#okay I’ll get off my library soap box now

[absolutely-xantastic]

I work in an academic library and sometimes the university stance (you must buy your textbooks) and the library stance (don’t pay for anything ever) are not in communication with each other, which can be very confusing. If you are in college PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE go to your library!

Library staff (reference in particular) are literally there to help you find resources! Academic databases and websites do not function like google - there is not an underlying learning algorithm that can guess what you want. Academic research is not intuitive - it’s a SKILL that you can learn and library reference staff already have those skills and we WANT to help you get the resources and info you need. Many libraries offer some sort of an ask a librarian service - email and/or live chat (with a real person!) that you CAN and SHOULD use if you are having trouble accessing or finding resources. I PROMISE YOU - no one will laugh or shame you for not knowing how to navigate archaic academic resources. Library database and article access is a complicated beast and you’d be amazed at how many FACULTY don’t know how to properly use the library or are fully aware of what the library can get if you just ask. And the faculty often assume that students have a MUCH HIGHER baseline of what students know how to do with regards to research, and that knowledge gap is only getting bigger (looking at you AI) so PLEASE do not feel bad if you are struggling at research and do not be afraid to ASK FOR HELP.

Even if you think you checked the library website and can’t find access, ask someone. Milage will vary depending on the size of your school but there may be multiple ways to access a single article and odds are you aren’t going to know to check all of them but staff will. And if you truly don’t have access, ask about interlibrary loan. You can request articles as well as physical materials and often those request get filled quickly and at no extra cost to you.

Also - if your professor is requesting specific books for class, ask them about putting a copy on course reserve. A lot of folks don’t know about reserves (faculty included) but academic libraries will put copies of course texts on course reserve, meaning that those books are specifically on hold for use by a class at the instructors request. Reserves often cannot be checked out for very long (ie a few hours) but that is by design - so that if folks for whatever reason cannot get access to a book on their own, there is a library copy that should be more available to them. It’s not a perfect system, and there may be a fight to get the one copy but it’s an attempt to make course materials more equitably accessible (rather than having one library copy of a required text that someone checks out and hogs for the whole semester).

TL;DR - I work in an academic library and staff WANT TO HELP YOU FIND RESOURCES. People don’t know the true extent of how libraries (particularly academic ones) will go above and beyond to ensure you have access to things you need. Dont get discouraged if you can’t access things, no one expects you to know how to do it so ALWAYS ALWAYS ask library staff. I promise we want to help you. It’s literally what we’re here for.

(Not to mention that using library services is the most effective way to ensure that the library can keep providing access and services - we rely a lot on usage statistics so the more you ask for help, the better we can be at actually helping)

Beware!

[the-californicationist]

he opens the mail

Captain Price opens a package, thinking it’s intel, but it’s a sex pollen. The only cure? Your pussy, apparently.

Warning: sex pollen tropes, extremely dubious consent, attempt at satire?, angry john price

“We’re never going to make this deadline. Laswell’s gonna kill me,” you complained, burying your head in the pile of envelopes and packages strewn over your desk. 

“Did this to yourself, lass. Shoulda been keepin’ up with intel duty. Wee bit at a time, ‘s what I say,” Soap patted you on the shoulder, feigning pity. 

You spent hours combing through the documents, and by the time everyone had gone to bed, your fingers were covered in paper cuts, and your vision was blurry from squinting at the poorly scrawled Cyrillic words. 

You thought you were alone, and as you stood up to stretch and refill your coffee mug, Captain Price opened up the office door, scaring you half to death. 

“Oh, hey Corporal,” he smiled and then furrowed his brow, “What are you still doing here?”

You sighed, pointing to the piles of documents,

“Laswell’s intel backlog. I’m the only one with a Level 3 linguistics cert for Russian, so here I am. Gonna be an all-nighter.”

He closed the door and sat down across from your seat, digging into the pile, 

“I’m Level 3. Let’s finish it.”

“Captain, you don’t have to do that. I’m sure you’ve got more important things…”

Price shook his head, taking off his hat and hanging it on the chair back,

“Nah, tha’s alright, love. I’ll help ya. Get us a tea, yeah?”

You knew how he took his tea, and you hated that you did. Secretly, you were obsessed with him. He was always around, smelling like balsam wood and tobacco, looking like a gladiator, huge and capable in the most masculine way. It was hard to concentrate when he was nearby. Now that he had offered to help, you had to grin and bear it. 

You worked together for a while, chatting, even laughing. It was nice. You had so much in common, the conversation flowed easily, and you found yourself much more at ease. Finally, three packages remained. You opened the first one and found little more than phone records for a local library. Unhelpful to say the least. Price opened a water bill, and he recognized the address of a recent Konni base location. Any intel at this point felt like a celebration. Then, the final box. 

“Go on then. Show us the ending,” he smiled, handing it to you. 

“Couldn’t take the joy of ripping up the last letter, Captain. Be my guest,” you smiled. 

He chuckled, tearing into the envelope. In a flash, bright pink powder sprayed him directly in the eyes, and he writhed in pain, pinching them shut, his whole body going stiff. 

“Fuck me!” He shouted. 

“Hang on,” you ran over to the sink in the kitchenette, “Here’s some water. Get that shit out of your eyes.”

“Don’t,” he moved away from you like you were on fire, “Don’t touch me. Might be contagious.”

Your chest was rising and falling with your labored breathing, and you were immediately worried. You reached for your phone and called Laswell.

“Laswell, Price got anthraxed by one of the intel letters. What do you want us to do?”

She gasped, 

“What? Shit. I’m on my way.”

She hung up on you. You watched Price slowly try to open his eyes. They were stained hot pink from the powder. 

“You alright?” You asked him. 

“Yeah, love,” he sighed, “Doesn’t hurt anymore. Feeling strange though. Laswell said she’s coming?”

You nodded,

“Yeah, just in case.”

He nodded, running his hand along the inside of his collar. The captain was sweaty and a little pale. 

“Captain, are you okay?”

“Mmm, no,” he shook his head, “Something’s not right, love.”

He stood and went to the sink, washing as much of the powder off as he could. You moved away from him and stationed yourself across the room, praying for Laswell to hurry. 

Price was in a bad way. He took off his shirt, and he was still dripping with beads of sweat. You tried not to stare, but his temperature wasn’t the only thing heating up. His huge cock was making a prominent tent in his pants, but he was in too much pain to bother hiding it. You felt yourself blushing, and you willed yourself to pull it together. 

“…fuckin’ hell,” his hand went to his crotch to squeeze his length, trying to find some relief, “Sorry, love.”

“It’s okay,” you said politely, trying to breathe normally, but feeling the slick rush melt between your legs. 

“It’s makin’ me…feel…bloody hell. I can’t hold it off. Can…can you…? No! No, what the fuck am I sayin’? No,” he shook his head, rubbing his hands down his face, hot and very bothered. 

You inched closer to him,

“If I haven’t been affected yet, I’m sure it’s okay. How should I help you?”

“No! No, stay back. I’m not…I can’t think straight. My mind’s got one thing on it,” he shoved his hands beyond his zipper and began to jerk himself off, his dick making lurid noises with his hand. 

You hated seeing him so helpless. You moved to his side,

“Cap, it’s okay. Let me help you.”

His hand was around your throat in milliseconds. Price shoved you against the wall and began to kiss your mouth, furiously laving his tongue against yours. 

“No, no, no,” he whispered through his kisses, not bothering to pull away as he spoke his lamentations. 

You made the mistake of putting your hands on his chest to steady yourself. He moaned, trembling beneath your touch,

“Ahh, careful.”

“Sorry,” you pulled your hands away, still trapped in his firm grip around your neck, “did I hurt you?”

“No, doesn’t hurt.”

He said it in a way that darkly implied your touch was igniting a different kind of fire. You put your hands back where they were, and his eyes shot open, piercing through yours with a lustful rage. Unexpectedly, he ripped off your shirt and lay you down on the black leather couch in the corner of the office. He crushed you with his weight, kissing you deeply. 

Then, your phone rang. He didn’t allow you to pause, so it went to voicemail. It rang again. You were getting just as hot as he was, and you weren’t that interested in who was looking for you in the middle of the night. Until, however, the door to the office burst wide open and Laswell and Gaz burst through it. 

Price snarled. You’d never heard a man make that noise before. Laswell put her hands on her hips while Gaz tried to shield his face in shock. Laswell rubbed her forehead, frustrated,

“Are his eyes pink, Corporal?”

You escaped his jaws for a moment, 

“Yeah, why?”

“It’s a sex drug. Forces the user to fornicate as it is only passed through the body in seminal fluid, dissolving in the heat of another person’s body. Are you volunteering here? What happened?”

Her tone was so matter of fact, it was a little humorous, if Price’s length wasn’t rutting against you in earnest, you might've laughed. You tried to explain as much as he would allow,

“Got too close… just… happened. How…” you moaned as Price pulled down the strap of your bra and helped himself to your nipple, “How did you know?”

She sighed, typing something into her datapad,

“Checked the incident log from this afternoon. Four more cases of this have popped up in intel collections. Gonna have to screen for it next time.”

She turned to walk out of the office with Gaz, and you called after her,

“Hey, wait! How long does it - oh, fuck… how long does it last?”

Laswell had the audacity to smirk at you, raising her eyebrows and cutting her eyes at Price’s swollen cock, lolling out of his pants, scraping itself against you. 

“Eight hours. Looks like you’re in for a rough night, Corporal. Maybe next time you’ll be more careful.”

Part 2

[reigningqueenofwords]

Supernatural Cookbook

Pairing: Dean x reader Word count: 1,173

Read on AO3

Mary had been staying with you and the boys on and off over the last few months. Well, more than usual. You’d found out that you were pregnant, and she was over the moon about becoming a grandmother. You were about five months pregnant, with a tiny bump, and you couldn’t keep Dean’s hands off it. The second he would see you, he’d put his hands on the side, or one hand on the front. Just in hopes he’d feel the baby kick. The pair of you had decided to not find out what you were having. It gave you something extra too look forward to. 

You had gone to do some shopping, alone, because you honestly wanted some peace. You promised to call, or pray to Cas, should you need someone. Dean pouted, Sam gave you ‘the look’ that told you he wished you’d changed your mind, and Mary said she understood. 

You’d spent the afternoon out, grabbing little things for the guys- travel shampoos, travel body washes,  etc and a couple things for the baby- you’d found a cute crib set on sale (score!), and a small box of wipes. Then you’d opted to browse the book store for a little bit. Sometimes it had some great sales, and you were looking for something new to read. Yeah, you had an extensive library, but you weren’t in the mood to read about lore and monsters. Once you found yourself in the cookbook section, one caught your eye, making you chuckle. “Perfect.” You grabbed it and moved to check out. 

Sitting in your car, you went through and picked a recipe to make for dinner. Pulling out your phone, you called Dean. Who answered right away. 

“You okay?!” 

“I’m fine, babe.” You smiled. “I was wondering if you could check the kitchen for some things? I want to make sure we have what I need to make dinner when I get back.” You told him. 

“Uh, yeah, sure, lemme get in there and you can tell me what to look for.” He said easily, and you could hear him moving. “How’s your ‘alone day’ going?” He asked, and you pictured him pouting slightly. 

You giggled. “Good. I got some stuff to restock your travel bags, and I got the cutest gender neutral crib set on sale.” You said proudly. “You’ll love it.” You assured him. 

He chuckled. “I know I will.” He told you. “And, honestly, I don’t know how we didn’t come up with the idea for travel bags years ago! That motel soap kills your skin. And the shampoo? Ugh.” He grunted the last part. “You, my beautiful girlfriend, are a genius!” He said happily. “Alright, I’m in the kitchen. Hit me.” He waited for you to start. 

An hour and a half later, you were walking in the bunker, bags in hand. “Need help?” Sam asked, greeting you. 

“Sure, can you take these? Can you just put them in the baby’s room? I’ll sort your travel bag stuff after, and get the crib set into the laundry. Right now, I have a dinner to make.” You grinned. “And no one is allowed in the kitchen!” You told him. 

His eyebrows shot up. “Not even mom?!” He asked, as you enjoyed cooking with her. “That’s a first.” 

You nodded excitedly. “It’s a surprise, and I’m really hoping I do it justice.” 

He took the bags and nodded. “I’ll go get these put away, and tell mom and Dean to stay out of the kitchen. Not going to lie, I’m really curious about what you’re making.” He chuckled. 

“BOYS!” You called out, knowing that they’d hear you. “Dinner!” You added. Dinner smelled amazing, and you hoped it tasted as good! 

Dean came in, licking his lips. “This smells so familiar, but I can’t figure out why…” He muttered. “But, it’s invisible?” He teased, kissing your cheek and motioning to the table. 

“I’m letting you guys sit before I bring it out.” You smiled up at him. 

Sam and Mary came in moments later. “Sam says that you wanted dinner to be a surprise.” She smiled at you. “Smells amazing!” She complimented you as they each took a seat. 

“I’ll be right back!” You all but bounced to the kitchen, making them chuckle. Minutes later, you walked back in. “Alright.” You were nervous, setting the dish in the middle of the table. “I hope it came out okay.” You said shyly. 

Mary stared. “Is that...how did you know how to make Winchester surprise?!” She looked at you. “Even the boys don’t know.” 

Your cheeks turned a bright red as you lifted a book from your seat. “Saw this in the bookstore. I was hoping it got it right.” You handed it to her. 

“There’s a Supernatural cookbook, too?!” Dean whined. 

Mary looked through the pages. “Wow.” She chuckled. “This is great.” She smiled, handing it back. 

You set it off to the side and sat down. “I hope I did your recipe justice, Mary.” You told her as Dean went to get some. 

“That was so good, babe.” Dean leaned back in his chair, hand on his stomach. “Now we can have that even when mom isn’t here.” He chuckled. “What else they got in that thing?” He asked, curious. 

You laughed. “What, does Dean Winchester actually want to look at a Supernatural book?” You teased. 

He shrugged. “If it’s got food like that in there? Hell yeah.” He grinned as you handed it over. “Alright, let’s see what we got here.” He mused as he opened it. “Dude! ‘Pig ‘in a Poke’! ‘Elvis Burger’. ‘Sam’s Cobb Salad’. ‘Mary’s Piggly Wiggly Meatloaf’.” He chuckled, looking at his mom. “They know you’re a good cook!” He beamed, going back to it. “‘Bobby’s Boozy Balls’. Oh, you gotta make this. I don’t care if it’s mom or Y/N.” Dean licked his lips, showing you the book. “‘Bourbon pecan pie’.” 

“Yeah, that’s one of the ones that made me grab it.” You admitted. “The stuff for it is in the kitchen.” You smiled, loving how excited he looked. “I was hoping that you’d help make it later?” 

“Of course!” He nodded, getting up. “Let me clean up from dinner, and then we can start that?” He asked, hopeful. 

“Sure.” You got up, rubbing your small bump. “I’ll go get your tavel bags set up while you do that.” You always liked to make sure they were fully stocked, because you never knew when a hunt would come up. “Come get me when you want to bake.” You smiled, kissing his cheek. 

Mary and Sam watched the two of you, amused. Once you and Dean went your ways, she looked at Sam. “Good thing she’s already pregnant.” Mary said jokingly, making Sam choke on his beer. “What? It’s true and you know it.” She patted his back. 

“Never thought I’d see him so excited for a Supernatural book.” Sam shook  his head. 

“It’s a cookbook. He likes food. Of course he’s excited.” Mary chuckled.

[earlgreydream]

exams.

| stucky x reader | fluff |

this was so self indulgent. I need Steve and Bucky to help me with my exams

You hit submit on your online exam, holding your breath. You’d been sitting in Steve’s office for hours, notes spread all over the desk in front you. Steve was on the couch on the other side of the room, reading from a book, and Bucky was out on a mission with Stark. 

“Fuck!” you gasped, seeing the 62% grade. Steve looked up, and your head dropped into your hands, tears sliding down your cheeks. You broke into sobs, seeing all of your time and effort wasted. 

“Y/N!” Steve walked over and wrapped his arms around your shoulders, coming to stand behind you. You choked on your cries, tears soaking your hands that were pressed to your face. Steve sighed when he looked at the screen, his lips pressing against the back of your head. 

“It’s okay, it’s one grade.”

“It’s not! It’s everything! I’m working so hard and I just keep failing!” you wept, and Steve spun your chair around and turned you into his body. His hand went to the back of your head, cradling you gently as you sobbed into his chest.

“Y/N, take a deep breath. There will be other exams. I know how hard you’ve been working. You need a break to recharge.”

“I can’t, I have a history exam at the end of this week-”

“Bucky and I will help you. Come on, you’ve been bent over the desk all day.”

“Steve, no-” you argued, trying to reopen your laptop as Steve closed it. He caught your wrists and pulled you away from the desk.

“You’re done.” Steve didn’t care that you were fighting him, you needed a break from your university work and you were getting it one way or another. You fought him but your strength was nothing compared to the super soldier serum, and you finally gave up and let him drag you out. 

“What are we doing?” you asked through weak sobs as you followed him through the Stark Tower penthouse. Loki looked up, and his brow knitted in concern. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine,” you muttered, not wanting to tell the mischievous god that you were crying over a failed exam.

“You’re not-”

“Leave her be, Loki,” Steve scolded. 

You were sat down on the couch, and Loki and the others cleared out so you could be alone with your boyfriend. Steve set a generous bowl of ice cream in your hands, and you couldn’t stop the small laugh when you saw rainbow sprinkles on it. His blue eyes were wide and concerned, and he brushed tears from your face. 

Steve did his best to cheer you up and help you relax, but he was never able to comfort you like Bucky could. Steve would’ve given anything to have your boyfriend home, helping him comfort you. 

You’d spent nearly every waking hour working on your university work for months. When you weren’t bent over your computer in Steve’s office, you were doing research at the library, or you were in classrooms, trying to take notes on everything your professors said. You loved school, but you were exhausted and it was wearing on you. The workload was like a beating, and you were just ready to be finished. 

Steve and Bucky were always being sent on missions, and most of the time it was just you and Loki at the tower. He was no help to your studies, usually trying to convince you to just drop out-- you’d never really need a degree with the connections and money you had. 

You weren’t an avenger, but you lived comfortably in Stark Tower with the others. When you weren’t occupied with schools or spending time with your boyfriends when they were home, you were babysitting Loki or helping run intelligence with Stark. You’d decided to go back to school, but now, with exams and papers piling up, you were miserable.

“Hey, honey,” Steve pulled you onto his lap as you cried over your ice cream.

“Sorry, I just... I just feel like I spend all this effort and energy and time only to fall short.” 

“I know it feels that way, but you’re doing well. You have good grades and you are so smart. It’s always hardest at the end of the semester. You can do this Y/N, you’re almost there.” 

You tried to smile at Steve, but you couldn’t. He set the bowl aside and held you against his chest. Your arms went around his neck and you squeezed the soldier tightly. Tears soaked through his shirt, and he rubbed your back gently. He kissed your head and smoothed his hands up under your shirt.

“I’m sorry Bucky isn’t here-”

“Steve,” you sat up and held his face.

“I love you. Thank you for taking care of me.”

You kissed him, before laughing softly and apologized for your tears soaking everything. He shook his head and kissed you again, relieved to see you show some amusement. 

“Your ice cream is getting all melty,” he laughed, spooning some into your mouth and kissing it off of your lips. 

The two of you shared the half-melted ice cream, and you started to ache from the position you were in, straddling his lap. You climbed off of him, and started walking back toward the office.

“Where do you think you’re going?” 

“I should study-”

“Not a chance. No more working today.”

“Steve,” you sighed, sticking your lower lip out. You huffed and walked back to him, letting Steve pick you up like a bride. You giggled and wrapped your arms around his neck, letting him carry you to your bedroom. 

Steve talked you into a hot shower with steamers that Bucky had brought back from some artisan soap shop in Russia where he’d gone on a mission and brought things back for you. He picked up your bedroom while he waited, putting in a takeout order from a place you liked uptown. 

You returned in spandex shorts and one of Steve’s flannels, rubbing your eyes. His hands went to your waist and he kissed your cheek, making you smile sleepily. You’d finally given in to how tired you were, the steam of the shower helping significantly. You were exhausted from stress and crying, and now you just wanted to curl up with Steve.

He walked back in with a bag of food, and you smiled, moving over in bed. He handed you a box of fried rice and you curled up against his side.

“What are we watching?” 

“Star Wars.”

Steve groaned and you gave him an offended look. He rolled his eyes, suggesting that maybe you could find something more entertaining. 

“If Bucky was here, he’d watch it with me...” you whispered, knowing it was a low blow. You didn’t mean it seriously, and Steve knew that, but he still felt a pang of guilt.

“Good thing I love Star Wars,” Steve hummed, moving you to lay back on his chest instead of under his arm. 

“I knew you’d come around,” you smiled. 

You were asleep before the movie was even over, and Steve slid out of bed carefully. He made sure the blankets were pulled over you, and you were curled up safely in the middle of the bed, not in danger of rolling off the edge without the usual boys on either side of you.

He left the movie on softly in case you woke up, but grabbed your empty takeout boxes and took them to toss away. He was headed back when the door opened, Bucky and Tony walking inside.

“Steve!” Bucky gasped, running to the blond. Steve hugged Bucky, kissing him for the first time in over a week.

“How was the mission?”

Steve listened to Bucky recount the details, explaining it was an overall success but he was exhausted and drained. Steel eyes searched the kitchen for you, but found nothing.

“Where’s Y/N?”

“Asleep. She failed her exam, and cried for hours. Y/N spends so much time with school and studying, and to see her so stress really worries me. And I’m not near as good as you at calming her down. She all but begged for you,” Steve explained, and Bucky’s eyes saddened.

“I hate that. It’s a lot for her, the stress. It shouldn’t be so hard. And don’t do that, Stevie. She adores you, and you know it.”

Bucky kissed him again briefly before going to find you. He smiled slightly at the familiar sight of The Last Jedi playing on the television in your room, knowing it was your favorite when you were anxious. He didn’t quite understand, but something about its familiarity soothed you.

Bucky sat down on the edge of the bed, causing you to stir out of your nap.

“Bucky?” You gasped when your eyes opened.

You lunged forward and threw your arms around his neck, wrapping yourself around his body tightly. He squeezed you and kissed your hair until you drew back. You grabbed his scruffy face and kissed your boyfriend, melting into him.

“Steve said you had a bad day,” Bucky finally spoke when you drew back for air. He brushed some hair from your face, and your eyes flitted to the blond behind him. You knew Steve would express his worry to Bucky, and you felt small under their concerned gazes.

“I failed one of my exams,” you admitted, your head hanging down. His lips pressed to your forehead, and he cradled you in his arms.

“It’s okay, my love. I know how hard you worked. So does Steve, and your professor knows too. We’re going to help you study so the next time it goes better, okay?” He tilted your chin up, making you look at him.

You nodded, consoled by the soldier.

“And I’ll help with your history exam. I know a lot about World War Two. I practically lived it,” Bucky joked, and you shook your head.

“Bucky, that’s not funny,” you bit back a laugh, and even Steve smiled.

“Thank you,” you relented, accepting a soft kiss. His hands rested on your waist under Steve’s massive flannel, rubbing small circles on your skin, the action soothing you.

“Did you manage to convince Steve to watch Star Wars with you?”

“Yes, but he whined.”

“Hey,” Steve began to defend himself, ready with the excuse that he did give in to watching the film with you.

“I’m just happy you’re home,” your voice was soft, and Bucky pulled you back into a hug.

“I’m so happy to be home with you.”

Bucky spent hours leaned over your notes with you, showing you flash cards and helping you study for your history final.

You kept apologizing, but he insisted that you were more than fine, and he was happy to help. Steve contributed when he could, though Bucky was much more patient with your academics.

However, Steve was the one who set a cup of coffee next to you as you sat to take your exam. With a reassuring kiss to your head, they left you alone to focus. You answered questions, referring to your notes when the answer didn’t come to mind immediately.

An hour and a half later, you breathed a huge sigh of relief when you saw the 97% flash across the screen. You closed your computer and went to find your boyfriends, to tell them about your success, and thank Bucky for the hours of tutoring he’d given you.

You found them reading in the library, and they both set their books down as soon as they heard your footsteps.

“How’d it go, doll?”

“I got a ninety-seven!” You shrieked excitedly, running to them and giggling and they wrapped their arms around you. Your cheeks were smothered with kisses and your delighted laughter healed the ache in their hearts caused by your stressed crying over your grades.

“So proud of our girl,” Steve praised you, and you squeezed them.

“Thank you! Thank you for helping me.”

“Always. And now, we get to have fun celebrating!”

“I’m a little bit exhausted. Can we celebrate in bed?” You asked hopefully, and a deviant smirk crossed Bucky’s face.

“Not like that, you pervert,” you giggled, swatting his hands away as he groped your butt through your thin shorts.

Steve wasn’t thrilled about your choice of celebration, but he would never deny you the simple happiness that binging the Star Wars prequels brought you. Bucky was more than excited to watch you get heated with Anakin, passionately declaring your love and loyalty to him, as you did every time you watched them.

“I don’t understand. He is the bad guy!” Steve complained.

“Shut up. He’s gorgeous. And he’s not even evil, he just wanted to save Padmé!”

“I could break him in half with my fingers,” Steve rolled his eyes.

“Probably not. Anakin has the force,” Bucky pointed out, and Steve shot him a glare.

You just laughed between them, eating from the large bowl of popcorn that was nestled in your lap. Steve didn’t mind half as much as he complained, and you knew that. Bucky engaged in all of your pro-dark side propaganda, enjoying the happy chatter that came along with watching your comfort movies.

They took care of you, thankful no more tears were being shed today over your classes.

[peachbear88]

Tale as Old as Time

A/N: Yes, it's basically Beauty and the Beast. I LOVE DISNEY MOVIES OKAY?

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

You shiver on the cold stone of the jail cell, wrapping your cloak tighter around you. How did you end up in the jail cell? A series of long, unfortunate events.

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

The door to your shabby home swings close as you prance down the cobble streets, book in hand.

"Little town,"

"It's a quiet village."

"Every day,"

"Like the one before."

"Little town,"

"Full of little people,"

"Waking up to say."

Windows are flung upon as the townspeople peer down at you.

"Bonjour!"

"Bonjour."

"Bonjour!"

"Bonjour!

"Bonjour."

A man with a long white apron proffers a tray of fresh, steaming buns towards you and you snatch one, nodding your thanks.

"There goes the baker with his tray like always,"

"The same old bread and rolls to sell."

He opens his mouth to protest but thinks better of it.

"Every morning just the same,"

"Since the morning that we came,"

"To this poor provincial town."

A man approaches you, tipping his hat.

"Good morning Y/N." You smile at his kind, pudgy face.

"Good morning Monsieur Hogan. Have you lost something?"

"Well, I believe I have. Problem is I can't remember what." He scratches his chin. "Oh well. I'm sure it'll turn up somewhere." His eyes float down to the book clutched in your hand. "Where you off to?"

"To return this book to Monsieur T'Challa. It's about 2 lovers in fair Verona." He snorts.

"Sounds boring."

You shrug and continue down the stone path towards the small town library.

"Look there she goes, that girl is strange no question."

A small band of boys watch you as you walk down the street.

"Dazed and distracted can't you tell?"

"Never part of any crowd,"

"'Cause her head's stuck on some cloud."

"No denying she's a funny girl that Y/N.”

The marketplace is bustling as usual as you slip through the many stalls. The familiar buzz of conversation fills your ears.

"Bonjour, good day, how is your family?"

"Bonjour, good day, how is your wife?"

"I need, 6 eggs."

"That's too expensive."

You sigh, spinning around.

"There must be more than this provincial life!"

You fling the door of the library open to find your second favorite person in the world, T'Challa, dusting the shelves.

"Ah, if it isn't the only bookworm in town! Where did you run off to this week?" He waves the duster at you, making you cough.

"Two cities in Northern Italy. I didn't want to come back. D'you have any new books?" You inquire, leaning over the small collection piled in the corner.

"I'm afraid not," He sighs. "But you may read any of the old ones you'd like."

You pick out your personal favorite.

"Your library makes our small corner of the world feel big." T��Challa smiles.

"Bon voyage!" He shouts as you close the door behind yourself.

"Look there she goes, that girl is so peculiar,"

"I wonder if she's feeling well." A scholar mused as you passed.

"With a dreamy far-off look,"

"And her nose stuck in a book."

"What a puzzle to the rest of us is Y/N."

You hop onto the stone wall of the well, still reading the book, nearly stepping on the hands of the laundresses cleaning on the edge of the well.

"Oh, isn't this amazing?" You twirl around on the stone wall, earning many disgruntled looks from the laundresses. "It's my favorite part because, you'll see." You hop off the stone wall, continuing down the path back to your home. "Here's where she meets Prince Charming, but she won't discover that it's him, till chapter 3."

"Now it's no wonder that her nickname is Beauty,"

"Her looks have got no parallel."

A disgruntled mother says, her fair daughters standing behind her, glaring daggers at you.

"But behind that fair facade,"

"I'm afraid she's rather odd."

"Very different from the rest of us,"

"She's nothing like the rest of us,"

"Yes, different from the rest of is Y/N!"

Peering through his golden telescope at you, Steve Rogers sighs from atop his handsome horse.

"Look at her Sam. My future wife." He hands Sam the telescope who accepts it rather reluctantly. "Belle is the most beautiful girl in the village. Makes her the best." He whispers confidentially, waggling his eyebrows. Sam cringes.

"But she's so... well-read. And you're so..." He looks Steve up and down. "Athletically-inclined." Steve waves him off, setting his horse at a healthy trot towards the town.

"Yes, ever since the war, I felt like I've been missing something. She's the only girl that has ever given me that sense of..."

"Je ne sais quoi?" Sam proffers. Steve scoffs, entering the village.

"I don't know what that means."

"Right from the moment when I met her, saw her,"

"I said she's gorgeous and I fell."

"Here is town there's only she,"

"Who is beautiful as me."

"So I'm making plans to woo and marry Y/N."

The fair girls from before swoon as Steve walks by, who only has eyes for you.

"Look there he goes,"

"Isn't he dreamy?"

"Monsieur Rogers!"

"Oh he's so cute!"

"Be still my heart,"

"I'm hardly breathing,"

"He's such a tall, dark, strong and handsome brute!"

They shriek in disgust as Steve hops off his horse, splattering them with mud. Sam hops off his horse as well.

"It's never going to happen ladies." He whispers as they whimper in distress.

"Bonjour!"

"Pardon!" Steve attempts to push through the crowds to get to you.

"Good day!"

"Mais oui!"

"You call this bacon?"

"What lovely flowers!"

"Some cheese, ten yards, one pound-"

"Please let me through!" He grabs a bouquet of flowers from a nearby stall.

"This bread."

"Those fish!"

"It's stale!"

"They smell."

"Madame's mistaken!"

"Well maybe so-"

You burst through the masses of people, twirling as you reach your home.

"There must be more than this provincial life!"

Steve slicks back his hair, approaching you at a smart pace.

"Just watch, I'm going to make Y/N my wife!"

The town resumes their unashamed staring at you.

"Look there she goes the girl is strange but special,"

"A most peculiar mademoiselle!"

"It's a pity and a sin,"

"She doesn't quite fit in."

"'Cause she really is a funny girl,"

"A beauty but a funny girl,"

"She really is a funny girl,"

"That Y/N."

The townsfolk resume their normal quarrel and haggling as you slip through the flimsy gate and through your cabbage patch. Steve follows.

"Y/N!" You turn to find Steve flashing you what he thinks is a dashing smile. You recoil in disgust, instantly speeding up your pace, hoping to get inside before he can get to you. A flood of hope grips you as your hand wraps around the door handle but a strong arm grips your other wrist and you deflate.

Sighing, you turn to face Steve.

"Yes Monsieur Rogers?" He flashes a greasy smile your way and shoves the flowers into your face.

"For your dinner table! May I join you tonight?"

At least he has the manners to ask, you think.

"Not tonight, no." He deflates slightly.

"Oh. Busy?" You wince, prying his fingers off your wrist.

"Not exactly."

"Oh. Then why not-" You cut him off.

"Listen, I really have to go. Books to read, places to explore, people to ignore." You open the door, sliding in and closing it before he can follow you. "Good bye."

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

You sigh with relief, taking a moment to catch your breath before continuing further into your home. A drawing pinned to the drawing board catches your eye. A charcoal sketch of you. Well, baby you to be exact. A smile graces your lips as you tear your eyes away from the sketch and to your father, Tony Stark. He hums a small tune as he tinkers with an elegant music box.

"How does a moment last forever?"

"How can a story never die?"

"It is love we must hold onto,"

"Never easy, but we try."

"Sometimes our happiness is captured,"

"Somehow our time and place stand still."

"Love lives on inside our hearts,"

"And always will."

You wrap your arms around him and he smiles.

"Hello papa."

"Hello Y/N. D'you think you could pass me the-" You roll your eyes, handing him the tool before he finishes his sentence. "-tweezers- Oh. Thank you." He pulls a broken cog from the music box. "And now, something long and thin-" You pull the hairpin from your hair and hand it to him. He glances at it and a smirk grows on his face. "No, no, not quite-" He glances at the machine again. "Actually, yes, exactly."

With a final prod, the music box comes to life once again. The two of you share a small smile before he shoves it into his leather satchel and hauls it outside. You follow him, watching as he loads it into a rickety wooden cart along with a few other items. Your horse, Elm scuffs the cobbled pathways with his hooves, eager to get a move on.

"Well, I'm off to the market dear. Anything you'd like me to get for you?" You smile, leaning against the horse as Tony swings his leg over the horse to straddle it.

"A rose." He scoffs, tipping his hat down to you.

"You ask for that every year!"

"And you bring it ever year." You retort and he smiles, giving you a quick peck on the forehead.

"Very well. A rose you shall receive. I'll see you in a few days!" With a flick of his wrists, Elm starts off at a trot and Tony waves goodbye one more time.

"Be careful," You whisper as he disappears from your sight. With a sigh, you return to the house.

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

You throw your dirty clothes into a barrel, adding some soap rinds into the mix before carrying it to the town well and rigging it to a horse which marches around the well. You smile proudly at your handy work. Self sufficient laundry machine.

Leaning against the wooden support beam with a sigh, you pull out your book and start reading. A small voice next to you grabs your attention.

"What are you doing?" You smile at her.

"Laundry. Come, come!" You pat the spot next to you encouragingly. Tentatively, she sits next to you and you hand her the book.

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

The pastor storms towards you and the little girl.

"Teaching another girl to read? Isn't one enough?" He sneers. You glare back at him, snapping your book closed indignantly.

"Nothing wrong with wanting to know more."

"We've got to do something about this." His wife mutters.

Before you can comprehend the meaning of her words, a man pulls your barrel of clothes out of the well and throws them to the ground, spilling the contents everywhere. You fall to your knees, scrambling to pick up the clothes as others laugh at you.

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

"Wow. You are so beautiful. No wonder everyone wants to marry you. So dashing." Steve whispers seductively, flexing in front of the mirror. Sam clears his throat causing Steve to jump. "What do you want Sam?"

"A certain damsel in distress awaits you." He quirks an eyebrow, gesturing with his head to where you crouch, gathering your sopping wet garments. He turns back to the mirror, slicking his hair back.

"It's hero time. I'm not done with you yet." He winks at the mirror before rushing to you. Sam leans into the frame of the mirror.

"Me neither."

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

From the corner of your eye, you spot Steve approaching rapidly. Gathering the last of your clothes, you scurry away.

"Ah Y/N!" You groan at your luck. "I heard you got in trouble with the pastor. S'all right. He never liked me anyways."

You groan in frustration.

"I was just teaching a child to read!" He smirks, sliding closer. You step back.

"The only children you should be concerning yourself with are..." He gestures between the two of you. You arch an eyebrow. "Your own!" You scoff, slipping through the gate and into the cabbage patch. He jumps over the flimsy gate and stomps towards you, squashing at least 4 cabbages. You watch him with barely disguised disgust.

"Look, you know what happens to girls when their fathers die? They end up like poor Agatha, forced to beg for scraps!" He points at Agatha, a rather kind but unlucky woman.

"Well, I'll cross that bridge when I get to it." You reply coldly.

"Look, let me make it simpler for your tiny female brain." He growls. You arch an eyebrow at his choice of words. "Marry me and you will never have to deal with that." You scoff.

"Marry you? I'd rather marry a rock." You slam the door in his face. He sighs, rubbing his face with a calloused hand. Dejected, he walks back to where Sam stands. You glare at him from where you stand on the balcony.

"Can you imagine, me, the wife of that boorish, brainless..."

"Madame Rogers,"

"Can't you just see it?"

"Madame Rogers,"

"His little wife."

You groan in disgust.

"No sir, not me,"

"I guarantee it,"

"I want much more than this provincial life!"

You sprint towards the green hills a good distance from the walls of the village.

"I want adventure in the great wide somewhere,"

"I want it more than I can tell."

"And for once it might be grand,"

"To have someone understand,"

"I want so much more than they've got planned..."

You sigh, running a grime covered hand through your hair before returning to your home.

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

You're pulling the ripe cabbages from the ground when it all comes crashing down.

A panicked whine comes from beside you. Your head shoots up to find Elm, pawing at the gate nervously.

"Elm? Where is papa?" Elm rears back, clearly skittish. "Take me to him!

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

You arrive at a monstrous looking castle, stone gargoyles with vicious fangs guarding the doors. You gulp, brandishing a large stick. The door handle is cool to the touch, sending shivers down your spine. You enter to find a well lit entrance hall, adorned with brilliant paintings and sculptures, although in the dark, they appear much more menacing.

With a gulp, you continue on, bringing the massive stick a little closer.

"Look Doctor Strange! A girl!" A voice whispers from the shadows.

"Yes I know it's a girl! I can see." A second, older voice snaps.

You whirl around but all you see is a flash of misty blue. Squaring your shoulders, you prepare yourself to investigate the blue wisps when a rough cough sounds out from above.

"Papa!" You race up the winding stairs into a much more sinister looking tower. Laying there on the cold stone floor is your father, his face pale and body shaking with each cough. The cold sunlight illuminates his face and he jumps up, grabbing the metal bars of his cell.

"Y/N, what are you doing here?" You shake out of stupor, smacking the iron bars in a futile attempt to free him.

"I'm here to rescue you." Fear floods his features.

"No! You must get out of here! I'm old and my days are numbered. But you, you're young and you have so much to live for. Go, get out of here before she comes back!" You scrunch your face.

"She?" Massive footsteps echo from further up the stairwell. You raise the stick in front of you. A tall shadow appears on the stone walls of the tower. You gulp, inching forward but the figure stays in the shadows.

"You should not have come," A heavily accented voice rings out and your throat dries up.

"I had to. He's my father. Please, let him go." You call back but the figure scoffs.

"Your father is a thief!"

"Liar!" You cry.

"He stole a rose."

"I asked for that rose!"

An idea forms in your head and you slowly lower the stick. "Wait. What if you let him go and I take his place?"

"No! She means forever!" Your eyes widen.

"You monster! A life sentence for a rose?"

The woman laughs humorlessly.

"I was given a life sentence when I was little. Do you think I deserved it? You may call me a monster but trust me, I've been called much worse." You sigh, the gears in your brain whirring.

"Can I at least have a moment to say goodbye to my father?" The voice grunts and the shadow recedes. "Are you so cruel you won't even allow a daughter to kiss her father goodbye?" The figure pauses but slowly comes back down and into the light. Your throat dries up at the sight.

A beautiful girl in a blood red cape with auburn hair that burned in the torchlight, you felt your ears flush bright red. With a flick of her fingers, a red mist surrounds them and the metal gate swings open.

Your eyes grow wide at the display.

Magic.

You don't have time to think about it however as a strong set of arms wrap around you.

"Y/N!"

"Papa!" The two of you embrace as you discreetly waddle around so that his back is to the cell door.

"Y/N, listen to me. You have so much to live for. I lost your mother already and I can not lose you too. Live your life! Forget about me." He whispers into your hair and you feel a tear slip down your cheek.

"I will never forget you Papa. And don't worry. I will find a way out of here." His eyes widen before you push him through the threshold of the cell and slam the door behind him. He stumbles, falling onto his back, betrayal clear in his eyes.

"Y/N!" The woman stares at you for a moment, disbelief glimmering in her eyes before it disappears.

"You fool." She spits. Your father watches you with wide, horrified eyes. The woman grabs him roughly and drags him down the stairwell, his screams echoing off the walls.

"Papa! Don't hurt him!" A sob escapes your throat as you curl into a ball, wrapping your cloak further around yourself to preserve the warmth.

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

You sigh, shivering as a cool gust of wind hits your back.

'Forever damned to freeze in a cell. Some adventurous life this is' You think to yourself as sleep claims you.

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

Taglist: @username23345 @musicinourlips @gingerbreadcookieforlife @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @ima-gi--na-tion @nicole-rayleigh-hot @olsensnpm @peabrain112

[unholyhelbig]

How about part two to the workplace Au you just did? Loved the first one!

A/N: Sure thing! I’m glad you guys liked the first one so much (You can read it here)

Request more prompts here | Read on ao3! 

Chloe could read the discomfort on Beca Mitchell’s face as soon as she unzipped the bag that she had picked up from the dry cleaners. She was struck with the instant scent of lavender detergent, fanning her hand over the outfit like she was picking the next lucky number for the lottery.

Beca had her hand on her chin, a flash of red made her head spin. She was in sweatpants and a grease-stained shirt. She figured that if she had ignored the date on the bottom of the flyer long enough, maybe Chloe would just forget.

No such luck.

“How did you find my apartment?” She asked, clinging to the door.

“It was in your file.”

“I feel like this is slightly illegal.”

“Slightly,” Chloe pushed her way through the door and looked around the apartment. It was kept in a shockingly messy state. Beca presented herself as someone who dotted every ‘I’ and crossed every ‘T’. At least, that’s how she was at work. But there was a leaning tower of pizza boxes and a couple of record sleeves strewn across the room. “You’re not even close to ready.”

“I forgot,” She let the door swing closed “what if we just ignore this PR bullshit and watch a movie instead. Technically I’m still socializing.”

Chloe turned on her heel and scanned Beca up and down. She hugged the bag close to her. “It would look horrible for me to ditch a party I planned.”

“Then you go. I’ll keep watch here.”

“Beca,”

The coder flopped down onto the pile of blankets at the far end of the sofa. She crossed her socked feet and waved her hand in the air as if asking Chloe to continue. For the first time tonight, she noticed the makeup and the slim fitted dress that hugged every inch of the woman’s curves. The black material made the sharp disdain in her eyes glow even further.

But goddamn it, if she wasn’t absolutely captivating. And she smelled lie oranges. Beca had half the mind to stealthy survey her fingers for any trace of a ring. She hadn’t done so in the office, but there was no man to be seen in them. She had blown her chance, she figured, by being her authentic self.

“Red isn’t my color.” She stared at the dress. It had a plunging neckline and would make her look pale. She wasn’t working with much, Chloe was kidding herself. She was also here three full hours before the dreaded thing was supposed to start.

“Just give it a shot. You promised.”

“Wrong. I considered.”

Chloe tossed the bag at her. The fabric was nice, soft against her fingers. She stared at the slight bit of lace and the little bag of gold jewelry that the woman had attached. A few rings and a necklace tipped with a triangle that practically pointed at her cleavage.

“Alright, whatever. I’ll shower.”

She hoisted herself from the couch and tried not to stare too long at the look of triumph on Chloe’s face. It was equally as infuriating as it was attractive. She grabbed a towel from the pile of unfolded clothes on the other end of the sofa and vanished into the back hallway.

Chloe stood like a statue until she heard the water running. Then her curiosity got the better of her and she started to glace around the space; the walls were slathered in charcoal grey and a few album covers were framed and tacked up. Beca had a record player and an extensive library of music. It seemed to be the only tidy thing in here.

She walked over to the couch and picked up one of the blankets. It smelled like detergent and whatever musk Beca radiated herself. She started absently folding, chewing the inside of her lip, so deep in thought that she hadn’t even realized that the shower had shut off and Beca padded into the room in nothing but a towel, still soaked to the bone.

She cleared her throat “Did you clean up?”  

“It’s a nervous habit,” Chloe turned and tried not to let her breath catch. The employee usually stuck with baggy sweatpants and even baggier shirts. They didn’t’ have a dress code at work and she border-lined pajamas with her outfit choices. But Beca? Beca had a figure. “You ready?”

“I’m at your mercy.” She grumbled, “But no eyeliner.”

“oh, come on.”

“You’re not getting close to my eye with a pencil, forget it.” She crossed her arms over her chest, not letting the towel slip in the slightest “Fine. But I’m doing it. Stop pouting.”

Chloe begged to differ. She didn’t pout. She didn’t’ want to push it any further though, so she nodded and grasped the dress before letting Beca lead the way to her room.

           Beca tugged uncomfortably at the hem of her dress as they exited the car. It had hiked up as soon as she sat down, but at that point, she didn’t’ care. The weather had taken a turn to the colder side and she just wanted feeling in her legs. A light dusting of snow had forced their driver to flick on the wipers and move closer to the glass to see past the haze of headlights.

Chloe grasped at her wrist absently, forcing her to stop shifting the fabric. Her hand was warm enough to shock her into complying, but not without a glare. They looked like quite the pair; Beca was almost the same height as Chloe with the heels that were supplied, and she stood out horridly. Red like blood on the snow after a fresh hunt.

The company had spared no expense with the carpet, purple like their logo and leading into a lavish lobby in a hotel that Beca had never been in. She was sure they would throw her out if she walked in and asked to use the bathroom with fancy soap. But when Chloe was at her side, looping her arm through her own, she could pass instantly.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Chloe read the blush on the woman’s cheeks “I’m sure if I weren’t holding onto you, you’d be face down on the floor by now. Take it slow.”

“You sound like a stage mom.”

“In that case,” she frowned “You’re a horrible student.”

Beca scoffed but was secretly thankful for the human crutch. Chloe had an easy way of walking about her, she pulled her shoulders back and lifted her chin, and acted like she owned the whole building. It was one foot in front of the other, and Beca wobbled on the first few, but eventually evened out. Maybe the stance was a tactical thing- to keep the balance.

They walked through the doors and Beca instantly felt her legs wobble at the direct warmth. There was a clothed table by the entrance, lined with identical masks. Chloe plucked a red one off the table and passed Beca a black one, looking at her expectantly.

“The whole purpose of this is for you to get comfortable being around people. Maybe you can do that if they can’t see the top half of your face.” She spoke with ease as she knotted her own mask. And she had to admit, even though this was utterly stupid, she wouldn’t have recognized Chloe in a crowd. Not if she hadn’t spent the last four hours with her.

She fastened her own mask and took Chloe’s outstretched hand, begrudgingly but thankful at the same time; the ballroom was equally as impressive, violet lights on an installed dance floor and clothed tables with little favors and plates. It looked like a wedding for bank robbers, but Beca couldn’t help letting her mouth prop open.

“Shocked?” Chloe asked, scanning the décor “I do know how to throw a hell of a party.”

“The last party I went to was not this classy.” Beca breathed “We did have bongs made out of apples though, so I’m going to need you to step up your game.”

Chloe smiled, it looked brighter under her mask. She leads them towards a table in the corner and plucked two flutes of champagne from the passing waiter. Alcohol. That was something that Beca wasn’t opposed to. She finished it in two long gulps.

She hovered awkwardly by as the woman who had dragged her here in the first place spoke with a couple of people that she wouldn’t have recognized even if they were shrouded by masks. They shouted over the music; a man in a snazzy looking suit questioned her presence.

“This is one of the most talented coders we have!” Chloe shouted over the sound of the base “Almost single-handedly created the VPN.”

“You’re impressive!” He called out to her “Such a pretty date too!”

Chloe just laughed and Beca thanked him over the bass. He squeezed Chloe’s shoulder before vanishing into the crowd. She leaned close then, her breath hot against Beca’s collarbone, and that familiar floral scent clouded her lungs and judgment. “See, that wasn’t so hard. You’re a natural. Want to dance?”

She did not, in fact, want to dance. But Chloe pulled her onto the floor almost as smoothly as the champagne glasses. Beca was glad that she had swallowed it so quickly. It made the idea of dancing seem more appealing. And Chloe did have good taste in music.

They worked themselves into the crowd and Beca let the sound flow through her. She ignored all of the people, for the most part. Chloe was painfully obvious behind her, grinding close, running her hands across the dress that she had picked out. Beca felt like she was back in college- and she had to admit, she was having fun.

She lost track of how many songs they had danced to, but eventually, the DJ lowered the music and spoke into the microphone. “Alright folks, we having fun? I hope so! I want to interrupt your masquerade for just a moment.”  

There were a few groans from the crowd, but none of them sincere.

“Now, I know you’re all being secretive about your identities tonight. But I want to pull the one and only Chloe Beale onto the stage. Y’all okay with that?”

There were a few shouts from the people around her, followed by applause as Chloe gave Beca’s arm a squeeze and maneuvered her way through the crowd. A woman in an even tighter navy blue dress helped her up the stage and Beca clapped along, lilting her head as she watched, captivated like the rest of the room.

This didn’t’ feel customary, bringing the party planner up to say a few words. Not when it was essentially a giant PR event for a tech company. Beca crossed her arms over her chest as Chloe captivated an entire crowd.

“I’m glad you’re all having fun under the cover of the night,” She lowered her voice dramatically, flashing that brilliant smile. “And we’re so happy to unveil our new VPN, that everyone has been working so hard on.”

It had been months of coding, Beca having to fix so many bugs that the 0’s and 1’s ran circles around her head. Hearing praise from Chloe’s lips made her tingly- or maybe that was the buzzing of her skin after eating cold pizza for breakfast and drinking on a nearly empty stomach.

“We strive for innovation and protection, and our new product can give you just that.” She gripped the podium and waited for a few cheers to settle “When I first started this company in my parent's basement, which doubled as our laundry room, I never imagined this. Thank you, and enjoy the party!”

Beca’s heart had seized in her chest then, as the music started up and the people around her moved with the rhythm once more. She let them bump into her as she mindlessly walked to the edge of the lit-up floor, towards Chloe.

This made sense to her, finally, it made sense. The reason why she was pushing her so hard to interact with other people in the office, why she didn’t have a title on her door. Chloe was the boss. Chloe had seen her ratty apartment and, oh my god, Chloe knows she smokes weed.

The woman in the navy dress talked animatedly to the woman at the side of the stage, nodding and gesturing to the rest of the room. Chloe looked pensive, she mumbled something under her breath and immediately turned towards Beca.

“Dude, what the hell?” She asked, sounding less elegant than she’d hoped.

Chloe shrugged “Stacie from HR wanted to talk to you first but I thought I’d give it a shot.”

“This is literally your party.”

“Yes?”

“Like in your honor. Not something you planned.”

“Well, I did that too.” She shrugged nonchalantly as Beca gaped at her “Look, Beca. I like you, okay? You’re one stubborn girl. And I wanted to spend a night with you, is all. When the report about your lack of social skills happened across my desk, I took a chance.”

She felt her cheeks heat up “You could have just asked me, you know?”

“Would you have said yes?”

“Absolutely not,” She pointed her finger “But only because you’re making me wear a dress. Maybe next time, we could just settle for street tacos or something?”

Chloe laughed, and it was a beautiful sound that mixed so perfectly with the music. “Next time?”

[kickingitwithkirk]

The Coupon Book Of Love

Summary: Dean and Y/N have a falling out during a hunt and return not speaking. This upsets Jack who decides to help fix their relationship.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader, Confused Jack Kline, Mentions of Sam and Cas

A/N: for @winchester-fantasies  #winchesterfantasies1000followerschallenge.

Word Count: 2623

Warnings:  fluff, some arguments, ogling of m/f body, necking, mild language, implied sex

Prompt: 10. “I’ve had a rough day and honestly all I want right now is a drink and someone to cuddle with.” 

A/N: This is my first attempt at writing fluff so hopefully it doesn’t suck and there was to be coupon photos included but I couldn’t get them the right size and had to delete.

*No beta, all mistakes are mine

*****

Jack Kline was sad. 

Dean and Y/N had returned from a hunt not speaking to each other. This was not completely abnormal for them. Their relationship is one of extreme passions, running hot or cold depending on the day.

It was when Y/N moved back into her old room and Dean started drinking all the whiskey in the bunker they all knew something very bad had happened. Sam tried to find out what had happened but all he could get out of either of them was ask Dean or ask Y/N. 

After Sam retired for the night, Jack went to his father Castiel and asked why do people who are in love like Y/N and Dean hurt each other? 

He said that human love is complicated and had no definitive answer.

Jack could not let them go on like this. Y/N was perfect for Dean, she could help with his highs and lows, make him smile when he was in one of his dark moods and had an off kilter sense of humor that matched his.

So Jack turned to the internet looking for the answer. 

He found all sorts of sites with recommendations how to: repair relationships, muddle through misunderstandings, blogs from magazines like Cosmo on how to fix things with your significant other, spice up your love life, even watching Dr. Phil on YouTube.

But most of the advice given was about vocalizing thoughts and feelings and Dean doesn’t do those things.

Jack starts thinking when they return from a hunt Y/N will say to Dean, “I’ve had a rough day and honestly all I want right now is a drink and someone to cuddle with.”  Dean’s eyes always lit up like the displays at Christmas when Y/N asks him for a cuddle. Which is weird because Dean is vocal that he doesn’t cuddle.

Sam teases Dean that Y/N’s secret code for nookie didn’t fool anyone. Dean tells him to shut up while smiling.

Jack shakes his head, is cuddle and nookie the same or are they different things...humans are very confusing.

He’s about ready to quit when he notices a tab for Pinterest that wasn’t closed yesterday and clicks on it. There were a few boards; cooking, pies, vintage cars, pinup girls.

Unlike what Sam is always saying, Dean does use the internet for more than watching porn. 

Jack scrolls around for a while looking at other pins when he sees something. Tapping on the photo he reads the description. He likes the idea presented but it’s not quite right for Dean and Y/N...

...so he comes up with his own plan.

******

The Next Morning

Dean staggers into the kitchen looking for coffee. Lots of coffee after another night spent with Jack, Jim and some wild turkey. Going over to the pot he wonders why Sam hadn't made it after his morning run like usual. Dean sees a piece of paper taped to it with a typed message.

Please go to the library ASAP.

Dean ponders the note while the coffee is brewing and grudgingly heads there after pouring a mug. He is surprised to see Y/N standing by the table looking as tired as he felt. Then he notices a paper in her hand. “Got one too?” He asks, slowly moving to the other side, the table separating them. 

She nods once in acknowledgment.

On the table between them is a letter and two small boxes with their names written on them. Dean slides the letter towards him and reads it out loud.

Dear Dean and Y/N,

I don’t like it when you fight, it makes me sad. You're treating your love as something disposable. I want you to be happy like before and since both of you are stubborn so I’ve come up with a way to help. 

Each box possesses a specifically tailored coupon for each of you with extra, individual instructions accompanying it and must be completed together once a day in order. 

Sam, Cas and I are on a hunt so you have the bunker to yourselves. Have fun.

PS: No peeking ahead-this means you Dean. 

*****

CAR WASH

I can't believe I agreed to do this repeatedly going through Dean's head as he entered the garage after they had opened the boxes and shared their first coupons.

He’s grabbing the paraphernalia kept there for bathing his Baby when Y/N walks in wearing...oh crap...that button down plaid shirt tied up under her bust and those cutoffs made from an old pair of jeans of his that hug her curves just right.

Okay, if that’s how she want to play…game on baby.

Dean hands her a sudsy bucket giving her the look. Y/N blinks perplexed as he walks over turning on the faucet and starts wetting down the Impala. 

She pulls out the sponge and starts soaping down the passenger side as Dean works on the drivers side. They watch each other, quickly looking away when caught.

By the time they meet at the trunk they're both wet, Dean’s t-shirts clinging, accentuating his torso and his jeans have molded to his bowed legs and scrumptious bum. Y/N abruptly hurries to the front of the car.

Dean, smirking to himself, makes the mistake of looking up through the windows. He can see Y/N stretching over the hood as far as she can reach, water and bubbles sliding over the slope of her breasts, nipples pebbled up under the material.

She bends down in front and he quietly steps to his right looking down the side of the car and can see her pert rear swaying in the air as she's scrubbing the grill. Dean reaches over the top of his jeans, pushing down his harding length.

“Okay, she's clean enough, I'll finish up here.” Dean gruffly states. Y/N pops up confused, “Um, are you sure, we haven't waxed yet.” 

Dean feels himself flushing, that’s the last thing he needs right now is Y/N’s breasts bouncing as she's vigorously buffing his...car. “I forgot to get a new can, we’ll do it later.”

“I’ll go get cleaned up and meet you back here in an hour for the next part.” Y/N says as she leaves the garage hips swaying as she walks up the steps. 

“Good thing were not leaving right away.” Dean mutters to himself grimacing at how his wet jeans have become way too constricting.

~~~~

Y/N slid the prepacked basket onto the trunk and shut it, hearing Dean come to a sudden halt and peered over the roof at him, taking in his flushed expression.

“Something wrong?” She inquires.

“I.. uh..I haven't seen you in that in a long time.” Dean stammers out awestruck waving his hand at Y/N’s appearance. Her hairs pinned up in loose waves and dressed in the tea length, off the shoulder summer dress he loves on her.

“Not the most practical thing to wear when chopping off a vamps head.” She quips.

“So, where are we going?” Dean asks, pulling the key out of his pocket.

“I’m to drive us...” she starts, “Nope, not happening sweetheart.” Dean steely interrupts. 

Sighing Y/N walks over, “My instructions say I'm to drive to a predetermined location and I can't tell you where it is so I need the keys,” holding her hand out, “Please.”

Dean clenched his jaw reluctantly handing her the keys and got in the passenger side.

They drove for about an half hour, Dean glaring out the front window the entire time. Y/N turned onto a tree lined gravel road going a quarter mile before stopping. They sit in silence gazing out the front window astounded.

In front of them is an abundantly flowering meadow surrounding a small, private lake. 

Jack couldn't have picked out a more perfect place.

“Sooo...what are we supposed to be doing?” 

Y/N hands him the coupon reading…

ROMANTIC PICNIC

*****          

MOVIE NIGHT                 

Y/N enters the Dean Cave not surprised Dean’s already settled in one of the recliners with pizza, popcorn and various other snacks spread out and a twelve pack Margiekugel cooling in the iced tub between the chairs.

They had spent the day doing various choirs separately around the bunker to give each other some space after yesterday. Y/N admitted to intentionally teasing Dean while washing the Impala and vice versa. During their picnic, something neither of them would ever normally do, they had fun together.

Dean seemed to be enjoying spending time together like they haven’t had much of lately but when they got back he decided to go out for a few cold ones instead of spending the evening in and pissing off Y/N.

“Ready for a marathon of The Man with No Name sweetheart?” Dean smugly asks trying to get a rise out of her. Y/N’s grabs some pizza and settling in the other chair takes a big bite of the meat lovers slice and chews slowly. Dean stares wondering why she hasn’t reacted, well aware Eastwood is not a favorite of hers.

Y/N finishes chewing, fishes a beer out of the tub opening it and after taking a long draw finally glances at Dean and flashes her coupon.

CONTROL OF THE REMOTE

“Sonovabitch,” Dean spits out, sinking in the chair cause knowing Y/N she’ll pick some long-ass, drawn out British dramedy that Sam’s the only one willing to watch with her, “I'm gonna get that Nephilim for this,” he pouts but will never admit he’s actually pouts.

A saccharin smile crosses Y/N’s lips as she takes the remote from him and brings up the menu to select a movie. Dean kills the beer in his hand and grabs another as she continues searching, occasionally clicking on one before going back undecided.

“Will you just pick something so we can get it over with.” Dean surly growls out, opening his fifth beer. Y/N gives him an annoyed huff pressing start. 

Dean jerks upright in surprise at her choice, “Seriously, we're watching...”

“...I don't like spaghetti westerns but seems you forgot I do like slasher films,” Y/N interrupts, “and don't you dare tell Sam, he already thinks I'm off my beam since we got together as it is.”

“Alright and I'll not take that last part as an insult.” Dean happily agrees, snagging the popcorn/M&M’s bowl shoveling in a mouthful as Y/N rolls her eyes, settling in to enjoy an evening of some slice and dice together.

 *****    

HOME COOKED MEAL       

‘’Argh! This is ridiculous, what made Jack think I could cook anything?” Y/N yells at the tablet sitting innocuous on the counter in front of her with the recipe Jack had picked out, taunting her.

Dean stopped in the doorway observing the mess Y/N is making of his kitchen. The flour bag is tipped over one counter spilling on the floor, the cutting board has something green cut into so many different shapes it's unidentifiable, other various items scattered about as the skillet on the stove is starting to smoke.

Then the alarm goes off screeching throughout the kitchen.

“Turn the stove off!” He yells over the alarm rushing over switching the stove off and grabbing a lid to smother the fire. Once it's out he turns on Y/N, “Are you trying to burn the place down? Don't you know not to set the heat on high under oil?”

“Yes Dean, I'm trying to burn the bunker down so I can get out of doing this!” Y/N screeches loudly waving the coupon in Dean’s shocked face.

He's never heard her like this, Y/N is one of those people that nothing outside of hunting makes her lose her cool, it’s one of the reasons he fell for her.

Dean approaches cautiously, reaches out placing his hands on her shoulders and slowly running his hands up and down her arms. “Baby, it’ll be fine but you need to calm down,” softly speaking in the soothing voice he used to use to calm Sam down when he was little and having a nightmare. “Now, what are we fixing for dinner?”

“Salmon Croquettes with wild rice and steamed asparagus.” Y/N glances over at the tablet, “I can’t understand why Jack would give me this, he knows I can’t even boil water outside of a tea kettle and...what do you mean we?”

“You really think Jack would intentionally let you cook anything outside of a bowl of cereal after the Cajun waffle incident?”

“They weren’t that bad.” 

“Sweetheart, we had to buy a new waffle iron.”

 “Alright Guy Fieri, what does yours say?” Dean pulls the coupon out of his pocket.

DESERT NIGHT

“I got your favorites and if you're a good girl,” Dean pauses, licking his lips teasingly, “I’ll let you decide how to devour them.”

*****                           

Dean grabs his jacket off the chair back and heads to the library looking forward to tonight's activities. Well, he’s part of it anyways since Y/N hinted hers was something he never ever did.

Dean steps up into the room and stops dead in his tracks when he sees Y/N sitting at the table in her outfit for evening. 

“Damn sweetheart.” 

“You don’t clean up to bad yourself Winchester,” Y/N remarks as she gets up walking around him, seeming to be mentally undressing him, “and since I don’t know where we’re doing tonight I was thinking that if you play your cards right,” she leans up, her voice husky next to his ear, “you might get lucky.” 

Dean takes his plump lower lip between his teeth and slowly lets it slide out making Y/N’s breath hitch as they stare into each other's eyes.

“So what are we doing tonight?” Y/N inquiries in a slightly breather voice than normal.

DATE NIGHT

Dean slides his arms around her waist, “I was thinking of taking you somewhere you haven’t been in a while,” he leans down kissing along her collarbone, moving up the side of her neck, “depends on what your half of the evening entails.” 

 Y/N retrieves the coupon from her jeans back pocket and Dean groans, dropping his head onto her shoulder.

SLOW DANCE

 “I was thinking we can do what this coupon literally says or we could interpret it a different way.”

 “Okay, I'm listening.” Dean mumbles.

“Well, there was no specific instruction from Jack as to what type of slow dance...” Dean’s head snaps up, his pupils dilating to the point the mossy green color has all but disappeared as Y/N keeps talking about the different types of slow dancing they could try.

“What are you asking?” Dean interrupts, his whisky roughened voice is even more gravelly sounding as his aching with desire.

Y/N walks backwards till her hips bump against the library's table, hops up on it leaning back onto her elbows, “I’ve had a rough day and honestly all I want right now is a drink and someone to cuddle with.” 

~~~~

Later that night

“So we agree we're not gonna tell them the real reason for our fight?” Y/N asks as she finishes braiding her shower damp hair, sitting at the foot of the bed. Deans leaning against the headboard with their last two coupons sitting upside down next to his sweat pant clad hip.

“They’ll think it’s stupid, especially Sam,” Dean remarks, “so, you ready to admit that Die Hard is a Christmas movie.” 

“Nope, you're never gonna convince me,” Y/N pronounces as she climbs onto Dean's lap leaning forward to softly brush her lips over Dean's before sitting back and picking up the coupons turns them over...

YOU WIN THE FIGHT  

YOU WIN THE FIGHT

“I think we better hang on to these, ya know, just in case.”

[sinkix]

《What your fav Haikyuu!! Character says about you│Nekoma Edition》

Yo-hoo! Here’s another part to this potential(?) series! I hope you enjoy the possible call-outs in some of these lmao. Writers block been kicking my ass recently but I had a lot of fun writing these. Enjoy <3

You can find the Karasuno ver. here 

✧✧✧✧✧ ✧✧✧✧✧ ✧✧✧✧✧ ✧✧✧✧✧

Kuroo:

Have a hand fetish and will not say no to choking.

Daddy kink™

Will not accept anything below 6 inches.

More of a dog person but would love to own a black cat.

You drool over tattoos.

Your grades are mostly B’s but you know in your heart you deserve that A, and tbh you probably do. Chase ur goals bby.

Halloween is likely your favourite holiday.

You have to resist not to carve a dick into the pumpkin EvEry GodDAmN YeAr.

You either study for 6 hours consecutively or cannot study at all and you get very frustrated at this.

Have the potential to be a good leader and command the room but probably don’t put it to use as much as you should.

Your playlist parkours from sad 3am crying into your pillow songs to aggressive punk music you could rob a store to.

You like bad boys who hang around bars and look like they would put out a cigarette on your forearm and call you a slut. Just stating facts sweaty xoxo.

Either dress very feminine and girly with a ‘smol girl uwu’ aesthetic or a hardass punk who would kick your ass for a can of beer no in between and tbh both are equally hot.

You’re a big softie at heart either way and just want to be held and told everything will be okay.

Ur a hoe for when people stroke your hair or caress your chin it’s your ultimate weakness.

Watched Rick & Morty.

Twice.

Sleeves rolled up veiny forearms and donning a silver watch are your muse and something you fantasise about frequently.

Most of your memes are shitty top text bottom texts that are somehow funny and I don’t understand why lmao.

You call someone ‘bro’ even if it’s someone you’re immensely attracted to.

Did someone say ties? No it’s just ur dirty ass thoughts thinking about that hot business dudes attire from across the street and how you wish they were tied around ur wrists.

Probably had a crush on Jeff the Killer as a tween and are relentlessly haunted by your old Wattpad library. 

Tbh any dark-haired dude with bedhead that screams rugged and probably not good for you is something that draws you like a moth to a flame.

You often question why every person you’ve fallen for has been a Scorpio and curse that tendency of yours.

Dw man they’re hot so I feel u.

Kenma:

Went through a ‘I’m not like other __’ phase and it’s something that you think about a lot and wish you didn’t.

Watched dan & phil as a kid.

Any mention of Pokemon has you turning into a rabid beast you get way too excited.

It’s cute though dw bby.

Pretty antisocial but interesting to talk to.

Your family often question how you’re able to sleep in till 3pm and judge you heavily for it.

Nocturnal night owl gang rise up.

Frequently have bags under your eyes but somehow manage to pull it off.

Listen to ASMR on the down-low and will never admit it to a single soul.

Frequently go on BL binges and have many related book marks.

You pray that someone will never find your laptop bc holy fuck the amount of smut on that.

You wear scarves & beanies even when it isn’t that cold outside.

100% went through a scene hair phase/attempted to.

You dye your hair a lot or REALLY want to.

You have a voice kink low-key so anyone with a pleasant/soothing sounding voice just gets u goin’.

Cats are your favourite animal and you either do or want to own several.

Would name them after video game/anime characters u fuckin nerd lol.

Speaking of cats ,you fantasise heavily about cat-boys and have a folder dedicated to them.

Oversized hoodies are your vibe and always ball the sleeve hems in your fist as a comfort mechanism.

Shopping centres are your worst nightmare and trigger your claustrophobia or social anxiety and honestly I feel that spiritually.

Have a cute sticky note collection.

You like a lot of music consisting of guitar and slow/soothing beats.

You also fw EDM/ techno on occasions.

Honestly wouldn’t wanna anger you since you have a seething temper when pushed far enough.

It’s the kinda temper that’s eerily quiet but no less terrifying, like the other person can tell you are graphically plotting their demise.

You love sleeping to the sound of rainfall and often play those nature ambience videos while you sleep.

Never tidy your sheets and it’s just a big scrunched up heap of fabric in the centre of your mattress most of the time.

Make your fucking bed.

Lev:

Your ships are chaotic and shamelessly controversial.

Would do something just for the sake of creating mayhem lmao.

You were the fucker who stuck their chewing gum under the desk, I see you.

Your brain never stops whirring it’s a constant hurricane of crackhead energy and you have no idea how to turn it off. 

Would eat a stick of pencil lead for $2

You don’t help your situation with the amount of coffee/energy drinks you consume.

The class clown who cries themselves to sleep.

Such a wholesome dumbass but somehow kinda intimidating??? 

Even if you’re not confident you can do something you’ll try anyway and honestly I respect that about you.

You !! use!!! a lot??!! of!! random punctuation!!! so you always??!?!? seem!!111!! excited!!!!!11!?

Every time you’ve ever tried to make a sandcastle it has failed.

You tried to eat the sand once but we don’t talk bout that.

You would  also pick up slugs and snails and chase your friends around with them.

Can never tell whether people are laughing with you or at you and while you don’t let it show it high-key bothers you when you’re laying alone in your room at night.

Not one to hold grudges, you carry a ‘shit happens’ mentality which is v good but it sometimes leads to people taking advantage of it or walking all over you.

Your meme collection is both questionable and horrifying.

Like how many cursed images and heavily distorted pictures does one person need.

Never organise the files on your PC/laptop so it looks like a complete dumpster fire.

The one at sleepovers who persistently woke everyone else up with their snickering and refusal to sleep till dawn.

For the love of Asahi charge your damn phone.

I see that red bar and ‘12%’

Charge it now.

Bought a plant one time, gave it a name and talked to it frequently.

It died not long after bc u forgot to fucking water it.

No one better ever make you responsible for a pet.

Type of person that when someone asks you to tag along on an endeavour no matter how stupid it is you will agree.

2am skydiving in france? hell yeah.

Midnight shopping spree and spending over half your pay check? count you in.

Exploring an abandoned hospital and performing an Ouija board to summon the demons of hell? you’re damn right you’ll be there.

I hope you have a mum friend by your side bc if not how are you still alive.

You sometimes put the milk in before the cereal and it’s something I’ll never forgive you for.

Yaku:

Very responsible and usually make the right decisions.

You do have moments where you act like a complete dumbass though.

Like u go from 50 year old to 5 year old in the blink of an eye.

A hopeless romantic but it’s a side you don’t often reveal.

Prefer strawberry milk over any other flavour.

You’re the type of person to shower twice a day w/o fail.

Where that stank smell coming from? Not you clearly bc your skin is basically 90% The Body Shop’s rose scented soap at this point.

You get stomach aches a lot and you can’t figure out why.

Probably an allergy to everyone’s bs.

Really good at dirty talk even though you don’t seem the type so people are always taken aback.

You have to be really in the mood though otherwise it falls flatter than Oikawa’s ass, use your skill wisely.

You often call people clowns when you know you’re secretly the biggest one going.

Honk honk, hoe.

You send messages in one paragraph rather than multiple texts unless you are REALLY excited.

People underestimate you at times then are shocked when they realise you are capable of being a fire-breathing dragon from the flaming pits of hell.

You like spicy chicken wings.

Such a petty little shit at times lmao.

Enjoy the view from the top of mountains so you either hike a lot or really want to.

Way more of a cat person since it’s just much more convenient for you.

Usually pretty cheerful or calm and people are drawn to your stable/friendly aura.

Went through a phase of drinking mountain dew and your body still feels the awful effects

Fav element is probably air.

You’re 5′6″ or shorter.

Box dyed your hair brunette several times and can never get the pigment out to this day.

Yamamoto:

Whenever you smell something weird in the room you always internally freak out and think it’s you.

Head-butting walls is your hobby.

You fell off your bike as a kid and still have the scar on your knee.

Probably have tons of ear piercings.

Would tame a pigeon and call it Larry.

You get frequent nosebleeds and can never tell if it’s a medical issue or your extreme simping for fictional men/women.

Hopefully the latter.

You constantly chew your pen/pencil in class so you never lend them to anyone out of embarrassment.

I really hope no one ever lends you stationery bc 30 minutes later it’ll look like it was mauled by a rabid rottweiler.

You really want to own a dog and would call it something intimidating like Banshee or Diablo.

You bleached your hair that one time and it almost fell out so now you’re forced to stay at least 10 metres away from all at-home hair dye products.

You tried your best though bby so A for effort, even if it did look like dehydrated ramen afterwards.

Your grades are mostly C’s and you’re barely passing bc you just don’t care about your classes lol.

Still though you’re actually pretty smart so put it to good use you lazy oaf, channel that crackhead energy into something good.

Your phone screen has several cracks in it from when you dropped it on the bathroom floor while shitting and you’ll always be angry at yourself for that.

You have some really weird quirks but you make it work.

Actually a v chill person but you just kinda attract chaos/trouble wherever you go.

Carry a lighter with you even when you don’t need one.

Shy texter but once people see you irl you are the complete opposite, you just dk how to text without coming across as awkward.

One of those people that’s unintentionally funny and always get confused when you make someone laugh but it makes you feel good regardless.

Have a cool necklace collection and own at least one dog-tag/army style pendant.

Should really consider buying a rabbit you would look so cute w/ one.

You have really nice legs and people should compliment them more.

Either severely dehydrated or overly hydrated to the point you are peeing pure tap water so for the love of god please learn moderation, your kidneys and bladder will thank you for it.

Inuoka:

Your favourite character would be Hinata but you like people taller than you so your love for Inuoka spawned.

You really enjoy using the double spiderman meme.

Cannot correctly verbalise your feelings without creating a minimum of 10 misunderstandings but once people are used to it it’s kinda endearing.

You usually wake up in a good mood and people can never fathom how or why.

You either stay up till 5am or you wake up at that time no in between.

A morning person bc you love the sunrise.

Change your lock-screen very regularly bc you get bored.

Your humour consists solely of poop jokes.

When you don’t understand a joke you laugh anyway and hope they don’t ask you if you actually get it.

Happened once and you’re still traumatised from the cricket silence that fell upon the room.

Really like the taste of lemonade and drink it more often than you should.

Often think about what you would look like with a shaved head.

More of an extrovert but def have occasional introvert tendencies where you wanna be left tf alone.

Never allowed to pick up anything in stores bc the last time you did you sniffed a scented candle and it shattered to the floor.

Constantly have spontaneous ideas of what to change about your appearance.

You use a lot of hand gestures like thumbs up and peace signs.

‘Dude’ and ‘lmao’ is 90% of your vernacular.

Your nails are a disaster, some are down to the nub while others are pretty grown out bc you only bite a select few please sort it out.

Look really good in red.

Your laptop has way too many tabs open from random google searches of words you didn’t know the meaning to.

You read a lot of books but for like 10 minutes at a time bc you have the attention span of a walnut.

You are the type of person to nuke your AO3 tags with things that aren’t even relevant purely bc you found them funny.

Your Tumblr drafts are a nightmare, you have like 100+ in the works yet keep starting new projects why do you do this.

Happy sunshine but you have a LOT of mood swings like that shit comes out of nowhere.

Cry pretty often but no one ever sees and it’s usually because of said mood swings.

You always smile and pick yourself up again though which I commend you for.

TYPES IN CAPITALS IN SITUATIONS THAT DO NOT REQUIRE SAID PUNCTUATION SO YOU SEEM LIKE YOU’RE YELLING ALL THE TIME.

[darkstar6782]

Fade to Black - 1.17: Hell House

1991

They’re on their way back from school when Dean finds a five dollar bill in a gutter less than a block down from the local candy store. Without a second thought, he grabs Sam’s hand and drags him inside. “Get whatever you want, Sam.” But two weeks ago, Sam had listened to a dentist that had come into their classroom to talk to them about taking care of their teeth, and he had been very clear about how bad candy was for them, so while Dean is filling a bag with a scoop from every bin along the wall, Sam goes to look at the toys instead.

“Dean, what’s a whoopee cushion?”

“Oh, man, Sammy, those are great! How have you never heard of one before? You want that instead of candy?” Sam nods. Dean pays and gives Sam the fifteen cents in change since his new toy didn’t cost as much as Dean’s candy, and on the way home, he promises to show Sam exactly how it works. “You’re gonna love it, Sam. It’s gonna be hilarious.”

That night, when Dad comes home, dinner is already on the table, and both boys are sitting and waiting for him. As soon as he sits down, a loud “phtbbt” noise emanates from his chair. Sam’s eyes go wide, Dean bursts out laughing, and with a grin, Dad pulls the now-deflated red rubber bag out from underneath him.

For a month after that, no seat is safe from the wrath of the whoopee cushion. They make a rule that the prank’s latest victim takes possession of the toy, but after a while, Sam begins to suspect that Dean is sneaking it out of Dad’s luggage whenever Dad confiscates it, because he manages to prank everyone else a lot more often than he himself gets pranked. When it shows up one day with a knife slash through it, ensuring that it can never inflate again, it’s no big loss, though. Dad apologizes, saying that he accidentally stuck it in the weapons bag, but Sam notices that he doesn’t promise to replace it.

1997

It starts with a toothbrush.

Sam gets a new one from some health fair at school that Dean ditched. He could have picked up two—no one would have cared—but he didn’t even think about his brother, which annoys Dean to no end. So, every chance he gets, he uses Sam’s new toothbrush instead of his own.

It takes a week for Sam to catch on, but one morning, when Dean goes into the bathroom, Sam’s toothbrush is nowhere to be seen, and Dean’s toothbrush has been shoved bristles-first into a bar of soap. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or get pissed as he tosses the old toothbrush and the soap into the trash and uses a finger to spread toothpaste over his teeth. The little squirt has more guts than Dean had given him credit for. But Dean can’t let this challenge go unanswered.

Two days later, Sam discovers that someone put an open bottle of hand lotion from the bathroom in the bottom of his duffel, soaking all of his clean underwear in flowery-smelling goop. The next morning, Dean wakes up to find all of his clothes sitting in the bathtub, soaking wet. Sam’s toothpaste gets replaced with shaving cream; Dean’s razor turns dull overnight and all the extra blades go missing. Finally, Dean hits on the ultimate prank: he mixes Nair into Sam’s shampoo. When his brother comes out of the shower the next day screaming with rage and looking like he has a bad case of mange, Dean laughs his ass off, and gets a black eye for his trouble. Despite being a skinny little twerp, the kid can really pack a punch when he catches Dean off-guard.

The next day, Dean is bracing himself for a truly heinous act of revenge as he follows a silent and now completely bald Sam to school. The poor kid doesn’t look angry anymore, though; he just looks miserable, bundled up in a hoodie despite the near-summer heat. At lunchtime, Dean catches a couple kids harassing Sam, making fun of his bald head, and he realizes that he’s gone too far this time. It’s one thing to cause each other discomfort, but when one of their pranks makes the other a target for outsiders… Dean’s more angry at himself than the punks harassing his brother, but he takes it out on them and gets both himself and Sam suspended for a week.

“I’m so sorry, kiddo,” Dean says that night as they’re lounging in front of the TV, eating all of Sam’s favorite foods and trying to figure out how to explain Sam’s bald head and the suspension to Dad when he comes home in a few days. “Things got a little out of hand this time, I guess. Truce?”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees. “You kinda made up for it by fixing it so I don’t have to go back to school for a week. Hopefully we can pass it off to Dad as a really bad haircut; you know he’s been bugging me to get one for months, anyway.” Then, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a brand new toothbrush. He tosses it to Dean, Dean grins, and in the wrestling match over the last of the gummy worms five minutes later, all is forgiven.

2000

“C’mon, Sam, lighten up! It was just a joke.”

“It’s not very funny, Dean.” Sam is sitting in the passenger seat of the Impala, picking flakes of superglue off of the palm of his hand. Three days ago, Dean had caught Sam talking on the phone to Linda Hamilton, a girl he’d gone on a few dates with in the last town they’d been in, and ever since, Dean had been insufferable. It started with the offers for tips on how to give good phone sex, then boxes of tissues and bottles of lotion left out in strategic locations, and had culminated in him waking up this morning to discover that Dean had covered the palm of his right hand in hair and superglue.

“I’m telling you, Sammy, you got off lucky. I hear doing that sorta thing too often can also make you go blind.”

Sam glares at him and returns to his task. Fortunately, it’s summertime, so he doesn’t have to worry about explaining the mess on his palm to anyone at school, but he continues to give Dean the silent treatment until his brother drops him off at the library to finish researching the ghost that they’re hunting this week. Sam walks through the library’s front doors, waits until the rumble of the Impala’s engine has died away, then turns around and heads back outside. He’d discovered all he needed to know about the ghost yesterday, but hasn’t told Dean yet, partly out of anger at his brother’s harassment, but mostly because Dean hasn’t asked. As long as Dean thinks Sam is busy, Sam knows where he’ll be, and after this morning’s humiliation, he deserves everything that he has coming to him.

Sam takes his time walking across town and gets to the bar that Dean has been frequenting every day over the last week just in time to see him heading out the front door with a girl on his arm. Sam crouches behind a dumpster and watches as they get into the Impala and drive a few blocks down to the girl’s house. Once they’re inside and, presumably, preoccupied, Sam sneaks up to the car and gets to work. He disconnects the battery and moves the front seat up just far enough to keep Dean from being able to easily get into the car, then he pulls out his cellphone and places a call to the office where the girl’s father works, telling him that he needs to come home right away.

Sam is hiding in the bushes and trying not to let his laughter give him away as he watches the father storm home and chase Dean out of the house with his pants around his ankles. He’s fighting back tears of mirth as he watches Dean struggle to get behind the wheel and start to panic when the car doesn’t start, but his glee turns immediately to terror when he sees the girl’s father come out of the house with a baseball bat. He smashes both of the car’s driver-side windows, and Dean catches a nasty blow to his left shoulder as he gets out of the car to protect it before Sam manages to break cover and come running up, shouting, “Don’t hurt my brother! Please, don’t hurt my brother!”

Between Sam and the girl, they manage to drag Dean and the father apart, and placate him long enough to allow Dean and Sam to push the car out of his driveway and back down the street to the bar. Sam is shaking and barely holding back tears by the time they arrive, and he doesn’t even give Dean a chance to notice that something’s wrong before breaking down.

“Oh, god, Dean, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” He can barely stand to look at his brother, not knowing what he will see on Dean’s face.

“What are you talking about, Sammy? You saved my ass back there.”

“I… I was the one who messed with the car and called her dad. I was so mad at you for making fun of me the last few days… But I swear I didn’t know he’d get that angry. I’ll do anything to make it up to you, I swear.”

“You…” Sam can hear the fury in his brother’s voice, but then Dean takes a deep breath, and when he speaks again, he sounds a little calmer. “What did you do to the car, Sam?”

“Just disconnected the battery,” Sam whispers, swallowing back another sob. He hears Dean pop the hood, reconnect the battery, and slam it shut again, but he doesn’t look up until he feels a hand on his shoulder.

“Come on,” Dean says as Sam looks up at him. He looks more apologetic himself than angry, and he reaches out a hand to help Sam to his feet, which Sam takes. “One of the guys at the garage owes me a favor, so it won’t be any trouble to get the windows replaced. You wanna help me?” Sam nods.

They’re both quiet as they get in the car, but after they’ve been on the road for a few minutes, Dean breaks the silence. “I’m sorry about teasing you like I did, Sam. I can’t promise it won’t happen again, but can we make a deal?”

“What’s that?”

“No more pranks that mess with the car, okay?”

“Deal.”

2006

In retrospect, the pranks they’d subjected one another to this time around were relatively tame. The last time Dean had used the itching powder trick, Sam had been in middle school, and turning up the volume on the stereo in the Impala was positively bush league compared to what he used to do before messing with the car had been declared off-limits. Supergluing Dean’s beer bottle to his hand had been a long-overdue payback, but other than that… It was the pranks that they’d pulled on the two “ghost hunters”—pretending to be a movie producer in order to send them off to California, and putting a dead fish in the back seat of their car—that had been truly inspired. And the fact that they’d come up with the ideas independently was a welcome reminder of something that he’d always known: that they were at their best when they were working together, whether the goal was stopping an invincible monster or just shaking a couple of idiots off their trail.

Sam wants to tell Dean as much, but it will probably have to wait. He doubts Dean will be particularly receptive to the message when he comes out of the bathroom and discovers that Sam has short-sheeted his bed. Of course, it’s less than he deserves for pulling the whole “shaving cream in the hand and a feather up the nose” trick on Sam last night while he was sleeping. Their truce hadn’t even managed to last the hundred miles that Dean had promised, but that’s okay. As long as they’re going with the juvenile classics, Sam can keep this up forever. He wonders if this town has a joke shop; it’s been a long time since he’s seen a whoopee cushion…

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Make It Through The Night (Part 3)

(x)

Summary: The reader meets Dean’s friend, Benny, but everything isn’t as smooth sailing as it seems...

Masterlist

Pairing: Apocalypse!Dean x reader

Square: Dean Winchester

Word Count: 3,100ish

Warnings: langauge, minor violence

A/N: Written for @spngenrebingo​​​

_____

“Morning sunshine,” said Dean as you walked into the kitchen. “Eggs and rice for breakfast.”

“It’s hot. I ain’t complaining,” you said, fixing your arm in it’s sling.

“You change your bandages out yet?” he asked. You yawned and nodded, taking a seat at the counter. “Ever been shot before?”

“No. Hurts like a bitch,” you said, looking around. “So where’s the rice come from?”

“One of the largest rice distribution plants is about twenty minutes down the road. I stocked up,” he said.

“Smart move,” you said. “So where the hell am I exactly? This place I mean.”

“Short version, there used to be these guys, Men of Letters. My grandpa was one. This was their base of operations. They got wiped out in the fifties though,” said Dean. “They used to research monsters, how to kill them, that sort of thing. Through a very long series of events which started long before I was born, I wound up being raised by a hunter, my dad. Along with Sam. Hunters used to kill monsters back when the world was normal and no one knew about this stuff. After my dad died, it was me and Sam for a while and a whole bunch of other bad shit happened and then he got on demon blood and we went our separate ways. I ended up meeting my grandpa who traveled through time before he died and he told me about this place. It’s safe from monsters, demons, you name it. It runs itself. There’s a bunch of information in that library that might be useful. It’s pretty...I lost you at the time traveling grandpa, didn’t I.”

“If that’s the short version, I can’t imagine the long,” you said, resting your head against your palm. “You’re serious?”

“My life’s always been strange. Everyone else finally caught up a year ago,” he said.

“It’s completely safe here?” you asked.

“I mean, nothing is completely safe but it’s probably the safest place on the planet,” he said.

“Good,” you said, closing your eyes. “I could do with someplace safe.”

“It’s not pretty out there. The world now I mean,” he said, handing you a plate, your eyes fluttering open.

“Those guys were probably going to sell me to a monster...or a demon. It seems to be the hot commodity,” you said.

“Speaking of which, after breakfast, you’re gonna have to get tatted up,” said Dean. 

“Um, what?” you said as you started to eat.

“Tattoo,” he said, pulling aside his flannel and t shirt, showing off a tattoo on his chest. “Anti-possession. A demon can’t take over your body that way.”

“Oh. Yeah, that’s probably good to have,” you said. “You know how to do tattoo’s?”

“Personally, no but one of my friends should be getting back home soon. He was out on a supply run,” said Dean.

“Oh. Cool,” you said.

“Y/N,” he said, poking at his food. “I thought about last night, what we talked about, what you said. You’re right. I can’t kill Sam. I never could. I don’t want to kill him. It’s my job to fucking protect him. I’m not going to give up on him. I want to try to talk to him, figure out how to catch him and get him off of the demon blood, get rid of his powers. That’s the only option. I know you offered but I won’t go down that road.”

“No killing Sam. Okay,” you said with a nod. “We’ll figure something out then.”

“Thank you,” said Dean. 

Thirty minutes later you were in the library trying to figure out some basics about demons when the front door opened and man in combat gear came walking down the stairs with a box.

“I found you extremely stale gummy bears. You’re welcome,” said the man, setting the box down on the war room table, staring at you. “Cher.”

“What?” you asked, glancing at Dean.

“It’s a nickname thing he does. Y/N, this is Benny. Ex-vampire I met in purgatory. Benny, this is Y/N. Met her yesterday when a few unscrupulous fellas were on my property again,” said Dean.

“Vampire,” you said, instinctively getting out of your seat and taking a few steps back.

“Ex-vampire,” said Dean as he flipped through a book. “He doesn’t bite.”

“Unless you’re into that,” he smiled, flashing you a wink.

“Dude. I get that the dating pool is limited but-”

“Excuse, Dean,” said Benny, ruffling his hair as he went past and took a seat. “He’s a worrier. Plus it’s fun to tease him. He’s totally into you anyways.”

You blinked slowly, Dean giving Benny a bitchface.

“Let’s not scare off the first company we’ve had in oh, months? Hm?” said Dean.

“Ignoring the purgatory part of that sentence for right now, how does one become an ex-vampire?” you asked, staring at Benny.

“Ordinarily there’s a cure but it only works if the person has never tasted human blood and if you have the fang of the vamp that turned you. Benny though...well when we got out of purgatory, he was still a vamp,” said Dean.

“I was almost at the point of asking Deano to end it for me. I knew I would break and hurt someone. But the world decided to go to shit and I drank from an infected person. I got really sick. Majorly sick,” said Benny, peeling off his boots and kicking up his feet in a nearby chair.

“We tried the cure, figured what the hell and now Benny is as human as the day he was born,” said Dean. “He’s like really fucking old by the way.”

“Shut up,” said Benny, pushing Dean’s face, a smile popping up on it for a moment. “So ex-vampire. No need to be afraid.”

“Alright,” you said as you sat back down. 

“What’s with the chicken wing?” asked Benny, nodding at you.

“Shot yesterday. Graze on the arm, through and through in the shoulder,” said Dean, flipping through his book again. “Y/N’s gonna stay here, help with the Sam situation.”

“Good. We could always use a few more hands,” said Benny.

“How many hands are there?” you asked.

“There’s a network of hunters out there. It’s not huge but it’d be useful to get close to Sam,” said Dean. “Plan’s changed by the way, Benny. We take him alive and cure him or it’s the end of us.”

“Whatever you want, brother,” said Benny, standing up with a sigh. “I’ve been on the road all night. I’m gonna shower and crash before I have to head out again.”

“I’ll need a tat done before you go. Gonna stick around more than a day for once?” asked Dean.

“I’ll be here a few days. I know you miss this pretty face, Deano,” he said. Dean rolled his eyes and Benny wandered off down a different hall. 

“So purgatory...no one can ever say you have not led a full life,” you said. Dean chuckled and leaned back in his seat. 

“Full of horrors. But yeah, I suppose you’re right. It’s been interesting,” he said.

“Did you like...die,” you said, Dean cocking his head. “Purgatory.”

“No. Accidentally wound up there when I killed a special kind of monster. I met up with Benny there. We found a way out together,” said Dean. “Just because a monster is a monster...they can be your friend too. I got a buddy who’s a werewolf actually.”

“Here I thought study abroad would make me exciting,” you said. Dean smiled and slid over his book to you.

“Read this one. It’ll give you some good info. We’ll go over some good ways to kill demons maybe later in the week,” he said.

“I’m not a soldier. I don’t know...everything I know, I picked up on my own,” you said.

“I’m pretty confident in your abilities,” he said. “We don’t have to go after Sam this second. Something like this, we need to know our game plan first and I don’t even know where to start so focus on healing and training a bit for now.”

“Alright,” you said, Benny cutting back in wearing nothing but his boxers.

“Dude. We have a lady in the house now,” said Dean.

“She can walk around in her underwear too. I don’t care,” said Benny, going to the box and pulling out a bottle of soap. 

“You and your old spice you freak,” said Dean.

“Don’t knock it,” said Benny. “There’s some shaving cream in there too in case you decide to shave that peach fuzz.”

“Asshole,” said Dean as Benny laughed, carrying the box away with him.

“I like the beard,” you said with a shrug.

“See, brother? Match made in heaven right here,” he said.

“Oh shut up,” said Dean. “Go get clean. You smell filthy.”

“Whatever you say,” he said, whistling as he went.

“Sorry. He’s a bit...Benny sometimes,” said Dean. 

“I like him,” you said, glancing through the pages.

“You actually like the beard?” he asked. Your eyes glanced over and met his, noticing just how pretty of a green they were. 

“It suits you. You look like some badass or something,” you said. He smirked and you rolled your eyes. “Oh my God. I can only handle one man-child at a time.”

“Speaking of badasses, you’ll need some new gear. I’ll take a look around in storage,” he said. “Also, I am so not a man-child.”

“Gummy bears?” you said with a smile.

“Touche,” he said, grabbing his notebook and jogging up into the library. “You get bored of reading come find me. I’m sure we can find something for you to work on.”

“Hey,” said Dean a few hours later. You let out a hiss and grit your teeth, Benny wiping off your bicep. “How’d she do?”

“She was good,” he said. “Barely made a peep.”

“How’s it look?” you asked.

“Good,” said Dean. “It’s just a precaution we have to take.”

“No, it’s fine. I probably should have gone with the right arm is all,” you said, wincing a bit. 

“Come on you two. Dinner’s done,” said Dean. You followed him back down the hall while Benny turned off the equipment. Dean plopped a bottle of pills in front of you at the table. You shook your head and he took two out, putting them on your plate. “Y/N. Take the pain meds. It’s fine.”

“So you come up with anything today?” you asked as Benny joined you, diving into his bowl of stew.

“Maybe. I was thinking Ben, we could retrofit the dungeon, turn it into a holding cell, detox chamber kind of thing,” said Dean.

“It could work. How we get him inside is another problem,” said Benny.

“Do you think you could work on gathering materials, figuring out the best way to build a safe room?” asked Dean.

“I can think of something. I’ll head up North, visit Donna. She’s good with that sort of thing,” said Benny.

“So are you two an item yet or are you still living in denial?” asked Dean, giving him a smirk.

“Who? Me and Donna?” scoffed Benny. “No way. Strictly platonic. We both been burned before.”

“I know about the camping store incident,” smirked Dean. “Benny bear.”

“Fine. We’re dating. You girls gonna chat about this too?” he said, crossing his arms.

“Maybe. We do love to talk about boys and braid our hair,” teased Dean. “Nah, man, that’s great. You and Donna make a good team. Tactically.”

“Shut up. Worse than a high school girl,” said Benny. “You see what I’ve been dealing with during the end of the world?”

“Is she cute?” you asked, Benny throwing up his hands.

“Oh yeah,” said Dean with a laugh. “Donna’s a pretty girl. Sweet as can be but she’s tough. She and Jody…”

He trailed off and pursed his lips, Benny nodding.

“Jody didn’t make it,” said Benny. “Demons. If you guys are all set, I’m gonna head out soon.”

“You travel at night?” you asked.

“Safer actually,” said Dean. “Most of the infected people, they still sleep for some reason. Benny can get up to Sioux falls by dawn pretty good this way.”

“Write down any gear you think you may need,” he said, finishing off his drink before he took off.

“Why is he leaving already?” you asked. “He just got here this morning.”

“He has a job to do and I told it to him,” said Dean. “Benny moves at his own pace. If he wants to go tonight, he can go, I won’t baby him.”

“Doesn’t he want to rest?”

“Benny crashed most of the day. He’s good,” said Dean. “Unlike you. Early bedtime tonight.”

“What are you, my mother?” you mumbled.

“Do I need to be?” he asked. You rolled your eyes and went back to your food, Dean finishing his off before he started to pick up. 

You closed your eyes and rested your head against the table.

“I feel funny,” you said. “Did you drug me?”

“It’s the pain med’s, dumbass. They’re kicking in. It’s pretty strong stuff,” he said. He walked over and sat you upright. “Finish your food and then you can sleep.”

“Or you drugged me,” you said, reaching for your knife. Dean quickly knocked it away and you pulled the gun out of the back of his pants. He froze as you turned off the safety. 

“Y/N. Calm down. No one’s going to hurt you,” said Dean.

“Back up,” you mumbled. He stared at you before you were suddenly on the floor, gun back in his hands.

“Are you infected?” he asked, aiming the gun at you. “Are you?”

“Whoa,” said Benny as he came rushing back in. “What the hell is going on in here?”

“She thinks I drugged her which is insane,” said Dean.

“This ain’t pain medication, dip shit,” you said, flipping him off as you propped yourself up against the wall, the cold floor making you shiver. “Fuck you. You’re the one that’s nuts, not me.”

“You’re both idiots,” said Benny. He walked over to you and reached behind his back, a pair of restraints around your wrists. You shoulder would have been killing you if it weren’t for the drugs. “I drugged her.”

“Excuse me,” said Dean, suddenly lowering the gun and tucking it away. “You did what, Benjamin?”

“I heard of this chick, the second you said her name I knew who she was. She knows Sam.”

You shook your head when Dean slowly turned and stared you down.

“I don’t. I swear,” you said.

“I definitely heard of some demon talking about this chick right here and Sam,” said Benny. 

“You’re thinking an inside job?” asked Dean, pulling the gun out again.

“Possibly. Could be a human that decided to side with what she thinks is the winning side,” said Benny. “Could be a lot of things but point is, we can’t trust her.”

You were too tired to say anything more, simply sat there and shut your eyes, trying not to think of how odds are you wouldn’t be waking up again.

“Y/N,” said Dean. You breathed slowly, Dean’s hand on your shoulder shaking you. “Y/N. You with Sam or not?”

Last thing you remembered you slumped over, straight to the ground.

“Hey,” said Dean. Something wet was on your forehead, a washcloth if you had to guess. It took a moment for you to get your bearings, finding yourself in your room strangely. “Relax. You’re okay.”

“Drugged me,” you said, frowning at him, pushing the washcloth away. “Asshole.”

“Benny made a mistake,” said Dean.

“I wanna go,” you said, shutting your eyes, head swimming. “Let me go.”

“You can go. Just let this stuff get out of your system first,” said Dean. He took the cloth away and you scowled when he put it back. “I’ll make up your bag for you.”

Four hours later you were standing in the garage, trying to get your bag on unsuccessfully.

“Y/N,” said Dean quietly. “Maybe you should stay.”

“Maybe you need better friends,” you said, throwing the bag on, immediately shooting a hand to your shoulder. You sniffled and swallowed hard, giving Dean a dirty look when he stared at you. “What?”

“We both know that if you go out in your condition, the first sign of trouble and you’re dead,” he said.

“What do you care?” you said. You tried heading out but the pain was too much and you had to shrug off the backpack. 

“Something is going on. Benny was adamant that he heard something involving you. I was adamant that whatever your part in this is, you aren’t the bad guy,” said Dean. “You know how it is now. You can’t take chances and Benny wasn’t taking one. But I will.”

You sighed and set the bag down.

“Why?” you asked dryly.

“Because you’re not the bad guy. If you want to go, you can go. Or you can stay and recover and maybe you can help me save my brother.”

You spun around and went past him, heading inside.

“Next time something like that happens, I shoot. No questions asked,” you said. “And don’t think I didn’t realize you put a brick in the bottom of my bag.”

“Welcome back, Y/N.”

_____

A/N: Read Part 4 here!

[1989dreamer]

Scars to Your Beautiful

Summary: Derek’s scars come back. All of them. He thinks Stiles won’t love him anymore, but Stiles has a revelation for him.

Warnings: Past implied sexual assault, past Kate Argent, past Jennifer Blake, future fic, permanent scars, self-doubt, angst, spark Stiles, semi-canon compliant

Note: title comes from Alessia Cara’s Scars to Your Beautiful.

On AO3

                                                                                                                     ~ * ~

Derek notices the first scar when he’s shaving on Tuesday. It’s a thin mark across one cheek. He traces it with a fingertip, marveling at the fact that something was able to mark him.

He hasn’t been near fire—Stiles won’t let him even touch the stove—or any wolfsbane, so how he ended up with a scar is a mystery.

It’s not noticeable to anyone else, but it bothers Derek. He’s never scarred before.

He’s distracted all day, wondering what he touched or what poison he ingested that made him scar.

All day, Stiles has to keep reminding him that he’s supposed to be working on the manuscript for Werewolf Etiquette—really, it’s a self-help book for first time alphas that he’s working with Satomi Ito on.

It’s not until he and Stiles are in bed, Stiles messing around on his phone, trying to take surreptitious photos of the both of them to send to the rest of the pack, that Derek realizes the scar is in the exact place that he got hit with a branch when he was two years old.

He touches it briefly, remembering the sting that had faded quite quickly. It had bled, his mom had to kiss the unbroken skin afterward, but it was the first time Derek recalled ever being hurt.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Wednesday, Derek wakes up with an ache in his stomach and new-old scars striping his sides. He’d gotten too close to Laura when she was losing control on the full moon. She’d nearly eviscerated him before Peter had pulled them apart.

Derek had been three.

He presses on the scars, wondering with trepidation, just how many of the injuries he’s suffered in his lifetime are going to be painted onto his skin.

And he wonders how long it will take Stiles to notice.

Turns out, it takes less than a day. Derek sits down to breakfast, gets a mouthful of waffles, and then Stiles squawks at him.

“What’s that?”

“What’s what?” Derek asks. Turns out it’s a scar right across the bridge of his nose from when Cora was a baby and learning how to swipe at things with her claws. Big Brother Derek, four years old, had been too close and had paid the price. He’d healed rather quickly and without tears, but now the reminder is on his skin, indelible marks he can’t hide.

Stiles sits in his lap and turns his face one way and then another.

“Have you been getting into Deaton’s wolfsbane?” he demands.

“No,” Derek says. He reaches around Stiles to keep eating, pretending that it doesn’t hurt when Stiles’ scent goes sour, the way it does when he thinks Derek is lying to him.

“No really. Where’d you get that scar from?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Derek replies. He purposefully chews his waffle loudly, and Stiles huffs, sliding off his lap.

“Try me.”

Derek rolls his shoulders, tension tightening them. Oh, no, wait. It’s another scar. When he was five, in a distracted moment, Peter had given him too hot a bath. He’d been scalded. Cried for hours because he could feel his skin blistering long after he’d been pulled out and had healed.

“I don’t know why I keep getting scars, but it’s from injuries I had a long time ago.”

“Your nose?”

“Cora, when she was about eight months and I was four.”

“Your cheek?”

“Two years old. Branch.”

“Any other scars so far?”

Derek nods.

“Care to show them to me?”

Derek shakes his head.

“Fine. I’ll look into curses and things. You—” Stiles blows out a breath. “Please, just let me know if any more show up. And let me know if they hurt.”

“They don’t,” Derek assures him. At least, they don’t hurt now. They definitely hurt when he got them.

Stiles doesn’t believe him, the sour smell still wafting over him, but he leans in and presses a kiss to the corner of Derek’s mouth. “I’ll see you after work,” he promises. “Try not to get any more scars please.”

“Don’t know how to stop them,” Derek says. “Have a good day.” He returns the kiss and goes back to his waffles.

After Stiles heads out to his job at the new research library Lydia founded, Derek goes to their bedroom and strips. He stands in front of the full length mirror and studies the puckering of his skin, the slashes of lines cutting through the hair on his chest, at the long, thin mark swirling up his leg.

That’s new. Derek touches the skin, flinching at the remembered pain of playing with a nearby pack and having one of the human betas try to skin his leg to see if he’d heal.

Then, he gets dressed again and sits down at the kitchen table with a notebook. He begins writing down every injury he can remember, every time someone or something made him bleed.

He manages to fill half the notebook before he even gets to the first year he met Stiles.

The next six months fills the rest of the book. He gets out another one and keeps writing.

By the time Stiles gets home, a stack of papers in one hand, dinner from their favorite restaurant in the other, Derek has filled three notebooks and has so many scars already that they’re starting to cover each other.

Stiles dumps the papers on the table and runs his hands over Derek’s face.

“I couldn’t find anything,” he apologizes. “I tried.”

“It’s okay,” Derek says. “It doesn’t hurt at all.”

It doesn’t. Not after the initial spike that means he’s getting another scar. His life written on his skin where anyone can see it.

Derek is used to being called a pretty face, but he wonders if people will still think him pretty when he’s got slashes and scrapes all over his features. The people who know him but don’t know he’s a werewolf won’t understand.

“I promise, I’m fine,” Derek says. He closes the notebook, puts everything away, and sets the table for supper.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Derek hardly goes out anymore. He always preferred sticking close to home, but with all the scars covering his body, he doesn’t want to risk either exposing himself as a werewolf or having people call the cops on Stiles for abusing him.

Stiles notices but doesn’t say anything when Derek begs off errands, even going to get the mail from the box at the end of their driveway.

He looks sad, smells mad, and doesn’t come home as often.

Derek understands. Stiles married someone who couldn’t scar, who couldn’t show the pain his life had given him. And now Derek is a walking reminder that pretty is only skin deep.

It hurts, but honestly, Derek was expecting Stiles to give up way before now. Instead, Stiles still comes home, kisses his cheek, and drops into bed, snoring almost immediately.

He’s working on a project, but he doesn’t ever talk to Derek about it.

It’s been weeks since Derek heard Stiles’ voice.

Instead, the only voice he hears is the one in his head telling him that all he ever was good for was looking good. And now that he doesn’t have that, no one wants him.

Derek spends most of his days sitting in their bedroom, staring in the mirror, trying to see the old him under all the scars.

Stiles is at work on a Friday, and Derek is sitting, cross-legged, staring at himself. And then, he notices something different. A new kind of scar.

It’s a handprint on his hip. Small, smaller than his own hand anyway. It’s not Stiles’ either because Stiles has nice hands. These hands—he finds more marks across his buttocks and on his other hip too—are small, fingers thin, spindly, almost.

Derek tries to think back, remember if anyone burned him or cut him like that.

It takes far too long to realize just whose hands are tattooed across his skin.

Derek cries when he realizes that he’ll never be free of Kate now. That she’ll always have a place on him.

Stiles comes home early that night. He finds Derek still sitting naked in front of the mirror.

“So, I found out what’s causing this,” he says quietly.

Derek still startles even though he’d heard Stiles pull up.

“What?” he croaks back, not even pretending that he’s not doing what Stiles caught him doing.

“It’s a manifestation of love.”

“What is?” Derek doesn’t understand. He touches one of Kate’s handprints. “Love?” How can this be love? It’s like someone decided that he wasn’t showing his true self to the world. And now he can’t go out.

Stiles shakes his head. “My love. I’m so sorry, Derek.” Stiles sits down next to him, takes Derek’s hand in his. He doesn’t smell sad or mad. He just smells like…like nothing. Derek can’t smell him.

“I was working with mistletoe and wolfsbane today,” Stiles explains. “I didn’t want to bring home those smells, so Lydia gave me some scent-canceling soap. I promise that I’ll smell like myself in a few hours.”

“Why were you working with wolfsbane?”

“And mistletoe,” Stiles adds. He sighs, using the hand not holding Derek’s hand to tug at his hair. “I’ve been trying to figure out what’s happening and how to reverse it. I’m sorry that I couldn’t tell you about that. I know I hurt you and I promise to make it up. I’m also sorry. I found out that the scars are showing up because of me. Because of my love for you.”

“Because you’re a spark?” Derek asks. It’s better than asking how Stiles’ love managed to scar him. He traces another handprint.

Stiles nods. “Because I love you so much and I often think about showing the world just why I love you, I guess my spark manifested in showing the world your scars, showing them that I love you despite, in spite of, and because of them. And it’s permanent.”

Derek touches his knee, where he’d fallen off his bike at a hundred miles an hour and peeled off the kneecap. That scar isn’t big, but it was painful until it healed. He touches his chest where Peter punched through him, knows he has a matching scar on his back. Then he touches the handprint low on his belly. “Why these though?” he asks thickly.

Stiles shakes his head. “I don’t know.” He blows out a breath. “I can only guess that because it’s a part of you, the irreversible spell decided that it needed to be visible too. I’m sorry for that.”

“What if you didn’t love me anymore?” Derek asks. “Would that make them disappear?”

Stiles flinches. “Do you think I don’t love you?” he asks quietly. “Did you think I’d stopped?”

Derek shrugs. He doesn’t know what to think after nearly a month all by himself. Stiles basically abandoned him.

“I do love you,” Stiles says. “Your scars are proof of that. I’m sorry that I haven’t been able to show you just how much I love you.”

“Was an answer really so important that you—” Derek stops himself because if he keeps going he’ll start crying, and he’s done enough of that today.

Stiles tears up. “No,” he mumbles. “No, it wasn’t.” He stands up, reaching a hand down to help Derek up. “Did you really think that I’m only with you because you’re hot?”

“Yes,” Derek says simply. “No one ever wants me because of my personality.”

“But three years of marriage and almost six years of dating before that?”

“Yeah.” They’re both idiots, but right now, Derek’s wearing all the evidence.

Stiles grabs Derek’s hand and leads him to the bed. Stiles pushes Derek down, climbs onto the bed with him.

They aren’t going to have sex right now, are they? It doesn’t feel right, and Derek opens his mouth to tell Stiles that when Stiles presses a gentle fingertip to a fresh scar forming over Derek’s hip, scratches from a kelpie two years ago, following it closely with his lips.

“Just because we can now see your trauma,” Stiles whispers into his skin, “it doesn’t mean you’ve lost any of your value. You’ve never lost value, Derek. Never.”

A promise, bitten into his skin, Stiles marks him over his scars, fits his hands over Kate’s handprints, and leaves Derek raw and aching.

“How can I have value,” Derek asks around the lump in his throat, “when I don’t love myself?”

“You have value to me,” Stiles responds. “And you do love yourself. You let yourself have treats every now and again. You’ve stopped insulting your reflection. Or you had before this.” Stiles raises himself on one arm so that he can peer down at Derek with a pensive stare. “You let me love you, and that’s how I know you love yourself.”

“Why do you love me?” Derek asks.

Stiles presses his palm over the center of Derek’s chest, where Kali had speared him on the pole. “I love you because of you,” he says. “I love you because never once did you give up. You found a way to survive and you tried to do your best to help people even when they didn’t want your help. You did your best to protect those in your care.” Stiles lies down, covering Derek with his body. “I love you, Derek Hale, and it doesn’t really matter why, just that I do.”

“And you won’t hate me if the scars never go away?” Derek asks. Stiles had said they’re permanent. The only permanent Derek’s ever had is his tattoo.

“Never. I could never hate you.” Stiles rubs at one of Kate’s handprints and then at another, smaller handprint pressed over the center of Derek’s stomach. Jennifer. “I only wish that you didn’t have to see these reminders too. I didn’t want to traumatize you. And when I realized that your scars were coming back because of me, well, I…I couldn’t face you. I thought you’d hate me when you knew the truth too.”

“But why would I hate you?” Derek is the one who’s always been unlovable, who’s heard it in a million heartbeats and cruel whispers. He’d thought he’d heard it in Stiles’ absence too.

“Because I did this to you.”

“But not intentionally,” Derek says.

“No. Never. I love you too much to ever do anything to hurt you.”

Derek decides then to do something he has never done. He decides to believe Stiles’ words whole heartedly. If Stiles says he loves him, then he does. If he says that having a constant reminder of Derek’s past, his mistakes, covering his skin, every inch of him marked in some exposed way, doesn’t make him love him any less, then he believes him. And if Stiles loves him enough to make his scars show up, then Derek deserves to accept that love.

They don’t have sex that night or the next seven nights, but Stiles spends hours tracing every line, every pucker, every handprint, making them his own, giving Derek more memories than pain and fear. Instead of a map of mistakes, Stiles finds a path for their future. He takes Derek apart gently and knits him back together stronger and better.

And every time Stiles touches Derek, he hears the word “beautiful,” and after a few months, he starts believing it too.

~ The End ~

[irwintry]

House of Pizza

Warnings: swearing

Author’s Note: this is based on a real place in cambridge, mass fyi but i haven’t been there in a year lol 

Word Count: 3k

A slice of pizza should never, ever be fifty cents. At least, that was what Michael believed for the longest time. If the pizza were any good, it would be at least one dollar. But, the House of Pizza by Michael’s apartment had no sense of what qualified as ‘good pizza’; it was easy and cheap, and the perfect combination for a college student with a low budget. And, by senior year, he was a shift manager.

His apron had seven individual stains on it, and if anyone asked, he could tell them their origin. Stain number one was obviously grease from his first few shifts at the House of Pizza. It was a large splatter that coated nearly the entire bottom portion of the white cloth, and he later had to dispose of his jeans as well. The second stain came from Margot’s lipstick. She often ran the register, and he could not tell you how that lipstick stain came to be; he just knew it was hers. The third stain, tragically, was a dot of blood from the time Michael cut his hand with a pizza cutter. The fourth, fifth, and sixth were all grease stains again. Lastly, the seventh stain had the biggest name for itself, for it was the one that came from you.

He noticed you every time you walked into the tiny restaurant. Often, you had a coffee in one hand, your keys and wallet in the other, and the time always read 9:40 pm. Michael wondered why you drank coffee so late and how you always managed to show up at the same time every Monday and Wednesday. Nevertheless, he was fascinated by you. The fifth time you made an appearance, you ran headfirst into him as he was making his way out for a smoke break. Therefore, your coffee splattered against his hardly-white apron. You apologized profusely while Michael grinned, an expression he found himself doing more and more around you. So, he brushed it off and added it to the list of remarkable stains.

He never saw you on campus. Michael partially assumed it was because the majority of his classes were in the morning while yours were most likely at night. Sometimes, he sat on the steps of the library in hopes you’d casually walk by so he could casually stroll up to you for a casual conversation. He liked to think he was somewhat good at casual things. You never did walk by of course. Maybe you weren’t even a student. If you were, he imagined you majored in Art Therapy. The later the class, the more convincing it was.

Every Tuesday night, he’d close up with a great big smile on his face. Tuesday night meant that tomorrow was Wednesday, and with tomorrow being Wednesday, that meant he would see you again. Michael tried to convince himself to stop thinking about you as much, but he’d later attest of his crush the moment you walked through the door again.

His crush.

Michael hadn’t had one of those in three years. He assumed he would never find love until your sudden love for fifty cent pizzas came to be. Well, truthfully, he didn’t believe in love. He never felt it, so why should he? He believed in lust, and he had felt it before, too.

So, with Michael unable to believe in love, he had no way of understanding how hard he was falling for you.

-

“Care to explain this, Cliffo?” your voice sounded through the small space of the restaurant, and luckily, there were no current customers to be disturbed. It was you, him, and Margot. You made your way over to him, your paper plate pushed out in front of you as if the content on the dishware was repulsive. And, quite honestly, it was.

Michael raised an eyebrow at you, his arms coming unfolded from his chest as he stalked slowly to where you were standing in front of the register. “Something wrong, Chili Pepper?”

You returned his eyebrow gesture and handed your plate over to him. “Notice anything?”

He shook his head, taking the plate from your hands to examine the greasy, cardboard-esque pizza himself. He honestly saw nothing wrong with it except for the fact that it looked and tasted fucking disgusting.

“Seriously?” you chuckled. “There’s no chili peppers, Cliffo.”

“Why didn’t you put any on?” Michael was confused and concerned; you always put chili peppers on your pizza.

You rolled your eyes, clearly agitated with his bewildered expression. “I wanted to,” you stated, “but, unfortunately...”

Michael had no idea how to catch onto what you were saying. All he knew was that you were teasing him, but he was frustrated about it.

“You didn’t refill the shakers, Cliffo!” you exclaimed, letting out a loud laugh as your arms flew up beside you. “How can you call me Chili Pepper if there are no chili peppers? An honest travesty if you ask me.”

His eyes widened, and his cheeks flushed. Without another word, Michael handed your plate back over to you and ran to the back to find more chili peppers to refill the shakers with. He was, at the least, real damn embarrassed. Not embarrassed because he hadn’t refilled the shakers, but embarrassed because it took him that long to catch onto what you were saying. The last thing he wanted was to make a fool of himself, and boy, he sure did that. To be honest, every time you were around, Michael somehow managed the make a fool of himself. It all started because of the coffee incident.

“I-I’m so, so sorry,” he spurted as he rushed back into the dining room to your specific table. He felt your presence behind him as he fumbled with the lid. The heat in his chest and his cheeks had exceeded a healthy temperature.

“Cliffo,” you chuckled, reaching your hand out to rest on his.

Michael’s hand could catch fire. He truly thought he would combust right then and there all because you were close behind him, and you were touching him. He had never felt this good before in his life. Crushes were fucking terrible, but sometimes, they could be amazing all at once.

“Ya realize I’m messing with you, right?” you wondered. “I do not care that much.”

He let out a shaky breath and stood tall as he faced you. Man, he loved the height difference possibly too much. He struggled to contain himself as you watched him closely, your eyes peering up into his with a gentle smile tugging at your lips.

“Okay there, Cliffo?” you questioned, placing a hand on his bicep to steady him. “Take a breath, my friend. I’m sorry.”

Michael nodded, then swallowed thickly. “I’m- I’m good. You’re the devil, Peppers.”

“The devil?” You let out a huff. “Think again, sweetie. I’m your worst nightmare.”

Yeah, Michael thought after you left ten minutes later, but you’re also my best dreams.

-

Michael knew he would remember the following Monday for a while. His hands smelled of “fresh” dough and mozzarella cheese, and no amount of soap or hand sanitizer could fix that. By the time you were meant to arrive, he was having a conversation with Margot at the front counter. He kept his eyes glued to his watch while he tapped his foot, and as 9:40 came and went, Michael felt nauseous.

Relax, maybe you’re sick.

Since you had this pizza twice a week, you were bound to get sick every once in a while. In fact, Michael was quite worried about you and your health because of how often you came here. Luckily, fifty cents hardly made a dent financially.

At 9:56, Michael took his smoke break. The night was warm and stale, but the gentle breeze reminded him of your laugh. If you were here, he assumed he would enjoy it much more. He rounded the corner, pulling a cigarette from the box in his pocket then placed it between his lips. Michael didn’t even get the chance to light it before he looked up and noticed your familiar figure hurrying down the sidewalk. You looked upset, even though your eyes were locked on your shoes. His heart sped up anyway.

He tried to greet you as you neared, but the moment he opened his mouth, your body collided into his. For a second, he thought it was on accident, however, your arms wrapped around his torso soon after. Michael complied to your hug, his own arms reaching around your shoulders to pull you in tight. He tossed his unlit cigarette to the side.

“Missed you, baby,” you mumbled loudly as a bystander glanced over at the two of you. You held Michael for a long while, and he swore his head was going to tumble off because of how hard his brain was working to assess the situation. After you let go, you looked behind him and let out a long sigh. “Sorry. I got freaked out because a dude was hot on my ass for a few blocks.”

Michael frowned. “You’re safe now, Peppers,” he then smiled, hardly poking your shoulder. “Speaking of peppers, I refilled the– “

“Hey, Michael,” you said abruptly. “You give nice hugs.”

He gulped, then bit the inside of his cheek. Ohmygod. “Oh, thanks,” he muttered while trying not to smile as big as fucking possible. He failed.

You returned the smile, and its soft appearance made Michael wanted to run his thumb along the skin. “Did I interrupt your smoke break?” you asked, glancing down at the cigarette on the gum-stained concrete.

“Might’ve.” Michael shrugged. “But it’s a bad habit. If ya hug me every time I pull out a cigarette, I’ll never smoke again.” His chest felt heavy but in a good way. With the way you were gazing up at him tonight, Michael swore that he was in ecstasy.

You nodded. “That can be arranged,” you said. You began to bounce on the balls of your feet. “Ya smell like a weird mixture of cheese and cologne.”

He shuttered, pulling an odd face in reaction to your statement. A mixture of cheese and cologne? Sounded nasty.

You shook your head. “I like both cheese and your cologne, Cliffo.”

You had to be flirting with him. There was no way you were not flirting. Of course, Michael had a hard time acknowledging when people did flirt, but this was a little insane. His insides were catching flame. It took every ounce of him not to reply with “I like you”.

He bit his lip, grinning widely. “Come get your fuckin’ pizza, Chili Pepper,” he mumbled. Michael began to turn towards the restaurant again, but your hand caught his before he could walk any further. Ohmygodohmygodohmy–

You stood on your tiptoes to reach him. For a second, Michael had no idea what to prepare himself for, and then he felt your lips hit the scruff-free part of his cheek. You pulled back only after a second before you walked into the restaurant without another word. He could not stop smiling as he placed his hand on the spot your lips recently touched. Michael’s face felt numb. Oh my god.

-

He was so used to seeing you in his environment that the minute he stepped foot into yours, he had no idea how to function. A friend of his invited him to an exhibition on campus, and though Michael had been to the art buildings a few times, he got a little lost. As always, he was a good forty-five minutes early to the event, so wandering down endless halls only bought him some time. He never once thought about the possibility of you being here, too.

Somehow, red paint had found its way onto Michael’s grey converse. It wasn’t a big deal of course, but how it got there in the first place was a real bitch to figure out. After going in circles for a bit, he finally noticed the small puddle outside of a classroom along with hints of his footprints leading down the hall. Michael muttered a few curses under his breath and looked around, his eyes gazing into the windows of nearby classrooms. He nearly kept walking, but you were in one of those classrooms he had looked over, and you were alone.

Michael glanced down at his watch. Thirty-nine minutes until the exhibition, perfect. He knocked on the door, hopeful to catch your attention, though the headphones in your ears helped keep you in the moment. So, he walked on in with no intentions on spooking you. However, you jolted in your seat once you noticed his long figure beside you.

“Jesus!”

Michael burst out into a fit of hysterics. And, it was a good, genuine kind of laugh. The one many of his closest friends sometimes had trouble edging out of him. He could hardly stand up straight because of how hilarious your face was when you saw him.

“Cliffo!”

“Sorry, Peppers,” he said, holding his stomach, “that was fucking hysterical.”

“I’m never buying pizza from you ever again, you shit dick,” you mumbled. You brought your knees up to your chest, and he finally noticed how dressed down you were. Usually, you stopped by House of Pizza in at least jeans or leggings. Your outfit tonight consisted of zucchini socks, grey sweatpants, and a university sweatshirt.

Michael frowned. “I highly doubt that.” He looked down to the table in front of you. Papers were scattered, most of them notes while some were full-page sketches. “Whatcha doin’?”

“Could ask you the same thing,” you muttered.

“Friend’s exhibition.”

You nodded. “I’m, uh, putting together all of my notes. Big midterm tomorrow. Gotta get that last-minute studying in if ya know what I mean.” You shifted your chair to face him, and as you did so, Michael took a seat for himself.

“What’s your major?” he asked, trying his best to stay close but also keep a healthy distance. But, Michael didn’t want that. In all actuality, he’d prefer you sitting on his lap, and maybe even attempting to get yourself off on his thigh. “I didn’t even know for sure if you went here.”

“Art History, minor in Illustration,” you answered. You kicked your legs out and placed them on Michael’s lap, which, in a way, was sort of what he wanted. And, he was also sort of right when it came to your major. You did something with art. “I knew you went here, though. For a while, I thought you were Graphic Design, but then I figured I’d see you around more often. So, I heard from a friend of a friend that Michael Clifford was in her major, but I never heard what it was.”

Michael grinned. “History. I wanna be a teacher.”

“Wait, you’re also studying history?”

He nodded.

“Goodness me, we’re meant to be!” you exclaimed, clearly not caring how unimaginably sappy that sounded.

Michael didn’t care either, in fact, it was the last part that kept repeating over and over in his head until his temples ached. The feeling of your legs over his lap now suddenly tingled, and all he wanted to do was rest a hand on them or pull you in closer without it seeming weird. By now, he truly felt like his heart was about to burst.

“Hey, Peppers,” he murmured, poking your toes until a chirpy giggle left your lips. Michael could no longer feel the pain in his cheeks from smiling so much. “You might just be the cutest person I’ve ever seen.”

You shook your head, your own smile bright and evident. “That’s false. You look in the mirror every day.”

OhmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmyGOD. Michael was quite actually going to fall to pieces. His cheeks had never felt this hot before in his life, and now, there was no way to hide it. His hands were sweaty, and he tried not to put his palms down on your exposed calves.

“Peppers,” he chuckled and tilted his chin down into his chest. “You’re so fuckin’ precious.”

“Yeah?” You pressed your sweater paws against your cheeks, and Michael hoped it was to try to cover up your blush.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

For the next thirty-two minutes, Michael stayed with you until he had to join his friend upstairs for his exhibition. As much as he loved his friend, Michael did not want to leave you at all. The continuous flirting was a kick of adrenaline for him, and you were happy to flirt in return. He wondered if, after all of this time, you possibly liked him, too.

Once the exhibition was complete, he made his way to House of Pizza for the closing shift, though he knew not to expect you tonight as it was Thursday. He shimmied the newly washed apron (though still stained and yucky) over his head and fastened it around his waist. He was only there for a good ten minutes before the door chimed, and in you walked. Your lack of coffee disturbed him.

“Peppers,” he said, grinning from ear to ear. “It’s Thursday, you have no business here.”

You looked around the restaurant, quickly noticing the empty space along with the fact that Margot was nowhere to be seen. “Shut it, Cliffo,” you breathed. “You forgot something.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What did I­– “

Before Michael could finish, you were leaning your body up over the counter and grabbing his cheeks to pull him closer to you. A moment later, your lips crashed onto his, and he easily melted into the kiss. He desperately wanted to reach out and grab your waist, but the glass counter separating you two kind of held him back. His fingers were itching to touch you, except he wanted to let the kiss play out before making any other moves. He felt every single nerve in his body spark with emotion at the feeling of your lips on his. Even then, he could hardly think.

The second his lips parted from yours, he’d reconnect them again, desperate to taste and touch you for as long as he could. You were so soft–– it was hard not to crave you. 

You pulled away, breathless and still holding his cheeks with your hands as you settled back into your previous spot. Michael, however, was unable to move.

“Peppers I– “

The door chimed again, and a few teenagers walked in with film cameras dangling around their necks.

Michael glanced at you, chuckling at the spreading blush on your cheeks, then looked back over to the kids. “Hi, welcome to House of Pizza.”

[67midnightwriter]

Ketch and Release - Chapter Three

A/N: It feels so good to get this out! We’re really starting to pick up now, and I can’t wait for y’all to read this. Thanks to the beautiful @sculptorofbeginnings for the beta!

Warnings: General Angst Warning

W/C: 2,105

Series Masterlist

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The water at the bottom of the tub turned brown as Y/N scrubbed a week’s worth of grime from her body. As the dirt circled the drain, the water was tinted pink from blood still seeping from day old wounds reopened by the steam. She winced as she cleaned them, calculating which ones might need stitched and which ones would close on their own. She scrubbed her skin until the small bar of hotel soap was gone before closing her eyes and resting her forehead on the shower wall, but there were some things she couldn’t scrub away.

Y/N drank half the whiskey in her med kit before she even began to sterilize her wounds. It burned over her tongue and down her throat, providing a momentary distraction from the images flashing through her mind. It calmed her enough to steady her hand, so she focused her mind on her wounds, sewing them as much as possible, applying ointment and covering them with gauze. She eyed the leftover whiskey but decided against it. She loaded up her gear, grabbed the keys to her truck, and headed to check out.

She stopped for coffee at a diner in Lawrence, unsure what had brought her here. Maybe she had been chasing better memories, simpler times. She looked around the room and tried to remember the good times this diner held: sharing half a pie with Dean on the barstools, talking research with Sam in the booth in the back, Bobby bringing her down to visit with the boys and John for her 13th birthday. The memories were gone as fast as she could conjure them, pushed away by the scream still ringing in her ears, the sound of flesh being torn from bone.

She jumped when her cell phone rang, nearly spilling her cup of coffee. She let it ring for a few moments, taking a few deep breaths and mentally preparing herself for a lecture from Dean. She answered without checking the caller I.D., warily pressing the phone against hear ear. There was silence at first, and then Castiel’s deep voice.

“Y/N?”

“Castiel?” She sat up a bit straighter, the worry evident in his voice.

“Where are you?”

“I…” She sighed, slumping again. “I’m in Lawrence.”

“I need you to meet me at the bunker, please.”

He hung up before giving any more explanation, but the worry had sent the wheels in her head spinning once more. She left some money on the table for her coffee and walked out, trying her best to leave behind the failed hunt.

When Y/N got to the bunker the Impala was sitting in the garage, the engine ticking as it cooled down. She grabbed her hunting bag and walked into the kitchen, chewing her lip as she went. Castiel was sitting in at the map, his forehead cradled on the heels of his hands.

“Cas? Where’s Sam and Dean? What’s wrong?” Cas looked up at her, and the look in his eyes sent her bag thudding to the floor.

“They’re gone.”

Y/N stalked over to the liquor cabinet, snatching out a bottle of Jack. Her emotions were running high, making her head spin. She couldn’t think straight, her hands were shaking, and her body was begging her for sleep. The whiskey burned as she drank from the bottle.

“So let me get this straight, you left them?” She slammed the bottle back on the table, causing the glasses to rattle.

“I didn’t leave them, Dean told me to go! I was taking Kelly-”

“Oh yeah, the woman who is delivering the antichrist and is now on the loose, no thanks to you.”

“It’s not my fau-”

“Save it Castiel. I guess neither of us can do anything right.”

Y/N grabbed the bottle of whiskey and headed off to her bedroom before Castiel could say anything more. She sat cross-legged in the middle of her bed, letting the tears run down her face, taking a drink for every scream that echoed in her brain.

The shrill ring of a phone pulled Y/N into a throbbing consciousness. She groaned, holding her head with one hand and steadying herself with the other as she kicked the empty Jack bottle across the floor on her way to the desk. Loose papers fell and fluttered to the floor as she dug through the drawers searching for the phone, desperate to stop the sound.

“Hello?” She croaked when she finally found it, holding the phone away from her ear as she answered.

“Y/N? Is… is that you?”

“Yeah,” Y/N cleared her throat. “It’s me.”

“Oh thank God. We need your help, please. We thought it was just one werewolf… but it’s a pack. We’re in over our heads.”

“Maybe I’m not the bes-”

“We heard you were working on a quiet, long range weapon. We need it. We’ve lost two already trying to get close. They have captives.” The line went silent as Y/N closed her eyes. The events of the last 48 hours blurred past her mind, and she sighed.

“Where are you?”

“Louisiana. I can text you our coordinates.”

“I’ll be there.”

Ketch hated the American south. The sun beat down on his leather jacket relentlessly, causing beads of sweat to run down the sides of his face underneath his helmet. The tires of his bike chewed at the miles before him, but he would be elated when the job was done and he could head the other direction, back to air conditioning and away from the abomination known as sweet tea.

His foul mood was forgotten when he pulled off the highway and rolled to a stop next to an ancient yet pristine powder blue pick up truck. It was clearly a hunter’s, and he hated it. It stood out, it was inefficient, and it was gaudy. He shook his head as he hid his bike. He had strict orders; take out the werewolf pack if the American hunters haven’t yet, and if the American hunters are there, observe how they hunt. Do not interfere unless the American hunters fail.

Ketch turned and eyed the truck again before taking the parts of his gun out of his bag and assembling them; judging by their transportation alone, it would only be a matter of time before he was cleaning up another mess.

The cabin wasn’t hard to find. He could hear the hunt before he crested the hill, the sounds of broken glass and the screaming of captives echoing in the otherwise silent forest. He was walking around the perimeter, looking for a good place to scout from, when he caught a glimpse of her through the back window. He hid himself behind a tree and shouldered his gun so he could use his scope to see.

Y/N was by herself in a room with three wolves, and two more lay dead on the ground. She was bleeding, her face was smeared with a mix of sweat and blood and dirt, but her teeth were clenched in determination, fear nowhere to be found. They surrounded her, fangs out and jaws snapping, and she returned a toothy grin of her own. Ketch watched as she stabbed one and pivoted to stab another, stumbling when her blade caught and she was drug down as the wolf collapsed.

The third jumped and pinned her to the floor. Ketch waited for the other hunters to help her, but they were ushering humans out of the front, running toward the road. He waited for her to scream, but she didn’t make a sound. Ketch’s orders replayed through his head as he watched the wolf lean in, drool dripping from his mouth down onto her neck.

The werewolf’s body convulsed as the bullet tore through his brain. Y/N jumped at the sound of breaking glass and flipped as soon as the pressure on her shoulders was released. The body slumped to the floor and she looked out the window for the source of the shot. She caught a glimpse of leather as it ducked behind a tree, but before she could get a better look Alicia burst into the room, ready to join the fight.

“Y/N!” She rolled the werewolf the rest of the way off so that Y/N could get up. “Y/N are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Did you get everyone out?” Y/N stood up and wiped her hands off on her jeans before collecting her knife.

“Yeah, Max is taking them all back to town.”

“Convenient of him to leave us to clean up.” Y/N toed the head of one of the bodies with her boot, grimacing as it rolled limply.

“Burn pile?” Alicia asked, pointing to a can of gas behind her.

“Burn pile.” Y/N agreed with a grin.

The light was fading when they made it back to Y/N’s truck. She threw her hunting bag in the back, pausing when she turned to walk back to the cab. She tilted her head and knelt down.

“Is there a problem?” Alicia asked as she leaned in the doorway.

“No, no everything is fine.” She studied the motorcycle tracks for a few more seconds before standing up and flashing a smile at Alicia. “Let’s go home.”

When Y/N got back to the bunker, Cas and his truck were gone. The Impala sat untouched in her spot in the garage, a silent reminder of the issue at hand. She leaned against her truck and looked at the Impala, chewing her bottom lip while the wheels in her mind began to turn. She walked inside, started a load of laundry, made some dinner, and got to work.

She was in the library on her laptop when Cas walked in. She was surrounded by take-out boxes and dirty dishes, open notebooks and pens, books and sticky notes. Her hair was unbrushed, her shirt dirty, her eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.

“Y/N.” She jumped when Castiel said her name. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Cas.” She put her laptop down and stretched before standing up and walking over to him. “I’m sorry. Sam and Dean, that’s wasn’t your fault. I never should have blamed you for that.” Cas smiled softly at her before looking at the floor. “I’m looking. I’m searching everywhere, but I keep hitting dead ends. It’s like chasing a ghost. They’ve been gone-”

“Six weeks, two days, and ten hours.”

“We’ve got to find them. Until then, we just keep doing our best.”

“Are we though? Are we doing our best?” Y/N froze, her eyes widening as the buried memory of a little girl who would never return home forced its way back to the front of her brain. “Did you hear about the murders in Lancaster, Missouri?”

“No…”

“Women. Throats ripped out, blood drained.”

“Vampire.”

“I tried. I drove into town, I asked around. I don’t know what I did wrong, but I couldn’t find it. Three more women died and I couldn’t… I ran.”

“Let’s go back. You and me.”

“No, you were right. I can’t do anything right.”

“Cas…” Y/N reached to pull him into a hug, but he turned and walked away.

She turned and looked at the library, all the progress she wasn’t making. She felt like she had circled the internet twice, exhausting every lead, and she had nothing to show for it. She closed her laptop, cleaned up the room a bit, and headed to shower and pack. Lancaster just made its way to the top of her to-do list.

The phone rang while Y/N watched the vamps body burning. She tossed the dirty rag from cleaning her machete on to the fire as she answered.

“Hey Cas. Don’t worry about that vamp. I took care of it.”

“Y/N… It’s Dean. He called.”

“I’m on my way.”

“What are we getting into?” Y/N asked as Castiel climbed into her truck.

“I’m not sure.” Castiel buckled his seatbelt as the truck lurched forward.

“We should call in backup.”

“I may have an idea.”

Y/N recognized the Bentley instantly. It gleamed in the glow from her headlights as she threw the truck into park. She turned and looked at Cas with a raised eyebrow.

“This is your backup plan?” Castiel met her gaze and wordlessly stepped out of the truck. They walked to the front of the truck, and Y/N looked up into the face of her valiant one night stand. A grin crawled across his face.

“Hello Annie.”

Next Chapter

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Ketch and Release: @cinnamonrollsforlife @time-travel-bouqet @cutelittlepurplesouls @armieggedon @marianita195 @cloverhighfive @supernatural-teamfreewillpage @liv-the-artist @chloesamxoxo @probably-writing-something @ambx2 

[dontshootmespence]

Broken Homes Fix Broken Hearts

A/N: Let @veroinnumera and I in on your thoughts for our OTP! Fuel us!

Chapter 33

It was far too early in the morning, but Derek was already on edge. Tonight...he was doing this. He was going to ask the woman he loved to marry him. It was actually pretty nauseating. Pulling everyone else out of their morning fogs, Garcia walked into the room clapping excitedly. “Tonight’s the night!” She sing-songed. “Chocolate Thunder, do you have everything ready?”

“Yup. All good to go.”

Hotch’s rare smile emerged as she looked up. “How are you feeling?”

“I definitely want to hurl. I’m pretty positive she’s going to say yes though, so I don’t know why I’m freaking out.”

“Because you’re opening yourself up to rejection. That feeling of vulnerability really sucks,” Spencer said matter-of-factly, barely looking up from his still-steaming cup of coffee. Silence fell around him to the point where he looked up. “What? You weren’t looking for an answer, were you?”

“No, kid.”

Emily moved her hand back, tapping him on the shoulder. “You two are so disgustingly in love. The proposal you have planned is the most adorable thing you’ve ever done in your life. You’re going to be fine.”

                                                            -----

About halfway through the day, Derek gave up on even trying to pretend he was doing paperwork. His head was spinning and he needed to get it on straight before tonight. No way was he letting this be anything less than perfect. She deserved perfect.

There were only two people in the world he knew could help him. One was the woman he planned on proposing to that night, so he couldn’t call her. Instead he picked up the phone and dialed the other: his mama.

The phone rang a few times before her voice came through on the other end. “Hello?”

“Hey Mama, it’s Derek. I just...I needed you.” He smiled.

“Is everything alright? Are you hurt? Is Juliet hurt? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong, I promise. Well, there might be later if she doesn’t say yes. But that’s why I’m calling actually. I-uh-I’m going to propose tonight.”

A joyful peel of laughter cut off any further explanation. He could hear the tears in her voice. “Oh baby I’m so happy for you. She will. I know she will. She’s meant to be family and meant to be your wife.”

Wife. He liked that word. But he had to get to fiancee first. “I’m actually nervous, Mama. Why am I nervous?”

“Because you love her. It’s not so much believing that she’ll say no as putting pressure on yourself to make it the most amazing night of her life thus far,” Fran replied. “How are you doing it?”

For the next few minutes, he regaled her with the details of the proposal, confiding in her that while the basic idea had been his, it wouldn’t have happened without the help of Reid and Garcia. “Those are good ones, that team of yours.”

“Yea, they are,” he said, breathing deeply as he looked at his watch. He needed to get back to work. “I’m feeling better, Mama. Thank you.”

“Any time, my baby boy. As soon as she says yes, I need a phone call, okay?”

“Of course, wish me luck.”

“You won’t need it.”

                                                           -----

Her father’s ring was beginning to burn a hole in Juliet’s pocket. Not literally, that would be a fire hazard, especially in a library. But figuratively it was starting to make her anxious. What was the plan? Was there even a plan? Should there be a plan? Her brain was burning through thoughts left and right. She had no idea what she was doing or how any of this was supposed to work.

All those great romances in cinema always showed the proposals, but not how the fuck anyone ever figured out how to propose. Not helpful. She knew how that part worked, all loving words and happy crying. At least, that was if he said yes. He would say yes. Right?

Of course he would. Anxiety was not going to ruin this for her. She was in love and going to spend the rest of her life with the person that made her feel happier than Juliet had ever thought possible. Derek Morgan would say yes, because he loved her the same way she loved him: with everything they had.

Approaching the door to the home they shared, Juliet noticed something that wasn’t there before. It looked like...paper? She strode up and took it off the door, unfolding it and smiling to herself.

This box is mostly filled with things

That never bring you glee.

Like bills, and junk and other things,

You’d rather never see.

A scavenger hunt.

Today was their one-year anniversary and he’d planned a scavenger hunt. He was truly the most amazing man ever. “Okay, so this obviously means the mailbox,” she muttered to herself. An enormous smile spread across her face as she ran like a kid to a tree on Christmas morning toward the mailbox, opening it to see her favorite lavender candles inside - along with another piece of paper. She read the next clue out loud.

Romance, mystery, fantasy Dive deep inside to look Find the place where you and I lose all our time Getting lost inside our books

Juliet frowned to herself, rereading the paper a few times. There were bookshelves in the living room but they didn’t read there usually. Most of the time they read upstairs, in the bedroom. The bedroom? It was worth a shot.

She headed back to the front door and inside, going up the stairs rather than look around for Derek. He might not even be home yet, he hadn’t texted. Hopefully she wasn’t ruining a surprise. Oops?

Juliet pushed the bedroom door open, ready to start tearing the room apart, only to find a bouquet of gorgeous yellow tulips. She paused for a moment, smiling. If Derek was there she would’ve been hugging him so tight. They were her favorites, and he hadn’t even had to ask to check.

Picking them up, she noticed another little paper taped to the bouquet. She could do this all day. The smile on her face felt like it was plastered there.

Up and down, and up and down you climb these everyday. You've likely seen the clue on these, but passed it anyway.

“What?”

Turning around, she stared out of the room and down the hallway. “I climb the stairs. But I passed the stairs. There wasn’t anything-”

She stopped herself mid-sentence when she a box on the floor with a paper attached. Before she read the next clue, she glanced into the box, assuming she’d find a pair of heels, but of course, Derek knew her too well. High heels weren’t her thing - with a few minor exceptions. Instead, she found a pair of white strappy gladiator sandals. They didn’t go too high on the leg either which was something that always bugged her. Only Amazonian tall women could pull off big-ass gladiator shoes. And women with insanely long legs. She almost forgot about the paper until it crinkled in her hand. “What’s next?” She asked softly.

It seems our clothes just keep returning

to this same machine.

At least they're better than the things

the ancients used to clean.

Laundry room. Juliet grinned, it had to be. After strapping on the shoes, she went the rest of the way down the stairs and headed for the laundry room. She blushed looking over the machines and recalling a few adventures. Later. There would be time for fun later, right now she needed to find the next clue.

After rifling through the shelves, Juliet finally opened the dryer to find another box, larger this time. She peeled back white tissue paper to reveal a simple robin egg blue dress, pulling it out she found an intricately detailed open back. Subtle, but beautiful. She’d always called her style casual and comfy, which it was at times, but Derek knew better than that, which was becoming clear right this very moment.

Luckily, the dress wasn’t too fussy so she was able to get it on without help, though she had grown quite fond of Derek lending a hand and zipping her up. Sometimes though that meant they didn’t get out of the house on time because he’d decide it looked much better off than on.

A bittersweet “aww” reverberated through the room as she realized she was toward the end of her scavenger hunt.

For your final item to begin our anniversary date:

When you're feeling less than fresh there's just one place to go To wash and get all squeaky clean and scrub between each toe.

“Bathroom!” She squealed happily. When she ran in, she caught a glimpse of the dress. She looked radiant in it. Maybe it was the dress, maybe it was the fact that she was insanely happy right now. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t about to question this feeling. Quickly, she looked around and her eyes caught a basket of bath products - lavender again. There was a bath bomb, shampoo, conditioner, soap, lotion for when she got out, even a purple towel.

Taking out her phone, she texted Derek. “Are you home, you sneak? I’ve found all your clues.”

She didn’t get a reply, but less than a minute later, Derek peeked his head around the door frame, flashing her a cheesy smile. “You found everything?”

“Yes!” She cried out, jumping into his embrace. “That was so much fun.”

“I have so much more planned,” he winked.

Juliet did a little happy dance as he put her down. “Oh, do tell.”

“Well, I have dinner starting downstairs. It’s a surprise what we’re having. These bath things are for you. Take a bath while I finish cooking. I’m even going to put the towel in the dryer and heat it up for when you get out. Then put on the outfit and I’m going to take the flowers and some of the candles downstairs. I figured you could use one in here.” The unrestrained joy on his face told her he was proud of himself. He should be. This was perfect. She’d remember this forever.

She leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed him, lingering there to capture this perfect moment. “Mood lighting. I like it. Okay, my sexy Casanova. I’ll take a bath and I’ll be down in a bit.”

                                                           -----

Half an hour later Juliet was slipping back into the dress and shoes and heading downstairs. She was trying to be quiet, but the house was old and the stair creaked, betraying her. Derek played along though, ignoring her until her hands were over his eyes. “Guess who.” She murmured happily, pressing a kiss to his neck.

“Hmmm, I’m terrible at guessing. Give me another hint.” Derek insisted, grinning.

She rolled her eyes, removing her hands and kissing him lightly. “Oh, it’s the woman I’m hopelessly and irrevocably in love with.”

“Hi.” Juliet whispered, unable to help the smile that spread onto her lips. She felt giddy; he made her feel so excited and content.

When they’d visited his family, his mama had cooked some fettuccine alfredo that Juliet had fallen in love with, so after hanging up with her earlier, he texted in desperation for the recipe. Up until then, he honestly had no idea what he was going to cook, just that he was planning to cook. Juliet took a piece of pasta from the bowl, slurping it up and leaving a drop of alfredo sauce on her nose. “I kind of want to do the lady and the tramp thing with the pasta.”

For her, he’d do it. His heart started beating frantically. She looked so stunning. Her smile carefree, her eyes awash with candlelight. Dinner smelled amazing, and in the background of his sense, he could smell the tulips he’d picked up for her. “You look beautiful, Juliet,” he said seriously.

“Thank you, love.” She blushed, looking down at her plate. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

It was now or never. He couldn’t wait until after dinner. He’d throw it up in the process and that was not how he wanted her to remember this proposal. “You know I love you more than anything else in the world, right?” He asked, his voice wavering slightly.

“Of course, I do.”

“When we met, I figured this was a favor I was doing for my cousin. I never expected to meet the love of my life. And I definitely didn’t expect for said woman to assume I was a stripper on first meeting,” he laughed.

Juliet covered her face with her hands, remembering the epitome of foot in mouth that had happened the year before. “To be fair. You would be an amazing stripper.”

Derek chuckled. Even in a moment like this she could make him laugh. This was definitely the woman he was meant to spend the rest of his life with, if she’d have him. “We’ll have to revisit that later. But for right now, I have something else I’d like to do, if that’s alright.”

“Derek?” She asked softly, breath catching in her throat. He was going to say another perfect thing if she let him keep talking. But she couldn’t. This was it, this was the right moment. Slowly Juliet started to reach into her pocket.

“Juliet. Could you look at me for a second?” He murmured. She froze, looking up. He was shaking. She gripped the ring tight. “Is everything okay?”

He nodded but didn’t speak, slowly getting up out of his chair and reaching into his back pocket.

No.

As if it was happening in slow motion, Derek knelt down on the floor, reaching into his pocket where he held a velvet pouch. He dropped it into his hand.

This wasn’t happening.

Yes, it was. “Oh my god,” she whispered, hands covering her mouth as the tears sprang to her eyes. “Derek?”

“Juliet Hunter-Lewis,” he started, grasping her hand, “No one on earth has ever made me feel like you do. I see everything when I look at you. The wedding, the marriage, the family, the growing old together. I’ve never been able to imagine that with anyone, but with you it’s just so natural. If you do me the honor of being my wife, I will spend every day of the rest of our lives making you feel about me the way I feel about you...Will you marry me?”

Tears starting to blur her vision, Juliet found her way out of her chair and knelt down on the floor in front of him, trembling as she pulled her father’s ring out of her pocket. “Only if you say yes too.” She laughed through the tears, smiling at the love of her life.

Derek found himself laughing too as he nodded. “Yes. Yes. A million times yes. Or whatever the biggest number Reid knows is. That’s how many yeses.”

“Then yes!” Juliet exclaimed, holding out her right hand and trying in vain to keep it from shaking. They both knelt there on the ground laughing and crying as Derek slid the ring onto her finger and then she did the same. “This is so beautiful.”

“It’s my mama’s. She gave it to me when we visited.”

That was months ago. “You didn’t ask her for it?”

“No,” he replied. “She just knew. Mother’s intuition, I guess.”

She was going to have to give Fran the longest hug in the entire world next time she saw her. “It’s amazing. She’s amazing. You’re amazing.” Leaning in, she grabbed his face in her hands and pressed a kiss to his lips. “I love you so much.”

Cradling the back of her head, he pulled her closer, their sweet and chaste kisses turning breathless in the blink of an eye.

“Dinner’s probably getting cold,” she laughed.

He didn’t care. “We do have a microwave.”

Something told her dinner was going to have to wait.

@virgoswlw​​ @crimeshowtrash​ @literallyprentissstwin​ @jazz91121 @tommyhollandd​ @spencer-puppies-and-stuff​ @fl0werb0nes18​ @stunudo​ @spencerthepipecleaner​ @theofficeofsupremegenius​ @ultrarebelheart​ @lookwhatyoumademequeue​ @lukeassmanalvez​ @mentallydatingspencerreid​ @nobravery​ @criminal-anatomy @matthew-gray-reidler​ @remember-me-forever-silent-angel​ @original-criminal-fanfics​ @lovelukealvez @stories-you-wont-hear @speedreiding @marvelfanlife @butsomeofusarelookingatthestars​ @wonderboygenius​ @naturallytom​ @imagines-for-criminal-minds​ @acespence​ @sweater-vest-reid​ @criminalmindskeepsmealive @spenncerreiid​ @sam-carter-in-training​ @parker-hopper @spencerwreid​ @ssahotchner​ @profiler-in-training​ @were-skye​ @trollitis​ @heyboywonder​ @ficrecswithcassie​ @janiedreams88@gingeraleandcontemplation @cynbx @fortheloveofspencerreid​ @tippy06​ @cleocc @bestillmystuckyheart​ @ssaunitchief​ @xxm3xxj​ @xocriminal-minds-imaginesxo​

[waywardnerd67]

Sacrifice

Summary: Seeing the effect The Mark has on Dean, (Y/N) makes a big decision to take The Mark herself. She never knew that it would lead to the single most important event of her life.   Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel, Amara, Chuck, Rowena, Crowley, Reader Pairing: Dean x Reader Warnings: Angst/Fluff Word Count: 2300 A/N #1: This was a request from @assassinofmasyaf, I hope this is everything you dreamed of. A/N #2: As always this is unbeta so all mistakes are mine. Likes, comments and reblogs are splendid and I will love you doubly for them! Enjoy!

Her chest was burning and she could feel her powers firing throughout her veins. (Y/N) squeezed her eyes tightly feeling the souls moving within her. When she felt like she could take a breath without blowing up everyone in the room she slowly opened her eyes. They were met by the familiar olive eyes of the man she had fallen in love with. Her best friend. Her partner. Dean Winchester.

“Are you okay?” he asked his voice filled with the worry that was shining in his eyes.

(Y/N) nodded slowly taking another deep breath, “I’m alright. I’ll be alright.” She said trying to sound reassuring.

She looked around at everyone in the Men of Letters Bunker. The King of Hell along with his mother the three hundred year old witch. An angel of the Lord. God, who preferred to go by Chuck and then finally the brothers. The Winchesters, who had been by her side since she wrestled with her first Leviathan.

She touched Dean’s forearm just to show him that she was okay. “Everyone knows the plan so let’s get going.” He said as they made their way towards the Impala.

As they drove towards the one person (Y/N) feared to be near but felt drawn too. She began to think back on the last four years.

February 2013

“I cannot believe you two were supposed to be American Men of Letters. I’ve heard all kinds of rumors concerning them and their Bunker. This is so exciting!” (Y/N) said as Sam Winchester took out the key their time traveling grandfather gave him before he was killed by Abaddon.

Dean scoffed, “I don’t see the big deal about being a part of a secret society. I mean look what they did to your family because of their code.”

Sam and (Y/N) both looked up at Dean. Sam narrowing his hazel eyes at his brother as (Y/N) bit her lip from the horrible memory. She chuckled nervously, “If that hadn’t happened then you would have never met me and your life would suck more so than it already does, Winchester.”

Dean rolled his eyes as Sam unlocked the door. Walking into a long dark corridor. Each of them took out their flashlights making their way down to another door that was solid iron. Sam opened the door that lead to a balcony.

“Son of a bitch.” Dean muttered as he looked around the top landing. He found an electrical box flipping the first switch.

The room partial lit up enough for them to shut off their flashlights. Sam and (Y/N) made their way down the stairs as Dean flipped the next switch.

“Son of a bitch.” Sam and (Y/N) muttered together as they looked into a full stocked library and war room.

They walked up the two steps of the library as Dean came up behind them placing his arms around their shoulders, “Guys I think we found the bat cave.”

Present Day

The memory brought a smile onto her face as she sat up front in between Sam and Dean. She leaned her head onto Sam’s shoulder and Dean’s hand covered hers on her lap. She listened to Baby roar down the highway as the wind whirled around them.

The closer that got to her the more (Y/N) could feel her body buzzing with desire to be near her. She absentmindedly rubbed her forearm where The Mark of Cain had been. She noticed Dean glance over at her practically seeing the guilt weighing down on his shoulders. She squeezed his hand and gave him a small smile trying to silently convey that none of this was his fault.

(Y/N) had been the one who made the decision to take The Mark from Dean. After watching how it affected him eventually turning him into a demon after Metatron had killed him. She gave Dean an ultimatum he could give The Mark to her or she would leave never speaking to them again. After a heated argument he passed The Mark of Cain to her.

October 2014

(Y/N) rubbed her forearm where The Mark of Cain was now branded onto her skin. The power of it burning through her veins mixing with her natural witch powers. It seemed that the protection spell she placed on herself was intact, keeping the full effects of The Mark from corrupting her. Some days were harder than others and she would need to be alone to full concentrate on keep herself under control.

She looked down at her phone reading two in the morning as she sat on the floor of the kitchen. Tonight, was one of those rough nights that The Mark was affecting her in ways she could have never dream of. Which was exactly just that, the hatred and bloodlust was slipping into her unconscious thoughts as she slept. (Y/N) had woken up in a cold sweat after the night terror.

She tipped back the bottle of whiskey to her lips bring her phone level with her eyes. She looked at the picture of her, Dean and Sam all together after they had cured Dean of being a demon. He was holding her close as Castiel had taken the picture of them. Dean’s head was leaning against hers his smile not quite reaching his eyes. Sam looking tired from hardly sleeping during the process.

“What are you doing up?” Dean’s sleepy voice asked as she looked up at him.

He was wearing his dead man’s robe and the slippers she had bought him for Christmas one year. His short sandy brown hair was sticking up in every direction and his cheeks were slightly flushed from being asleep.

She sighed handing the bottle up to him, “Nightmare. Can’t sleep.”

He took the bottle and sat down next to her, “C’mere.” He said stretching his arm out over her head.

(Y/N) laid her head on his chest as his strong arm wrapped around her. His fingers gently brushing against her bare arm as she slipped it around his narrow waist. He smelt like minty toothpaste and soap from his earlier shower before bed.

“It’s The Mark, isn’t it?” he asked both already knowing the answer as she nodded.

“Some days or nights are better than others. I’m still stronger than you to resist it.” She said hearing the deep growl rumbling in Dean’s chest.

He scoffed, “That is only because you’re a witch and have powers. Other than that, you would have been corrupted in two seconds flat.”

(Y/N) snickered, “Don’t hate on my powers. I was completely up front with you and Sam about who I was when we first met. It's probably the most honest I've ever been with anyone.... ever.”

Dean laughed softly a comfortable silence falling between them. The consistent trail his fingers were leaving on her arm, his steady heart beat and warm body lulled her into a deep sleep. When she woke up the next morning, she found herself wrapped up in her blanket on her bed. As she sat up, she found Dean sleeping in a chair next to her bed. His feet propped up on her bed.

It was in the exactly moment that she could no longer deny what she had been pushing down within herself for years. The way Dean always felt like home to her. The way he could get her heart to race with a single look. She sighed running her hand through her hair as she smiled looking at his peaceful face. She was in love with Dean Winchester.

Present Day

Dean pulled up to a small cemetery outside of Greenville, Illinois. Explaining to everyone he needed a moment alone with (Y/N). He took her hand leading her towards one of the graves. As they stopped in front of one, she read the name out loud, “Mary Winchester”

“My mom. Of course, she’s not buried here since she burned to death. Her uncle put this up after her death. After our dad died, Sam insisted that we visit here. Even though I know she’s not six feet deep, I wanted you to meet her.” Dean paused lacing their fingers together, “I want my mom to meet the woman I’m in love with.”

(Y/N)’s eyes snapped up to Dean’s. They were shining with vulnerability. She knew he was waiting for her to say something, but her mind and mouth were not communicating at that particular moment. A smirk crossed his lips as he nervously chuckled, “I rendered you speechless. That’s a first.”

“Dean, I…” he began to shake his head as the words she so desperately wanted to say tried to claw their way from the blockage happening from her mouth.

“You don’t have to say anything. I know we’ve never been that way with each other. I don’t even know when I fell for you. Probably the night I carried you to your room after you had a nightmare from The Mark. I don’t expect you to feel the same way…” he explained.

(Y/N) pushed herself up on her toes and pressed her lips firmly against his. They were rough yet soft just like he was. She felt his arms circle around her as he carefully held her body against his. Their hearts equally pounding against their chests. When she pulled away and slowly opened her eyes the words finally came out that she held onto for so long.

“I love you too, Dean Winchester.” His smile could have replaced the dying sun in the sky.

Soon it faded away as Sam walked over to them, “It’s time.” He whispered.

(Y/N) nodded as the three of them walked back towards the car. She said her goodbyes to Castiel and Sam hugging them both. She whispered to them both, “Take care of him.” Sam had held her a little longer his body tense from holding back his own emotions.

She flipped off Crowley who smirked at her. Rowena simply nodded at her as they had many disagreements about how to use their powers. Then she turned to Dean who was looking down at his feet shoving his hands into his pockets.

(Y/N) stood in front of him, “I’ll save you a spot in my Heaven. When you get there come find me and we’ll make up for lost time for eternity.” He chuckled pressing his lips against her forehead as he hugged her.

“Best pick up line ever, (Y/N/N). I’ll probably see you sooner than later. I love you.” He said leaning down and kissing her one last time.

She swallow hard to keep her emotions down, “I love you too.” She whispered then turned towards Chuck.

“Ready?” He asked as she nodded. He then snapped his fingers and she was suddenly in the middle a garden and she could feel Amara nearby.

“Hello (Y/N),” She froze hearing Amara’s smooth voice behind her, “What are you doing here?”

(Y/N) turned around to see Amara standing a few feet away from her. She was taken back by the confusion that was on Amara’s face. “I’m here to be with you. I’m tired of running from my destiny.”

Amara scoffed, “I’d believe you but the bomb in your chest says otherwise.”

(Y/N) had started to move towards her but stopped like a child whose hand was caught in the cookie jar. Amara walked towards a patch of flowers running her fingers gently over the pedals. “What happens now?” she asked.

“Is this world truly worth your life that you are so willing to sacrifice?” Amara asked looking back over her shoulder.

(Y/N) nodded, “This world is flawed and dark, but its beauty outshines any bad spots it may have. No matter that is not why I am willing to sacrifice my life.”

Amara looked at her curiously for a moment and then realization dawned on her face, “Love. You are sacrificing yourself for love. I can understand that. I love my brother and wanted nothing more than to be by his side. Yet, he chose creation over me. How do I get past that?”

“I think you need to talk to him. Listen to him instead of reacting instantly. Maybe be open to his creation.” (Y/N) said stepping closer towards Amara her body urging her to be near her.

Amara snapped her fingers and suddenly Chuck appeared slumping down onto the fountain. He looked around confused, “(Y/N) what is going on?” he asked.

“It’s okay, Chuck. Just hear her out.” (Y/N) said as Amara walk up beside him.

Listening to God and his sister talk about his creation was a surreal moment. Watching them work out their differences was making her miss Dean. For the first time in months she did not feel the drawn to Amara. (Y/N) watched as Amara healed Chuck then looked over to her.

Chuck walked over to (Y/N), “How we defuse you.” She watched as he drew all the spirits out of her. Her chest burned as each one left her. “Better?” he asked as she nodded.

“(Y/N), you gave me what I needed most, and I want to return that favor.” Amara said before she and Chuck disappeared in a cloud of black and white smoke.

(Y/N) looked around the garden, “Could have given me lift back to Kansas…” she muttered walking towards the main road.

She looked down at her cell seeing she had no service and cursing under her breath. All she wanted to do was call Dean and let him she was alright. She heard some rustling from behind her and turned around seeing someone seemingly lost.

“Excuse me, do you need some help?” she asked walking up to them.

(Y/N)’s breath caught in her throat as the person turned around. A small gasp escaped her lips, “Dad?” she asked her voice barely above a whisper.

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[elpuntthing]

[TRANSCRIPT:]

PETER: You are sure you don’t know where Elias Bouchard’s office is?

BRIAN: No. I’m, I’m sorry.

PETER: Not to worry. I’m sure I can find it. And I’m sure you need some time to get used to your new situation.

BRIAN: [Softly] What?

PETER: Good luck Brian.

[Very sharp squeal of distortion]

BRIAN: Yeah… Thanks… Uh… I – Oh. Hello?

[cut]

PETER: To be honest with you, Martin, I didn’t expect to be taking over the place so soon, or in quite such a state of disarray. But I’ll do my best to keep the place afloat.

MARTIN: [sigh] …right.

PETER: Oh, what’s that look for? You won! I am sorry if it doesn’t look quite like you hoped, but – here we are!

[cut]

PETER: So it’s down to us. You and me, the dynamic duo!

MARTIN: And so, what, that means I have to trust you?

PETER: It would make things a lot simpler.

MARTIN: Yeah, well, things would also be a lot simpler if you weren’t so cryptic about everything!

PETER: Well, if your Archives were a bit better-organized, it wouldn’t have taken me almost three months to find the evidence you needed.

MARTIN: What?

PETER: I’m just saying that we’d all be better off if your Archivist actually knew how to archive.

MARTIN: Peter.

[cut]

PETER: Anyway, I’m very excited to see this rota you’ve put together.

MARTIN: [overlapping] Oh – oh, okay.

PETER: Never had much of a gift for administration myself – too many variables. Now, this box on the left, that’s the library staff, yes?

MARTIN: Wh– n-no! That’s the – Those are the dates! I – [clicking] Look, are you sure you don’t want me to teach you; i-it’s a very simple program –

PETER: No, no. Can’t stand computers. Besides, that’s why I have an assistant, isn’t it?

MARTIN: [sigh]

[cut]

PETER: Then Jon willfully hurled himself into the coffin. I did not intervene because thankfully, I did not agree to protect your friends from their own idiocy.

MARTIN: [huffs]

PETER: Though actually, he gave it more consideration than I thought he would.

MARTIN: He’s not a moron.

PETER: …If you say so. Regardless, he’s in there three days and then what do you know? He manages to pull himself out of the coffin like a grubby Jesus, and he even brings a penitent thief along, in the form of your pet murderer. Does this seem about right to you so far?

MARTIN: Yeah...

PETER: Now, from my point of view, so far, none of this has been any of my business. We have bigger concerns than this little soap opera you call an Archive.

MARTIN: [scoffs]

[cut]

PETER: I’m absolutely delighted with your progress, and I feel you've earned some straight answers.

MARTIN: …But not from you.

PETER: Oh, no. That sort of conversation makes me very uncomfortable.

[cut]

PETER: Oh, come now. What would life be without the occasional twist? Oh, speaking of which, I’ve had a report of a workplace dispute in the library, and I would value your input. I’m trying to get out of the habit of, what did you call it – sending them away?

MARTIN: [sigh] Fine.

[tape click, cut]

MARTIN: I just wish Peter would finally get round to telling me what we’re meant to be doing about it.

PETER: [static appears] Then I have good news for you!

MARTIN: [gasps, and we hear what sounds like his chair scraping backwards in alarm.]

MARTIN: [admonishing, annoyed] Peter, we have talked about this!

PETER: In my defense, it is still quite funny.

[cut]

MARTIN: That’s a Leitner.

PETER: It is!

MARTIN: And the, um… the blood on it?

PETER: [cheerfully] That’s Leitner too!

[cut]

PETER: [echoing] You’re alone, Archivist. The last one standing. I did warn you. I did want you to leave, but… perhaps it would be better if you stayed a while. After all – you can’t hurt anyone in here.

JON: [seemingly defeated] Yes.

PETER: Yes.

JON: [flatly] Or perhaps you could answer some questions.

in honor of the new episode heres a collection of my favorite peter moments! rest in PIECES you awful man