#pairing: al x sam

[spockasmr]

al is never getting out of therapy

[kaleldobrev]

Just Right

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Feat. Character(s): Reader, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester

Summary: Dean hates when you’re sick. Not only can he not kiss his best girl without the possibility of getting sick himself. But you also can’t make one of his favorite things to start off his day: his morning coffee.

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Cursing (2x)

Author's Note: Apologies for not tagging people | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

As much as you hated being sick, you knew that Dean hated when you were just as much, maybe a bit more. Whenever either of you were sick – which wasn’t often thankfully – you two had your own sick routine, a routine that Dean despised doing, but understood the reasoning behind it.

When you had found yourself sick, you would sequester yourself into another bedroom of the Bunker and curl up in your favorite blankets while wearing your designated sick pajamas. Your sick pajamas as you called them consisted of some of your favorite things that always tended to bring you comfort: a pair of Dean’s gray sweatpants, one of his band t-shirts that you borrowed with the promise of returning it but never did, one of Dean’s flannels, and a pair of fuzzy socks.

Over the course of your sick time, you had found yourself doing an assortment of different things: trying to find something to watch on Netflix that you and Dean weren’t currently watching together, attempting to read one of your favorite books, or just straight sleeping. Dean would either text or call you, sometimes even knocking on the door and talking through the door to you. If he was feeling extra cheesy, he would slip you a note underneath the door. He would always ask you the same question: Do you need anything? Your answer would always be the same, “My usual sick meal.” A meal that consisted of a hot cup of tea with lemon and honey, Dean’s version of chicken noodle soup, Ritz crackers, and a ginger ale. Whenever he made this meal for you, you would always tell him to leave the tray outside the door so you wouldn’t get him sick, but without fail, each and every time, he would come into the room with tray in hand, and either kiss you on the top of the head and forehead and say, “My gorgeous sick baby,” before you rolled your eyes and threatened to throw a pillow at him.

When Dean had found himself sick, you would still be the one to leave the bedroom – despite your beloved boyfriend being the one trying to get you to stay with him, because all he really wanted to do was cuddle with you; he was extra clingy sick. But you had to play bad guy, telling him that as much as you had wanted to cuddle with him more than anything, you didn’t want to get sick.

You would tell Dean that he needed to try his best to stay sequestered in his room as to not get you or Sam sick – Jack and Cas were the ones that you didn’t have to worry about thankfully; but without fail, Dean would always leave the bedroom, walking around the Bunker coughing and sneezing. You would be close behind him, with a couple rolls of disinfected wipes the moment he left the room, your shirt covering your mouth and nose as to not inhale the germs.

You would do the same thing that Dean would do for you, calling, texting, or slipping a note underneath the door asking him if he needed anything from you. Your usual answer would be your sickness meal, his usual answer would be: “I wanna cuddle with my Sweetheart.” When you would reject that, he would ask for the second best thing: “My usual sick meal.” A meal that consisted of a not one, but two grilled cheese sandwiches, a side of tomato soup with saltines on the side, a can of ginger ale and a tiny glass of whiskey. Although you would tell Dean not to come into the room when you were sick to drop the food off, you never listened to your own advice. You always walked into the room with the tray of food and promptly kissed him on the forehead or cheek and say, “My handsome sick boy.” Followed by him smacking your ass as you walked away.

Although Dean and you hated when either of you were sick because you couldn’t be intimate with each other, one of the biggest reasons Dean hated when you were sick in particular is because you couldn’t make him his morning coffee. Yes, Dean was more than capable of making his own coffee in the morning, or he could easily go to the café downtown to grab a cup; but ever since you moved into the Bunker, those two things just never tasted right again to him. Because once having a taste of the way you had made it, he couldn’t have it any other way.

It was one of those rare times in which you were sick, and you knew exactly how you had gotten sick too. About a few days ago, you, Sam, and Dean went on a case together in Topeka where each of you interviewed a different member of the family. Sam and Dean interviewed the parents while you interviewed their child – a child who happened to be insanely sick. While interviewing the child, she kept on sneezing and coughing and at one point had wiped her snot coated hand on your arm when trying to reach for the tissues behind you. As soon as the three of you had gotten to the Bunker, you knew that something wasn’t right, as you were starting to exhibit the same symptoms as the little girl was.

You were sequestered in your designated sick room, wearing your designated sick pajamas, completely under the covers; a combination of being hot and cold at the same time. Your phone was propped up on a pillow that was lying next to you; Dean was on Facetime with you in your shared bedroom. “I think this is the worst I’ve ever felt.” You said, your voice sounded super nasally, and weak.

“Well, you still look and sound hot to me.” Dean told you, a grin on his lips. You couldn’t help but shake your head at his comment, disagreeing with him. “What? I don’t give a rats ass if your nose is running like a faucet and you look like Rudolf. You’re still fucking hot to me.”

“Dean, I look like I haven’t slept in days and on the verge of death and I sound like a toddler. I honestly have no idea how any of this is remotely hot to you.” You sniffled, grabbing a tissue from next to you in bed and blowing into it.

“To be fair Sweetheart, I always look like I’m on the verge of death and you still think I’m hot.” Dean said, shrugging his shoulders.

“Dean, you manage to look hot no matter what you do. It’s an oddly weird talent that you have.” You sniffled again, tossing the tissue you just used into the trash can.

He shrugged his shoulders again, almost as if he was agreeing with you. “Do you need anything from the kitchen? I’m about to go make my own coffee cause somebody can’t do it.”

You rolled your eyes and coughed. “Well, I’m sorry that your barista is sick. She can always make it for you, but I can’t promise that there won’t be hints of mucus in it.”

Dean gave you a disgusted look, shivering at the thought of your comment. “Okay, okay. Please, don’t ruin coffee for me. Coffee is one of the few joys that I have in this life.”

Dean walked into the kitchen, and gave Sam a slight head nod in his direction who was already sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee and his laptop. “There’s still some coffee in the pot if you want any.” Sam said, turning in his chair to face Dean who had started to make his way to the fridge. “I know it’s not how Y/N usually makes it but, I know you like the way I make it too.”

“Correction, I used to like the way you made it.” Opening the fridge Dean grabbed some milk and chocolate syrup and placed them on the counter in front of him. “Do you know how Y/N makes it? Cause she won’t tell me. And I feel like if anyone would know, it would be you.”

Sam gave Dean a questioning look. “Me? Why would Y/N tell me how she makes it?”

“Cause you’re her best friend. She tells you everything.” Dean knew for a fact that you had told Sam a lot; because more often than not, Sam would casually bring up something that Dean knew for a fact that him and you had talked about, and there would be no possible way for him to know that unless you were the one that told him.

“But you’re her boyfriend Dean. I feel like boyfriend trumps best friend in most cases.” Sam took a sip from his mug before closing his laptop and walked over to the counter, bringing his mug along with him.

“You know what they say Sammy, bros before well…hoes.” Dean gave Sam a grin, shrugging slightly.

“I think you might have insulted yourself with that one.” Sam said, finishing up his coffee. “So you really have no idea how she makes it uh?”

Dean shook his head. “No freaking clue. All I know is she puts milk and chocolate syrup in it.”

“I’ll let you in on a little secret Dean.” Sam began to say.

“What?” Dean asked.

“I…She told me to never tell you how she makes the coffee, but…she did tell me.” Sam finally confessed.

“Well? Would you like to share with the rest of the class?”

Sam grinned and walked over to the cabinet. He reached all the way into the back and took out a box of Keurig cups and placed the box onto the counter. Dean eyed the box for a moment before picking it up. “Dunkin’ Donuts?” Dean asked, sounding slightly confused.”

“Her special coffee she makes you? It’s just Dunkin’ Donuts Keurig cups with a dash of milk and a spoonful of Hershey’s chocolate syrup.”

“Son of a bitch…” Dean mumbled.

A Few Days Later…

With your sickness behind you, you were finally back to your old self; which meant that you can about your somewhat normal routine. You were excited to be able to hunt again, and you were excited to finally fall asleep to and wake up next to your beloved boyfriend. But despite the normalcy that you were excited to get back to, you knew that there was one thing that Dean was excited about – you being able to make his morning coffee again.

Quickly throwing the Dunkin’ Donuts Kuerig cup into the trash, you took Dean’s coffee cup and placed it onto the island counter in front of you; smiling as he walked in. “Morning Sicky,” Dean grinned, and you simply rolled your eyes.

Walking up to the counter, he looked at the mug and gestured toward it. “Is that?” And you nodded. He rubbed his hands together like an excited little kid before he took the mug from the counter, slowly blowing the contents to cool it down a bit. Taking a sip, he felt like he was in Heaven – not actual Heaven of course cause there were no dick angels around, but pretty close.

“Good?” You asked, and Dean nodded. As much as he wanted to tell you that he knew the secret to your coffee, he was never going to; because this was one secret that you deserved to have for yourself, even if Sam and Dean both knew.

[studiogrimm810]

Spackle

pairings/characters: (pining)dean winchester x gn!reader, sam is also there

summary: in a desperate attempt to back burner his feelings for you, dean tries to fill the void with pointless sex. and goddamn does that hurt

warnings: miscommunication and clarification, not too much, ANGSTY THO and happy ending ^.^

word count: 3,265

A/N: this is a request!!! i had a blast writing this one, love me some pining winchesters heheh. to get added to my tag list just send me an ask!! <3

(p.s. i realize this story set up isn’t exactly how it was worded in the request and i’m so sorry i’m just now noticing this T.T,, if you want a redo, pls lmk and i’ll correct my ways. okay ily)

———————

Light conversation murmurs over a steady 80s country song selected on the jukebox of this oddly cozy dive bar. Another successful hunt, with the help of your beloved Winchesters, lead the trio to celebrate amongst a round of drinks. The past few weeks, you’ve been tagging along for hunt after hunt and have really enjoyed the time with the boys. However, the closer proximity to the older brother only worsens the ache in your chest.

You watch him now as he throws back an amber shot of burning whiskey. His face hardens in a subtle growl at the sting as he slams the empty glass down. You follow his lead, letting the pungent liquid scrape down your throat and settle into your stomach, already warming with alcohol.

“Damn, they’ve got some cheap whiskey,” Dean blows out air through tight lips, cringing at the lingering singe of the alcohol. You nod, eyes scrunched in disgust.

“Whiskey is all pain, next time it’s vodka,” you declare, shaking off the burn and taking a swig of your less threatening house ale.

“Vodka is a young man’s game. Weak,” Dean mocks, taking a few fries from the communal basket in the middle.

“Are you so insecure that you have to validate your drunkenness with the more painful whiskey? Vodka drunk is where it’s at, I’m sick of pretending it’s not,” you shrug, taking a few fries as well.

Sam just chuckles at your bickering, tapping his fingers with the beat for the song. After back-to-back cases like this, you’ve noticed Sam is more inclined to let loose and relax with you and Dean.

The waitress comes back to the table and your body tenses as Dean's eyes trace her curves, landing on her face.

“Hey, sweetheart, can we get another round?” Dean holds up his empty shot glass. You force your gaze away, trying to ignore the sizzling discomfort under your skin.

There’s a few lines exchanged between the two and you have to bite your tongue to keep your emotion off your face.

Soft footsteps echo away and you look up to see Dean's eyes lingering for a beat too long. You try to ignore the ache in your chest, it’s not your place to feel so strongly for Dean. He’s not yours to call you own and you have no right to feel as blindingly jealous as you do when he throws his fucking googly eyes at a girl you couldn’t beat in a lineup.

It doesn’t stop the way the pain halts your lungs though because you’re still forced to watch the man you love ogle the most beautiful woman in the room.

“God, I could use a night to just unwind,” Dean hints into his beer, taking a sip and setting it back down with a refreshed hiss.

You don’t respond, instead taking a deep gulp of your ale, trying to drown the words so close to crawling out of your throat. Part of the burnout you’re starting to experience has fallen victim to Dean and his goddamn charm. He can’t help but flirt with anything shiny, it’s his nature, but you wished he thought you were someone worth flirting with.

And unfortunately, what you didn’t know was that it killed Dean to have you around like this. The pent up tension of having you so close makes him itch. He wants so desperately to give into the pull he feels between you two but he’s scared. Actually scared of making you uncomfortable or messing it up. So instead he deflects all of his affection he pleads to shower you with and points at whoever else is in his line of sight. It barely keeps him contained.

Another hour or so passes and you’re drunk enough to feel the absence of pain for the man next to you. Dean is drunk enough to pretend the pretty waitress can spackle the crevasse you’ve cracked into his sternum.

As Dean bids a goodnight and charms the waitress into an early cut, you chug the rest of your ale and turn to Sam.

“Are you present enough to drive us back to the motel?” You ask, fluttering a toothpick between your fingers.

“You got it,” Sam sits up, pulling out a wad of cash and planting it on the table, taking one last swig of his water and- well, you don’t remember him ordering a water- leading you out the front door that Dean and the mystery woman disappeared through just a few minutes ago.

You toss Sam your keys, Dean having taken the Impala, and climb into your passenger seat, letting the soft hum of the radio melt your mind.

Sam helps you into the motel, you may have drunk past your feelings tonight. You claim Dean's bed as your own since he won’t be here tonight, it’s the least he owes you- soberly though, you knew that’s not true.

“You good, can I get you anything?” Sam asks, untying his shoes and loosening his flannel.

“Nah, ‘M good,” you shake your head, sitting up and taking off your uncomfortable layers. You successfully get down to your undershirt and jeans, stretching your sore muscles.

“You can always talk to me, yaknow,” Sam says passively as he digs in his duffle, pretending to look for something. He knows you, and he knows that you aren’t openly ready to ever share your deeper feelings so he tries not to make a big deal out of it but he wants to offer his support regardless.

“You’re too kind, Sam,” your breathy voice flows out as you settle in the bed. “Just a little frustrated. Don’t worry about it,” you say, settling into the cushion. Sam wants to press but leaves it be. He cares for you and he recognizes how stupid his brother is being, but unfortunately there isn’t anything else he can do other than offer his moral support.

With lack of overthinking anxieties for the bright green eyes that stain your lids, sleep takes you easy.

———

The next morning, god is kind as she doesn’t punish you with a hangover but instead a dry mouth and the need to piss like a racehorse. With such a quick dash to the bathroom, you don’t notice Dean passed out on the couch.

Handling your business, you follow up with brushing your hair, teeth, and washing your hands and face- readying yourself for the day.

You trudge to the kitchenette sink and go through two glasses of water before slowing down and turning to finally notice Dean on the couch and Sam’s absence. Your heart nearly stops at the unexpected placement of bodies in the room and lack thereof. Dean is snoring peacefully and you don’t remember hearing him stumble back in this morning.

Last night. Ugh, you don’t want to think about whatever Dean got up to last night after leaving the bar.

It’s almost 10 am at this point and if you wanna make good time, you should probably leave soon. You hope Sam will be back in time for you to say goodbye, but you need space, bad, and don’t think you can hold out much longer.

You set the glass in the sink and head over to pack up your items. The rustling wakes up Dean.

“What time is it?” He asks with a groan, rubbing his eyes. You look over your shoulder at him, his sleepy voice rubbing you like kindling, filling you up quickly with haze smoke. You shake your head, trying to exhale the heat.

“9:54am to be exact,” you clear your throat, stacking some books of yours you had shown Sam yesterday morning sometime.

“God, this couch sucks,” he complains, sitting up with a grunt. Your lips, against your will, curl in amusement at his inconvenience.

“I’m sure your hot date had a bed comfortable enough,” the words feel like poison on your tongue. Your comment is meant to be lighthearted and ‘wing-man’-y but the silence indicates that it didn’t land.

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t know,” he grumbles and you feel sick, thinking of how else they made it work. The Impala? A different motel? Hell, maybe the bar bathroom. Your thoughts full-circle back to the Impala and you’re bombarded with intrusive thoughts of how many men or women he’s taken in the back of his precious possession. In the same seats you’ve traveled in.

You start to miss the warm wave of alcohol in your belly. You need to be far from this man.

You don’t entertain the comment.

“What’re you doing?” He asks, looking lazily at your items as they’re shoved loosely in your duffle that’s on its last leg.

“Thinkin’ of heading west, maybe hit the strip, try and rack up some cash,” you say, trying to remain casual.

“Sammy’s got another lead,” Dean says, confused like you had forgotten about the suspicious deaths across state.

“And you two are more than capable, I believe in you,” you look over your shoulder and scrunch your nose in a joking manner. He’s not amused.

“You can’t just ditch us,” he stands, crossing his arms over his chest. That caught you off guard.

“Ditch you?” You scoff, turning to face him. “I’m not ditching you, I just have other matters to attend to,” you argue, tilting your head in anger.

“Oh what, betting your $200 and busting? We both know you suck at gambling. You’d be better off taking a handful out a damn wishing well,” he rolls his eyes, shaking his head.

“Oh shut up, I’m entitled to time for myself,” you defend, attitude spitting off of you in waves.

“‘Entitled’- that’s one word I’d use,” he squints, seething in anger. You drop your jaw and spin around, slamming items into your bag with impressive speed.

The air is thick and if your own anger wasn’t buzzing so loud in your chest you’d be able to sense his regret. You zip the bag, avoiding him on your way to the bathroom to retrieve your toiletries bag.

He calls your name as you pass him but your feet don’t react like your stuttering heart does.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs, annoyed with his own burst of anger.

“Whatever, Dean,” you deadpan, grabbing your smaller bag and walking around Dean again, his eyes stay on you like a sunflower in the presence of the sun.

“Just- slow down,” he practically begs, “what is up with you?” He asks, face softened and eyes warm as he tries to figure you out.

“Nothing of your concern,” you state simply, hooking the bag on your arm and slinging the other on your back. You turn to head to the door but Dean sidesteps your track and you bump into his chest. He hands land on your biceps, steadying you. His face is mere inches from yours and you can practically taste that half handful of mints Dean chowed on on his way back to the motel- whenever that was.

“Talk to me,” it’s more of a demand, but his voice is so sweet when he says it- he practically lures it out of you.

“I can’t stand it,” your voice betrays you. Fucking betrays you as it spills out your stupid little thoughts. You snap your jaw shut and turn away, trying not to let the pebbling goosebumps from his radiating heat take over your skin. As if you could even stop them if you tried.

His head tilts and his sparkling eyes search yours. They’re like green apple Jolly Ranchers. So crystal and so sweet. You’re in it now.

“Can’t stand what?” His first concern is that he’s made you uncomfortable in some way and it makes his hold on you loosen as his confidence drains in that fear. He’s tried so unbelievably hard to make sure his feelings for you weren’t overwhelmingly obvious. He had never felt for someone like he felt for you. He didn’t want to woo you and make you melt with a simple smirk- he couldn’t, as far as he could tell. Just like he couldn’t use his charm to cover his cavern of self-loathing from your view, and he couldn’t put on the façade that he would for any other interest of his. Maybe it was respect, maybe it was fear, he just hoped it wasn’t love.

“You,” the word takes an entire lungful of breath to get out, deflating you like an exhausted pufferfish, sick of pretending to be some big-bad to deter prying eyes. Especially the emerald ones that make you salivate.

Your single word hurts him. His grip on you vanished like he was stung from the touch and he took a step back. He’s wounded.

“I just need some space,” it’s still a lungful of breath but at least this puff is more efficient than the former. He’s speechless, he doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t want to argue- he can’t. He knows the burden he is on others and for you, of all people, to outwardly admit it really puts him in his place.

Your eyes hold so much obvious raw emotion that if anyone else but Dean could see, they’d knock him upside the head for how dense and self obsessed he’s being.

His eyes hold so much pain at the unnoticed miscommunication on your end that someone should do the same to you. If you could both get your heads out your asses and just accept the heat- this spark between you- all would settle like sand in a calm lake.

Unfortunately, it’s hurricane season and you bypass him without a second glance as you get in your car and drive until your tears cloud your vision.

———

“And then they just left,” Dean sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. He sat on a squeaky chair supplied in the kitchenette of the generously rated 2-star motel.

“Did they say why?” Sam asked, arms crossed but one lifted to gesture as he spoke.

“It’s my fault,” Dean can’t keep the pain at bay, not even to hold up the big-brother-that-can’t- be-stung persona. He’s too distraught over your words. Well, word.

“Why? What did you do?” Sam says, his shoulders slumping with a sigh of grievance. Almost like he had expected this to be Dean's fault.

He’s quiet, shuffling through his memories, trying to pinpoint when exactly he had hurt you in such a way to cause the outburst. Was it his own words?

“Just said they couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand me,” Dean leans back, looking up at the ceiling. Sam’s eyes squint, a thoughtful look clouding his eyes. Once he seems to piece it together, his arms fall and he rolls his eyes.

“Dean, you’re so dense,” Sam pinched the bridge of his nose.

“No need to hammer it in,” Dean shrugs with both his arms and a scoff.

“No, you-. Dean, think about it,” Sam presses, shifting on his feet. “Remember the officer you were talking up to get info for last week's case? How agitated they got? And what about last night- that waitress you took home. Dean, they care about you,” Sam lays it all out, hoping that Dean will actually take it how it's presented to him.

Dean just stared at Sam, not wanting to believe that all this time he’s been shoving down his feelings for you that have actually been mutual this whole time. That he had a chance and how he may have just ruined it.

Suddenly, he doesn’t seem to give his fear another thought. He needs to see you.

Dean doesn’t spare Sam an answer, jumping to his feet and darting out to the Impala, snatching the keys along with his jacket. He roars Baby to life and whips out his phone to check your location. Something the brothers made close friends agree to in case anything ever happened. Of course, this isn’t what was initially in mind when they implemented the rule.

Surprisingly, you’re only a 20 minute drive by now- some diner in the next town. He wasted no time.

Oh, by the way, one of the great skills in Dean Winchester's self-proclaimed ‘Ego Arsenal’? Cutting drives down by at least 20% in desperate situations, sometimes 30% if traffic is forgiving.

He sees your car on the far end of the lot. You’re rustling through the trunk and you look sporadic. Screeching tires alert you to the fresh presence of the Impala and your stomach flips.

“Dean?” You ask, straightening up from your trunk and hoping to seem calm and collected- as if you didn’t just get done crying your eyes out for a love that will never be in your hands.

“I’m an idiot,” Dean stumbles out of the barely parked car, not bothering with latching the door. “I didn’t sleep with her,” he’s breathing heavily but that doesn’t stop him from coming right up to you.

“What?” You ask, completely lost.

“The waitress- I couldn’t,” he shakes his head, breath hitting your face. Damn, he got close.

“Why would-?”

“I couldn’t- because of you,” his sentences are patchy but it almost seems like it’s because his thoughts are so disorganized and not due to the panting breaths.

You’re silenced. Is he blaming you? Is he upset with you? You did nothing- that you recall- that would’ve gotten in the way of him and her. You open your mouth to argue but he’s quick to eat your words as his lips crash into yours, holding you still with both hands on your face. His palms practically suffocate you with how much ground they cover but you couldn’t think enough to care.

He steps as close as he can, pressing his body into yours. His arms are at a more awkward angle for how he’s still holding you but he doesn’t seem to care. Almost afraid that if he lets go then you’ll melt through his abandoned hold and disappear from his life forever. He can’t risk it.

He kisses you until he’s breathless again, pulling away in time for his vision to not threaten giving out on him.

He plants his forehead against yours, breath dusting your face as he just takes in the way your skin ignites his own.

“Where the hell did that come from?” You finally ask, your legs a little weak and thanking god that he’s got a hold on you.

“I couldn’t take it anymore,” he scoffs a simple laugh with a smirk, his eyes still closed. “Just couldn’t stand it,” he teases, eyes still closed. Maybe if he doesn’t open them he won’t have to risk this being a dream.

You press your lips into his again, a sweeter kiss of adoration for his simple joke, as if you two already have your own bit.

“I’m sorry. I never even realized that-,” he sighs, finally opening his eyes and pulling away enough to fully appreciate your face. “I never realized what I felt for you was what it is.” He likes being close enough to admire the blemishes of your skin- freckles, hints of wrinkles, a scar along your temple.

“And what’s that?” You ask, face splayed with a teasing smirk but on the inside you feel like a preteen watching the bouncing bubbles that proceed a romantic text you were bold enough to send.

“Infatuation,” you’re almost convinced he invented the word on the spot with how much emotion he fit into a few syllables.

And although the look he’s dawning is pure and adorning, a neon spark behind his mossy glass shows a devious excitement. God, you’re really in it now.

———————

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest)

>>check out my other works here

>tags: @blossomingorchids @areswasneverhere

[bettystonewell]

TO YOU I BELONG: CHAPTER 1

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

Summary: Dean isn't looking for a mate, and the last place he expects to meet his soulmate is while on a case. Fate ain't real. He still has free will, and saving you is just another part of the job. Except, monsters aren't the only things you need saving from... 18+ only MDNI

Chapter Word Count: 3.3k words

Chapter Warnings: angst, language, masterbation, references to physical abuse & references to sexual assault/non-con, injuries to reader

A/N: Thank you all so much for the overwhelming support and interest when I posted the Masterlist for this series.

Please double check the warnings there and at the top of each chapter before you read - I can’t stress this enough!

I hope you enjoy the ride! - Beth ❤️

Next Chapter

The thing about mates was, Dean didn’t want one. His knot was satisfied with the occasional one-night stand to warm his bed and the movies he kept on his laptop that warmed his hand, and he, well…he simply didn’t deserve one.

All his life, people had come and gone, whether by choice or other means, and he understood why. He was far too dangerous, a grunt - he’d learnt both time and time again. From his mother, to his father, to Bobby, the list went on. No matter the person, they always got hurt or worse, and he didn’t need that risk. Hell, he didn’t need the responsibility.

So when he encountered you during a hunt, he was, to say the least, surprised.

You were everything he could ever want in a mate, if ever he’d allow himself the pleasure. But it was what you embodied, not who you were. He didn’t know a lick about you, and even if he could get close enough to learn, he wouldn’t, because you belonged to somebody else.

The mark was clear on your scent gland. Then again, so was the soul mark that connected him to you.

His eagle eyes couldn’t miss his initials sitting right there below your clavicle. They appeared the second he’d touched you, making him thankful for all the layers he wore on the job.

He could still see them, and you, in the rearview as he drove away from where he and Sam had dropped you off. Your scent still clung to the back seat, and him, mixing your spiced cinnamon with the leather, gunpowder and motor oil he surrounded himself with.

It was wonderful until it wasn’t. The constant reminder of what he was allowing to slip through his fingers soured his already pissy mood. Yet he didn’t want you. Nope. Nuh-uh.

“You good?” Sam asked from the passenger seat, still stealing his own glances like some unclaimed omega at a bar, pre-heat. It was getting weird, and Dean chose to focus on the road ahead.

“Yeah,” he said, though his hands gripped the leather-bound wheel tighter, turning his knuckles white as the bone beneath them. He was good, and the sooner they left this shithole of a town, the better.

He cranked up the stereo, stopping only when the dash shook to the bass of Metallica’s Enter Sandman. His car, his music, his rules. It was everything he needed right now at that moment. It was all he could do to drown out the tingles and pangs that continued to churn in his gut and make his knot twitch.

The second he’d put Baby in park, he was up, out, and crossing the lot, heading straight for the dive they were staying at.

Sam’s heavy footsteps chased after him, but his were much faster. He swung open the door, marched across the tattered carpet of their twin room, and slammed the bathroom one behind him before Sam had even stepped off the gravel.

The force of the frayed timber hitting the frame unfixed decades-old dust, sending the particles nowhere but down and straight into his nose as he tried deep breathing to calm himself. It wasn’t working. Nothing was.

“Dammit.” He thumped the wall with his fist, only to inhale more crap as Sam’s voice filtered through the cracks, calling out his name. He just wouldn’t drop it.

“I’m fine,” Dean spat. Of course he wasn’t. Sam was right there on the other side when all he wanted was a moment to himself to collect his thoughts, vent his frustrations. Deal with the strain in his pants, fast becoming painful, and…fuck it. His damn instincts were actually worse than Sammy.

He fumbled with his buckle and popped the button. Moisture already pooled at his tip and when he pushed the denim down and reached in to fist himself, his fingers ran straight through the warm sticky mess with a satisfying tug.

He moaned. Cursed inwardly because of it. Sam’s funk still lingered on the other side and he was bound to notice the pleasurable sound and give him shit for it. So Dean held his breath.

"You know I saw it too," Sam said.

“So?” ‘Course he knew. It was right fucking there. The vamps had torn your clothes, leaving little to his imagination. Your neck. Your claim. The edge of your rack.

"So. She's your soulmate. It's normal to…have these feelings."

Feelings? He didn’t have feelings. “She’s nothin’ to me.” His alpha just wanted its knot wet. Just because you were his soulmate didn’t change a thing. He couldn’t have you. Any piece of wanting he had for you was superficial. Pure lust at best.

"Okay. Go have fun with your hand, then. See if I care," Sam said, right on cue.

"Shut up, bitch," Dean whispered.

And, "Jerk," came the usual retort.

He rolled his eyes.

With his palm still holding the weight of himself, he stepped over to the shower and turned the handle as far as it would go. The taps gurgled and air spat from the spouts in the metal head before the hot stream of water burst through.

His brow quirked. He wasn’t the only thing pent up around here.

His boots were the first to go, kicking them off to thud against the tiles. Followed by his socks, pants, boxers and top layers. A heavy jacket, his current favourite flannel and black undershirt to match. All discarded to reveal the thing he’d been dreading to see.

A soul mark. Your initials there, as expected, above his anti-possession tattoo.

He stepped up to the basin and the small rectangular mirror covered in rot and took a closer look. His fingers traced the surrounding skin, still holding a reddish hue.

It didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t unnoticeable either, which meant yours was, too.

Had you felt them yet? Seen them? Touched them? Had your mate?

His heart thumped deep in his chest. If he had a mate and she came home with another alpha’s initials on her body, how would he react, ‘cause he doubted he’d be happy. Angry? Maybe. Calm? Definitely not.

But he couldn’t think like that. He wouldn’t do that to himself. In his mind, you were loved and well taken care of by whoever he was, just as you deserved and he didn’t.

Whatever his name, he wasn’t angry. Whatever his name, it didn’t matter. He hadn’t bothered to find out thirty minutes ago, and he never would. Allowing himself to keep only your image and your scent that lingered on his clothes.

What was wrong with him?

Under the warm pressure, he washed the blood, sweat and dirt from the hunt off his broad frame. A generous amount of Sam’s body wash helped.

He closed his eyes and brought his soap covered fingers back to pump his hardened flesh as visions of your mouth wrapped around it urged him on.

He twisted his wrist and grunted. He’d seen your hands. That unscathed skin and pretty manicured nails would look better than what he was working with. Your tongue, licking his head and shaft just the way he liked it in tandem, more so.

He’d grip his hands through your hair and encourage you to take him deeper. His tip would hit the back of your throat and you’d gag, but damn, it’d be sexy. Sweet like velvet.

Fuck.

Dean braced himself against the tiles and pumped harder. This was pathetic. He was pathetic. His knot was thickening already, and grunts escaped his mouth in time to his long and precise strokes.

His hand would grip your hips over the wall he was using. The way you’d swayed them, mesmerised him, carrying you well. Those legs they were attached to would lift nicely over his shoulders, or squeeze perfectly ‘round his waist. He’d pump into your tight, slick-lined channel either way.

You’d moan for him. In that silky smooth way you’d spoken to him when you’d thanked him for saving you. Your body would exude a comforting warmth, just as it had in his arms when he’d rescued you.

The hunt had been rough on his body, but you’d be gentle - when you wanted to be.

Your hands would explore every inch of him. They’d pinch his nipples with soft fingers, rolling and twisting, pulling when you dared. Those same manicured nails would dig into his skin and leave perfect crescent moon shapes along his back.

His own fingernails dragged down his chest to mimic his mind. Over the tiny nubs they went, moving down to dance around his navel. They teased the taut flesh of his hips and scoured back over his shoulders where he imagined you’d cling to him.

If he could reach his back, he’d trail them down his spine. He’d grab his ass with both hands if it weren’t for one being occupied with drawing out the toe curling sensations on his dick.

Your scent would take over the floral notes in the soap. Dean had experienced nothing like it. He wanted nothing more than to be surrounded by it and you. If he could help it, his favourite flannel would remain as it was, unwashed, but cherished forever.

He’d save it for the next time he allowed his rut. When his balls grew heavy and his skin flamed molten hot.

If only he could sink his knot into you just once. His hand just wasn’t the same. He knew it, and the strokes he made were now shallow and sloppy as he neared his release.

“M’mega,” Dean panted. Ears hopeful to hear you calling him Alpha in return. Just once.

His fingers fumbled over the base he’d push inside you, forcing his knot as deep as it would go. He’d groan, and you’d moan as you clamped down around him, and only when you’d taken your own pleasure would he spill into you. Thick ropes of cum would paint your walls and mix with your slick. Lock you in place. Maybe give him a pup or two.

“Fuck,” he growled, spraying the tiles before him. Pups? No, he didn’t need that, and the remainder of his load thankfully dribbled over his fingers, dripping down to the shower floor below.

It wasn’t how he wanted it to be or how he thought it would be with you, but it was the relief he needed to get him through the thought that he’d be leaving this town, and you, the next day.

When Dean stepped out of the bathroom, he didn’t even look Sam in the eye to start with.

He dumped his clothes on the bed and headed straight for the fridge in the front corner of the room where the six-pack he’d bought that morning still waited for him to take another load off.

He twisted the cap, flinging it at the trash, and took his first swig before slumping into the closest chair opposite Sam. The stale air in the cushion squeaked under his weight and he smirked at the sound. “Sammy. What’d you eat?”

“Great,” Sam muttered over the top of his computer screen. Though his tone was anything but. “You ready to talk?”

“Nope.” Dean was indignant, and he popped the end of the word in finality. He took another swig and kept the lip close to his. If he was drinking, he couldn’t be talking, and that suited him fine.

Out of sight, out of mind? Out of mouth, out of… no wait. That wasn’t quite right either, and he flicked his head and the thought away.

Sam leaned back in his chair and scratched at his long locks. “You’re wearing the same shirt you gave her.”

“Okay, mom.”

Mary was still a sore spot for both of them, but when Sam insisted on talking about this fresh one, he had it coming. Who was he? The clothes police? “She only borrowed it. It’s still clean.” Dean shrugged.

“Smells like her, too.”

And he’d had enough. He clunked the glass bottle on the table and leapt to his feet. The beer would have to wait. He suddenly needed air, and the cheap brew was shit, anyway.

He walked back to the bed and snatched his jacket, flinging it around his shoulders.

A wave of your scent lifted to his nostrils as it settled on his back, and he closed his eyes.

Dammit. It was only cinnamon. Nothing special. A simple spice. So why the hell was it affecting him? Soulmate or no, he didn’t even know you, and he scowled and turned on his heels.

“Where are you going?” Sam asked, but Dean was already on his way out the door.

It slammed in response as he stepped out into the night and looked around.

Now what?

Getting away from Sammy was one thing, but there was nothing to do in this town. He’d checked out the local nightlife the first night they’d arrived, and there was none… but you.

Haha. Nope. He saw what he did there.

This was fucked. He was fucked. No. Wait. He’d jerked you out of his system.

His hands tugged the collar of his jacket up around his neck, then found their way into its pockets. They fumbled over loose change in one and Baby’s keys in the other.

She was waiting for him on the other side of the lot. Her sleek black paint beckoned him to sit behind the wheel, but he turned the other way. He wasn’t one to wallow in self pity, but he would tonight.

He sunk further into his clothes and stomped across the gravel, moving towards the road.

The air was cool and crisp in his lungs. The light from the broken street lamps dim in his eyes and barely enough to show him a way, but it was perfect. Closed shop fronts meant fewer people and fewer people meant less crap to impede your scent on his clothes.

Your scent.

Yeah, okay. He was fucking stupid. Delusional even. Wallowing like this over someone he’d just met? He didn’t know you besides what he’d read on the police report, and that was a fat load of nothing.

A mate, a job, an apartment. Parents interstate.

He wouldn’t have even met you if he and Sam hadn’t taken this case. Wouldn’t have known his soul mate was mated. Wouldn’t have realised he had one. Him. Dean Winchester? With an omega as respectable and normal as you?

Yeah. This was working well. Why not think about what you were doing right now? Imagine you with him, curled up beside him on a nice comfy couch in your cozy apartment? A bed. Your nest? Warm blankets and all that other fluffy crap omegas insisted on buying themselves. The scowl he’d been wearing since Sam had tried talking to him deepened.

He wasn’t right for you, but he was a mate just the same. Your mate. And you deserved one when Dean didn’t want you. When he couldn’t afford to have you in his life. Yet, his mind kept drawing him back in. Teasing him, taunting him, dangling the golden carrot before him. Tempting him to seek you out.

Stupid brain. He should’ve bailed the second he’d dropped you off. Collected the gear and headed straight home for the bunker, but no, he just had to jack off. He’d caved. And now he was wandering around this god forsaken town because he refused to man up and just talk to Sam about it.

He couldn’t turn back, though. Not now. He couldn’t face his baby brother, just like he couldn’t face the truth that continued to dangle just beyond his conscience’s grasp.

So he continued wandering instead because that was helpful. He’d solve everything by scuffing his boots over the gravel, cement, and the odd patch of grass that covered the ground, dragging his bow legs and pride behind him.

His feet directed him left, then right. Everything he passed looked the same.

Buildings merged. Blurred in the darkness. White paint turned grey along with everything else that wasn’t lit by storefronts and their after hours emergency lights. He had no idea where he was besides having Baby’s scent behind him, and more crappy town in front.

But then an apartment block came into view that was familiar, even late at night.

Yes. The street. That car. The park on the other side of it. Fuck. How’d he even manage it? Of all the places he could’ve gone, he’d arrived back where he’d last seen you, only he wasn’t looking at a reflection in the rearview.

And he was no longer alone, either.

Forever the hunter, Dean sniffed the air, scenting the figure he’d spotted on the bench under the tree, and straight away, cinnamon collected in his nose. But so did the metallic tang of blood.

No, no. ‘No fucking way.’ You had a couple of scratches earlier, some bruising maybe, but this was different, and Dean’s fists clenched. Nails dug into the callouses lining his palms. This was fresh and teed with the stench of an alphas knot.

‘M’mega,” his inner alpha rumbled, and dammit, he’d worked so hard to keep the son of a bitch at bay. But just as it would if Sam were injured, or anyone else in their accidental pack, the scent of your blood infuriated him, and he found his feet tumbling underneath towards you.

He raced down the sidewalk. Rushed across the road. His boots pounded over the cement and bitumen with thuds that slapped his ears and jolted his legs.

What the hell were you doing out here? You shouldn’t be out here after what had just happened to you. Most civilians knew nothing of his world and the job he did in it, but you did, and you should know better. Know the dangers of being out here alone at night and…and…crying?

A lump formed in his throat. Why were you crying? Why hadn’t you showered, for that matter? Your clothes were the same ones you’d worn earlier. He noticed that the second he pulled up in front of you.

No jacket, no sweater. Shirt torn and dirt covered, but this wasn’t you. This wasn’t the omega on the police report. She was radiant and confident, even at the rundown factory. Yet now, besides the scent and the outline of your body, you were no longer there.

Why?

“Where’s your mate, omega?” Dean cursed under his breath the second the words left his mouth. His inner alpha could gnaw away at his resolve as much as it liked, but you’d never be his.

“What’re you doing here?” Your sniffle was quick and quiet. You wiped your eyes with your sleeve and looked up.

He didn’t like the tone in your voice, nor the fear that spiked in your scent when he’d mentioned him. “I asked you first,” he said and moved closer to examine your features.

Your eye was bruised and would turn black. Your mouth, barely lit in the shadows, still shimmered with blood from the cut on your bottom lip.

You didn’t have these injuries before, and though he was seething under the skin, he did his best to rein it in. With a shaky hand, he reached for your cheek. Brushed the tear you’d missed away with his thumb, and though he knew the answer, asked, “Who did this to you?”

He clenched his jaw when you shook your head.

“No one. I fell,” you said. Sucked at lying, too, but it wasn’t the time. He needed to get you outta here before your dickbag mate showed his face.

“Do you have pups?” Minus traces of an alphas ball sack, yours was the only scent surrounding you. He hoped its ‘cause you had none.

Your eyes were sullen when you shook your head,l again, and Dean’s heart raced.

For the second time since he’d known you, he lifted you in his arms and brought your tense form to his chest. You were chilled and weary. Not the way his beautiful omega should ever be around him.

His?

Fuck.

Dean was playing a dangerous game, yet his feet moved under him, towards his motel, and further away from the park where somewhere nearby, he knew you lived with the other alpha.

He didn’t want a mate, but he was fine with taking someone else’s.

Consequences be damned.

Next Chapter

We’ll be following Dean’s perspective for some time, but we will get into the readers head eventually, too. It takes two to tango after all 😉 I hope you enjoyed chapter one!

Comments, likes and reblogs are very much appreciated. They help turn my retail working frowns upside down.

Chapter 2: Harbouring - 28/02

“The, ah, W stands for Winchester.” His boyish chuckle tethered off as your lip curled.

He should’ve known yours would suit you. Everything else about you had him enamoured, so why wouldn’t it? It was perfect, swirling through the spaces in his mind and touching his lips with a pleasurable rumble when he repeated it back to you.

“Will you let me clean you up?” When you nodded, he gave you a single one back. “Then we’re gonna need a few things first.”

@globetrotter28 @ambiguous-avery @arcannaa @jollyhunter @zepskies

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@jaydensluv @foxyjwls007 @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373 @waynes-multiverse

@kazchester-fanfiction @maddie0101 @ladykitana90 @luvr4miya @amyjam78

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@monthlynamechange @deansimpalababy @justherefortheficandsmut @emma1998sblog @livingdeadblondequeen

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[world-of-aus]

I Like Looking at You

Pairing: NHL!Photographer!Reader x Hockey Player!Bucky

Warnings: None except for Bucky Barnes being a heart throb i fear. 😮‍💨

Authors Note: a little inside dip into the lockscreen fiasco 🤭 Enjoy! Back to the trenches i gooooo!

“Get your damn finger out of the way Barnes, I can’t see – oh wait go back, go back I want to see that one!”

You toggle with your camera flipping back to the previous photo, Sam let’s out a low whistle his hand coming down on your shoulder as he squeezes, “send me that one, I'm making it my lock screen.”

Laughter bubbles up around the booth, “What? Come on what – it’s a great photo, like y'all have never put a photo of yourselves as a lock screen?”

“We’re not all madly in love with ourselves like you are Wilson.” Bucky says from next to you. “Some of us prefer putting things we actually like to look at.” He adds lifting his phone to show a picture of a white fluffy cat spread out on its back across his chest, eyes peacefully closed. You coo over the screen before Sam’s dragging your attention back to him.

“We get it Al’s a cute cat, but I mean come on look at this!” Sam argues as he shows his now updated photo screen. You can’t help the snort that makes its way past your lips, Sam giving you a pointed look, “Really you too? Well come on then let’s see yours hot shot, what do you like to look at?”

Your shaking your head, pointing a finger at him, “hey now don’t drag me into this, this is between you and Barnes.”

Bucky chuckles, “What you got a shirtless guy you don’t want us to see hotshot?” he questions leaning into your side hand going for your phone that sits on the bar top.

You’re quicker as you snatch it up, “You do, don’t you!” Sam joins in also going for your phone now curled in your hand. You swat his hand away, “oh come on show us, show us! Is it me, it’s me isn’t it?” Sam teases as he continues his attempt. “Like who else would it be.”

It wasn’t but God how you were wishing it was. You were thinking your current might be worse if discovered, you were certain you wouldn’t hear the end of it.

“Why do I have to show mine, Natasha and Steve haven’t!” you argue trying to deflect the situation from you. Your tactics seems to work but only momentarily as Steve willingly shows his, a photo similar to Bucky’s stares back at your group you and Natasha cooing over the dog nestled on his lap. Natasha then follows, though begrudgingly she flashes her screen, the teasing coming almost immediately as she shares the photo you got of Steve last week, “oh fuck off,” she laughs brushing it off, “it's what I like to look at!”

You watch as Steve throws his arm around her shoulder pulling her close, “now that’s a great photo.”

“Yeah, yeah whatever,” Sam waves off, his attention now back on you, “it’s your turn hotshot come on let’s see it.”

You’re shaking your head smacking away at Sam’s hands, you knew if he got his hands on your phone you’d be placed in a situation similar to Natasha but seemingly worse. Because while Steve and Natasha were in the beginning of something flourishing between the two of them, you and Bucky were not, you’d barely started to call him a close friend.

“Oh come on now hotshot we showed you ours, now show us yours it’s only fair.” Bucky purrs.

“Fair? Fair?!”

With your attention on Bucky Sam is able to successfully get your phone from your weakened grasp. You can only stare in horror willing the ground to open up and swallow you whole as Sam lights up your lock screen, a photo of Bucky stares back at your group. A grin lights up his features after bringing his team to the first win of the season, you had captured it last year well before you had been signed on with the Bruins. A game Natasha had bought you tickets too after yet another failed rejection letter this one from the Rangers.

“Oh, Ew,” Sam pretends to gag, “I thought we were supposed to put something we liked to look at, do I need to get you some glasses hotshot.”

Sam’s reaction should have you laughing along with the group but all you can manage is a weak chuckle as you reach for your phone, though Bucky’s large hand grabs at it first. The smirk is unmistakable as he takes in your screen “I think her eye sights just fine Wilson, because this, this is a damn good photo, you should send this to me.” He teases, deflecting your hand by gripping it with his hand, his fingers curling around yours, warmth flooding you instantly.

“Man whatever, mines better!”

The table is off in laughter again your embarrassment short-lived as the group launches into a new conversation about grabbing more drinks the lock screens now seemingly forgotten. “You want the same y/n?” Natasha questions as she slides off her stool Steve following her actions, you nod trying to get your phone back, “What about you Barnes?” Sam questions following the duo. “Nah man, I’m good thank you.”

With the rest of your friends disappearing through the crowd, your attention is now solely on the brunette still holding your phone and your hand. “Barnes my phone, give. Me. My. Phone.”

He blocks any feeble attempt you make, “No I don’t think I will,” he grins lighting up your screen, “You like looking at me hotshot?” Bucky teases.

“I like looking at my work yeah.” You huff trying to pry the phone from his hand once more. He chuckles diving out of your reach once more. “Barnes,” you whine sliding off your stool to bring you impossibly closer to the man as you get into his space “my phone, give it back now.”

“Not until you admit you like looking at me hotshot.”

You roll your eyes, stomping your foot, “fine yes you’re nice to look at,” you grumbles as you finally get ahold of your phone, “but that’s not the only reason it’s my lock screen.”

The brunettes intrigued, the hand that’s holding yours not loosening it’s hold as he keeps you there. “Oh? What’s the other reason.”

“That picture gave me hope, it inspired me to keep going when I felt my lowest, showed me that despite what the odds might be, I two could come out on top a winner.”

His grin turns warm, fingers squeezing yours, “m’glad the Rangers dropped the puck then.”

“And why’s that Barnes?” you chuckle backing out of his space to reclaim your seat.

“Because I like looking at you too hotshot.”

[waxworkdaughter]

i'm going to say something brave and controversial: I don't think Booth and Bones, Castle and Becket, Jane and Lisbon, or any similar bickering TV pairings are trying to recapture the Mulder and Scully format or magic at all. Mulder-and-Scully are an outlier in the television pairing landscape. They fell and love and were ride or die for each other immediately. They didn't agree on various external subjects but they never had to 'learn to tolerate each other,' and never thought the other one was stupid and backward, they eagerly tossed out any interpersonal boundaries within days of knowing each other and were ready to fight anyone who didn't take the other one seriously. They're both quite insane, and they're both serious, and neither one is the "every-man" jokester anti-intellectual. (They're actually both pro-intellectual to the point of absurdity and intellectualizing themselves out of action lol)

What Bones and Castle (etc) were doing were trying to recapture the Moonlighting magic, and the Cheers magic, and using the David and Maddie, Sam and Diane template of "the highly strung serious one" and "the lovable idiot" arguing their way into slowly, over the years, falling in love and respecting each other's viewpoint instead of just subsisting off of physical chemistry, to meet in the middle, usually with the 'serious' one loosening up, and the 'lovable jokester' settling down (but not so much that you don't still realize that his every-man viewpoint was mostly 'right all along').

This is not to say that I don't love B/B, Caskett, David and Maddie, Sam and Diane, et al. I do love them and grew up on these shows, probably even more so than MSR and The X Files. I find the thread of anti-intellectualism in some of them (especially heavy in Sam and Diane of Cheers) tiresome at times, but it is a classic, and it's also often subverted, such as with Castle's jack of all trades type of knowledge base. I just don't think any of these are the same as what The X Files did, and weren't even attempting to be the same, they were referencing a different set of cultural phenomena entirely.

(nor was the X Files trying to be 'like Moonlighting' while trying to avoid the curse, Carter has actually said he was largely inspired by Kolchek, and by the dynamic of Steed and Peel in The Avengers (UK) both of which are in a pretty different direction entirely.)

[ellieslittleburrow]

Requested by : @outof-spite : You're going through a rough time and a hard breakup all while you and your father, Sam Winchester are fighting. But you need him and he acknowledges that.

Pairings : Dad!Sam Winchester x Daughter!reader

Warnings : none just a cute dad

A/N : So so sorry 🤍🤍 MUCH LOVE I HOPE IT'S NOT TOO BORING.

-----

You've lost yourself, your person, your anchor, the girl who knew you best. Not only was she your lover. But she was also your first. And that somehow made it worse?? What a great ending, huh?

And there you were now, alone in your room, the walls closing in on you as your breath shortened-quickened.

Thankfully, your uncle taught you his tiny little trick to calm yourself down. And your dad? Your other anchor? Well-that one has fallen down to the bottom of the ocean. Ehhh....So many stupid fights lately that you didn't care why you weren't talking anymore.

So as you slipped your headphones over your head, you opened your favorite app, thumb sliding upwards in a never-ending motion. Phoebe Bridgers thundered into your ears and that was just about enough for you...not really but whatever.

---

Elsewhere down the hall, Sam and Dean shared the long wooden table in the study. As Sam blabbered about the upcoming case, rummaging through the dozens of papers before him, Dean sipped his beer, a stinging, avoidant look in his eyes.

"Dean, this is your case not mine!" Sam remarked, earning a slow head shake from Dean, reeking of disappointment.

"Do you not realize that your daughter is probably bawling her eyes out in the other room?"

Sam retreated back into his seat, running a hand through his hair. "I can't-I don't want to keep doin-"

"Damn your fights, Sammy. This is serious. She needs you, man-she needs her dad."

Dean proved a point. And Sam didn't need to be reminded of such evident statements but..maybe he did need the push?

And so after the longest exhale, he pushed the seat back and headed for your room, knocking on the door before entering-

The light emitting from your phone shone your face as it rested so closely to it. Dad always growled at you and pushed the phone down. "Do you need that damned thing so close to your eyes?" He'd always ask and you never, without fail, responded normally. You'd always roll your eyes at him and he...he missed that.

So as he walked up to your bed, he gently pushed the phone downward, earning an expected shriek from you.

----

Your heart hammered in your chest as you shrieked, not having realized that you were no longer alone in the room. You yanked one side of your headphones back, surprised to find your dad towering over you.

"Do you always have to have that thing so close to your face??"

You rolled your eyes in response. Unsure of what to say. Or how to say it? Protectively, you wrapped your arms around your chest, drifting your eyes away.

You haven't spoken to your dad in a...day? It honestly felt like years. But having him here somehow caused an ache to claw at your chest. And you felt a lump grow at your throat. You could never lie to him. He knows about everything. He....He's your...Hell....you can't talk now.

"W...what happened?"

You shrugged your shoulders, fighting the simmering tears.

"Well-do you want to talk about it?"

You shrugged again, temptation eating at you. "Well..." You breathed out. "She...I..Sh-She-" You choked on a sob, unable to form a thought, let alone a whole phrase. She's not here anymore and it hurts. "I miss her al-already." You breathed out a cry that stretched into a long wail. Your teeth dug into your lower lip to stop yourself, but that only made it worse.

Your dad pulled you off the bed and guided you to stand before him. "Come here… honey-it's okay." He slid the headphones off of your head and tossed them onto the bed. Then, before pulling you into his arms, he guided your hands under his jacket and around his waist. "Here-baby."

"You don't geet it, dad-"

"I do-honey, believe me i do." He cupped your chin, and playfully swung your head left and right. You closed your eyes, giving up on the fight against the tears. Your heart ached , so did your head and your stomach and ffffff...everything.

But your dad seemed to get the message, no longer trying to comfort you with words. There wasn't much he could say to make you feel better. His presence already did...a little. A lot but a little. And as you sniffled and swallowed, your dad rubbed circles around your back.

"Does this mean we no longer hate each other?" You asked with a giggle.

It was your dad's turn to roll his eyes, not seemi'g to realize that it was a joke "Don't say stuff like that- i never hated you. I love you. I'm here for you- Always."

------

Ummm- LIAR DAD???? DEAN HAD TO PUSH YOU. BUT WHATEVER. Hehe, wrote half of this while waiting to get the rabies shot. I loved writing it and i'm sorry it took so looong 🥀🥀🥀🖤🖤🖤

[crazyk-imagine]

Mended Relationships and the Future

Pairing: Jamie Tartt x Fem!reader Characters: Fem!reader, Ted Lasso, Coach Beard, Keeley Jones, Jamie Tartt, Rebecca Welton, Isaac Mcadoo, Colin Hughs, Sam Obisanya, Dani Rojas, Jan Maas, Roy Kent, literally all of the players (I just can’t think of their names) Warnings: Slight angst, fluff, cursing, mentions of pregnancies, mentions of reader not taking care of themselves (don’t do this), Jamie being sweet, reader and Jamie being dummies for a second, the team being so goddamn adorable, the team gives such family vibes, Jamie pretending the reader and he are engaged so he can stay with her, Ted and Beard are a powerful duo, this is my favorite TL fic that I’ve written Word Count: 3,783

A/N: Bits and pieces are based on this post

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You walk into the coach’s office with your hands in your hoodie pocket, clutching onto your phone to keep your hands busy. "Why did you wake me up and force me here, Ted?" 

"That's not a can-do attitude." 

Your expression doesn't change, if anything, you look more tired and drained. Another reason why the mustached man got you out of your home. "Ted." 

He sighs. "I wanted to check in on you, haven't seen you in a minute." 

You sigh. "I would prefer it if I were in my bed right now to be honest with you." 

"After we go out to lunch." 

"I want to be out of here before I run into..." You pause when you almost say his name. "You know what- I'm just- I’m gonna go." You barely turn around and hear the door open. 

It takes you less than a second to duck, which makes Ted feel a little bad but doesn't change his mind. 

He knows you two need to talk, especially when neither of you want to admit who broke up with who... or why it happened. 

Your emotions take a toll on your body again and you crawl towards the trash can, dry heaving until you feel it coming up (again). 

Beard kindly closes the door before anyone could walk in or hear you as Ted rubs the space between your shoulders. 

"How long have you been feeling like this?" 

You shrug. 

"How long?" He asks again. 

"A few weeks." 

Ted glances over at his long-time buddy with wide eyes. "Please don't get upset or take offense when I ask this but have you-" 

'Play dumb. Play dumb.' "Have I what? Use words, my brain isn't functioning off your noises." 

"Is there a possibility that you could be, you know, with child?" 

Your head snaps up. 'He knows.' "Why would you ask that?" 

"You have a few of the signs." 

"When was the last time you went to a doctor?" Beard chimes in. 

"A while ago." 

"So, you know?" 

"Whether or not I'm pregnant with my ex-boyfriend’s baby, who coincidentally told me he doesn't want kids just as I wanted to tell him I do. Yeah, it was right as I was about to tell him I am with child, which is why I've been dodging all of you but you and Beard here," you point to Ted's sidekick, who waves. "Dragged me out of my house." 

"Oh, honey." 

"Does he know?" Coach beard intervenes (again). 

"What do you mean?" 

"You said, you wanted to tell him... did you?" Ted politely asks. 

"He broke up with me, so I didn't give him my surprise, but I tell people it was mutual because he asked me if," the tears roll down your cheeks. "If it was okay. The fucking ex-cockiest player of all, asked me if I was going to be okay, so of course I said yes and then he left. We haven't spoken since." 

"He should know." 

"I know but he is scared to death to have his own kids. Why would I-" You scoot back and rest your head against the wall. "I want to go home. I have a few things coming later today and I need to be there for them. It’s time I start," you take a deep breath. “Getting things ready.” 

"We can get those later, I've gotta make sure you're okay right now." 

"I'd be better if this nausea, vomiting combo would go away." 

"Do you want me to have Keeley get you a ginger ale or something?" 

"Yeah." 

The door opens and there she is. She stares at you with the same look she gives you every time you throw up. "I had a feeling you were going to need this." 

-

Jamie sees what he imagines is a glimpse of you sitting in his coach’s office. He furrows his brows, wondering if it was really, you or if it's a figment of his imagination... again. 

It wouldn’t be the first time this week. 

-

"What?" She practically screams when Ted tells her on behalf of you, the Jamie not knowing part; she already knew you were pregnant, but she thought he knew and decided not to be in either of your lives. Now she feels a little bad about not being nice to him. 

You bury your head in your hands. "Shut up. Don't shout anymore, please." 

"Can you blame me? That's big fucking news babes. I thought he already knew." 

"Yeah, I know. Just, shut the door please." 

She doesn't, so you push yourself up and close the door. 

You sway as you take a step back, “oh, boy.” You can hear their voices but not hear their words. You feel yourself falling backwards before it fades to darkness. 

Ted and Beard catch you, carefully laying you down so the latter can call for an ambulance. 

Jamie steps closer to the office, sensing something’s happened. He opens the door and his jaw dropped as he’s about to ask what's going on until his eyes land on you. 

He immediately falls to his knees beside you, holding your face in his hands, not caring about the rug burn that’s going to ache later. "What happened?" 

No one responds. 

"What fucking happened?" 

Ted doesn't feel he should be the one to tell him and does all that he can to try and calm down his player. "She's fine, she probably didn't have enough to eat for breakfast, is all." 

"Bullshit. She's done that before and never fainted before." He stares down, studying your face. "So, why is she fucking unconscious?" 

-

You don't know anything that happened within the last few hours. 

All you know is that there is an annoying beeping sound coming from the side of you and your one hand is warmer than it normally is. 

You slowly open your eyes, blinking multiple times as you try to adjust to the lighting. You look for the source of the warmth and find Jamie, holding your hand with his head rested on his arm with his head facing you. 

The door opens and you find Ted peaking in. 

The way his shoulder sags in relief makes you feel bad. 

He tiptoes closer and lets you know what happened. 

"Why is he here?" 

He smiles as he peaks over at the sleepy man. "He didn't leave your side." 

"How did he know?" 

"He came in as we were calling for an ambulance. You scared him, he would barely let the paramedics help." 

"Isn't family only allowed in here?" 

"Apparently you two are engaged." 

You owlishly blink. "What?" 

"He said you two were engaged and he needed, no, no. That's not right, he demanded, there it is. He demanded to be in the room with you. I wasn't here for most of it. In the room I mean but I think he knows because he looked very shocked and then came in here when they told him he could and hasn’t left since." 

The coach ignores the fact that your heart monitor spikes as you ask, "he knows?" 

"I think so." 

Jamie moves a little in his sleep. 

"That's my cue to leave." 

"Wait- no. Ted. Come back." You glance between him and Jamie. "Ted," you hiss. "Come back here." 

Jamie squeezes your hand as he slowly begins to wake up. 

You look back at him just in time to hear the door close. You throw your head back and sigh. 

"Sweetheart?" 

You slowly turn your head to stare at him, your eyes becoming sad. 

His shoulders sag in relief as a slow sigh escapes his parted lips. "How are you feeling? I should- I should go get the doctor, shouldn't I?" 

You reach for him, grabbing onto him before he could leave. "Jaim. Jaim?" 

He doesn't turn around but settles back into his seat. 

"Jam-Jam?" 

A sniffle fills the room. 

"Jamie, look at me." 

He shakes his head. You tighten your grip on his arm, ignoring the familiar burning sensation in your nose. "Jamie, I need you to look at me." 

"Why?" He sniffles, staring at you with his now, bloodshot eyes. "Were you ever going to tell me?" 

"Don't throw that question my way, Tartt." 

"No more, Jam-Jam?" 

"I was going to tell you." 

"What? After the birth?" 

"I'm more tempted to now." You wipe the stray tear that tipped past your eye lid before he could see. "I initially planned on telling you right when you broke up with me but, we see how well that turned out." 

“Wh- is that what you had been trying to do the whole time?” 

You nod and lean forward, drawing him into you; needing to comfort him and be comforted all at once. 

He moves closer to you, closing his eyes at the feeling of your hand against his face; something he hasn’t felt in what feels like, forever. He hadn’t realized you were wiping away his tears. 

“I wanted to figure out the best way to tell you because, I mean we hadn’t exactly talked about us having kids before and I kind of figured that with everything that went on with your dad. I thought it was going to make it hard for you to think that you could be a good dad. Which, I think is stupid.” 

He opens his mouth to ask what you mean until you continue. 

“I mean, how could you not be a good dad because personally I think you’d be absolutely fucking phenomenal.” 

“Yeah?” 

You nod, “big time. You’re already doing better than your dad.” 

“What do you mean?” 

You smile and sniff. “You’re not making any of the stupid decisions he has.” 

“I made one.” 

You tilt your head. “What was that?” 

“I broke up with you. I just-” He pulls back from you (something he does when he feels like he’s undeserving of something). “I thought- I thought you were pulling away to break up with me and you couldn’t figure out how to do it, so I-” 

“So, you thought breaking up with me first, was a better option?” 

He nods, scratching his head. 

“Come closer.” 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he weakly argues. 

“Come here.” 

He scoots the chair closer. 

“I need you to be honest with me when I ask these questions, okay?” 

He nods. 

You sigh through your nose and reach for his hand. “Is there any part of you that does not want to be a part of either of our lives?” 

“No.” 

“Do you want to be with me?” 

“Yes.” 

“Are you going to leave any time soon?” 

“The fuck do you take me for? I’m not going to leave you ever,” he stands up and bends down, staring into your eyes before leaning down to kiss you. “Okay? I love you too fucking much to let you go again. I hated being away from you.” 

“Same here but, I’m really happy you’re here… even if it was because I fainted.” 

“Speaking of, why did that happen exactly?” 

“I- well- I hadn’t had anything-” 

“Let’s just cut the bullshit, have you been taking proper care of yourself since we were separated?” 

You shamefully shake your head. 

He doesn’t show his disappointment, but you know it’s there. 

“I’m sorry,” you sniffle. 

“Hey, hey. Don’t cry. Isn’t that- crying is stressful on the baby, ain’t it?” 

“Not so much- I mean, maybe?” 

“Okay, well.” He grabs your hands, bringing your attention to him. “Let’s take a few deep breathes so we can calm down for Baby Tartt.” You can’t help but chuckle. “Do do do doo.” 

“Listen to you. Guess I rubbed off on you, eh?” You roll your eyes, not believing that for a second. “Does any of what you’ve said within the last two minutes sound anything like what your dad could say?” 

“Not in the least bit.” 

“See, exactly. It further proves you’re different and how much you’ve grown from the cocky man who couldn’t care less about anyone else.” 

“Hey. That’s someone we don’t speak of.” 

“Of course,” you salute him. You two can barely keep your amusement to yourselves and break into a fit of smiles and giggles. 

He stares at you, watching as you wipe your cheeks and leans up, kissing your forehead before placing his on top of your head. “I was,” he hesitates to finish his sentence. 

You nod and cup his cheek, letting him know you’re there, a simple gesture to let him know you want to hear what he has to say. 

“-so scared when I saw you lying there unconscious.” 

Your heart drops at the way his voice cracks. “Jaim. Jaim. Look at me.” 

He shakes his head. 

You don’t push any further and instead opt for bringing him closer, letting him rest against your chest, squeezing you in a hug. 

It takes a few minutes before Jamie manages to calm himself down enough to revert back to your adorable boyfriend. “Oh, shit. I didn’t hurt the baby, did I?” He asks, now scared to touch you. 

“No. You didn’t.” 

You hold out your hand for him, “do you trust me?” 

He nods, “’course I do.” 

“Give me your hand.” 

He slowly inches his hand closer and closer to you. 

You huff and reach for him. “Are you ready?” 

He doesn’t move or make a noise as you place his hand over your belly. “Am I supposed to be feeling anything?” 

“Other than knowing the fact you are going to be a father soon enough, no. I’m not that far along for us to feel any kicking.” 

He bends down as a breath of relief escapes him. “Thank god, I thought I was supposed to feel kicking or something and I didn’t, which scared me the hell out of me because I thought he already hated me.” 

“He?” 

“I mean, hello,” he gestures to himself. You roll your eyes and take your hand back from him. “You’re so going to be cursed with girls.” “How can you say that?” 

“Have you met yourself?” 

“I have and we’re actually quite happy together, sorry for the late notice, sweetheart.” 

You close your eyes and let out a dramatic sigh. 

Ted peaks his head in through the door. “I see you two have talked things out? Hopefully, if not. No pressure. Well, maybe a little seeing as I have everyone waiting in the hall.” 

“Everyone?” You repeat. 

The coach nods. “Give me second.” He looks back over his shoulder, pretending to count, “one, two, four. Yep, everyone.” 

You place your hand on your forehead. “Suddenly the thought of everyone knowing makes me nauseous.” 

“Hey, hey. Look at me.” 

You turn your head and look at your favorite person ever… for now. 

“If we can get through the team being little shits and the press making unnecessary comments about our relationship, we can get through the team knowing.” 

“We can?” He gives you an affirmative nod, “we can.” 

“We can.” 

“Atta girl.” 

“Alright, guys. They said okay,” Ted waves everyone in. 

“I suddenly realize how many of you there actually are,” you comment. 

Sam, Dani, and Colin chuckled. 

“As captain, I feel like it’s my duty to ask,” Isaac leans closer to you, talking to you in a softer tone than his normal one. “How are you?” 

You smile, “I’m better now.” 

“Good, that’s what we like to hear. Ain’t that right, team?” 

“Yes, coach!” 

“And now I’m scared.” 

“Oh, don’t be scared especially when you’re carrying a special bundle of joy,” the mustached man points out. 

“Oh fuck.” 

“Something the matter, Roy?” Ted asks. 

“Yeah. She’s carrying Tartt’s baby.” 

“I’m pretty sure they covered that topic back in school but continue.” 

“There’s going to be a baby brought into the world soon.” 

“Yeah?” Ted glances over at Beard, who shrugs. 

“With his blood coursing through its veins,” he points to your ex-not-ex-boyfriend. 

It’s quiet for three seconds before everyone groans and rolls their eyes, they think about what it could be like with a baby Jamie. 

“Hey, hey now. Let’s not think about something as crazy as that because this baby is a good thing.” 

“Yeah?” Jamie whispers, glancing back at Ted, not letting go of your hand. 

“Yes, it is,” the coach nods. “You’re going to go through one of the many joys life brings you.” 

“What’s that?” 

“Fatherhood… that, may or may not mix with a lot of uncles and two aunts who decide they want to spend time with the little booger.” 

“Would one of those many figures happen to include you, coach?” 

“No,” Ted shakes his head. 

“Not at all, Beard.” 

The door opens and heads turn. 

“Hi, I’m just here to-” The nurse takes note of the number of people in the room. “I’m sorry but I’m going to have to ask anyone but the father and mother of the child to leave.” 

“Is it not believable that a woman could have this many boyfriends?” Jan asks. 

“Shut up.” A shoe aimed at his head, hits the wall and lands on the floor with a thud. 

The guys decide it’s time for them to leave, which lets you two see the few things the team has gotten, and it makes you tear up, freaking Jamie out. 

And he doesn’t want to admit it out loud, but it was really nice of them team to do. 

“Should we open some presents?” Ted softly asks, placing one in your lap. 

“Didn’t the nurse just kick you out.” 

“I’m your dad.”

 “We’re your dads,” Beard adds. 

You glance over at Jamie. 

He shrugs, not completely hating the idea of having these two around. “I would’ve liked to know about my new parents beforehand. What’s next? Roy’s my uncle.” 

“No, he’s a granddad more than anything,” Jamie chimes in. 

You wipe your cheeks and smile at him before gently pulling the tissue paper out of your way. You pull out a onesie that looks normal, until you unfold it and inspect it. You sniffle as you hold it up for Jamie to see. 

He doesn’t realize why you’re crying until he reads what the back of it, “Tartt 9”. He doesn’t feel the tears trickling down his cheeks until you wipe his cheeks. 

“Jaim?” 

He shakes his head and pulls you in for a hug, kissing the top of your head, over and over again. 

Ted smiles behind his phone. 

“We should probably give them some time alone.” 

“You think?” He asks. 

Beard nods. 

Ted sighs, “okie dokie.” 

They hold their hands up to wave, only to find your face squished against Jamie’s chest, barely able to wave them off. 

You and Jamie wind up opening every one of the other gifts, enjoying each other’s company after being apart for so long. 

“I think we should name it Jamie.” 

“Baby Tartt is not an it, it’s a baby,” you argue. 

“And we’re not naming them Jamie.” 

“Why not? It’s a good name.” 

“I’m not saying it’s a bad name but, we want our little pumpkin to be able to grow into their own, right?” 

“We-” He sighs, thinking about it, already knowing you were right. “Yeah.” 

“Good.” 

“Was that everything?” 

“I don’t know.” He glances over, finding a bag left on the floor, partially hidden so you couldn’t find it unless you were really looking. He grabs it and sets it in your lap. “What do you think it is?” 

“I don’t know,” you shrug and move it closer for him to open (feeling you’ve done enough of the unveiling with presents). 

He pulls a figure out of the bag. “A bike?” Jamie brows furrows together in confusion until he thinks about it. The light bulb goes off in his head, everything clicking together, and he smiles. 

“Is there a card?” 

“I hope so.” 

Now you’re confused. 

He pulls out what looks like a plain index card. “Free one learn how to ride a bike pass.” He chuckles. 

“I’m lost.” 

“Remember how I told you I had something funny I wanted to tell you a couple months ago, but I couldn’t because the shithead was making me train, even though Ted gave us the night off.” He huffs and sits back in the chair. 

“Okay, I don’t need the background information, just give me the synopsis.” 

“Right,” he straightens his back. “I taught Roy how to ride a bike in memory of his granddad.” 

“You did?” 

“Yeah,” he nods with a smile. 

“And he let you?” 

“Not without trying to hurt me but I did it.” 

“I’m so proud of you.” 

“Yea- really?” 

“Of course, I’m proud of you. You taught the world’s grumpiest man how to ride a bike and lived to tell the tale.” 

“I guess you’re right.” 

“Of course, I’m right.” 

“I hope the baby doesn’t get your cockiness.”

“My cockiness? What about yours?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart.” 

“You lie.” 

He fake gasps and slaps his hand on his chest. “I take offense to that.” 

“I’m not sorry.” 

“You should be. We don’t want this one’s first word to be a lie.”

“It wouldn’t, don’t be mean,” you whine. 

“I’m not. I’m just being me.” 

“Yeah, and that’s mean.” 

He smiles and shakes his head. 

You start folding a few of the blankets the guys got, feeling the need to do something. “Hey, look. They got one with sharks.” 

“We don’t even know if it’s a boy or a girl.” 

“Girls can like boy things too.” 

“Do you really want to be asked if we have a boy or a girl every day.” 

“Don’t be mean.” You smile, holding it close to your chest. “I like it. Baby Tartt, do do doo doo. Baby Tart, do do doo doo.” 

He groans, “please stop.” 

“Never.” 

You stiffle a yawn. 

“Come on,” he takes away the few things on your lap and blanket from your hands. “You need to rest.” 

“But I don’t want to.” 

He smiles at the whining tone in your voice. “I know but it’ll do the two of you well.” 

“Fine,” you tell him with a pout. “But sit by me. I… I’ve missed you.” 

“How can I say no to my girlfriend?” Jamie settles beside you and lets you lay against his chest. 

As you sleep and he’s bored, searching through the hospital’s shitty channels, he stumbles upon something interesting, an old childhood show he used to watch. 

You open your eyes to hear the song you briefly sang earlier. 

“Doo doo. Baby Tartt, do do doo doo.” 

“Jam-Jam?” 

“Hey,” he clears his throat. “How are you feeling?” 

“Better. What were you doing?” 

He shrugs. 

You smile and snuggle back into him. “I won’t tell anyone.”

[anonymityisfunwriter]

Oh my loveliest nonny writer. I'm in great need of some protective Sam vibes, with a sick or hurt reader who hides it to not make a fuss, she's afraid the others think she's too weak to be in the team, cause she's new. But Sam noticing her being hurt or sick and goes all in full blown protective mode. And takes cares of her 🥹😪 and makes sure that she can trust him. 💔

"my loveliest nonny writer" 🥹🥹 i'm swear my heart is ready to explode. you guys are just all so sweet. i hope you enjoy and thank you so much 💛

Pairing - Sam Wilson x Reader Sam Wilson Masterlist | Anon's 1K Celebration

i'll take care of you.

Sam Wilson is the epitome of caretaker. He is Caretaker with a capital C. He notices something off with you the moment he walks into the conference room, far before anyone else does.

Your head is tipped into your hand, eyes slightly glassy, flushed pallor.

"You look like hell."

You barely move - another sign that you're not feeling good. Your eyes dart over to him as he stands over you, "Thanks."

"Go get some rest. I'll catch you up on anything you miss," Sam offers, concern painting his face.

You wave him off, or at least, you try to wave him off, "I'm fine. It's just allergies."

He presses a hand to your forehead, his lips pursing in distaste, "Allergies don't give you a fever. Go back to bed. I'll check on you when the meeting's over."

You softly grunt in objection, "No."

You know you're being stubborn, but the whole reason you dragged yourself out of bed this morning was to prove a point. You wanted to prove you could handle whatever this team threw at you - even if that was just a little virus.

The point was getting a little murky with the fever, but it was a point nonetheless. You shake your head, making yourself a little dizzy.

"Listen, you're not helping anyone by being here like this. Help us by helping yourself," Sam softly explains like he can see exactly what's going on without you even having to tell him. "And if anyone gives you shit for it, I'll kick their ass. Promise."

"Sam..." you grumble.

"Go or I'll carry you out of here."

Your glare is softened by how miserable you look. "You're really bossy, you know?"

It doesn't stop there. Not with Sam Wilson as your Caretaker.

He was right, even if you don't want to admit it. Because after he sent you away, the second your head hits the pillow, you're out like a light. You're not sure how long you've slept until you're suddenly awoken by Sam's presence.

"Knock, knock," Sam announces himself, entering your room armed with the sick survival kits of sick survival kits.

You sleepily groan, "Aren't you supposed to do that before you walk into a room? How did you even get in here?

"The door," Sam cheekily replies.

"It was locked."

"I may or may not have a key."

"We'll talk about this when I can see straight."

Sam crouches down to the edge of your bed. He presses a hand to your forehead again. "You're still burning up. You might have the flu."

You halfheartedly push him away. "The flu is contagious, Sam. Go away."

"Just let me take care of you."

"You don't have to."

"I want to." He tenderly strokes the hair out of your face. "This would be a lot more romantic if you weren't all sweaty."

"I hate you."

"And in spite of how mean you're being, I brought you a few things." He reaches for his bag, unpacking item by item. "Tissues. Cooling rags. Plenty of fluids, Gatorade, ginger ale, and some tea. But most importantly, my mom's world famous chicken soup. Perfect for when you're feeling sick."

"You take such good care of me," you hum, reaching out and gently stroking his cheek. "My favorite nurse."

"I think you're delirious," Sam chuckles. His heart fluttering at your sweet caress. He reaches over you, pulling your thick cover over you, tucking you in. He presses a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, "I'll always take care of you."

Anon's 1K Celebration Sam Wilson Masterlist AnonymityIsFun Masterlist

As always, let me know what you think! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 💛

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[static-symphony-fm]

you are in love (true love)

now playing: you are in love (taylor's version)

pairing: magnus chase x fem! reader

word count: 1.9k

summary: 5 people who knew magnus was in love with you before you did + 1 sword

an: FIRST FANFIC LETS FUCKING GOOOOO this took so long to write! I love how I accidentally made it blue themed even though that's magnus's least favorite colour 😭 its ok we all know he's canonically a 1989 girly

fun fact i actually took the first picture! i shit you not I was on a road trip with my family READING MAGNUS CHASE and I look up and see THAT SIGN and i SCRAMBLED to take a picture

content/ warnings: 5+1 things, background blitzstone bcs c'mon they're basically canon, shitty writing, kissing ooo spooky, magnus being a simp, there actually isn't a whole lot of reader in this x reader fic, minor allusions to sex stuff, a lot of swearing, weird use of perspective, i was trying to go for third person limited but magnus is the one it's limited to not reader? but reader is referred to using second person? sorry if it's confusing.

1. samirah al-abbas

  if someone had told magnus a year ago that in a couple month’s time, meeting for coffee weekly with one of his best friends and not getting kicked out of the overpriced coffee shop was going to be the most normal thing in his life, he wouldn’t have believed them. probably would have flipped them off, too, and stole their wallet as he walked away. but he’d like to think that he was a changed man, seeing as he was, in fact, in a hipster café in boston, trying not to make fun of all the fancy menu options. like, seriously? who orders a dragon fruit, pomegranate, and kale smoothie?

he realized he’d been thinking for too long and returned his attention to samirah, sitting across from him and discussing wedding plans for her upcoming marriage to amir as she sipped her latte. he noticed the way her eyes seemed to get brighter, and her entire body language conveyed how excited she was as she talked about him. magnus had a fleeting thought about how good it must feel to love someone so unconditionally like that, and have them love you back just as much. 

as if reading his mind, samirah finished her sentence and studied him, tilting her head as she seemed lost in thought, peering at him like he was a calculus problem she couldn’t quite figure out. 

after a few seconds, magnus broke the silence. 

“alright, it’s getting weird. why’re you looking at me like that?”

samirah snapped out of it, focusing on what he was saying.

“nothing, just… do you think you’ll ever get married?”

jeez, that was a loaded question. magnus narrowly avoided choking on his black coffee, swallowing and burning his throat before answering.

 “sam, i’m dead.”

“so? people get married in valhalla all the time. i have been to a very disproportionate amount of weddings in the two years i worked there.”

“yeah? how many of those end in divorce?”

samirah took a long drink of her coffee, swallowing it slowly as she responded.

“forever is a very long time, and no relationship is perfect, but wouldn’t it be better to have someone to spend that time with?”

“…i guess.” magnus accepted, lost in thought. truthfully, samirah was right, like always. if circumstances were different, if he hadn’t died at sixteen, he could imagine himself getting married. settling down. living in a cabin in the forest with two kids. 

a thought came into his mind, entirely of its own accord, of doing all of that with you. your laugh, your soft hair, the way your lips curled up and your eyes widened when you smile. you’d probably be a great mom.

whoa, what the hell? he should definitely not be thinking about getting married to his friend, what the fuck? that is not normal. 

he pushed the weird thought out of his mind as best he could, gulping his coffee and focusing on the burning in his throat and not what he was just thinking. samirah had gone back to talking about amir, and magnus was not going to think about marrying you any longer.

2. alex fierro

after nearly getting his head cut off by alex’s garrote for the third time that day, magnus needed a break. alex had decided that magnus needed to learn to fight without the help of jack, and it wasn't going too well for him. he collapsed on the bench next to alex, chugging half a bottle of water before even taking a breath. alex rolled her eyes. 

“it’s not that hard, you just aren’t fast enough.”

magnus managed to control himself and not say a snarky comment back, but it was a close call. instead, he ignored her, staring straight ahead and not engaging. unfortunately, you were in his direct line of sight, sparring with mallory only a few metres away. alex picked up on this quickly, nudging his side. 

“you like watching y/n fight, huh?” she teased, smirking. damn, why did she have to be so perceptive?

“what? no. shut up.” magnus replied quickly, trying to hide his blush. “i mean… she’s a good fighter. not like i like her or anything like that.” 

“mhm. suuuure you don’t.” alex replied, definitely not believing him. fuck.

“i’m telling the truth!” magnus protested. god, how was arguing with alex harder than physically fighting her? 

“yeah. did you see her necklace today? pretty, right?”

“she’s not even wearing a neck- fuck.” magnus said instantly, before catching himself. 

“go to hell.”  he swore, glaring at alex, who was grinning at him in a way that reminded him a little too much of her mother. 

“you first.”

      3 + 4. blitzen & hearthstone

“magnus? magnus?”

a pale hand reached in front of magnus face, waving and then snapping its fingers, bringing him back to reality. he blinked and looked around at hearth and blitz, sitting across from him in the dining room of the chase space. hearth took his hand back to sign finally, raising his eyebrows sarcastically.

“your head’s way up in the clouds, kid.” blitz remarked, drumming his short, well manicured fingernails on the table, his silver engagement ring glinting.  he was right. magnus definitely was pretty out of it lately. 

probably thinking about y/n, hearth signed. jeez, why did every conversation he had have to be about you? and no, he most certainly was not thinking about you and your pretty eyes and your delicate hands and the way your ass looked in those jeans you were wearing yesterday… jesus fucking christ, he needed to stop.

 he buried his face in his hands and groaned loudly, then raised his head back up so hearth could read his lips, hoping that his blush wasn’t as visible as it felt. 

“i am not thinking about her.” he lied through his teeth. 

“there’s nothing wrong with having a crush, you know.”

ugh, why did they have to act so much like his dads? 

“i don’t have a crush!”

“kid, you’re a terrible liar. everyone can see the way you stare at that girl. now remember, if you’re doing anything intimate, you gotta use protection…”

that’s it. magnus couldn’t stand up from the table fast enough

 “nope! this conversation is ending right now. good talk!”

5. annabeth chase

magnus and annabeth had been walking around new york for the past three hours, trying to make up for the ten years spent apart.  annabeth had shown him her favorite library, and pointed out a bunch of cool architecture in nearby buildings, with a promise to show him and his friends camp half-blood in the summer.

 they were currently taking a break, stopping for lunch at a falafel place that wasn’t quite as good as fadlan’s, but it was still falafel. magnus was enjoying listening to annabeth talk about her architecture projects– she was taking online classes to prepare for the higher level of new rome university’s program. 

magnus loved listening to her talk about things he didn’t understand. as a child he’d always thought she was a genius, the way she always solved puzzles and math problems easily. ten years later, that theory still held up, hearing her go on about a bunch of terms he didn’t understand.

“sorry, i’m probably boring you to tears. you wanna talk about something else?”

annabeth offered.

“no, it’s fine… i really don’t have a lot going on.” magnus replied, smiling politely.

“come on. there’s gotta be something interesting.” an idea seemed to come to annabeth.

“you have a crush on anybody?”

magnus swallowed. 

“no.”

but he was too slow. those steel gray eyes that matched his own were locked on him like a hawk, or maybe an owl. 

“yes, you do. come on. spill!”

magnus stayed silent. he was not telling his cousin about his crushes, but those metallic eyes stayed locked on him. he eventually gave up. annabeth could be scary when she wanted to be.

“fine. fine. her name’s y/n…”

+1. jack

 it was movie night at the chase space. was magnus ever gonna stop calling it that? no. it was cool. shut up. the credits were rolling on some disney movie that alex had insisted on, and everyone else was slowly but surely making their way to their rooms, yawning as they said their good nights. you had been sitting next to magnus on the couch the whole time, and suffice it to say that he had had some trouble concentrating on the film.  

it was just you and him, you in your nirvana t-shirt and gray sweat shorts, and in that moment, he decided to tell you.

 you got up to leave, waving at him, and in a feat of bravery so incredible it would be studied by historians for centuries to come, magnus managed to work up the nerve to speak up. 

“hey, uh, can i talk to you for a sec?”

“sure? what’s up?” you asked as you sat back down.

jesus, what had he gotten himself into? it’s ok, magnus, you got this. you beat loki in a flyting. you can talk to a pretty girl. 

“uh, i was just thinking… i just…” off to a great start, aren’t we? fuck off, voice in his head. he can do this. he took a deep breath.

“i really like you. you're gorgeous and funny and so insanely smart. i’m an atheist but i’m praying to god you feel the same way. will you be my girlfriend?”

you bit your lip, breaking eye contact as you looked off into the distance. fuck. you were gonna say no and then he was never gonna be able to talk to you again and he was gonna have to change his name and move to canada…

“can i kiss you?” 

what.

there were a million things magnus expected you to say, but that was none of them. he managed to stutter out a simple “please…” and then you leaned forward and your lips were on his and magnus chase died.

this felt more like the end of his life than being knocked off a burning bridge and drowning did. his heart was beating a million times a second, and he seemed to have forgotten how breathing worked. your lips were softer than anything he’d ever felt before.

 he managed to reciprocate a little, mostly acting on instinct, and all he could think about was how astronomically better this was than jackie molotov in the seventh grade.

what was he supposed to do with his hands? he was pretty sure that keeping them at his side was the wrong answer, so he moved one to your waist and the other one to the back of your neck, tangling it gently in your soft hair as his lips moved against yours.

gods, he could have stayed like that until ragnarök, but his stupid sword had to ruin the moment. jack started buzzing on his neck sleepily, seeming to have been woken up ungraciously. he hoped that you couldn’t feel it, but that was pretty unlikely, considering how close you were to him. jeez, he was blushing more and more every time he thought about that. 

eventually, you pulled away, smiling a little. 

“good night, magnus.”

he nodded, unable to form words, and managed to stand up and walk back to his room, wide eyed, operating on autopilot. he walked into his room and immediately collapsed backwards onto the bed, staring at the ceiling without blinking, completely still. not a thought passed through his mind for at least ten minutes, till he finally was able to reach up and pull jack’s pendant off of his necklace.

“dude, what happened to blades before babes!?!”

[winchestersisterimaginessss]

Request: Hi, so first I just wanted to say your writing is literally amazing I love every single one of your imagines and how they are such protective brothers in your 💕 I was wondering if there was anyway you could write an image where shes their teen sister and goes out on a date without the boys knowing although they are abit suspicious and she end up making out with this one boy and he starts to push it when she wants to stop and as it’s getting really bad Sam and dean save her. It’s okay if not thanks!! 💗💕

A/N: HIIII!!! Omg thank you so so much! I hope you like this! My requests are open so send some in:)))

Pairings: Sam and Dean x Sister Reader

Warnings: Sexual assault, CLOSE CALL!!!, Cursing

Your music was blasting through your room as you danced around, getting ready for your night out. You were going on a date! You squealed, twirling around in your room. You were so excited and the boy was so cute. You looked in the mirror and smiled, you felt good! You sprayed your perfume a few times preparing yourself to leave your room. You didn’t want Sam or Dean to find out about your date so you took a deep breath before you swung the door open. You bounced down the steps trying to not look too excited. “I’m going out with Claire, we’re going to see a movie,” you said when your brothers came into your view. They looked you up and down. Your usual movie outfit was a pair of sweatpants and one of their sweatshirts so you guess you looked a little too fancy in your jeans and off the shoulder top. “Uh huh and what movie?” Dean asked, suspiciously raising an eyebrow at you. “Uhhh The Fault in Our Stars,” you responded. Both of your brothers looked at you confused so you groaned, “ughhhh it’s a story about a boy and a girl who have cancer and fall in love.” You said, hoping they’d leave it at that. “Oh okay well have fun with that depressing movie!” Dean exclaimed sarcastically. “Be safe bug!” Sam reminded you as you walked out the front door. “I will! Bye, love you!” You said shutting the door before hearing their responses back to you.

——-

You were having an amazing time and really liked the guy you were out with. You both immediately clicked and it felt completely genuine. He was complimenting you the whole time and you were blushing like crazy. You felt like a normal teenager for once and it felt good. You both finished up dinner and decided to go somewhere else to grab dessert. You were so caught up in the night that you completely forgot to check your phone and keep your brothers in the loop about your night.

——-

Sam and Dean were only slightly panicking when they weren’t able to get an immediate response from you about your whereabouts. Well it was really Dean completely freaking out and Sam trying to calm him down, but it didn’t sit right with the both of them when they were unable to get ahold of you. “Send Claire a quick text and if she doesn’t answer we will figure it out from there,” Sam said. He was much more understanding when it came to you being out and about. Dean was always more protective in that sense because he practically raised you and was more of a father figure to you. He knew you could take care of yourself and that you and Claire could take down a whole army together so he wasn’t that worried, but felt better if you checked in with him once in a while when you were out. So he grabbed his phone, texting Claire.

‘Hey, hope you two are having fun! Checking in because I haven’t heard from Y/N and I’m assuming the movie is over. Let me know if you’re both okay and if either of you need anything. Be safe!’

Dean hit send and waited for a response. Not even a minute later his phone dinged.

‘Hey Dean, I haven’t been with Y/N tonight and I normally wouldn’t snitch on her like this, but since you haven’t heard from her that worries me. Please let me know if you get ahold of her or if there’s something you need me to do…’

Dean read the text out loud and cursed. Sam immediately face palmed and sighed, “alright I’m going to track her phone.”

——-

You both ended up getting ice cream for dessert and were now walking through the dark town. “I’m a little disappointed in that ice cream, I was hoping for something a little sweeter,” He said as he pulled you behind a building into a dark alley way. You giggled, “and what would that be?” You asked turning to look at him. “A kiss,” he said pushing you against the wall.

He kissed you and you smiled into it. One thing led to another and you were making out. After a little while he started to get handsy and you politely moved his hands away from you hoping he got the hint. He didn’t so when he tried again you moved away, “hey I’m not really comfortable with that right now especially here so,” you said trailing off and looking around the dark buildings hoping he understood.

You looked back at him and he looked pissed. “I took you out to dinner, the least you could do is repay me the way I want you to.” He said coldly as he shoved you between himself and the wall. You were shocked by the sudden change in his personality and it absolutely terrified you. He crashed his lips onto yours and waited no time to start groping you. “No wait no stop please,” you squeaked.

You were squirming under his touch as he held you tight against the wall. You felt his hand trail up further as you cried, “no wait please,” trying to plead with him. He ignored your cries, obviously not pleased with your shirt as he ripped it off and continued to fondle you. Your heart was in your throat and there were tears streaming down your face. Why couldn’t you fight this guy off of you, you thought. God, you were so weak. A hunter my ass.

Your self deprecating thoughts and struggles against him were interrupted when you felt his one hand trail down to your pants. You let out a sob, “NO!” There was no way this was how your first time was going to go. You struggled and thrashed against him feeling powerless. As he unbuckled your pants and pulled them down, you let out a strangled cry. You hit him, you scratched him, you kicked him, you did everything you could in self defense but it wasn’t enough. This was it, you thought. You were about to be violated in the darkest way possible. You were about to be vulnerable for the very first time with some guy who forced himself on you.

As you were mentally preparing yourself for what was about to come, his weight was ripped off of you. You cried in relief when you saw your brothers in front of you. Dean’s hold on your attacker never left as both of your brothers took in your appearance. Sam immediately shrugged off his jacket as Dean’s face turned red when he saw the lack of clothing that was now on your body. You scrambled to pull up your pants as Dean threw the guy onto the ground. “You piece of fucking shit,” he growled.

As Dean threw his first punch, Sam instantly went to cover you up. He placed his jacket around your exposed top area and held you close into him. “I got you, I got you bug, you’re okay,” he said as he felt your body shake from sobs. “I’m sorry Sammy, I’m so sorry,” you cried, trying to apologize. You got yourself into this mess and it was all your fault. You lied to hang out with a boy and look where it got you. Sam squeezed you tighter into his chest, “hey, it’s not your fault, it’ll never be your fault, it’s okay.” He said holding you tighter. Another sob rubbed through your throat. “Shhhhh shhh it’s okay sweetheart, you’re okay you’re safe. I’ve got you kiddo,” he said softly. He saw your torn up shirt on the ground and he clenched his jaw, feeling sick to his stomach.

You gripped onto Sam’s shirt, turning to look towards Dean and the guy who almost took your innocence. “Don’t you ever fucking touch my sister again or next time I’ll make sure I fucking kill you,” he threatened before punching him unconscious.

Dean was trying to catch his breathe, seething from anger when he caught your eyes. His face softened and he came towards you knowing that you needed him.

You let go of Sam and melted into Dean’s arms. He wrapped his arms around you and held you tight as you cried. “Shhhh shh I know kid, I know. I got you, you’re safe.” Dean said softly, his heart breaking seeing his little sister in such a state. You couldn’t take being there any longer and whimpered, “can we please go home?” Dean nodded, glancing at Sam. “Yeah bug we can, I just have to make a call.” Sam said taking out his phone to call Jody.

You clung to Dean’s jacket as he walked you to the car. The smell of whiskey and his cologne soothed you. You got into the front seat with him as Sam finished up explaining everything to Jody. He slid into the car next to you and explained that Jody was going to take care of everything. Dean kept one hand on your knee, making circles with his thumb which was something that always comforted you since you were little and Sam had his arm around you. You were tucked into his side and fiddled with the zipper on his jacket, still trembling.

The drive was short, but felt like forever. As you got out of the car you couldn’t help but feel like a complete loser. You were so embarrassed and ashamed of yourself. You walked into the bunker, noticing Sam and Dean’s frequent looks at each other. Your heart was beating rapidly and you took a seat on the couch to try to calm yourself down.

Dean walked towards you as Sam trailed behind him with a sympathetic face. “Hey sweetheart,” he squatted down so he was eye level with you and grabbed both of your hands. Sam stood behind him slightly off to the side looking extremely concerned. “I’ve gotta know how far he got.” Dean said gently, but with so much pain in his voice not really wanting to know, not ever wanting to know and hoping he’d never be in a situation like this where he had to know, but here we were. You immediately broke eye contact with him and your eyes darted to the floor. You ripped your hands from his and hugged Sam’s jacket tighter to your body. You whimpered, recalling the moments. “I know kid, I know. I’m sorry, but I have to know.” He said softly, wiping the tear that fell from your eye. You couldn’t get the words out. You felt so ashamed and so embarrassed. “Your pants were down sweetheart,” Dean clenched his jaw before continuing, “did he-“ “No,” you choked back, cutting him off. Your brother’s faces physically relaxed before you continued. “He would have though if you didn’t get there when you did.” You said angrily wiping your tears away. You were so angry. You were angry at yourself for lying to your brothers in the first place. You were angry for getting yourself in that situation. Most importantly, you were angry for not being strong enough to be able to fight him off of you. “One handsy douchebag and I get wigged out,” you cried before continuing, “I fought Lucifer and I couldn’t fight him off of me??” You questioned to no one in particular. You looked up at your brothers finally facing them. “I’m just so weak and pathetic.” You whispered. Dean put his hand back on your knee, staring you deep into your eyes. “No one is EVER ready to fight that kind of monster off. That’s the scariest kind of monster there is. You will never even be close to weak or pathetic Y/N/N.” Dean said strongly. Before he could say anything else, Sam chimed in. “You were vulnerable and it will never be your fault. We will get you the help you need and find the resources to get you through this if you need them. I’m so sorry this happened to you sweetheart.” You looked down feeling a little better, but still ashamed and still not convinced it wasn’t entirely your fault. You lied to them and you got yourself into this position. It WAS your fault. “It was my fault though, I got myself into this position in the first place by lying to you both. I understand if you’re mad at me. I’m sorry, I’m just so sorry.” You said on the verge of tears again. “I learned my lesson if it means anything,” you whispered. Dean sighed extremely upset by your words, “It will NEVER be your fault so I don’t want to ever hear you say that again. I wish that you didn’t learn your lesson and I’m so sorry you did. I wish I was there to stop it the moment you wanted it to stop.” He said before continuing, “We will never get mad at you for trying to be a kid and trying to experience teenage things. I just don’t want you to ever have to lie to me or Sam. We understand your needs to go out, have fun, party with your friends, hang out with boys and go on dates, but we want to make sure you’re safe while you do that. We’re here for you kid, always, okay? Don’t ever forget that.” Dean said. You nodded looking between both of your brothers feeling so loved by them, “thank you for saving me,” you whispered, “I love you both so much and I don’t know what I’d do without you,” you sniffed pulling them into a group hug. “We love you too bug.”

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Feral: First Christmas

Summary: It's Dean's first Christmas since being free and no longer feral. However it's only been a few weeks and he's not quite ready to do everything a typical Alpha would, especially one as famous as him. But Y/N has an idea up her sleeve to give him a fun Christmas experience...

Masterlist

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!reader

Word Count: 1,500ish

Warnings: language, smidge of angst

A/N: Enjoy!

______

“Hey, Peter,” you said, quickly rushing inside the house, following him upstairs to your bedroom. He pushed open the door, Sam giving you a weary look before his gaze drifted over to the figure staring out the window. 

“He hasn’t moved in two hours,” said Sam. You shrugged out of your winter coat and boots, patting across the hardwoods in your wool socks. “Or talked. He won’t-”

You smirked when you saw Dean’s face, Sam cutting himself off. 

“Is he having a breakdown?” whispered Sam, Peter rolling his eyes at Sam’s overprotectiveness.

“No, no nothing so serious,” you said, lightly grazing your finger against Dean’s bonding gland, his body lax. You gently guided him to the bed, helping him sit and lay down, his eyes quickly shutting. “He was sleepwalking.”

“Sleepwalking?”

“I told you so,” mumbled Peter, heading for the exit. “Let me know if you’re going back out Y/N.”

“Will do,” you said, urging Sam out after him, gently pulling the door shut when you were in the hall. “And yes, sleepwalking. It’s incredibly common in formerly feral Alphas. Dean’s only about six weeks out from being feral so it’s expected. It normally stops around the three month mark.”

“Huh, never knew that,” said Sam, staring back at the door. “Sorry. I know I’m still a little nervous about him sometimes.”

“Hey. It’s understandable. Dean’s rehab wasn’t like everyone else’s,” you said, heading down the hall with him, Peter seeming to have grabbed your coat and boots for you. “So Christmas is in a few days. I wanted to make it extra special for him.”

“I mean we decorated the house and got him presents and everything in between. What were you thinking?” he asked. 

“He’s so nervous to go out in public. I know there’s still a lot of attention on him but I wanted to try and take him out. To walk through the light show at the park. Go ice skating at the little Christmas village there. Let him have fun without being afraid.”

“Y/N,” he said as we walked downstairs. “I thought you said it’s going to take him a long time to get to that point. How are you going to take him to the most crowded place in the city when he has to psych himself up to go visit Benny? In a private space?”

“I have an idea,” you said, biting your bottom lip. “But I need your help.”

Dean was grumpy the next day. He knew you were taking him out of the house that night which he didn’t have a problem with if it was to see Gil and Sophia at their place. But you weren’t telling him where you were headed just yet which meant your Alpha was in a mood. A mood you very clearly felt through your bond.

“Dean,” you said that evening, knocking on the doorframe of your room. He sat angrily on the couch by the fire, crossing his flannel covered arms and frowning. “Alpha. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to go wherever the hell you’re taking me, that’s what’s wrong.” You sighed and knelt down in front of him, Dean reluctantly letting you take his hands in yours.

“I know you know I’d never hurt you. We both know you’re scared and I don’t blame you. The media still very much wants to know all about you. It’s invasive and scary when all you deserve is good things in life.”

“I’m not ready,” he said quietly. “Please not yet.”

“If you don’t want to go, we don’t have to,” you said, Dean’s body relaxing. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.

“I can try.” You titled your head, Dean smiling back when he opened his green eyes, a gentle nod given to you. “There’s a lot I didn’t think I could do when I met you and you keep proving me wrong. I want you to keep doing that.”

“This will be fun. I promise. We can also come back home if you decide you don’t like it.” He hummed, scent nervous but a tinge of excitement underneath it. “But we do need to get you in some warmer clothes first.”

“Warmer clothes?”

Dean looked handsome in his tan wool hat and the new navy winter jacket Sam had picked up for him earlier that day. His winter boots squeaked when he stepped out of the car, gloved hands immediately grasping yours when you got out beside him.

“That’s a lot of people,” said Dean, watching people wandering around the Christmas village, his gaze assessing the scene carefully and ignoring the pretty Christmas scene before him.

“Smell the air,” you gently urged, Dean’s nose twitching up for a moment, his brow furrowing.

“That’s…a lot of Alphas,” he said as you pointed at the luxury buses in the parking lot, not the usual cars that would be there. “What’s-”

“Oh you kids made it!” said Sophia as she jogged over, giving Dean an extra big hug. He melted into it, Sophia kissing his temple. “You smell so tense, sweetie. Go have fun with the others! I think I saw Gil and Sam with Benny over by the ice rink.”

“Benny’s here?” he asked when you looped your arm through his, walking with him towards the entrance.

“Of course! All of the stage three and beyond Alpha’s from the facility are. Y/N had the idea of a field trip for everyone and their families so they could celebrate the holidays without any outside pressure,” she said, an Alpha you recognized from the facility coming up.

“Dr. Insler! Avery is asking for you over at the light tunnel,” they said. She gave a quick goodbye, leaving you and Dean to wander slowly inside. Dean stopped you both once you were there, his gaze wandering out as people shuffled around from one activity to another.

“How the hell did you shut down one of the most popular Christmas spots in the city two days before the holiday?” You shrugged, Dean shaking his head. 

“Sam did most of it. I just had the thought,” you said, Dean looking around at the lights, the decorations, a silly smile spreading onto his cheeks. “You deserve a night of fun along with all these other Alphas.”

He leaned in and kissed you slowly, grinning through it and lighting up your insides. “Thank you for making me come out tonight, for making a whole lot of messed up people’s nights.”

“You guys aren’t messed up. You’re just in need of some care,” you said, Dean giving you a side hug, kissing the top of your head. “So. Since this is your first Christmas in a very long time, what would you like to do? Skate? Games? Do the light walk?”

“That hot chocolate looks pretty good,” he said with a smirk. “Ladies first.”

You woke up the next day with a sore butt from a hard fall on the ice rink. Dean hadn’t skated since he was a boy but he picked it up again instantly, teasing you for having two left feet and clutching him the whole time. You hadn’t cared though. 

Dean had smiled the whole night and that boy deserved a lifetime of that.

You were surprised when you made your way downstairs and found Peter and Dean putting on their winter coats, Peter twirling a pair of car keys in his hands.

“Morning,” you said, getting a kiss from Dean, Peter going outside to start the car. “Where are you boys off to? Visit Benny?”

“It’s Christmas Eve and I realized, I haven’t done any shopping,” he said. You pursed your lips. You and Sam had both made it clear to Dean that having him was the best gift you could ever ask for. He pressed a finger to your lips and chuckled. “I won’t be gone long, just going to pick up a few things and then I’ll be home to wrap them.”

“Dean you don’t have-” He shushed you, pressing his forehead against yours. “The stores will be so busy-”

“And I have Peter and a hat and sunglasses. This is my first Christmas in forever and I sure as shit am going to do it the right way and make sure my family has gifts from me.” You stared at him, wanting to argue but if this was what he truly wanted, you weren’t about to stop him.

“Do you want me to go with you?” you asked, his head already shaking. “Alright. Be safe and have fun.”

“I will,” he said, pecking a kiss on your cheek. He slipped out the door, Sam padding downstairs with a yawn in his pajamas. 

“Is he going out alone?” he asked. You hummed, Sam nodding once. “Good for him. I know he wanted to pick out your engagement ring himself.”

You felt flush, Sam chuckling. “I told him I don’t need one. We’re already mated.”

“Try telling him that. He adores you,” he said, heading down the hall for the kitchen. 

You smiled, ducking your head down and feeling a flurry of warmth in your core you knew Dean would be feeling.

“Yeah. I love him too.”

___________

[t0astyb3ar]

Merry Fucking Christmas

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: cursing (in English and Russian)

Summary:  A late night mission turns into a night to remember

Words: 4.9k

Notes: You can use google translate for the Russian parts, it might not be 100% accurate, so I apologize in advance. Also I had some help from @bloopf1sh

“Did…did you bring chocolate on this mission!?” Peter asked in disbelief, looking at you nibbling on a chocolate bar, eating half the wrapper with it. 

“It’s stress chocolate!” 

“But why?” 

“NIGHT TIME MISSIONS STRESS ME OUT”

“You, Y/N L/N, who trained in the Red Room for almost 14 years, became one of the most deadly assassins in the world by the age of 16, needs chocolate because night missions stress her out?” Peter asked, while holding back a laugh.

“I trained for 13 years and I was actually 14 when I became one of the deadliest assassins and I only needed chocolate for SOME of the missions.” You corrected him with a smile, while taking another bite. 

 “Gimme some at least,” Peter insisted, while reaching for the bar.

“Uh, absolutely not” you gasped while peeking over the edge of the rooftop at the warehouse which was, according to Steve and Natasha, full of HYDRA weapons.

“Shit” Peter whispered “Mr Stark didn’t say there were guards, right?”

“Okay, first of all, language, second of all, did you even listen when Steve gave the mission prep?”

“Um…” Peter mumbled “Well, not exactly but…”

“ты, черт возьми, шутишь” you sighed, throwing the chocolate bar wrapper that you had a death grip on a few seconds prior at Peter. It was crumpled and disfigured, and hit him on the side of the head. He turned to look at you, but you had turned away, disgruntled. 

“You ate it all??” Peter asked, throwing his arms in the air. “Not cool,” he grumbled, bending over to pick it up and tuck it in his backpack. As he did, he heard something from the corner of the roof, something that sounded suspiciously like a phone ringing. Peter walked over to the noise, finding Y/N’s phone on the ground. 

“HEY, Y/N? SOMEONE’S CALLING YOU,” he yelled at you, and you grumbled, turning away from the softly glowing warehouse to answer the supposed call. You walked over to the side of the little shack-looking area where the stairs to the roof offered some protection from the elements and the ventilation system wasn’t in open air, where you had placed your phone previously, and lo and behold, you did actually have a call! You shooed Peter over to the other side of the roof , and answered the call.

“Hi Nat, how’s everyone back at the compound?”

“Y/N have you seen the time? The Christmas parties already started”

“Oh shit!” you exclaimed, scrambling up from where you were sitting and running over to where Peter was “Peter, we have to go, like now!”

“Huh, why?” he asked, looking confused.

“Christmas parties already started” Natasha repeated, through the phone “and we’ve already run out of snacks and Sam and Tony are looking pretty drunk so you might have to pick up some ibuprofen or something”

“Okay, we’ll be right over, also no sign of anyone entering or exiting the warehouse” Peter noted, while grabbing his backpack and pulling his mask over his face. 

“Okay, see you soon Nat” you said as you ended the call.

“ARE WE GOING OR NOT?” Peter yelled as he climbed up onto the rooftop edge

“Hey! Not fair” you shouted, “Also that’s my bag!”

Peter, now perched on the rooftop edge, grinned down at you, his eyes twinkling with excitement. "C'mon, why are you hesitating? We've got a party to get to, snacks to buy, and two drunk Avengers to deal with."

A few minutes of swinging later, you and Peter entered the supermarket and began gathering the supplies we needed, such as snacks and ibuprofen. As Peter was in the snack aisle, you heard a familiar voice from the next aisle over. With a deep breath, you approached Thor, who was towering over the cashier with the bottle of Asgardian ale in his hand. Seeing the tense situation,you decided to use another approach to calm him down. You close your eyes and focused on your thoughts. As you channelled your powers, an illusion forms in your mind, one that will help Thor understand the pricing situation better. 

Once the illusion is complete, it materialises before Thor’s eyes, presenting a detailed explanation of the supermarket's pricing policy. Thor is initially taken aback by the unexpected illusion. His eyes widen, and he takes a moment to observe it carefully. The illusion shows a detailed breakdown of the supermarket's pricing policy, comparing the costs of similar items and providing justifications for the prices.

As Thor takes in this information, his expression changes from confusion to one of understanding.

 “Ah, okay, I see now,” Thor responded, his voice a mixture of confusion and embarrassment. 

The illusion has clearly reached him, and he realises that his outburst over the ale’s price might have been an overreaction. The tension in the air eased a bit as Thor slowly lowered the bottle back to the counter. The cashier, still shaking from the earlier conflict, looks relieved. Peter, who was quietly observing the situation, while holding several chip bags, decides to interject at this point. He glances down at his phone, checking a notification he just received.

“Uh, guys, we’ve got a text from Natasha. She’s asking where we are and how much longer we’ll be,” Peter said, sounding a little nervous.

Y/N and Thor look at each other, realising that they've been taking up time at the supermarket longer than planned. You nod in acknowledgement, feeling a pang of guilt for causing such a disturbance.

“Right, let’s settle this quickly and get back to the party,” Y/N responds firmly.

Thor, still looking a little embarrassed, pats his hand on the counter as a makeshift apology to the cashier. "Ah, yes, my apologies for the trouble."

As the cashier scanned the items, you and Peter quickly helped to pack them into bags. Peter kept a watchful eye on the time, glancing between the cashier and his phone.

Meanwhile, Thor stood nearby, still holding the bottle of ale he was debating over earlier. He still looked a little sheepish, obviously aware that he caused a scene over something relatively trivial. The cashier completes the transaction, and Peter quickly pays for the items using his credit card. He thanked the man and took the bags, signaling for you and Thor to follow him out of the supermarket.

 As they leave the store, you couldn’t help but give Thor a playful nudge, teasing him about his earlier behaviour. 

"You do realise how unnecessary that whole scene was, right?" you ask, a smirk on your face.

Thor, still a little embarrassed, chuckled sheepishly and scratched the back of his neck. "Ha, yeah, I suppose it was a bit much over a simple price," he admits.

Peter interjects, still checking his phone. "Yeah, and Natasha's definitely not happy that we're late. We better hurry."

The three quicked their pace, with Peter leading the way back to the Avengers compound. They chat about the party preparations along the way, but Thor's earlier behaviour still lingers in the air. Thor still grips the bottle of ale in his hand, his mind seemingly still on the pricing. You noticed his expression and gave him a reassuring smile. 

"Don't worry, we all have our moments," you said soothingly.

As they approach the compound, the sight of the large building comes into view. Lights glow from the windows, and the sounds of chatter and music drift through the air. Peter leads the way to the entrance, still checking his phone for any updates from Natasha. You and Thor followed close behind, both eager to join the party but also anticipating the scolding they are sure to get from Nat.

Once inside the compound, they were greeted by the familiar sights and sounds of a holiday party in full swing. Decorations covered every surface, and music played in the background. In the midst of the chaos, Natasha appeared, a stern look on her face. She scanned the three latecomers, her irritation evident.

"Finally, where have you been?" she asked, crossing her arms.

Peter speaks up, trying to defend them. "We're sorry, we got held up at the supermarket. Thor had a..." he glances at Thor, who looks sheepish, "...minor disagreement over a pricing issue."

"Minor disagreement?" Natasha scoffed, eyeing Thor. "Judging by the look on your face, it must've been quite the disagreement."

Thor opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a word, Natasha interrupted. "Never mind, we can talk about it later. Right now, we have a party to run."

You stepped forward, sensing the tension. "Don't worry, we'll help set up the food and drinks," you assured Natasha.

Natasha looks at them, still somewhat annoyed, but nods in agreement. "Fine, but hurry up. We're already behind schedule."

You, Thor, and Peter immediately got to work, setting up the refreshments and decorations in record time. Despite the earlier conflict, you worked together efficiently, knowing that they needed to make up for the lost time. While they worked, Thor seemed to be lost in thought, still contemplating the pricing issue from the supermarket with a slight scowl. You noticed his expression and gave him a reassuring pat on the back.

As the party preparations continue, the atmosphere in the compound gradually transforms into one of holiday cheer. The festive music and decorations help to lift the mood, though the tension caused by their delay still lingers. Natasha moves around the compound, making sure everything is in order. She occasionally casts a glance at you, Thor, and Peter, still silently reminding you of your mistake.

Once the preparations are done, the party is officially underway. The Avengers and other guests stream into the compound, filling it with laughter and lively chatter. Thor, still looking a little guilty, sets aside the bottle of ale they had debated over earlier. He spotted You nearby, sitting on a couch and observing the party, and decided to join you. You glanced up as Thor took a seat next to you. 

"Are you still brooding about that ale?" you teased, a smirk on your face. Thor grunts, rolling his eyes playfully.

 "Can you blame me? The price was outrageous," he mutters, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

You laughed, and shook your head. "You and your Asgardian sensibilities," you teased. "You know not everything can be like it is back home. Things are different here on Earth." 

Thor looked up, a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah, I suppose you're right," he admitted, his voice quietened. "It's just...it's hard to let go of things from home. Old habits die hard, as you Midgardians say."

You nodded, understanding his struggle. "I know, and that's okay. But don't let it affect your mood too much, especially not tonight," you said, as you gently touched his shoulder. "It's a party, we're here to have fun, remember?"

Thor lets out a long sigh, a mix of relief and resignation. "You're right, of course you're right," he said exasperatedly. "I'll try to let go of it, for now," he added, forcing a smile.

"There you go," you replied, as you returned the smile. You sat in comfortable silence for a moment, watching as the party unfolded around you. Then, you looked at him and said teasingly, "But seriously, let's hope there aren't any more pricing debates tonight."

Thor chuckles, shaking his head. "You have my word on that. No more pricing debates, I promise," he assures her, holding up his hands in surrender. "I'll play nice tonight."

You grinned, satisfied with his response. "Good. Now, let's get out there and enjoy ourselves," you said, as you stood up and extended a hand towards him.

Thor took your hand and stood up, his earlier mood visibly lifted. "Lead the way," he said, a hint of excitement in his eyes. You lead the way into the main party area, where the music was louder and the guests were more boisterous. Thor followed closely behind, his presence drawing the attention of a few guests who recognized him. As they made their way through the crowd, they were greeted by several of their teammates. 

Steve lifted a brow at Thor, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "So, any more pricing debates?" he teased.

Thor rolled his eyes, a sheepish grin on his face. "Haha, very funny, Rogers," he replied, feigning annoyance. "No more debates. I've learned my lesson."

Clint, standing next to Steve, chimed in, a smirk on his face. "We'll see about that Thor. I've learned to not underestimate your stubbornness when it comes to Asgardian ale."

Thor rolled his eyes in a playful manner at the jab from Clint. “You know what they say, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery,” he retorted, as a hint of a smile crossed his features.

Meanwhile, you grinned, enjoying the banter between the two. “Alright, alright, enough teasing,” you said, as you stepped in between them with a laugh. Your laughter broke the tension, and the group settled down. Steve and Clint exchange amused glances, clearly entertained by the friendly banter. Thor, still a bit sheepish, takes a sip of his drink.

"I guess I walked into that one, didn't I?" he mutters, a small embarrassed smile on his lips.

"You did," Steve replies, a hint of humour in his voice. "But hey, it's all in good fun."

Bruce chuckles. "Yeah, no harm done, Thor. We're just messing with you."

Before Thor could respond, the music changes to a lively tune, and the atmosphere becomes even more energised. Many guests, including a rather drunk Sam and an even more so Tony start to move towards the dance floor, drawn by the inviting beat.

"Looks like it's time to hit the dance floor," Steve remarks, a light in his eyes. "Who's up for a dance?"

Wanda smiles, looking at you."What do you say, Y/N? You in?"

You hesitate for a moment, looking from Steve to Bruce. She's never been the type to dance at parties, but the music is infectious, and she's always up for a bit of fun.

"Sure, why not?" you finally say, a tentative smile on your face.

Bucky grins, clearly pleased with your response. "That's the spirit!" he exclaims, taking your hand and leading you to the dance floor.

Steve follows behind you, a playful smirk on his face. "Just a heads up," he whispers in your ear, "Bucky's a terrible dancer."

You laugh at Steve's comment, glancing at Bucky, who is currently attempting some kind of dance move that looks more like flailing than actual dancing.

“Well considering I was frozen for almost 70 years I think I’m doing a pretty good job” he pointed out while taking your hands and starting pulling you into the lively rhythm of the music.

Despite his lack of coordination, Bucky is having a blast, his laughter and joyful expression infectious. 

You can't help but join in, laughing as you try to follow his dance moves, which seem to be improvised and wildly flailing. Wanda and Steve watch you both from the side, their laughter joining yours and Bucky's.

The four of you laugh and dance, carefree and enjoying the moment. Everyone’s dancing may be terrible, but it's contagious, and you find yourself completely immersed in the joyous chaos of the dance floor.

Peter, who had been busy helping with the party preparations, finally breaks away and scans the room for you and his teammates. He spots you on the dance floor, laughing and struggling to keep up with Bucky's chaotic dance moves. He makes his way over, a grin on his face.

"Looks like you guys are having a blast," Peter calls out over the music, sidling up beside you. You turn to look at him, a breathless laugh escaping your lips. "Dancing is...something, isn't it?" you manage to say.

Peter grins, watching your interaction with everyone. There's a hint of something more in his gaze—a mix of affection and vulnerability. He takes a deep breath, mustering up the courage to speak.

"Hey, can I talk to you for a moment?" he asks, voice slightly shaky.

You turn your attention away from the chaotic group dancing and notice the serious tone in Peter's voice. You nod, signalling your attention. "Sure, what's up?"

Peter leads you away from the dance floor, towards a quieter area at the edge of the room. He glances around, ensuring that they're out of earshot of the main festivities. Once alone, Peter turns to you, his expression tense. He looks a little nervous, as if grappling with what to say. He takes a moment to collect his thoughts, his eyes darting around before finally meeting yours. 

"Listen," he begins, his voice soft but determined. "There's something I've been wanting to tell you for a while now..."

Your curiosity grows as you watch him struggle to find the right words. You can sense the importance of what he's about to say, and you feel a little flutter in your chest. 

He takes a deep breath, his eyes holding your gaze. "I just....I need to get this off my chest," he says, his voice steadier now. "I've had these feelings for you, Y/N. They've been growing for a while now, and I can't keep them to myself any longer."

Your heart thumps louder in your chest as you listen to his confession. A mix of surprise and something else—excitement, perhaps—swirls within you.

Peter continues, his eyes unwavering. "I admire you. Your strength, your intelligence, your kindness. It's hard to put into words, but being around you, working with you—it's something I look forward to every day."

He pauses for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "I guess what I'm trying to say is...I'm in love with you, Y/N. I've wanted to tell you for so long, but I was scared, scared of how you might feel, scared of ruining what we have." 

As he speaks, a wave of emotions washes over you. You feel a mix of shock, happiness, and uncertainty. You look at him, taking in his earnest expression and the vulnerability in his eyes.

"Peter," you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. "I...I had no idea you felt that way..."

He doesn't break eye contact, his gaze steady on yours. "I know it might be a lot to take in, and I don't expect anything from you. I just needed you to know how I feel," he replies, his voice filled with vulnerability.

Your mind is awhirl with thoughts and feelings. You had never considered Peter in a romantic light before, but now, hearing his confession, something within you stirs.

The silence between you is only broken by the distant music and chatter of the party. You struggle to process everything that has just happened, your mind racing with a mix of surprise, uncertainty, and a hint of intrigue.

As you face him, his confession still ringing in your ears, a wave of understanding washes over you. Deep down, you realize that he's not the only one who's been nursing these feelings. Somewhere along the way, you've developed feelings for Peter, too.

Your initial surprise gives way to a small, tentative smile. "Peter," you begin, your voice soft yet steady. "I...I think I feel the same way about you."

Relief floods Peter's expression, his eyes lighting up. "You do? You feel the same way?" he asks, a note of disbelief in his voice, as if he can't quite believe what he's hearing.

"Yes," you say, nodding, the truth finally surfacing. "I do. I've been feeling it for a while now, I just...I wasn't sure if it was something that was just growing in my mind, or if it was real."

A smile spreads across Peter's face, wide and genuine. He steps closer to you, closing the gap between you. "I can't believe I'm hearing this. I'd almost given up hope that you would feel the same way."

You look up at him, your heart thudding in your chest. "I can't believe I didn't notice sooner," you admit, a soft chuckle escaping your lips. "I guess we've been oblivious, both of us."

Peter grins, a hint of sheepishness in his eyes. "Yeah, I guess we have. But at least we're here now, finally telling each other how we feel."

As the tension between you eases, a comfortable silence settles over you both. The distant sounds of the party seem to fade away, and all you can focus on is each other.

Peter reaches out, gently grasping your hand in his. "Where do we go from here?" he asks, his voice laced with hope.

You intertwine your fingers with his, enjoying the warmth of his touch. "I guess we figure it out," you say, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "We take it slow, see where this goes."

Peter nods, his gaze never leaving yours. "Slow and steady," he repeats, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I like the sound of that."

Peter gently tugs you a little closer, the air between you crackling with a mix of excitement and nervous anticipation. "Can I ask you something?" he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

You look up at him, a curious expression on your face. "Of course," you reply, intrigued by the seriousness in his gaze.

He pauses for a moment, as if gathering his courage, then speaks softly. "Can I...can I kiss you?"

Your cheeks flush at his question, a mix of surprise and eagerness rushing through you. You take a second to process his question, your heart thudding in your chest. Then you nod, a small smile curving your lips. "Yes," you whisper, your voice slightly shaky. "I'd like that."

Peter's eyes widen slightly, a look of relief and elation crossing his features. Without wasting another moment, he steps closer to you, closing the distance between you.

Gently, he cups your face in his hands, his touch warm and tender. He looks at you for a moment, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips.

Then, with a slight tilt of his head, he leans in. His lips meet yours in a soft, gentle kiss. The initial touch is a little tentative, but it quickly deepens as Peter wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close against him.

You melt into the kiss, your arms coming up to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer. As you move together, the rest of the world fades away, leaving only the two of you in this intimate moment.

The kiss is both tender and passionate, a meeting of two souls that have longed for this connection. Peter's hands run over your back, pulling you as close as possible, as if he's trying to eliminate the space between you.

You reciprocate his touch, your fingers tangling in the hair at the base of his neck. Your bodies press together, fitting as if they were made for each other. The warmth of his touch, the taste of his lips, it all feels dizzyingly right.

As the kiss continues, you forget where you are, lost in the sensation of the moment. It's like nothing else around you exists except for the two of you. Eventually, though, the need for air forces you to break the kiss, your breathing a little ragged.

Peter pulls back just slightly, his forehead resting against yours. His eyes are closed, and he's trying to steady his own breathing. A small, disbelieving smile plays on his lips. "That was..." he trails off, speechless.

You can't help but mirror his smile, your heart full. "Yeah," you manage to say, your voice a little shaky. "That was..." You don't have the words to describe the intensity of the moment, the way you feel. "It was perfect."

Peter lets out a soft laugh, his arms still holding you close. "Perfect," he repeats, then shakes his head in disbelief. "You're perfect," he murmurs, his voice filled with awe.

You feel heat rise to your cheeks at his words, your heart skipping a beat. "And you're quite the flatterer," you tease, trying to hide the effect his words have on you.

Peter grins at your response, his eyes sparkling with affection. "You're never gonna let me off the hook, are you?" he teases, his hands still resting on your waist, holding you close.

As you both stand in the secluded spot, still basking in the afterglow of the kiss, the sound of distant laughter drifts over from the party. It's a reminder that the world continues, even as you're wrapped up in each other's arms.

Peter looks down at you, his expression filled with contentment. "We should probably head back," he says reluctantly.

You nod, a small pout forming on your lips. "Yeah, we probably should." But a part of you doesn't want to leave this private bubble, the desire to stay like this with him a strong one.

Peter seems to mirror your reluctance, his grip on you tightening slightly. "I know," he says, his voice soft. "But we can't hide forever. Plus, people might start to wonder where we are."

You chuckle a little at that. "We've probably been gone too long already." Reluctantly, you untangle yourself from his embrace, though your hand finds his immediately, your fingers intertwined.

With a soft sigh, Peter leads you back towards the noise and lights of the party, your hand in his. As you return to the group, eyes turn towards you, curious and inquiring. But you're far too content to care about prying glances right now.

Steve, noticing your joint hand-holding, lets out a whistle. "Well, look who's back!" he teases, a smirk on his lips.

Wanda, ever observant, raises an eyebrow at your and Peter's intertwined hands. "Looks like you two have been busy," she remarks, her tone light but with a hint of mischief.

The group surrounds you both, questions and comments flying. "Finally!" Clint exclaims, grinning like the Cheshire cat. Bucky adds with a smirk, "About time you two figured it out."

The others chime in, their looks and remarks ranging from amused to approving to outright excited. You feel a bit flustered under all the attention, but Peter's hand in yours grounds you, making the teasing somehow less daunting.

Peter takes it all in stride, rolling his eyes at the comments and responding with sarcastic quips. Seeing him like this, relaxed and unbothered, warms your heart. He's acting like this new, unspoken thing between you is the most natural thing in the world.

“MERRY FUCKING CHRISTMAS” Tony and Sam shout from where they are standing on the bar “AND HAPPY EASTER AND ALL THAT SHIT”

The sudden shout from Tony and Sam momentarily breaks the conversation. You jump a little, startled by the unexpected exclamation. Once the initial surprise passes, everyone laughs, a mix of amusement and confusion on their faces.

"What in the world?" Steve exclaims, chuckling with puzzlement. Tony and Sam, standing on the bar, just look too pleased with themselves, looking like they're about to burst into a Christmas carol.

Sam grins widely, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "You guys didn't think we'd let the year end without a little festivity, did you?"

Tony, next to him, adds, "We're just spreading holiday cheer, Cap!" The two of them laugh heartily, clearly enjoying their role as the unexpected jesters of the night.

The group responds with a mixture of laughter and groans, everyone caught up in the ridiculous spectacle. Even Peter can't help but laugh, shaking his head at Tony and Sam's antics.

Tony and Sam launch into an off-key rendition of 'Jingle Bell Rock', the tune completely butchered by their exaggerated dance moves on the bar. Despite the chaos, the atmosphere remains light and merry.

You look around, taking in the sight of the other Avengers, all laughing heartily at the performance. Tony and Sam's antics are utterly ridiculous, yet they manage to lift everyone's mood, making the night feel even more jubilant.

As the song comes to an end, Tony and Sam take a theatrical bow, a broad grins on their faces. The group erupts into applause, a mix of laughter and genuine appreciation for the unexpected entertainment.

The rest of the group takes the opportunity to jokingly boo, Tony and Sam's exaggerated bows. Tony throws his hands up in mock defense, saying, "Hey, we never claimed to be the next Broadway sensations!"

The night goes on, filled with laughter, banter, and more holiday cheer from Tony and the rest of the group. Amidst the merriment, you find yourself stealing glances at Peter when you think no one's looking. Each time, you catch his eye, and he gives your hand a reassuring squeeze or a subtle wink.

Hours later, the party starts to wind down. People start to say their goodbyes and trickle out one by one until only a few remain, yawning and stretching after the long evening. Peter stands next to you, also looking a little tired, though his eyes hold that same affectionate warmth they've held all night. He rubs the back of his neck, a sheepish smile on his lips.

 "Well, that was a night," he says, his voice slightly weary.

You laugh softly, leaning a little against his side. "That's an understatement," you reply, a smile on your lips. The party's been a chaotic whirlwind of fun, teasing, and new revelations.

Graphic Credits - @saradika-graphics

Writing Help - @bloopf1sh

Requests are OPEN!

[zepskies]

In Bad Weather

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized/Latina!Reader || Sam Winchester x Eileen Leahy (background)

Summary: You and Dean tackle the biggest possible monkey wrench in your relationship yet: could Chuck have been manipulating you two all along?

[Set in S15 - "Fix It" for season finale]

AN: I had to finish the finale (maybe?) of this story verse before the end of Hispanic Heritage Month. 😘 This is the third installment of "Midnight Espresso!"

Song Inspo: “We Made It” by H.E.R. (<- On repeat. Seriously if you haven't heard this one, you'll thank me later.)

Word Count: 7,600

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smutty smut, angst, hurt/comfort, body insecurity, body appreciation, heartache, followed by the fluffiest fluff…

☕ Midnight Espresso Masterlist

Al Mal Tiempo

Dean can’t remember the last time he woke up quite like this.

“Shit,” he grunts, clenching fists into the sheets.

He hears a muffled giggle underneath them.

He’s lying on his back, one knee starting to bend as he jolts on reflex. But familiar hands are holding down his thighs, as even more familiar lips caress him through his sweatpants.

Dean raises up the blankets and sheets to see your slightly frizzy-haired head pop up. Your playfully mischievous eyes meet his.

“Hey,” you greet him.

He raises a brow at you, smiling incredulously. “Hey.”

You then give him an annoyed look. “Do you mind? I was working on something.”

You try and cover yourself back up with the blankets, but Dean tosses them down your body. He wants to see you in that tank top and those little shorts. He's already getting a nice view of cleavage, no bra, and you’re straddling his thighs. His knees slide up to press against your ample behind.

“I do mind, actually.” His voice is still coarse with sleep. He clears it a little, and he smirks. “I was getting some good Zs in. You know, before I was interrupted.”

Your hands glide smoothly up his thighs, your nails catching on the fabric. You tilt your head at him.

“You really want me to stop?” you ask. Dean can’t readily respond, because he felt the shape of your words against his dick.

He moans, his eyes closing, fingers gripping the mattress under him when your mouth and tongue continue to outline the shape of his cock through his pants.

“I think I could finish you just like this,” you tell him, and still, your lips never leave him. “Or…maybe I’m feeling generous.”

Your nails hook on the waistband of his old sweatpants. The elastic has practically no give as you pull down the hem and expose his risen length. Shooting him one more smile, you let your hands glide down between his hips before you finally take his waiting cock into your mouth.

You love the sound of Dean’s voice, especially when you have him like this. His hand buries in your hair, tangling in the curls.

“Fuck, baby…” he mutters.

That’s kinda the idea, you want to say, but your mouth is preoccupied. Your lips and tongue move over him slowly. And soon your hands join to wrap around the base of his cock, stroking whatever you can’t take fully in your mouth.

You know he’s enjoying himself when his hand tightens in your hair. His breathing becomes labored, but still too steady for your liking.

You decide to pick up the pace. In your mind you think of a song to keep a good rhythm.

Devórame otra vez, ven, devórame otra vez…

Que la boca me sabe a tu cuerpo. Desesperan mis ganas por ti…

“Wait, wait,” Dean says, guttural in his throat. He stops you for a moment with his hands on your shoulders. You look up at him in confusion, but you oblige him.

“What’s wrong?” you ask in concern.

“Nothin’.” He shoots you a weary, lopsided smile. “Just thinking I want to have enough mojo to give you a good morning too.”

You snort. Mojo. This man.

But you shake your head. “You’re the winner today, baby. I just wanna make you feel good.”

It’s been a long year. You all had dealt with Michael taking Dean from you, at least for a while. Now Michael is gone, thanks to Jack, and they’d managed to reunite Jack back with his soul…but there’s still Chuck to deal with. It hangs over you all like a malevolent cloud.

So you want to help Dean take his mind off all that, just for a little while. And maybe part of you thinks that if you love him that much more, he won’t despair as much over how Chuck has been manipulating the brothers Winchester…basically their entire lives.

You shouldn’t have been surprised, however, when Dean grasps your arms and tugs you up until you’re level with his chest. His hand finds your cheek, brushing his thumb there, then slides into your hair.

He smirks. “We can both be winners.”

A smile spreads across your lips, just before he pulls you into a kiss. Passion grows one into many, with hands disappearing under each other’s clothes to remove them.

Strong hands part your thick thighs further, and long fingers find their way down between them. First teasingly along the seam of your pussy, then slipping inside to get you ready for him.

Your face buries in his neck as you moan encouragements into his ear, not all of them in English. By now, he’s learned a lot of what you whisper in Spanish. It still makes electricity spark down his spine, no matter what language you’re speaking in.

He knows when it’s time when the warm inner walls of your core are slick and gripping his fingers tight. But when he removes them, you shudder.

Both of you are breathing hard by the time he actually lines himself up inside of you. You use his shoulders for leverage, and the pads of his fingers circle insistently around your clit as you slowly sink down on his cock.

A keening cry escapes from your throat, while his free hand grips hard on your ass.

“Ah, fuck,” he grunts. Your walls are already fluttering around him, squeezing him like a vice.

You pant for breath. Your loose hair falls around both of you, shielding you from all other thoughts and sensations other than this.

“You feel so good,” you breathe, shifting your hips experimentally. “Always so good.”

Dean nods, and you know what it means: For me too.

He sits up and crushes you against him, bare breasts against his chest. (He loves the feeling.) He wraps an arm around your back and twists, until you’re underneath him and laying against his pillows. He encourages your thighs to stay wrapped around his waist as he begins to pound into you.

You breathe a short laugh. “Can’t let me stay on top?”

Dean grins. He grabs your hand and manages to press a kiss to your palm in between strokes. He knew what you were trying to do earlier, by taking care of him, but he can’t help it. He’s a giver.

And he knows exactly how to give it to you, shifting the angle of his hips to have you arching underneath him, gasping, clinging to his arms.

Thanks to your earlier treatment, that about does it for him. He can’t stop himself from a shuddering release inside you (praise fucking be for birth control, he thinks), but he still makes sure you come with him. He strokes your clit at the same time as his last deep strokes, and soon your voice washes over him as you call his name.

Afterwards, Dean rests his forehead against your shoulder, laying a kiss above your breast. He just woke up a few minutes ago, and he’s already tired.

“Okay. I need a damn nap,” he pants.

A giggle pours out of you. You rub his back soothingly.

“That’s what you get for doing all the work,” you tease. “I tried to help you.” 

“Help with what?”

Both you and Dean freeze at the sound of Jack’s voice. He’s just opened the door to your bedroom like you two hadn’t expressly reminded him about privacy.

You yelp in shock, and Dean’s face screws up in a glare as he reaches back fast for the closest blanket to yank over you both.

“What the hell!”

“Oh…sorry,” Jack says, shielding his own eyes. “Sam just wanted me to tell you that breakfast is ready.”

“You didn’t need to tell them right this second!” Sam calls from down the hall.  

“Knock, man! We knock on closed doors in this house!” Dean says. House. Bunker. Whatever.

He adds, “Or better yet, when my door’s closed, you give it a five-foot perimeter. Understand?”

Jack nods quickly and flees the room. “Sorry!”

The door slams shut behind him. Dean shakes his head. You can almost see the fumes coming out of his ears. You’re embarrassed and blushing, but you’re also biting your lower lip to stop yourself from laughing.

Dean looks down at you.

“It’s not funny. He needs to fuckin’ learn,” he says. His brows are still furrowed, but his mouth twitches upwards. “Should’ve locked that damn door.”

You reach up and twine your arms around his neck. Your lips get tantalizingly close to his.

“You’re still balls-deep inside me,” you remind him, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. “It’s kinda funny.”

Dean’s lips purse. He doesn’t want to smile, but you’re making it difficult. Your hands slide down his chest, toying with his nipples as they go. You press a kiss to his throat. Meanwhile, your thighs squeeze his hips, reminding him of where he's still deeply buried. You smile when he utters a faltering sound.

"You tryin' to start something else I'll have to finish?" he teases. You give him a playfully narrowed look.

"Sure you got the mojo?" you toss back.

Raising a brow, Dean shifts out of you a few inches, just to push his half-hard cock back inside. You moan a bit, brows furrowed when the move stirs a tremor of arousal in your core. He hardens up fully at the sound, at the feeling of you clenching around him.

He smiles. “Well, well. I’m thinkin’ Round 2 after all.”

You smirk up at him and give his ass a nice little smack. “Then it's my turn for a ride.”

With a huff, he lets the twist of your hips and soft hands push him onto his back.

In the aftermath of Round 2, both of you are spent before you’ve even gotten out of bed. It’s a rare lazy morning where you don’t want to be bothered with another hunt, or even getting dressed just yet.

You have the cover of the warm sheets and blankets. Your back rests against Dean’s side, up against the headboard. His arm is wrapped around you, his hand intertwined with yours as you play with his fingers.

He’s catching up on Dr. Sexy MD, but you’re admittedly lost in thought. You bring his hand to your lips, and you just hold it there.

Dean glances at you and finally notices your contemplation. He strokes a thumb over your ring and pointer fingers.

“You okay?” he asks.

When you register his voice, you merely nod. But Dean isn’t convinced.

“Baby,” he presses.

It finally earns your attention. You look over at him, and you realize that he knows you too well to be fooled. You sigh, in a way that has Dean pausing his show and giving you his full attention.

“What’re you thinking about?” he asks.

With your free hand, you rub at your eyes and cheek. “Sam and Eileen. My heart just fucking breaks for them.”

You’re thinking about what happened a couple of weeks ago. After learning that Chuck manipulated Sam, who found the spell to bring Eileen back to life, she just…left.

Part of you wants to be angry with her; you love Sam like he’s your own brother. But you understand her as well. Being tied to Sam and Dean Winchester is like being tied to twin hurricanes. You’ve just been in this for far too long to let go of them now.

Dean nods at your admission, but he doesn’t have an answer for you. He hurts for his brother too. Part of him even feels a little guilty, having what he has with you, when Sam’s bit of happiness just keeps slipping out of his fingers.

“Maybe they just need some time to sort themselves out. Cooler heads and all that,” he says.

Time. You hope that’s all they need. However, it also makes you wonder about other things.

“That’s not it, is it?” Dean asks. He’s watching you shrewdly, and your lips thin into a line.

“Dean, what if…”

“Yeah?”

You hate yourself for even thinking it, let alone saying it. But you and Dean had survived this long on honesty, above all else. You can’t hide this from him anymore.

“What if Chuck manipulated us too?” you ask, in a small voice.

Dean’s face slackens. His hand releases yours, and he turns to face you more fully.

Emotion begins to clog in your throat and burn in your eyes.

“What if you and I would’ve never met if…” Your voice trembles, unshed tears clouding your vision. “And even if we did, would you still have kissed me that night? When we got back from that hunt—”

“Hey,” Dean protests, but now that you’ve begun, you can’t stop yourself from spilling your latest insecurities—the ones you’ve been holding onto ever since Chuck revealed himself as the villain of the whole world.

“I mean, what am I?” you ask. “Just the diversity casting in Chuck’s story?” 

“Don’t you say that shit to me,” Dean angrily snaps.

You gape incredulously. “Excuse me?”

“You fucking heard me.”

You feel how tense his body is, but your temper snaps just as well.

“Oye, mira ver,” you warn him.

You’ve levied that at him enough times that he knows all too well what it means. 

“Watch it, my ass,” he retorts. “You should know better than that.”

You frown at him, but he reads the thread of insecurity in the downturn of your lips, in your eyes that are starting to shine with tears. That always breaks him down.

Dean sighs and reaches for you then, cupping your cheek and brushing a thumb tenderly at the corner of your eye. He’s even angrier at Chuck for making you doubt yourself…and doubt him. 

“Come ‘ere,” Dean says.

You hesitate, but you go willingly back into his arms. You turn over and let him gather you against his chest. You rest against him. Your head tucks under his chin, and your leg slips between both of his.

“I love you,” he says, and his voice rumbles above your head. “That’s it. That’s all that matters.”

You bite your lip. “But—”

“No buts,” he says. Though his lips slowly tug at a smile. “Well, not that kind anyway.”

He gives your bare ass a playful squeeze under the sheets. You huff in amusement and swat him back.   

“Ya, coño. Enough,” you say with a laugh. “I probably have bruises back there.”

He just grins. “So you get what I’m saying?”

You let out a sigh. You push back enough to see his face, and you give him a soft smile.

“Yeah.”

Dean nods, but he still sees the worry in your eyes. He tries to stamp down the rest of your insecurities with a kiss, slow and deep.

You break away from him after a while to ask, “Ready for coffee?”

Dean sighs through his nose, but he hums in agreement.

“Will you make it how I like?” he asks.

A smile breaks across your face. 

“Café con leche?” you offer. 

He nods. “Yeah, please.” 

“So polite,” you remark with a raised brow. “What a change of pace.”

His mouth edges into a smirk. When you turn to get out of bed, he makes sure to give your ass one last smack. You jump a little with a yelp, but he catches your smile in the mirror above the dresser.  

Dean watches you shake out your curls and get ready for the day. You spend a lot of time blow-drying and straightening your hair, but he likes it like this too. Natural and wild. 

He likes that you wear the “dream catcher” (formerly known as your hole-ridden Journey shirt) a lot less. He likes that you’ve stopped feeling the need to wear anything to bed at all, if you don't feel like it; that you’re more comfortable with yourself. Comfortable with him.

But your smile drops. Dean sees the gears of your mind continuing to churn as you get dressed.

He has a feeling, despite his best efforts, that you’re still not convinced about the Chuck thing. And while Dean won’t admit it, that cuts him deep.   

Six years ago…

Las Cruces, New Mexico

The first time Dean met you was, of course, in a bar.

It didn’t take all that long for him to notice you, if he remembers right. 

You’d agreed to play pool with some guy who also speaks Spanish with you, and you seem genuinely into the game. So much so, that you don’t seem to notice how the guy is eyeing you. 

Dean doesn’t like the way the man’s gaze drags over your every abundant curve. Yeah, he’s been doing the same thing, but he likes to think he’s a little more classy about it.

He’s sitting at the bar with a half-drunk beer in his hand, watching the game out of the corner of his eye. He’s so invested that his beer is already flat and unpleasant, but when has that stopped him before?

…But then, Dean notices what you’re doing. You’re playing possum, making bad shots on purpose. His mouth curves behind his beer.

Little minx. 

Until you sweep the guy for all his money, that is. 

Dean watches the show in amusement. Secretly, he notes appreciation for the tight jeans, V-necked top and ankle boots. The red lipstick is the same shade as your manicured nails, and it all works well for you. The fullness of that pretty mouth would certainly work well for him.

He catches the way you sweep your hair out of the way, and the deceptive concentration in your eyes when you line up a shot on the second round. Your first turn.  

You then sink each of your cue balls expertly, without missing one. 

The swindled man gets mad, shouting at you in Spanish. You reply to him calmly as you lean on your cue stick. He gets even louder and reaches for the money, but before Dean would’ve intervened, you stab at the man’s foot with the cue. 

Your quick and clever hand gathers the money that you won, but because you seem to be kind at your core, you leave him thirty bucks for “gasolina” while he holds his foot. 

You surprise Dean further by joining him at the bar.

“Good game,” he says, giving you props with a smile.

You give him a smile back. “Thank you. Want to join me for another one?”

Your English is smooth, and so is your voice. Dean raises a brow at you.

“Even though I saw your little takedown there?” he asks. “Think I just saw all your moves.”

You laugh a little. “Not all of them.”

Was that a bit of flirtation in your eyes? Dean’s smile deepens into a smirk.

“But don’t worry,” you say. “I know how to play fair.”

He hits you with a bit of charm, lowering his voice with (he thinks) just the right amount of flirtation back.

“Now where’s the fun in that?”

Your smile deepens too, despite your blush.

Cute, he thinks, before he follows you back to the scene of the crime. AKA: the nearest pool table.

Dean wracks up the billiards and sets up a new game. You hand him his cue, and he gestures at you.

“Winner goes first,” he says graciously.

“Hmm, thought you were gonna say ladies first,” you reply.

“That too,” Dean says. “I’m a gentleman, after all.”

You snort in response. “I’m sure you are…”

“Dean,” he supplies. He earns your name by the time he sinks four balls in a row.

You sigh as you level him with a look. You seem to realize that the two of you are more than evenly matched.

“Don’t worry,” he says, shooting you a grin. “I won’t take all your money.”

And yet, when it gets down to it, he misses his last shot by a hair.

You watch him suspiciously when you two make it back to the bar.

“You wouldn’t have thrown that last shot on purpose, would you?” you ask.

Dean ducks his head and smiles, somewhat liking the fact that you caught him red-handed. You’re smart. 

“Now, what kind of gentleman would I be to take your ‘hard-earned’ cash?” he asks. It earns a burst of laughter from you, with the shine of your teeth.

“You could buy me a beer though,” he shrugs.

“Wow. Okay, Señor Smooth,” you tease. Though you get the bartender’s attention and get him a fifth of whiskey instead, of the good stuff too.

Dean considers asking you out right there. Sam is waiting back at the motel, but Dean is willing to book another room just to get you to himself for the night. And if possible, for however long he’s in town. 

“You know,” you say after a while, halfway through your Long Island iced tea. “The thing you’re hunting? It’s not a garden variety spirit…it’s El Duende. Creepy hobgoblin, basically. I’ve been tracking it from three cities over.”

Dean is figuratively (and almost literally) set back on his heels. He tilts his head at you, furrowing his brows.

“You’re a hunter?” he asks.

You laugh at the look on his face. “I saw you and another mountain man at the police station earlier…though nice look on the FBI get up. Think your ID guy could hook me up with a new CIA badge?”

Dean smiles. This is gonna be fun. 

Now: 

People were starting to disappear.

Billie, the new Death, was doing this. Dean was convinced. And Sam thought everyone from the Apocalypse world (and others who shouldn’t exist in this world) would be on her list. Ultimately, you all couldn’t save anyone. Not even Eileen. 

You and Dean both comforted Sam on that terrible night. Though he was still distraught as he decided to organize the other refugees with Jack and Donna. 

You stuck with Dean in his plan to raid Death’s library for Chuck’s book; the only thing in the world that told the story of how he would meet his end. 

You chose to back up Dean in his plan, but really, neither you or Castiel thought it was a good idea to poke the bear known as Billie. Not for a book that none of you could read, except for Death herself.

But now here you are, in Death’s library, watching with worry as Dean holds Death’s own scythe against her.

“I didn’t hurt your friends,” Billie grits out.

“What?” Dean asks.

She laughs humorlessly. “You’re in the wrong place, Dean.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“People are gettin’ gone. I’m guessing it’s Chuck,” she says. “And that means, you’re just wasting time.”

Her hands are braced against the weapon poised at her throat. She already has a stab wound in her shoulder. She tells him that the earlier wound he gave her has festered. It’ll never heal. Eventually, it’ll kill her.

But she intends to take you, Dean, and Castiel with her.

Billie becomes the hunter, following the three of you back through the portal into the bunker. Dean’s hand is so tight around your arm, making sure you’re keeping up with him and never falter. Castiel does his best get you and Dean to safety. And after he wards it against her with his own blood, only the old dungeon is safe for you all.

For now.

Billie pounds on the door, over and over. She’ll break through the warding eventually.

You grab onto Dean’s sleeve, just to hold onto him. He brings you close to him in a protective embrace. You see the panic in his eyes as his mind scrambles to find a way out of here, knowing deep down that there’s nothing any of you can do. Castiel is nearly powerless. You’re all trapped. 

“That wound is killing her,” Cas says. “We might be able to wait her out.”

His gaze is on the floor, though he briefly looks up at Dean. He shakes his head.

“And if we can’t?”

“Then we fight.”

Dean shakes his head. He pulls away from you to lean against the wall.

“We’ll lose,” he says. Your heart breaks at the way he looks, shame-ridden and defeated. “I just led us into another trap…all because I couldn’t end Chuck. Because I was angry, and because I needed something to kill, and because that’s all I know how to do.”

His eyes are red and burning. Yours swim with tears of dismay. You want to correct him as he continues to vent, speaking with a certainty that it was Chuck all along.

Dean looks at you then, and at Cas. He’s close to tears when he says they should’ve stayed with Sam and Jack. That everyone was about to die. And he can’t stop it. And he can’t stop Billie when she breaks through that door.

You don’t know what to tell him to ease his guilt. All you know is that despite everything, you made your choice to support him in this. To stay with him. 

You made your choice a long time ago, you realize.

“Wait,” Cas says. His blue eyes burn with realization. “There’s one thing she’s afraid of. One thing…strong enough to stop her.”

Dean’s eyes widen. Cas uses what strength he has left to push you and Dean away, and he summons the Empty.

Dean pulls you further along with him as the formless void coils up like ink through the walls and cement floors. It drags Billie into its darkness, but it claims Castiel with it, as it once promised it would.

After the angel gives up his life, you and Dean are holding each other against the wall, on the ground, shaking and each rocked to the core.

You’re able to break out of your shock sooner than Dean, who just saw his best friend die.  

You kneel beside him while he sits, and you hold him to you while you cry. He can’t speak, but you know his guilt is eating at him.

His phone rings, startling you both, and it’s Sam. Dean can’t answer it. He covers his face, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, as if that could stop the ache in his chest. You press a kiss to his hair, his temple.

“He saved us, Dean. It’s not your fault,” you tell him. He shakes his head. You know he doesn’t believe you, but when he grasps your arm, his hold is desperate. 

“It’s me,” he says. His voice is shaking and ragged. “Everything I do turns to shit. Everyone around me pays the price. That’s just how it is…if you were smart, you’d hightail it as far as fucking possible from me.”

Your breath gets trapped in your lungs. Your heart feels like it’s shattering.

“Dean…baby, look at me,” you say with a sniffle. You gently hold his face, and he lets you raise him up. Your eyes are bright with new conviction.

“No one," you tell him, "not even Chuck can force me to love you the way I do. And not a damn thing can stop me from staying with you.”

Dean has tears burgeoning in his eyes. You caress his cheek, rough with stubble he’s let go too long.

“There’s a saying. Al mal tiempo, buena cara,” you tell him. His face shows a glimmer of confusion. “At bad weather, put on a happy face. It means even in difficult times, there’s still a reason to keep going. Right now, you are my reason.”

Dean considers that. He squeezes your arms unconsciously, as if grounding himself in you.

At the very least, he’s grateful that he’s not alone. And after a moment, he nods. You press a kiss to his cheek, and then his forehead. His eyes close at your comfort, your affection. He doesn’t think he deserves it, but he accepts it anyway.

“Come on, let’s get you off the floor,” you say. You start to help him up…but your body stills. You feel a strange prickling across your skin. 

Dean notices the shift, with growing unease in his gut. He grips you tighter and calls your name in concern.

Your gasp is the last bit of your voice that Dean hears before he watches you turn to dust in his arms.  

Buena Cara

Four years ago…

It’s the morning after you and Dean shared a midnight espresso. The morning after your first kiss, your first confession, and your first time.

He wakes tangled up in you, and the sheets, which are somehow tied up in knots around his legs and yours.

“What’d you do here, woman?” he asks.

His voice is still gruff with sleep, and he lays on his stomach. You giggle almost silently next to him. You’re lying on your back with the sheets somehow covering up to your chest. One of your legs is tangled with his.

“Nothing,” you claim. He snorts and moves closer. His lips find your shoulder, lazily burning a path downwards. But when he grips the sheet and tries to expose more of you, you grasp his wrist on reflex.

Brows furrowing, Dean glances up at your face. You’re biting your lip, and he sees signs of insecurity in your eyes.

“You haven’t seen me in the daytime yet,” you joke. Yet another one that isn’t really a joke, Dean realizes.

He really wishes he could find your goddamn ex and bash his skull in. Because Dean would like nothing more than to just spend the rest of the day in this bed, mapping out the smooth expanse of your tan skin.

So he slips his arm underneath you. You utter a little squeal in protest, but he manhandles you until you’re resting on his chest, bare skin against bare skin. You look down at him with fondness, touching his cheek. Dean stares up at you with a reserved frown.

“What’s it gonna take, huh?” he asks. It’s like you don’t believe he wants you, even now.

You bite your lip as your fears creep in behind your eyes, like black ink coiling in your mind. That he just likes your personality. That maybe he just wanted to try something “different” with you, a thicc-thighed, fat-assed Latina, instead of the petite, slender girls you’ve seen him go after in bars.

“You could have anyone, Dean,” you point out.

Dean’s frown deepens, his brows furrowing. His hands lower on your back, squeezing the curve of your waist and soft hips.

“Anyone’s not naked in my bed,” he says. His voice is stern and matter-of-fact.

You attempt a smile, but he’s not convinced. He blows out a breath and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Your ex sure did a number on you, didn’t he?” he remarks. 

Your eyes widen. The more you think about it, maybe he did.

But maybe it wasn’t just him…

You tear up and blink against them, trying not to let them fall. You had thought you were happy with your curves. You really did.

You didn’t realize you had internalized so many of these negative thoughts about yourself, but here Dean was, forcing you to confront them. You’re grateful, but you also don’t know what to say.

Dean’s brows draw together. He holds your cheek. 

“Okay. It’s all right. We’ll work on it.” He kisses your forehead. He also wipes a tear from your cheek. “Don’t cry, baby.”

A laugh gets choked in your throat. “You should know this about me by now. I’m a crier.”

“Yeah, you’re also rockin’ a bit of sex hair,” he says, tangling his fingers further in the wily strands. “My kinda woman.”

You sigh through your nose. This man.

You can’t help but smile softly. The tip of your finger traces his jawline, down to his chin.

“Want me to make some coffee?” you offer. “I can have you try a cortadito with breakfast.”

“What’s that?” Dean asks.

“Two shots of espresso, warm frothy milk on top,” you reply. 

“God, two shots? It’s a wonder you ever sleep,” he quips. “But I do like the sound of frothy. I’ll whip us up some eggs.”

“And bacon?” you ask.

“Of freakin’ course, bacon.”

With that agreement, you two slowly get out of bed, shower, and go to the kitchen, where Sam looks bleary-eyed and annoyed at the kitchen table with his coffee mug. But he doesn’t have it in his heart to truly be mad at you and Dean. 

“I’m happy for you guys,” Sam says wryly. “Just, next time, put a sock on the door or something. So I know when to break out the ear plugs.”

Now:

Sam finds Dean sprawled on the dining room floor the next morning after Castiel has died, and you have disappeared, along with everyone else on Earth. 

Dean is surrounded by empty beer and liquor bottles. Sam’s heart clenches as he starts to help his brother.

“All right, let’s get you off the floor,” he says. 

In his words, Dean only hears your voice. He shoves Sam off him and stumbles into the kitchen.

There Jack is starting to wash dishes. He takes your little cafetera coffee maker from the stove, preparing to dump the old grounds. Dean grabs it out of his hand.

“Leave it alone,” Dean snaps. He slams it back on the stove where you left it. 

Jack is wide-eyed, but Sam gives his brother a patient warning with his eyes. Dean ignores it and heads for his room.

“Sorry,” Sam says on behalf of his brother. 

Jack shakes his head with tears in his eyes. “It’s okay, I…I understand.” 

He already misses you too. You’d become a kind of older sister to him…and Castiel. Well. Cas was the father Jack will never have again.  

Sam agrees with a nod, clapping Jack comfortingly on the back. 

Sam ventures down the long halls of the bunker to Dean’s room. He pushes the cracked open door, and sees his brother sat hunched on the edge of his bed, hands bracing on his knees.

Sam walks in, swings Dean’s desk chair around, and sits down across from his brother. He rests his forearms on his knees and waits. 

When Dean eventually looks up with red-rimmed eyes, Sam’s heart breaks a little more. For Dean, and for himself.

“We’re going to end this,” Sam promises him.

“We tried to give Chuck what he fucking wanted,” Dean reminds. “We offered to end ourselves, man. He wouldn’t bite. He won’t bring ‘em back.”

Dean’s voice cracks at the end there. Sam takes a deep breath, and lets it out just as slowly.

“We’ll figure out a way,” he says. “We always do.”

“That’s just it,” Dean says, with tired, glassy eyes. “I don’t think we can do it this time.”

Sam’s throat tightens. “Then I’ll believe for both of us.” 

By the time Chuck is done snapping his fingers, Sam, Dean, and Jack are the only people left on Earth.

Until they encounter the Michael of this world, formerly trapped in the cage. They hatch a plan. And even though the angels don’t cooperate, they manage to play straight into the real plan.

Jack is the ace up Team Free Will’s sleeve, and as it turns out, that bomb inside the kid (made of the first Adam’s rib) was good for something. The nephilim absorbs the power of Lucifer, Michael, and ultimately Chuck himself. 

Jack is the one who saves the world. 

Before Dean leaves with his brother and Jack, away from that grassy cliffside in Lebanon, he turns to Chuck.

“Answer me this. Did you…” Dean says, struggling with how to formulate his question. “Meeting my girl. Was that us? Or was it just another manipulation?”

Sam watches his brother with concern. He sees the way Dean’s hand is already itching for his gun. Chuck is human now, and Sam knows how tempting it would be to truly end it.

Chuck himself is still prone on the ground, sitting up with wariness behind his eyes.

“I didn’t tug on that thread, actually,” he admits. “Made sense to let you have a glimmer of happiness, something to hold onto. To fight for.”

Then he looks up at Dean with a tremulous smirk pulling at his lips.

“But I did wait for the perfect moment to dust her, didn’t I?”

Within seconds, Dean’s gun is slipping into his hands with the safety cocked back, the barrel lined up for a straight shot between Chuck’s eyes. Sam barks a warning, but Dean doesn’t altogether care. He’s furious, sneering at the former god who cowers like the coward he is.

“Dean?” Sam calls to him. It’s a question and a warning all at once.

Dean’s mouth works, quirking at a humorless smile. He cocks the safety back in place and lowers his gun with a shaking hand.

He stalks back to the Impala and doesn’t look at his brother.

The only three people left alive in the world ride back into the empty streets of Lebanon, Kansas.

When Jack snaps his fingers, it’s like this little planet is reborn. 

Suddenly, it’s filled with life. People walking their dogs, their kids, hailing cabs, nearly rear-ending each other’s cars in traffic while texting. It’s like the chaos never happened, and equilibrium is restored.

Even the shaggy dog Dean found last week bounds up to him. He bends down to pet the dog’s furry head, scratching behind his ears. Dean’s going to actually have to come up with a name for this thing now. 

And yet…

In a world full of color, Dean still just sees gray. 

He and Sam say a bittersweet goodbye to Jack, who ascends into Heaven. Dean can only hope the kid has a good WiFi signal if they ever need him again, like if he can’t find…

The forgotten cell phone in his pocket buzzes on a ring. He shares a wide-eyed look with Sam, licking his dry lips before he reaches into his jean pocket. He flips the phone over and finds your name across his caller ID.

With a shaking hand, he swipes his thumb across the green button and raises the phone up to his ear. He can’t even make his voice work right away. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t have to.

“Dean?” your beautiful voice greets him. 

His lips pull at a tremulous smile. “Hey, sweetheart.”

You let out a relieved breath. 

“Oh, thank God. I’m here at the bunker. Where are you?”

Dean wants to quip that Chuck had nothing to do with it, but he humors you. 

“Not too far,” he says. He gestures to a smiling Sam, and together they haul ass back to the Impala. 

“Promise?” you ask. Dean grins.

“I’ll be home before you know it.”

Once again, you’re tangled up in the bed you share with Dean. Almost every morning without fail, he teasingly grumbles as he tries to free his legs from the knotted sheets. 

“What the hell did you do here, woman?” 

“I didn’t do anything,” you refute. Though your giggle betrays your guilt while he continues to struggle. “You’ll just have to stay in bed then.”

You drag him back to you, and it’s not unpleasant to be welcomed back to the soft warmth of your body. 

“We’ve got some monsters waiting,” he reminds you. 

“They can wait,” you say, and ply him with a lazy morning kiss. It heats up in passion as your hands slide under his shirt… 

But of course, one of said “monsters” predictably starts banging at the bedroom door. It opens a crack, revealing a head of light brown hair and tearful hazel eyes. 

“Mo-oooom! Cari keeps hitting me after you told her not to,” cries your son. 

His older sister stomps behind him, so he ducks into the room to flee from her, heading for the bed and jumping into your arms. 

Dean sighs, hiding his disappointment. You give him a secret smile while brushing back your son’s hair, pressing a kiss to his forehead. To Dean, you gesture with your eyes at the doorway, where your nine-year-old daughter peeks in. She eyes her little brother in annoyance. 

Tattletale, her face says. 

“Caridad,” you call to her in your sterner mom voice. “Come here, please.” 

Cari is most definitely a daddy’s girl, and she beelines for her father. He picks up the nine year old and settles her on the bed, tucked into his side. 

“Robbie’s a crybaby,” she says. 

“No, you are!” Robbie cries indignantly. He tries to push her, but you grab his hand and push it down to the bed. Dean has to do the same with Cari when she tries to pinch her brother.

“All right, all right, enough,” Dean says, with all the authority his own father once had. “Can’t we all just have one morning in peace?”

That’s when Dean’s phone rings on his nightstand. He sighs and answers it, and it’s Sam, asking what time you and Dean plan to come over his house today for the Fourth of July barbecue.

“Give me a couple hours to wrangle the kids,” Dean replies. He has to curl an arm around Cari so she won’t throw another pillow at her brother. 

“Tell Eileen I’m bringing the dessert,” you chime in, calling to Sam in the phone. 

“You got that?” Dean asks his brother. A moment later, he reports back to you with a nod.

“He’s wanting the fluffy cake thing,” Dean says. “The sweet one with the lil’ cherries on top.”

“Tres leches?” you supply with a smile. 

He nods again. “Yeah, that one.” 

“Not a problem, but let’s get them cleaned up so I can start baking,” you say. Though you grunt as a small bare foot kicks at your side.

“Hey!” you reach for your daughter’s arm. “Ya, that’s enough. Te calmas, o te calmo. Los dos, coño.” 

Dean snorts, watching his children now wrestling each other in the middle of the bed despite your best efforts to keep them apart. 

“Easier said than done,” he mutters. He hangs up with Sam and then surveys the familiar chaos in front of him. 

“All right, you guys want to see your cousins?” Dean bribes. The kids actually pause and perk up at that. 

“We’re going to Uncle Sammy’s house?” Cari asks.

“Yep, so quit screwin’ around. Let’s up and at ‘em,” Dean says. “Brush your teeth and wash your face, then meet me downstairs for breakfast.”

“Can we have Cap’n Crunch?” Robbie asks.  

“No, Raisin Bran,” Cari insists. You have to laugh a little, reaching out to stroke her cheek. Your daughter surely is a special sort of child for genuinely liking Raisin Bran. 

“Fine,” Dean agrees to both with a nod. “Get to it. Come on, let’s go!”

He claps his hands until the kids are up and out of his bed, running to the door. 

“Don’t run!” you warn them. “Caridad Marie Winchester, stop pushing your brother, or you’re not going anywhere.”

The door hangs open as the sounds of small feet patter down the hall, accompanied by childish giggling and yelling. You sigh and lean back into the pillows, closing your eyes. 

“I’m already tired. Why did we have two of those?” 

Dean smirks and leans over to press a kiss to your forehead. You keep him close with a hand in his shirt. 

“If I remember right, having the first one was so much fun, you just couldn’t keep your hands off me,” he teases.

“Is that what happened? I seem to remember some tequila and cajoling involved,” you smirk, cracking your eyes open. You pull him to you and kiss him thoroughly. 

Both of you try not to lose track of time, but in the ten years since retiring from hunting, learning how to be civilians, true partners, and parents, you’ve become pros at stealing the small moments for yourselves. 

“Come on, babe. Don’t you want Cari to have a little bro?” you mock in his deeper voice. “They’ll protect each other, be each other’s best friends.”

Dean chuckles at your interpretation of him, giving a teasing yank to one of your stray curls. 

“They will, one day. Sam and I didn’t really get each other until later on.”

You smile at that and raise your hand to the beard he’s trying to grow out. You remember him teasing Sam for sporting a “ferret” on his face, once upon a time. But it seems that both Winchester brothers are well-suited to the lumberjack look. 

“Maybe we can get Sam and Eileen to keep the kids tonight,” Dean suggests.

You like the sound of that. Cari and Robbie take any chance for a sleepover with their cousins.

You run a hand down his chest. “You’re saying I’m going to get all this to myself tonight?”

He grabs your hand and kisses it. His gaze holds a familiar heat that makes you smile. Your fingers wiggle teasingly in his grip, which curves his lips as well. Your wedding rings gleam in the lamplight.

We don’t have time now, but we will later, his gaze promises. 

So with a sigh, he releases your hand. 

“All right, lazy. Time to get a move on,” he teases. He then points at you. “Good face.”

Buena cara. Your smile deepens as you start to rise out of bed. It’s become his thing with you, starting the day with a good face. 

Nowadays, you don’t often have a reason not to. 

“I’ll make coffee,” you offer, as you do most mornings. The one time Dean tried to make it your way, he burned the bottom of your coffee press. 

He tosses you a smirk as he pulls on a new shirt. He then digs in his side of the dresser for a pair of jeans that don’t have jelly stains, imprinted on with small fingers. 

“Yeah, that’s probably for the best,” he agrees. “I think today’s a two-shot kinda morning. What do you think?”

You sidle up behind him at the dresser and swat him on the ass. He jolts a little, making a rumbling sound as he eyes you in your little black nightgown. It’s a warning, not to start something you two won’t have time to finish.

“Sounds about right.” Bracing your hands on his hips, you lean up on your toes so you can rest your chin on his shoulder, meeting his eyes in the mirror. You smile.

“Two cortaditos coming up.”

AN: Aaaand I am soft. 🥹 I've been wanting to get to this for a while now. If you like it, let me know! ❤️

Some more Spanish translations for ya:

This is a callback from "Devour Me" with “Ven Devórame Otra Ves” by Lalo Rodriguez.

Devórame otra vez, ven, devórame otra vez… Que la boca me sabe a tu cuerpo. Desesperan mis ganas por ti…

Translation:

"Devour me again. Come, devour me again…

Because my mouth has the taste of your body. My lust for you is exasperating."

“Te calmas, o te calmo. Los dos, coño.”

Translation:

“Calm down, or I’ll calm you down. Both of you, damn it.” [😂 I think every Latina mom has spouted this at least once lol.]

Keep Reading:

Next up in this series is “Dream With Me.” It's set in the time gap in this story. Specifically, in 15x20:

Summary: When your ex-boyfriend calls for help on a case, you have a tough decision to make. But Dean isn’t going to let you do anything alone. (AKA: The last hunt you, Sam, and Dean will ever go on together.)

▶️ Next Story: Dream With Me (PART 1)

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[futfemfantasies]

“She’s my daughter too!” - Alex Morgan x reader

“That’s the problem, I don’t think Charlie has ever seen me play for my national team” You take a breath as you fight back tears and loosen you hand around your phone.

“You know I want her with me and the girls” You faintly hear the room door open and close due to being on the balcony. You turn around and see your roommate Steph and best friends Mackenzie (Macca), Caitlin and Alanna.

“She’s my daughter too! My name is on the birth certificate just as much as yours. Hell, she has my last name. I think you forget that sometimes she’s mine too”

Too angry to hear your wife, you hang up and sit on one of the plastic chairs. You don’t see it but your friends give each other a look and Steph decides to go out and comfort you. You breakdown in her arms and the rest come out for support.

“Why d-doesn’t she trust me w-with Charlie?” You ask your friends with bloodshot eyes.

“We aren’t sure what’s going on y/n/n but we all know one thing, you are an amazing mum. Nothing is going to change that” Alanna mentions, putting a hand on your knee.

“Thanks Lanz”

Macca offers to join the four of your friends for a walk and maybe some ice-cream on the way back from the place downstairs. You respectfully decline and the girls leave, giving you a tight hug each. You decide to have a long, hot shower before cuddling up in bed for a quick nap before dinner.

On the other side of the globe, Charlie had woken up hearing your voice on the call. She then proceeded to start crying because she couldn’t see you in the room. Charlie looked everywhere and in all the drawers and cupboards she could open and still nothing. While this was happening, Alex slipped on one of your Matilda’s hoodies and moved to scoop Charlie into her arms.

“Smell like mama” Charlie mumbles into Alex’s neck.

“We can call her later if you want baby” Charlie’s eyes light up and a wide smile spreads across her face.

The pair get ready before going downstairs for breakfast with the team. Alex walks into the meal room with Charlie on her hip, scrunching the yellow, green and grey material tightly in her small hands. Kelley catches sight of the mixed matched outfit and is about to say something before Alex gives her a stern glare. Alex grabs her vegan breakfast and some pancakes for Charlie before sitting with Kelley, Sonnett, Lindsey and Kristie.

“You ditching us for the girls down under Al?” Kelley teases.

“Never. Charlie’s missing y/n and she stopped crying when she had this so” Alex shrugs.

“I think Sam was saying she hasn’t seen Charlie since she could just walk” Kristie mentions earning a slight nudge, as to tell her to shut up.

Alex begins to think how long ago that was and it was at least a year ago, if not more. Alex realises what she’s don’t and she feels sick to her stomach. She pulls Charlie off her lap before taking the hoodie off and giving it to her. Alex grabbed her phone and moved to the side of the room before making a call.

You finish dinner when you see your phone ring from beside your plate. The photo of you and Alex on the beach pops up and you know she’s FaceTiming you. You decide to ignore it for now and call Alex back later. After a quick talk from the manager, you were all allowed a free night. Steph informs you she’s having a movie night with Caitlin and a few others if you wanted to join. You decline as you have to call Alex back.

You eventually get back to your room and you flop on the bed. You press the FaceTime button and put your arm behind you, slightly flexing your tattoo sleeve and muscles.

“Hey ba- oh my god” You laugh and take a screenshot of Alex’s face.

“What’s up Al?”

“I’m sorry for everything. I don’t mean to keep Charlie with me all the time. I’m just so used to you being here with the Wave. I didn’t give it a second thought. I’m really sorry baby”

“Hmm, it might take a little more than that” Alex rolls her eyes and calls Charlie over. She flips the camera and Charlie races over to Alex, as fast as her little legs can take her. You see something in Charlie’s hands and notice it’s your Matildas hoodie.

“She wouldn’t stop crying until I wore it” Alex mentions.

You talk with Charlie and Alex for a few hours until Steph came back in the room. You all talk for a little while longer until you and Steph both yawned.

“Mama and Aunt Steffy go to sleep now?” You looked at the time and realised you all talked for the last 2 hours or so.

“I have to go bubs so I can be ready for my game tomorrow”

“Okay mama. You call before play?”

“Of course I will. Te amo mucho princesa” Alex smiles at the interaction out of cameras sight.

“Te amo Mamá. Bye Aunt Steffy! Love you”

“See you soon baby girl, I love you too” Steph gets up from you bed and mentions she’s having a shower.

“I love you baby. I’m going to make it up to you both when you get home” Alex promises.

“Can’t wait my love”

You end the call and look up at the ceiling with a smile on your face. When Steph comes out of the bathroom, you two wind down before eventually going to sleep.

You finish the Cup of Nations on a high. You not only win the entire cup but get Player of the Tournament and the golden boot after scoring 7 goals in 3 games. You pack your suitcase and put your trophies plus your winners medal safely between clothes. You go down to the lobby and see most of the team there as some as staying behind to see family. Since it’s late at night, the bus to the airport is quite and most people are exhausted from the last 10 days.

After check in, customs and security lines, you and Emily arrive at your gate with 10 minutes to spare. You put your bag in the overhead and get comfortable in the seat. You pull out your phone to send Alex a quick text.

Hola mi amor, I’m finally on my way home. See you and princesa very soon. I love you Ale xoxo

See you soon baby x We can’t wait to see you

A short 18 hours later, you land and feel more tired than before the plane ride. After leaving the plane and getting your suitcase from the carousel, you text Alex to see where she is since Emily already left with her girlfriend.

Hey babe, I’m in the arrivals part. Where are you two?

Turn around x

You follow Alex’s instruction and you see Charlie running towards you. You meet her half way and lift her up in the air before you give her the tightest hug. You don’t realise you’re crying until you feel someone wipe your tears from your cheeks. You open your eyes and see Alex looking at you with sad eyes and a pout sporting her lips.

“No cuddles for me?”

“There’s always cuddles for you my love” You move Charlie to your hip and kiss Alex softly before giving her a hug.

“Let’s get you home”

Alex takes your luggage from beside you and you carry Charlie out to the car. You buckle Charlie in when she immediately grabs your hand tightly.

“Sit with me Mama” You nod and move around to the other side to put your seatbelt on.

The whole journey home consists of you holding Charlie’s hands and you both falling asleep. Alex stops at a red light and asks you a questions and when she doesn’t get a response, she turns around and sees you two cuddled up together. She takes a quick photo before driving the rest of the way home. Alex parks the car in the garage and goes to unbuckle Charlie when you tighten your arm around Charlie protectively.

“Hey, babe it’s just me” Alex reassures you.

“I’ll get her Al”

Alex gets your bag and starts going inside the house. You walk around to Charlie’s side and lift the toddler out of the car seat.

“We home Mama?”

“Yeah baby, we’re home”

You walk into the house with a half asleep Charlie resting on your shoulder, when you feel your shirt getting wet. You calm Charlie down before asking what’s wrong.

“What’s wrong bubs?”

“Missed you Mama” You pout and kiss her temple.

“I’m not going anywhere for a long time baby. I’m staying right here”

y/ninstagram story

[kaleldobrev]

Days Like These

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Dean decide to spend the day in while it's raining outside.

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: Cursing (2x), Lots and lots of fluff

Authors Note: It's been raining a lot here lately, and even though I've been going to work, something I much rather do is spend the day in bed cuddling with a Winchester (Dean specifically) | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

The Bunker usually didn’t make a lot of noise, but on occasion you would be able to hear the muffled pitter patter of the rain. On rainy days like these, you and Dean would spend the day in, mostly tucked away and cuddled in bed while the rest of the world had to take care of itself for a while. Netflix, Dean’s version of chicken noodle soup, some ginger ale, your famed grilled cheese, tender kisses, and massages: those were the things that waited for you on days like these.

Waking up, your favorite day had already started. Dean’s arms were wrapped around you in a steel embrace, his chin resting on your shoulder; and your legs were intertwined. Soft snores escaped from Dean; and you had weirdly loved the sound. You knew it meant that he was fast asleep, deep asleep; and you were happy that he could have moments like these. More often than not, especially lately, he hasn’t been able to sleep like this. Lately, you had found yourself alone in bed, his side already made as he had been up for hours already. You were thankful it wasn’t one of those days.

A soft kiss was placed on your shoulder, and your eyes fluttered open, smiling tiredly. “Morning Pumpkin.” You said.

“Morning Gorgeous.” He said, placing another tender kiss on your shoulder. You turned ever so slightly, so you could get a better look at the man next to you. His bed head and morning stubble were a few of your favorite things. “What?” He asked.

You shook your head. “Nothin’. Just…” You rubbed your thumb gently on his cheek. “I really love you, you know that?” Initially when you had met Dean, there were no romantic feelings; they were strictly platonic. You had met the boys through Jody several years ago, her telling you that they were good people, good hunters. Upon meeting them the first time, you had gotten along with Sam right away because you had found his energy more favorable; it was so easy to be around him. But when it came to Dean, his energy was vastly different; almost hard to be around him. Although he had tried to flirt with you upon your first meeting, you wanted nothing to do with him in that way. Yes, you had found him to be attractive, but one-night stands and meaningless sex wasn’t your thing – but you knew it was for him. Over the course of time that you had known him, your platonic feelings for him shifted, and shifted in a very unexpected way. When you had found yourself hurt after a hunt, Dean was the one to take care of you. You had seen a different side of him then; a side that you had wanted to see more of. Eventually, he let you in.

Dean smiled, one of the most genuine smiles you’ve seen from him in a while. “I love you too.” He leaned down and kissed you on the lips this time; and you couldn’t help but deepen it.

It was moments like these that Dean had loved the most, even though he loved every single moment he got to have with you. It was moments like these where he was able to let his guard down and actually be himself. When he had first met you, he did flirt with you; he couldn’t help himself. But you seemed to want nothing to do with him – at least romantically anyway. He gave up then, gave up trying to make any advances toward you, but he had found himself struggling to try and keep it platonic. Eventually, somehow, he started to slowly notice that your feelings for him were straying far from platonic, and starting to enter romantic territory. He already started to slowly let you in, but found himself starting to let you in more, knowing that you had no plans on going anywhere.

“So, I was thinking…” You began to say. You were on top of Dean now, his arms wrapped around your waist. “Since it’s raining today…I’d like for us to spend the day in.”

Dean smiled. “The usual? Chicken noodle soup, grilled cheese, ginger ale…” he trailed off and kissed your lips. “Some of those and maybe” he smacked your ass and you met you the tiniest yelp “some of that.” He grinned.

“Always.” You kissed his lips again. “And maybe some Netflix too.”

“Oh, we definitely can’t forget about Netflix.” He grinned. “You know, we do have to find a new show to watch.”

You and Dean were sitting up in bed now, a tray of food and drinks in front of you. The two of you had decided on a baking show; something that certainly wasn’t his first choice, but something that he didn’t seem completely against watching either. “She better not take that pie out of the oven yet…And she took the pie out of the oven.” Dean rolled his eyes, taking a large spoonful of his soup.

“It’s fucking underbaked. Don’t know how she couldn’t have seen that.” You chimed in, you too taking a large spoonful of soup.

“If I was on this show, that would have never happened.” Dean said. His comment made you chuckle. “What?”

“Nothing. Nothing.” You shook your head. Dean gave you ‘the look.’ “It’s just…I think it’s kinda cute that you’re picturing yourself on this baking show.” You gave him a smile before pinching his cheeks. “My little baker.” He slapped your hand away playfully before rolling his eyes.

“Okay, she’s definitely going home. There’s no way she’s not. Not only was her pie underbaked, she forgot the main ingredient when making churros.” You said, placing your empty soup bowl back onto the tray along with your spoon.

“No, no. The other guy is. He burnt his pie and he didn’t have all of his churros on the plate.” Dean said.

“You really think he’s gonna go home? After all the things she fucked up today?” You rolled your eyes. “I’ve watched enough seasons of this show to know that they would rather send someone home for an underbaked pie than a burnt one. And! Might I add, she forgot a major ingredient! That guy didn’t!” You didn’t care if either of these people went home, as your favorite baker actually won the pie challenge and the churro challenge.

“Can you unpause it so we can see that I’m right?” Dean said, almost proudly. You had almost forgotten that you had paused the show so the two of you could go on with your little debate.

“Fine fine. But Margot is going home.” You said unpausing the show.

“Wrong. Tony is.” Dean said.

“What did I tell you!? It was Margot! I told you she was going home!” You practically cheered, but Dean just rolled his eyes.

“Well good for you.” His voice almost childish sounding.

You patted Dean on the shoulder. “You’ll get ‘em next time babe.” You smiled, leaning in and kissing him on the cheek.

Once Netflix had started rolling the credits and had started the next episode, you paused it so you could bring the dishes of empty food into the kitchen to wash it real quick. Bringing the tray close to your side of the bed, Dean stopped you, pulling the tray toward him.

“Don’t worry. I got it Sweetness.” Dean said, fully grabbing the tray in his hands.

“Thank you.” You smiled, getting back under the covers while Dean took the tray of dirty dishes into the kitchen.

About fifteen minutes had gone by, and Dean still wasn’t back from the kitchen yet. About to get up from the bed to go and check on him, the bedroom door had opened, and Dean walked in with two ice cream cones; each with a scoop of yours and his favorite flavors. You felt your face light up as he handed you your cone, instantly taking a lick. “Hmmm.”

Dean got back into bed next to you, silently chuckling to himself. “Want me to leave you two alone?”

“You might have to. This tastes better than sex.” You winked.

“I’m not sure if I should be offended or not.” Dean said, taking a lick from his own cone now.

“To be fair, you believe that bacon cheeseburgers are better than sex and you don’t hear me saying anything.” You took another lick, and Dean shrugged as if to say, ‘Fair enough.’

Despite it being a very simple day, it was days like these that you had loved; because you really didn’t need a lot in life to be happy. You were more than happy to just spend the day in with the man you loved, two ice cream cones between you, under the covers, watching some Netflix. What more could you possibly want?

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