#the only thing that could drown the buzzing out was my heater that I obviously don't use during summer

[such-scary]

words can't describe how grateful I am to be able to afford a new laptop. I didn't even realize in how bad of a shape my old one was after 7 years of daily use. Althoughy my new laptop is in a used condition as well, (I wanted an older asus model to make the switch less painful) I'm still astonished by how good it looks and operates.

[jazz-miester]

Lying is supposed to be easy. So why do you make it so hard?

Pairing: Optimus Prime X Reader

Song: weathers- c'est la vie

Warnings: Bit of angst. Cursing.

An: A character/story idea I may never write. Let me know what all of you think!

A cigarette hangs loosely from thier lips. Unlit. The lighter they had pulled out wove around thier fingers. Y/n's mind still undecided if they wanted it lit or not. Granted, it wasn't a normal cigarette. Herbal. Some sort of lavender and chamomile medley.

They had promised to quite long ago. But some habits die hard and it's easier to find an alternative than fall back on old vices.

Thier hands shook slightly as they finally brought the lighter to the cigarette. On hand curling protectively around the flame and the wind howled around then.

Rain fell heavily down to the earth. The first rain in Jasper Nevada since god knows when. They needed it. Desperate for it.

God's knew they missed it. Some old memory locked away in thier mind. Cobwebs dusted away from thier not to long ago childhood.

They were barely into thier adulthood. Some would say.

It doesn't matter.

Smoke spilled out from between thier lips. Curling around and drifting into the cool air.

Thunder roared from the dark clouds. A sounding trumpet for lighting to follow.

Y/n's old chevy rattled with it. Thier heater sputtering a few times before finally giving up. Soon blasting cool air instead. They cursed. Smacking the dashboard.

"Mother fucker." They hung thier hand out the window. The cigarette almost put out by the wind. "First the fucking tire then this." Y/n hisses through thier teeth. They smack the dashboard one more time. "Last time I let someone else work on you." They turn the truck off. The silence sudden and heavy broken only by the rumbling thunder and rain smacking against the trucks roof.

Y/n checks thier phone. It was six now. Two more hours before nightfall. The tow company said they be here four hours ago. They wonder if the company decided to stay because if the rain. Wait for it to pass. Maybe this wind knocked down a power pole or two.

Or maybe the company was just lazy.

Y/n's stomach growled and they glanced over at the take out in the worn seat next to them. Chicken teriyaki and rice. Should they eat now? Probably. Before it got cold.

They blew out another huff of smoke. The window frame was wet now. As well as part of thier leg. They smashed the end of the cigarette into the ashtray and rolled thier window up. The hand crank sticking momentarily before letting go with a squeak.

They began to eat. Still keeping an eye out for the tow truck in the rapidly dimming light.

Halfway through eating thier phone buzzed. Rattling across the dashboard and onto the floor. Cursing they swallowed thickly and sputtered. Clearing thier throat before answering.

"Hello?" The phone cracked in and out. Reception was spotty this far out if town.

"We..... Can't..... Unable." Thier phone screen lit up. They held it out in front of then. The screen cracked. Obscuring part of what they could see. They looked at the number on the phone. Then to the one on the crumpled piece of paper.

"You have to be shitting me." They tossed the styrofoam back into the seat. The plastic fork falled to the ground. It was the tow company.

The bastards. Couldn't have called sooner.

Fuck it. They'd walk home and tow it themselves in the morning. Before work.

Or at least they would have if it weren't for the rumbling semi heading thier way. It came to a stop next to them. Engine deep and rumbling. It was fake. They knew. Ment to imitate earth's vehicles.

Thier phone rang. An image flashed across the screen with the caller id. Optimus. He had looked all to peaceful in that field to not take a picture.

"Hey Big Guy." They chuckled.

"Y/n. Hello. Is everything alright?" Y/n snorted. Oh fucking peachy they were. First they were late for work. Got yelled at by thier boss for shit they didn't do. Had thier piece of shit phone stolen so they had to go fucking find it. Paid sixty bucks to get it back. Had some dickhead think they didn't know shit about vehicles so they tried to scam them.

And the list goes on.

They looked over at the semi as they spoke.

"I'm fine Prime." Optimus rocked on his wheels.

"Are you sure? I was unaware one could drive with a blown tire." Y/n scoffed. Brows shooting upwards with disbelief.

"You sarcastic-" They cut themselves off. "You here to make fun of me?" The truck rumbled.

"No. I'm here offer help." He paused. "You have been here for over six hours." How. Oh ya. Patrol. They forgot he frequently came through here to and from base.

"I. Ya. I could use the help." They hated admitting that. That they needed help. They knew they could manage and y/n always felt like they owed the person back.

Optimus pulled in front of their chevy. An unspoken "I'll tow you" hung in the air. He would. Optimus knew they would come back shortly to get their truck back. Might as well help so they don't try to do it in the dark.

They were shivering and slightly soaked when they finally got in the driver's seat. Optimus wordlessly turns the heater on. Angling the vents to point at them.

"Sorry for tracking water in." Y/n muttered. Doing their best to wipe off any excess water that got inside.

"There's no need for apologies." The semi pulled away from the side of the road and began to drive. Slightly clicking gears as he rumbles downwards. Rain splattered across the windshield. Wipers working overtime to keep it away. They new it was more for them than him.

His headlights were dim, they noticed. Barley lighting up the old gray road.

It was silent. Comfortable.

It was dark now. Even more so without the full moon. Heavy cloads still cloaking the sky.

"Are the kids home?" Y/n broke the silence.

"Yes. I had to drop Rafael off at home." That's right. Bumblebee has been busy on a scouting mission. He's supposed to be back tomorrow. Short. By cybertronian standards.

It's been almost a month for us.

There's was flashing in the distance. Orange hues erie in the heavy rain. They can make out more shapes the closer they get. A red blob turning into a car. Two small blurs turned out to be a couple.

Optimus stops next to them at their urging.

Y/n hope out immediately. The rain quickly soaking through their thin shirt.

"What seems to be the matter?" Y/n asks. A woman turns around. Hand on her obviously pregnant belly. "Well shit." They mutter.

"Our tire blew out on the way to Jasper." The woman brushes a few strands of soaked hair out of her face. "Me and my son can't seem to get the tire changed. We umm." They look over at their kid. Some tiny teen trying to pull the bolts off the best they could. The car wast quite high enough off the ground either.

"Do you want help?" They already began rolling their soaked sleeves up thier arm. A simple tattoo wove from thier wrist up to thier elbow. A memento from a close friend. The woman nodded vigorously.

"Yes please." Y/n points the woman towards Optimus. They hope he wouldn't mind.

"Please Ma'am. I don't want you catching cold." Her cheeks flush. "The kid can help if they want. But they can get out of the rain if they want." The kid grins at them, missing one or two front teeth.

"I can help!" Y/n chuckles and pulls the tire iron gently from thier hands.

"Well then. Let's get going." They popped the bolts off one by one. They themselves straining despite the fact that could easily toss tires like these around. Y/n lifted weights to get stronger and boxed to defend themselves. Thier muscles flexing beneath thier shirt a testament to that.

"God. Who stuck these fu-friggen things on." The kid laughed.

"My cousin." Well damn.

It took a few moments and a bashed finger later to change the tire. Y/n was thoroughly soaked by the time they finished. Practically drowning from the rain.

They helped the women down and out from Optimus. Both of them none the wiser to the alien next to them.

The two got into the car and drove off. Y/n watches as the car gets smaller and smaller until the rain completely obscures thier view.

They grab into the handle next to Optimus's door and hoists themselves up. Smacking thier boots to get off any mud or debris before getting inside.

"Well now I'm even more wet." Y/n snorts and peels thier shirt off. They had a tank top underneath. It sticks to thier skin uncomfortably.

Optimus hums. The deep sound rumbling in the cab. Y/n pats thier pockets fully intending to light another cigarette before remembering where they're at. More precisely, who, they are with.

Instead they pull out a stick of gum. The minty flavor almost overpowering.

Optimus hums again. A sign they've come to find, was of him thinking. A habit he never broke of even after becoming Optimus Prime. Perks of being his charge they guessed.

They never knew why he did that. Became thier guardian. Y/n was well enough an adult. Had a house, payed the bills. They never understood and didn't plan on it anytime soon. Optimus was Optimus and he does what he does. He was one of the few people they never second guess thier opinion.

They held a lot of respect for the old mech.

More so than a lot of people in thier life. They wondered if he knew that. He could tell them to leap off a cliff and they would. Trusting him to be there to catch them.

It took a lot to earn that trust. And they had given it to him. With shaking palms and to high walls.

'Here'. Their actions said. 'Here is the key. Open the door and you hurt me. Guard it. Please. Because I am unable to anymore.'

And Optimus did. Because Optimus is Optimus. A being to good for this world.

Y/n had a scar that reached from thier shoulder to the small of thier back. It would have killed them if Optimus didn't step in. They got the relic. Optimus got thier trust and friendship.

"You do that often." Y/n head jerks up from where it had been resting against the window. Startled from thier thought.

"Do what, Prime?" Optimus slowed down. Rolling to a general stop at the battered stop sign.

"Help others without question. Despite it often being inconvenient for you." Y/n pops thier gum. Thinking.

They never really thought about it. They just did what felt right.

"And?" They scratch at thier neck.

"Why?" A simple one word question. Might as well been a loaded gun. They knew exactly where he was taking this.

"Because I can. Because it's the right thing to do. Because I'd want someone to do it for my friends and family." Optimus rumbled his engine. Pulling off to the side of the road.

Son of a bitch. He's gonna make them do feelings now?

Last time it was from a simple, yet self deprecating joke. Last thing they will joke about around him again was being dumber than a box of rocks. Who knew the old guy could be so silently, and heavily caring without a single word.

"And what about you? Would you not like help as well?"

The rain lessened to a drizzle now. No way we're they gonna do this shit. Not again. Don't make them face things yet.

Y/n reaches to open the door.

Optimus locks it shut.

"Fucken hell man." They mutter. Not for the last time they began wishing for an actual cigarette.

"Hmm." They sunk down in the driver's seat uselessly pushing at the gas pedal urging for him to go on.

"You can ask. You do know this." Y/n chuckles.

"I did." They wave thier hand at the steering wheel. "I called the tow company. Not my fault they didn't call me till forever later." Optimus sinks down on his tires. If they don't wrap this up now and tell him what he wants to here they'll be here forever.

But he can tell when they're lying.

They both loath and like it.

They can be truthful to him. But sometimes it hurts. Because he makes them feel. He makes them know.

They're people to. And they deserve so much more that they give themselves.

Deserve more than the punishing pace they put themselves through.

"And no one else? What would you have done after?" Y/n shrugged thier shoulders.

"Walked home and make tomorrow me deal with it. They're a bitch in the morning but they get shit done."

Shit.

"And you would call no one? Again?" They shake their head.

"It's just a tow Optimus. Not me bleeding the fuck out." They feel bad. A sour taste in thier mouth as they bite their answer out.

"You where feverish and unable to walk last time." His voice was low. Almost sad. He was upset without showing it.

He cares. Cares so much.

He cares enough about me for the both of us.

"It's fine."

"No."

"I.." I shiver. The heater turns on. "Lying 'spose to be easy. Why do you make it so fucking hard." Optimus rumbles.

"Because you care." He's right.

"And so do I. I am here. Always. No matter what. No matter how trivial you think it is Y/n. I am here. And, as you like to say, I am stuck to your side whether you like it or not." He begins to drive. His words stick to me.

"I know. It's hard." Its hard when you don't think you deserve it. Any of it.

I lay my hand on the center of the steering wheel.

"I know. I know. But I will tell you again and again. Until you truly believe it y/n."

I was lost before him.

God's I hate that he makes me feel. Feel more than I ever have. But he got me to quite one bad habit. And he's working on the other.

[cherry3point14]

Driving Home For Christmas

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Brush your teeth after reading.

Word Count: 8,972.

Summary: You’re on a case all by your lonesome up in a small town in Wisconsin. When it snows you’re more concerned with keeping warm than getting out of dodge which means someone gets snowed in on her own for Chirstmas. Or so you think.

A/N: Basically like there’s fluff, gruff and festive stuff. Enjoy.

Ao3 if you prefer Series Masterlist

“Calm down. The ghost is all taken care of and the very grateful Crewes family even gave me a candy cane for my trouble.” Sam laughs at you down the phone knowing that you probably asked for the candy cane. You did, but he doesn’t need to know that, they were more than happy to share after you saved their lives and all.

“When are you coming home?”

They’d been working a case out East and had finished up a day early. They were already back in the bunker, safe and warm. You, however, had taken a salt and burn up in Wisconsin. Except it turned out to be a cursed object since the guy was already cremated and, well, it took you an extra day to figure out what the damn thing was. Which was fine, really, except now you’re still in town when a snowstorm hits. Not that you’re telling Sam that. They’d both worry about you but really the snow isn’t that bad. Berta, the owner of the motel you’re staying in, brought you a space heater and extra blankets the day before. Because you’re the only dummy staying this close to Christmas. She’s literally giving heaters and blankets away since you're her only clientele. So, you have a plan. You’re going to build a hot box and wait it out, you’ll be back on the road in the morning. No need to concern their pretty little heads about a few flakes.

“It’s too late to drive anywhere after a long day saving lives and being a hero. I figure I’ll make a day of it tomorrow.”

Adding the joke means Sam doesn’t notice your worried tone as you peak out of the curtain at the powder piling high around the tires of your car. God, you were going to have to shovel that in the morning. Great.

“Ok, well get some sleep or something and call me before you leave tomorrow.”

His mother hen nagging comes from a place of caring so you don’t tease him as much as you normally might. Not when he doesn’t even know the reason he should be rightly worried.

“Sure, sure. Night Sam.”

“Night Y/N.”

As soon as the line goes dead operation get-this-chill-out-of-your-goddamn-bones begins. It starts by kicking the heater to life until it’s buzzing away and emitting a dangerously orange hue. Then you start the layering. First leggings with a long sleeved thick cotton shirt tucked in. Over the top of that a pair of sweats you stole from Dean a long time ago, along with a sweatshirt that drowns you. Thick, fluffy socks get slipped on and tucked in before the blankets start getting piled high. By the time you’re done the bed looks akin to a childlike fort but then you crawl inside, wrap yourself up and realize the comparison is all wrong. What you’ve actually built is a cocoon and you might never emerge from it.

Even with all the layers it still takes a while, maybe twenty minutes, to warm up against the chill of the snow as it seeps through the too thin walls. But when you do feel warmth sweep over your skin it all becomes worth it. If an extreme temperature is going to kill you in the night it’ll be heat, and what a way to go in a snowstorm.

When you open your eyes you’re still swaddled like a giant baby in your endless blankets. You’re warm, toasty and although you’re there’s a tacky film of sweat covering your body it’s still preferable to the temperature you know exists outside of your bed.

But sweat is not what woke you up. Neither is the encroaching cold. It’s your phone.

It’s buzzing away on the bedside cabinet as if it’s angry. It stops before you untangle yourself enough to stick an arm out but considering the ten missed calls on your phone someone certainly seems to be frustrated.

The small draft of cold air you let in by moving is refreshing against the heat of your skin. You’re considering unfurling yourself completely when the phone rings again, this time in your hand. His name pops up for what must be the eleventh time and you let out this resigned sigh. Dean doesn’t call this many times in a row unless it’s important, and at this point, he probably thinks you’re dead so maybe it would be kind to put him out of his misery.

“Hello?”

You can hear his relief as you answer, there this big exhale that’s rattled down the line, but then he obviously remembers why he’s calling and allows himself to circle right back around to frustrated. “What the hell? You ever heard of answering your phone?”

“Good morning to you too grumpy.” He won’t see your grin but you know it’s there.

“I’ve been calling for an hour.”

“I was sleeping.” He huffs at that and you can understand his annoyance. You normally only sleep so soundly in your room, shrouded in the safety of the bunker. Not at a motel in bumfuck nowhere.

“When were you going to tell me about the snow?”

You shoot upright like the question was shouted at you from across the room instead of echoed down your phone. You’re half expecting to see him standing there with coffee, breakfast and a scowl. He’s not.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You stutter out the lie unconvincingly.

He barks out this sarcastic laugh. “Take it you haven’t looked out of the window this morning then?”

Just like that, you don’t have a secret about the snow anymore, he does. You want to take that power away from him as quickly as possible so you roll out of bed and stumble to the still closed curtains. The line where the curtains meet gets brighter and whiter with each step. In reality, you’ve taken seconds to haul ass across the room but in your head, the hand that reaches for the material and pulls it back is achingly slow. A fittingly dramatic reveal for the amount of snow covering every surface outside. It’s easily 12 inches, maybe more. Probably, definitely more. There’s not even a flicker of childlike wonder in your eyes as you look out because your immediate reaction is how screwed you are. Your car, as beat up and shitty as it was, is fucked. You can only just about tell the general shape now. Not that you know where the road is. Where you could previously see it in your roadside motel now there’s just a postcard blanket of undisturbed snow.

“Fuck.”

“Yep.” Dean hums all too smugly reminding you that he’s still on the phone.

Your calves hit the bed as you drift backward, like moving away from the window will make the scene outside somehow different. “Shit. I guess I’m stuck here.”

There’s a flurry of emotions going through you faster than the snow that's blocked you in. You’d actually been looking forward to Christmas this year. Last year all three of you had been on a hunt, spending the 25th culling a werewolf pack. This year was going to be your first one without them tiptoeing around you. For once you don’t want to spend it alone and wrapped up in painful memories. And yet, you don’t really have a choice now.

“...you’re not getting away with it that easy.” Dean is rambling away in your ear and you haven’t listened to a word he said.

“Sorry, what?” That’s when you notice it, the rumble of Baby in the background.

He huffs and you can hear the sarcastic annoyance on his dumb face, “I said, don’t worry about it.”

Your tongue seems to have doubled in weight for how thickly you swallow, “Dean… where are you?”

“Passed Omaha about thirty miles back.”

“Dean.” The word carries a stern warning. You won’t be saved like some damsel in distress. You’ll be fine holed up in this motel room for a few days till your car, hopefully, reveals itself. Lonely and chilly but alive.  

“Y/N,” he replies, mocking your tone.

“I’ll be fine. There’s a gas station not far from here. I’ll make the walk there, stock up on food and wait until it melts enough for me to drive. Turn around and go home.”

Even as you’re saying it you’re dreading the idea of going outside. Unfortunately, Dean knows you too well, much better than you realize. “Open the door, sweetheart.”

“What?”

“Just do it.”

You want him to turn around so you play along. You whip the door open and close it just as quickly but it’s enough for crisp winter air to attack your face like thousands of pinprick needles all at once. “HOLY FUCKING SHIT.”

“Yeah, thought so.” He sounds satisfied that he’s made his point. “You’re not going anywhere. Get whoever owns the joint to get you some food, pack your shit and stay inside.”

“It’s a twelve-hour drive each way. And what am I supposed to do, just leave my car? I know you’re not going to drive Baby through this.” Even to your ears, your excuses sound pathetic and half-assed, but goddammit you’re trying.

“Good thing I drive fast. Your car was already junk, if you miss it that much I’ll bring you back when the snow melts. I’ve got it covered.”

Before you can say anything else the line goes dead. You know it’s not a service problem, he’s hung up. Probably with a self-satisfied grin and some comment to his empty car about him always being right.

He definitely knows how to piss you off before a twelve hours car ride together.

A deity somewhere is looking out for you, enough that the pipes aren’t frozen over and you’re able to have a shower so hot that your skin is scalded red. You dry your hair, make a big song and dance about getting dressed and then, as instructed, ‘pack your shit’.

As if she knows the exact moment you’re clothed and presentable Berta, the sprightly old woman that she is, knocks on the door.

“Oh good, you’re not dead!”

“Probably wouldn’t be opening the door if were.” The master key in her hand gets quickly stuffed back into her large coat pocket with your answer.

“Since you’re not dead, which I’m very pleased about, I wanted to invite you to spend Christmas with me,” her eyes have that softness people spare for the truly pathetic. “I know, I know. You were leaving today but by the looks of your car I’m guessing we’re gonna have a cozy little Christmas together.”

You could imagine Christmas with Berta. She’d probably out drink you and then start telling stories about the swinging sixties, scaring you for life. You’d have to extra nice to Dean when he gets here and saves you from the required therapy. “I appreciate the offer Berta but I’m still leaving today.”

“But-”

“My friend is coming to get me. He’ll be here later.”

She purses her lips suspiciously which makes the wrinkles around her mouth deepen, “a friend?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Coming to get you?”

“Yep.”

“Didn’t you say you live in Kansas?”

Too late you figure out where she’s going with this but you can’t think quick enough to back-pedal the conversation. “Yeah. I did.”

“So, you mean to tell me that a male friend of yours is driving all the way from Kansas, and back, on Christmas Eve no less, to pick you up during a snowstorm?”

You put your hand on your hip and shake your head at the meddling old woman, “it’s not like that, Dean’s just a friend.”

“Ohhhh,” she’s coos sounding like a police siren, “his name is Dean, huh? Dean’s coming to get you is he?”

Berta has been this forward since you got here. The night you checked in she asked you if you had a boyfriend because she has this nephew that you’d absolutely love. The first time you go and extend your stay she claps that you’ll still be in town and offers a date on his behalf. Now she’s got her talons caught into something else altogether.

“Yes, his name is Dean. He’s just a friend. I told him not to come but he’s about as stubborn as you are, so you can imagine how well that went down.”

She flashes you this toothy, knowing smile, “oh honey. That boy must have it bad.”

Berta doesn’t know what she’s talking about because Dean treats you like the sister he never had. But confused or not she's hit a nerve so you react with a lump in your throat and a hard set to your jaw, “goodbye Berta.”

“Yeah sure. Let me know when Dean shows up!”

She starts shuffling away, apparently completely unphased that you rejected her Christmas invitation. You shut the door before she comes back and makes you play truth or dare. It’s only in the warmth of the room that you notice how hot your cheeks are.

You’d been reading a list of top twenty Christmas movies on your phone when there’s a second knock at the door hours later. You snap your head up when, almost immediately, the wood is banged again. Harder and more urgently.

“Y/N!”

Your whole body breathes a sigh of relief, for you are saved.

Jumping up you pull the door open with a wide grin. He looks tired and frustrated with a thousand things, probably yourself included, but he still smirks at the sight of you.

“You came.”

“Told you I would. But we’ve gotta haul ass to make it back in time.”

You’re about to ask what schedule you’re on. Christmas starts when you’re all there and arguing over pancake syrup, so you can hardly miss it, but the question never leaves your lips. He strides past you and picks up your packed duffle, casts his eyes around the room to make sure you didn’t forget anything and starts leaving again. “Come on, we're burning daylight.”

His quick movements lull you out of the stupor you were momentarily in, “sure, right, let me drop the key in and I’ll meet you at…”

The word ‘Baby’ was on the tip of your tongue just as you look over his shoulder to see this truck. Big enough to be menacing, snow chains wrapped around the tires and, most importantly, a large bearded man in the driver's seat.

“What?”

He smiles, amused at the worry on your face, “Baby is ten minutes out of town since they haven’t plowed all the roads yet. Can you believe it, his name is fucking Michael?”

“Mike it is.” You wink at him before beginning the treacherous walk to the little office. The snow that has settled under the covered walkway outside your door is beginning to turn icy. Not all the way deathly yet but there’s a very real risk of falling on your butt in front of Dean, and now Mike, so you tread carefully.

Berta is relieved that you’re getting out in time for Christmas and she’s not shy about sticking her neck out to try and catch a glimpse of the fabled Dean. She hums approvingly and winks at you, which you roll your eyes at. She’s awful in that harmless interfering aunt kind of way and you play along, only because she’s agreed to keep an eye on your car till you make other arrangements.

Checked out you start trudging through the powder. In the parking lot where everything is still fresh the snow is deep enough to almost reach your knees. It doesn’t take long for a shiver to creep up your spine. The air is cold enough that every breath has an edge to it, a frosty after burn in your lungs. You focus on Dean standing by the truck waiting for you. He is the promise of escape from this frozen, lonely hellscape. Dean is snow free open roads and a milder Kansas winter.

Sure a lot of people would love a white Christmas, yourself included. But not to this excess. Not to the point where the weather becomes a prison.

Mike, for all his faults, and it really seems like the only one he has is being named Michael, isn’t a talker. It’s nice. For the ten solid minutes that he drives you out of town, you allow yourself your only actual enjoyment of the snow. You get to watch the picturesque yet dangerous conditions knowing that you’re leaving them behind. And eventually the further south and out of town you get the less snow there is anyway. It doesn’t disappear completely but you find yourself at a point where it feels manageable.

Dean has parked Baby in this gas station just before the exit to the interstate, which he assures you is snow free. Mike gruffs when you wish him happy holidays but you think that might mean ‘you too’ in his vocabulary.

The moment that you slip into the front seat of the Impala is the moment you’re already home. It’s cold inside the car as it’s been sitting here for half an hour and yet somehow there’s the slightest hint of heat. Like it’s imprinted in the leather over however many hours it took Dean to get here.

He doesn’t say anything when he slides in and starts her up. The silence throws you. It makes everything feel a little uncomfortable. In the truck the silence had been golden, you’d assumed Dean hadn’t been talkative because of Mike, Mike hadn’t either. There had been music that filled the quiet then. But the Zeppelin thrusting it’s way out of the cassette player now is at a low level. It’s turned down as if he wants to talk and yet, he hasn’t said a word.

Normally it’s either or. The music is either thumping at a volume where you know there’s nothing to say or it's at the volume it’s at now, and he’s a chatty Cathy. As chatty as Dean gets anyway. Today he has you in this limbo. If you were standing you’d probably be shuffling side to side awkwardly before running away but you’re in the Impala, at the start of a very long drive, on Christmas Eve of all days. You’re trapped and will be for some time.

You can’t go on like this so you just had to break the silence, right? All you had to do was pretend that you don’t notice the awkward atmosphere as he accelerates onto the empty highway, you could do that. Just start a conversation, any conversation. “Sam said you finished up early with the Rugaru?”

“He also said everything was fine when he spoke to you last night, but we both know that’s not true.” He snaps like the argument was waiting behind his teeth for you to say something first.

“What?”

“The snow was already pretty bad last night, I checked.”

Ok, so he’s pissed. He’s clearly been getting more and more worked up about this on the drive here. All you had to do was calm him down. “It wasn’t that bad it was just normal snow, I had no idea that it would-”

“Get you snowed in? Right. Because you’d have been able to drive that shitty car of yours through any kind of snow.”

That ticks you off a little, whether it’s the implication that your car is worthless or your driving. He’s not wrong about your car but he didn’t need to say it. “Excuse me. Didn’t see you driving your precious Baby into town.”

That’s it, hit him where it hurts. His car.

“‘S different. She’d have been fine last night.”

You scoff unsure if you’re angry or actually shocked, “do you really think I got snowed in on purpose?”

“I think you could have told us about the snow last night. I think you were trying to avoid-” he doesn’t finish, instead expelling a big, frustrated sigh.

His grip on the wheel loosens a little, which gives you a chance to see how tightly he’d been holding on. White knuckling it even. Then you notice the empty coffee cups strewn on the backseat. You start putting a timeline together in your head. He must have been driving at least a couple of hours, maybe three, when he called you that morning. Slowly you work out that this idiot has easily been driving for over ten hours straight, without a break. And it’s all your fault.

You look around to check for any other traffic before you carefully put a hand on his shoulder. He’s tense under your fingers like an elastic band pulled too tight, “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m an idiot. Please pull the car over.”

The muscle in his arm loosens a little at your apology and then he turns to you with a confused expression when you ask him to pull over.

“What the hell?”

“Pull the damn car over now or I’ll make you!” The soft apology of your voice is replaced with a hard demand.

His eyes flick to the mirror before he swerves onto the side of the road. The engine halts and he turns his body towards you, possibly expecting a continuation of your argument. That’s when you get out of the car.

On the highway, this much further south, there’s hardly any snow. Maybe a light dusting on the ground but the road itself is clear, just wet. It’s still cold though, enough that you shiver as you stomp around to the other side of the car. It’s just, you can’t falter because of the temperature, not when his eyes are on you for every step. His unrelenting stare has to be what keeps you going.

At the driver's side, you yank the door open and stare him down from your standing position, “move.”

He opens his mouth to argue, even starts it off, “if you think I’m letting you…”

“I get it. You don’t need to take a break because you’re Dean Winchester or whatever. But here’s the thing, by my calculations you’ve been driving since, what, four? If you can promise me you took a break on the way here then you’re off the hook. Otherwise move over because I said so.”

For not being a parent you’ve got a surprisingly authoritative mom voice and somehow it works. He begrudgingly slides over to the passenger seat, silently answering you. Probably got his coffee at drive-throughs on the way and didn’t even stop to drink them, lunatic.

“A few hours that’s it.” He grumbles, which might well be threatening if half the tension in his torso hadn’t melted away already.

“Sure thing. Just get some sleep and I’ll wake you in a few.”

It’s probably a testament to your relationship, friendship obviously, that he actually listens to you. You steal glances out the corner of your eye as he shimmies down the seat until his body is slung low, his legs crossed over each other and his head bent against the back of the seat. The position looks too awkward for sleep but you know getting him in the back would be pushing your luck, besides you’ve seen him sleep in more cramped quarters before. Worst case scenario he’ll be grumpy when he wakes up but that’s pretty true of any time he wakes up.

Even with how tired he must be you're still surprised with how quickly his eyes close. One second they’re open and warily watching you drive and in the next second, he blinks them closed. Somewhere on a straight of road, you take a hand off the wheel to reach in the back, blindly searching for the thick, wool blanket kept there. Like a game of buckaroo, you’re careful to put it over him, one hand still on the wheel as you gently cover him with it a little at a time. The whole thing probably takes ten minutes but he looks so much cozier after you’re done that you smile out to the road ahead, pleased with your progress.

You keep the music low as you drive and try to resist watching him out the corner of your eye for too long at a time.

“Rise and shine sleeping beauty!” You sing-song loudly as you cut the engine.

Dean startles awake in a way that tells you he was a little more asleep that he intended to be. It’s cute. Not that he’s cute or anything, it’s just you know him well enough to know that sleeping while someone else drives Baby is not a trust he affords to many people. You’re smart enough to appreciate that.

“Where the fuck are we?” His voice is groggy even if his words are angry and you have to resist thinking the word ‘adorable’.

“Since you asked so nicely,” he pushes the blanket off of him suspiciously as you answer, “we’re outside Fort Dodge, I think, anyway we’re about halfway and I need food.”

Dean grins with sleep still clinging to the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, “it’s like you read my mind.”

“You were dreaming of me waking you up outside a Wendy’s?”

“Something like that,” he groans as he stretches his muscles the best he can in the confines of the car.

It’s not that you get distracted watching him stretch and it’s not that you’re wondering what he was dreaming about. You’re distracted by both and neither at the same time. And Berta’s meddling voice pops up in your head.

Eventually, Dean clicks his fingers in front of your face. “You ok there sweetheart?”

“Yeah, yeah! I’m fine, it’s just…” your sentence drifts off into nothing. You don’t know what to say. There’s nothing to say. No matter how long you maintain his expectant eye contact. “I’ll go get the food.”

The inside of the Wendy’s is as dead and depressing as a fast food place can be at nearly eleven on Christmas Eve. You were honestly surprised they’re still open. Thankful because you needed food, but surprised. They have your order ready in record time because what else are they doing? It’s just that as you’re leaving again, arms full of paper bags you notice Dean in the front seat of the Impala. Not singing along or tapping his fingers on the steering wheel to a song you can’t hear. He’s on the phone, a serious pucker to his lips and concern festering in his shoulders.

That’s not even the worrying part. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time you’ve heard about a case this late. The suspicious bit happens when he makes eye contact with you coming across the parking lot. He hurries a stern goodbye and hastily puts his phone away.

“Who was on that?” you’re careful to keep your voice measured and casual as you take your place in the passenger's seat. You pull the blanket he rejected up over your legs before you shove a burger into his hands.

“Nobody.” He answers too quickly. So suspiciously in fact that he notices his own mistake and tries to fix it before you say anything else, “Sam. It was Sam. Just meant that it was nothing important.”

Apparently, there's a back and forth game between you both. Moments of weirdness that the other doesn’t observe too closely. But what could Dean possibly have to be weird about?

The rest of the drive is comfortable silence and you’re starting to think his anger and your weirdness had been hunger in disguise. Like small children, you just needed to be fed. At some point, he tries to convince you to sleep for a while and you tell him to stop telling you what to do. It’s not a witty conversation for the ages but it restores a sense of normalcy inside the bubble you both exist in.

He turns the music up most of the way. The Impala cuts through the empty roads with a trail of guitar riffs following behind. Well, music and the rumble of the engine. If you were tired the combination might soothe you to sleep like it has before but all those hours stuck in that motel room felt like sleep, or sleepwalking. Even as it reaches the early hours of the morning you don’t close your eyes. You don’t want to miss a single mile marker.

About half an hour out of Lebanon is when Dean starts to get, well, twitchy.

First, it’s just his fingers. His index finger taps the steering wheel, annoyingly out of time to the song. It’s after four am though and he’s been on the road almost twenty-four hours at this point. You kindly ignore it no matter how annoying it is.

Then it’s these little noises he starts making. If you could squint with your ears then it might sound like the lyrics to a song. The kind of noise people make when they’re singing along and then they hit the second verse. Word adjacent noises. It’s just, again, not what the particular song playing sounds like.

You’re forgiving of these annoying ticks he’s apparently developed. Because that’s what you’re supposed to do at Christmas, or so the songs and TV specials tell you. Forgive and forget. Peace on earth. No matter how much you want to punch him in the arm and tell him to shut up, you probably shouldn’t.

Besides he’s just gone to extraordinary lengths to bring you home. Literally.

Finally, you reach a breaking point. His body seems to hum with broken energy when the sign for Lebanon shines under the headlights. You actually turn your head away from the window to look at him with a wary eye, like he’s a ticking time bomb.

“You doing ok over there?” the reference to his distance, all the way on the other side of the car, is more for your own benefit. Maybe the explosion won’t reach you.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be? I’m fine. What about you?”

Maybe he drank too much coffee. He’s been driving too long too. Or as much as he loves his Baby maybe he’s been trapped in her too long.

And all of these are still your fault.

“I’m good. Think I’ll catch a few hours once we get in. We might even get four hours in our own beds.” You let your forehead fall back against the cold glass hoping that the promise of his memory foam is enough to chill him out.

It isn’t. When you reach the familiar stretch of road when the bunker is hidden he pulls in but puts the car in park outside the bunker door. It’s not unheard of for him to leave her there if he’s planning on driving early in the morning but you’d have thought after an entire day that he wasn't going anywhere else for a while.

Whatever. His car, his rules. As you get out and start towards the bunker door he half jogs in front of you, “let me just get that for you.” His words make it seem like he’s going to, weirdly, hold the door open for you. What he actually does is push in front of you only to open just enough for him to stick his head through first. His whole body relaxes with whatever he sees and then he finally pushes the door all the way open.

The bunker is empty, quiet, only the hum of the electrics but that’s just white noise. It’s what you’d expect at almost four in the morning. It’s so absolutely ordinary that it only serves to make Dean seem even more certifiable.

“OK weirdo. I’m going to go sleep for a little while. Please don’t take any more of whatever crazy you’ve been dosing.

You’d fallen asleep easily. It hadn’t felt like you’d resisted being tired in the car but as soon as your head hits the pillow you felt cozier than you had in your blanket cocoon at the motel. Now that you’ve woken up you feel bleary and disorientated, the kind of muddiness you haven’t felt since you were a child where you sleep so deep that don’t know what day it is. How long have you slept for? Was it an hour or a day?

A quick glance at your phone tells you it’s just after 8 am so you haven’t actually slept through the apocalypse.

You’re slow to get out of bed and your movements are still sluggish when you do. For all of the build-up, for it being the reason Dean came to get you, Christmas is the last thing on your mind. Instead, you pinball your way around your room looking for one thing after another. Hairbrush, thicker socks, a sweatshirt, before you wander casually to the bathroom to brush your teeth.

It’s a normal Sunday until you finally step into the library. Sam is sitting with Jack on the sofa stringing popcorn and telling Jack to stop eating it before he has to pop another bag. Which tell you they’ve probably already on bag number two. There’s this tree that’s maybe three foot with nothing but a string of Christmas lights wrapped around it. It’s both tired looking but also heartwarming somehow.

You wander over to lean on the back of the sofa, dipping your hand into the popcorn bowl yourself and grinning at Sam as you do. “Merry Christmas guys.”

“Y/N! Dean said you wouldn’t be awake for a while. We haven’t finished decorating.”

“And we never will if people,” he pointedly stares at you, “keep eating the decorations.”

You throw a piece at Sam at watch with glee as it gets caught in his hair, “so what if I’m awake, can’t I help?”

Jack’s brow creases worriedly, “no, this is supposed to be a surprise.” Sam glares at him like Jack has revealed a secret and Jack seems to realize his mistake, “sorry I forgot,” he apologizes to Sam and then looks at you with a face that could melt an ice queen. “Merry Christmas Y/N.”

If he thinks wishing you a Merry Christmas is enough to distract you from the fact that apparently everyone in the bunker has been sniffing glue, then he’s right. Or at least you’re not caffeinated enough to investigate yet. You’d be back with coffee though, they could count on it.

As you walk into the kitchen you’re apparently mistaken for someone else but in Dean’s defense, he’s not looking at you while he flips pancakes. “Did you get the potatoes Cas?”

The only rational thing to do is lower your voice as low as possible and answer him with your best Batman impression, “I’m sorry Dean, they were all out of potatoes.”

You get your first gift of the day when he spins around so fast that he’s probably given himself whiplash, “Y/N?”

Once he’s confirmed it’s you with a brief visual inspection his face quickly cycles through annoyance and defeat before he settles into a warm smile, “morning.”

“What’s going on with your little helpers in there?” You wander towards the coffee pot as you ask, sounding only vaguely interested in an attempt to trick the information out of him.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really?” The hand not holding coffee rests on your hip, “because the littlest elf said something about a surprise and the much taller one gave him the look.”

You're watching Dean closely for the moment that he cracks. At first, you think it might not happen, he goes back to flipping pancakes nonchalantly. For a moment you wonder if you’re the crazy one because he’s that convincing. And then the word 'surprise' comes out of your mouth which makes his shoulders slump his head falls forward with a sad flop.

“I knew those idiots wouldn’t be able to keep their mouths shut.”

“To be fair Sam’s mouth was shut, it’s Jack, sweet and innocent cannot tell a lie Jack, that gave the game away. Come on, spill it.” You close the gap between you. Nothing to do with being near him. You like to be near the pancakes, and you have every intention of jabbing him in the arm until he tells you what's going on.

The secret is going to be some funny joke. Or a game. It’s not going to be a real thing. That’s why you keep rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet, impatiently waiting. It’s why you hum annoyingly and whine, “come on. Tell me.”

He very slowly puts the spatula down only to pinch the bridge of his nose, “the surprise is Christmas.” The confession comes out of him as more of a groan than words.

You still don’t understand what you’re missing here. “Christmas isn’t a surprise. It’s kind of this day every year.”

Another groan. You know he hates when you’re pedantic. He hates when Sam’s pedantic too but for some reason, you manage to tick him off that much easier. “I know.”

“So, it can’t be a surprise.”

“You said you wanted to do Christmas again so surprise we’re doing a Winchester family Christmas. My mom will be here later and there’s a ham in the oven and why do you think I drove eight hundred miles each way to pick you up yesterday?”

He makes some excellent points but you can’t make sense of them over the pounding in your ears. It takes a full minute before you realize it’s your own heart beating against your ribcage.

“I’m not a Winchester.”

“You’re as good as.” He answers quickly and sure of himself.

“A family Christmas?”

“You haven’t had one since you were a kid. We don’t exactly go caroling but we’ll eat.” A pancake is burning on the stove top but neither of you reacts. He’s turned his body towards you and you can’t stop looking at him, waiting for the punchline.

“You came to get me for Christmas?”

He nods, soft, slowly, “I’d do it again. Anytime, sweetheart.”

Your lips part if only a little. All the better to breathe and remember yourself. All the better to wake up from whatever dream you’re still having. Although, if it’s a dream…

You push yourself up onto the tips of your toes and press your lips to his. It’s quick and short. A second, maybe less, of feeling your mouth against his and then you fall backward, staring up at him with wide eyes. Shocked at your own behavior. The kiss is so chaste it could be familial, that’s what you’ll try to convince him off if you’ve misread this anyway, but then Dean stares at you like he’s forgotten his own name.

“I thought you were supposed to wait for the mistletoe?” Jack interrupts from the doorway.

Part Thee - Epilogue (coming 12/23)

5eva tags: @divadinag @darthdeziewok @fluentinfiction @witch-of-letters @supernatural-teamfreewillpage Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles @akshi8278

[musicalmedic]

Carisi x Reader Fic

So apparently I did a thing... This was supposed to be comfort/angst and turned into smut. IDK what happened. Not what I usually write, but hey, why not? NSFW.

You waited anxiously for Sonny to show up. You knew he still had a lot of work and reports to complete, but time was really dragging. You cleaned house and did the dishes, made dinner and doled everything out into Tupperware to store for later. You did the bedding and brought blankets down to the couch, not knowing we you and Sonny would end up later. It was after 9pm when you finally settled down into a nest on the couch and pulled out your Kindle - a distraction, if nothing else. Finally, your phone buzzed and you grabbed it almost maniacally to read the text.

Olivia: He’s on his way home now. Today was bad. I’m sorry.

You appreciated the head’s up, but your stomach turned over a bit, instantly fretting over how Sonny would be doing when he arrived how. He loved his job, but there were days when he came home a mess that made you wonder how long he could do it. You went back to reading on your Kindle until you heard Sonny’s car pull into the driveway. He had a key and would let himself in. You waited anxiously to see what he did - he only ever had two modes of action when he came over after a bad day at work. He would come straight to you and lie down in your lap or go straight to the shower without a word.

You heard Sonny come in the door and kick his shoes off, and then proceed to knock a bunch of things off of the table in the entryway. A hangar fell out of the closet and clattered to the ground and then a pair of keys from the table and what sounded like the dog leash. You stood from the couch and went into the entryway, confused.

“Are you rearranging my decor in here?” You asked lightheartedly.

Sonny stood amidst the disaster with his hands on his hips, shaking his head in disbelief at himself. He had changed clothes since you last saw him and was now in the signature 3-piece with a vest and his sleeves rolled up, a look that always made you weak in the knees. Then again, it was never a good sign when he had had to change clothes at work. Sonny didn’t look at you, but unclipped his holster and set it on the table, followed by his badge and cell phone. He was quiet and unsteady; you could tell his hands were shaking, causing him to clumsily knock everything over

You stood a few feet away, just waiting for Sonny to say something. He turned to the table and put his hands on it, leaning forward and letting his head hang. Your stomach turned over - he’d never been upset enough to not even make it out of the breezeway. You walked up and rubbed his back, planting a kiss on his shoulder. He was gripping the edge of the table like his life depended on it, trying to keep himself together.

“I’m right here, love. It’ll be okay.” You whispered.

Sonny shook his head desperately - it most definitely was not okay. “I can’t do this job anymore, Doll.” He choked out, his voice breaking. “I couldn’t… I thought….”

He finally shot you a glance, his bright blue eyes filled with tears, and an expression that broke your heart into pieces. He stood at the table trying to pull himself together, but you caught sight of the first few stray tears that fell and tracked down his handsome face.

“Sweetheart. Come here.” You gave Sonny’s shoulders a tug, trying to get him to come to you, but he sank brokenly to his knees instead. You went down to the ground with him, your own knees protesting at the unforgiving hardwood floors.

“Oh, baby, I know.” You pulled him tightly to your chest as he broke into exhausted and heartbroken sobs. You rocked him gently as he cried halfheartedly, physically and mentally exhausted from whatever had occurred today. Your heart ached as you heard him muttering memorized prayers of forgiveness.

Eventually he quieted down, taking a shuddering breath and then relaxing into your arms. You brushed your fingers repeatedly through his hair, soothingly paying attention to the graying strands at his temples. Sonny took another deep, shaky breath and released a pained sigh. You planted a kiss on his forehead and rubbed soothing circles at the nape of his neck

“Shhh,” you cooed, “It’s okay.”

“Think you can make it upstairs?” You tried. Sonny didn’t respond, just lying listless in your arms. “I think you’ll feel much better after a shower.”

After a long few seconds, Sonny gave up and nodded against you. You stood, all of your joints cracking in protest. You put your hands out and helped pull Sonny up to stand. You stepped away for a second to lock the front door and put his gun in the safe on the table. When you turned back, he was giving you a soft, legitimate smile. You smiled back and Sonny put his arms out, pulling you into a hug. You wrapped your arms around his long, lean waist, enjoying the feeling of being pressed up against him. You weren’t ridiculously short by any means, but he was still significantly taller than you, which always made him a comforting hugger. Sonny kissed the top of your head, lingering for a minute to inhale the smell of your shampoo.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his Staten Island accent thick with emotion. “Didn’t mean to fall apart on you like that. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You squeezed him tighter and then tipped back to look at him.

“Don’t be sorry. It was obviously a really shitty day. But it’s over, okay?”

You reached down and took his hand and he quietly followed you upstairs to the luxury master bathroom you had designed for yourself. You retrieved two fluffy towels from the linen cabinet - you had already showered, but by god you were going to do it again. You turned on the small heater in the corner of the room.

You spun around and saw Sonny undoing his tie; you smiled and walked over, taking his hands in yours to stop him.

“Let me.” You whispered. Sonny looked at you a bit timidly for a minute, his blue eyes mesmerizing. They held so much innocence and sadness, and you knew that he just needed your touch right now.

You very methodically undid his tie and slipped it from around his collar, placing it on the vanity. Your face was serious as you undid the buttons on his vest, dedicated to just taking care of him. Sonny looked down at you almost lustfully, watching the intent look on your face, and smiled. You undid each button carefully, taking your time and giving him plenty of time to just relax. He reached forward and put his hands on your hips, giving them a squeeze and pulling you to stand flush against him. You felt a rush of hormones release themselves and realized this was going to go a new direction than just a shower. You slid the vest off of his shoulders and tossed it to the vanity a little more carelessly than before. You snaked your hands up Sonny’s chest and wrapped your hands around his neck, standing on your tiptoes and bringing him down to meet your lips in a soft kiss.

You smiled to yourself as he deepened the kiss, leaning in to you and then sucking on your bottom lip. Oh, god. You slid your hands back down and untucked Sonny’s dress shirt from his pants, starting at the top again with the buttons. Two buttons down Sonny leaned forward and started kissing your neck, making you see stars. You could barely focus enough to keep going with the buttons at the feeling of his lips on your sensitive skin, and the faint scratch of the day’s stubble rubbing against you. You somehow managed to get the last button undone and then slid your hands up Sonny’s bare chest and pushed the shirt off of his shoulders. The shirt ended up on the floor, as you both became more careless. You ran your hands all across Sonny’s soft, bare skin, fingers dancing across his firm, taut muscles. Before you could go any further, Sonny pulled at the bottom of your nightshirt and then pulled it right over your head, throwing it across the room. You let out a giggle at his desperation. You had been ready for bed and were already braless under your clothes - one less obstacle for the man in front of you who was slowly losing his cool. Sonny pulled you flush against him, your bare chest against his, the skin-to-skin sensation tantalizing. His kisses deepened and got more hot, uncoordinated, and desperate - his lack of control instantly making you wet.

You walked forward, pressing against Sonny until you had him all but pinned to the cabinets behind him. You pushed your hips against his, his dress pants doing little to hide how turned on he was. Your kisses were hot and heavy now, your tongues darting back and forth in a battle for dominance. The small bathroom heater did little to drown out the sound of heavy breathing and the tiny whimpers you were eliciting form Sonny. You hooked your fingers inside the waistband of his pants and gave them a tug; you felt Sonny smile against your kiss. You undid his belt and pulled it ever so slowly from the loops of his pants and then dropped it to the floor. Sonny was grabbing madly at your hips, fingers digging into your skin, craving you with unbridled intensity. You unbuttoned his pants and were about to tug them down when Sonny’s mouth moved to your breast, taking your nipple between his lips and sucking gently. Your eyes rolled back in your head, your entire body throbbing with desire. You threaded your fingers into Sonny’s lush hair, tugging playfully on the ends and urging him to continue. In a swift motion, Sonny tugged your pajama bottoms off, leaving you completely naked in front of him. You let out a small sound of surprise, but just wanted desperately for him to ravage you. Sonny wasted no time in running his hand up the inside of your thighs, brushing his fingers against the most sensitive spots. His long fingers teased you, slipping between your folds and rubbing firmly against your clit. You were going to lose control so fast…

“Fair’s, fair.” You breathed.

You moved back to Sonny’s dress pants and pulled them almost painfully slow down his long, lean legs. You looked up at him and bit your lip playfully, maintaining eye contact with him as he stepped out of his pants and stood in front of you in only his boxers.  Sonny shook his head at you with a grin, the sight of a beautiful woman on her knees in front of him almost finishing him off right there.

“Tease.” He said jokingly.

You continued, but not before you nipped playfully at Sonny’s bare thigh, painfully close to his aching manhood. You pulled his boxers down to the ground leaving him completely naked and making you lusty at the impressive sight of him. You took him in your mouth and Sonny let out an erotic moan, the sound making you wild. He didn’t let you continue long before pulling you up to stand and tugging you in to the shower.

“Doll, if you keep that up, I ain’t gonna last too long.” He whispered against your skin, kissing your neck.

You both stepped into the hot shower, the water pouring over achy muscles and weary bodies after a long day. Sonny pulled you to him and continued to kiss you as the water cascaded over you both, your bodies moving easily against one another in the water. You ran your hands all over Sonny’s wet body, reveling in the feeling of his skin on yours. You rocked against one another, washing each other’s stressors away. Sonny washed his hair and you circled him as he did so, trailing kisses across his wet chest and back, loving the taste of him and wanting more. You didn’t spend long in the shower - not nearly as long as you was originally expecting. Sonny turned off the water and you helped one another dry off a bit before stepping back out into the bathroom. The room was hot and steamy, mirrors completely fogged up. You pulled your towel around your back to wrap it around yourself. Sonny tugged it from your hands and tossed it.

“Don’t you dare put that on.” He said with a naughty grin.

You barely registered what he had said before he leaned into you, grabbing your hips and lifting you. You wrapped your legs around his waist, still slick from water droplets the towel left behind. Sonny’s long strides took you to the vanity where he put you down to sit on the countertop, his mouth going back to assault yours again.

Sonny pushed you back further on the sink, almost laying on top of you as he bent you backwards to lie on the countertop. You threw your arm out and brushed everything in your way off of the sink and on to the floor. Hand cream, a hairbrush, makeup… all landing on the floor with a crash. You didn’t even care. Before you had time to take a breath, Sonny was between your legs, tasting you and driving you crazy. You let out a breathy “oh, god, yes” before thrusting your hands into his thick hair and begging him not to stop. He was working wonders with his tongue, and slaying you with the feeling of his stubble rubbing the inside of your thigh and his breath against your skin. If there was one thing Sonny was exceptionally good at, it was this. He was a passionate and giving lover - every time was amazing and this was no exception. Pent up emotions from the long day were manifesting themselves as raw, desirous energy. You writhed on the vanity counter under Sonny’s talented, hot, and attractive mouth, reaching what was likely to not be your only orgasm of the evening. You lay breathless, legs trembling as Sonny trailed his tongue up your flat stomach, his hands roaming and groping your breasts again.

You sat up and wrapped your hands around Sonny’s neck, leaning towards him lightheaded.

“You…” you whispered, sounding intoxicated.  

“Yeah?” Sonny responded with a cheeky, half-grin.

You couldn’t formulate the next words, or any thoughts for that matter except how badly you wanted him. Needed him. You wrapped your legs around his waist and he carried you in to the bedroom. He carefully laid you down, and then laid on top of you, the soft blanket of the bed cushioning you better than the countertop. He was kissing you lovingly, sucking on your neck and letting his hand dip between your legs again, readying you for round two. But you was a giving person. You put a hand between your bodies and pushed lightly on Sonny’s chest, easing him off of you. He looked at you with a sweet curiosity, eyebrows furrowed and his damp, gray-dusted hair untamed. His eyes were gorgeous and threatened to be your demise.

“Your turn.” You said devilishly.

You pushed Sonny over to lie on his back; the sight of him exposed and at your mercy was thrilling. You kissed his mouth sweetly before planting kisses along his jawline; you made your way to his neck and shoulder, nipping softly at his collarbone. You ran your hands down his outstretched arms and then pulled them to pin them playfully above his head. Sonny looked at you with a lustful apprehension, knowing that you were about to be his undoing. You were sultry about the way in which you gradually moved down Sonny’s body, trailing kisses here and there on his soft, sweet skin. You followed that deep V of his abdominal muscles, planting kissing in various spots. Holding his erection you ran your tongue along the length of him before taking him into your mouth. You watched him as he tipped his head back and moaned, hands thrust out and grabbing at the sheets. You could have continued forever, watching him writhe on the bed and making those sounds. His soft whimpers turned to louder panting and moans, and you knew you were close to finishing him off. Obviously sensing it, too, Sonny grabbed at you and pulled you up to stop you. He dominantly flipped you onto your back again, resting on top of you and not wasting any time before sheathing himself deeply inside of you. You let out a breathless sigh, eyes closed at the feeling of him filling you.

Sonny dipped his head down to your shoulder as he thrust into you over and over, each motion a little rougher, uncoordinated, and more desperate. He bit lightly on your shoulder and stifled a small cry, overwhelmed with how good you felt around him. Sonny’s hard body on top of and inside of you, and the sound of him panting next to your ear was enough to send you over the edge again. Neither of you lasted long, you wrapped your legs tightly around Sonny, driving him deeper, giving him release. He moaned next to your ear and let out a shuddering breath, collapsing on top of you. You could feel him shaking, trying to catch his breath. Sonny brought his head up and looked at you, capturing your mouth again in a soft, delicate kiss. You drew your arms around his shoulders and lovingly stroked his back, trying to settle him down and ease his trembling a bit.

You laid together for a while, breathing deeply and relaxing into each other’s touch. You shifted and sat up a ways, drawing patterns on Sonny’s bare chest.

“We should get some sleep?” You tried.

“I’m not all that tired, now.” He joked with a charming smile.

You laid back down and closed your eyes, humming contentedly as Sonny leaned down and placed another chaste kiss to your swollen lips.

“I love you,” you whispered, finally opening your eyes and looking sincerely into his.

“I love you, too, Doll.” Sonny replied. He brushed a hand through your hair before pulling you close to him. You sighed and breathed his scent in deeply, resting your head against his chest and wrapping your arm around his waist to hold him to you. You would always have each other.