a voice sliced through the awkward air like a hot knife through butter.

“Hey! You coming in or just standing there?” 

The words came from a blonde girl sitting near the center of the room. Her voice was so warm that it made it impossible to pretend you didn’t hear her. You glanced at her direction.

You recognized her immediately: the one who’d yanked you out of a stress-induced spiral in that same war room meeting from earlier that week. Not exactly your favorite memory, but at least she hadn’t treated you like an inconvenience. That earned her some points.

“I swear, if you stand there like a deer in headlights, I’ll drag you in by your ear.”

Well. That wasn’t a threat you felt like testing.

Sighing, you pushed off the doorframe and sauntered in, playing it cool like you weren’t just about to run the hell out of there. Inez was already halfway through her coffee when she gestured to the empty seat beside her.

You hesitated.

Then, before your inner coward could talk you out of it, you sat.

She didn’t waste a second, sliding a tray of food across the table to you. “Here. You look like you need this more than I do.”

You blinked at the offering. Eggs. Bacon. Toast. Even a full mug of coffee.

Your stomach growled in approval.

“…Uh, thanks.”

She grinned smugly, sipping her own coffee. "No problem. And don't worry, everyone’s too busy with their own melodrama to notice you now. You were new, and yeah, it’s weird at first, but it dies down rather quickly. Well, except for Joe over there. He’s kind of a douche. I’m pretty sure he thinks hello is a hostile interrogation. But I get it, kind of. He’s still adjusting. He got here, what, two weeks ago? But the rest of the crew’s alright."

You could already feel Joe’s eyes drifting your way, the same way a cat stares at something just before knocking it off the table. Nope. Not today. You were out.

You turned back to Inez, and chuckled softly, the tension in your shoulders easing just a little.

“I’m Inez, by the way.”

“Y/N” you offered.

“I know” Inez smiled, leaning forward.

You picked up your fork, finally digging in as Inez leaned back, watching you with an expression that was somewhere between amused and thoughtful.

“You know” she said after a beat, “you’re doing better than I did when I first got here.”

You glanced up at her, fork paused mid-air. “...What do you mean?”

“When I showed up here just about a year ago” she began, “I was the first woman to get brought into this bunker. And let me tell you, the guys weren’t exactly rolling out the welcome wagon. I got hit with every tired stereotype you can imagine. ‘She’s weak.’ ‘She’s no use’.’’

You blinked, not sure whether to laugh or wince. “Ouch.”

“Yeah” she snorted, sipping her coffee, “Then I said I’d handle the groceries for as long as I can.”

You nearly choked on your eggs.“…Groceries?”

She didn’t even blink.

“Yup.”

“Like. Actual groceries?”

“Like running into demon-infested cities and hitting up the local supermarket, yeah. Luckily, they still exist. Apparently, demons care about keeping their humans alive.”

You stared at her. “…You’re shitting me.”

“Nope.” She popped the ‘p’ with way too much satisfaction.

“So you’re telling me—” You gestured vaguely. “You risk your life… for fresh produce?”

Inez smirked. “Either that or we live off canned beans and powdered eggs for a month. And then, well. Probably on each other.”

You blinked. “You say that so casually.”

“Survival, newbie.” She took another sip. “Gotta have priorities.”

“…And that’s how you earned their respect?”

“Pretty much. Turns out, men are very food-motivated. Who knew?”

You let out a laugh. Okay. Yeah. That was oddly impressive.

Then, your brain started piecing something together.

When you first got here, food had just... appeared at your door. Simple stuff — sandwiches, snacks — but someone had been making sure you didn’t starve. You suspected it was Jack or Cas or some other angel playing guardian for you.

But maybe—

You narrowed your eyes at Inez. “…Wait a second. Those sandwiches I got during my first few days here… was that you?”

Inez gave a small, knowing smirk and leaned back in her chair. “Guilty as charged.”

Your jaw dropped a little. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope” she said, popping the p with a little too much satisfaction. “It’s kind of a tradition here for me now… helping the new folks settle in. Just a little food delivery service to help you get through the weirdness of being dumped in a bunker full of people who are way more comfortable with guns than small talk.”

“Well…” you said, a genuine smile creeping onto your face, “Thank you, then. You are the reason I didn’t die  first thing here. I wouldn’t have been caught dead coming out.”

Her smirk softened into something warmer. “You’re welcome. And don’t worry, you’re not the only one who’s gone through it. The bunker has this way of making you feel like you’re the odd one out at first, but again, it passes.”

You nodded, feeling strangely reassured by her words. There was something comforting in knowing that even someone as seemingly self-assured and collected as Inez had faced her own struggles in fitting in.

She stood, stretching a little. “Alright, newbie, I’ll leave you to your thoughts and eggs. But hey, if you ever need someone to talk to or you’re just in the mood for a romcom that none of us will admit we love, my door’s always open. Room 13A.” She paused, giving you a mischievous look. “And just so you know, I may or may not have a bottle of tequila stashed away. Perks of being the designated grocery runner, you know?”

With a wink, she strolled off — leaving you sitting there with a sight so rare it could’ve been framed:

An actual smile on your face.

The vehemently falling raindrops soaked your jacket, sweeping through your undershirt, bra, making all its way to your skin. Your body trembled uncontrollably and a cruel mix of shivers and sweat plastered your hair to your forehead since the leaky roof of the stable did nothing to shield you from the storm’s fury.

You promised yourself you’d stay right there. By his side. You kept whispering the same lie over and over: he's just sleeping, he’s just sleeping. But no matter how many times you told yourself that, a cold, hollow truth settled in your chest. Deep down, you knew. You knew your father was gone.

Your eyelids felt heavy, like they were made of stone. You tried to keep them open, tried to look at the man you’d lost, but it was as though your own body was betraying you. The hypothermia was taking over and clouding your mind, making everything blur together.

You didn’t hear the footsteps at first. You didn’t feel them coming. You didn’t even feel the weight of their presence until it loomed over you, like a shadow swallowing what little light there was left in the world.

A figure smirked, bending down to look at you. His eyes flicked to the silver knife tucked neatly in your pocket, then to your father’s still body. “Master’s gonna be thrilled to see we’ve found two.”

“We can only use the girl, though, Barbas.” Another voice said.

You couldn’t lift your head. Words slurred together, forming an incoherent mess in your foggy mind. You couldn’t grasp the horror of what they were saying. All you could understand was that they were treating you like you were just some... object. Something to use. Just a tool in their hands. A very cold, very shivery tool.

When they finally dragged you up and tossed you onto something that felt surprisingly soft – like a leather car seat, if you had any memories of such luxuries – you only felt the warmth that spread through your body from the AC blasting on high. It was the kind of warmth that didn’t quite reach your soul but was just enough to keep you alive.

And with that, your eyelids fluttered shut.

Next on The Great Invasion (Sneak Peek from Chapter 5):

Dean glanced at you. “Big Aerosmith fan?”

You nodded, stretching your legs out. “First concert I ever went to.”

That actually got Dean’s attention. His eyebrows lifted slightly, curiosity flickering across his face. “No kidding?”

“Nope.” You propped your elbow on the window, a small smile creeping onto your lips. “Me and my dad. He got me tickets for my sixteenth birthday. He’s the one who got me into classic rock. We used to listen to it all the time — long drives, fixing up the car, burning food in the kitchen. Just the usual.”

Dean hummed in approval. “Smart man.”

You smirked. “Obviously.”

He chuckled, shaking his head before his expression shifted, like he was debating saying something.

Eventually, he just exhaled and went for it.

“My dad never really took me anywhere.”

You turned to him, his voice so casual it almost sounded like he was commenting on the weather.

But you weren’t stupid.

You noticed that offhanded comment carried more weight than he’d probably admit.

Alright, I KNOW, it took me a while.🥺 Apologies, loves.

Hope you enjoyed the new chapter!🤍

xx Pam

🤍Series Taglist🤍

@thebiggerbear @spnaquakindgdom @artyandink @globetrotter28 @kaz-2y5-spn @hobby27 @lamentationsofalonelypotato @muhahaha303 @yeehawgiddyup13 @applelovesposts

🤍Jensen Taglist🤍

@roseblue373

[nessamaurice]

Simple Ch. 1 (Loki x F!Reader)

Masterlist

Summary: Tony and the Avengers are in desperate need of something like a “babysitter” to have an eye on Loki and teach him “how to human”. He decided to stay on Midgard over the dungeons of Asgard as punishment for his deeds in New York. That’s where you swoop in. A simple receptionist at the Avengers compound. You have to share an apartment in the compound with Loki and damn, he’s a really tough nut. With your open and kind character it seems that you are slowly cracking his shell. But suddenly things are getting twists that will change your life and your relationships there irreversibly.

Story rating: M

Chapter trigger warnings: n/a

Words: 1984

1

"We need someone totally random." Tony broke the silence in the room. Every gaze was on him now. "Not someone with any special training, crazy gifts or hyper specialized knowledge."

"Why?" Steve simply asked.

"Your brother", Tony said turning to Thor and pointing at him, "has an enormous ego. If he has to stay here, we got to get him... let's say humbled. He will stay here in the compound. He is even willing to cooperate, so I guess we won't need shackles. At least not all the time. We just need someone reliable staying in the same room with him. Like, a babysitter. Someone simple, responsible from the neighbourhood who you would trust to look after your children because you know she'll just tuck them into bed asap and spend a nice evening watching Netflix or reading books while eating chips."

"You think it should be a woman?" Natasha mentioned.

"Did I say she? Ah yes, I did. Probably because when I think of next-door-babysitters I automatically think of girls. Women. Sorry." Tony immediately corrected himself as he noticed the raised eyebrow of Natasha.

"Couldn't it be that he would try to... I don't know... something like to trick a woman to do what he wants? Is he... um..." Bruce struggled to speak his mind.

"You mean like a seducer to women?" Thor assumed, followed by an amused little laugh. "No do not worry about that matter. I have known him my whole life and playing such games with women was never in his interest, even if it would have been useful to his plans. And I would say a woman would be best, he mostly behaves more controlled and civilized towards women in charge than to men."

"Alrighty then!" Tony clapped his hands to end this meeting that almost seemed like it would never end. With everybody feeling relieved to have come to a solution, the tension in the room ebbed away.

"Barton", Tony addressed to the agent in the corner of the room, "We need someone trustworthy. A woman. Someone staying away from drama. A at least somehow balanced one. And she will have to move to the compound for quite a while, so sort out every woman having responsibilities at home or such. The best would be someone who already works for me, check all our employees first, maybe we are lucky."

Clint simply nodded and left the room, but not without grabbing a big mug of coffee on the leave. Everyone headed to the door, but Thor caught Tony by grabbing his arm and stopping him. He waited a second until all the other Avengers were gone.

"Thank you, Stark. It is very generous and honorable of you and of Midgard to offer my errant brother a second chance after all what he did to your realm. There is clearly good in him. Buried under mischief and lies but somewhere it is. Maybe a simple person is all he needs to learn that 'simple' is nothing bad. It is hard for him to deal with his banishment from his home but it was his own choice and he preferred this over the dungeons of our palace. It took him quite a while to make this decision."

"Yeah. It's okay. No one likes to have a pissed-off brother being kept in the basement." Tony said, patting Thor on the shoulder while leaving the room.

***

With one hand you fumbled for your alarm clock to put in on snooze while hiding under the blanket. Sleep drunk you tried to get your brain working as a little wave of panic shot through you. Turning over to your clock you silently cursed into your pillow and pushed yourself up. You already wanted to get up 10 minutes ago but pressed snooze once too often. Again. You speeded up your morning routine a little to catch the lost minutes you sacrificed to Morpheus.

"This day's gonna be crap." You mumbled to yourself while entering the compound and shuffling over to the reception.

"Sweets, turn your bitch face off, you're at work."

The voice of your coworker Jackie (but you'd rather address her as your best friend than coworker) ripped you out of your thoughts.

"Hey Babe. Sorry." You gave her your poorest apology smile.

"Pressed snooze too often again, huh?" She tried to hold back a broad smile while you walked around the giant reception desk, heavy eye-rolling.

"Shut up. Tea's ready?"

"Do we know us since yesterday?" She pouty answered, handing you your favorite mug. You snatched it almost too energetically from her hand, inhaling the steam rising from it and closing your eyes.

"Aw, yeah. Much better." You put it on the desk and went to the back to hang your coat. Walking by you caught your own glance in the mirror, stopped and returned to it to check your appearance. You fixed some loose strands of hair and spotted your septum piercing. Cursing at yourself that you forgot to take it out once again you turned it up into your nose to hide it. If you'd take it out right now you would just lose it, like the other 4 piercings before. Pulling on the collar of your shirt and fiddling on your chocker necklace you quickly checked yourself over again and stepped outside to the reception desk. You were so lucky that you and your colleagues came to the glorious arrangement that you were in charge of the visit-reservation-referring-emails and wouldn't have to answer phone calls. Every time you heard the melodic ringing it sent a little jolt through your guts but were relieved the same moment, knowing that it was not your task to answer it. You never knew why phone calls put you in such a state but you didn't really bother to find out. You went to sit down on your office chair, totally focused on your steaming mug that stood there longing for your cold hands to get warmed up by its heat but stopped mid-motion and turned your head to the left. Your eyes wandered the spacious entrance hall. Since there were still 10 minutes before the Avengers compound opened up to visitors, press and business the only light was the natural dim dawn falling in through the huge window front. You almost jumped a little as the lighting was turned on, as always on time.

"Everything alright, Sweet Pea?" Your friend appeared from behind you, making you jump a little again.

"What? Oh yeah. Sorry. I thought there was something. Getting a little paranoid after a week of holiday at home." You laughed at her. As you finally sat down you couldn't resist to look over your shoulder again and search the enormous hall. It wasn't helpful that you had that feeling of being watched since almost 3 weeks now. At first you didn't take it very serious. Your workplace was permanently full of people and CCTV. But the feeling deep down in your stomach grew bigger each day. In the end you were so happy to eventually have a week all on your own. You spent it most of the time at home, doing all the things you wanted to do for a long time. You took some art classes in portraying persons, read 2 books, listened to music constantly, ordered too much stuff from Amazon because you had so much time browsing stuff you didn't need, even could get yourself to take some walks in the nearby park and enjoy the autumn colours. But, much to your dismay, that feeling of being followed by something or someone didn't cease. You spoke to your therapist at your monthly meeting about this last week. She said not to take it too serious but that you'll come back to that point next month.

You softly shook your head to get rid of the thoughts and put your bag on the floor beneath your desk with a loud thud. Jackie turned her head and looked at you, then at your bag.

"What the hell is in there? Thor's hammer?"

You tried to bat her hand away as she grabbed your bag and opened it. Her gaze rose in played shock to meet your eyes. She pulled a giant book out of it without interrupting her steady look at you. You couldn't help but blush, roll your eyes and laugh.

"Oh. My. God. Didn't they have a bigger book than this? Why are you dragging this monster with you to work?" She looked at the title and stuttered a little while reading it out loud, a little too loud since your other colleagues turned their heads, poorly hiding their smiles.

"Antiquitates Iudaicae" She looked at you again, one brow raised. "Seriously?"

You couldn't hold back your snort at that look on her face. Hectically you nabbed your stuff from her hands. "Shut up bitch, that's for my lunch break."

Unfortunately that explanation didn't help much to stop her amusement because now she helplessly had to cover her mouth while she laughed into her hands.

"Damn girl, you crazy."

"I know. You love that."

"Of course I do. Borrow me that book when you're through. And if I lost my sight by that time, you can read it to me when your granny glasses will be strong enough."

Smiling you turned to your computer and turned it on. It was about time, your small interruption cost you precious minutes to start your working routine before the doors opened to all the amazed visitors, screaming school groups and snoopy press people.

While waiting for your computer to come to live (which took quite longer than you'd expect when working for a technology genius), Jackie slapped your shoulder.

"Oh I totally forgot to fill you in on the latest gossip. When you were on holiday, a cute guy from accounting sat down next to me during lunch and asked where you are."

"Whaaaat? You're kidding."

"Nah-ah! He said he wanted to say hi to you after he saw you several times in the cafeteria and thought you would show up just a little later. He feared you may have just chucked your job after two more days without seeing you. I tell you, he has the bluest eyes I've ever seen. If I were unwed, I'd totally be jealous. I promised not to tell you. Ha ha. As if I would not tell you."

"Aw come on. Now I will never be able to relax during lunch time again." You batted her arm with the back of your hand.

"Oh Sweets, you're much too old to be nervous around men."

"Uhm, you know who you talking to, right?"

Her only answer was just a vicious smile as she turned to the already ringing phone.

The morning went on as usual. Tons of emails, greeting visitors and groups, handing forms over the counter, smiling, tea drinking.

Your stomach began to rumble just as your break was due. You checked yourself in the mirror again, this time a bit more precisely. As usual, you weren't too pleased with what you saw. Catching that thought, you very silently said to yourself "But I love myself anyway" just as your therapist taught you. You hoped that one day you'd eventually believe your own words, but somehow they helped you relax a bit, though. You stretched your back, grabbed your stuff and headed to the cafeteria. As you saw its entrance, you felt blood rushing to your cheeks and cursed yourself for blushing so easily. But before you could step through the door, someone stopped you by softly grabbing your arm.

You turned around to say something but no sound left your open mouth as you looked up into the face of Clint Barton.

"Miss Y/N, I'm sorry to stop you from getting your lunch, but Mr. Stark would like to speak to you."