#we love bobby angst
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Another Life is actually driving me insane.
It's been FOUR DAYS since I watched it and every time I think about it (so like, every half an hour) I think of more things that make it such an incredible episode!!!
Firstly it's Buck in a coma. Obviously I'm going to love it. He's almost dead! He was dead, for three minutes and seventeen seconds at least. Therefore, naturally, this episode automatically became one of my favourites.
Then there's the tiny morsels of Buddie content. It's not prevalent here, which I actually like because it focuses on another relationship that I've also been waiting for for so long. However, in his approximately two minutes of screen time, Eddie does manage to give me just enough content for my ship obsessed mind to work with. I mean, come on. Responding with "Do more!" to "we'll do our best" is absolutely going to make me go slightly feral. He has about four lines and that's one of them. It could easily have been any of them, especially Bobby considering where the episode goes, but it was Eddie. No notes, chef's kiss.
Also the section with Christopher? MY HEART. He's already lost so much for someone so young, and Buck is basically family at this point. I'm also reminded of some parallels between Buck and Chris. They are very similar, but you don't really see it all that often. But if you compare young Buck to Christopher, you start to see quite a few connections. They're both unfailingly positive, but Buck's is more of a façade. They also have matching abandonment issues! In an earlier episode that I cannot recall the name of, Chris starts having nightmares and talks about how everyone leaves. Then, in this episode, Christopher is desperate to talk to Buck, to the point where they (probably illegally) sneak him into the room. And the thing that he is so desperate to say is "You have to come back". HELLO!? Did any of the writers ONCE consider that I am entitled to MONETARY COMPENSATION for all the EMOTIONAL PAIN they caused me. Ow!
I love mental construct Chimney and Hen. They're so chill with it, just like "I guess this is happening" and get on with it. They just accepted it, which honestly I think is somewhat accurate. They're definitely the most relaxed characters (with near death experiences of their loved ones notwithstanding).
Mental construct Bobby is the funniest thing, whilst also being somewhat emotionally devastating. He's off the rails. He's dead. He's a ghost. He's giving the deepest life advice ever. Buck's mind is honestly so weird and I love him for it.
Then there's the bit I hated (it was really clever and so good). Doug.
Oh my god. The reaction I had to seeing that evil creature. Honestly well done to the writers and the actor for making me immediately hate him so much after not seeing him for like four seasons. It was actually horrifying, the implications that if Daniel had lived, if their family had stayed together, Maddie would have had nowhere to run to. It's almost bittersweet, knowing that in another life the Buckley parents were caring and attentive, but with it came something so awful. I hope Doug Kendall is rotting in hell <3
And here's something I only noticed about a day after watching: the biggest negative impacts were on the people that Buck loves the most. Because this was all in his mind, designed to trap him there. Something that has been established is that Buck is, as I think Bobby(?) said, "the guy who wants to fix things". Buck could never be content somewhere that he was idle. In this life he isn't a firefighter, so he needs problems to occupy him. Therefore, the four people that he loves most are the ones that have the biggest problems.
First - Maddie.
Buck and Maddie's relationship is shown throughout the seasons, especially in Buck Begins and the build up to that. They have always been incredibly close, because they didn't have anyone else to rely on. So in the tempting, coma world, Maddie is still with Doug. She never escaped from her abusive marriage, and in this one she even has a child to add to the situation. Buck's first instinct as to what to do to get out of here is to find something to fix. The first thing he thinks of is Maddie and Doug.
Second - Eddie and Christopher.
Even though neither of them have actually said it yet (which is criminal) Buck and Eddie are very obviously best friends. Their relationship is incredibly strong, as is Buck's relationship with Christopher. He's almost like Buck's own child, or at least a nephew. I think most people can also see romantic chemistry between Buck and Eddie. Therefore, it makes a lot of sense to have something go terribly wrong in the coma world. A large part of Eddie's character is his love for Christopher, and how he's trying so hard to be the best father he can be whilst balancing his dangerous job and the problems that he inherited from his parents and his broken marriage. So in this mental world, they have been separated. Buck needs to fix Eddie and Christopher, because Eddie cannot be the Eddie that Buck loves without Chris, and Christopher cannot be the kid Buck loves without his father.
Third - Bobby.
Oh my gosh. Even though I knew that it was only in Buck's mind, it still hurt so much. Bobby died without Buck there. He died!!! Without Buck there to take care of, annoy him and generally love him and be loved by him, Bobby never built the bonds he did with the 118. You can see right from the start the very paternal relationship that Bobby has with Buck, which this episode only confirms. I wouldn't say that Buck lost his parents, because you can't really lose what you never had. He never had parents (I am ignoring their redemption arc because I disagree with it. Sue me.). Bobby lost his children, but he never stopped being a father. He became someone's father again with May and Harry, but before that he became Buck's father. It makes so much sense for him to die. Because in the coma world, Buck has parents. Parents who have always loved and cared for him. So in this reality, Buck would never have needed another father. Buck can still remember his relationship with Bobby, and would never be able to replicate it in the coma world. It would be a push factor, something taunting him - there's a man out there, whom you love like a parent, who never even knew you. So Bobby dies. He's nothing but a ghost, nothing physical that can drive Buck out of this paradise reality.
Philip and Margaret Buckley. WHEN I CATCH YOU PHILIP AND MARGARET BUCKLEY.
Buck considered staying. He considered staying in the coma world, knowing that he would die. He stayed for the chance of having loving parents. All Buck ever wanted was to be part of a family that loved him. In 'reality', the 118 became this family, because his biological family was too broken to count as such. But in the coma, it isn't. His parents are loving and free with their affection, he doesn't have to nearly get himself killed for it. He has the older brother that he never knew, and still has the strong bond with his sister.
And then, we finally got it. There are two things that I have been waiting so long for. One has, unfortunately, still not occurred. But finally, in this episode, they gave us the other!!!
He admitted it!
He confirmed it!
There's no taking it back now!
I am proud to be able to say, with full canon support, that Robert Wade Nash is the adoring father of Evan Buck Buckley.
I'VE WANTED THIS FOR SO LONGGGGG
It's been so obvious from the first goddamn episode. I thank you May Grant for finally getting Bobby to admit that Buck is his son. The familial dynamics in the show might be my favourites, with the entire main cast feeling like a family. However, the most obvious of these has always been Bobby and Buck's father-son relationship. It's beautiful really, how close they are and how Bobby is finally able to admit to everyone, including himself, how deep their relationship is.
There's so much more that I could say, but this has already been so long so I'm going to try and wrap it up with one last thing. My rambles always seem to get away from me lol.
I absolutely loved the conclusion. It being the construct of Bobby to tell Buck how to get out is consistent with the focus of the episode, and shows the regard that Buck has for Bobby. Even in a prison constructed by his own mind to hold him there, Buck still has Bobby to rely on. It's one of the most heartwarming moments in the episode.
And then there's the confrontation or, as I mentally called it, the final boss fight. Daniel. The price of leaving is the loss of his brother, because Daniel only lives in the minds of his family. But that's not who the true enemy is. The enemy was just using his image, a mask to hide behind. I cannot honestly say I was surprised when he was revealed, but it was such a powerful moment when Daniel turned into Buck. Because everything happening inside the coma is Buck. It's all in his mind; the pain, the torment, the loathing. Buck's worst enemy, time and time again, is himself. His self worth issues, his abandonment issues, his self doubt. The final enemy to overcome is the voice in the back of his head, given form and prominence in his comatose state. And it almost wins. But there, on the other side, is everyone who actually loves Buck. The real love, not the kind that his mind imagined. Bobby with his rosary, Christopher sneaking in, Maddie and Chimney, Eddie, Hen, even his parents. They're all there because they love him. Because nobody, nobody at all, can defeat the voice in their mind without help.
Also Buck pulling an axe from absolutely nowhere was just peak escaping. Like yes, go get out of this coma by smashing a window with an axe that you just have because you're a firefighter. You get An Axe.
#911#911 show#buck 911#evan buckley#another life#bobby nash#eddie diaz#christopher diaz#chimney han#maddie buckley#hen wilson#so much angst#so much pain#it's great#we love to see it#buddie
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I am SO happy to have found other Warhammer 40k girlies on here. I rly thought I was alone in my delusions but then I remembered this hellsite exists and thank god it does bc y’all are feeding me SO GOOD w ur fics and art….just know im a little goblin in the dark corner cheering y’all on
might inspire some doodles from me who knows
#I love finding fellow nerds w the same delulu mindset as me#esp cause wh40k is so male dominated anywhere else I’d look I’d just see Reddit comments talking ab dumb shit and not the important stuff#like how badly we all wanna get railed by 7ft+ tall demigods#‘canon says this’ idgaf I’ll climb that Primarch like a tree#seriously appreciate y’all even if my support is quiet likes and reblogs#wh40k#warhammer 40k#wh40k fanfic#I’ve been especially hyper focused on Guilliman lately I think it’s the fact he’s now got Ultra Depression and Angst n Daddy Issues#Konrad is also a fav#but Bobby Gman….i love my men Big and Miserable™️#I can’t cure his depression but I can sure help distract him from it#mojo talks#shut up mojo
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ohhhhh trust me.... i know.........
#hes so dad coded
#I'm fucking obsessed with both of them omfggg#cap dracula#i would die for you#i would do so much for you you frickin dork#he's in his cringe!dad era#and he has never been more attractive#rip scruffy!peter I'm fully in love with bad dracula accented silver fox!peter now#fr fr tho i am SO HAPPY to see how far Bobby's come#from having absolutely nothing to live for and not wanting to get involved or too attached to anything#now you cut to THIS SEASON#and he stole a truck stole a highway stole a gun-#making deals in the background with other LAFD folks to not only 1- help out his dearest friends but 2- get him back to HIS House#but now you've also got this dork- THIS DORK (who i adore with my heart and fucking soul oml) who's having the fucking time of his life#he's finally started to heal and i am so fucking proud of him i could cry 😭💕💕💕💕💕#oh captain my handsome captain#robert.#some fucking guy named bobby#another brown eyed boy ruining my life#THE brown eyed boy ruining my life#i cannot WAIT to drop some of the cringe!fail bobby fics when I'm done with whumptober y'all are gonna miss the angst lmao#shut up ace#vampire!bobby#save me vampire!bobby#STILL stand by my earlier convo with you about the fact that this is the dad that brooke and robbie knew#(and def a little bit of harry & may too)#i am SO GLAD we get to see more of him in real time#welcome home bobby nash we've missed you
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I Could Have You
Main Masterlist
Read on A03!
Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Love Confessions, Smut (p in v, oral both receiving), light angst, soulmates, sex pollen, no use of y/n
Summary/Warnings: Dean is hit with a lust spell, and it doesn't seem to only be effecting him. No one's really sure why, and Dean refuses to give in to the curse, so you'll just ride this out.
You'll defiantly be able to just ride this out.
Author's Note: I had a lot of fun with this one, I hope you enjoy it!
Title from Normal Fucking Rockwell by Lana Del Ray
Word Count: 6k
You’re losing your mind.
Your skin is on fire, your back is flat on the cold bathroom floor, and you’re moaning and whining and bucking into the air but nothing is fixing this. Nothing is relieving you, not your fingers or the pillows or the toy a very red-faced Sam had bought you. Nothing is going to save you, because only one, stupid, handsome, selfless idiot can, and he’s suddenly too good to just fuck you.
Hell, that idiot is the only reason this is happening. According to Sam and Bobby, Dean got hit with a sex spell in Colorado, you started whimpering for him in South Dakota, and you’re not allowed to have sex with him for… reasons.
Reasons no one seems willing to fully share with you, but reasons.
You know Dean wants you. You’ve known he wants you. Neither of you have ever been able to do something about that—never going beyond flirting and lingering touches and stares—but you’re certain he feels the same way. Maybe not the exact same way, because you want whatever Dean offers you, his body or mind or heart or very soul, but you know he’s attracted to you. And if the countless little pieces of evidence you’ve hoarded in your brain—winks and smirks and long, apperceive scans of your body—weren’t enough for you to know, this was. You’d heard Dean roar your name from outside Bobby’s cabin as the Impala door slammed. You’d seen the feral, lust-blown expression on his face as he’d charged at you. Sam had tackled him to the ground as you’d grown a little dizzy with need, and Bobby grabbed your wrist, dragging you upstairs. Away from Dean, from the cure, from his big hands and soft mouth and huge-
“You’re gonna need to stay in here.” Bobby had muttered, refusing to meet your eyes as he shuffled out of the room. “Least until we get Dean’s head right, or figure out what the hell is going on.”
It’s been almost a day, and they’ve made almost no progress. From Sam’s last update, all they’re certain of is: Sex spell, you and Dean, no other options except you and Dean.
“What do you mean no other options,” you’d said, leaning up to frown at Sam. “Did Dean-“
“No.” Sam shakes his head, giving you a sheepish expression. “I mean, Bobby and I suggested it, but he said no.”
“Oh,” you’d mumbled, falling back down on the mattress. “Why?”
Sam had shrugged, leaning into your line of vision. “Do you want to have sex with me?”
“No, Sam, what the fuck-“
“That’s why.”
He’d stood up and left, and you hadn’t had a clue what the hell he was talking about. Sure, you didn’t want to have sex with him, but he was like a brother to you. Dean, somehow, wasn’t. Dean was Dean. And it wasn’t like you’d say no to a random, no-strings attached hookup right now-
Something had tugged in your gut, and you’d realized—staggering to the toilet and vomiting up your lunch—that you could not do a random hookup. You wanted Dean. You needed him. You might die if you didn’t get him, and it had to be him, and he must feel it too, but when you’d asked Sam he said no.
“No?!” You’d rolled over on the floor to glare up at him, wishing you could find the strength to surge up and punch him in his stupid, apologetic face. “What do you mean No?!”
“Dean, um,” Sam had sighed again, and if he kept doing that you were going to kick him in the balls. “He made us lock him in the safe room. He won’t come out until we cure him.”
“Why did he-“ You’d cut yourself off as it hit you, another, softer wave of sickness rolling over your body. The sickness lived in your heart. This sickness was made of the tragic reality that Dean might want you, but he didn’t want you. Maybe that was why he’d never made a move. Maybe he was attracted to you physically, but couldn’t see you like that, and didn’t really want to try to.
Maybe Dean was disgusted by the idea. Maybe he hated that his body found you hot, because he thinks of you like you think of Sam.
“Oh,” you’d rolled back onto your stomach, and prayed Sam would leave soon so you could go back to humping the floor. “Okay.”
Sam had said your name, waiting until you hummed an acknowledgment to continue. “We’re going to fix this-“
“I know.” You’d let out a long, slow breath, curling into your own body. “We always do.”
They would fix this. And then you’d have to look Dean in the eyes, and find a way to be okay with his rejection. Teach yourself how to not turn into a pining dumbass, chasing after someone who obviously didn’t want you. You wouldn’t lose him, he was your best friend, but you’d also have to learn to pretend it didn’t feel like your heart hadn’t just been ripped out of your chest and stomped on.
And now you’re here. Hoping Sam and Bobby will fix this soon, crawling into the empty bathtub to try and sleep. The bed is too warm, too intimate, to inviting of fantasies that will never be reality. Daydreams of Dean’s hands on you, trailing over your skin and setting of little sparks as he maps your body. Those same hands pushing open your thighs, two of his fingers teasing over your pussy, his mouth wrapping around your nipple as he started pumping and scissoring and crooking inside you-
There’s a knock on the bathroom door, and you yank your own fingers out of your cunt, wiping them on the towel as you speak, your voice far too hoarse. “Yeah, Sam?”
“Not Sam.” Bobby grumbles, his voice slightly muffled through the door. “You decent?”
You toss a towel over your body, having long abandoned clothing. “Yep, is everything-“
You cut yourself off as Bobby pushes the door open, his face angled up to avoid you.
“I said I’m decent, Bobby, you can look.”
He grunts, and you sit up a little straighter, making your voice a little firmer.
“It’s weirder if you don’t, you know.”
Bobby nods, his gaze slowly dropping to yours as he sits on the toilet, bracing his arms on his knees. “Sorry.” He mutters. “Ain’t tryin’ to make it uncomfortable. Just not lookin’ to see one of my, uh-“
“I know,” you sigh, leaning your head back on the tile. “I get it. Must be weird seeing Dean as well.”
“Eh.” Bobby shrugs. “I’ve walked in on him with lady company before, this ain’t new-“
“But it’s new with me?” You ask, raising your brows, and Bobby glares at you.
“I didn’t help raise you girl. And you’re just as important to me as those boys, but you’re also a girl. I mean, not a girl, but I don’t got those parts-“
“Jesus, Bobby.” You mumble, bringing your knees up to your chest. “I’m teasing. I know what you mean, I promise, just,” you swallow, shaking your head slightly. “Sorry. I’m tired.”
Bobby rolls his eyes, but his voice becomes a little softer, and far less panicked. “That ain’t nice, kid, you’re gonna give an old man a heart attack.”
“You’d be fine. I know CPR.”
He gives you a flat look. “We both know you ain’t in any condition to give me CPR.”
You wave him off. “I’d call Sam.”
“He wouldn’t hear you, he’s down in the panic room with-“
Bobby cuts himself off, and you roll your head to the side, giving him a bored glare.
“You can say his name, Bobby.”
“Fine.” He grunts. “Sam’s down checkin’ on Dean. He,” Bobby frowns at the air. “He still ain’t listenin’ to reason.”
You hum, hoping Bobby doesn’t notice how you’ve moved the towel between your thighs, just for something. “Reason?”
“We don’t have anythin’ to cure this except, uh, that way.” Bobby mutters. “And he’s still insistin’ we keep him chained up.”
“Ah.” You swallow. “Awesome.”
Bobby says your name, and it’s gentle. Like he’s consulting a child who’s had a nightmare, instead of a grown woman who was just finger-fucking herself in a tub. “You don’t gotta pretend this ain’t hurtin’ you.”
“I mean, it doesn’t feel good-“
“Not the spell.” Bobby says, and you frown at him.
“What-“
“Dean. He’s bein’ a fuckin’ dumbass, and you don’t need to act like he’s not.”
Your voice drops to a whisper. “He’s not what?”
“Killin’ you.” Bobby grunts, scanning over your face. “Rippin’ your heart out and take a big fat shit on it.”
You grimace. “That’s gross, Bobby-“
“Truth ain’t always sunshine and glitter-“
“It’s not the truth!” You snap, your voice suddenly harsh as something wilts and twists in his your chest. “I’m fine! I get it! Dean doesn’t want to do that, and that’s not his fault.”
Bobby leans back on the toilet, holding your glare with his own. “Why do you think you and Dean are the only idjits gettin’ hit by this? Why isn’t Sam humpin’ pillows and leavin’ stains on my walls?”
You feel a rush of heat from that thought—the image of Dean fucking into his hand flashing through your mind and leaving a mark between your thighs—and your voice is almost a squeak. “Because Dean’s the one that got hit?”
“Sam says he was in the line of that bitch’s fire too. But only Dean got,” Bobby makes a vague gesture over you. “This.”
“I don’t-“
“And Sam ain’t in love with his fuckin’ brother, so he was safe.”
You flush, gaping at Bobby for a long, wired silence, and when you speak your voice is a squeak.
“I- I’m, I’m not in love with Dean. I mean, maybe I have a crush, or something, but that’s, that’s not love-“
Bobby gives you a flat, disbelieving look. “You feel safer ‘round him?”
“Yeah, but I-“
“You laugh at all his jokes?”
“Maybe, but he can be funny-“
Bobby mutters your name, shaking his head. “I love that boy like a son, and he ain’t half as funny as he thinks he is.”
You frown. “He’s funny-“
“He can be,” Bobby shrugs. “But his jokes ain’t all winners. And you laugh at every single oneof ‘em. And,” he sighs, rubbing his beard. “He laughs at all’a your jokes.”
“Hey.” You scowl. “I’m a riot-“
“Didn’t say you weren’t. But even you can miss, girl. And he never seems to care.”
“So?” You shuffle on the floor, desperate not to starting grinding on the air in front of Bobby, but getting more and more wet from just the mention of Dean. “We’re friends, friends laugh at each other’s jokes-“
“Do friends get connected by sex spells ‘cross state lines?”
“I dunno,” you mumble. “Never been hit by a sex spell before.”
“You weren’t hit by one,” Bobby snaps your name, starting to sound exasperated. “Dean was. And that’s my damn point. Sam and I, we,” he sighs, giving you a long, confusing look. “We got it. We know what’s goin’ on.”
“Fuck,” you sit up, glowering at him. “Why didn’t you lead with that-“
“Cause you ain’t gonna like it.” Bobby grunts. “It’s an old location spell. Back in the day rich assholes would cast it on their highest eldest sons, so he could find his,” Bobby cringes, his last word pushed through his teeth. “Mate.”
“Mate?” You repeat, letting out a dry, huffing laugh. “What are we, fucking dogs-“
“Soulmate.” Bobby mutters, giving you a look that might have been sympathetic, or kind, or pitiful, but you’re suddenly a little dizzy and can’t really think or see.
“That’s not,” you shake your head. “No, Bobby, soulmates aren’t real-“
Bobby says your name, his voice stern. “You should know better than to say somethin’ like that in our line of work. Sam called Cas, and he said they’re real, but population increases or somethin’ made them ‘logistically impossible’, so they aren’t on the shop line no more.”
“But- But wouldn’t we have like, I don’t know, noticed? If that was true?”
“You shoulda.” Bobby shrugs. “Cas seemed pretty shocked you hadn’t. Said he had assumed you knew, because the pull is like a magnet or some shit. Spell’s only an enhancer, to move the train along.”
“So why-“
“You hopped in right after Dean got back from hell.” Bobby mutters. “Dean’s soul mighta been fucked enough not to recognize you. Spell mighta jumpstarted it.”
“Oh.”
“Yep.”
It’s a few minutes before you speak again, and Bobby waits patiently as you spiral. Down, down, down in your head, trying to rationalize how this could possibly be true. It couldn’t be true. There was no way it was true. Sure, you’ve liked Dean since you first met him, from the moment he introduced himself with a cocky grin, smirk, and fake name. You liked him even more when you called him out on his fake name, and he’d just chuckled, figured out you were a hunter, and offered to buy you a drink. You’d liked him when that drink had turned into a long, sleepless night of only conversation, and when you’d joined him and Sam on the road. And you’d kept thinking of him like that, and you thought of him all the time, but that didn’t mean anything. You didn’t love him. It’s not like you feel better when you wake up in a motel bed and he’s next to you, or a smile always tugs at your lips whenever he so much as looks at you, or the thought of him being in alone or pain makes you physically ill. It’s not like, if he grabbed your hand and told you he was done with hunting—the only life you’d ever both known—then asked you to join him in a boring, easy apple pie life you’d immediately say yes and kiss him, because you’ll go wherever he goes and he’s the only person you’ve ever really-
Oh.
You might be in love with Dean.
You might be soulmates with Dean.
“What, um,” you swallow, watching Bobby carefully. “What did Dean think? Of this?”
“We have told him yet.” Bobby’s jaw ticks, holding your gaze. “We ain’t sure he’ll-“
“Yeah.” You whisper, turning your attention back to the ceiling. There’s a little crack on it. Jagged and split through the white paint, easy to stare at and get lost in. Helpful in pretending this doesn’t hurt like a bitch. “Okay.”
Bobby mutters a promise of at least trying to talk some sense into Dean, but you both know his words are empty. Because Dean won’t believe this. It won’t be a matter of you and Dean, it will just be Dean, believing something like a soulmate could never happen to someone like him. He’ll insist they’re lying, or Cas is wrong, or all of this fucking bullshit.
“You ever wondered about aliens?” He’d asked you once, leaning against the Impala as you lay on the hood, watching him from an upside-down angle.
“Just like, in general?”
“Yeah.”
“I guess,” you’d tilted your head at him. “Why?”
“I dunno, just curious.” There had been another moment of silence, then, “You think they’re real?”
“They have to be right?” You’d reached over your head, grabbing his chin and tilting it up, until he was staring at the night sky. “I mean, look at that, De. It’s huge.”
He’d chuckled, swatting your hand away. “Where have I heard that before-“
“Eat me, Winchester.” You’d rolled your eyes, and his shit-eating grin had grown. “No. Shut it.”
He’d raised his hands in surrender. “Didn’t say a thing.”
“Uh huh.” You’d let your own attention trail up, over the vast darkness above you, splattered in infinite stars that you think—if you really tried—you’d be able to grab and hold in your hands. Maybe offer one to Dean. He’d deserve it.
You were silent for a while longer, you watching the sky, Dean waiting for you to come back to earth, and when he’d spoken again his voice was soft.
“You think you’d want to go? If they were?”
You’d looked back to him with a frown, and found him already looking at you. “What, aliens?”
He’d nodded, and you’d furrowed your brow in thought.
“Maybe. I’ve never thought about it before. I kind of like Earth.” You’d rolled onto your stomach, swinging your legs around to rest in Baby’s open window as you looked down at Dean. “What about you?”
“Nah,” he’d held your gaze, pulling himself up to sit at your side. “Not now.”
“Not now?”
“I would’ve when I was younger, if I coulda taken Sammy with me.” Dean had let out a dry chuckle. “But I’m not that lucky.”
He wasn’t that lucky. Dean didn’t get to be abducted by aliens, because he wasn’t lucky. Because saviors and little lights to guide you forward don’t just drop out of the sky.
But you didn’t drop out of the sky. You’d been on the ground, and tangible, and very, very real.
You feel real, to yourself. You didn’t feel like a possibility, or a myth, or a lie.
And you might love Dean.
And you know that, the longer you don’t get to at least see him, touch him, breathe him, the more you go mad. The harder it becomes to speak to Sam and Bobby when they check on you, the less you allow them to even say the word Dean, because it makes you writhe and moan and everyone just gets very uncomfortable.
So if Dean’s too much of a righteous, noble, self-loathing buttface to do something about this, you will.
You wait until the house is dark and quiet. Until you hear Bobby mutter a goodnight through the door—about an hour ago you’d started whining every other breath and fucking the edge of the bathtub, so Bobby wasn’t coming into the room anymore—and Sam walks in backwards to make sure you’re not dead and have enough food and water. Like you’re a caged animal.
You do feel a little like one. You feel like someone’s sucked everything rational and careful out of your brain and replaced it with Dean. Dean, Dean, Dean, you need him or you’ll die. He needs to need you, or something worse than death will happen.
And you’re willing to risk that, that small possibility of Dean looking at you—bare and wet and pleading for him—and still turning you away, because at least you’ll see him.
You need to at least see him.
It’s shocking easy to sneak around the house. For two seasoned, well-respected hunters, neither Sam nor Bobby seem to wake up as you crawl down to Dean, despite the floorboard creaking under you movements and the downright pathetic whimpers that keep escaping your mouth. It takes all your focus to grab the key to Bobby’s panic room, unlock the door, and push it open.
It’s dark. Pitch black. But you know Dean’s in here, because every nerve is trying to fly off your body and into the shadows. To Dean.
“What the hell are you doing,” Dean groans your name from the back of the room, and you feel molten. “You can’t be here-“
“It’s not your panic room, Dean.” You mumble, pushing yourself up on the wall and fiddling around for the light switch. “I can be wherever I want-“
“Not here.” Dean snaps. “Go.”
You shake your head, and the lights blind you as you flip them on. It takes a moment to adjust—blinking and hugging your body in a desperate play to not leap across the room to Dean the moment you see him—and when you do a high whine escapes your mouth.
Dean looks as feral as you feel. He’s just as naked as you are, just as drenched in sweat and flushed, and—if the proud, massive cock between his legs, standing at full attention and twitching as he scans over you, is any sign—just as aroused.
“Dean.” You whisper. “Please.”
“You need to leave.” He grunts, his fists clenched at his sides. “Now.”
“I don’t want to go-“
“Yes, you do.”
You frown. “You don’t get to tell me what I want, Dean. I want to stay-“
“No,” he hisses, and you might come just from him looking at you like that. Primal and wanting, with a gleam in his eyes that feels like a promise. “You don’t know what you want-“
That gets you to scoff. “Fuck off, asshole-“
“See!” He makes a dramatic gesture, then flinches back from himself. “I, I can’t let you do this. You don’t want me,” Dean mutters your name, running a hand over his face. “The spell wants me. Doesn’t count.”
“Yeah, the spell does want you, you idiot!” You take an unsteady step forward, and he steps back. “Because I want you!”
“No, you don’t-“
“Yes, I do! I need you, Dean, and I think you need me-“
“Doesn’t matter what I need.” He grunts, bracing his body and you take another step. “Go back upstairs.”
“Did Bobby talk to you?”
He scowls. “Bobby’s wrong. That’s- No.”
“Because it’s me?”
“Of course not,” he snaps, and it’s too quick. “Because that, that’s not a thing. People would be runnin’ around, selling soulmates in little bottles if they were real. And we’d have known by now-“
“We do know now.” You whisper, swaying slightly in the middle of the room. “And Cas says-“
“Cas is wrong.” Dean mutters. “I don’t, there’s no way that’s true. Not for me.”
His beautiful, deep eyes look so sad. Glossed over and weighted down of years of that being the truth. That things like that, like this, don’t happen for Dean.
You’d really love to be the first exception.
“What about for me?”
“What are you-“
“What about for me, Dean.” You watch his jaw clench, his nostrils flaring. “Does it get to be true for me?”
He doesn’t answer, and you push on.
“If it’s true for me, it’s you.” You talk another step forward, and this time he doesn’t flinch. “Just you.”
“It’s just the spell.” He mutters, and you don’t think he’s convincing himself. Not when his throat bobs and his eyes darken. “You don’t want me, baby, not really.”
You almost fall over from that. From Dean calling you baby, and saying it the exact same way he says your name. Low and rolling and lined with something soft.
“I do.” You hold your ground, raising your chin. “I want you, Dean Winchester. Fix this.”
He shakes his head, barely a jerked movement, and you start to feel a little faint.
“Dean. I need you to look me in the eyes,” your voice starts to rise, growing pleading and frantic. “And tell me you don’t want me. Say that you wanting me is just the spell, and I’ll go. I promise. I just need to you to fucking say it, Dean, just fucking say you don’t want me or need me or love me-“
He moves before you even realize what’s happening. Almost leaping onto you as his mouth crashed into yours, his hands cupping your face as he walks you back, back, back into the wall and growls down your throat. And you’d been wrong. His hand on you don’t feel like small bursts of electricity. They’re like lighting. Dragging something you hadn’t known existed to the surface, and setting off a storm of need in your body.
“Course I want you,” one arm snakes around your waist, pressing your right into his erection. “Always fucking wanted you. You’re smoking hot,” he starts to kiss over your face, his words slightly muffled against your skin as you cling to his body. “Funnier than I am, and smart as hell. You feel like home and smell so good and, fuck, I’ve lost sleep thinkin’ about how it’d feel to get lost in you. I’d have to be fucking blind and dumb not to want you,” Dean grunts your name, returning your mouth to yours with a painfully soft, gentle, featherlight kiss. “But I’m not-“
“If you say good for me,” you mutter, leaning back to glare at him. “I’ll punch you.” He chuckles, and it’s dry and low, rumbling from his chest into yours. “I’m not-“
“You are.” You whisper, offering him a small, slightly broken smile. You need him to get this. You might start crying if he doesn’t. “You’re good for me. And I want you. I love you.” Something flashes in his eyes, and you don’t care if he believes you. He doesn’t have to believe you. He just needs to get it. “No spell, Dean. I’m here, and I’m yours. Take me.”
Your nails dig into his skin—attempting to leave a mark of him if he turns you away—and his breathing is ragged. Heavy and hot, fanning across your face as he stares at you, just stares at you, why is he just staring at you-
“Dean-“
This kiss is brutal It’s teeth and tongue and bruising lips, like he’s trying to move into your body. His hands are everywhere on you, squeezing your ass and palming your tits, rolling your nipple between two fingers before groaning down your throat when you moan.
“Fuck,” Dean mutters your name, his hand on your ass glides onto your pussy, playing with your folds and flicking at your clit once, twice, three times and you feel fucking high- “So wet for me-“
“For you,” you whimper, nodding stupidly as Dean presses him thumb down on that bundle of nerves, rubbing slowly. “Fuck, Dean, all for you-“
“Need to taste you,” he growls, pulling his mouth fully back, watching you grind onto his hand with a dark gaze. “You gonna let me taste you, baby? Let me eat that pretty pussy-“
You’ve barely nodded before he’s on his knees, one arm still around your waist to support you both as he dives into your cunt.
Oh.
He’s good at this. Really, really fucking good at this. You can’t really think anything that’s not Dean, or make any noise that’s not a moan kind of good at this. He’s ravenous and starved, his nose bumping and pressing into your clit in an impossibly mind-numbing rhythm, his tongue plunging in and out of your cunt until your squirming above him, desperate for more.
“Dean,” your hand tug at his hair, and you don’t know if you’re trying to push him deeper or pull him away. “Shit, Dean, I’m gonna cum-“
He groans against you, his eyes opening to watch you come apart above him, and you think he might be getting off on this.
“Please,” you whimper. “God, please, I need to cum-“
Dean bites your clit, and your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave. It’s all bliss and relief and a high, bright haze of Dean, and then you’re falling down.
Dean’s pulling you down. Onto his lap as he leans back, moving you to straddle over him as his cock throbs between his legs.
You want to touch him.
You push back on him, just enough for his grip to loosen, and take him in your hand. He’s huge. And pretty. Dicks aren’t supposed to be pretty, but Dean’s is, and it might be because every part of Dean is pretty. Every part of him is impossible pretty, from his cock twitching in your hand as you run your thumb over the slit, to his lidded eyes and parted mouth as he watches you with wonder.
“Shit,” he moans your name, and fuck, even that was pretty. “What are you doing to me-“
“Handjob,” you whisper, placing your free hand lightly on his chest in a silent request for him to lay back. “I think.”
Dean huffs a laugh, leaning back with a smirk. “Ya think? You sure you know what you’re doing with that- Fuck-“
You hum around Dean’s cock, your lips wrapped around the base as your tongue swirls around his shaft, and his groans are sinful. The fire in your corse hadn’t lessened by any means from your orgasm, but it grows unbearable as you move Dean’s hand to your hair and let him guide you up and down. Let him set the pace, moaning when his hips jerk and he hits the back of your throat, and squeezing his thighs in silent reassurance that you’re good. You’re really, really good. You’re grinding onto Dean’s knee as he fucks your face, playing with his balls with your free hand and devouring every bit of slightly slurred praise that falls from his mouth.
“Fucking hell, baby, you always been this good at sucking cock? You’re, shit, you look like a wet dream, look like an angel, fuck.” He hisses at your teeth graze over him. “You look so good like this. Mouth stuffed full of cock, desperate and wet for me-“ You roll your hips against him, and Dean tugs you fully up, smirking at your swollen lips and glossy eyes. “Careful,” he warns, sitting up as his thumb swipes a little bit of drool from your cheek. “When I’m cumming tonight, I’m cumming in you, baby, got that?”
“Yes, please,” you whimper. You’re on the pill anyway. “Dean-“
“C’mere.” He tugs you into his lap with careful hands, scanning over you with a small shake of his head. “Son of bitch, you’re gorgeous. You’re sure you-“
“I’m sure.” You grind against his cock, never looking away from him as the head of him bumps your clit. It goes on for too long, Dean just watching you fuck yourself on his lap with his hands bruising your hips, and you start to whine. “Shit, Dean, need you-“
Dean surges forward, kissing you long and deep and slow, and keeps his brow pressed to yours as he looks down to where you’re moving on him.
“Hold on,” he mutters, and you follow the order without a second thought.
Your arms wrap around Dean’s neck just as he lines himself up, and you almost scream when he pushes into you.
“Shit,” he looks back at you, eyes wide. “Are you-“
“Don’t stop,” you moan, burying your face in the crook of his neck. “Fuck, it feels so good, Dean, don’t stop.”
He nods, kissing the side of your head, and slowly moves into your aching pussy until he bottoms out with a long exhale.
“Gonna, fuck-“ He groans as you squeeze around him. “Can’t do that, baby, I won’t last a minute-
“Sorry,” you mumble against him, playing with the short, soft hair at the nape of his neck. “Didn’t meant to-“
“It’s fine.” He grunts, still not moving. “Just, fuck, you feel so good. So warm,” he groans, pressing his face onto the top of your head. “So tight and warm, feel so good-“
“Dean, please-“
You gasp as he gives one, short thrust upward.
“So good,” Dean growls in your ear, making another small, dizzying movement that presses him right up against that spongey spot deep inside of you. “Ready?”
“Ye-“
You squeal as Dean rises to his knees, keeping himself sheathed inside you as he falls forward, his hand splayed on your back and holding you carefully against him. His face is resting between your breasts, his cock angled so deep inside you it might drive you insane if he doesn’t start to fucking move, and his eyes stay yours as you only watch each other for a long moment.
He’s asking permission. Dean’s not pulling away, but he’s also not moving, because he’s offering you one last chance to turn him down.
You move one hand to hold his face, wrapping your legs around his waist and squirming around him in silent encouragement.
It snaps something in him. Dean grabs your hand, moves it onto the back of his neck, and lowers you fully onto the ground so you’re caged between him and floor. He scans over you for only a second, a small, cocky smirk crawling onto his face, leans down to give you one last, almost sweet kiss.
A soft moan leaves you as Dean traces his tongue over your lips, and his low growl is the only warning you get before he starts to fuck into you like an animal.
It’s sloppy and wet and loud, skin slapping against skin as Dean abuses your cunt, and fuck you’ve never felt better. You feel full, split open on his cock and right where you belong, alive in a way that seeps right into your soul and ignites your blood into a holy fire of Dean. Groaning your name on your skin and touching you with calloused, big, expert hands. Watching you as you unravel beneath him, scraping your nails over his back and making needy sounds that only spur him on.
You’re going to fly out of your body. Dean’s muscles are ripping above and around you as he fucks you into the floor, and his mouth is mold perfectly onto yours. Neither of you seem to care to breathe, or speak, or do anything but nips and suck and lick at each other. Trying to get impossibly closer, to drag the other over the edge so you can fall with them. You grind up into Dean, and Dean bites your lip. Dean rolls his hips as he bottoms out, making your mouth fall open for his tongue to plunge down your throat, and you scrape and claw as his chest until he groans, and you manage to slip one hand down to play with his balls.
He wins he swats your hand away and starts to rub small, firm circles on your clit. He’s unrelenting, and watching you with an affection that feels a little misplaced for the carnal hunger on his handsome features.
“Always want you,” he mutters your name, pressing his thumb flat against you. “Cum for me, baby.”
Your vision blurs as you find release, and it feels like heaven. Like stars and fire and water and light under your skin, in your blood, like a halo around your head that’s all just the pleasure Dean’s is still wringing from your body. Your pussy is fluttering and gushing around his cock, and it sends him over the edge with a roar, his hips slamming home as he paints the walls of your cunt white.
And when you’re both spent and Dean rolls you over—carefully adjusting you to be right on top of him, his body a barrier between you and the now-cold floor—you feel good. Really, really good. Fucked out and high, nothing trying to burst out of your skin or eat at your stomach. You feel better than you might have ever felt in your whole life. The only warmth in your body is heat you’re trading with Dean, and you feel good.
“We, um.” You trace over his tattoo, looking up at him under your eyelashes. “We should probably talk, or something-“
“Or something.” He agrees, grinning down at you. “Don’t feel like it’s a rush though. Sammy and Bobby will find us in the morning. Right now,” Dean kisses your brow, squeezing his arms around your body. “You’re all mine.”
You can be all his. It’ll be really, really easy to be all Dean, because he hasn’t said he loves you, but he does. You know he does. It lives in how he’s still touching and holding you, still talking to you like you’re his best friend and not a mistake, and running his hands through your hair mindlessly.
And you’ll have a lot to talk about later. A lot to fight about, and fuck about, and laugh and cry and scream about.
But right now you just have to be Dean’s.
And that will be really easy.
End Note: Bobby Singer you are fifty times the father John Winchester could ever HOPE to be.
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@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery
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i love you, in every time ࿐‧₊ 2023 - nothing matters but you
chapter summary: The remaining X-Men come up with a plan to change their present; send Logan back in time to change the past.
word count: 17.1k+
pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader
notes: oooohhhh boy!! i've been waiting for this chapter for so long and it's finally here! i'll have more to say at the end, but for now, and i truly mean it, enjoy!!! <3
warnings/tags: takes place during 'days of future past', dofp!logan, light miscommunication, angst, light violence, blood, character death, fluff, memory loss, happy ending!
series masterlist - chapter 10
The Blackbird landed on the top of the large mountain in front of a monastery. Ororo walked out first, followed by Logan, who paused at the bottom of the stairs to light his cigar, Charles, whose chair hovered down the stairs, and Erik.
They walked to the front of the monastery as Bobby spoke, “Professor.”
Ororo smiled, “Bobby.”
“Hey, Storm,” he replied, giving the woman a hug.
“Hey, kid.” Logan said.
“Professor,” Kitty called out. “You made it.”
The group made their way inside as Kitty explained how the group had been surviving, “Warpath spots them, and I send Bishop back to warn us of the attack before it happens. Blink scouts the next site, and… well, we leave before they ever know we were there.”
“Because we never were.” Bishop said.
“But what do you mean, you were never there?” Logan asked.
Charles looked over at Logan, “she projects Bishop back in time a few days to warn the others of the coming attack.”
“So she sends Bishop back in time?”
“No, just his consciousness into his younger self, his younger body.” Charles clarified.
“Wow.” Logan muttered.
“This might just work, Charles.” Erik commented.
“What might work?” Kitty questioned.
“The Sentinel program was originally conceived by Dr. Bolivar Trask. In the early ‘70s, he was one of the world’s leading weapons designers, but covertly, he had begun experimenting on mutants, using their gifts to fuel his own research. There was one mutant who had discovered what he was doing.” Charles explained.
“A mutant with the ability to transform herself into anyone.” Erik added.
“Mystique,” Peter said.
“I knew her as Raven. We met when we were children. Grew up together. She was like a sister to me. I tried to help her, but only succeeded in driving her away. She hunted Trask across the world, and at the Paris Peace Accords in 1973, after the Vietnam War, she found Trask. And killed him. It was the first time she killed.”
“It wasn’t her last.” Logan added on.
“But killing Trask did not have the outcome she expected. It only persuaded the government of the need for his program. They captured her that day. Tortured her. Experimented on her. In her DNA, they discovered the secrets to her powers of transformation. It gave them the key they needed to create weapons that could adapt to any mutant power, and in less than 50 years, the machines that have destroyed so many of our kind were created. But it all started that day in 1973, the day she first killed, the day she truly became… Mystique.” Charles finished.
“You want to go back there,” Kitty said.
“If I can get to her, stop the assassination, keep her out of their hands, then we can stop the Sentinels from ever being born.”
“And end this war before it ever begins.” Erik spoke.
“I-I can send someone back a couple weeks. I mean, maybe a month, but you’re talking about going back decades. You have the most powerful brain in the world, Professor, but the mind can only stretch so far before it snaps. It would rip you apart. I’m sorry. No one could survive that trip.” Kitty remarked.
“What if someone’s mind has a way of snapping back?” Logan asked. “What if someone can heal as fast as they’re ripped apart?”
---
Logan stood by the table as Charles, Erik, Kitty, and Bobby stood nearby, the rest outside of the monastery keeping watch.
“So I wake up in my younger body, God knows where. Then what?”
“You’ll need to go to my house and find me. Convince me of all of this.” Charles moved closer to Logan.
“Won’t you be able to just read my mind?”
“I didn’t have my powers in 1973. Logan, you’re going to have to do for me what I once did for you. Lead me, guide me. I was a very different man then. You’ll have to be patient with me.”
Logan scoffed, “patience isn’t my strongest suit.”
“You’ll need me as well,” Erik spoke up.
“What?” Logan turned to face Erik behind him.
“After Mystique left Charles, she came with me, and I set her on a dangerous path. Darker path. It’s going to take the two of us, side by side at a time when we couldn’t be further apart.”
Logan looked at Charles who nodded in affirmation, “great,” he muttered to himself. “So, where do I find you?”
“Well, it’s complicated.” Erik said, as Logan shook his head and stopped himself from rolling his eyes.
Logan got onto the table and lied down, Kitty sitting at the head of the table, “basically, your body will go to sleep while your mind travels back in time. Now, as long as you’re back there, past and present will continue to coexist, but once you wake up… whatever you’ve done will take hold and become history. And for the rest of us it’ll be the only history that we know. It’ll be like the last 50 years never happened. And this world, and this war… the only person who will remember it is you.” Kitty took a breath, “all right, Logan, I need you to clear your head and to stay as calm possible.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“If your mind gets rocky, it’ll be harder for me to hold you, and you could start to slip between past and future.”
“What if I need to get a little rocky?”
Kitty lightly shook her head, “think peaceful thoughts?”
“Peaceful thoughts.” Logan repeated. “You have any good news?”
“Well, I mean, you don’t really age, so you’ll pretty much look the same.”
Bobby spoke up, “you won’t have much time in the past. The Sentinels will find us. They always do.”
“And this time, we won’t be able to run. We’ll have no escape. This is our last chance.” Kitty’s hands hovered near the sides of Logan’s head.
“See you all soon.” Logan said.
“This might sting a little.”
---
Logan blinked, his vision adjusting to the dim, warm glow of the lava lamp. Its lazy, hypnotic bubbles drifted in the liquid, but his mind was racing to catch up. The sharp, immediate transition from the future to… this—the past, his past—had his senses momentarily disoriented.
The pressure against his neck snapped him into focus. An arm was draped over his shoulder from behind, soft, warm, and familiar. He shifted his head just enough to glance at the hand resting on his chest. It was delicate, but the grip was firm, like whoever it belonged to had no intention of letting him go.
“Mornin’,” your voice came from behind him, groggy and soft. Your tone was laced with the remnants of sleep but carried the easy, teasing warmth that always seemed to put him off guard.
His heart clenched. You.
You leaned into him slightly, pressing your cheek against his shoulder as you stretched, entirely unaware of the whirlwind in his head. The past, your face, the other you. The fact that he hadn’t seen this version of you in nearly 50 years.
“Didn’t think I’d need to pry you out of bed first,” you teased lightly, your hand giving his chest a playful pat before you settled again. “Usually, you’re already up before the sun, big guy.”
Logan’s jaw clenched at the nickname. His eyes narrowed at the room—a modest hotel room with vintage floral wallpaper and creaky wooden furniture—and the small pile of clothes at the foot of the bed. His leather jacket. Your dress. The pieces clicked into place far too quickly, but they didn’t make it easier to stomach.
He turned his head enough to catch sight of you, hair slightly messy, lips curled in a lazy grin. You were radiant in a way that didn’t match the world he’d just left behind. The world he’d come back to fix. And you had no idea how much he’d missed that expression.
“What’s with the look?” you asked, tilting your head. “Do I have something on my face, or are you just debating whether or not you’re gonna finish that cigar from yesterday?”
Logan shook his head slightly, clearing the fog. “Nah. Just… thinkin’.”
“You?” you quipped. “That’s dangerous.”
“Cute,” he replied dryly, though a small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
You laughed and pulled back, sitting up against the headboard. Your expression softened when you caught a hint of the tension still lingering in his body. “You okay? You seem… off.”
“Yeah. I’m fine.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed, sitting on the edge to gather himself. “Just didn’t sleep great.”
“You tossed and turned a lot,” you agreed, though your concern didn’t waver. “Another bad dream?”
Logan didn’t answer immediately. The memories of the future, the Sentinels, the war, and your other death pressed heavily on him. Instead, he grunted noncommittally and stood, grabbing his jeans from a chair nearby.
“Y’know,” you said behind him, watching as he pulled on his shirt, “most bodyguards don’t get that much real estate in their boss’s daughter’s bed.”
Logan froze for a beat before throwing you a glance over his shoulder. “Most bodyguards don’t sneak them outta her own wedding either, darlin’.”
You grinned mischievously, leaning your head back against the headboard. “Guess that makes us even.”
He shook his head but couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped. You haven’t changed a bit.
Before either of you could say anything more, there was a sharp knock on the door. Logan’s entire body tensed, his senses sharpening instantly. He sniffed the air, picking up the distinct scents of sweat, leather, and gunpowder.
“Stay here,” he said lowly, grabbing his jacket and stepping toward the door.
“Logan, what—”
“I mean it,” he said, cutting you off with a firm glance. The tone in his voice told you not to argue.
He moved toward the door, his hand hovering over the knob as his other reached behind him for the small knife he kept tucked into his waistband. He opened the door slightly, just enough to peer through the crack.
Two men stood in the hall, dressed in dark suits. Their faces were sharp, unfamiliar, but their eyes carried an unmistakable menace.
“Can I help you?” Logan asked gruffly.
“Yeah,” one of them said. “We’re here for the lady. Her father’s lookin’ for her.”
Logan didn’t hesitate. He slammed the door shut and locked it, spinning back toward you. “Get down,” he barked.
“What’s going on?” you asked, but the urgency in his voice made you scramble off the bed.
The door shuddered as one of the men kicked it. Logan growled low in his throat, adrenaline surging as his hands instinctively balled into fists. Bone claws erupted from his knuckles with a sickening snikt, and he turned toward the door just as it splintered inward.
Your sharp gasp filled the room, but there was no time for questions. Logan launched himself at the first man, driving his claws deep into the guy’s shoulder. Blood sprayed across the room as the second man raised a gun, but Logan was faster. He yanked his claws free and swung, knocking the weapon from the man’s hand before driving his claws into his stomach.
It was over in seconds, but the aftermath left the room in chaos. Logan stood over the bodies, his breathing heavy, his shirt streaked with blood. His claws glistened in the dim light, and as he turned toward you, his expression softened.
“Logan…” you whispered, your voice shaking. Your eyes were wide, fixed on the bone claws still protruding from his hands.
He hesitated, then retracted them with a shudder, the wounds on his knuckles sealing themselves almost instantly. “I can explain,” he said gruffly.
“You—you just…” You couldn’t find the words.
“Y/N,” he said, stepping toward you carefully. “I need you to trust me.”
You stared at him, your mind racing. The man you thought you knew had just turned into something else entirely—but it wasn’t fear that kept you rooted in place. It was the way he was looking at you, desperate, protective, like he’d go through hell just to keep you safe.
“I…” You took a shaky breath. “I trust you.”
Logan’s shoulders sagged in relief, though the tension in the room didn’t dissipate. He grabbed a bag from the corner of the room and tossed it toward you. “We need to move. Now.”
Before you could question him further, he bent down, rummaging through the man’s jacket pocket to snag the keys before heading for the door. You hesitated, your mind still racing to process what you had just seen. The claws, the blood, the sheer force he used to take out armed men—it was like something out of a nightmare. But Logan wasn’t the nightmare. He was the only constant in this whirlwind you called your life.
“Y/N,” Logan’s voice broke through your haze. He was standing by the door, his tone sharp but not unkind. “Let’s go. Now.”
You shoved a few belongings into the bag, still half-dressed from sleep, and moved quickly to his side. “Logan, what the hell is goin’ on?”
“I’ll explain later,” he said, keeping his voice low and his gaze locked on the hallway as he peeked out. “For now, we’ve gotta put some distance between us and whoever else your father’s sent after you.”
Your stomach twisted at the mention of your father, but you followed him out of the room, clutching the strap of the bag tightly. “How did they even find us?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care,” Logan muttered, leading you down the narrow hallway. His shoulders were rigid, his entire body coiled like a spring. “What matters is keeping you outta their hands.”
The two of you reached the stairwell, and Logan paused at the top, scanning the area below. He tilted his head, his nostrils flaring as he sniffed the air. Whatever he smelled didn’t seem to calm him, but he motioned for you to follow anyway.
You descended the stairs as quietly as you could, your bare feet barely making a sound against the worn carpet. “Logan, seriously, you need to tell me what’s going on. Those… claws, or whatever—”
“Not now, sweetheart,” he interrupted, his voice tense but firm. “We’ve gotta focus on getting outta here.”
You bit your lip, frustration bubbling under your skin. This wasn’t the first time Logan had dodged your questions, but after what you’d just seen, you weren’t about to let it slide for long.
The two of you slipped out a side door into the cool morning air. The parking lot was mostly empty, save for a few scattered vehicles. Logan made a beeline for a black sedan parked near the edge of the lot. He unlocked the door and ushered you inside without a word.
“Logan—” you started as he slid into the driver’s seat, but he cut you off again.
“Buckle up,” he said, starting the engine.
You shot him a glare but did as he said, snapping the seatbelt into place. Logan peeled out of the lot, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as his eyes flicked between the road and the rearview mirror.
For a few minutes, the only sound was the hum of the engine and the faint thud of your heartbeat in your ears. You watched him closely, noting the way his jaw clenched and his knuckles turned white around the wheel.
“Are you gonna tell me what’s going on now?” you finally demanded, crossing your arms. “Because I think I deserve an explanation after that little��� display back there.”
Logan let out a slow breath through his nose, his eyes still on the road. “It’s complicated.”
“No kidding,” you shot back. “Start with the claws. What the hell are they, Logan? And don’t tell me they’re some kind of freak weapon because I saw them come out of your hands.”
He glanced at you briefly, his expression unreadable. “They’re a part of me,” he said simply.
You blinked, taken aback by the matter-of-fact tone in his voice. “What do you mean, ‘a part of you’? Like, you were born with them?”
“Somethin’ like that,” he muttered.
You stared at him, waiting for more, but he didn’t elaborate. Frustration bubbled over, and you leaned forward, grabbing his arm. “Logan, I’m serious. I need answers.”
He sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly as he finally looked over at you. “I’ll tell you everything, sweetheart. Just not right now. Right now, we’ve gotta focus on getting somewhere safe.”
“And where’s that?” you asked, your voice softening slightly.
“A place I know,” he said, turning his attention back to the road. “We’ll head north, get outta the city, and figure it out from there.”
You frowned, unsure whether to trust his vague assurances. But the look in his eyes, the raw determination mixed with something you couldn’t quite place—it was enough to quiet your doubts for now.
“Fine,” you said, leaning back in your seat. “But you owe me the truth. All of it.”
Logan smirked faintly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’ve always been a tough one, huh?”
“Damn right,” you muttered, crossing your arms again. But despite your defiant tone, a small part of you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of something else—something warm and familiar—when he called you tough.
You didn’t notice the way his grip on the wheel tightened at your response or the way his jaw clenched ever so slightly. To you, this was just another chaotic morning in the whirlwind of your life. But to Logan, it was a painful reminder of how many mornings like this he’d lost with you.
---
You tapped your fingers on your thigh, still waiting for Logan to come out of this mansion, which looked like it had seen better days.
You groaned as you tilted your head back, adjusting yourself in the car seat. It had been a while since Logan left the car and went inside, almost 2 hours. You would know, you’ve been watching the clock.
Finally, Logan stepped outside and briskly walked to the car door, opening it for you. “Jesus, what took so long?” You asked, as he grabbed your bag from the backside and guided you into the house where two other men were, one with glasses, the other with long curly hair. “Logan-?”
“You’re staying here.” He stated.
You stopped dead in your tracks, your eyes narrowing at Logan. “What?” you demanded. “You said we’d figure this out together. You didn’t say anything about leaving me here.”
Logan ran a hand through his hair, already looking stressed. “Plans changed, darlin’,” he said, his tone calm but firm. “Charles and Hank are comin’ with me. We’ve got somethin’ to take care of, and it’s safer if you stay here.”
“Safer? Logan, this place is the size of a damn castle!” You gestured around the massive entry hall, frustration spilling over. “You’re just gonna leave me here by myself? What if they come for me again? What am I supposed to do then?”
“You won’t be alone,” Charles interjected, his tone measured but polite. He glanced briefly at Logan, as if trying to gauge how much to say. “This house has a number of protections. You’ll be secure here.”
“Secure from who?” you fired back, your eyes darting between the two men. “You all keep throwing words around like ‘safe’ and ‘protected,’ but you won’t tell me from what!”
Logan stepped closer, his voice softening. “Y/N, I know you’ve got questions, and I know this ain’t easy, but trust me. If I thought for a second there was a better way to keep you outta harm’s way, I’d do it.”
You stared at him, trying to ignore the way his voice—the way he called you by name—seemed to ease some of the tension in your chest. But it wasn’t enough. “You always do this,” you muttered, crossing your arms. “You make decisions for me like I’m some fragile little doll. I’m not helpless, Logan.”
“I know that,” he said quickly, his gaze locking onto yours. “But that doesn’t mean I’m gonna take chances with you.”
“You’re unbelievable,” you muttered, shaking your head. “And where exactly are you going that’s so important you can’t tell me?”
Logan hesitated, his jaw tightening. He glanced at Charles, who gave him a slight nod. “We’ve gotta stop someone,” Logan finally said, his voice low. “Someone who’s about to make a big mistake.”
“That’s it?” you asked, your frustration rising again. “That’s all you’re gonna give me?”
“That’s all you need to know right now,” Logan replied. He reached out, his hand brushing against your arm. “Look, I promise I’ll explain everything when I get back. But for now, I need you to trust me.”
You stared at him, your chest tight with a mix of anger and something softer, something you didn’t want to name. “Fine,” you said at last, pulling away from his touch. “But don’t expect me to be happy about it.”
Logan smirked faintly, though his eyes were serious. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”
Charles cleared his throat, stepping forward. “Y/N, I understand this is a lot to take in, but I assure you, this is the safest course of action for now. Hank and I will only be gone for a short while.”
“Yeah,” you muttered, glancing at him briefly. “You better be.”
Logan nodded at Charles, then turned back to you. “There’s food in the kitchen, and plenty of space to stretch out. Don’t open the doors for anyone but me or them. Got it?”
You rolled your eyes but nodded. “Got it.”
Logan hesitated for a moment, as if he wanted to say more, but then he turned and followed Charles and Hank toward the door. You watched them leave, the sound of the heavy door closing echoing in the empty mansion.
For a long moment, you stood in the middle of the entry hall, clutching your bag and trying to process everything that had just happened. Finally, you let out a heavy sigh and slung the bag over your shoulder.
“Guess I’m on my own,” you muttered, heading deeper into the mansion to figure out how the hell you were supposed to pass the time in this massive, empty house.
---
It didn’t take long for you to get bored, even in a place as massive as this. From what you gathered during your first walkthrough, this mansion had likely been a boarding school at some point. The classrooms, rows of bedrooms, and an enormous kitchen all hinted at its past. But now, it was eerily quiet—like a castle frozen in time.
You wandered aimlessly, peeking into rooms and finding nothing but empty desks, dust-covered books, and a growing sense of restlessness. The longer you roamed, the more your mind churned over Logan’s sudden departure. You didn’t want to admit it, but his absence had left a void—a nagging worry that you couldn’t shake.
You sighed, stopping in front of a wide window overlooking the overgrown courtyard. What am I even doing here? you thought. Your fingers tapped against the windowpane as you chewed the inside of your cheek. Maybe you should’ve pushed harder for answers instead of letting Logan sidestep your questions—again.
The faint hum of a clock ticking in the hallway was the only sound accompanying your thoughts. It wasn’t enough to drown out the memories of Logan’s claws unsheathing back at the hotel or the unspoken tension in his voice when he said, “you won’t be alone.”
“Great,” you muttered under your breath, turning away from the window. “Stuck in the middle of nowhere with nothing but cryptic warnings and empty rooms.”
You wandered back to the kitchen, hoping to find something to pass the time. The fridge was surprisingly well-stocked, and you made yourself a quick sandwich. As you ate, your gaze drifted toward the doorway, half expecting Logan to stride through it with that familiar scowl on his face.
But the doorway remained empty.
With a groan, you pushed the plate away and leaned back in the chair. “This sucks,” you muttered.
The silence pressed against your ears as you sat there, tapping your fingers on the table. You couldn’t help but think back to Logan’s expression when he’d left. There was something in his eyes—something heavy, like he was carrying more than just the weight of keeping you safe. He always did that, didn’t he? Took on the burden for everyone else, even if it meant shutting you out.
You stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. No more sitting around like a damsel in distress, you decided. If Logan was off dealing with whatever ‘big mistake’ he’d mentioned, you’d figure out how to occupy yourself in the meantime.
---
A while later, you found yourself back in one of the old classrooms. The chalkboards were dusty, and the desks were in varying states of disrepair, but it was oddly comforting in a way. You sat down at one of the desks and fiddled with a piece of chalk, drawing random lines on the board in front of you.
The quiet of the mansion felt oppressive. Every creak of the old wood or groan of the structure made your heart skip a beat. You weren’t sure if it was just your imagination playing tricks on you or if there was something more sinister lurking in the silence.
You sighed, leaning back in the chair. “Why’d you leave me here, Logan?” you muttered to yourself. The question hung in the air, unanswered, like so many others he’d dodged over the months.
As you stared at the lines you’d absentmindedly drawn, you thought back to your father. His control over your life had been suffocating, but this—running, hiding, fearing what might come next—was a different kind of prison. Logan had promised to protect you, but how could he if he wasn’t here?
A sudden noise in the hallway snapped you out of your thoughts. You froze, the piece of chalk slipping from your fingers and clattering onto the desk.
“Logan?” you called out, your voice trembling slightly. There was no response.
You rose slowly from the desk, your heart pounding in your chest. The sound came again—closer this time. It wasn’t the creak of the old mansion settling. It was deliberate, like footsteps.
You moved toward the door, peeking into the hallway. It was empty, but the faint sound of movement reached your ears from somewhere deeper in the house.
“Logan?” you tried again, your voice firmer.
Still nothing.
Clutching your jacket sleeve tightly, you stepped into the hallway, your bare feet silent against the worn wooden floors. The air felt colder somehow, and the shadows seemed to stretch longer.
You made your way toward the source of the noise, your pulse quickening with every step. Part of you wanted to turn back, to lock yourself in one of the rooms and wait for Logan to return, but you couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something wasn’t right.
As you rounded the corner, you saw them. Men in dark suits, their faces obscured by the dim lighting. There were at least four of them, moving methodically through the mansion as if they knew exactly where to look.
Your breath caught in your throat. They weren’t here by accident.
You turned quickly, intending to retreat and find a place to hide, but it was too late. One of the men spotted you, his sharp eyes locking onto yours.
“She’s here!” he barked, and the others turned toward you immediately.
Panic surged through your veins as you broke into a sprint, your bare feet barely making a sound against the floor. You didn’t know where you were running, only that you had to get away.
“Stop her!” one of them shouted, and the sound of heavy footsteps followed you.
You darted into another hallway, your mind racing. You needed a plan, a way out, but the labyrinthine mansion offered no clear escape routes.
A hand suddenly grabbed your arm, yanking you backward. You let out a startled cry, struggling against the grip.
“Let go of me!” you screamed, kicking and clawing at the man holding you.
He grimaced but held firm, dragging you toward the others. “Stop fighting, or this gets messy,” he growled.
“Like hell it does,” you spat, managing to stomp on his foot hard enough to make him loosen his grip.
You broke free, stumbling forward, but another man was already there. He grabbed you by the waist, lifting you off the ground despite your thrashing.
“Let me go!” you shouted, your voice echoing through the empty halls.
“Enough!” a voice barked, and the men froze.
A figure stepped out of the shadows—an older man with a cold, calculating expression. You recognized him immediately. One of your father’s men.
“Miss Y/N,” he said smoothly, his tone dripping with false politeness. “Your father’s been worried sick about you.”
“Bullshit,” you snapped, glaring at him. “He doesn’t care about me.”
The man chuckled, a low, menacing sound. “Whether he cares or not isn’t really the issue, is it? You belong to him. And he’s decided it’s time you came home.”
“Over my dead body,” you shot back, your voice defiant even as fear coiled in your chest.
The man’s smile widened, and there was something cruel in his eyes. “If that’s what it takes.”
You struggled harder, but the men holding you were too strong. They began dragging you toward the exit, your cries for help swallowed by the vast emptiness of the mansion.
In that moment, a horrible realization settled over you. Logan wasn’t here to save you.
And this time, there was no escape.
---
The room was dim, lit by a single, flickering bulb swaying overhead. The scent of mildew clung to the air, mixing with the metallic tang of rust from the pipes along the walls. You blinked groggily, your head pounding as the events leading up to this moment replayed in your mind.
Interrogation, then murder. That’s how these things went. You knew it, had known it since you were a child sitting quietly at the top of the stairs, listening in on conversations you weren’t supposed to hear. The Romano family didn’t forgive betrayal, and neither did your father.
Your wrists ached where the rough ropes dug into them, tying you to the chair. The metal groaned beneath your weight as you tried to shift, testing the bindings. No give. You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe.
From the shadows, the men emerged one by one, their faces a mix of familiarity and dread. You recognized some from your father’s estate—men who had once tipped their hats to you out of respect, now staring at you like a wolf pack eyeing its prey. Among them was Clyde Romano, his sharp suit immaculate despite the grim surroundings.
“Well, well,” Clyde drawled, adjusting his cuffs as he stepped closer. His cold eyes gleamed with a mixture of triumph and disdain. “You’ve been a busy little runaway, haven’t you?”
“Fuck you, Clyde,” you spat, your voice steadier than you expected.
He smirked, leaning in until you could feel his breath against your cheek. “Bold words for someone in your position. But that’s always been your problem, hasn’t it? Too much mouth, not enough sense.”
One of the men chuckled darkly, and you shot him a glare sharp enough to cut.
Clyde straightened, motioning for the others to spread out. “See, Y/N, this could’ve all been so simple. You play the good little bride, marry into the family, and keep your mouth shut. But no. You had to run. Had to embarrass your father. And me.”
“Embarrass you?” You barked out a bitter laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry. Were your fragile little feelings hurt because I didn’t want to be your trophy wife?”
Clyde’s smile faltered, his jaw tightening. He nodded toward one of his men, who stepped forward and struck you across the face. Pain exploded along your cheek, sharp and hot.
“Watch your mouth,” Clyde hissed.
You turned your head back slowly, your vision swimming. Blood trickled from the corner of your lip, but you smiled through it, defiant. “That all you’ve got?”
Clyde’s expression darkened, and he stepped closer, gripping your chin roughly. “You’re real brave for someone who doesn’t have a way out.”
Your stomach twisted at the truth of his words, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing fear in your eyes. “Better to die standing than live on my knees,” you shot back.
“Your boyfriend isn’t here to save you, sweetheart,” he said casually, his tone laced with mockery. “What was his name? Logan?”
Your heart clenched at the sound of his name, but you kept your face blank.
“He left you,” Clyde continued. “Just like everyone else will. Because you’re not worth the trouble.”
“That so?” you bit out. “Then why are you here?”
He stopped, looking over his shoulder with a smirk. “To clean up the mess you made.”
Clyde stepped back, giving a subtle nod to one of the men. The air seemed to thicken as the man pulled a knife from his belt, the blade glinting in the weak light.
Your breath hitched, but you didn’t look away. If this was the end, you’d meet it head-on, with your head held high.
“Any last words?” Clyde asked, his tone almost bored.
You swallowed hard, the weight of everything pressing down on you. The memories of Logan’s rough hands holding yours, his gruff voice calling you darlin’ in that way that made your chest ache, his eyes softening in those rare moments when he let his guard down.
You thought of him now—miles away, caught up in something you couldn’t begin to understand. If he were here, he’d fight. He always did. But this time, you were on your own.
“Yeah,” you said, your voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill. “Go to hell.”
Clyde tilted his head, unimpressed. The man with the knife stepped forward, and you clenched your fists, bracing yourself for the inevitable.
The blade gleamed, catching the light one last time before it plunged toward you.
And then, there was only darkness.
---
Logan paced the bedroom; he had known something was off the second they got back. For one, you were nowhere in the mansion and your bag was sitting on the couch in the rec room.
Hank hesitantly stood by the doorframe for a few moments before speaking, “there’s a theory in quantum physics that time is immutable.” Logan paused his pacing as Hank continued, “it’s like a river—you can throw a pebble into it, create a ripple, but the current always corrects itself. No matter what you do, the river just… keeps flowing in the same direction.”
Logan let out a small scoff, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a fleeting smile. “The B-theory of time.”
Hank blinked, his brows furrowing. “You’re familiar with it?”
Logan shrugged, leaning back against the wall, his arms crossed. “Yeah, I’ve heard it before. Someone once tried explaining it to me—something about all moments in time existing simultaneously. Past, present, future, all laid out like pages in a book.” He tilted his head, his gaze hardening. “Didn’t make it sound any less screwed up.”
Hank tilted his head slightly, caught off guard. “That’s a fairly accurate summation, Logan. I’m… surprised you retained that much.”
Logan’s lips twitched again, but his eyes darkened with a tinge of something that looked like regret. “Good teacher,” he muttered, his voice low. His mind flicked back to the quiet hours spent with you in the rec room at the mansion, your voice steady as you explained the theories of time and space with the kind of patience that used to drive him insane. “Good teacher,” he repeated, softer this time.
Hank didn’t press the matter, though curiosity lingered in his expression. Instead, he adjusted his glasses and continued. “Right. Well, the theory suggests that no matter how many changes we attempt to make, the timeline has a way of self-correcting. That ripple you caused? It’ll still flow back into the current, Logan. That’s why it’s imperative you stay focused on the larger mission—on stopping Mystique before—”
Logan cut him off with a sharp wave of his hand. “I know, McCoy. Believe me, I get it.” His voice was rougher now, frustration creeping into his tone. “But I can’t just stand here and do nothing. She’s out there—alone—because of me.” His jaw clenched, the muscles tightening like a vice. “I should’ve stayed with her.”
“And then what?” Hank countered, his voice measured but firm. “Thrown yourself headfirst into whatever danger awaits her without a plan? Gotten yourself killed before you even had the chance to stop Mystique? Would that have helped her, Logan? Or anyone else?”
Logan exhaled harshly, raking a hand through his hair. He hated when Hank was right—hated it even more because staying put went against every instinct he had. He’d lost you too many times before, and the idea of it happening again, here in this warped timeline, made his chest feel like it was caught in a vice.
“Look,” Hank said after a pause, his tone softening. “You’re not doing her—or yourself—any favors by acting recklessly. We need you tomorrow at the hearing. Mystique’s actions will set off a chain reaction if we don’t intervene, and that means we need all hands on deck.” He gave Logan a pointed look, then hesitated before adding, “Besides, the Y/N I met didn’t strike me as someone who’d go down without a fight.”
Logan’s gaze snapped to Hank, sharp and unyielding. “What’d you say?”
Hank shifted uncomfortably. “I mean… she was a little out of her element, sure, but she seemed resourceful. Strong-willed. Determined. She’s not just going to sit around waiting to be rescued, Logan.”
Logan’s shoulders relaxed slightly at Hank’s words, though his face remained guarded. He knew you—knew that fire inside you, even in this lifetime. You’d been through hell and still managed to crack that crooked smile, to tease him when he was too gruff for his own good. If anyone could find a way out of a bad situation, it was you.
But that didn’t mean he wasn’t worried sick.
“She’s got guts,” Logan muttered, almost to himself. “Too much, sometimes.”
Hank adjusted his glasses again, watching Logan closely. “Then trust her to hold her own until we can deal with this together. Running off now would be counterproductive and, frankly, reckless.”
Logan let out a low growl of frustration, but he didn’t argue further. Deep down, he knew Hank was right. If he ran out of here now, he’d jeopardize everything—not just the mission, but the fragile thread of hope that had brought him to this point.
Still, the ache in his chest wouldn’t subside. It never did, not when it came to you.
“She’d better be okay,” he muttered, more to himself than to Hank. “Or I’ll—” His voice caught, and he shook his head. “Never mind.”
Hank didn’t respond immediately. He just watched as Logan sank into the chair by the window, his gaze distant.
For now, all Logan could do was wait.
---
Logan woke up to the sun shining through green curtains as he lay on his side, clutching his pillow. He turned over to look at the holographic clock on the other side of the bed, a stack of books on the table along with a single pen.
“The first time, ever I saw your face.”
He sat up, groggy as he looked at the familiar gold doorknob.
“I thought the sun,” Logan stood up and opened the door as a school bell rang and a kid walked out of their room. “Rose in your eyes.” He saw Bobby standing against a door frame as Rogue walked out and grabbed his hand, the two of them glancing over at Logan before walking away.
Logan walked by a classroom where Kitty was at the head of the room, a hologram in her hands, “Buckminster Fuller is a great example of an architect whose ideas were very similar to those of a utopian future. He would build structures that would work with nature, versus against it.”
He looked down the hall as Beast walked past him, clad in a brown suit, “morning, Logan. Late start,” he chuckled, as Logan watched him walk by.
Logan then walked down the stairs, seeing students converse with Storm. He continued his way down the stairs and into the open area, seeing familiar red hair leaning against the Professor’s open door.
Jean turned to look at him, “hey, Logan,” she softly called out as he glanced her way and back down the other hallways.
He saw a group of students walking huddled together before splitting apart briefly as you walked past them.
Logan’s breath hitched as you walked past the group of students, your hair catching the light streaming through the mansion’s tall windows. You didn’t notice him immediately, too focused on the stack of papers in your arms and the pen tucked behind your ear. He froze in place, his heart pounding like it hadn’t in years—decades, even.
You glanced up just as you passed him, pausing mid-step when your eyes met his. There was warmth in your gaze, that familiar spark he’d seen so many lifetimes ago, but this time it wasn’t tinged with hesitation or confusion. It was easy. Natural.
“There you are,” you said, a small smile gracing your lips as you adjusted the papers in your arms. “I was about to come looking for you. Late morning?”
Logan stared at you for a beat too long, the sound of your voice wrapping around him like a long-lost melody. He blinked, clearing his throat and trying to push past the lump that had formed there. “Yeah... guess so.”
Your smile widened, though your brow furrowed just slightly. “You okay, Lo?” you asked softly, stepping closer.
He managed a nod, though his throat felt tight. “Yeah, just... uh, still waking up, I guess.”
You tilted your head slightly, studying him in that way you always used to when something seemed off. “Well, if you’re awake enough, maybe you could help me wrangle some of the kids for class?” You gestured toward the papers in your arms. “I need to grab a few more things, and Laura’s been trying to skip out on physics again. You didn’t even budge when the alarm went off this morning, but you’re lucky Scott owed you a favor, so he covered your history class—”
You didn’t get to finish your sentence when Logan’s arms wrapped around you, his hold firm but not crushing. His head burrowed into the crook of your neck, and for a moment, everything around you seemed to pause. You blinked, startled, the stack of papers in your arms wobbling precariously before you instinctively steadied them against your chest.
“Logan?” you asked softly, your voice tinged with concern and confusion. “What’s going on?”
He didn’t answer right away. His breathing was heavy, his body tense against yours as though he was clinging to something—or someone—he thought he’d lost. The warmth of his presence, his scent of leather and pine, was familiar, but this intensity was new.
You let the silence hang for a moment, your free hand instinctively lifting to rest on his shoulder. “Lo,” you tried again, your tone softer now, laced with the kind of patience that only years together had nurtured. “Talk to me.”
Logan pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you, but his hands remained firm on your waist. His eyes were wild, scanning your face like he was searching for proof that you were real. For a fleeting second, you caught something raw in his expression—something vulnerable.
“You’re here,” he muttered, almost to himself. His voice was hoarse, as though he hadn’t spoken in days. “You’re… really here.”
Your brows knitted together as you tilted your head, trying to piece together what could have possibly spurred this reaction. “Of course I’m here,” you said with a small, hesitant laugh, your hand sliding from his shoulder to his cheek. “Where else would I be?”
Before Logan could respond, the unmistakable sound of small, hurried footsteps echoed down the hall. A high-pitched voice followed, cutting through the moment like a pebble skipping across still water.
“Daddy!”
Logan froze. His hands fell away from your waist as a little girl with dark hair barreled toward the two of you, her pigtails bouncing with each step. She clung to Logan’s leg without hesitation, looking up at him with the wide, innocent eyes of someone who knew no fear or doubt.
Gabby.
The name surfaced in Logan’s mind like a fragment from a dream, though it came with no context—no memories to anchor it. He stared down at the child, his breath catching as she grinned up at him.
“Daddy, I found you!” she declared triumphantly, like it was a great accomplishment. “Laura said you were being slow again.”
You chuckled softly, crouching down to ruffle Gabby’s hair. “What did we say about calling your dad slow?” you teased gently, though there was no real reprimand in your tone.
Gabby giggled, leaning into your touch. “Only when it’s funny?”
“Exactly,” you replied with a smirk before standing again and glancing at Logan, who still hadn’t moved or spoken. “Lo, you okay?” you asked again, your concern deepening.
Logan’s gaze flicked between you and Gabby, his chest tightening. The ring on your finger caught the light as you moved, and for the first time, he noticed it—the familiar band of gold he’d carried for over a century.
His heart stuttered. You’re wearing it.
“Logan?” you pressed, stepping closer again. Gabby, still holding onto his leg, tilted her head in confusion.
Logan swallowed hard, forcing himself to push past the whirlwind in his mind. “Yeah,” he rasped, his voice strained but steady enough. “I’m fine.”
You didn’t look convinced, but you didn’t push him. Instead, you nodded toward the stack of papers in your arms. “You sure? Because if you’re about to have an existential crisis, I need you to hold off until after you help me track down Laura. Deal?”
Logan blinked, your teasing tone pulling him out of his daze. He managed a weak chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Deal.”
Gabby tugged at his pant leg, her face scrunched in determination. “Daddy, can we get pancakes after? Laura said she’d eat ten, but I bet I could eat twelve.”
You snorted softly, looking between Gabby and Logan with an amused smile. “You’re not actually gonna let her eat twelve pancakes, are you?”
Logan’s lips twitched, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “We’ll see,” he said gruffly, his mind still miles away as he tried to make sense of everything.
You gave him another look, your brows furrowing slightly, but you let it go for now. “Come on,” you said, shifting the papers in your arms. “Let’s get this day started.”
As you turned to lead Gabby toward the stairs, Logan lingered for a moment, his eyes fixed on the gold band on your finger. His thoughts churned, the weight of the moment pressing down on him like a heavy fog.
He needed answers. And he knew exactly who to talk to.
---
Logan pushed open the door to Charles’s office without knocking, his usual roughness softened just enough by the turmoil bubbling beneath his skin. Charles, sitting calmly at his desk with his hands folded, looked up with a raised brow.
“Logan,” Charles greeted, his tone patient but curious. “I wasn’t expecting you so early. Is everything alright?”
Logan stepped inside, closing the door behind him before glancing over his shoulder. He needed to make sure you hadn’t followed. When he was satisfied, he turned back to Charles, his jaw tightening.
“No,” Logan said simply. “We need to talk. Now.”
Charles’s brow furrowed, and he gestured to the chair in front of him. “Please, sit. Tell me what’s troubling you.”
Logan ignored the chair, pacing instead. “I woke up this morning, and I—” He dragged a hand down his face, struggling to find the words. “Chuck, I ain’t supposed to be here. This… this timeline, it ain’t mine.”
Charles’s expression shifted, his calm demeanor replaced with something more serious. “I see,” he said carefully. “Go on.”
“You remember what Kitty did,” Logan said, stopping to lean on the edge of the desk. “Sending my mind back to ’73, to fix everything. To stop the Sentinels.”
“Yes,” Charles replied, his voice steady. “And you succeeded, Logan. The world you’re in now is a result of that success.”
Logan’s laugh was bitter, shaking his head. “Then why the hell don’t I remember it, huh? Why do I remember… all of it? The Sentinels. The Phoenix. Y/N—” His voice cracked, and he looked away, his fists clenching. “She died, Chuck. In my timeline, she died. Jean, too. All of you.”
Charles regarded him quietly, his hands still folded. “Logan, the mind is a complicated thing. It’s possible that in the process of returning you to this point in time, fragments of your original timeline have remained intact.”
“Fragments?” Logan scoffed, pushing off the desk to pace again. “Chuck, this ain’t fragments. I remember it all. I remember her dying six times, dammit. I remember the look on her face when she—” He stopped himself, his breathing ragged.
Charles’s expression softened. “Logan, this is your life now. Whatever timeline you came from, whatever you remember, it’s in the past. This is your reality now. Y/N is alive. Jean is alive. You have a family, a home.”
Logan’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “Yeah, but it ain’t mine. This ring—” He held up his own hand with his own ring, the band of gold catching the light. “I didn’t put it on her finger, Chuck. Some other version of me did. And I don’t know how to be him.”
Charles leaned forward slightly, his voice gentle but firm. “Then perhaps it’s time you learned. For her. For your family.”
Logan stared at him, his chest tight. He wanted to argue, to push back, but the truth of Charles’s words settled heavy in his gut. He’d fought so hard to change the future, to make sure you and everyone else had a chance at a better life. Now that it was here, he didn’t know how to live in it.
He rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling shakily. “What do I do, Chuck?”
Charles smiled faintly. “You take it one day at a time, Logan. And you start by going back to her.”
---
You stood in the Professor’s office, your arms crossed, the faint cherry gloss on your lips catching the sunlight through the large windows. You tilted your head slightly, studying Logan as he leaned against the desk, his expression unreadable but tense.
“So…” you began, your voice soft but steady, “you’re from a different timeline? One where none of this happened?”
Logan exhaled heavily, running a hand through his unruly hair. “Yeah, sweetheart. That’s about the size of it.”
Your gaze flicked between him and Charles, who sat calmly behind his desk, his hands folded in front of him. “And in that timeline…” you hesitated, your voice faltering slightly. “What happened to me?”
Logan’s jaw tightened, his eyes briefly darting away from yours before he forced himself to meet your gaze. The weight of his memories hung between you, unspoken but palpable.
“You didn’t make it,” he admitted, his voice low and gravelly.
The room felt colder, the air heavier as his words settled over you. You shifted slightly, gripping your own arms as if to steady yourself.
“But not this time,” Charles interjected gently, his calm voice breaking the silence. “This timeline is different, Y/N. You survived, as did many others who didn’t in Logan’s original timeline.”
You turned to Charles, your brow furrowing. “How? How is that even possible? Timelines aren’t just malleable—”
“They are when someone like Kitty Pryde is involved,” Charles replied, his tone steady but kind. “Logan changed the future, which altered the past. But it seems his mind retained the memories of his original timeline when he was brought back.”
You looked at Logan, your head spinning as you tried to wrap your mind around what they were telling you. “So… you’re saying that everything I remember—all the years we’ve been together, raising Gabby and Laura—they’re real, but to you, they’re…”
“New,” Logan finished for you. He pushed off the desk, his hands going to his hips as he paced the room. “To me, darlin’, this—” he gestured vaguely at the mansion around him, “—this is all brand new. The last thing I remember before waking up this morning was bein’ in 1973, tryin’ to stop Mystique from killin’ Trask.”
Your lips parted, but no words came out. The Logan standing before you was so familiar, yet so… not. He was the same man you’d spent decades with, and yet he wasn’t.
“You’re still you,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.
Logan stopped pacing, turning to look at you. His gaze softened slightly, the hard edges of his frustration melting away. “Yeah,” he said gruffly. “Still me.”
“But you don’t remember Gabby or Laura,” you said, a pang of sadness creeping into your voice. “You don’t remember us.”
Logan’s expression twisted with guilt. “No, sweetheart,” he admitted. “Not the way I should. But I’m tryin’. I swear to you, I’m gonna figure this out.”
You stepped closer to him, your glasses sliding slightly down your nose as you looked up into his eyes. “You’re not alone in this, Logan,” you said softly. “We’ll figure it out together.”
He stared at you, his throat tightening at the unwavering trust in your eyes. Slowly, he reached out, his large hand brushing against yours before taking it fully. “Thanks, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice rough but sincere.
Charles cleared his throat gently, drawing your attention. “The bond you two share has persisted across lifetimes,” he said. “It is not surprising that it remains strong, even now.”
You glanced back at Logan, your fingers still entwined with his. “I guess it’s just one more thing we’ve survived together,” you said with a faint smile.
Logan’s lips quirked upward, just barely. “Yeah,” he said. “Guess so.”
But as the three of you stood there, Logan couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of a much bigger challenge. For now, though, he let himself hold onto your hand, grounding himself in the one constant he’d always known: you.
---
Laura stared across the table at Logan, her sharp eyes taking in every detail of his face as if she were trying to find something different, something off. Meanwhile, Gabby’s bright voice filled the dining room.
“And then, they just grow back their limbs! Like, if an axolotl loses a leg or even its tail, it’s all, poof! Fixed!” Gabby made an exaggerated explosion motion with her hands, her fork clattering against her plate. “Isn’t that cool, Daddy?”
Logan blinked, dragging himself out of his thoughts. “Uh, yeah, kid. Real cool.” His voice was gruff but softer than usual as he glanced at her. Gabby beamed, apparently satisfied with his half-hearted response, and took another bite of her pancake.
“Dad doesn’t even know what an axolotl is,” Laura said flatly, her gaze never leaving him.
Gabby gasped, scandalized. “Laura! Of course he does! He’s Daddy! He knows everything!”
Logan scratched the back of his neck, an awkward chuckle slipping out. “Well, I wouldn’t say everything…”
Laura narrowed her eyes slightly, leaning back in her chair. “You’re acting weird.”
“Laura,” you said gently, walking into the room with a cup of coffee in hand. You leaned against the doorway, your glasses slipping down your nose just a touch as you looked at your daughter. “Be nice.”
“She’s not wrong,” Logan muttered under his breath, but you caught it and shot him a warning look.
Laura crossed her arms, clearly unimpressed. “He didn’t even laugh at Gabby’s joke about Mom’s coffee yesterday. That’s how you know something’s wrong.”
You hid your smile behind your mug. “To be fair, it wasn’t a great joke, Gabby.”
“It was hilarious!” Gabby protested, slapping her hands on the table for emphasis.
“Sure, sweetie,” you said with a chuckle, walking over to Logan. Your hand found his shoulder as you leaned down slightly. “Why don’t you two finish breakfast? We’ll be right back.”
Logan shot you a look but didn’t argue as you guided him out of the room, your hand lingering on his arm for a moment before you let go. You didn’t stop until you were in the hallway, far enough from the dining room that the girls couldn’t hear you.
“You’re gonna have to stop looking like a deer in headlights every time Gabby says something,” you said quietly, your tone soft but firm. “She’s going to figure it out if you keep that up.”
Logan let out a long sigh, leaning against the wall. “I’m tryin’, sweetheart. It’s just…” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair.
“Overwhelming?” you finished for him.
“Yeah. That.” He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes meeting yours. “I don’t know how to do this. Any of this. I don’t remember gettin’ married or havin’ kids. And now, I’ve got a eleven-year-old givin’ me the third degree and a five-year-old who thinks I hung the moon.”
“They’re your daughters, Logan,” you said softly. “And they adore you. Just… be yourself. You’ve always been a good dad to them. That hasn’t changed.”
Logan looked at you, his expression a mixture of uncertainty and determination. “And you?”
“What about me?” you asked, tilting your head slightly.
“How do I do right by you?” His voice was low, the vulnerability in it catching you off guard.
You stepped closer, your hand brushing his. “You’re already doin’ it,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “We’ll figure this out together. Just like we always do.”
He let out a low huff, leaning his side against the wall, “well, if I have to hear one more word about an axolotl and their gills, I might lose it.”
You leaned into the wall, mimicking Logan’s stance, your lips twitching upward as you adjusted your glasses. “Actually, axolotls have both gills and lungs, so they can breathe underwater and directly from the air. But they rely on their gills more than their lungs because they’re primarily aquatic. Oh, and their gills are those frilly things you see sticking out of their necks—external gills, which are super rare in vertebrates…”
Logan’s eyebrows rose slowly, and a wry grin began to tug at the corner of his mouth as your words spilled out faster than you seemed to realize.
“And did you know,” you continued, your voice picking up slightly as you adjusted your glasses again, “they stay in a juvenile state their whole lives? It’s called neoteny, and—”
Logan finally let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Alright, darlin’, I get it. You’re where Gabby gets it from.”
You paused mid-ramble, your brow furrowing as you looked up at him. “Gets what?”
“The whole talk a mile a minute about stuff that makes the rest of us feel like idiots thing,” he teased, his tone gruff but warm. “She starts goin’ on about somethin’, an’ it’s like watchin’ a little tornado of facts. Now I know where she gets it.”
Your cheeks flushed slightly, a mix of amusement and bashfulness flashing across your face. “I don’t talk that much.”
Logan arched a brow, his grin widening just a touch. “Sure, sweetheart. Keep tellin’ yourself that.”
You huffed, pushing lightly against his chest with the back of your hand, though your lips tugged into a reluctant smile. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah, but you’re still stuck with me,” he teased, his tone laced with an unexpected softness.
For a moment, you both stood there in the hallway, the din of breakfast chatter echoing faintly behind the door. Logan’s eyes lingered on you, the faint cherry gloss on your lips catching his attention again as sunlight streamed in through the nearby window.
“I really mean it, darlin’,” Logan said after a beat, his voice dipping into something deeper. “You’ve got no idea how much I appreciate you holdin’ this together. All this…” He gestured vaguely, his expression faltering for a second. “It’s a lot to take in.”
Your smile softened, and you reached for his hand instinctively. “We’ve been through worse, Logan. Together. We always find a way.”
Logan’s gaze dropped to your intertwined hands, the touch grounding him. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Always.”
Before the moment could settle further, Scott and Jean walked past the two of you, entering the kitchen. You grabbed Logan’s hand, “c’mon, I want you to see somethin’.”
You pulled Logan to the doorway of the kitchen, motioning for him to stay quiet. His brow furrowed, but he didn’t resist as he leaned slightly into the frame beside you, peeking into the room. Scott was at the counter, pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee, while Jean stood nearby, polishing an apple against her sleeve.
“Why are we standin’ here like—” Logan began, but you held up a finger to shush him.
“Wait for it,” you murmured, a mischievous glint in your eyes.
From behind the island, Gabby and Laura crouched in near-perfect silence. Gabby’s face was alight with glee as Laura whispered instructions, holding a small device that looked suspiciously like something Jones might have helped them cobble together.
Logan squinted. “What the hell are they—”
“Shh!” you hissed, suppressing a grin as Laura pressed a button on the device.
The coffee maker on the counter suddenly sputtered and hissed, steam pouring out in dramatic bursts as it began to shake. Scott froze mid-sip, frowning at the machine.
“What the—” Scott leaned in cautiously, placing his mug down.
With a loud pop, a stream of glitter shot out from the coffee maker, spraying directly onto Scott’s chest and face. His entire upper body sparkled in gold and silver flecks as he stumbled back, coughing in surprise.
Gabby popped up from behind the counter, arms thrown in the air triumphantly. “Success!”
Laura stood beside her, a small, satisfied smirk tugging at her lips. “Glitter bomb: 100% effective.”
Logan stared, wide-eyed, as Scott wiped at his face in a futile attempt to rid himself of the glitter. “Girls,” Scott said, his voice low and measured in a tone that suggested he was summoning all of his patience, “what did I say about tamperin’ with the coffee maker?”
Gabby, undeterred, pointed at him dramatically. “You said don’t do it. But you never said we couldn’t improve it.”
Jean bit into her apple, turning slightly away to hide her laughter behind a hand.
“You let them do this?” Scott asked, glaring at her.
“I let them? Scott, they’re your nieces,” Jean said smoothly, not bothering to hide the amusement in her tone.
“They’re your nieces too!” Scott protested, but Jean just shrugged, taking another bite of her apple.
Logan let out a low chuckle beside you, shaking his head. “They’re somethin’ else.”
You grinned, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “They’re just like you.”
Logan raised an eyebrow, leaning closer. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, you know exactly what it means,” you teased. “You’re as much of a troublemaker as they are. Don’t think I haven’t seen the pranks you’ve pulled.”
“Pranks? Me?” Logan’s expression feigned innocence, though the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. “Sweetheart, I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”
“Right,” you drawled, clearly unconvinced. “You’ve just coincidentally passed on all your mischief genes to Laura and Gabby?”
Logan let out a soft laugh, his gaze flicking back to the kitchen where Gabby was now dancing around Scott, singing, “Uncle Scott is the glitter king!” at the top of her lungs.
Laura crossed her arms, clearly pleased with her handiwork. “Don’t worry. It’s biodegradable glitter,” she said in a tone that suggested she didn’t actually care about Scott’s glitter predicament but wanted to seem magnanimous.
Scott groaned, his voice rising in frustration. “You two better clean this up. And my shirt. And my—” He gestured vaguely at his glitter-covered face.
Gabby giggled. “Sure, Uncle Scott. Right after breakfast.”
Scott turned to Jean for backup, but she just shrugged again. “You’ll be fine, Scott. You’ve been through worse.”
“Not worse than this,” Scott muttered darkly, picking at a gold fleck on his visor.
You stifled another laugh as Logan crossed his arms, watching the scene unfold with an almost paternal fondness. “They really only prank Summers?”
You nodded, grinning. “Every time. Jean’s always off-limits, but Scott? Fair game. Laura says it builds his character.”
Logan shook his head, still smiling. “Kid’s got my sense of humor, all right.”
“See?” you said, leaning closer to him. “They’re just like you.”
Logan glanced down at you, his expression softening as his gaze lingered. “Guess I’ve got a lot to live up to, huh?”
“You already do,” you said quietly, your hand brushing against his. “More than you know.”
Before Logan could respond, Gabby’s excited voice interrupted. “Mommy! Daddy! Did you see? Uncle Scott’s a walking disco ball!”
You turned just as Gabby bolted toward you both, her small arms outstretched. Logan instinctively crouched to catch her as she launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck.
“Did you like it, Daddy?” Gabby asked, her face bright with anticipation.
Logan hesitated, his arms tightening slightly around her as he glanced at you for guidance. You smiled, nodding almost imperceptibly.
“Yeah, kid,” Logan said finally, his voice gruff but warm. “You got him good.”
Gabby beamed, hugging him tighter before pulling back to look at him. “Laura says we should do water balloons next time. But I think paint bombs would be cooler.”
Logan chuckled, standing with her still in his arms. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Gabby.”
Gabby laughed, leaning her head against his shoulder. You watched the two of them, your chest tightening at the sight of Logan holding her so naturally, even if his memories of her weren’t there yet.
Logan caught your eye, his expression unreadable but intense, as if he were trying to piece together the life he couldn’t remember but was already a part of.
For now, you just smiled, stepping closer to place a hand on his arm. “Come on,” you said softly. “Let’s get back in there before Scott recruits you to clean up his glitter.”
Logan let out a low chuckle, his grip on Gabby firm as he followed you back into the kitchen, the warmth of the moment settling around the three of you like a quiet promise.
---
Jean sighed and stepped away, her hands falling from Logan’s temples as she crossed her arms. “I’m sorry, Logan. There’s not much else I can do.”
Logan remained seated, his elbows resting on his knees as his hands clenched together. “So, that’s it? Nothin’? Not even a flicker?”
Jean’s expression softened, but there was a hint of frustration in her voice, more directed at herself than him. “You’ve got a wall in your mind, Logan. One I can’t break through without risking your memories now. If I push too hard, I could do more harm than good.”
He let out a low growl, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Feels like I’m livin’ someone else’s life. Like it ain’t mine.”
“You are living your life,” Jean insisted gently. “This is you. You’re just missing… the journey that got you here.”
Logan ran a hand down his face, leaning back in the chair. His gaze drifted to the floor, but his thoughts were miles away. He could feel the weight of everything—the ring on your hand, the way Gabby called him ‘daddy,’ Laura’s quiet smirk when she saw him, the way you looked at him with such love and familiarity. It wasn’t foreign; it was right. But it was also wrong because he didn’t remember any of it.
Jean knelt beside him, her voice quieter now. “You’ve built something beautiful here, Logan. Something you fought for, even if you can’t remember how. Maybe instead of chasing what’s missing, you should try to live in what’s here.”
Logan’s jaw tightened, his mind battling with itself. Before he could respond, a voice broke the heavy silence.
“Logan?” Your voice was soft but steady from the doorway.
His head snapped up, and for a moment, the tension in his shoulders eased. “Hey, darlin’.”
Jean rose, excusing herself with a subtle nod toward you. As she passed, she gave your arm a gentle squeeze, her own way of offering support, before disappearing down the hall.
You stepped inside, watching Logan closely as you approached. “How are you feeling?”
“Like my head’s been through the ringer,” he muttered, trying to muster a smirk but failing. “Jean couldn’t find much.”
You perched on the arm of the chair, your hand instinctively reaching for his shoulder. “It’s okay,” you said softly, your thumb tracing small circles over his flannel. “You don’t have to remember everything all at once.”
He let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “That’s just it. I don’t remember any of it—marryin’ you, findin’ Laura, havin’ Gabby. None of it’s mine.”
Your heart ached at the rawness in his voice, but you squeezed his shoulder gently. “It is yours. Maybe not in the way you think, but it’s yours, Logan. We’re yours.”
He looked up at you then, his eyes darker, clouded with something you couldn’t quite name. “You’re takin’ this awful well.”
You smiled faintly, brushing a stray curl away from his forehead. “I told you when we got married, remember? That no matter what happens, I’m not going anywhere.”
“Don’t remember that, either,” he admitted gruffly, though there was a flicker of warmth in his voice.
“Well,” you teased lightly, trying to ease the tension, “lucky for you, I do.”
Logan’s hand came up, his fingers brushing against yours where they rested on his shoulder. He didn’t say anything, but the weight of his grip spoke volumes.
You brought him into your side, his head resting below your collarbone on your chest, and a small, bittersweet smile crept onto your lips. “It’s kinda ironic if you think about it.”
Logan’s voice was muffled against you, but there was a familiar gruffness to it. “What is?”
“This,” you said softly, one hand brushing through his hair while the other traced idle circles on his shoulder. “You remember all those lives I don’t, and now we’re here, and I’m the one who remembers… but you don’t.”
Logan let out a humorless chuckle, his arms tightening around your waist. “Yeah, darlin’, real funny.”
“Ironic,” you corrected, the corner of your mouth twitching upward, though the ache in your chest lingered. “Not funny.”
Logan exhaled deeply, his breath warm against your collarbone. “Guess I deserve that, huh? All those times, I remembered you, and now you’re stuck rememberin’ for me.”
You stilled your hand for a moment, then leaned back just enough to make him look at you. His eyes were darker than usual, shadowed with frustration and something deeper you couldn’t name. “You don’t deserve this, Logan,” you said firmly. “Don’t ever think that.”
He searched your face, his jaw tightening as he swallowed hard. “Feels like I do,” he murmured. “Every time I’ve lost you… it’s been my fault somehow. Every damn time. And now—” He cut himself off, shaking his head as though trying to dislodge the thought.
“And now,” you said, finishing for him, “you haven’t lost me.”
Logan’s gaze softened, his thumb brushing unconsciously over the fabric of your shirt where his hand rested on your waist. “Not yet.”
“Not at all,” you said, your voice steady. “You’ve got me, Logan. I’m right here.”
His lips twitched, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “For now.”
You sighed, cupping his cheek and guiding his gaze back to yours when it started to drift. “Logan. Stop. We’ve been married for nearly twenty years. I know this is… a lot. It’s a lot for me, too. But you don’t have to figure it all out today, or tomorrow, or even next week.”
He huffed a small laugh, his hand moving to rest over yours. “You always this patient?”
“Only with you,” you teased gently, though the warmth in your voice was genuine. “So don’t make me regret it.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, and for a moment, his smirk was almost real.
You smiled back, letting the silence settle for a few beats before Logan’s arms tightened around you again, pulling you closer. His head rested against your chest, his body warm and solid against yours, and for a moment, you just held him.
---
Footsteps thundered across the broken ground, and then he was there. Logan dropped to his knees beside you, his hands immediately reaching for you, shaking you gently but urgently. “Sweetheart, no, no—open your eyes,” he pleaded, his voice cracking as his hands moved from your face to your shoulders, searching for signs of life.
Your body was limp in his arms, your chest still, your face losing color.
Logan’s breaths came in short, harsh gasps as he pulled you against him, cradling you like you might slip away entirely if he let go. “Y/N,” he whispered, the single word a broken prayer, an unbearable weight of grief choking him. His hands shook as they smoothed over your hair, as though trying to coax you back to him with touch alone.
He didn’t notice Ororo land nearby, didn’t register her sharp intake of breath as she took in the scene. Her hand came up to her mouth, her eyes wide with horror, but she didn’t approach. Behind her, Bobby and Kitty stood frozen, their expressions stricken, but they too stayed back. Even Peter, with his usual strength and calm, had no words.
Logan didn’t care that they were there. Didn’t care about anything except the motionless weight in his arms. He rocked you slightly, his forehead pressing against yours as his ragged breaths turned into choked sobs. “You weren’t supposed to—damn it, you weren’t supposed to do this,” he growled, his voice breaking as he fought against the tears burning in his eyes. “Not this time. Not again.”
Logan pressed his lips to your forehead, his hands shaking as they cupped your face. “Come on, darlin’,” he whispered, his voice soft and cracked. “You’re stronger than this. You’re too stubborn to leave me. Just—just come back.”
The others stood frozen, unable to move, unable to interrupt the devastating scene unfolding before them. Ororo’s hand clutched her chest, tears streaking down her face as she turned away, giving Logan what little privacy she could in this moment of unbearable pain.
But Logan didn’t notice. He couldn’t notice. His world had narrowed to you—the unbearable stillness of your body, the haunting silence that surrounded you now.
He didn’t let go, even as the destruction around them finally began to settle, the last vestiges of Jean’s power fading into nothingness. His arms tightened around you, his forehead pressing to yours again as he whispered brokenly, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t save you. I’m so damn sorry.”
Time seemed to stand still in the worst possible way. For the first time in his long, painful life, Logan felt completely and utterly powerless. The ring he’d carried for over a century burned like a brand against his chest, a cruel reminder of all the promises he’d never been able to keep.
Logan buried his face against your neck, his voice raw as he whispered, “I was gonna tell you. About the ring. About everything. You—you deserved to know.” His thumb brushed over your cheek, as if he could will the life back into you.
He pulled back, his tear-streaked face contorted in anguish as he gazed down at you. “I love you,” he said, his voice breaking on every syllable. “I’ve loved you through every lifetime, and I’ll love you in the next one, too. But please, sweetheart, don’t make me wait again. Not this time. Please.”
His hands trembled as he touched your cheek again, his thumb brushing over your skin like it might bring you back. “I love you,” he repeated, his voice hoarse. “I’ll always love you.”
But you didn’t move. Your chest didn’t rise. You were gone.
Logan’s breath hitched as he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead—one last desperate, lingering moment of tenderness. When he pulled back, his gaze swept over your still features, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and devastation.
Behind him, Ororo, Bobby, Kitty, and Peter stood at a distance, their faces drawn with grief. None of them moved to intervene. They knew better than to intrude on this moment, on Logan’s anguish.
The air felt impossibly heavy as Logan shifted, gathering your lifeless form into his arms. His movements were slow, deliberate, as though handling something too precious to break further. He cradled you close, his head bowing as he let out a shuddering breath. The others watched as he rose to his feet, every muscle in his body screaming in protest, though he showed no sign of it.
“Logan…” Ororo began softly, stepping forward.
He didn’t acknowledge her. His eyes were locked on you, his focus unwavering. Without a word, he turned away, carrying you toward the bridge. There was no Blackbird to take them home—Jean’s power had obliterated it along with so much else—but Logan didn’t seem to care about the logistics. His only concern was you.
---
Logan jerked awake, gasping, his body tense and drenched in cold sweat. The dim light of the bedroom barely illuminated his surroundings, but he didn’t need it to know where he was. The warmth beside him, the faint scent of your cherry lip gloss lingering in the air—those were enough to remind him. This was 2023. You were alive.
He turned his head to look at you, his breathing still uneven. You were curled on your side, your glasses resting on the nightstand, your hand loosely clutching the blanket. Peaceful. Alive.
“Logan?” your voice, soft and drowsy, broke the silence. You stirred, sensing his distress even in your half-asleep state. “What’s wrong?”
He swallowed hard, running a hand down his face. “Nothin’, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice rough and unconvincing. “Go back to sleep.”
But you sat up anyway, your hair slightly mussed, your gaze focusing on him even without your glasses. “You had another nightmare, didn’t you?” You reached out, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Was it… bad?”
Logan closed his eyes, exhaling shakily. He wanted to lie, to brush it off and tell you he was fine, but the weight of the memory still clung to him like a shadow he couldn’t shake. “Yeah,” he admitted finally, his voice barely above a whisper.
Without hesitation, you slid closer to him, wrapping your arms around his torso. “It’s okay,” you murmured, resting your head against his shoulder. “I’m here.”
His body stiffened at first, the vulnerability of the moment making his instincts scream to pull away, but then he let out a shaky breath and folded you into his arms. The solid warmth of you against him—the weight of your presence—was like a lifeline, anchoring him back to the present.
“I dreamed about… losin’ you,” he said after a long moment, his voice low and raw. “It—it was like I could feel it happenin’ all over again.”
Your heart ached at the pain in his tone, but you didn’t pull back. Instead, you tightened your hold on him, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder. “You didn’t lose me,” you whispered. “I’m right here, Logan.”
His arms tightened around you as though he needed to remind himself you were real. After a few moments, he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching your face like he was memorizing every detail. His hands came up to frame your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks.
“I gotta hold you,” he said, his voice gruff but almost pleading. “Just let me—” His words faltered, and he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was desperate yet tender, like he was pouring all the fear and love in his heart into the connection.
You kissed him back without hesitation, your hands resting on his chest. But when he pulled back only to kiss you again—this time slower, deeper—you pulled away slightly, just enough to catch your breath. “Logan,” you murmured, your voice gentle, “are you sure you’re okay?”
His forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your lips. “Just lemme kiss you, please,” he said softly, his voice almost breaking. “Need to feel you. Need to know you’re here.”
Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you nodded, your hands sliding up to cup his face. “I’m here,” you whispered, pressing your lips to his again, reassuring him with every touch that you weren’t going anywhere.
Time seemed to stop as you stayed like that, locked in the quiet intimacy of the moment. His hands moved to your waist, holding you securely, while yours stayed on his face, grounding him. Eventually, you pulled back, your noses brushing, your breaths mingling.
“You wanna talk about it?” you asked softly, your fingers tracing soothing patterns along his jawline.
Logan hesitated, his eyes flickering with something raw and unspoken. “Not yet,” he admitted, his voice thick. “Just… don’t leave me tonight, darlin’.”
You shook your head, offering him a soft smile despite the emotion welling in your chest. “I’m not going anywhere,” you promised, wrapping your arms around him again.
---
The Blackbird hummed steadily, the low vibration underscoring the tense silence among the team. You glanced toward Logan, his expression hard and unreadable as he stared out the small window. He hadn’t said much since takeoff, and you didn’t push him. Instead, you’d focused on Jean, who was reviewing the mission details, and Scott, who’d been unusually quiet.
“I can handle this,” Logan had said when you vouched for him earlier. You hadn’t doubted him then, and you didn’t now. But Scott’s skepticism hung heavy in the cabin, evident in every glance he shot Logan’s way.
You let out a soft breath and shifted in your seat, nudging Logan’s arm with your elbow. “Hey,” you said quietly, leaning in. “You good?”
Logan turned his head, his eyes meeting yours for a moment. He nodded, though his jaw stayed tight. “Yeah, sweetheart. I’m fine.”
You didn’t buy it, but you let it go. For now.
Scott’s voice cut through the tension. “We’re approaching the drop zone. Everyone stay sharp. This should be quick, but let’s not get sloppy.”
“Sloppy?” Logan muttered under his breath. “We don’t do sloppy.”
Scott shot him a look from the cockpit but didn’t respond, and you bit back a small smile despite the nerves fluttering in your chest.
---
The mission was supposed to be simple. Extract intel, neutralize threats, and get out. But as usual, things didn’t go as planned.
The team moved as a unit through the labyrinthine corridors of the facility, the dim lighting casting long shadows that danced with every flicker of movement. Logan was at the front, claws out, his senses leading the way. You stayed close, your focus split between him and the others.
“Jean, you got eyes on the server room?” Scott’s voice crackled through the comms.
“About twenty meters ahead,” Jean replied, her voice calm despite the rising tension.
Logan’s claws retracted with a snikt as he held up a hand, signaling everyone to stop. His nose twitched, and his head tilted slightly. “Something’s off,” he murmured, his voice low.
Before anyone could ask what, the ground beneath your feet rumbled, and the corridor ahead exploded in a burst of heat and light. You stumbled back, shielding your face, as alarms blared throughout the facility.
“Damn it!” Scott barked. “It’s a trap!”
Logan was already moving, his claws gleaming as he launched himself toward the first wave of attackers. “Get to the server room!” he shouted over his shoulder. “I’ll clear the way!”
“Logan, wait—” But he was gone, a blur of fury and precision as he tore through the enemy.
You exchanged a quick glance with Jean and Ororo before taking off in the opposite direction with them. The mission had gone sideways, but there was no time to panic. Focus was key.
---
You weren’t sure how long it had been—minutes? Hours? The battle had stretched into chaos, and every step felt like a fight to stay alive. You found yourself separated from the others, the air thick with smoke and the metallic tang of blood.
Your powers buzzed beneath your skin, a familiar warning. You’d been careful not to overuse them, knowing the toll it took, but the situation left you little choice. Cornered by a group of heavily armed soldiers, you raised your hands, time itself seeming to shudder as you concentrated.
The soldiers froze mid-step, their weapons hanging suspended in the air. Sweat beaded on your forehead as you pushed harder, distorting the flow of time around you. The strain was immediate, your body protesting as you manipulated the anomaly.
“Y/N!” Logan’s voice cut through the haze, rough and urgent. He appeared out of the smoke, his claws dripping red. His eyes widened when he saw you, the flickering distortion around you making it clear you were at your limit.
“I’m fine,” you said, though your voice was strained. “Go help the others.”
“Like hell,” Logan growled, rushing to your side. His hand gripped your arm firmly but gently. “Stop this. You’re gonna tear yourself apart.”
“I can handle it,” you insisted, though your knees buckled slightly under the weight of your own power.
Logan didn’t argue. Instead, he scooped you up with a gentleness that belied his strength, cradling you against his chest. The anomaly wavered, then shattered, the soldiers collapsing as time resumed. But the damage was done.
As the world around you stabilized, you felt a strange, disorienting pull in your mind—like something had snapped and splintered all at once.
Logan froze mid-step, a strangled noise escaping his throat. His grip on you tightened as his body went rigid, his breathing shallow and erratic.
“Logan?” you murmured, your voice weak. “What’s wrong?”
He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His eyes darted wildly as memories surged through his mind—memories that didn’t belong to the man he’d been moments ago.
A wedding. Your smile, brighter than the sun, as you held his hands. The weight of the gold ring he’d finally placed on your finger after lifetimes of waiting.
Laughter. Laura’s tiny hands clutching his shirt as he carried her on his shoulders, her giggles echoing through the halls of the mansion. Gabby’s wide grin as she showed him a picture she’d drawn of the four of you—her family.
Peace. The quiet nights on the porch, your head resting on his shoulder as the stars twinkled overhead.
Love.
A life.
A family.
Logan stumbled, dropping to his knees as the memories overwhelmed him. They were vivid and unrelenting, a rush of emotion and experience that left him gasping for air.
Your hands trembled as you knelt beside Logan, panic bubbling in your chest. His body shook, his breaths coming in sharp, shallow gasps. You reached out, gripping his shoulders. “Logan! Please—what’s wrong? Talk to me!”
He didn’t respond. His eyes were wide and unfocused, darting as though he was watching something invisible and overwhelming. His claws had retracted, his hands pressed flat to the ground like he was trying to anchor himself.
“Logan…” Your voice cracked, tears blurring your vision. “I’m sorry—I don’t know what I did—please, just say something.”
His breath hitched sharply, and he finally looked at you, though his gaze was distant, almost haunted. “I… I can’t—” His voice was rough, fractured, as though he was choking on the words. “It’s… I remember.”
You froze. The blood roaring in your ears was nearly deafening. “What do you mean? Remember what?”
Logan shook his head as if trying to clear it, but his face was pale, his features twisted with a mix of disbelief and something raw—grief? Love? Fear? You couldn’t tell.
“It’s us.” His hands reached for you instinctively, his calloused palms cupping your face. “I see you. I see…” His words faltered, and his gaze flickered like he was staring into a memory you couldn’t reach. “The wedding. Laura. Gabby. God, darlin’, I see all of it. I feel it.”
Your heart clenched, your breath catching in your throat. “You remember this life?” you whispered, your hands resting on his wrists.
Logan’s eyes, normally so sharp and guarded, now brimmed with something far more vulnerable—tears threatening to spill as his gaze bore into yours. “Yeah,” he rasped, his voice rough, choked. “Not just bits and pieces… all of it.”
Tears continued to blur your vision as you searched his face, struggling to process his words. His hands stayed on your face, steady even though they were trembling slightly, and his eyes darted over yours like he was trying to memorize every detail, afraid you might vanish if he looked away for even a second.
“Logan…” Your voice wavered, the weight of the moment pressing down on your chest. “You… remember everything?”
He nodded, the movement jerky, uncoordinated. “Yeah. Every damn thing,” he rasped, his voice thick with emotion. “I remember… us. Our life. Laura. Gabby. The day I put this ring on your finger.” His thumb brushed against the gold band on your left hand, his expression flickering between awe and devastation. “I remember it all, darlin’. And it’s like I’ve been livin’ two lives at once.”
Your heart twisted, torn between relief and worry. Relief that he was remembering the life you’d built together—your family, your home—but worry because you knew what this meant for him. Logan wasn’t just remembering. He was reconciling two lifetimes, one full of loss and pain, and one where he’d finally found peace.
You cupped his face now, your hands trembling against his rough, stubbled cheeks. “Logan,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the distant sounds of the fight still raging in the facility. “You’re here. You’re with me. With us. And that’s all that matters.”
His eyes stayed locked on yours, and you could see the storm of emotions swirling behind them—grief, guilt, love, hope. “It’s real,” he said, almost like he needed to hear it to believe it. “This… all of it… it’s real. I didn’t lose you this time.”
“No,” you murmured, tears spilling freely now. “You didn’t lose me. You’ve got me, Logan. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
His hands tightened ever so slightly on your face, his forehead lowering until it rested gently against yours. His breath hitched, and you felt the faintest tremor run through him. “I lost you six times, sweetheart. Six times. I held you in my arms while you—” His voice broke, and he sucked in a sharp breath like he was trying to keep himself together. “I can’t… I can’t lose you again. I won’t.”
“You won’t,” you said firmly, brushing your thumbs over his cheeks. “You won’t, Logan. This is our life. Our family. And you’re not gonna lose me. Not now, not ever.”
For a long moment, the two of you just stayed like that, kneeling on the cold floor in the middle of a war zone, holding on to each other like the rest of the world had ceased to exist.
Finally, Logan spoke again, his voice quieter now, though no less weighted. “I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, his tone raw. “I remember us, but I don’t… I don’t feel like the man you married. I don’t feel like Laura and Gabby’s dad.”
Your heart ached at his words, but you held his gaze, your own resolve strengthening. “You are the man I married,” you said softly but firmly. “You’re the same Logan who’s been by my side for twenty years, who’s been an amazing father to Laura and Gabby, who’s built this life with me. I know it doesn’t feel that way right now, but it will. You’ll remember not just with your head, but with your heart, too. I promise.”
He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling shakily before nodding. “I hope you’re right, darlin’,” he murmured. “Because I don’t wanna screw this up.”
“You won’t,” you assured him. “We’ll figure it out together.”
Another explosion sounded in the distance, and Logan’s head whipped around, his instincts kicking in. “We gotta move,” he said gruffly, helping you to your feet. “You okay to walk?”
“I’m fine,” you said, though your legs wobbled slightly as the adrenaline began to wear off. Logan steadied you with a hand on your waist, his touch firm but careful.
“Let’s find the others,” he said, his voice steadying as he slipped back into mission mode. But before you could take a step, he stopped, turning back to you. His hand cupped your cheek again, his eyes soft but serious. “I love you,” he said, the words rough but filled with conviction. “I just… I needed to say it.”
Your breath caught, but you smiled, leaning into his touch. “I love you, too,” you said, your voice trembling with emotion. “Always.”
He nodded once, then released you, his claws sliding out with a familiar snikt. “Stay close,” he said, his tone low and protective as he led the way down the corridor. And though the chaos of the mission loomed ahead, you felt a flicker of hope—because no matter what, you were facing it together.
---
Once back at the mansion, the first things you saw were Laura and Gabby standing by Rogue, waiting for the others to clear the jet before you and Logan stepped off.
Gabby was the first to make a move, walking at a brisk pace until Logan finished climbing down the stairs and kneeled down, “c’mere princess.”
She let out a happy squeal and ran the rest of the way, launching herself into Logan’s arms. “You haven’t called me that in ages!”
Laura walked over to the three of you, giving you a short hug from the side, “weeks, Gabby, weeks.”
Gabby removed herself from Logan’s chest, turning to face her sister, “that’s ages Laura!”
Laura crossed her arms, her eyebrow arched in exaggerated disbelief. “It’s weeks, Gabby. Don’t be so dramatic.”
Logan chuckled, low and gravelly, still kneeling on the hangar floor. His hands rested lightly on Gabby’s shoulders as she spun back around to look at him, her big, expressive eyes narrowing in mock irritation.
“Well, she’s right about one thing,” Logan said, ruffling Gabby’s hair. “I haven’t been callin’ you ‘princess’ like I should.”
Gabby beamed, throwing her arms around his neck again. “It’s okay, Daddy. I forgive you!”
Behind them, you stood near the ramp, watching the scene with a mix of relief and warmth. Logan caught your eye over Gabby’s shoulder, his gaze softening as it locked on yours. For a moment, it was like the rest of the world disappeared.
Laura’s voice broke the spell. “You’re forgiven this time,” she said with a teasing smirk as she stepped closer. “But Gabby’s gonna milk it for at least a week. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Logan straightened, a hand resting on Gabby’s back as he looked at Laura with that gruff, fatherly affection he’d perfected. “Yeah, well, I reckon I can handle that.”
Gabby grinned triumphantly, glancing between her sister and her dad. “See? Told you I’m his favorite.”
Logan groaned, shaking his head as he rose to his feet, lifting Gabby effortlessly in his arms. “Don’t start that, kiddo. I got room for both of you troublemakers.”
Gabby giggled, but Laura rolled her eyes. “Nice save, Dad.”
You chuckled softly, stepping forward now that the moment felt a little less overwhelming. “Alright, you two,” you said, your voice warm but firm. “Let’s get inside. Everyone’s probably waiting, and your dad looks like he could use a break.”
Logan gave you a small, appreciative smile, one that lingered longer than usual, like he was drinking in every detail of you standing there. He shifted Gabby to his hip and reached out with his free hand, his calloused fingers brushing yours briefly as you both turned toward the mansion.
The walk back was filled with Gabby’s chatter, Laura’s sarcastic commentary, and Logan’s occasional grunt of amusement. But as the four of you crossed the threshold into the warmth of the mansion, you could feel the shift in Logan—a quiet resolve mixed with the raw emotion still simmering beneath the surface.
Once the girls were out of earshot, you tugged gently on Logan’s sleeve, pulling him aside into the quieter hallway. His brows furrowed slightly, but he let you guide him, his hand instinctively finding its way to your waist.
“Logan,” you started softly, looking up at him as the distant echoes of the mansion’s activity faded. “Are you okay?”
Logan’s jaw tensed, his eyes searching yours as though weighing his answer. The soft glow of the mansion’s lights illuminated his face, highlighting the exhaustion and turmoil etched into his features. He let out a low sigh, the sound heavy with emotion, before his hand slid from your waist to cradle the side of your face.
“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice rough but honest. “It’s like... I’ve been livin’ someone else’s life for weeks. Like it was mine but not mine, ya know? And now…” He paused, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek, his brow furrowing. “Now it’s all there. Every moment. Every damn thing. I remember our girls, our wedding, us. And it’s... it’s real. But it feels like it shouldn’t be. Like it’s a dream I’m gonna wake up from any second.”
Your heart clenched at the raw vulnerability in his voice. You reached up, covering his hand with yours, grounding him. “It’s not a dream, Logan. This is real. We’re real. Laura and Gabby are real. You’re their dad, my husband, and the man who’s been by my side through everythin’. You’ve got us, and we’ve got you.”
His eyes softened, but there was still a shadow of doubt lingering in them. “Feels like I’ve been walkin’ around with a piece missin’, and now it’s slammed back into place all at once. It’s almost too much.”
You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your head against his chest. His heart thundered beneath your ear, fast and unsteady, but his arms came around you like they always had, holding you tightly. “You don’t have to figure it all out tonight,” you murmured. “We’ll take it one step at a time. Together.”
Logan buried his face in your hair, his breath hitching as he clung to you. “I missed this,” he said, so quietly you almost didn’t catch it. “Even when I didn’t know what I was missin’, I missed this.”
You smiled against his chest, your tears dampening the fabric of his shirt. “You’re home now,” you whispered. “That’s what matters.”
He nodded against you, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. “You’re somethin’ else, ya know that?” he said, his lips twitching into a faint, almost self-conscious smile. “Don’t deserve you.”
“You’re wrong,” you said firmly, your hand coming up to rest against his cheek. “We deserve each other. And we deserve this life we’ve built. It hasn’t been perfect, Logan, but it’s ours. And it’s worth every fight.”
Logan’s hand slid to the small of your back, his thumb tracing lazy circles there. His gaze held yours for a long moment before he dipped his head, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “Thanks, darlin’,” he murmured. “For not givin’ up on me.”
“Never,” you said softly, a smile tugging at your lips. “Now, let’s get back to the girls. They’ll probably think we’re plotting something if we’re gone too long.”
Logan huffed a quiet laugh, the sound easing some of the tension in his expression. “Yeah, don’t need Gabby comin’ up with some wild theory about why we’re takin’ our time.”
You chuckled, threading your fingers through his as you began walking back toward the living area. “She’d have us starring in some kind of superhero soap opera.”
“Kid’s got a hell of an imagination,” Logan muttered, though there was unmistakable fondness in his tone.
As the two of you reached the living room, Laura and Gabby looked up from the couch where they were sprawled out with popcorn and a movie on the screen. Gabby’s face lit up when she saw you, and she patted the spot next to her enthusiastically. “C’mon, Daddy! We saved you a seat!”
Logan glanced at you, his lips quirking in a small, grateful smile. “Think I better take her up on that,” he murmured.
“You better,” you teased, giving him a nudge. “I’ll grab some drinks and join you.”
He squeezed your hand once before letting go, striding over to settle between his daughters. Gabby immediately curled up against him, and Laura leaned over to steal a piece of his popcorn, earning a mock growl from him.
As you watched the three of them together, laughter bubbling up from the couch, you felt a deep sense of peace settle over you. Logan might still be navigating the storm in his mind, but he was here. And with time, you knew he’d come to fully embrace the life he’d found again.
and it's a happy ever after!!
this was meant to be much shorter. actually, i originally wasn't going to include logan getting his memories back and just make that into a bonus chapter but i couldn't stand it. if it's gonna be a happy ever after i had to go all the way.
and i have i have an idea of how they found laura that does not involve the logan movie. cause, no, no, no, they are getting their happy ending.
with that in mind, again, if anyone is interested in reading about how reader and logan got married, found laura, had gabby, let me know! or, if you have any ideas of stories you want me to tell with reader and logan don't be afraid to ask! (i might have already started writing for the alternate timeline...)
#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett x you#wolverine x reader#wolverine x you#james howlett x reader#james howlett x you#logan howlett#logan howlett fanfiction#logan howlett x fem!reader#logan howlett fic#i love you in every time
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something about being close — sam winchester
pairing : s.2!sam winchester x gn!reader, featuring platonic dean ➖⟢ genre : angst, fluff, ➖⟢ cw : sam and reader are lovingly mean to each other, bad insults (weird, stupid, lame), bad jokes, swearing, canon typical violence and ghosts, arguing, so much kissing, could be ooc but idc, edited but most likely still contains a few mistakes, single usage of y/n ➖⟢ wc : 9.5K summary : sam is acting weird, and when it puts people in danger, you can't let it slide (despite the fact that you're totally in love with him).
MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!
“hey, check this out,” sam calls to you and dean, not bothering to look up from his computer screen. “think we found our violent spirit.” you part from your own research without a single qualm, resting a hand on the back of sam’s chair as he leans back for you and dean to get a better look. “marissa hancock. she was a student at the college, died a violent death there, just like we thought. it’s thought that the janitor impaled her with his mop while he was working in her dorm hall, but he was never put away for lack of evidence.”
“explains the janitor kabob,” dean quips, already headed to shrug on his jacket.
“easy solve,” you admit. it only took a solid half hour of searching through records to find the right murder. “but why’s she killing now? she’s had, what?” you lean further over sam’s shoulder to inspect the record, “fifty some years to be killing janitors, why start now?”
“dunno,” sam shrugs, and you can feel his shoulder brush against you, reminding you how close he is. doing your best to stay casual and maybe not stare longingly at his pretty face from this close up, you straighten your back and go to grab your own jacket as sam types away on his keyboard. “looks like her original murderer died two weeks ago.”
“right when the killings started,” dean finishes. “alright, let’s go. you got where she’s buried, sam?”
“yep,” he stands, shutting his laptop. “saint mercy cemetery, not too far.”
“hm,” you laugh out, “second saint mercy cemetery this month. people need to get more creative,” you note as you exit the motel room and head down the short hallway to get to the impala.
“and what would you name a cemetery?” dean asks, ready to catch you off guard or tease you for anything he can get his hands on.
“i should have thought of a clever answer before saying that,” you admit, “but i do wish it were socially acceptable to call them dead people neighborhoods.”
“that’s lame,” sam grins, throwing his arm around your shoulders for just about two seconds before he has to let go to get through the small doorway and outside.
“c’mon,” you complain, “i know it’s kind of lame, and definitely insensitive, but imagine someone just asked you where you’re headed after work and you get to tell them you’re going to the dead people neighborhood. cemetery’s no fun, at least dead people neighborhood is accurate.” you close the back door of the car behind you as you settle in to punctuate your point.
“you’re weird,” sam teases in a matter-of-fact tone, not even looking back from the passenger's seat to see the sneer on your face.
“no, you’re weird,” you fire back.
“alright, kids,” dean interrupts, “enough bickering like we’re four, we’ve got a job to do,” he snickers as he backs the car up.
“okay, dean,” you and sam chime, voices full of mocking and almost totally in sync. dean rolls his eyes hard, because it’s just one of those days where the two of you can’t stop feeding into the antics of the other, regressing the combined mental age of the three of you by at least twenty years.
having known the brothers since you were kids through bobby, and starting to hunt with them about a year and a half ago, you’ve certainly grown close with the both of them. but a little closer in age, you and sam are nothing but two peas in a pod. and much to dean’s chagrin, that means it only takes a split second for the two of you to switch things up and turn against him when he tries to break up your banter. it’s pretty much all loving argumentation, of course, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t annoying as all hell for whoever has to witness it.
“and for the record, i like dead people neighborhood,” dean offers, ignoring your moment of synchronicity with sam.
“yes!” you celebrate, reaching around the seat in front of you to lightly hit sam’s shoulder. “you’re the lame one, you’re no fun.”
he scoffs, mumbling something to himself about how, “of course dean likes dead people neighborhood. it’s stupid.”
you resist the urge to tell him that he’s stupid, and instead follow dean’s direction to focus on the case.
“hold on, dean. you should drop me off on campus first, one of us should make sure another janitor doesn’t fall on his mop handle before we can burn the bones,” you suggest.
“no.”
your brow furrows at how fast sam shuts you down, his serious tone a harsh contrast to his practically whiny mumble moments before. you glance at dean to see that he’s got his own eyebrows raised in confusion.
“what’d’you mean, ‘no’?” you question.
“i mean,” he clears his throat as if he’s just realized his strong denial was awkward, “that that could be dangerous alone, so i’ll go and you can stick with dean.”
you send a bewildered look to dean, one he doesn’t catch trying to pay attention to the street name up ahead. “i’m sorry, are you suggesting i can’t handle a measly ghost?” mostly you’re confused by sam’s words, but you can’t help letting a bit of offense slip into your voice.
“n-no, no that’s not what i’m saying,” he fumbles, trying to fix what he said, “i meant– i meant it would be safer for anyone not to go alone. so– so i’ll go with you and dean can stick with burning the body.”
it’s a clumsy, bad save that’s entirely unconvincing.
“you’re seriously gonna stick me with grave digging duty?” dean grunts, “y/n’s right, it’s just one ghost, we don’t need two of us to deal with it. digging up a grave is arguably harder.”
“exactly,” you reason, “which is why i should go scope out the dorm hall, and you should go with dean to the dead people neighborhood.”
“she’s buried in a family mausoleum,” counters sam, “her grave doesn’t need to be dug up, which means it’s a one person job, and since there could be an actual violent ghost in the dorm, two people should go. and don’t try to make dead people neighborhood a thing, at the very least it’s too long, not to mention it’s not funny.”
despite the fact that he’s teasing you, you’re glad to hear something normal come out of his mouth. his hesitancy to let you take on the ghost is odd, especially considering the ghost might not show up at all. it’s not like he’s never been protective of you, it’s in both his and certainly dean’s nature. but he knows full well that you are completely capable of handling one violent ghost, and he’s been weird like this for the past two weeks.
you laugh when you admit, “it wasn’t quite as good in context as i thought it would be, but it wasn’t that bad, i’m just tryna to stick with my bit,” you defend, “and fine, two people at the dorms, one on dead person arson.”
“are you serious?” sam laughs, halfheartedly tossing his head back to give you a judgemental look through the corner of his eye.
“dead serious, pun absolutely intended,” you let out a full laugh at the strangled sigh he lets out. oh how you love to rile him up with bad jokes. “you’re too easy, sam. for that, i’m sticking you on grave duty. dean and i will handle the dorm.”
“you should be on grave duty, for all the bad jokes today,” he argues.
dean practically growls in annoyance, “how about i go on grave duty, so i can get away from your annoying asses.” it’s not a suggestion, and the both of you huff out a sigh, but don’t argue.
dean drops you off a little ways from the dorm hall for you to grab a shotgun and salt rounds with less of a chance of being seen. you leave the other shotgun for dean just in case, bothered that yours is still broken from the last hunt. there hadn’t been enough time to fix it yet. so, you grab an iron rod, hoping to use that before any guns on a college campus. it’d be a sticky situation to get out of, being caught with shotguns in a dorm, and at the very least incredibly inconvenient to scare the hell out of a bunch of college aged kids at eleven pm. sam sticks the shotgun under his jacket, generally hiding it from the view of anyone not looking too closely.
walking a few minutes, you find the right dorm hall and sam hands the gun off to you to pull out his lock pick. but, glancing behind you, you shove the gun back into his hands and yank him into you.
“the hell?” he resists for a split second before you quickly interrupt him.
“shut up! hide the gun and act like you’re piss drunk. someone’s coming,” you hiss. in a swift movement, he tucks the gun back under his jacket as you shimmy the iron rod into your sleeve, then he swings his free arm around you, practically dropping half of his weight on you. “dude,” you complain, before falling into character. “sammy, come on!” you whine loudly. “i can’t reach my id with you like this,” you pretend to feel around for something in your back pocket while keeping him standing, and he immediately picks up on what you’re trying to do. he stumbles forward so that you have to use both hands to keep him upright, and you curse at your false struggle. “help me out here, sammy, will you?” you try to make your voice sound overly desperate, maybe a little innocent too, “why don’t you lean against the wall so we can get inside,” you beg, trusting sam to play his part well.
“nooo,” he slurs, dragging the word out in a whiny pitch, “don’t wanna.” he turns into you and haphazardly wraps his lanky arm all the way around your form, tugging you to him and nearly knocking the both of you over. you feel heat rush to your cheeks at this and desperately remind yourself that he’s only pressing his face into your neck so that he can get a look at the person approaching and keep the shotgun well hidden from view.
you see the girl out of the corner of your eye, young and clearly a student headed for the dorm.
“oh, thank god!” you exclaim, “hey, i’m so sorry to bother you, but do you think you could open the door for us?” you ask as sweetly as you can, pulling your eyebrows together to gain sympathy, before adding on a humorous tone, “my boyfriend is stupid drunk and i can’t get us inside.” you can feel sam stiffen for a split second at your words, and you yourself wonder if you should have just gone the “friend” route for the sake of your own sanity. you’re going to want to keep calling sam your boyfriend, over and over again.
“oh my god, of course,” she laughs goodnaturedly, and you thank the lord she’s laid back, rather than some uptight rule follower ready to report you to administration. she swipes her id and holds the door open for you, and as you struggle into the building, you think that sam is making this harder for you than it has to be. but there’s absolutely no denying you love the way it feels to just have him all over you, even for the sake of illegally entering a building with a gun.
“thank you so much,” your voice is one big sigh of relief, slightly muffled by the fabric of sam’s jacket.
“yeah, don’t worry about it,” she smiles, “you two are super cute, by the way,” she compliments before turning towards the stairs and waving a kind goodbye.
you do your best to not stumble over your words as you thank her, heat once again rising to your face, and you’re sure that sam can feel the warmth of your neck. body stiff, you turn and head down the hallway in the opposite direction, sam still clinging to you until it’s clear.
“alright, get off, you big dork,” you snort, gently pushing him away and doing your best to regain your composure to proceed as if you don’t have a massive crush on him. “did ya have to make it so hard for me?”
he shrugs with a sly grin, “had to make it convincing, didn’t i? besides, it was your idea, you don’t get to complain.”
you stick your tongue out at him and he raises his eyebrows as if to say, “really?”
“she was really nice,” you note, voice almost wistful in a way that sam easily picks up on. about a year into hunting with the brothers and dean was off buying food, you and sam had collapsed onto a motel bed together as you had many times before by then, both exhausted after a long case. that night, as you spoke in tired, hushed tones, with no need for anyone but the other to hear your words, you had somehow ended up with your head resting on his biceps and one of his legs swung over yours.
that’s the night you told him you were jealous that he got to go to college, even if it wasn’t for long. you’d told him how you liked the idea of that life, even if you had to return to hunting after it was over. you wanted friends your age, to learn, go to stupid parties and have a college partner. you knew the experience wasn’t all rainbows and butterflies, but you wanted it anyway. he’d said, sure, it wasn’t perfect, but it was a hell of a lot better than hunting in his opinion. he wanted you to have that. once this was all over, and you both got justice for your families, he’d help you apply, make sure you got in somewhere, maybe even go with you. a hush fell over the room and he knew you weren’t convinced.
“yeah, she was,” he says, his own voice a touch more gentle than moments ago. “we were lucky.” he doesn’t want to tell you that most college kids would be at least cool enough to let you inside, maybe not as friendly as her, but that it’s true you’d like it here. he doesn’t want to remind you of what you can’t have.
a silence falls over the two of you, punctuated only by the shuffling of your feet or the rustle of clothes. it’s comfortable and easy because you’ve done it a million times before. you don’t have to say anything to agree that you’ll head to the basement where the original murder occured. the both of you stay quiet and light on your feet, sam always peering around corners before rounding them.
in the basement he stops you with a simple finger to his lips. he leans in close to whisper as quietly as he can, “janitor’s here.”
you resist the urge to call said janitor an idiot, because who the hell is going to be cleaning an area in which three of your coworkers have mysteriously died in the past two weeks, but you just nod instead, taking in the way that sam’s eyes look under the dim light.
“wanna wait around til dean calls or warn him?” you ask, equally as quiet. he turns his head to look back around the corner before continuing.
“well, we should warn him, but we can’t use the drunk ruse on an employee. he probably has a radio scanner on him, might even be connected to campus security,” he points out.
“fbi?”
“we look too much like college kids right now,” he reasons.
“right,” you agree, “well then, stupid college kids trying to see a murder scene? we’ll link arms and you can hide the gun behind your back. just so we’re near him til dean burns the bones. hopefully nothing’ll even happen.” it’s as if you jinxed it all in that moment, as the lights immediately begin to flicker, the buzz of electricity filling your ears and a sudden chill filling the air. “nevermind,” you curse, flicking the iron rod back into your hand and barging around the corner, only a hair behind sam.
“way to jinx it,” he grunts.
you just scoff and beg him, “just try not to use the gun.” this time neither of you attempt to hide your presence as your shoes pound against the tile floor.
“no promises,” sam says, the gun up and loaded in front of him.
“what the hell?” the janitor barely has the time to exclaim before he’s thrown against the wall.
“i got it,” you warn sam, eager to avoid gunshots and sprinting full speed towards the apparition, iron rod in front of you. you throw all your weight into reaching the ghost of the young girl before she can flicker out of reach. the iron in your hand makes contact, and she evaporates for the time being. unfortunately for you, your momentum keeps you going, through the space the ghost just occupied and straight into the section of the floor slick with soapy water. with no time to gain any semblance of your balance, you slip and come crashing to the ground. your back hits the floor and the wind gets knocked out of your lungs in the same moment that the iron skitters out of your hand.
you struggle a bit to sit up due to the wetness underneath you, gasping slightly and letting curses fall from your mouth the moment you can speak again.
in a split second reaction, sam shouts your name, his voice inappropriately taught and worried for such a silly accident. he’s by your side in an instant, strong hands pulling you up and his anxious voice asking if you’re alright. you wave him off easily, unconcerned for yourself.
“help him,” you urge, “i’m fine.” but he doesn’t back off nearly as easily as you’d think.
“are you sure, did you hit your head? you couldn’t breathe for a second there,” his hands stay glued to you as he rattles off his concerns, ones that you find utterly unnecessary and unhelpful considering the fact that you’re fine, and the ghost could reappear any second. his strong grip keeps you from bending down to scoop up the iron rod, but you have to wrench yourself away from him when you hear a strangled cry come from the janitor. he whirls around with you to see the ghost with her hands around the janitor’s neck, crushing him against the wall as his feet dangle just above the floor. the iron rod is back in your hand in an instant, but sam’s shotgun lays abandoned on the floor a few feet away.
he dives for the weapon, but with a flick of the ghost’s hand, he’s knocked against the wall with a noise so loud it hurts to hear. before she can pay you attention, you fling the iron towards her, vaporizing her once more. the iron clatters to the ground as the janitor collapses to his knees. you rush towards him, pulling him away from the wall before tugging a container of salt from your jacket’s inside pockets. apologetically, you haul the poor man to his feet, throwing a quick look over your shoulder at sam. he’s groaning painfully, but already moving to get back up.
knowing he’s easily survived worse, you turn your attention back to the janitor, who’s sputtering out confused and incoherent questions about what in the goddamn hell is happening.
“just stay there,” you urge him, too pressed for time to add adequate sympathy to your tone. “stay in the circle and she can’t get you.” with practiced ease, you shake the salt onto the ground with barely enough to make a small, solid ring around the man.
you scoop up the gun from the ground, then turn to help sam onto his feet. “we’re gonna have to tough this out til dean gets done,” is all you say when you place the weapon into his hands, despite the urge to ask what the hell is wrong with him and why he’s so off his game. you turn to grab your own weapon, but it seems the ghost is reappearing faster and faster. this time, you’re the one who gets tossed into the wall, but you stay pressed against the cold surface as a mop flies to meet you, the long handle pushing against your throat and cutting off your air supply. you take in a strangled gasp, hands clawing at the old wooden handle and giving yourself a few splinters that you couldn’t care less about in the moment. of course, it doesn’t budge.
the second you’re flattened against the wall, sam shouts your name again, this time with his gun in the air, swinging around to get a shot at the ghost. but before he can react, it flies out of his hand and she reappears right in front of him, pushing him against the wall across from you.
he struggles against her wildly, his hand itching to get free of her hold to reach the hidden iron knife in his pocket. but before he can get there, her grip weakens and she lets out a strangled scream as she bursts into flames. the flames climb up her old fashioned pencil skirt and swallow up the bloody wound in her abdomen. her grip on you and sam falters as she burns away, then dissolves completely as the last of her ashes fade out into the musty basement air.
you drop to your knees, coughing and gasping for breath as the sound of the mop clattering to the floor echoes through the hallway. sam’s saying your name, half through a cough and his voice still so worried as he stumbles towards you. then he’s on his knees too and his hands are sturdy on your shoulders.
“‘m fine,” you rasp out, hand reaching for his bicep to ground you to something solid and steady. he stays right there, completely ignoring the poor man who’s still practically frozen in fear in the tiny circle of salt and the ringing of his phone. one of his hands slips around you to rub soothing strokes up and down your back and it brings you even closer to him, your forehead dipping to rest on his shoulder. you feel silly for how much he’s fussing over you, but you can’t quite scold or question him until you’ve caught your breath. clearly something is bothering him (and you want him so bad), so you let him hold you close.
“are you hurt anywhere?” he finally asks once he feels your breathing even out under his touch.
you pull away from him gently, shaking your head before verbally confirming, “no, i’m alright sam. nothing more than your typical bumps and bruises.” your voice is a touch raspy from the pressure on your throat, but it’s nothing that won’t go away with some water and rest, maybe some tea if really necessary.
his hands stay on you as he stands. “are you sure?” he asks, and you can’t figure out why on earth, heaven, or hell he’s so overly concerned about you. frankly, it’s starting to worry you. and definitely annoy you. all the sudden he’s acting like you’re fragile, like you can’t take care of yourself. things which he should know for a fact aren’t true.
he lets you slip away from his hold as you swoop down to pick up your lost weapons and face the poor janitor.
“sorry about that all. you can step out of the salt now.” he looks at you as if he can’t be sure, and your tone softens a bit. he’s young, probably just a college kid himself. “she’s really gone this time, i promise. you won’t ever have to worry about her again. though, i wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to look for a different job.”
he nods and thanks you, and you tell him to repay the favor by not mentioning you and sam. then, at a pace you certainly can’t blame him for, he scurries away.
“c’mon,” you nod to sam, “we should get out of here. you should also call dean back. he’s probably worried you didn’t answer.” with that, you turn back in the direction of the stairs without looking back at sam, rolling your eyes when your own cell ring. you pick up with a, “we’re fine, dean,” before he can even ask why the hell it took you so long to answer him. he lets out a sigh, half relieved, half annoyed.
“what took ya so long?” he asks anyway.
“had a few bumps in the road since little miss janitor-killer showed up, but we’re fine. neither of us are hurt. would’ya pick us up in the same spot you left us?”
“yeah, ‘course. already on my way, see you crazy kids in five.” with that, he hangs up and you don’t have to glance over your shoulder to feel sam following behind. it’s all just the familiarity of his footsteps, the sound they make, and the pace at which he walks. it’s the particular rustle of his favorite jacket, soft and scratchy sounding all at once. it’s the feeling of his tall figure, his broad chest so close behind you that he’d run right into you if you stopped even for a moment. you debate whether to ask him what the hell is up now or at the motel. for now, the priority is getting out unnoticed, so you clench your jaw a bit and continue in silence because you’re beginning to feel a little angry with him. you think he can feel it, so he stays quiet too, all the way out the dorm and down the street to wait for dean.
it’s not uncommon to be quieter after a hunt is finished because you’re all usually tired and more often than not achey from some toss around or another. but sam can tell there’s something else bothering you tonight. from the way you tilt your shoulder away from him, the distance so nearly imperceptible that only he would notice, he’s willing to bet that he’s that something. and though he doesn’t want to admit it, he thinks he knows why. he just won’t be the first one to say something about it because he’s stubborn, a little prideful, and most of all, too afraid to explain why he’s acting this way.
even so, he just can’t help himself. he hovers near, so near that once you’re settled by the side of the road, you can feel him without actually touching him. you’re tempted to nudge him away, just because of how overprotective he’s acting. you’re also tempted to lean back into his chest because somehow you know his hands wouldn’t waste a second in gathering you up and keeping you closer than ever before. it starts to rain a little bit, soft and almost unnoticable if it weren’t for the new chill in the air. for a moment, you can feel one hand hover over your waist, just for a second before there’s a light swish of fabric when it falls back to his side. you wonder if he’s worried about you getting too cold.
you hear dean before you see him, the rumble of the impala coming into earshot moments before its headlights appear around the corner. the car slows as it nears you, pulling to the side of the road with the front windows down and some classic rock guitar riff filtering into your ears. the music’s quieter than you know it was just moments ago from when dean was alone. he greets you two with a simple, “hey,” once he’s fully stopped and you place your hand out, palm up and wordlessly asking for sam to hand you the rifle to put in the trunk.
“i got it,” he says, not waiting for you to argue when he takes the iron from the loose grip of your fist and makes his way to the trunk. you slide into the back seat behind the passengers side and return dean’s greeting.
he twists in his seat to watch you as you close your eyes and massage your shoulder with a wince. it’s beginning to become more sore, just like all the rest of your body.
“you okay?” he asks, voice full of his normal gruffness that tells you cares enough to ask but knows not to be too worried.
you open your eyes back up to give him a nod. “‘m fine. just the usual ghost beat down. y’know, bumps and bruises.”
“mm, sure do,” he agrees, “so what? dearly departed marissa thought you were janitors?” he asks skeptically. you hear the slam of the trunk, and moments later sam’s settling into his seat in front of you.
“no,” you scoff, “some idiot kid was actually cleaning down there. told ‘im to get a new job,” you snort humorlessly.
“well, i’ll say,” dean raises his eyebrows in agreement before twisting back to face the wheel. he sneaks a look between you and sam before switching the car out of park and getting back on the road. for a few minutes, all you hear is the muted music, the constant roll of the engine, the light patter of rain on the metal roof, and the road under the tires. then dean switches off the music. “anything happen back there that i should know about?” he ventures.
“no,” sam answers casually, “nothing, just the usual.” you don’t even answer. you just can’t figure out if you should involve dean, tell him how sam was unthinking and almost entirely uncaring about the innocent civilian involved, all because he was so worried about you.
“alright,” dean concedes, glancing at you through the rearview mirror and sounding entirely unconvinced. he doesn’t turn the music back on, just lets the silence reign, so you close your tired eyes and lean your head against the cold glass of the window. you’ve fallen asleep in the back of the impala countless times before, but your drowsiness doesn’t take over this time in favor of letting your mind wander over what to say to sam. you can’t just let it be, and tonight is certainly the worst it’s gotten. plus, it’s an easy habit for you to wait for sleep when you’re already so close to the motel.
when dean pulls into the parking lot, he doesn’t turn off the engine. “gonna grab some grub. i’ll be back in a bit with the usual.”
“grab me something for dessert, will ya? ‘m craving something sweet,” you request, leaning towards the driver’s seat.
“sure thing,” he nods, and you slide out of the car and close the door after a thank you and tired smile. “anything for you, sammy?” you hear him ask.
“i’m good, just the regular,” sam responds as he exits the car. you unlock the motel door, and he’s inside the room just a moment later, closing and locking the entrance behind him. you stand facing away from him at the shitty table, your jacket already strewn across the back of a chair. you can hear him behind you, going through his routine movements. he’s taking off his jacket, setting it down on the edge of the bed. then he’s pulling comfier clothes out from his pack.
“you wanna shower first?” he offers, breaking the silence of the room. you can feel his gaze on your back.
“sure,” you swallow, “thanks,” you say without any sort of edge to your voice.
“‘f course,” he says, and he means that. his eyes follow you as you pull out your own change of clothes, just a tshirt and sweats, and make your way to the dingy bathroom. you’re tired, so you’re quick with it, but the water’s already lukewarm by the time you’re done. you dry off and dress quick, eager to lay in bed.
and yet, when sam takes your place in the bathroom and the sounds of the shower start up again, you sit at the table instead, picking out a few splinters in your hands before folding your arms and resting your head against them. you stay that way, even when you hear the water turn off, the bathroom door open, his heavy footfalls that are only heavy because he’s so tall and not for lack of gentleness, then the scraping of the chair across from you. he doesn’t even say a thing, just looks at the top of your head and the tip of your nose. the shape of your hands, the point of your elbows, and the curve of your back.
with a deep breath and some pain in your neck, you lift your head. you look back at him and slump your chin into your palm.
“i’m upset with you,” you state.
he frowns. even his frown is pretty. “i know,” he sighs.
“so? why are you acting like this?” your voice is tired, but you still manage to infuse accusation into your tone, “sam, why are you suddenly acting like i can’t take care of myself out there? you’ve been weird for nearly two weeks now, and i don’t like it. i don’t like this.”
sam doesn’t know how to respond. he’s used to being yelled at, shouted at, angry at. he’s used to yelling and shouting and getting angry back. and though he’s certainly fought with you before, he’s still not used to the level tone and the way you say each word so slow, like you’re not actually arguing. just upset and rightfully a little angry, like you just want to understand.
sure, he can hear the plain anger in your voice. you’re not trying to hide it. but you’re not yelling. how’s he supposed to use the heat of the moment to shout back, “i don’t know what you’re talking about,” or “i’m just trying to help,” when there is no heat in the moment? instead, he’s embarrassed and the only answer he can come up with, the only one that he can mean if he answers in that same, level tone you’re using is, one he’s having too much trouble saying aloud. any other answer would just be too wrong like that. or maybe if you were shouting, he’d tell you the truth, because he could yell it out, loud and rash without thinking about it. if he says it now, it’s not because he just let it slip. if he says it now, there’s no way to take it back, to get around everything threatening to bubble over the surface like forgotten water on a heated stove.
“i don’t think that you can’t take care of yourself. i know you can,” is all he says, because it’s true and it skirts around the real questions. his voice is rough, halfway between pleading and holding back from the anger he doesn’t yet know how to control. you heave a sigh.
“so why, sam? why?” you let the heavy question stew for a moment, then go on when he doesn’t even meet your gaze, “or, i don’t know, if you’re not gonna tell me, just promise me you’ll stop?”
he clenches his jaw because he knows he can’t. he just wishes you would shout. then, he’d tell you. he can imagine the words coming out of his mouth, but only if they’re loud, only if you’ve pressured him to do it. he realizes that’s probably fucked up. but the other way is too vulnerable, too vast of a leap to take to when he’s just not sure.
“sam,” you press, “you don’t have to worry about me, i swear. i don’t understand what’s got you like this, but it’s getting in the way of you being able to do your job right. that kid could have died because all you could do was worry about me,” that’s when you begin you raise your voice, just a little. because that’s what’s making you most upset about this. you hate it ‘cause you feel like he’s doubting your abilities as a hunter, but you hate it even more because it’s making him disregard the safety of others and of himself, for you. “sam, i only slipped. sure i got the wind knocked out of me, but you dropped your gun for that? frankly, that was stupid. and the poor kid was being choked, and if i hadn’t been lucky enough to throw the iron before she could react, he could have died. i need you to understand that. i need you to understand that i can do this job, that i’m strong enough, and that if you don’t trust me with that? people could die. and i’m not about to let that happen. so either you tell me what’s up and we figure it out, or you stop and i pay you the huge favor of just dropping the whole thing, okay?”
suddenly he looks all sad. “i do trust you,” he says, voice all sincerity and nothing more.
you close your eyes for a moment, half in frustration and half because you could really use some shut eye right about now. “that’s not– well, it is. it is part of the point. but i need an answer from you, i need you to tell me you won’t let whatever this is put somebody else in danger.”
he clenches his jaw. he’s still stuck. you still haven’t shouted.
“just spit it out. i can practically see something rolling around on the tip of your tongue. just say it, sam.”
there’s an edge to your voice, so maybe he can.
“i can’t lose you.”
there it is. it’s said with an edge, too, like he wanted to shout it but couldn’t. it’s said rough and a little bit angry and full of this undying faithfulness and yes, love.
but you still don't quite understand it, so it makes you sigh. it makes your eyes soften a bit and it makes you a little angrier than before. it makes you want him to mean that with all his chest and it makes you want to shake him hard until he comes to his senses.
“that’s always been a danger, ever since we met. you know that,” your voice is something so oddly gentle in its frustration, “sammy, you’re my best friend, and i can’t lose you either. hell, i don’t think the words “best friend” even begin to cover the depth of how much i care about you. but we’ll both be safer if we trust each other, if we trust in both of our abilities to keep ourselves and the other safe. tell me that you understand that.”
it takes him a minute to speak again, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he searches for what to say. “two weeks ago,” is all he manages at first. you try to think back to it, and it immediately dawns on you. “i couldn’t prote–”
“sammy, no,” you interrupt, “that wasn’t your fault, okay? i know this doesn’t help to say, but we can’t always protect each other perfectly, to the extent we really want. i’d do anything for you, sammy, you know that.” after that there’s supposed to be a “but” where you explain to him that you can’t let that get in the way of your thinking straight and keeping everyone safe. instead, those last words just hang, suspended and weighty in the air.
“but you could’ve been killed,” the way he says your name is almost desperate. “it was dean that saved you. i was there and i couldn’t even help. what if next time, dean isn’t there? what if–,” his voice breaks, and he effectively cuts himself off from finishing the sentence. you know what he was trying to say.
any answer you give to that, you know isn’t enough. “but i wasn’t killed, sam. i’m here. i’m right here and i’m alive and i’m well and i don’t want to spend all my time worrying about you worrying about me. not like this.” you let that sit for a moment or two, and though his eyebrows are still all sad and pinched together, you think you’re starting to get through to him.
“but i can’t lose you,” he repeats stubbornly.
“sam,” you’re practically begging at this point, frustration creeping back into your voice, “the best way for you to keep me safe from ghosts and monsters and everything else is to take care of the problem, efficiently and effectively, like we always do. if there’s no monster, it can’t hurt me. but if you drop your weapon just because i slipped on soapy floors and lost my breath for a second? then it’s not just you and whatever innocent bystander around who’s more vulnerable now, it’s me too. so if that’s what it’s gonna take for me to convince you to stop fussing over me, then, please, think about it like that.”
sam is smart. he loves logic and reason, and you’ve handed him just that. but even more than that, he loves you. in the end, that trumps all.
“but i love you.”
he says it like a plea. like he didn’t mean to say it at all but it was the only thing running through his mind, and therefore, the only thing running off his tongue.
“sammy,” you breathe out, and then it’s like there’s no more air for you to breathe back in. that sweet nickname of his coming out of your mouth, resting on your tongue before tumbling into the air, is half like a drug to him, half like a bitter wind to sober him up quick.
“i– i only meant that i–,” he meant just that and now it’s said and now he’s never going to take it back, even if you hate him for it. “i meant that,” he says it firm and true this time, “i love you, so i can’t lose you.”
the way he looks at you, right into your eyes like they’re the prettiest things he’s ever seen, like you’re the best thing he’s ever had, oh, it has you hooked like bait has a fish who bit down too hard. it has you praying he never looks at anybody else like that again. it has you rising out of your seat and it’s pulling you across the small, wobbly table. he’s wedged into the grooves of your heart, so deep it could kill you to pull him out, so you follow the tug and he leans in too so the line isn’t so taught, so that it’s easy and comfortable and beautiful to reach his lips.
his hands are like a net that catches you up in big, lovely swaths. they travel from your own hands, that lean against the table to keep your lips pressed to his, up to your elbows and then he knows he can never get enough. so he pushes up out of his own seat, drags his hands further up your arms until they can wrap around your biceps and push you up. not for a moment does he let his lips leave yours as he stands and pulls the both of you away from the table until he can bring you close, right into his wide, warm chest. then his hands can roam, gentle over your sensitive back, up to your neck then the back of your head to push your face into his. the other hand gets to go from your waist to your hips, or dip to the small of your back and press you flush to him.
you can only get away from him for a second, just enough time to whisper, “i love you, too,” before he swallows you back up. you melt right into him, and he loves it so much, but he feels how tired you are and he remembers he is too. so he only kisses you for a minute longer before letting your head rest on his shoulder. without any reservation, he presses a long kiss to your temple and you sigh a sweet sigh into his worn out tshirt.
unwilling to let go, he waddles with you, all bundled up into his arms, to the edge of the bed. without warning, he collapses into it, taking you right down with him and pulling out a little shriek from your mouth that he finds to be nothing short of endearing. he laughs, a belly laugh that you can feel the vibrations of as it moves up into his chest and out of those pretty lips of his. with some struggle to readjust yourself, you press a sweet peck to those lips. another easy i love you.
then you collapse back into his hold and the low quality plush of the motel bed. “now promise me you’ll pull yourself together next time we get a case?” this time your ask is so much more lighthearted, sweeter because it’s mumbled into the skin of his arm. you mean it just as much, but you can’t help the fact that you feel like you’re floating, “now i really, really can’t have you getting us in trouble. i’ll need to be able to kiss you at any given moment, so you have to promise me that you’ll trust me to take care of myself. because it works, and you know it. it’s the safest way. for both of us.”
the sigh he heaves can be felt through practically your whole body. it’s heavier than you wish it’d be, but he relaxes against you just a bit more. “i know,” he relents, “i’ll do my best, okay?”
“thank you,” you breathe out, too relieved to care that he couldn’t quite promise. you know this all means he’ll just be more protective of you, but you can say the same for yourself. now that you’ve kissed him and he’s told you he loves you and you’ve said it back, right against his lips, you’ll worry about him extra. but the both of you know the best ways to keep each other alive, and that has to be enough for you. you allow yourself to snuggle closer into him before joking, “d’you think dean’s ever gonna come back?”
you feel sam’s quiet laugh more than you hear it. “yeah, he really did us a favor with that one, didn’t he?” you can hear the smile in his voice before he remembers himself, “do not tell him i said that.” having you in his arms like this has got him a little giddy, saying things aloud that he normally wouldn’t.
letting out a laugh of your own, you promise, “i won’t. but i’m starting to get hungry. maybe we should call him and tell him the coast is clear, we didn’t tear the room to shreds or anything like that.”
sam chuckles again, and you decide very quickly that you like the way it feels for him to laugh with you so close. neither of you move, not to get a phone to call dean or to stop yourselves from growing drowsy. not for anything.
you’re half asleep when you hear the familiar sound of the impala’s engine near the room. it turns off, then comes the sound of its front door being open and shut. just because you’re hungry and it spells the arrival of food, you force your eyes open and let out a groan when you wiggle your arms out of sam’s hold to stretch. the way his hands shift to your waist as you do so has you a bit flustered and you wonder if you’re supposed to pretend in front of dean that you haven’t spent the last half hour kissing and cuddling. but sam doesn't seem to care, because he just sits up when the door’s lock clicks, one hand by your head to hold him up, the other still settled decidedly on your waist. so you decide not to care either, and turn your head around to accidentally grin at dean when he peeks his head through the door. you had meant to look casual, but the second someone else becomes a witness to the fact that you’re laying together like this, you’re beaming.
dean visibly relaxes when he takes in the sight, pushing the door all the way open to walk in, then lock the door back up behind him.
“hey, there,” is all he says, shooting the both of you a look that says, really, you’re just gonna keep sitting there like that in front of me? it’s not that bad, but he’s allowed to tease because he just turned a twenty minute food trip into an hour purely for yours and sam’s sake. you clear your throat awkwardly, and only when you sit up does sam’s hand fall away from you.
you pad over to the table as dean places the paper bag of fast food on the surface. he drags over an extra mismatched chair and sam follows close behind you, pulling the remaining chair to sit beside you. as you begin to pull food out from the bag, now clearly gone cold to the touch, dean sits down, complaining that they didn’t have pie, so he bought you two cookies for dessert instead.
“well, thank you for the food anyways,” you smile, hoping he picks up on the fact that you’re thanking him for the other thing too, “damn shame there was no pie, though,” you say, more for his sake than yours. you wonder why he didn’t just pick some up from somewhere else since he was gone so long.
“mhmm, and don’t sweat about the pie. just got a slice somewhere else,” he shrugs, “ate it in the car, there was only one slice left and i didn’t want you to feel like you were missing out,” he explains with that familiar teasing edge which makes you think he indeed caught onto the double meaning of your thanks. you let out a small huff of laughter before tearing into the food, only now realizing just how hungry you are. you’d felt it creep up on you on the car ride back, smiled at the mention of food from dean, even stupidly thought about it during a quiet moment in the argument with sam. but the second your lips found his, that was the only hunger you’d felt. to keep kissing him, to keep him close, keep him loving you. only when you settled all the way into his arms, sure that you’d be able to satiate that hunger again, could your body remember you hadn’t eaten since early this afternoon.
the three of you eating like this, late at night and without much conversation, is common and comfortable. dean is on what you assume to be his second burger, because there’s no way he’d have just sat in the car, probably parked in a random lot and wondering how long he should be gone, and just waited to eat an extra-bacon burger until he came back. sam’s nearly the same as always, too, but tonight he sits so close that his forearm brushes against yours. you bump elbows or knees every so often, and the side of his socked foot is pressed against yours the entire time.
you sigh, content with the nearness of him that’s so much more complete and full than it was just hours ago. now, there’s no need to hover. now, you can just swoop in and land, take what you want, give what the other needs.
dean makes no teasing comments, but you can feel the way he’s been examining, reading the two of you. you’re not sure if you’re supposed to say something aloud, but you know that he knows the two of you so well that he understands almost exactly what must’ve happened while he was gone. maybe he’s not teasing because this is the outcome he wanted to come back to. he probably knows better than the both of you how you were crushing, pining even, over the other.
he takes his turn in the shower when he finishes his food, and you and sam begin to clean up a few minutes later. once all the trash is crumbled up and tossed away, you go around and turn off all the lights but a single bedside lamp. as you turn away from clicking off the lamp in the corner of the room, sam’s right there in front of you. you don’t have the time to be startled by him sneaking up on you, he’s so quick to cup your face with his hands and slot his lips against yours. he lingers a long moment before pulling apart just enough to rest his forehead on yours.
“gonna kiss you forever,” he whispers, and you realize you’ve turned this giant man into a complete and utter sap.
“you better.” your grin is wide and real and he can almost feel your lips moving, he’s so close. just as you’re ready to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him hard, the steady white noise of the shower shuts off. you sigh and laugh a little, leaning in to steal one more chaste kiss before brushing past him. but he turns with you, hands still warm on your cheeks and not letting go until he’s kissed you once more.
when dean’s gone from the bathroom, sam follows you in to brush his teeth with you. you’ve done so plenty of times, but tonight, sam gets to loop his free arm around your waist and pull you into him, rather than stand shoulder to shoulder in the cramped space. he gets to make you giggle through toothpaste when he does so, and you get to switch your toothbrush to your other hand and wrap your own arm around his waist, too. he gets to make you laugh dangerously harder when he tightens his hold on you to prevent you from bending and spitting into the sink when you’re done. you try to hold back the laughter with your mouth full of toothpaste, then he’s the one laughing around his toothbrush because there’s white, foamy spit rolling down your chin from the corner of your mouth and threatening to drip to your dark-colored tshirt. of course, he lets you spit and rinse your mouth, relishing in the continued sound of your laughter.
“you asshole! almost ruined my shirt til the next time we make a laundry stop!” you take revenge as he rinses out his own mouth, splashing the running water onto his face as he swishes water around in his mouth.
he spits the water out in surprise and sputters an indignant, “hey!” before he bursts into laughter again.
you’re both giddy, high off of kissing each other, and silly from the exhaustion of a hunt, so he tugs you into him by your hips and keeps laughing into the crook of your neck. you wrap your arms around his neck and thread your fingers up through his soft, newly washed hair. you kiss the closest thing you can reach and he melts right into your arms.
it’s only when you yawn that he pulls away from you. “we should get to bed, huh?”
you nod and twist towards the door, peeking through it to see dean sleeping in his bed, his still form highlighted by the warm light of the cheap lamp. taking sam’s hand with a shy smile, you lead him to the other bed, turning off the last light and climbing under the covers with him not far behind. he loops his arm under your head, then the other over your waist to splay his hand flat across the small of your back. the way he does it is exactly the way you wished he would, as if he’s thought about holding you like this every night you share a bed, just as you had. with a final glance towards dean, he kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips.
you try to stifle the giggle that the soft, ticklish contact of his lips wants to pull from your chest, praying that dean is really as asleep as he looks. the both of you stiffen a bit when you hear dean’s blankets rustling, but you let out another breathy, quiet laugh when it goes silent again.
sam’s about to kiss you all over again when dean’s voice rings out into the hush of the night, startling you both.
“no shenanigans while i’m asleep, lovebirds,” he grunts.
that brings more laughter out of your lips and a rush of heat to your face that you’re sure sam feels, too. he just groans in annoyance at his brother, because of course dean had to get in at least one borderline dirty comment. neither of you really answer as dean shifts around in his bed again, likely turning his back to you and mumbling something mostly unintelligible.
the only word you can catch is “finally.”
#sam winchester x reader#sam x reader#sam winchester x gn!reader#sam winchester x you#sam winchester#sam winchester fanfiction#sam winchester headcanon#sam winchester fic#supernatural fanfiction#sam winchester oneshot#spn fanfiction#supernatural oneshot#sam winchester imagine#supernatural sam winchester#sam winchester fluff#spn sam winchester#supernatural#supernatural requests#supernatural fluff#sam winchester supernatural#supernatural x reader#spn fanfic
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pep talk
part two of "contingency"
CW: fluffy fluff, suggestive, profanity, takes place after X2 (Jean survives), the girls are so kind to you, you have to adjust to modern life, angst if you squint, etc.
"No way!" you exclaimed, eyes wide as you grabbed the remote, completely taken aback as you flicked through station after station.
Rogue nodded, grabbing another wildflower growing out your palm and tucking it in your hair, slightly amused by your surprise.
"You guys have so many channels! How is that possible?"
"Science," Kitty shrugged. "We have a whole bunch of new technology now."
"Wait 'til we show you what a flip-phone is..." Jubilee smirked, tossing some popcorn into her mouth.
"A flip-phone?" you asked, brows furrowed in confusion.
"That's somethin' we can tackle t'morrow," Rogue assured, carefully placing another peony in another section.
After being rescued from Alkali Lake, and getting a quick check-up from Jean, the students were more than eager to welcome you into the mansion.
And because of your obvious gap in knowledge in anything after 1988, the older girls took it upon themselves to educate you.
Of course, Ororo made sure you had at least a week to get your bearings about yourself before releasing the hounds.
"Wait, so Tom Selleck doesn't count as hot now? And Stallone isn't in all the action movies anymore?" you asked, skimming through some of the magazines Jubilee managed to grab out her closet.
"Who?" Kitty raised a brow.
"Eighties hunks," Jubilee clarified before turning to you. "And they've moved aside to make way for the hotties of the 21st century. Like Johnny Depp."
"Please," Rogue scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Johnny Depp is not hot."
"Tell that to People," Kitty grinned, holding up a tabloid that read SEXIEST MAN ALIVE in bold letters right above Depp's head-shot.
"He's not too bad," you nodded, getting a good look at his face.
'He's got nothing on Jimmy...'
"See," Jubilee smirked, crossing her arms in triumph. "If he's not a modern-day knock-out then who is?"
"Brad Pitt," Rogue answered, matter-of-factly.
"I knew you were gonna say that!"
"You watched Fight Club with Bobby, didn't you?" Kitty teased.
"Shut up!"
"Fight Club?" you turned to Kitty for explanation.
"It's a movie about guys fighting each other and trying to bring down capitalist society."
"And Brad Pitt getting all shirtless and sweaty," Jubilee cheekily whispered, earning a pillow to the face. "Hey!"
"There," Rogue smiled, placing the finishing touch before giving your shoulder a soft pat. "All done."
Carefully, you stood up, walking over to the full length mirror near the closet and smiling brightly at what you saw.
Your hair was adorned with all different flavors of bloom, the vibrant colors only enhancing your natural beauty.
"I love it," you smiled, marveling her even placement.
"Ugh. I'd kill Kitty to look like that," Jubilee slumped, resting her cheek in her palm.
"Sitting right here, dude," Kitty sighed.
"I can do you next, if you like," Rogue offered.
"Here," you nodded, sprouting a bouquet of wildflowers out one of their potted plants before sliding on your slippers. "You girls can keep going. I think I'm gonna go on a walk."
"Cool," Jubilee nodded, watching you make your way to the door. "If we don't see you again then good night~"
You paid the odd inflection no mind, waving goodbye before taking your leave, shutting the door behind yourself.
And once the coast was clear, Jubilee smirked, turning to the others with a knowing look.
"I think we all know who she's going to go see, right?"
"Oh, totally."
"Absolutely."
So preoccupied with Jubilee, you failed to remember just how drafty the mansion got at night, cursing yourself for forgetting your sweater in the room.
"I hate the cold..." you grumbled, hugging yourself tight.
Walking through the hall, you could hear the rustling of students on the other sides of the doors.
Some were debriefing about the events of the day, some were sleeping.
Others talking about the Alkali Lake incident.
Your face fell at the reminder.
James had told you countless times that what happened wasn't your fault, but you couldn't shake the feeling of guilt.
When you were cornered by Stryker's mutant-hunting task force, you thought you could fight them back, but you couldn't even take down one.
Granted, they were highly trained professionals, and you'd never used your mutation to fight before...
But that was no excuse.
What did that leave you as?
A) A helpless damsel, who needed her prince to bail her out of a pinch?
Or B) A stupid girl who let herself get put on ice because she wasn't strong enough to fight back?
C) All of the above.
"Whoa. You think any harder and you'll have steam comin' outta your ears," Logan noted, somehow in front of you.
"Shit!" you exclaimed, eyes wide as you instinct took over, punching something that felt like a brick wall.
'Where did he come from?!'
He grunted, holding his side, "You hit... hard."
"Fuck, I'm sorry," you winced, guiltily, as you moved closer to inspect it, carefully moving his hand. "It was just so dark and you scared the hell outta me."
You lifted his tank top, trying your best to check for a forming bruise in the dim light.
But there was nothing there, his healing factor kicking in much faster than you expected.
"Was thinking of about telling you a joke about how much you take my breath away, but I think you're a little preoccupied at the moment," he looked down at you, a grin spreading across his lips at your staring.
You scoffed, cheeks burning as you pulled his shirt down.
"Couldn't sleep?" you asked, quickly switching the subject, tightening your arms around yourself.
Logan smiled, your words fading into the background as he took the time to get a good look at you.
And fuck... a look you where.
You exchanged your low-rise jeans and long-sleeve (courtesy of Ororo) for a tank top and shorts, your curves now on display quite nicely.
"Nope," he shook his head, somehow making the motion sexy. "You?"
You sighed, commending yourself for making it this far—you were this close to pouncing on him.
"I just need some air, so I'm going on a walk. And speaking of..." you continued on, stepping around the large man to continue your stroll.
It caught him by surprise, but he quickly turned around, catching up to and getting in front of you.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey," he halted, brows furrowed in concern. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I'm fine," you assured, poorly. "Just trying to get past."
"Nuh uh. Don't do that," he shook his head. "Don't downplay this. Somethin's wrong. I can see it all over your face."
'Shit.'
You let out a heavy sigh, your shoulders slumping at being caught.
"I can't stand you, y'know that?"
"Start talking."
"Have I ever told you how good you look in blue jeans?"
"(y/n)."
"Alright."
You exhaled, steeling your nerves in case things went awry.
"Look... Jimmy..." you started, choppily, taking his hand in yours. "Fifteen years is a long time... too long for some people."
You cursed yourself as you could already feel a lump forming in your throat.
You hadn't even started yet.
"To me, it feels like yesterday we were at our place in the Rockies, making dinner together and talking about our day, renting shitty movies and falling asleep on the couch together."
The memories flowed over you like a calm tide, a smile stretching onto your lips as you recalled pretending to fall asleep so he'd carry you to bed.
But it wasn't long before those waters dried up, leaving nothing but cracked, jagged sand underneath.
"But to you, it was a lifetime ago. And a person can... move on... given the right conditions."
"What're you saying?" he asked, firmly.
"I'm saying that it's okay if you've moved on from me, James," you blurted, your voice having a slight crack.
It hurt even more to say it out loud.
"What the hell are you talking about?" he asked, even more confused, as his hands came around to hold you.
"You've spent the better half of fifteen years unaware that I even existed. And now that I've popped back into your life, I don't want you to feel obligated to love me because of something that happened in the past... I couldn't do that to you. Especially if you have feelings for someone else."
"And who else could I possibly I have feelings for?" he asked, sarastically.
"Jean," you stated, flatly. "I see the way she looks at you. She may be with Scott, but that's the look of a woman who's willing to test the waters. And I don't want to get in the way if that's something you want to pursue."
Amused, and honestly speechless, Logan could do nothing but laugh, slightly offended that you thought of him as that type of man.
"What's so funny?" you asked softly, eyes saddening as you watched him, quite hurt that he was laughing.
He cracked a grin, cupping your cheek in his hand.
"Baby, you're talkin' about me gettin' with another woman as you stand here, wrapped in my arms, and about to come back to bed with me."
Huh?
His thumb caressed your cheek as he pulled you in closer, resting his forehead against yours.
"(y/n), you are my wife, you hear me? My wife," he spoke sincerely, eyes never leaving you for a moment. "My memories might've been taken before, but they're all back now. And I remember every goddamn detail about you, about us, and about our life before all this bullshit."
You were too stunned to speak.
You knew James could get serious, but you never knew he could get serious.
It was doing some things to you.
"I don't want no one else because, to me, there is no one else. And the quicker you get that through your head, the quicker we can get back to bed 'cause it is fuckin' freezin' out here."
You snickered, both tickled and appalled by his horribly blunt speech.
"That was the worst pep talk I've ever had," you chuckled, shaking your head as you cupped his cheek in your hand.
"Not my strong suit," he finished with a smirk.
But that was all he needed before he roughly kissed you, pulling you in by the nape of your neck.
You kissed back just as passionate, sliding your hands down to his chest as he leaned in, getting the better angle on you.
One of his hands dropped to grab your thigh, hiking it up and pulling you flush against him in an attempt to keep you as close as possible.
But, quickly, you both separated, panting, abuzz with excitement as you rested against each other.
"Bed. Now," he growled in your ear, suddenly hoisting you up and tossing you over his shoulder.
"Jimmy!" you quietly squealed, your face burning with embarrassment as he landed a loud slap on your ass.
'God, I hope the kids are asleep...'
taglist !!
@catiwinky @seamlessepiphany @vinaluvsu @kellyxo1 @amandarobertsboyce @shakysif @captainloki1 @qveendiorsworld @sarahskywalker-amidala @mei-simp @oatmilkriver @br3nt-12 @bimboshaggy @lightsgore @edszn @couturewinx @sunroxic @notanotheroldman @bontensbabygirl @buckleysg1rl @marvelgirlie-4 @eljaynosine-triphosphate
#james howlett#james howlett x reader#logan howlett#logan howlett x reader#mcu#mcu x reader#wolverine x reader#x men#x men x reader#wolverine
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Hi! Hope everything is well 😊
Just played the demo and it's sooo god! 😍 Replayed it several times already.
I've tried every type of playthrough for each wayhaven book. Like, literally every single one... for each stat, personality, type of relationship with each RO, who your BFF is....etc...
I'm just obsessed with how even small things changes the dialogue, I can't help it, it's like Pokemon, I gotta catch them all 🤣
And I already know i'll replay this one the most 😍 and it has absolutely nothing to do with the hot Villain, or the MC getting awesome super powers. Or the angst. Or the mental image of a MC going full on "Unlimited Power!" On the next Murphy, or Anwir, or Bobby, definitely not Bobby. Nope.
Not. At. All.
....
Anyways...
So I just have to ask (Even though i'm guessing we're going into spoiler territory) how is the Villain as a RO? Right now i'm getting the feeling that they (mostly) wants MC for this "power" they keep mentioning, but is there another reason?
Also just for fun, like in the other RO asks, where does the Villain land in the rankings? For most clingy, emotional, affectionate, etc. Then, of course the most important one, Jealousy. I know we can't really pursue the Villain if we're already romancing someone, but how do they feel about the "competition"? Are they not worried/bothered at all, or should we prepare to go full on supernatural prepper mode and look for underground bunkers for our RO? 😳
If it's the latter i'm guessing my MC is going to check if Sin is willing to side hustle as our RO's bodyguard...
Whether RO agrees to it or not.
(Yes Adam/Ava and Mason/Morgan i'm talking to you!) because I WILL protect you against your will. Deal with it or I swear i'll go full on lovey dovey mode on you, with daily, heart on your sleeve love confessions and love poems.
That I will read out in public.
Everywhere you go, you'll find roses waiting for you. There will be no escape from the sweet and sincere love MC holds for you.
Then I will force you to watch every single sappy romance movie on this planet!
EVERY. SINGLE. ONE.
So shut it and get in the bunker with Sin!
NOW. 😡
Oh, interesting questions for Li-Sar, hehe! :D
As I've said multiple times—and will keep saying, lol!—the villain is very much a villain. They're not like Falk or Sin where things get a bit morally one way or other kind of thing.
Li-Sar is a power-hungry villain.
But, saying that, if you choose to do the romance route fully, then they will love the MC. They will fall as deep as the vampires do.
BUT this is still a villain romance. Li-Sar is not a good person, lol!
The way it will play is like the vampires in that it is a love that is a soul-mate kind of thing, your MC feels for Li-Sar and can't help it (though there will be lots and lots of times to be able to pull out before fully committing to the romance, but once you're in it, you're in it—and I will put a warning in game about when it will be locked in).
As a romance option Li-Sar is intense, tempting, and overwhelming, but also surprisingly gentle and…needful.
-
As for when you can't romance Li-Sar (if you're already on a vampire romance route), Li-Sar doesn't do well with competition, and will make that very plainly clear!
-
Thank you so much for the asks and the message! <3
#the wayhaven chronicles#asks#interactive fiction#unit bravo#twc detective#romance#vampires#twc villain romance#twc spoilers#the wayhaven chronicles book 4 spoilers#twc book 4 spoilers#Li-Sar#twc Li-Sar#game mechanics#relationships#they're not a good person#be warned#choice of games#hosted games
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AN ~ short bucktommy angst/whump with a happy ending, coz i love torturing my boys. 8x07 spoilers and verrrrrry loosely insp by a still from 8x08
typing
Why would he type type type and not send anything?
The alarms blare and Buck throws his baking back in the oven and sprints downstairs, but his mind is elsewhere. This? This is all muscle memory at this point. His mind occupies itself with other things, wondering what exactly Tommy might have wanted to say.
Evan. No. Buck. God, he still hates it that he called him Buck.
Can we talk? Tommy always was a man of few words. Or maybe Buck is just a man of many. But what does 'can we talk' even mean? He'd be spiralling just as hard as with the silent disappearing bubble. It's better this way.
MARRIAGE, EVAN??
God, he's an idiot. A pathetic, clingy idiot. Even now he would kill for a second round, just to dig that knife in deeper. At least then maybe, he'd be able to pick up what he'd missed before; where exactly that big dimpled grin and soft eyes had turned to hard words and hidden pain. At least then, he'd be able to fix it.
Hen watches him with a knowing eye.
“Stay strong, Buck,” she reminds him as they pull up to the scene. “Head in the game.”
Buck nods. He drops his phone on the seat and packs it away to the back of his mind, as best he can. Maybe he'll get to whip out the jaws of life. They always make him feel better. Shake it off, Buckley, let's go.
He's the last one out of the engine, and he hits the ground already triaging the scene. His senses expand, cataloguing the vehicles, the passers-by, the direction and nature of the accident. Eddie and Bobby are getting a run-down from a uniformed police officer on scene and it happens a splt second before Buck's mind catches up.
“A silver-” he overhears - “oh-”
He can see it in his minds eye, almost feel it even as his own heart sinks; the way recognition sets into Eddie's face. And then horror. He looks further down the road, to a sight that's partially obstructed from Buck's view. Partially, but not so much that he doesn't start running toward it because he has a feeling he knows, he knows, he knows who it is.
Why would he type type type and not send anything?
“Buck-” Hen warns, reaching to grab him but she's already missed.
Buck knows he should be helping but his world is caving in. Bobby's barking commands but all he hears is a wordless echo. Ravi hustles the balloons and the jaws up to the worst hit of the vehicles and Chimney is already there; medkit tossed over the worst of the shattered glass as he kneels by the dangerously crushed window and tries to make contact with the person inside.
“Buck.” It's Eddie this time, blocking with his body as much as he can – and he can, even with the full force of Buck throwing himself forward - but even he can't stop the terrible, terrible knowing.
“TOMMY!”
The name rips out of his lungs, because it's the truck: it's Tommy's pride and joy. It's singing along in the passenger seat and Tommy's smiling – sometimes he joins in, even though he wouldn't otherwise care for Buck's taste. It's Tommy slinging a greasy towel over his shoulder and hitching himinto the truck bed and making out until they both can't breathe. It's spilling the salt from hot chips in there; it's shoulder to shoulder at the drive-ins; it's getting fucked into the seats; it's polishing and vacuuming just last week because he can't help with the engine for shit. He'd put a little thing of jellybeans in the cup holder after - like his old detailer used to do, just to be cute - and it hits him that that's what those little coloured smudges are, intermingled with the crushed glass littered across the road.
What if he's in trouble and he needs my help?
“Oh, God, Tommy.”
The howling turns to hopeless. Breathless. The fight evaporates right out of him and he collapses forward into Eddie's arms. Eddie's embrace is firm and steadying as he lowers them both as gently as he can manage to the curb. Buck closes his eyes, sapped of the strength to watch any more but cursed by the knowledge of what's still got to be happening. Hen and Chim will be extracting Tommy's bruised and broken body onto a backboard right about now, and then lifting him onto a gurney. They'll be doing CPR if he's lucky – and they are, he can hear it, so at least there's that.
Then it stops.
For a few, horrible seconds all he can hear is his own hammering heart. Eddie's ragged breathing. Footsteps. Bobby.
“Buck.”
It takes a second, for him to gather the courage to open his eyes and look up. Bobby's demeanour is solemn and serious, but there's a softness Buck recognises well. A lightness that promises things might just be okay, as he offers a hand to pull Buck up from the roadside.
“He's asking for you in the ambulance,” Bobby says, and there's just a flicker, just an iota of a smile as he urges - “Go.”
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hello again? - jude bellingham x reader.
quick sum: weddings and dates. feelings tested to their breaking point when one of you appears with a date. the night is young, is there still a chance to make things right even when it feels wrong?
wc: 4k | masterlist | jude’s masterlist
psa 🗣️: HAD SOO MUCH FUN WRITING THIS!!! this wa smeant to be posted yesterday so I'm sorry for the small delay!! i love the drama and angst but fluffy ending as promised!!🤞🏻 like always hope you enjoy! 🤍
“i going to need five painkillers by the end of the night,” the bride, well, your best friend says. you laugh as you finish tucking in the last few bobby pins in her updo, making sure no flyaway or small bumps are seen, everything sleek and perfect. “i am too. or maybe many many many tequila shots, whichever is first available,” you joke.
“you should be all set!” you say cheerfully with a full smile on your face, hands resting on her shoulders as she admires your work. “it looks absolutely perfect, thank you! you’re truly a life savor i was ready to cancel the whole wedding,” your friend's eyes glimmer in relief, having a huge weight lifted off her shoulders as you did her hair. the hairstylist had to cancel the day of due to having a family emergency, but refunding her money was the least she could do.
all the bridesmaids surrounded you, complimenting the hair and most importantly the bride who could just be overall thankful and full of emotions. the photographer came in, taking individual and group pictures of everyone, and opening a bottle of champagne to start the day.
there were still a couple of hours left so you did some touch-ups on hair and makeup, assuring to add some powder to set and spray a setting mist to ensure it would last all day, also being generous with the hair spray. you changed into the olive green-toned dress and the black pumps for the evening, the dress hitting the correct angle and not interfering with you walk. a simple gold bracelet and matching earrings completed the look, walking out and earning praises from your girlfriends.
your heart began to race faster approaching the reception, suppressing any feelings away because you felt it wasn't the time. the wedding nerves were killing you but also seeing jude again was making you stress more than it shouldn't have. how he was. what he'd wear. if he was even going to be there?
with jude's schedule, it was hard to even make time for each other, being one of the main reasons for your messy breakup. your promotion to the law firm, move to spain, his recovery, media, games, and the always questioning each other's every move. it took a toll especially on you, crossing yourself every night knowing you couldn't do anything about it except long for him.
he was your every thought since then. if he missed you? how his life was going? if he also desired to get back together? as hard as it was you still felt more than love for him. the feeling in your tummy spreading as you remember the first times with him. the kiss, the date, the sex, the love, all of it.
"i've ordered your favorite, now tell me where i can help you," jude says kissing just below your ear returning from outside where he placed a call. you hand him your flashcards pulling out your notebook to read the different scenarios that match with the words.
"just so you know, before we start, i'll have you know i want something in return," jude whispers with a cheeky grin. "of course you do, what is it," you ask teasingly your arm wrapping around his shoulders waiting for his response.
"a date. i want you to go out on a date with me y/n..." jude says earning a silence from you. your nails rake against the back of his neck, "i'd love too. just so you know, depending how much you help me with determine the commitment to our first date..."
"i promise to be on my best behavior then."
"y/n! are you ready?" your friend waved her hand in the air with a confused look, you immediately snapped back into reality as you stepped out to the reception. "does everyone have their flowers? remember they go in your right hand!" the party organizer reminded you as you quickly got into line with the groomsmen.
it all happened quickly, you smiled at alex who quickly got into place arm wrapped with yours as you walked down the aisle as rehersed. the reception was absolutely beautiful. the tears, the vows, the laughter, the ceremony couldn't have been more perfect. you hated to admit but your eyes did search around for jude, and once you saw him, a sensation in you went numb.
there jude sat with a girl to his side who clearly hadn't read the dress code. placing kisses all over his hand and cheek, the love dazed in her eyes as she stared at jude. jude did reach over a few times and she giggled, making your weak heart wrench further.
jude on the other hand started to get impatient, especially with carla who wouldn't stop annoying him and trying to get his attention every few seconds. since breaking up with you he couldn't stand the PDA towards him or seeing it. jude quickly found it difficult since most of his teammates were married or in committed relationships.
it seemed like everywhere he went, there were reminders of you lingering around. the library you studied and where he took you on a desk in a quiet corner, the cafe where you'd get your morning coffee with him, even his training center, and the beranabeu where he hoped and waited you'd be there. he was miserable and driven to his breaking point.
jude began to regret bringing carla, as she got the wrong message and was all over him. the wedding you planned to go to together, where you were supposed to be his date, not her. but his stupid jealousy and talks from others were the fault he was here today. he was anticipating meeting your boyfriend or date, make the message clear he was going to be in the picture.
he hated to think of someone else when it wasn't him. it ticked him off and he knew he couldn't do anything about it because you weren't there anymore. but no one said he couldn't feel the way he felt. to hate the man who would forever make you laugh, or earn your love at the end of the day.
all those promises, the kisses, the hugs, the forever after you guys created was long gone. it hurt jude to the point where he had nightmares, not being able to sleep. it didn't help when they teased or made comments to him. or the fact a rumor went around you moved on and had someone else.
"carla, do you mind getting some drinks while i say hello to some friends?" jude kindly asks removing her hands from his chest. "anything for us jude! i'll wait for you by our table," she winks at him making jude internally cringe as she walks off.
he dabs up his friends, congratulating the groom and making small talk. "oye jude! que pasa chaval!? i didn't think you'd come," his shorter teammate brahim greeted him. "well i'm here aren't i? how are you? como estais?" jude mocked earning a chuckle from him.
all of his teammates suddenly surrounded him, laughing and discussing the plays for the game before, and the tactics for the upcoming one. jude looked around trying to look for you and carla. he fixed his suit every now and then, entranced with his friends. "who did you come with?" asked brahim, looking around for what presumably could be you.
"an old friend, her name is carla," jude winces at his friend's look. “i thought you were coming with y/n?” asks brahim earning a deep scowl from jude. “no we uh- we broke up a while ago,” jude squints his eyes, eyes finding you where you laughed loudly with your friends.
“but she’s here?”
“yeah but probably not alone,” jude retorted still convinced you were seeing someone and they were here. “what?” brahim laughs at him earning an eye roll from jude, “you can’t be serious! i’m pretty sure she’s single,” brahim says. “what are you playing at here jude?”
“nothing. i’m here for the wedding,” jude scoffs. “yeah sure you are,” brahim squints his eyes then looks around starting to walk off. “when you come to your senses, i’ll wait for you over there. remember not everything seems to be exactly as you seem jude…” he smacks his shoulders and walks off.
you’d probably been on your third glass of champagne by now, enjoying the presence with your girls as you spoke about the wedding and old throwbacks together. the speeches were made and the newly weds had their first dance already. anyone at the event center was dancing, talking, or drinking.
“i’ll be right back, i'm pissing myself,” you excuse yourself laughing at joke as you step away to do your business. you brought along your bag, washing your hands and touching your your makeup that had smudged a bit after the maid of honor speech. applying a fresh coat of lipstick and gloss you dabbed the excess off and headed outside.
you motion to your friends you we're head to the bar, them mouthing to bring shots of tequila and some peanuts to eat. “i don’t think we’ve met before,” a strange voice says behind you, you turn slowly, feeling your chest sink deeper as you place a small smile. “i'm carla,” the girl introduced herself, watching as you hesitated taking her hand.
“i feel like i’ve seen you around somewhere, i just can’t put a finger to it. you know huge town but small circle of friends, i was invited last minute to the wedding so,” carla spoke falsely making you want to walk out the conversation. you nodded along not really caring and wanting to go back. part of you hated the way you were treating her, but it was all the jealousy talking. she had done nothing to you besides show up here with him.
“i’m sorry but my friends are waiting for me,” you apologize letting the bar tender know where you were seated. you grabbed a fresh glass of champagne and standing up, grabbing your bag and walked away. “leaving so soon? i was hoping we could talk,” she approaches you again making you turn again but this time a bit agitated since you were catching on to what she was doing.
“like i said, my friends are waiting for me,” you shrug nonchalantly seeing her cock her head to the said and look you up and down. “well i didn’t catch your name,” she sarcastically says, the anger building in you slowly as she spoke and wanted to rub onto your face who she was here with.
“i’m y/n, but i feel like you know that already.”
“oh you’re the ex-girlfriend!” the girl enhanced the oh, with a fake smile. rage burned in your veins, needing to have resistance before you put her in her place. she had been on it the whole night, and she began to test your limits now.
“you must be the new girlfriend!” you returned the fake smile and took a huge sip of the champagne. “almost couldn’t tell…” you shrugged looking for an escape route but landing eyes with the man you avoided the whole night. his mouth agape and wide eyes.
he wore a black suit and white button up, leaving three buttons undone, hair styled and a fancy watch adorning his wrist. you felt tugged into the eye contact, needing and wanting to be the one next to him tonight. but instead here you were, giving your attention to the person you hated most.
your jaw clenched, turning your attention to your glass where you swirled the drink. “it’s a shame you guys didn’t work, but don’t worry! i’ll take better care of him,” she snarled. “jude spoke so much of you, honestly don’t see anything fascinating about you. have a goodnight.”
you downed the drink in one go, feeling the burn in your throat as you placed the glass onto the empty table. jude frowned at your state, still overly confused and waiting for your date to appear. then it all clicked in his head, you didn’t bring anyone, you didn’t bring a date. the jealousy and anger disappearing in him slowly as he watched you sit down and sigh covering your head in your hands.
“what did you say to her?” he questioned his date, seeing a smirk appear on her lips. jude turned back to you where you looked around in a trance, knowing immediately you felt the anxiety in you.
“what had to be said. it’s all done.”
“what’s done? what are you doing?” jude spit out dragging her to an empty hall where she just chuckled. “i told her what needed to be said. closed a chapter and now we’re starting a new one,” carla spoke crossing her arms. “i brought you here as a companion, not as my girlfriend or anything more. i think you’re getting the wrong message here,” jude said shaking his head.
“what do you mean jude?”
“i never asked you to do that, carla. you had no right to do that. i brought you here as a companion, not my girlfriend or anything else,” jude makes it clear to her seeing confusion flash into her eyes, now beaming with embarrassment. “i don't get it jude?”
“that i don’t intend to start a relationship with you. i’m sorry if i have given that impression but i can’t. what did you say to her?" jude demands his tone going softly as he walks towards her. "i thought i had said what needed to be said so we could finally be together!"
"y/n is too busy with herself. she got herself a promotion and is focused on her studies! she can't give you what you want and ask for jude! she's nothing compared to me," carla points to herself as she speaks all mumbled.
"and you can? what you did just now, what impression does that give to me carla? the way you're speaking about someone who you don't know, and never will?" jude defends you, deeming the need to even if you weren't there. she opens her mouth to speak but closes it immediately, knowing nothing could fix the situation. "i'm sorry-"
"save it. we both know you don't mean it," jude scoffs and walks off, back into the reception where you're nowhere to be found. he wandered off for a few minutes looking for you, even asking some people around him and they all gave him the same response that they hadn't seen you.
you had walked off back to your friends after a mini breakdown and questioning your life. beginning to blame yourself for everything when it shouldn't. it was both your faults but yet it hurt to hear her say nothing was fascinating about you. you shouldn't have let her words get to heart but what if they were true?
what if you were stuck in your own world and couldn't bother to make time for him? what if you didn't give enough attention especially when he most needed it? to be worried only in the moment and not live your life to its fullest? a couple shots and dancing later you found yourself seated at your table alone, watching you friends dance without their heels drunkly laughing off.
"where are you even going?" jude asks you, seeing how you packed every item away into suitcases. "clearly far way from you. i can't stand it anymore, you're never here jude!" you yell throwing your hand sin the air.
"you're never here and i'm tired of it jude. it's always some bullshit excuse and if you truly cared you'd see that but you don't. i'm not wanted here so the faster i leave, the better for us," you say zipping up the final case.
"you're being ridiculous," jude laughs in disbelief, approaching you but you warn him to not get near you. "this is what i mean! i can hardly recognize you nowadays! i'm done jude. done," you say loud and clear.
"leave. i never needed you anyway." you turn around facing him, a flash of regret filling in his eyes as you look at him in pure disbelief. "you did, or you wouldn't be standing here if it wasn't for me."
you share your head at the memory, heading to the empty bar to return the empty glasses, feeling the need to clean up the mess and grab a small snack and final glass of champagne walking out to the outdoor balcony for a breath of air. "y/n?" you look up, not feeling sleepy or drunk anymore, standing up straight as jude approaches you.
was it possible to feel your heart shatter into millions of pieces over and over again? to feel the pit of your stomach turn at the sight of your ex-boyfriend? to feel utter pain when it was supposed to be a happy day? "jude..." you croak, looking away and biting the inside of your cheek.
he rests his forearm on the bar railing looking at you, trying to read you as you looked forward. silence fell upon you, but there was no denying that your hearts began to sprint faster at the closeness of the two of you. "did you need something?" you softly ask, taking a sip of the drink. "i wanted to talk," jude states firmly.
"are you sure? i don't think your girlfriend would like that," you attempt to joke but it earns you a frown from jude who just shakes his head. "i'm not sure she would, i'll just leave this here and go-" you try to walk away but he stops you, softly gripping your wrist refusing to let you go.
"she's not my girlfriend, she also left a while ago..." jude says, seeing you finally lock eyes with his. a deep laugh rumbles from his throat a painful smile stretching along his adorned face, "my first reaction would've been that too, if you had shown up here with someone else."
"i don't get it, why are you here then?" you feel the need to ask, get some sort of answer to relieve the pang in your chest. "why bother being here when you still brought her."
"because i was jealous, there i said it. i was so convinced you'd show up with someone who wasn't me. that i'd have to face reality and finally accept we're not longer together. that i can't call you mine anymore..." jude confesses, making your eyes glisten with new tears again.
"do you not know how it feels? to still be stuck in the past and longing for hope that one day you'll come back to me? having to face everyday with you on my mind anywhere i go? to have vivid dreams of you?" jude frowns, his once rough voice turning delicate as he brought a hand wiped your tears. "i can't stand it anymore."
"i thought this whole time before coming here, you were with someone else. everyone told me you had moved on and looked in a better place and all i could feel was bitterness. it wasn't fair, but i was so wrong y/n. so wrong to the point where i brought someone who could never love me like you did..." jude wiped his own tears away at the state of you.
you felt like you couldn't move, stuck in the same place as you heard his voice. the voice that one day soothed you to sleep, to calm you down, to look forward to at the end of the day. was it possible to feel this emotionless? to have no more tears left to cry? a sob emerged you, covering your face and attempting to control your breaths.
"who said i stopped? i may have an idea of what you feel like, let's be real. i don't know quite frankly who told you i moved on, but that's all lies. i can't do that knowing i still feel the same i did when i first met you," you sniffle taking a gulp and feeling the knot in your throat. "i thought i was fine and could handle seeing you, but my oh my was i incorrect... to see her with you, for her to come up to me and speak the way she did? for a second i thought 'where is my jude'?"
"i'm right here..."jude grabbed your hand and placed it on his heart, bringing it up to his jaw and resting his face on your palm. "don't you see it though? we're back where we ended off. do you possibly think we're good for each other when it seems like we're only hurting?" you question him.
"i've lived everyday thinking i wasn't enough or that i couldn't give you what you wanted jude," you shook your head in disappointment, "i want to fix things i do, but i'm scared that if we do this again, we're going to end up back here confessing our wrongs and tears. the way i felt the day we broke up doesn't compare to now..." you say, jude going quiet and looking down in defeat.
"i miss you so much jude," you choked on your own words, a fresh wave of tears overpowered the dry ones, holding onto jude upper arms as he leaned down and engulfed you into a deep hug. jude repeatedly kissed your head, choking on his own sobs as he repeated how much he missed you.
"i hope you know i'm still so madly in love with you y/n. i've never felt this way for anyone and it seems like its meant for you and you only,"j jude says making you giggle. "i'm serious pretty girl. i'm serious about you and us. i always was and i made the mistake of letting you go once, but i'm not here to do that again. i'm here to grant all of the promises we made," jude holds your face, seeing your red eyes and slightly smudged makeup, still more beautiful than ever.
"all of them?"
"every single one of them."
"i feel like we should talk more about it," you insist, seeing jude nod and agreeing with you. he tightens his grips on you waist leaning further down closer to you. "yes we do and we will, but right now i want to kiss you..." he asks and you grant. he sucks in a breath lips devouring yours after months, holding and kissing you how you liked and deserved.
you held onto his suit, tiptoeing up and deepening the kiss further, being able to taste his minty whisky scent. "come with me. we won't talk about everything tonight but i really just want to be here with you," jude says, sitting down on a small couch laid outside. you immediately follow and cuddle into him like you used to. you place a final peck onto his lips. "wait my drink-" jude holds your waist giving you a look with a playful smile.
"i think that's enough for tonight."
#jude bellingham#judey thoughts 5️⃣#jude bellingham x reader#jude bellingham imagine#jude bellingham one shot#jude bellingham blurb#jude bellingham fanfic#football fanfic#footballer#football x reader#football imagine#football x y/n
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Congrats on your milestone! 🥳
For the prompt:
I enjoy your Buck & Bobby stories and I would love some Bobby & Tommy bonding. Maybe Bobby gives Tommy the secret ingredient for the lasagna that he haven't even given Buck yet?
no pressure, if it sparks joy 🥰
thank you! it does spark joy, so naturally i wrote some angst. i'm so sorry, i don't think this is exactly what you were looking for!! sorryyyyy. IOU one (1) fluff
It's purely a coincidence that Bobby sees him first, as he's coming back from calling Athena to make sure she'd got back from work okay. Tommy's just stepping into the station, looking around - eagerly, Bobby thinks at first.
"Hey, Tommy. This is a nice surprise," he says, and the way Tommy almost flinches at the sound of his voice makes him think it's more like anxiously. "You're looking for Buck?"
"Yeah. Sorry, I know there's a few hours left of your shift."
"That's okay. I sent him and Eddie on a supply run so provided they don't manage to start a riot somehow they should be back soon."
"Oh, that's - sure, I'll just go - " Tommy half turns to head back outside.
Since Tommy came back into their lives, Bobby has been pleasantly surprised at how easy it is to read him. Of everyone at the 118 when Bobby first arrived, Tommy was the most locked down, the slowest to open up. He's a pretty open book nowadays, and not just with the way he looks at Buck. Right now though, there's more than a hint of that stiff, cautious young man Bobby first met.
"Tommy, is everything okay?"
"Um. Yeah," Tommy says, but there are unshed tears in his eyes all of a sudden, and his lips are pressed tightly together.
"My office," Bobby offers. "C'mon."
Tommy hesitates, and Bobby gets a hand on his elbow, not about to take no for an answer. Tommy tenses for a second but then his body sags, giving in, and he lets himself be walked up the stairs and past the couch. Chim looks up from his phone with a grin, but Bobby gives him a minute shake of the head, and he settles back, looking troubled.
Bobby steers Tommy into his office and closes the door. Tommy sits in the same chair he'd sat in all those years ago, when he'd admitted to Bobby how much he missed flying, and they'd started working on his transfer. Bobby doesn't put the desk between them this time, leaning against the corner of it instead.
Tommy's eyes are on his hands which are in his lap. Which are shaking, Bobby realizes.
"What's up, kid?"
"My, uh. My dad died," Tommy says, and it sounds like he's surprised that he let it come out.
Bobby's been enjoying getting to know this new, realer version of Tommy, and he thinks they're well on their way to being friends, but he's very aware that he's not the one who's needed here right now.
"You want me to give Buck a call? Get him back here?"
"No, you don't have to do that," Tommy says. "I'm fine."
Bobby privately thinks that if Tommy was actually fine, he'd have waited out the rest of Buck's shift instead of walking into the station looking like he has a fingertip hold on his composure.
"Okay," he says.
"Really," Tommy says. "We hadn't even spoken in ten years."
As though that will make it less complicated, rather than more so.
"It was, uh. Liver cancer, in the end. Ironic, really," Tommy says, and then falters, looking like he wants to clap a hand over his mouth.
Bobby feels like he has a sense of where this is going, and he tips his head. "Yeah?"
"Sorry, that was a shitty thing to - he was in recovery for a long time."
"I'm sorry to hear that, Tommy."
"Yeah. Yeah, it was. Well, you know."
"Yeah."
Tommy rubs a hand over his eyes, like he's embarrassed about a complicated relationship with an alcoholic father. Bobby aches for him, sneaks a quick glance at the clock, trying to estimate how long it'll take Buck and Eddie to get back.
"He actually…he'd been sober since a few years after I got out of the army. Didn't start working the program until I was enlisted, but it finally stuck. It didn't make him a good person, but he felt like it did."
"Yeah, that's a risk," Bobby admits. "I guess Buck told you about my - "
Tommy's laugh sounds a little hollow, but his smile looks genuine. "No. In the nicest possible way, I could see you white knuckling from a mile off."
Bobby reevaluates some of how cautious Tommy was around him to begin with.
"Yeah, you do get good at spotting the signs," he allows. "Mostly in other people, in my case."
Tommy nods. "I have a lot of rules," he says. "No neat spirits. Not after a bad shift. Not alone."
"You stick to 'em?"
"Mostly. All the time, lately."
It's Bobby's turn to nod. "That's good."
"My cousin's organizing a funeral," Tommy says suddenly. "I don't - do I go?"
Bobby's well aware that Tommy probably wouldn't have deliberately come to him with this, but they're here now, so he takes a careful breath and asks, "Do you want to go?"
"I want - " Tommy looks away, knuckles at his eyes. "I want a dad I could just grieve."
And oh boy, does Bobby get that. He squeezes Tommy's shoulder, although what he really wants to do is scoop this mountain of a man into a hug.
"Whatever you decide," he says, "You have people in your corner, Tommy. You're going to get through this."
Tommy nods. Says, "Yeah." And then, "Yeah," again, with a little more belief behind it this time.
Bobby draws breath to speak, but before he can, he hears the thundering of footsteps up the stairs, the familiar sound of Buck and Eddie bickering. Tommy straightens up, half turns in his chair, like even with a door between them, he's orbiting around Buck just like always.
Bobby crosses to the door, and leans out to call, "Hey, Buck. Get in here, please?"
"Aw, Cap, what'd I - " Buck says as he shoves the last of his bags into Eddie's overloaded arms and heads to the office. "Tommy? Babe, what are you doing here?"
"I'll leave you boys to it," Bobby says, patting Tommy's shoulder on his way out of the door.
Tommy looks up, catches Bobby's wrist. "Thank you," he says, his voice thick.
"Any time," Bobby tells him, meaning it. There's a lot more he means too, a lot more he could say, but he can see Buck practically vibrating as the anxiety ratchets up so he takes his leave, shutting the door behind him.
In the kitchen, everyone else is in a deeply unsubtle huddle, and they look at him expectantly. He shrugs and nods his head at the bags on the island.
"That stuff gonna put itself away?"
They grumble but get to it, and Bobby sends up a silent prayer that the alarms stay quiet for now. It's answered, and Buck comes out of the office alone ten minutes later and beelines for Bobby.
"Hey, can I - "
"Take him home," Bobby says. "Look after each other."
"We always do," Buck promises. "Thanks, Bobby."
"Everything okay?" Eddie asks, the designated spokesperson for the peanut gallery, Chim and Hen at his back.
"Call you later," Buck offers, heading back to the office to collect Tommy.
"C'mon, I know for a fact you all have jobs," Bobby says with a clap of his hands that sends them scattering, trying to make sure Buck and Tommy have a clear run at the exit without being accosted by any well-meaning enquiries.
The two of them pass him a minute later, Buck speaking too quietly for Bobby to hear, and Tommy nodding in response. He watches them head out, sees the way Buck gets an arm around Tommy's waist, the way he looks steadfast and solid, ready to shoulder the weight of this with Tommy. He sees the way Tommy leans into him, like he's ready to let Buck do it.
Yeah, Bobby thinks. They're going to be okay.
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Heaven
Master List
Characters: Dean x Reader (wife), Sam x Reader (in-laws)
Warnings: Mention of deaths, nothing too major, some fluffy stuff
A/N: I got this idea from a post I saw @jackles010378 post. Dean has died and he meets you, his wife on the bridge. When Sammy comes, you give them their time.
Very short story
All work is my own, don’t take it. Reblogs and shares are welcome
Minors DNI 18+
I sat on the porch of the bar with Bobby, drinking a beer. The two of us reminisced about how we met, and how he introduced me to Dean.
It was love at first sight for me. Who wouldn’t fall for the one and only Dean Winchester. He was an amazing hunter, an incredible protector, and damn was he good looking. His jeans fit him perfectly, his shirt was just tight enough to show off his toned chest, and his biceps and bowed legs made me weak in the knees.
Dean had so many walls up when I first met him. Who could honestly blame him? He had been through hell and back and shouldered so much from a young age. I never got the chance to meet John, and that was a good thing, because honestly, I definitely had some choice words for him.
The day Dean finally let some of his walls down, was after a particularly hard hunt. I had gotten hurt and Dean was angry. At first I thought he was angry with me, but quickly I realized he was angry at himself for letting me get hurt. “Dean, it wasn’t your fault. It was mine. It’s not your responsibility to protect me all the time. Going left when I should have gone right was my choice, and my choice alone.” I remember touching his chest and feeling his heart beat wildly and his breath hitch. The look in his eyes had me holding my breath, and then he kissed me.
That was almost ten years ago. We had been through so much together, and after that night, we were inseparable. Dean and I had sex that night. No, it wasn’t making love or taking our time. It was primal and full of need and desire. It was raw, messy and loud. All the years of hunting together, the tension that had built and the angst from the hunt, just poured out in between those sheets that night.
Dean took me in ways I’d never been taken, and I fell deeper in love with him. I was sure the morning light would bring regret from Dean, but I was wrong. The next morning when I woke up in his arms, he told me he didn’t want anyone else but me. We had been together ever since.
About a year after that night Dean and I got married. We tried to have children, but it wasn’t in the cards for us. The biggest reason, I died in a car accident about a year ago.
Dean tried to make a deal to bring me back, but no demon would deal with him. Jack let me go back and see him, I begged him to move on. Jack gave me 24 hours to be with Dean to say our goodbyes. We spent the whole time together, most of it in bed. We made love, over and over again, and Dean took pictures of the both of us together. He said he wanted to make sure he had pictures to hold on to if he couldn’t hold me.
When it was time to say goodbye, Dean kissed me and told me he’d see me soon. I told him I didn’t want to see him too soon. “Dean, please move on. Live your life. Fall in love again, and have those babies we wanted. You deserve that, Dean. I want that for you. I love you.” Dean cupped my face, “Baby, I don’t want anyone else. You’re it for me. I love you, Y/N.” He kissed my lips one last time and then it was time for me to go.
When I got to Heaven and Jack had taken over, I ran into Bobby. Seeing me was met with a mixture of excitement and sadness. He knew since I was there, that meant Dean was alone. Bobby pulled me into a big hug, “Hey, baby girl. I wasn’t expecting you here so soon.” “Yeah, I was in a car accident, I was hit by a truck running a red light. Imagine that, a hunter dying in a car accident and not on a hunt.”
I made my rounds seeing loved ones and visiting different places in Heaven. Jack appeared on one of my walks, “Hey, Y/N. Go to the bridge. You have a visitor.” I looked at Jack oddly, but started to walk towards the bridge. As I approached I saw her…Baby. The beautiful, sleek, black car that held so many memories for Dean and me. Then I saw him, leaning against the side.
A soft gasp leaving my lips, “Dean.” He turned and looked at me with a smile on his face, “Hey sweetheart.” I ran to him and leaped in his arms. “Dean! I’ve missed you so much baby.” He looked exactly the same, strong jaw, beautiful green eyes, strong arms and so incredibly handsome.
He pulled me tight and close to him, “I’ve missed you too, sweetheart. So much.” “Dean, what happened? Why are you here so soon?” Dean sighed, “It was a hunt gone wrong, we saved the kids, but I misstepped and ended up impaled on a piece of rusty rebar. It went right through me.”
A tear slipped out, “Oh Dean, I’m so sorry baby. As much as I love that you’re here I know Sammy misses you.” “Yeah, I’m sure he does, but he’s got Eileen and I’m betting he’s going to marry her. You would have loved her. She’s so good for him.”
I smiled softly, “Well maybe he will get out of the life and they live a normal life.” He smiled and nodded, thinking about his baby brother getting out of the life and living the life he deserved.
Dean and I spend the rest of the afternoon talking and catching up. We climbed in Baby and went for a drive.
The windows rolled down, music up, Dean’s hand in mine and me sitting next to him. This was definitely Heaven.
Dean parked the car and had me slide closer to him. His lips on mine and hands in my hair. “God I missed you sweetheart. It’s been too long since I’ve felt your lips on mine. I’m so sorry we never had those babies we wanted. We would have made some beautiful kids.” Dean chuckled.
I cupped his face, “Dean, it’s okay. I had you and that was enough. Besides, if we had kids and I died, you would have been left with them to raise alone. Now with you gone, who would have taken care of them? My life with you was incredible. With or without children. I had you, and you were enough.”
“You were enough too, sweetheart. More than enough. I feel so incredibly lucky to have you as my wife. I love you.”
A few minutes later we slipped into the backseat to make up for lost time. It was incredible and felt even better than I remembered. A few hours later we were dressed again, kissed and slipped back into the front seat.
Dean put the car in drive and we drove towards the bridge again. We climbed out of the car and he leaned against the door, pulling me into his arms. My back was to his chest and his arms wrapped around me tightly..
We talked about everything and then silence. Dean and I could always be with each other in comfortable silence. He just held me. An occasional kiss to my neck or head.
As the sun was starting to set, Dean looked up and smiled. I looked over to where he was and saw Sam. “Hey Sammy.” Dean said with a slight chuckle. “Hey Dean, Y/N.”
Dean’s arms let me go and I walked over to Sam and hugged him. Then Dean pulled him in for a hug. I smiled when I saw the brothers embrace.
Sam began telling us about his life after Dean died. What felt like minutes to us was over 40 years on Earth.
Sam told us he left the life, went back to Stanford and became an attorney. He and Eileen got married and had a little boy they named Dean. Dean smiled when he heard that. Then he told us he died as an old man surrounded by his family.
Dean beamed with pride. Sam was Dean’s first son and everyone knew it. I kissed Dean and hugged Sam. “I’m gonna let you two catch up. I’ll meet you later at Harvells, Dean.”
Dean pulled me close, “I love you, sweetheart.” “I love you too, Dean.” As I started to walk away I turned and looked back at my husband and his baby brother. They smiled and nodded at me. I knew they needed time together.
I had plenty of time left to spend with Dean and in his arms. After all, this was Heaven.
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Purgatory
warnings// SMUTTT, fluff with some angst, little bit of Sam bashing (not really but Y/N isn't his biggest fan in this one)
lil summary// based on events in Season 9 Episode 1 with my own spin on it
Dean x reader
word count// 2740
(gif from Pinterest)
You felt like you were going crazy, it's been almost a year since you lost Dean, you didn't even know if he was still alive but you would never stop looking until you found him… or his body. Sam never even tried... his excuse "dean and I made a promise" you tried to argue but he didn't want to hear it.
It only got harder each day, you weren't any closer to finding him today than you were six months ago, you tried to keep in contact with Kevin but Sam wouldn't return your calls so you had no idea what was happening to him. You tried to look for him but all you really wanted to do was find your boyfriend. That's all you wanted and the hope that you would was fading with each passing day.
It was like any other day you got up at 5am after a quick three hour Power Nap to continue your search. You poured some cereal and sat down on you laptop looking for anything that could relate to the man that was Dean Winchester. You moved to your search board in Bobbys cabin’s living room trying to connect any dots that could bring you closer to him. You couldn't help feeling more and more defeated when you couldn't find anything. You sighed taking a seat on the couch rubbing your temples trying to stop the tears from falling.
————————————————————————————————————————————————
Your head snapped up as the door started to open, you grabbed your gun and aimed it at the door ready for what was about to walk in.
"Dean?!" You cried out, you threw your gun to the side and tan to hug him. He caught you straight away wrapping his arms tightly around you "it's me, I'm back sweetheart" his voice muffled as he spoke against your neck. You pull back from the hug slightly to really look at him taking in his presence "it's really you" you cried, you hands cupping the sides of his face "it's really me baby, but I know you gotta do the tests, so let's do them and we can talk about where I was for the year…" dean said his hands tightly holding your hips as close to him as possible.
You smiled up at him. not letting go of him "I don't need to do the tests, I know it's you" you pulled him down towards you, crashing your lips against his. Dean reciprocated immediately, his hands ran down your body squeezing your ass making you moan, he grabbed the back of your thighs and lifted you up. You wrapped your legs tightly around his hips moaning when his Jean clad bulge pressed against your aching core "mmm bedroom dean" you mumbled against hips lips not wanting to break the kiss as his tongue invaded your mouth in a familiar kiss
Dean didn't say anything as he continued the kiss, he just walked towards the bedroom you'd taken home in, he threw you to the bed making you squeal, he shrugged off his tan flannel and grey undershirt leaving his sculpted chest bare, you shrugged off your own shirt leaving you in just a black lace bra. Dean kicked off his jeans leaving him in just a pair of black boxer shorts before getting on top of you, pulling your lips back into the heated kiss "god it's been so fucking long" you whisper against his lips "damn right it has sweetheart, we gotta make up for lost time" dean mumbled as he loved kisses down your neck before reaching your chest "gotta get rid of this first" dean rold you before he ripped your bra off, displaying you perky breasts to him
Dean groaned before rushing forward sucking harsh marks over your chest making you squirm under him, you ran your fingers through his short hair holding him close as he he left his marks down your chest to your abdomen not stopping until he was at the waistline of your pants "lift your hips sweetheart" dean told you, rubbing his rough hands up to your waistline
You did as you were told and lifted your hips allowing dean to pull your pants and panties down in one swift pull. He placed his hands on the inside of your thighs and you clenched around nothing as you grew wetter by every second. Dean spread your legs apart making you let out an airy moan as the cool air hit your wet core "dean please, I need you so fucking bad baby" you begged tugging for him to come back up to you "we have all the time in the world for foreplay, but right now... I just need you inside me"
Dean bit his lip harshly in need. He took off his underwear throwing it to the other side of the room letting his big hard cock spring free. "Crap I don't have a condom, is there any left from last time" dean asked as he wandered his hand down your core before inserting his finger inside your wet hole thrusting it inside you, moaning as you clenched around him "i- oh god, I think they ex-oh fuck Dean please. Expired!" you cried out when he added another his pace never stopping "risk it?" Dean asked, his magical fingers never stopping
You nodded quickly "I've waited a year, I can't wait another day" dragging him back into a heated kiss as your legs wrapped tightly around his bare hips, gasping sharply when his hard cock pressed against your soaked opening "I can't wait either sweetheart" dean slowly pushed his tip inside making you wince slightly "you okay? Need time to stop?" Dean asked quickly.
Shaking your head you wrapped your arms tighter around the back of his neck "I'm okay baby... I just it's been a year since we last were, well you know... together... intimately" dean chuckled before pressing a gentle kiss on your lips staring softly into your eyes "you waited for me?"
Staring back at him tilting your head with a confused smile "of course I did. Baby I haven't stopped looking for you... not even for a damn day". Dean rubbed his hands up and own your smooth thighs, his eyes filled with not just lust but with something else "i... i ... I love you Y/N, so fucking much" you eyes filled with tears while holding back sobs... you've waited years for dean to say that "I love you too De". Dean crashed forward once more crashing his plump lips hard against yours, tangling his tongue with your’s as his hand guided his cock to push deeper inside of you, making you let out a loud moan against his lips
"Oh fuck- that feels so fucking good" you cried out pushing your feet against the top of his ass to keep him nestled deep inside of your warm pussy. "You ready?" Dean asked against your lips, a single line of mixed spit keeping them attached as you let out an airy "yeah"
Deans hands gripped your hips tightly, he pulled his hips back almost all the way before thrusting his cock inside you hard. "YES!" You screamed urging him to continue his movements, slamming his hips against yours continuously "you feel so fucking good. Could live in this sweet pussy" dean confessed slamming against you once more. You screamed in pleasure as his pelvic bone rubbed against your swollen clit, "please go faster" you begged, Dean obligated moving your legs so they rest over his shoulders allowing him to penetrate you faster and deeper, drawing out screams from your sweet mouth with every thrust,
"I'm not gonna last baby" dean groaned, his hips never stopping "me either" you cried out out taking deep breaths as your body chased its high. Deans hand made its way up your body, making sure to grope your sweat coated breast before moving up to your throat, he wrapped his hand lightly around it, only applying a small amount of pressure but it was enough to make your eyes roll as your orgasm hit your body in fast waves as you screamed his name.
Dean groaned loudly as his cock stilled inside of you, spurting out hot white stripes of cum against your walls. He lay his head against the crook of your sweaty neck his soft cock still inside you as you both tried to get your breathing back under control. You scratched your fingers through his slightly longer than usual hair “I know we jumped the gun a little by jumping… well into bed, but I’m so happy your back home. I have no idea how I survived that year without you…” you smiled down at him “I’m here now sweetheart, and I’m not going anywhere again” dean promised before giving you a more gentle kiss on your swollen lips.
Dean pulled out of you gently making you let out a low gasp. Dean rolled over your body so he was laid beside you, he wrapped his arm around you before pulling you to lay against his bare chest “oh I missed this so fucking much” you confessed, your finger tracing his anti possession tattoo, something you’ve always done after sex. “Me too sweetheart. Hey where’s Sammy? I haven’t heard anyone walking around here since I got in, I’m thinking he snuck out when he saw us head into the bedroom” dean chuckled,
You face grew hot at the mention of sam, it’s not like you hated him, he’s your boyfriends brother and you loved him like a brother… but you seen a different side to him after this, a side you didn’t know if you could forgive “dean listen I-” you tried to say before the door opening and closing for your attention “ah there, he’s back” dean said moving forward slightly taking you with him before throwing on a pair of pants and his undershirt leaving his flannel for you
You put on deans flannel and your panties from earlier to cover yourself. Dean grabbed your hand gently tugging you into the living room to see the taller Winchester stood awkwardly “Sammy!” Deans gruff voice called pulling his younger brother into a big hug “it’s good to see you man” Sam swallowed thickly as they pulled back from the hug “it’s good seeing you too dean. I mean I can’t believe your freaking alive! What the hell happened to you” Sam exclaimed.
“Well standing to close to that exploding bastard dragged me to where he went… we’ll not just him, all monsters” dean shrugged, you turned to look at him you face twisted in shock and fear “w-what?” Dean wrapped his arm around you waist tugging you against him “it doesn’t matter now. All that maters is I’m back”
“Dean, you were in purgatory for a whole year?” You asked, your voice breaking as you felt you cheat tighten with sadness and guilt “yeah, I guess times flies when your running for your life” he joked, but you didn’t find it funny. You pulled away from his embrace and took a seat on the worn couch, you put you head in you hands and sighed “oh god, I should have looked harder, I should have thought of fucking purgatory… I-I” dean cut you off kneeling in front of you “Y/N, you guys we’re trying to look for me- hell if the shoe was on the other foot I wouldn’t have thought about purgatory either but you and Sammy-”
“Dean listen… we gotta talk” Sam stood scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. Dean turned to give Sam a look of confusion, still not moving from his place in front of you “talk about what Sammy?”
Sam sighed awkwardly “it’s fine Sam, just leave it” you tried to stop him, you knew Dean would only be hurt by what his younger brother had done “leave what? What the hell happened Sam?”dean stood up, walking towards Sam confused “nothing happened Dean real-”
“I left the life dean” Sam interrupted. Dean looked between you both, his facial expressions unreadable “you left… as in you didn’t look for me?” Sam swallowed hard looking at his brother, “no, I quit the life” you closed your eyes not wanting to be here for this, but there was nowhere for you to go do you just stayed sat on the couch silent tears rolling down your face
“What do you mean you quit the life? So you just decided to turn your back on the family business!” Dean demanded his voice raising slightly. Sam let out a dry chuckle “well nothing says family like the whole family being dead”
Dean slammed his hands on the table making you jump at the bang “I wasn’t dead Sam. I wasn’t fighting for my damn life everyday for a goddam year” dean yelled. You knew this could get ugly so decided to try and stop it as quickly as possible “dean…” you rubbed your hand across his back the soothe his tense muscles
“Dean I thought I saw you die. Hunting is what got every single member of my family killed. I had no one left-” your head snapped around to the younger Winchester “oh that’s not true and you know it! I tried to get you to help me Sam. I wanted your help for crying out loud!” You cried out “sam I tried so hard to get you to help me right up until you stopped answering all your phones. I was the one who was alone, I didn’t even know what was happening with Kevin because you stopped answering me” you yelled pointed your finger at yourself to emphasise your words
Deans face grew harder as your confession went on “I’m gonna take a walk before I do something I might regret” dean muttered angrily before storming out of the cabin
“Y/N, I’m-” Sam tried to talk but you didn’t want to hear it “just don’t… don’t talk to me, I have absolutely nothing to say to you” you told him with a harsh tone before hiding away in your room.
————————————————————————————————————————————————
You tried to wait up for Dean but by the third hour you had cried yourself to sleep, this day was the most draining you’ve had in a long time. It wasn’t all bad though, you got the love of your life back today.
You stirred to the sound of the door creaking open, a blinding light entering the room. “Dean? Is that you?” You mumbled tiredly “yeah it’s me sweetheart… I’m sorry for taking off earlier I just… I needed some space away from Sam before I took his damn head off” dean grumbled as he kicked his shoes off before hoping into the bed, pulling you tightly against him. You curled against him, wrapping your leg tightly around his hips “dean, don’t fight with your brother because of this please. He was hurting too and he just… he had a bad way of coping” you told him straining your neck up to look at him
He let out a deep sigh “I know, I just- I would never do that do that to him… and he left you, the one thing I asked him to do was look after you if anything ever happened to me but he couldn’t even do that.” You smiled against his chest “you know I can take care of myself baby” deans arms tightened around you as he closed his eyes a small smile playing on his plump lips “I know you can baby, I just don’t want you to ever have to. You’re my girlfriend, it’s my job to protect you, no matter what”
You leaned up and pressed a loving kiss on his lips, deans hand moved to the back of your head, keeping you as close as possible for the small kiss. Dean was the first to pull back, his deep green eyes staring down at you softly “I love you sweetheart” you smiled giving his lips one more peck before pulling back “I love you too Dean, I’m so happy to have back home with me” you told him as you cuddled into his side once again, holding on to him as tightly as you possible could, hoping that it wasn’t all a dream, and when you wake up he’ll still be there, next to you, holding you.
-----
Hiiii, so I'm having thoughts of a series rewrite Season 1-15 with Dean x reader what are we thinking.... also I'm thinking of wishful thinking part 2, i wasn't initially planning to do so but I've had a lot of people requesting so is that something you guys would like to see?
ALL MY OWN WORK I DO NOT GIVE CONSENT TO COPY OR PUBLISH ON OTHER SITES, I.E WATTPAD, ETC, WITHOUT MESSAGING TO ASK FIRST. REBLOGS ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED THANK YOU FOR SUPPORTING.
#dean winchester#dean x reader#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester smut#dean winchester angst#dean winchester fluff#sam and dean#sam winchester#sam winchester x reader#sam winchester smut#sam winchester angst#sam winchester imagine#dean winchester imagine#castiel#castiel x reader#castiel fluff#castiel smut#castiel angst#castiel imagine#chevy impala#bobby singer#claire novak#charlie bradbury#garth fitzgerald iv#benny lafitte#rowena macleod#crowley#jack kline#jensen x reader#jensen ackles
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Sin City | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader
Warnings: arguing! angst! recovering from a sexual assault (please heed this warning), light smut (MDNI!!! 18+ only), mentions of suicide, canon violence, canon gore
Word Count: 7341
A/N: His beautiful face I will scream and cry
Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist
Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist
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You and the brothers decided to bunk somewhere between Black Rock, New York, and Bobby’s house in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Although Sam knew about your relationship with Dean, Dean still got two separate rooms for you and the brothers. For a reason you couldn’t quite place, that bothered you.
He eventually did come to your separate room, and you immediately grilled him. “Why do you keep getting us two separate motel rooms?” Dean seemed stunned.
“I mean, it’s not a big deal, but I don’t know… are you ashamed to be with me? Like, do you not want Sam to see us sleeping together? If you are, I’d rather you just tell me—”
Dean shook his head. “No, (Y/N), why would you think that?” he said. “I just wasn’t sure if you’d be comfortable staying with Sam. And… I don’t necessarily wanna have sex in the bed next to my brother,” he finished.
“Oh, so you thought we were gonna have sex tonight?” you questioned angrily.
“What? No! I wasn’t—”
“Because sometimes I feel like that’s all I am to you, Dean! Like I’m just one of your fucking hookups!” you shouted.
“Why the fuck would you think that?!” he argued. “When have I ever given you that impression?!”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because whenever we get in the doorway of emotional vulnerability, your solution is to have sex,” you chided. “Maybe because you can’t even tell me how you feel about me. I mean, I’ve poured my heart out to you, and I feel like you’re not even letting me in a little bit!”
“Why is now the first time you’re bringin’ any of this up?” Dean responded. “Maybe if you would’ve talked to me about this, I could’ve fixed it before you freaked the fuck out on me.”
“Because I feel like if you really cared about me, I wouldn’t have to ask you to prove it to me!”
“I thought that’s what I was doing!” Dean argued. “I mean, (Y/N), when was the last time you saw me even look at another girl?!”
“You looked at Bela!”
“You did, too!”
You considered for a moment, and unfortunately, he was right.
“I mean, seriously. When’s the last time I’ve stayed more than a few nights with a girl? If I didn’t give a shit, I wouldn’t be here having this conversation right now. And I told you—!” he cut himself off, seeming to feel awkward. “I told you how I felt. Not in the most direct way, but still!”
“Dean, don’t you think I might wanna actually hear you say it before you go and die on me?!”
“So that’s what this is about. About my deal?” he scoffed.
“It’s not just about your deal, Dean,” you huffed, “it’s about the fact that I wanna know you love me before you’re gone. I wanna… I wanna be yours, Dean. And I wanna know what’s going on in your head. God, I mean, is that so much to ask for?!” Your voice became louder again. “I mean, you’re gonna die in a year, and you’re acting like you’re goin’ to fuckin’ Vegas. I know you’re fucking terrified, and you won’t talk to me about it!”
“What do you want me to say, (Y/N)?! That I regret making that fucking deal? ‘Cause I don’t,” Dean shot back, and that stung you even more. “I am scared, okay? But I’m not gonna live every day whinin’ about it, either. And I figure, you got so much goin’ on in your head, I might as well not screw you up even more with my problems.”
“You’re right, I do have a lot going on. But you’re not gonna burden me with your problems, Dean,” you responded, voice still angry, but considerably quieter. “I want all of you—” you stepped forward and cupped his face in your hands— “the good, the bad, the ugly; all of it.” Tears welled in your eyes. “I love you. I do. And… I understand if you can’t say it back. I’m not gonna lie to you, it hurts, but I can also… try to understand if you don’t wanna say it.”
Dean grabbed your wrists and pulled them away from his face. He kissed the inside of your right wrist, brought both your hands down between the two of you holding them there, and stared down at you intensely. “I do, I just—” he grimaced in frustration, “I’ve never told anybody. Ever. Not even Sam.”
Your eyebrows shot up. “Ever? Not even Cassie?”
He shook his head.
“Damn.”
“Do you get why it’s hard now?” he asked.
You nodded.
“And I— I do wanna show you. I’m trying, (Y/N),” he whispered, and your heart suddenly clenched with guilt, “it’s just…” Dean trailed off, unable to find the words. “I don’t wanna hurt you after what you went through.”
“I won’t break, Dean,” you replied, voice soft. “I’m a tough cookie.”
He chuckled. “Yeah. I know.”
“I’m sorry,” you said, becoming serious once more.
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“Yeah, I do,” you insisted. “I’m… on edge. I should’ve brought this up differently.”
“Can’t disagree with you there,” he commented, “but I’m sorry, too. And if it really bothers you that much, we’ll have a sleepover with Sam next time.”
You giggled, remembering the stupidity of the origin of your fight. Slightly embarrassed, you covered your eyes with your hand.
Dean took your hand away from your eyes and wound it around his neck, leaning down to kiss you. His kisses were always incredibly passionate and often quite fierce, but this one was different. It was tender and seemed to convey everything he couldn’t say aloud.
You were surprised when he pulled away. “Where you goin’?” you asked as he headed to the bathroom.
Dean turned around and cocked his head at you. “To take a shower…?”
“You’re not gonna—” you gestured to the rest of you.
He shook his head. “I thought that was what we just fought about.” “I mean, it was, but still. Just surprised, is all,” you shrugged.
“This may come as a shock to you, but not all men are horny animals, sweetheart,” Dean smirked.
You rolled your eyes. “The jury’s still out on that one.”
***
Later that evening, you were tucked into Dean’s side. His skin was smooth to the touch, and you loved the shaky breaths you pulled from Dean when you’d rake your nails along his abs.
“You gotta stop doin’ that,” he groaned.
“Hmmm, why?” you smirked.
“ ‘Cause,” he returned, the ends of his lips pulling upward.
“That’s not a very good reason,” you said, trailing down closer to the edge of his v-line.
Dean gripped your wrist and pulled you flush against him. “Such a tease,” he growled against your lips.
You kissed him with a grin and pulled away after a moment. “Fine, fine, I’ll stop.” You laid against him, his head nestled under your chin and resting on top of your naked breasts. You found Dean really enjoyed using them as pillows.
“Can I ask you something?” Dean murmured.
“Anything,” you replied.
“What happened earlier?” You knew he was referring to what happened with Willem Dafoe in the motel room. He must have felt you tense under him when he asked. “You don’t have to answer; it’s fine—”
“No, no,” you cut him off. “I wanna tell you.”
Dean pulled away from you and adjusted himself on his pillow until the two of you were eye-level in the bed.
“The guard,” you swallowed, “he- he held my hands behind my back. Had me on my stomach. I just… I freaked out.”
Dean looked angry, but you knew it wasn’t at you. “I swear, I’ll fuckin’ track ‘im down and kill him—”
“No, no.” You closed your eyes and took a deep breath.
Dean grabbed the hand you had curled into your chest and stroked it with his thumb. “What do you need me to do?”
“I don’t know,” you answered honestly.
“Is that why you freaked out about the sex earlier?” Dean asked.
You nodded.
“Jesus, (Y/N), I didn’t—”
“Dee, I know. It’s okay,” you answered, squeezing his hand. “And it’s not just that, y’know? I still want you to show me that you love me through means other than sex.”
Dean nodded.
“And I still… I still wanna have sex. We haven’t had sex in, like, four months, and it sucks for me, too. I mean, sex with you is like, the greatest thing in the fuckin’ world, but it’s just… it’s hard for me right now.”
He nodded, and then a coy grin spread across his face. “Is it really the greatest thing in the world?”
“Oh, fuck off,” you sighed dramatically, shoving him away from you and rolling to your other side.
Dean’s arms wrapped around you, and he pressed kisses to your neck. “Hey, be nice,” he said between kisses, “or I’ll withhold the greatest thing in the world.”
You giggled. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Watch me.”
Feeling brave, you turned your face toward him and kissed him passionately. You turned around to face him once more, and Dean rolled on top of you. He ran his hands all over your torso. He was careful to avoid your breasts, and you were grateful he was trying to respect your boundaries.
You broke the kiss and grabbed his hand, guiding it to your right breast without breaking eye contact with him. A deep hunger filled his eyes, and he quickly leaned back down to kiss you fervently. He squeezed your breasts and kissed down your neck while you threaded your hands through his hair. When his lips reached your nipple, he looked back up at you. “Is this okay?” Dean asked.
You nodded, heat flooding you. The touch of his lips to your skin made goosebumps erupt all over you, and your back arched into him.
Dean pulled your nipple between his teeth, teasing the bud with his tongue. You writhed underneath him, tugging at his hair, and the action only spurred him on further.
When he moved further down your stomach, though, you began to get a bit nervous. Dean noticed your body tense, and he immediately looked up to you. “Are you okay?”
You began to cry. “I don’t know,” you admitted, bringing your hands to your face in shame.
Dean immediately climbed off you and tried to pull your hands from your eyes. “What’s goin’ on? Talk to me.”
You looked at him with watery eyes. “I can’t. I want to, but I can’t.”
“Sweetheart, we don’t have to. Not till you’re ready,” he assured you, running his hand along your hip.
“Yeah, but we don’t have that much time left. I want to before you—” you cut yourself off, shutting your eyes and taking in a shuddering breath.
“Listen, we got ten months left. We’ll work our way up to it, okay?” Dean promised.
“But what if you lose interest in me because I’m—” you tried to think of a way to phrase your next statement— “out of commission?”
Dean shook his head, chuckling. “Sweetheart, I love sex, and I love having sex with you, but it’s not the only reason I’m into you,” he assured you. “We won’t do anything until you’re ready.”
“But I thought I was, and look what happened,” you lamented.
“Just means you weren’t ready today,” he shrugged. “And I don’t blame ya. It hasn’t been that long, and you just had that thing happen today. It’s okay, seriously.”
“Are you sure?” you asked.
Dean nodded.
“You’re not lyin’ just to make me feel better?”
He shook his head.
“Like, absolutely positive—”
“Oh, shut up, (Y/N),” he said, pulling you into him and tucking your head into his chest.
You giggled and relaxed against him, wrapping your small arms around his waist. He kissed the top of your head, and you matched your breathing to the rising and falling of his chest beneath yours. Within minutes, the both of you were off to sleep.
***
Over the next few days, Bobby and Dean worked on the Colt you handed over to the older man. Their objective was to figure out a way to have it back to being able to kill demons which you knew Bobby was planning on using to figure out how to save Dean from his deal.
You and Sam were on research duty searching for demons.
“Think I got somethin’,” Sam announced from the messy kitchen table.
You and the other two men looked at him expectantly.
“Dry lightning and barometric-pressure drop,” he continued. “Plus, some guy blows his head off in a church and another goes postal in a hobby shop before the cops take him out. Might be demonic omens.”
Dean shrugged. “Or it could just be a suicide and a psycho scrapbooker.”
“Meh, but it’s our best lead since Lincoln,” you added. “Where in Ohio?”
“Elizabethville. It's a half-dead factory town in the rust belt,” Sam replied.
Dean sighed. “There’s gotta be a demon or two in South Beach.”
“Sorry,” Sam grinned. “Maybe next time. How's it going, Bobby?”
“Slow,” the older man responded.
“I tell you, it's a little sad seeing the Colt like that.” Dean nodded toward the deconstructed marvel of weaponry.
“Well, the only thing it's good for now is figuring out what makes it tick,” Bobby said, not looking up from the gun.
“So, what makes it tick?” Sam smirked.
Bobby looked up, not amused.
Sam held his hands up in surrender, and you giggled.
“So, if we want to go check out these omens in Ohio,” Dean began, standing up, “you think you can have that thing ready by this afternoon?”
You and Sam snickered while Bobby stared at him incredulously.
“Well, it won't kill demons by then, but I can promise you, it'll kill you.” Bobby jokingly aimed the barrel at Dean.
“Alright,” Dean smiled, “c’mon, we’re wastin’ daylight.”
“See ya, Bobby,” you said, grabbing your duffel bag off the seat next to you.
You and the boys headed for the door.
“Hey!”
The three of you turned back to face Bobby.
“You kids run into anything— anything— you call me.”
You nodded and left wordlessly.
***
You met with a priest who, in fact, watched the man commit suicide. Something notable you learned from the priest was that the man went to church every Sunday up until about two months ago. The town had even changed; people just became “unrespectable,” in his words. Additionally, the other man who’d killed himself had changed, too.
As you’d left the church, Sam had commented, “Two months ago, we open up the devil's gate; all of a sudden, this town turns into Margaritaville? It's no coincidence.”
Now, the three of you were heading a motel room. A shared one, at that. It made you happy to get to share the room with the boys, strangely; you guessed it just made you feel like less of an outsider and more a part of their family.
As you opened the door, though, Dean’s voice turned you around. “Richie?”
You turned to see a man exiting the room across the hall.
“I don’t believe it,” Dean said.
“Hey, Dean,” the man named Richie grinned, “Winchester, right?” A tall, scantily clad blonde with smudged eye makeup came up behind Richie.
“This is my sister, uh, Cheryl,” Richie quickly explained.
“Hey,” “Cheryl” smiled.
Richie handed the woman some money, and Cheryl left. “Well, y’know, stepsister,” he awkwardly clarified.
You laughed and shook your head while you plopped down onto the bed.
“Come on in,” Dean said, leaving the door open for Richie. “This is my brother, Sam, and my girlfriend, (Y/N).”
Your heart swelled in your chest, and you were completely floored by Dean calling you his girl. The two of you had never discussed it formally, but you kind of liked how he just named it and claimed it.
“Girlfriend, huh?” Richie teased. “You settlin’ down, Winchester?”
“No, never,” Dean replied. “She’s a hunter, too.”
“How do you two know each other?” Sam jumped in.
“You were in school—” the older brother began.
Richie cut him off. “It was that succubus, in Canarsie right?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Dean nodded.
“Oh, man. You should have seen the rack on this broad. Freakin' tragedy when I had to gank her,” Richie lamented, shaking his head.
“Whoa, whoa. Wait. Who killed her? If I remember, your ass was toast until I showed up,” Dean commented.
“Oh, I forgot what a comedian this guy was,” Richie scoffed, making you giggle.
“Richie, Richie, know what? I told you then, and I'll tell you again: you're not cut out for this job. You're gonna get yourself killed,” Dean said, his tone becoming serious as he spoke.
Richie’s phone rang, and he answered it before he could respond to Dean. “Talk to me,” he said into the phone. He then whispered to Dean, “FYI, Winchester, words hurt.” He quickly finished his phone call, and you and Sam exchanged a glance while Richie did so.
“So, you find anything in this town, anyway?” Dean asked.
The other man shrugged. “Ah, no. I got nothin’.” He then seemed to realize Dean wasn’t referring to women. “Oh, wait a minute. You mean as in demons and whatnot?”
The older Winchester nodded as if it was obvious.
“No, I got nothing.”
Dean chuckled. “Typical. What about your sister back there?”
“Oh, honestly? She definitely had the devil in her, but she wasn't no demon, you know what I'm saying?” Richie laughed, but became serious when he saw Dean’s deadpan reaction. “Right. Seriously. Church guy, hobby-shop guy; they were lunch meat by the time I got there. Hey, maybe they were possessed, but I can't prove it.”
Sam added, “Yeah, that's where we are, too. You know, let's just say that demons are possessing people in this town. Y’know, raising hell—”
“Yeah, but why would a demon blow his brains out?” Dean wondered aloud.
“Well, for fun?” Richie suggested. “Y’know, he wrecks one body, moves to another. Y’know, like taking a stolen car for a joyride.”
“Anybody else left in the town that fits the profile— y’know, nice guy turned douche, still breathing?” Dean asked the shorter man.
“There’s Trotter,” Richie noted.
“Who’s that?” you asked.
“Oh, she speaks! Lovely voice by the—” Richie cut himself off and cleared his throat awkwardly when Dean glared at him. “Well, he used to be head of the Rotary Club. And then, people say he turned bastard all of a sudden? Brought in the gambling, the hookers… Ah, he practically owns this whole town.”
“Know where we could find him?” Sam questioned.
“Oh, he'll be at his bar in a few hours.”
***
Off Richie’s tip, the three of you set off for the bar he’d told you about.
You were dressed in a mini skirt and tank top that showed off your cleavage, and opted to pair the outfit with a pair of sneakers.
Dean had laughed when he noticed your shoes.
“What?” you’d asked.
“Just… you,” Dean had replied. “Wearin’ sneaks to a bar.”
“I’m not wearin’ my heels to go step in spilled beer and possible vomit,” you’d shrugged.
When you arrived at the bar, it seemed more like a club. People bustled throughout the street, most of them heading into one of the several bars or strip clubs lining the street. Some were staggering around drunkenly despite the late afternoon sun; a sight you’d usually see at three in the morning.
“It’s five o’clock somewhere, I guess,” you said to yourself, taking in your surroundings.
“I thought you said this was some boarded-up factory town,” Dean said to Sam.
“It is. At least, it’s supposed to be,” the younger brother responded, looking uncomfortable.
A girl walked past you holding a cocktail and eyeing Dean wantonly. You glared at her, but Dean honestly didn’t seem to notice her. He moved to you and wrapped his arm around your shoulders. You smirked and wrapped your own around the small of his back.
“Well, what are we waiting for? Let's do some research,” Dean grinned, guiding you toward the bar.
Despite your stoic, often introverted, and guarded nature, you really did enjoy nightlife on the occasion; especially if a particular Winchester was involved.
You were the first to step into Trotter’s bar, sliding out from under Dean’s arm to grab his hand and guide him through the crowded room. The bar was completely alive and seemed more like a club than anything.
You turned back to see Sam looking uncomfortable and overstimulated, and Dean just smirked down at you with that trademark hard-to-read expression of his. When you turned back around, you nearly bumped into Richie.
“Oh!” You jumped back in surprise. “Hey!”
The man was wearing an orange short-sleeved shirt halfway unbuttoned to reveal a white wife beater underneath.
“Oh, Richie. Look at you,” Dean chuckled, shaking his hand. “Bringing satin back.”
“Oh, you like this? Try Thai silk. Canal Street,” Richie boasted. “You'd have to pay $300 for threads like these, easy. Cost to me? Fuggedaboutit.”
“How much is ‘forget about it’?” Sam chuckled.
“Ah, forget about it,” the man shrugged, clearly a little intoxicated. “That's Trotter over there. He sits there all night. Can't touch him.” He gestured to a bald, strong-looking man wearing a sharp suit. He almost reminded you of Kingpin from one of your little brother’s favorite Marvel comics.
“So, what do we do now?” Sam asked.
“I’m thinkin’ I’ll go talk to the bartender,” you began.
“Whoa,” Dean cut you off, “why can’t we have a little fun first?”
You deadpanned at him. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re here to work.”
“Yeah, but—”
You continued your deadfaced stare at him, and he conceded.
“Fine,” Dean said.
“May need some of your charm, too; who knows what she’s into?” you suggested, smacking Dean’s ass lightly.
You smirked over your shoulder at him as you sauntered to the bar. You heard Richie comment, “You feel like sharin’?’ followed by a quick, “Don’t even think about it,” from Dean.
You looked down the bar to see the priest you’d talked to from the church the latest victim died in talking to the pretty bartender. She turned away from him and to a customer further down the bar from you.
“Father?” you asked.
“Knew you kids would find your way here. They all do.”
“No offense, man, but what are you doing here?” you questioned.
“Like it or not, you go where your flock is,” he shrugged.
“Plus, the clergy drinks for free,” the bartender chimed in, handing the man a whiskey neat.
“True, and a certain bartender owes me a confession,” the priest jested.
“Not in this lifetime, Father,” she replied.
“I better see your butt on Sunday,” he told her, getting up from his chair and leaving.
“What can I get you, love?” the bartender asked you.
You leaned up on the bar, pushing your breasts together slightly. “What’s your specialty?” you asked.
“I make a mean hurricane,” she replied, smirking.
“We’ll see about that,” you challenged.
The bartender seemed intrigued by you, and she smiled flirtatiously as she went to make your drink.
Dean came up next to you at that moment and wrapped an arm around your waist, hand landing close to your ass. “How’s it goin’?” he asked.
“Just makin’ friends,” you shrugged, grinning.
“Don’t get too friendly,” he warned.
You snickered. Suddenly, something near the pool table caught your attention.
“Hey, what are you doing?!” a man panickedly yelled.
You then noticed the man across from the panicked one was holding a gun. You nodded toward the scene. “Dean—”
You set off toward the pair, but the man raised the gun and shot the other point-blank. The crowd immediately erupted into chaos as you sprinted over to the man who was raising the gun to his chin.
Dean tackled the man to the ground, and Sam appeared beside you with holy water. He splashed the holy water on the man, but the man’s skin didn’t sizzle.
“What are you doing?!” the man exclaimed. He suddenly realized what he'd done and began to writhe on the ground, crying, “He slept with my wife. That bastard slept with my wife!”
You took out your phone and called 911 while Sam and Dean kept the man in a sort of citizen’s arrest.
When the cops did arrive, Sam seemed to get anxious again despite the bar’s emptiness. “Too many cops here. I say we roll.”
“Just be cool,” Dean encouraged. “Poor jerk. Only thing possessing him was a sixer of Pabst.”
“So, what's the deal, then? People in this town getting possessed or not?” Sam wondered aloud.
“I don’t know,” you said, furrowing your eyebrows. “Maybe they’re influencin’ ‘em some kind of way?” “Yeah, maybe,” Sam replied.
“You guys ready for your mug shots?” a police officer asked you and the brothers. Cued by your panicked expressions, the cop tried to soothe your worries. “The photographer's gonna be here in a few and take your picture for the local paper.”
Dean seemed relieved and feigned enthusiasm. “Be an honor, Officer. What a thrill!”
“Yep, time to go,” Sam said, standing.
“Wait a second. Wait a second,” Dean stated, looking around.
“What?’ you and Sam asked in hushed voices.
“Where’s Richie?”
***
The next day, Dean couldn’t seem to keep his leg from bouncing under the table in his seat beside you at Trotter’s bar. He kept trying Richie’s phone number, but no response ever came.
“You do realize there's red meat within striking distance, right?” Sam said, referencing the large hamburger sitting in front of Dean.
“How many times I got to tell Richie he's gonna get himself in trouble?” Dean sighed.
“Dean, he’s not your responsibility,” you assured him.
“And you’re assuming he's missing. I mean, maybe he just bailed,” Sam added.
“He’s a moron,” replied Dean. “I mean, he's a sweet moron, but he's not a coward. He wouldn't just bail. I got to go find him.”
“I’ll go with you,” you said.
“You guys do that,” Sam said. “Meanwhile, I think I’m gonna trail this Trotter guy.”
“Yeah?” Dean questioned.
“Yeah. I don't know. Something about the way he looked at me last night.
Maybe there is something going on here.”
***
You and Dean returned to your motel around midday after lunch with Sam at Trotter’s.
“How well do you even know this guy, Dean?” you asked.
“Well, it’s like I said—” he began as you sat behind your computer screen, “he was toast until I found him. We had a few drinks after, but that was about it.”
You stared at him over the top of your computer screen.
“What?”
“Nothing,” you replied, a love-drunk smile pulling on the ends of your lips. “You’re just sweet.”
“Shuddup,” he mumbled, looking embarrassed.
“Seriously! You care this much about a dude you don’t even know that you’re having me track the GPS in his phone. It’s adorable,” you replied.
He kept his head low, but you could see the smile Dean was fighting. “You’re… annoying,” he murmured.
“Oh, really? I’m annoying?” you smirked, standing from your chair while your laptop screen began to populate with all of Richie’s previous locations over the last week based on his cell phone’s GPS signal.
Dean caught you by the waist. “Yeah, you are,” he said.
You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and lazily dragged your nails up his back. He let out a few shuddering breaths. You leaned in to kiss him when a dinging sound came from your computer and forced the two of you apart. You headed back to the laptop and pointed at his last known location. You pulled an image of the coordinates up.
“Corner of Piermont and Clinton,” you announced.
“He did mention having plans with that bartender,” Dean said, “maybe that’s where she lives?”
You nodded. “Alright, let’s get goin’.”
You stood to leave, and Dean smacked your ass as you walked off.
“What was that for?!” you squeaked.
“ ‘Cause you’re a tease,” Dean smirked. “And still annoying.”
You stuck your tongue out at him and grinned.
***
After conducting your investigation, you were charged with the task of staying behind to wait for Dean and the bartender. You hid in the shadows of the cellar with your handgun readied.
You heard Dean’s voice suddenly coming down the stairs toward the cellar. “Looks like the maid's day off,” he commented. “Everything okay?”
You heard the woman kiss Dean, and you nearly jumped out of your hiding spot.
“Make yourself comfortable,” the woman said.
“Oh, I forgot to mention,” Dean tsked, “Richie was a friend of mine. When I realized I could track the GPS in his cellphone, I swung by earlier. Gave him a proper burial. It's better than rotting in some skank's basement.”
You stepped out from the shadows then, and the bartender launched herself toward Dean. She was suddenly stopped by an invisible barrier.
“Oops,” Dean smirked. He leaned down to the carpet and lifted the corner to reveal the Devil’s Trap you’d spray painted on the floor while Dean was gone.
“Isn't that a buzz kill?” the older Winchester smirked. “Sorry, sister, but you're going back to where you came from.”
“I don't think so,” the bartender laughed.
You took out the book in your pocket and began to read in Latin. “Exorcizamus te, omnis—” A violent gust of wind blowing past you cut you off, and you saw the demon before you with her eyes closed as though in deep meditation. You recollected yourself and began to read again. “Exorcizamus te—”
The pages were then ripped out of the book by the breeze. The woman opened her eyes and grinned at you.
“(Y/N), look out!” Dean yelled.
Just then, the bricks from the walls around you began to crumble inward. You dove toward the window to avoid getting hit by falling rocks. Dean rushed to you and helped you up. He turned his gaze to the demon in a glare. The demon grinned.
“What are you laughing at, bitch? You're still trapped,” Dean growled.
“So are you, bitch,” she sultrily said.
“So, what, I send you back to hell, and we rot down here?” you spat.
“Half the plan. Doubt you’ll be able to do that without your little book,” she smiled.
“I’m sure I could figure it out,” you said. “Exorcizamus te,” you began with authority, “omnis immundus spiritus. Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio, infernalis adversarii—”
Dean suddenly gasped out in pain and began to grab at his neck.
You immediately stopped the ritual. “What are you doing?!” you shouted, sinking to the ground with Dean, “Stop it!”
“Stop trying to ruin my fun, then. You’re good, I’ll give you that,” the demon cooed, Dean suddenly able to breathe again. “But I thought Sam was supposed to be the brains of the outfit.”
“How do you know that?” Dean questioned.
“You Winchester boys are famous. Not Lohan famous, but, y’know,” she shrugged. “And you, (Y/N)—” she hissed out your name— “are making your own way through the circles, too.”
“Well, that's flattering,” Dean commented, “I'll be sure to let Sam know when he gets here.”
“If he shows up first.”
The two of you looked to the bartender, surprised.
“What, you thought I was flying solo?” she asked mockingly. “You shouldn't underestimate, kids, it might be the death of you.”
You glared at her.
“You can give me hard eyes all you want,” she replied, “but the fact remains, we just have to wait and see who shows up first… the cavalry,” she smiled, “or the Indians.”
***
“Anybody ever tell you how nice your ass is, (Y/N)?” the bartender drawled from the floor behind you. You stood on top of a cask of wine attempting to get cell reception through the small window daylight streamed in from.
“Bite me, bitch,” you replied without turning to look at her.
“Look, why don’t you relax?” she asked you and Dean.
“Why don't you kiss my ass?” Dean flippantly responded.
“Why, Dean, you're a poet. I had no idea,” she deadpanned. “Look, we won't have any effect on the outcome of this. We might as well be civil.”
“Civil, huh? Killing Richie, that was— that was civil? The guy was harmless,” Dean countered.
The demon raised an eyebrow. “That knife he pulled on me? Didn't look so harmless.”
“Ah, a knife wouldn't hurt you,” Dean replied.
“No, but it would damage this body. And Casey has such a fine body, I wouldn't want to see it ripped.” The demon stretched out lazily on the floor, arching her back.
“Touching,” you said, jumping down from atop the cask when your efforts proved pointless. “But don’t pretend you have a heart. We know what you did.”
“Hey, I didn't pull any triggers,” the demon possessing Casey shrugged.
“Yeah?” Dean barked. “You did something.”
“You want to know what I did?” the demon pushed herself into a sitting position. “What I really did? I had lunch.”
“Lunch?” Dean questioned.
“Me and Trotter,” she began. “He had a cheeseburger, I had a salad, and I just pointed out the money that could be made with a few businesses that cater to harmless vice. So Trotter built it, and man, did they come. Supposedly god-fearing folk, waist-deep in booze, sex, and gambling. I barely lifted a finger.”
“That’s it?” you scoffed.
“You don't get it. All you gotta do is nudge humans in the right direction,” Casey continued. “Some whiskey here, a hooker there, and they'll walk right into hell with big, fat smiles on their faces. Your kind is corrupt, kids. Weak. Our will's stronger. That's why we'll win.”
“And that’s how this ends?” you pushed.
“No. That's how it begins.”
“So, demons take over,” you continued. “And you’re convinced that’ll work… how?”
“Yeah, I thought the meek shall inherit the earth,” Dean piled on.
Casey rolled her eyes. “Oh, according to your Bible. It's only a book, Dean.”
“Not everyone would agree,” Dean replied simply.
You stared at him strangely, and he shrugged in response.
“Because it's god's book?” Casey pressed. “Do you believe in god, Dean? I'd be surprised if you did.”
“I don’t know,” Dean said honestly. “I'd like to.”
“Well, god’s done a bang-up job in my opinion,” you said, unable to help yourself.
“Finally, someone who makes sense,” Casey snickered. “I like you, (Y/N).” She returned her focus to Dean. “War, genocide; it's only getting worse. I mean, this past century, you people racked up a body count that amazed even us. It's our turn, now, and we're gonna do it right this time.”
Dean heard a noise and turned his face up to the grate you’d tried getting cell service from.
“Don't be hopeful, Dean. You're not delivered. It's only the wind,” Casey commented.
Despite yourself, you laughed.
Dean and Casey turned their attention toward you.
“Whose side are you on there, sweetheart?” Dean questioned, slightly pointedly.
“Sorry. Demon or not, she’s funny.” You cleared your throat and regained your composure. “You keep talking about this ‘endgame.’ Pretty vague. How am I supposed to even know there is one?”
“Why would I lie?” she countered.
“Demons lie,” Dean replied.
“Some do. Some are true believers.”
“Believers in what?” you pressed.
Casey scoffed. “What, you think humans have an exclusive on a higher power?”
Dean looked shocked, as did you. “You have a god?” Dean asked.
“Sure,” the demon shrugged. “His name's Lucifer.”
You deflated and crossed your arms. “You mean the devil.”
“You don’t seem impressed,” Casey noted, seeming intrigued by you.
“ ‘Cause I’m not,” you replied. “No offense, but he doesn’t exactly put the fear of god in me.”
“Well, he should,” she told you. “Once, he was the most beautiful of all god's angels. But god demanded that he bow down before man, and when he refused, god banished him. Tell me, how do you like bowing before lesser creatures?”
“Lucifer's really real?” Dean wondered aloud.
“Well, no one's actually seen him,” Casey explained, “but they say that he made us into what we are, and they say that he'll return.”
“Oh, gimme a break,” you said, slumping to the floor.
“What? Is faith such a laughable concept to you?” Casey remarked.
“Absolutely,” you said coldly.
“Well, you’d better start believing. A lot of you humans are in for a real treat when this is all over,” she said coolly. “Dick Cheney?”
“He one of yours?” Dean asked.
“Not yet. Let's just say, he's got a parking spot reserved for him downstairs.”
Dean laughed despite himself before pausing a moment. “Hey, speaking of downstairs… What's it like down there?”
“What, Hell?”
Dean nodded.
“That's right,” Casey smirked. “You booked a one-way ticket with that deal.”
Dean laughed in discomfort, and you eyed him sympathetically.
“You're not gonna like it, Dean,” the demon said honestly. “And, um, judging from the trouble you've caused, I don't think you'll be getting the presidential suite. No, it's a pit of despair. Why do you think we want to come here?”
Dean looked somber, as did you. You knew better than to reach your hand out to comfort him, and you just sat against the wall with your knees tucked into your chest.
A few moments passed before Casey spoke up again. “Kind of funny, don't you think? Three of us sitting here like regular folk.”
“Yeah, it's hilarious,” Dean deadpanned, “y’know, in that… apocalyptic sort of way.”
“You're all right, Dean,” Casey said seriously.
Dean scoffed, and you flicked your eyes between your love and Casey.
“The others don't describe you that way. But, you know, you're— you're likable.”
“Well, keep how much you like ‘im to yourself, sister,” you spat.
“Jealous, are we?” Casey mused. “Don’t worry, darlin’. He’s all yours.”
“A demon likes me,” was all Dean could think to say. “Sorry, I don't know how to respond to that.”
“You could say thanks,” she mocked. “That deal you made to save Sam; a lot of others would mock you for it, think it was weak or stupid. I don't.”
Dean paused for a moment. “It's been kind of liberating, actually. Y’know, what's the point in worrying about a future, when you don't have one?”
Your eyes saddened upon hearing that. You cast your gaze down to the floor, knowing you’d cry if you looked at Dean.
“Still, a year left. You're not scared?” Casey asked.
“Nah.”
“Not even a little?”
“Of course not.” However, you caught the briefest bit of hesitation in his voice.
Dean then seemed to notice your sadness. “Hey, I’m—”
“Save it,” you said, feeling brave enough to look up at him. “We’ll talk about this later.”
“Didn’t mean to cause any trouble in paradise,” Casey snickered.
“Hey, can I ask you a question?” you asked pointedly.
“I’m an open book,” the demon shrugged.
“So, the gate opened. The demon army was let out. What now, huh?” you questioned. “I'm not seeing a big master plan here.”
“Honestly, there was a plan,” she replied. “Azazel was a tyrant, but he held us all together.”
“Azazel?” you and Dean asked in unison.
“What, you think his friends just called him ‘Yellow Eyes’? He had a name. After you did him in—” Casey nodded toward you, “it all fell apart.”
You smirked. “Sorry ‘bout that.”
The demon cut her eyes at you in challenge.
“So, what? No chain of command?” Dean pressed.
“There was. It was Sam. Sam was supposed to be the grand pooh-bah and lead the big army, but he hasn't exactly stepped up to the plate, has he?”
“Thank god for that,” Dean breathed out.
“Again with god,” Casey groaned. “You think this is a good thing? Now you've got chaos, a war without a front, hundreds of demons all jockeying for power, all fighting for the crown. Most of them, gunning for your brother.” She looked toward a conflicted Dean, becoming incredibly serious. “For the record, I was ready to follow Sam.”
Before you could ask anymore questions, you heard Sam call yours and Dean’s names.
“Sam?!” you and Dean called, scrambling to your feet.
“Looks like you win,” Casey smirked.
You weren’t too sure that you actually had. “What’s that look for—”
Your question was cut off by a loud pounding on the door.
“Dean!” you heard Sam calling.
“Sam!” Dean replied. “Sammy, down here! The basement caved in!” Sam’s voice appeared at the grate you’d been trying to get cell reception through. “Guys, hold on, okay? We’re coming.”
“Who’s we?” you asked.
“I’m here with the father.”
You whipped back around to Casey who seemed almost excited.
“Sam, be careful—”
And then suddenly, a gunshot was heard.
“Sam!” Dean called.
Then, the rocks covering the entrance to the cellar began to move aside. In came the pastor, who you attempted to rush. You were thrown to the wall and fell to the ground painfully.
When you recovered, you stood to see the priest and Casey passionately kissing outside the Devil’s Trap.
“You two?” Dean questioned, face twisting up in disgust.
“For centuries,” the priest nodded. “We've been to Hell and back, literally.”
“Leave ‘em be,” Casey told the pastor.
He didn’t listen to her and approached Dean, grabbing him by the throat. You tried to rush him again, but you were held to the wall by the priest’s power.
“Don't kill him. Let's just go,” Casey begged. “Please.”
Sam appeared at that moment and shot the priest without hesitation. Lightning emitted from the priest’s wound, eyes, and chest, and he slumped to the ground.
“Sam, wait!” Dean told him.
But it was too late. Casey suffered the same fate as the priest. You looked to the two real human bodies on the ground and mourned a little for both of the humans behind their demonic state.
***
“I cannot believe you ransacked Richie’s stash,” you told Dean as he rolled a joint under the cover of night sitting on the hood of the Impala.
“Well, not like he can use it anymore,” Dean shrugged. “Besides, it’s a tribute to him.”
You rolled your eyes and laughed. You took out your lighter and took the joint from your partner. While you lit up, Dean asked you a question. “What do you think? About what we did here; you think it made a difference?”
“I don’t know. Humans aren’t our job, but still,” you replied after taking a hit, “it’s kinda weird leaving knowing things may never be resolved.”
“Yeah, I mean, maybe these people do just want to really destroy themselves. Maybe it is—” Dean seemed to struggle for a moment to find the words, “a losing battle.” He took the joint back from you and took a hit.
“Is that you or the demon chick talking?” you asked playfully, nudging your shoulder with his. Although, you knew he knew you were seriously asking him.
“Oh, it’s me,” Dean replied. “Demon’s very dead.”
“Well, had to be done, I guess,” you shrugged. “Sam was saving your life.”
“Yeah, but I don’t know, (Y/N),” Dean started, shaking his head and passing the joint back to you, “it was cold.”
“I agree,” you nodded. You took a deep breath and slowly let a cloud of smoke pass through your lips.
“Back in Wyoming,” Dean began, “there was this moment. Yellow Eyes said something to me.”
You looked to him expectantly, taking a second hit.
“That maybe when… Sam came back from, well, wherever, that maybe he came back different.”
“Different how?” you questioned, cocking your head to the side.
“I don't know. Whatever it was, it didn't sound good. You think— You think something's wrong with my brother?”
You considered for a moment. You knew no matter how you answered, Dean wouldn’t be satisfied until he knew for sure. You opted for attempting to provide him comfort. “No. Demons lie. I'm sure Sam's okay.”
Dean nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, me too.”
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#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester x y/n#dean winchester x you#dean x reader#dean x you#dean x y/n#dean winchester#supernatural#supernatural series rewrite#spn#spn series rewrite
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something about being close — sam winchester
cw : gn!reader, angst, fluff, sam and reader are lovingly mean to each other, bad insults (weird, stupid, lame), bad jokes, swearing, canon typical violence and ghosts, arguing, so much kissing, could be ooc but idc, edited but most likely still contains a few mistakes, single usage of y/n, 9.5K words. requested !
summary : sam's being overprotective of you, and it leads to an argument and something more.
“hey, check this out,” sam calls to you and dean, not bothering to look up from his computer screen. “think we found our violent spirit.” you part from your own research without a single qualm, resting a hand on the back of sam’s chair as he leans back for you and dean to get a better look. “marissa hancock. she was a student at the college, died a violent death there, just like we thought. it’s thought that the janitor impaled her with his mop while he was working in her dorm hall, but he was never put away for lack of evidence.”
“explains the janitor kabob,” dean quips, already headed to shrug on his jacket.
“easy solve,” you admit. it only took a solid half hour of searching through records to find the right murder. “but why’s she killing now? she’s had, what?” you lean further over sam’s shoulder to inspect the record, “fifty some years to be killing janitors, why start now?”
“dunno,” sam shrugs, and you can feel his shoulder brush against you, reminding you how close he is. doing your best to stay casual and maybe not stare longingly at his pretty face from this close up, you straighten your back and go to grab your own jacket as sam types away on his keyboard. “looks like her original murderer died two weeks ago.”
“right when the killings started,” dean finishes. “alright, let’s go. you got where she’s buried, sam?”
“yep,” he stands, shutting his laptop. “saint mercy cemetery, not too far.”
“hm,” you laugh out, “second saint mercy cemetery this month. people need to get more creative,” you note as you exit the motel room and head down the short hallway to get to the impala.
“and what would you name a cemetery?” dean asks, ready to catch you off guard or tease you for anything he can get his hands on.
“i should have thought of a clever answer before saying that,” you admit, “but i do wish it were socially acceptable to call them dead people neighborhoods.”
“that’s lame,” sam grins, throwing his arm around your shoulders for just about two seconds before he has to let go to get through the small doorway and outside.
“c’mon,” you complain, “i know it’s kind of lame, and definitely insensitive, but imagine someone just asked you where you’re headed after work and you get to tell them you’re going to the dead people neighborhood. cemetery’s no fun, at least dead people neighborhood is accurate.” you close the back door of the car behind you as you settle in to punctuate your point.
“you’re weird,” sam teases in a matter-of-fact tone, not even looking back from the passenger’s seat to see the sneer on your face.
“no, you’re weird,” you fire back.
“alright, kids,” dean interrupts, “enough bickering like we’re four, we’ve got a job to do,” he snickers as he backs the car up.
“okay, dean,” you and sam chime, voices full of mocking and almost totally in sync. dean rolls his eyes hard, because it’s just one of those days where the two of you can’t stop feeding into the antics of the other, regressing the combined mental age of the three of you by at least twenty years.
having known the brothers since you were kids through bobby, and starting to hunt with them about a year and a half ago, you’ve certainly grown close with the both of them. but a little closer in age, you and sam are nothing but two peas in a pod. and much to dean’s chagrin, that means it only takes a split second for the two of you to switch things up and turn against him when he tries to break up your banter. it’s pretty much all loving argumentation, of course, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t annoying as all hell for whoever has to witness it.
“and for the record, i like dead people neighborhood,” dean offers, ignoring your moment of synchronicity with sam.
“yes!” you celebrate, reaching around the seat in front of you to lightly hit sam’s shoulder. “you’re the lame one, you’re no fun.”
he scoffs, mumbling something to himself about how, “of course dean likes dead people neighborhood. it’s stupid.”
you resist the urge to tell him that he’s stupid, and instead follow dean’s direction to focus on the case.
“hold on, dean. you should drop me off on campus first, one of us should make sure another janitor doesn’t fall on his mop handle before we can burn the bones,” you suggest.
“no.”
your brow furrows at how fast sam shuts you down, his serious tone a harsh contrast to his practically whiny mumble moments before. you glance at dean to see that he’s got his own eyebrows raised in confusion.
“what’d’you mean, ‘no’?” you question.
“i mean,” he clears his throat as if he’s just realized his strong denial was awkward, “that that could be dangerous alone, so i’ll go and you can stick with dean.”
you send a bewildered look to dean, one he doesn’t catch trying to pay attention to the street name up ahead. “i’m sorry, are you suggesting i can’t handle a measly ghost?” mostly you’re confused by sam’s words, but you can’t help letting a bit of offense slip into your voice.
“n-no, no that’s not what i’m saying,” he fumbles, trying to fix what he said, “i meant– i meant it would be safer for anyone not to go alone. so– so i’ll go with you and dean can stick with burning the body.”
it’s a clumsy, bad save that’s entirely unconvincing.
“you’re seriously gonna stick me with grave digging duty?” dean grunts, “y/n’s right, it’s just one ghost, we don’t need two of us to deal with it. digging up a grave is arguably harder.”
“exactly,” you reason, “which is why i should go scope out the dorm hall, and you should go with dean to the dead people neighborhood.”
“she’s buried in a family mausoleum,” counters sam, “her grave doesn’t need to be dug up, which means it’s a one person job, and since there could be an actual violent ghost in the dorm, two people should go. and don’t try to make dead people neighborhood a thing, at the very least it’s too long, not to mention it’s not funny.”
despite the fact that he’s teasing you, you’re glad to hear something normal come out of his mouth. his hesitancy to let you take on the ghost is odd, especially considering the ghost might not show up at all. it’s not like he’s never been protective of you, it’s in both his and certainly dean’s nature. but he knows full well that you are completely capable of handling one violent ghost, and he’s been weird like this for the past two weeks.
you laugh when you admit, “it wasn’t quite as good in context as i thought it would be, but it wasn’t that bad, i’m just tryna to stick with my bit,” you defend, “and fine, two people at the dorms, one on dead person arson.”
“are you serious?” sam laughs, halfheartedly tossing his head back to give you a judgemental look through the corner of his eye.
“dead serious, pun absolutely intended,” you let out a full laugh at the strangled sigh he lets out. oh how you love to rile him up with bad jokes. “you’re too easy, sam. for that, i’m sticking you on grave duty. dean and i will handle the dorm.”
“you should be on grave duty, for all the bad jokes today,” he argues.
dean practically growls in annoyance, “how about i go on grave duty, so i can get away from your annoying asses.” it’s not a suggestion, and the both of you huff out a sigh, but don’t argue.
dean drops you off a little ways from the dorm hall for you to grab a shotgun and salt rounds with less of a chance of being seen. you leave the other shotgun for dean just in case, bothered that yours is still broken from the last hunt. there hadn’t been enough time to fix it yet. so, you grab an iron rod, hoping to use that before any guns on a college campus. it’d be a sticky situation to get out of, being caught with shotguns in a dorm, and at the very least incredibly inconvenient to scare the hell out of a bunch of college aged kids at eleven pm. sam sticks the shotgun under his jacket, generally hiding it from the view of anyone not looking too closely.
walking a few minutes, you find the right dorm hall and sam hands the gun off to you to pull out his lock pick. but, glancing behind you, you shove the gun back into his hands and yank him into you.
“the hell?” he resists for a split second before you quickly interrupt him.
“shut up! hide the gun and act like you’re piss drunk. someone’s coming,” you hiss. in a swift movement, he tucks the gun back under his jacket as you shimmy the iron rod into your sleeve, then he swings his free arm around you, practically dropping half of his weight on you. “dude,” you complain, before falling into character. “sammy, come on!” you whine loudly. “i can’t reach my id with you like this,” you pretend to feel around for something in your back pocket while keeping him standing, and he immediately picks up on what you’re trying to do. he stumbles forward so that you have to use both hands to keep him upright, and you curse at your false struggle. “help me out here, sammy, will you?” you try to make your voice sound overly desperate, maybe a little innocent too, “why don’t you lean against the wall so we can get inside,” you beg, trusting sam to play his part well.
“nooo,” he slurs, dragging the word out in a whiny pitch, “don’t wanna.” he turns into you and haphazardly wraps his lanky arm all the way around your form, tugging you to him and nearly knocking the both of you over. you feel heat rush to your cheeks at this and desperately remind yourself that he’s only pressing his face into your neck so that he can get a look at the person approaching and keep the shotgun well hidden from view.
you see the girl out of the corner of your eye, young and clearly a student headed for the dorm.
“oh, thank god!” you exclaim, “hey, i’m so sorry to bother you, but do you think you could open the door for us?” you ask as sweetly as you can, pulling your eyebrows together to gain sympathy, before adding on a humorous tone, “my boyfriend is stupid drunk and i can’t get us inside.” you can feel sam stiffen for a split second at your words, and you yourself wonder if you should have just gone the “friend” route for the sake of your own sanity. you’re going to want to keep calling sam your boyfriend, over and over again.
“oh my god, of course,” she laughs goodnaturedly, and you thank the lord she’s laid back, rather than some uptight rule follower ready to report you to administration. she swipes her id and holds the door open for you, and as you struggle into the building, you think that sam is making this harder for you than it has to be. but there’s absolutely no denying you love the way it feels to just have him all over you, even for the sake of illegally entering a building with a gun.
“thank you so much,” your voice is one big sigh of relief, slightly muffled by the fabric of sam’s jacket.
“yeah, don’t worry about it,” she smiles, “you two are super cute, by the way,” she compliments before turning towards the stairs and waving a kind goodbye.
you do your best to not stumble over your words as you thank her, heat once again rising to your face, and you’re sure that sam can feel the warmth of your neck. body stiff, you turn and head down the hallway in the opposite direction, sam still clinging to you until it’s clear.
“alright, get off, you big dork,” you snort, gently pushing him away and doing your best to regain your composure to proceed as if you don’t have a massive crush on him. “did ya have to make it so hard for me?”
he shrugs with a sly grin, “had to make it convincing, didn’t i? besides, it was your idea, you don’t get to complain.”
you stick your tongue out at him and he raises his eyebrows as if to say, “really?”
“she was really nice,” you note, voice almost wistful in a way that sam easily picks up on. about a year into hunting with the brothers and dean was off buying food, you and sam had collapsed onto a motel bed together as you had many times before by then, both exhausted after a long case. that night, as you spoke in tired, hushed tones, with no need for anyone but the other to hear your words, you had somehow ended up with your head resting on his biceps and one of his legs swung over yours.
that’s the night you told him you were jealous that he got to go to college, even if it wasn’t for long. you’d told him how you liked the idea of that life, even if you had to return to hunting after it was over. you wanted friends your age, to learn, go to stupid parties and have a college partner. you knew the experience wasn’t all rainbows and butterflies, but you wanted it anyway. he’d said, sure, it wasn’t perfect, but it was a hell of a lot better than hunting in his opinion. he wanted you to have that. once this was all over, and you both got justice for your families, he’d help you apply, make sure you got in somewhere, maybe even go with you. a hush fell over the room and he knew you weren’t convinced.
“yeah, she was,” he says, his own voice a touch more gentle than moments ago. “we were lucky.” he doesn’t want to tell you that most college kids would be at least cool enough to let you inside, maybe not as friendly as her, but that it’s true you’d like it here. he doesn’t want to remind you of what you can’t have.
a silence falls over the two of you, punctuated only by the shuffling of your feet or the rustle of clothes. it’s comfortable and easy because you’ve done it a million times before. you don’t have to say anything to agree that you’ll head to the basement where the original murder occured. the both of you stay quiet and light on your feet, sam always peering around corners before rounding them.
in the basement he stops you with a simple finger to his lips. he leans in close to whisper as quietly as he can, “janitor’s here.”
you resist the urge to call said janitor an idiot, because who the hell is going to be cleaning an area in which three of your coworkers have mysteriously died in the past two weeks, but you just nod instead, taking in the way that sam’s eyes look under the dim light.
“wanna wait around til dean calls or warn him?” you ask, equally as quiet. he turns his head to look back around the corner before continuing.
“well, we should warn him, but we can’t use the drunk ruse on an employee. he probably has a radio scanner on him, might even be connected to campus security,” he points out.
“fbi?”
“we look too much like college kids right now,” he reasons.
“right,” you agree, “well then, stupid college kids trying to see a murder scene? we’ll link arms and you can hide the gun behind your back. just so we’re near him til dean burns the bones. hopefully nothing’ll even happen.” it’s as if you jinxed it all in that moment, as the lights immediately begin to flicker, the buzz of electricity filling your ears and a sudden chill filling the air. “nevermind,” you curse, flicking the iron rod back into your hand and barging around the corner, only a hair behind sam.
“way to jinx it,” he grunts.
you just scoff and beg him, “just try not to use the gun.” this time neither of you attempt to hide your presence as your shoes pound against the tile floor.
“no promises,” sam says, the gun up and loaded in front of him.
“what the hell?” the janitor barely has the time to exclaim before he’s thrown against the wall.
“i got it,” you warn sam, eager to avoid gunshots and sprinting full speed towards the apparition, iron rod in front of you. you throw all your weight into reaching the ghost of the young girl before she can flicker out of reach. the iron in your hand makes contact, and she evaporates for the time being. unfortunately for you, your momentum keeps you going, through the space the ghost just occupied and straight into the section of the floor slick with soapy water. with no time to gain any semblance of your balance, you slip and come crashing to the ground. your back hits the floor and the wind gets knocked out of your lungs in the same moment that the iron skitters out of your hand.
you struggle a bit to sit up due to the wetness underneath you, gasping slightly and letting curses fall from your mouth the moment you can speak again.
in a split second reaction, sam shouts your name, his voice inappropriately taught and worried for such a silly accident. he’s by your side in an instant, strong hands pulling you up and his anxious voice asking if you’re alright. you wave him off easily, unconcerned for yourself.
“help him,” you urge, “i’m fine.” but he doesn’t back off nearly as easily as you’d think.
“are you sure, did you hit your head? you couldn’t breathe for a second there,” his hands stay glued to you as he rattles off his concerns, ones that you find utterly unnecessary and unhelpful considering the fact that you’re fine, and the ghost could reappear any second. his strong grip keeps you from bending down to scoop up the iron rod, but you have to wrench yourself away from him when you hear a strangled cry come from the janitor. he whirls around with you to see the ghost with her hands around the janitor’s neck, crushing him against the wall as his feet dangle just above the floor. the iron rod is back in your hand in an instant, but sam’s shotgun lays abandoned on the floor a few feet away.
he dives for the weapon, but with a flick of the ghost’s hand, he’s knocked against the wall with a noise so loud it hurts to hear. before she can pay you attention, you fling the iron towards her, vaporizing her once more. the iron clatters to the ground as the janitor collapses to his knees. you rush towards him, pulling him away from the wall before tugging a container of salt from your jacket’s inside pockets. apologetically, you haul the poor man to his feet, throwing a quick look over your shoulder at sam. he’s groaning painfully, but already moving to get back up.
knowing he’s easily survived worse, you turn your attention back to the janitor, who’s sputtering out confused and incoherent questions about what in the goddamn hell is happening.
“just stay there,” you urge him, too pressed for time to add adequate sympathy to your tone. “stay in the circle and she can’t get you.” with practiced ease, you shake the salt onto the ground with barely enough to make a small, solid ring around the man.
you scoop up the gun from the ground, then turn to help sam onto his feet. “we’re gonna have to tough this out til dean gets done,” is all you say when you place the weapon into his hands, despite the urge to ask what the hell is wrong with him and why he’s so off his game. you turn to grab your own weapon, but it seems the ghost is reappearing faster and faster. this time, you’re the one who gets tossed into the wall, but you stay pressed against the cold surface as a mop flies to meet you, the long handle pushing against your throat and cutting off your air supply. you take in a strangled gasp, hands clawing at the old wooden handle and giving yourself a few splinters that you couldn’t care less about in the moment. of course, it doesn’t budge.
the second you’re flattened against the wall, sam shouts your name again, this time with his gun in the air, swinging around to get a shot at the ghost. but before he can react, it flies out of his hand and she reappears right in front of him, pushing him against the wall across from you.
he struggles against her wildly, his hand itching to get free of her hold to reach the hidden iron knife in his pocket. but before he can get there, her grip weakens and she lets out a strangled scream as she bursts into flames. the flames climb up her old fashioned pencil skirt and swallow up the bloody wound in her abdomen. her grip on you and sam falters as she burns away, then dissolves completely as the last of her ashes fade out into the musty basement air.
you drop to your knees, coughing and gasping for breath as the sound of the mop clattering to the floor echoes through the hallway. sam’s saying your name, half through a cough and his voice still so worried as he stumbles towards you. then he’s on his knees too and his hands are sturdy on your shoulders.
“‘m fine,” you rasp out, hand reaching for his bicep to ground you to something solid and steady. he stays right there, completely ignoring the poor man who’s still practically frozen in fear in the tiny circle of salt and the ringing of his phone. one of his hands slips around you to rub soothing strokes up and down your back and it brings you even closer to him, your forehead dipping to rest on his shoulder. you feel silly for how much he’s fussing over you, but you can’t quite scold or question him until you’ve caught your breath. clearly something is bothering him (and you want him so bad), so you let him hold you close.
“are you hurt anywhere?” he finally asks once he feels your breathing even out under his touch.
you pull away from him gently, shaking your head before verbally confirming, “no, i’m alright sam. nothing more than your typical bumps and bruises.” your voice is a touch raspy from the pressure on your throat, but it’s nothing that won’t go away with some water and rest, maybe some tea if really necessary.
his hands stay on you as he stands. “are you sure?” he asks, and you can’t figure out why on earth, heaven, or hell he’s so overly concerned about you. frankly, it’s starting to worry you. and definitely annoy you. all the sudden he’s acting like you’re fragile, like you can’t take care of yourself. things which he should know for a fact aren’t true.
he lets you slip away from his hold as you swoop down to pick up your lost weapons and face the poor janitor.
“sorry about that all. you can step out of the salt now.” he looks at you as if he can’t be sure, and your tone softens a bit. he’s young, probably just a college kid himself. “she’s really gone this time, i promise. you won’t ever have to worry about her again. though, i wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to look for a different job.”
he nods and thanks you, and you tell him to repay the favor by not mentioning you and sam. then, at a pace you certainly can’t blame him for, he scurries away.
“c’mon,” you nod to sam, “we should get out of here. you should also call dean back. he’s probably worried you didn’t answer.” with that, you turn back in the direction of the stairs without looking back at sam, rolling your eyes when your own cell ring. you pick up with a, “we’re fine, dean,” before he can even ask why the hell it took you so long to answer him. he lets out a sigh, half relieved, half annoyed.
“what took ya so long?” he asks anyway.
“had a few bumps in the road since little miss janitor-killer showed up, but we’re fine. neither of us are hurt. would’ya pick us up in the same spot you left us?”
“yeah, ‘course. already on my way, see you crazy kids in five.” with that, he hangs up and you don’t have to glance over your shoulder to feel sam following behind. it’s all just the familiarity of his footsteps, the sound they make, and the pace at which he walks. it’s the particular rustle of his favorite jacket, soft and scratchy sounding all at once. it’s the feeling of his tall figure, his broad chest so close behind you that he’d run right into you if you stopped even for a moment. you debate whether to ask him what the hell is up now or at the motel. for now, the priority is getting out unnoticed, so you clench your jaw a bit and continue in silence because you’re beginning to feel a little angry with him. you think he can feel it, so he stays quiet too, all the way out the dorm and down the street to wait for dean.
it’s not uncommon to be quieter after a hunt is finished because you’re all usually tired and more often than not achey from some toss around or another. but sam can tell there’s something else bothering you tonight. from the way you tilt your shoulder away from him, the distance so nearly imperceptible that only he would notice, he’s willing to bet that he’s that something. and though he doesn’t want to admit it, he thinks he knows why. he just won’t be the first one to say something about it because he’s stubborn, a little prideful, and most of all, too afraid to explain why he’s acting this way.
even so, he just can’t help himself. he hovers near, so near that once you’re settled by the side of the road, you can feel him without actually touching him. you’re tempted to nudge him away, just because of how overprotective he’s acting. you’re also tempted to lean back into his chest because somehow you know his hands wouldn’t waste a second in gathering you up and keeping you closer than ever before. it starts to rain a little bit, soft and almost unnoticable if it weren’t for the new chill in the air. for a moment, you can feel one hand hover over your waist, just for a second before there’s a light swish of fabric when it falls back to his side. you wonder if he’s worried about you getting too cold.
you hear dean before you see him, the rumble of the impala coming into earshot moments before its headlights appear around the corner. the car slows as it nears you, pulling to the side of the road with the front windows down and some classic rock guitar riff filtering into your ears. the music’s quieter than you know it was just moments ago from when dean was alone. he greets you two with a simple, “hey,” once he’s fully stopped and you place your hand out, palm up and wordlessly asking for sam to hand you the rifle to put in the trunk.
“i got it,” he says, not waiting for you to argue when he takes the iron from the loose grip of your fist and makes his way to the trunk. you slide into the back seat behind the passengers side and return dean’s greeting.
he twists in his seat to watch you as you close your eyes and massage your shoulder with a wince. it’s beginning to become more sore, just like all the rest of your body.
“you okay?” he asks, voice full of his normal gruffness that tells you cares enough to ask but knows not to be too worried.
you open your eyes back up to give him a nod. “‘m fine. just the usual ghost beat down. y’know, bumps and bruises.”
“mm, sure do,” he agrees, “so what? dearly departed marissa thought you were janitors?” he asks skeptically. you hear the slam of the trunk, and moments later sam’s settling into his seat in front of you.
“no,” you scoff, “some idiot kid was actually cleaning down there. told ‘im to get a new job,” you snort humorlessly.
“well, i’ll say,” dean raises his eyebrows in agreement before twisting back to face the wheel. he sneaks a look between you and sam before switching the car out of park and getting back on the road. for a few minutes, all you hear is the muted music, the constant roll of the engine, the light patter of rain on the metal roof, and the road under the tires. then dean switches off the music. “anything happen back there that i should know about?” he ventures.
“no,” sam answers casually, “nothing, just the usual.” you don’t even answer. you just can’t figure out if you should involve dean, tell him how sam was unthinking and almost entirely uncaring about the innocent civilian involved, all because he was so worried about you.
“alright,” dean concedes, glancing at you through the rearview mirror and sounding entirely unconvinced. he doesn’t turn the music back on, just lets the silence reign, so you close your tired eyes and lean your head against the cold glass of the window. you’ve fallen asleep in the back of the impala countless times before, but your drowsiness doesn’t take over this time in favor of letting your mind wander over what to say to sam. you can’t just let it be, and tonight is certainly the worst it’s gotten. plus, it’s an easy habit for you to wait for sleep when you’re already so close to the motel.
when dean pulls into the parking lot, he doesn’t turn off the engine. “gonna grab some grub. i’ll be back in a bit with the usual.”
“grab me something for dessert, will ya? ‘m craving something sweet,” you request, leaning towards the driver’s seat.
“sure thing,” he nods, and you slide out of the car and close the door after a thank you and tired smile. “anything for you, sammy?” you hear him ask.
“i’m good, just the regular,” sam responds as he exits the car. you unlock the motel door, and he’s inside the room just a moment later, closing and locking the entrance behind him. you stand facing away from him at the shitty table, your jacket already strewn across the back of a chair. you can hear him behind you, going through his routine movements. he’s taking off his jacket, setting it down on the edge of the bed. then he’s pulling comfier clothes out from his pack.
“you wanna shower first?” he offers, breaking the silence of the room. you can feel his gaze on your back.
“sure,” you swallow, “thanks,” you say without any sort of edge to your voice.
“‘f course,” he says, and he means that. his eyes follow you as you pull out your own change of clothes, just a tshirt and sweats, and make your way to the dingy bathroom. you’re tired, so you’re quick with it, but the water’s already lukewarm by the time you’re done. you dry off and dress quick, eager to lay in bed.
and yet, when sam takes your place in the bathroom and the sounds of the shower start up again, you sit at the table instead, picking out a few splinters in your hands before folding your arms and resting your head against them. you stay that way, even when you hear the water turn off, the bathroom door open, his heavy footfalls that are only heavy because he’s so tall and not for lack of gentleness, then the scraping of the chair across from you. he doesn’t even say a thing, just looks at the top of your head and the tip of your nose. the shape of your hands, the point of your elbows, and the curve of your back.
with a deep breath and some pain in your neck, you lift your head. you look back at him and slump your chin into your palm.
“i’m upset with you,” you state.
he frowns. even his frown is pretty. “i know,” he sighs.
“so? why are you acting like this?” your voice is tired, but you still manage to infuse accusation into your tone, “sam, why are you suddenly acting like i can’t take care of myself out there? you’ve been weird for nearly two weeks now, and i don’t like it. i don’t like this.”
sam doesn’t know how to respond. he’s used to being yelled at, shouted at, angry at. he’s used to yelling and shouting and getting angry back. and though he’s certainly fought with you before, he’s still not used to the level tone and the way you say each word so slow, like you’re not actually arguing. just upset and rightfully a little angry, like you just want to understand.
sure, he can hear the plain anger in your voice. you’re not trying to hide it. but you’re not yelling. how’s he supposed to use the heat of the moment to shout back, “i don’t know what you’re talking about,” or “i’m just trying to help,” when there is no heat in the moment? instead, he’s embarrassed and the only answer he can come up with, the only one that he can mean if he answers in that same, level tone you’re using is, one he’s having too much trouble saying aloud. any other answer would just be too wrong like that. or maybe if you were shouting, he’d tell you the truth, because he could yell it out, loud and rash without thinking about it. if he says it now, it’s not because he just let it slip. if he says it now, there’s no way to take it back, to get around everything threatening to bubble over the surface like forgotten water on a heated stove.
“i don’t think that you can’t take care of yourself. i know you can,” is all he says, because it’s true and it skirts around the real questions. his voice is rough, halfway between pleading and holding back from the anger he doesn’t yet know how to control. you heave a sigh.
“so why, sam? why?” you let the heavy question stew for a moment, then go on when he doesn’t even meet your gaze, “or, i don’t know, if you’re not gonna tell me, just promise me you’ll stop?”
he clenches his jaw because he knows he can’t. he just wishes you would shout. then, he’d tell you. he can imagine the words coming out of his mouth, but only if they’re loud, only if you’ve pressured him to do it. he realizes that’s probably fucked up. but the other way is too vulnerable, too vast of a leap to take to when he’s just not sure.
“sam,” you press, “you don’t have to worry about me, i swear. i don’t understand what’s got you like this, but it’s getting in the way of you being able to do your job right. that kid could have died because all you could do was worry about me,” that’s when you begin you raise your voice, just a little. because that’s what’s making you most upset about this. you hate it ‘cause you feel like he’s doubting your abilities as a hunter, but you hate it even more because it’s making him disregard the safety of others and of himself, for you. “sam, i only slipped. sure i got the wind knocked out of me, but you dropped your gun for that? frankly, that was stupid. and the poor kid was being choked, and if i hadn’t been lucky enough to throw the iron before she could react, he could have died. i need you to understand that. i need you to understand that i can do this job, that i’m strong enough, and that if you don’t trust me with that? people could die. and i’m not about to let that happen. so either you tell me what’s up and we figure it out, or you stop and i pay you the huge favor of just dropping the whole thing, okay?”
suddenly he looks all sad. “i do trust you,” he says, voice all sincerity and nothing more.
you close your eyes for a moment, half in frustration and half because you could really use some shut eye right about now. “that’s not– well, it is. it is part of the point. but i need an answer from you, i need you to tell me you won’t let whatever this is put somebody else in danger.”
he clenches his jaw. he’s still stuck. you still haven’t shouted.
“just spit it out. i can practically see something rolling around on the tip of your tongue. just say it, sam.”
there’s an edge to your voice, so maybe he can.
“i can’t lose you.”
there it is. it’s said with an edge, too, like he wanted to shout it but couldn’t. it’s said rough and a little bit angry and full of this undying faithfulness and yes, love.
but you still don’t quite understand it, so it makes you sigh. it makes your eyes soften a bit and it makes you a little angrier than before. it makes you want him to mean that with all his chest and it makes you want to shake him hard until he comes to his senses.
“that’s always been a danger, ever since we met. you know that,” your voice is something so oddly gentle in its frustration, “sammy, you’re my best friend, and i can’t lose you either. hell, i don’t think the words “best friend” even begin to cover the depth of how much i care about you. but we’ll both be safer if we trust each other, if we trust in both of our abilities to keep ourselves and the other safe. tell me that you understand that.”
it takes him a minute to speak again, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he searches for what to say. “two weeks ago,” is all he manages at first. you try to think back to it, and it immediately dawns on you. “i couldn’t prote–”
“sammy, no,” you interrupt, “that wasn’t your fault, okay? i know this doesn’t help to say, but we can’t always protect each other perfectly, to the extent we really want. i’d do anything for you, sammy, you know that.” after that there’s supposed to be a “but” where you explain to him that you can’t let that get in the way of your thinking straight and keeping everyone safe. instead, those last words just hang, suspended and weighty in the air.
“but you could’ve been killed,” the way he says your name is almost desperate. “it was dean that saved you. i was there and i couldn’t even help. what if next time, dean isn’t there? what if–,” his voice breaks, and he effectively cuts himself off from finishing the sentence. you know what he was trying to say.
any answer you give to that, you know isn’t enough. “but i wasn’t killed, sam. i’m here. i’m right here and i’m alive and i’m well and i don’t want to spend all my time worrying about you worrying about me. not like this.” you let that sit for a moment or two, and though his eyebrows are still all sad and pinched together, you think you’re starting to get through to him.
“but i can’t lose you,” he repeats stubbornly.
“sam,” you’re practically begging at this point, frustration creeping back into your voice, “the best way for you to keep me safe from ghosts and monsters and everything else is to take care of the problem, efficiently and effectively, like we always do. if there’s no monster, it can’t hurt me. but if you drop your weapon just because i slipped on soapy floors and lost my breath for a second? then it’s not just you and whatever innocent bystander around who’s more vulnerable now, it’s me too. so if that’s what it’s gonna take for me to convince you to stop fussing over me, then, please, think about it like that.”
sam is smart. he loves logic and reason, and you’ve handed him just that. but even more than that, he loves you. in the end, that trumps all.
“but i love you.”
he says it like a plea. like he didn’t mean to say it at all but it was the only thing running through his mind, and therefore, the only thing running off his tongue.
“sammy,” you breathe out, and then it’s like there’s no more air for you to breathe back in. that sweet nickname of his coming out of your mouth, resting on your tongue before tumbling into the air, is half like a drug to him, half like a bitter wind to sober him up quick.
“i– i only meant that i–,” he meant just that and now it’s said and now he’s never going to take it back, even if you hate him for it. “i meant that,” he says it firm and true this time, “i love you, so i can’t lose you.”
the way he looks at you, right into your eyes like they’re the prettiest things he’s ever seen, like you’re the best thing he’s ever had, oh, it has you hooked like bait has a fish who bit down too hard. it has you praying he never looks at anybody else like that again. it has you rising out of your seat and it’s pulling you across the small, wobbly table. he’s wedged into the grooves of your heart, so deep it could kill you to pull him out, so you follow the tug and he leans in too so the line isn’t so taught, so that it’s easy and comfortable and beautiful to reach his lips.
his hands are like a net that catches you up in big, lovely swaths. they travel from your own hands, that lean against the table to keep your lips pressed to his, up to your elbows and then he knows he can never get enough. so he pushes up out of his own seat, drags his hands further up your arms until they can wrap around your biceps and push you up. not for a moment does he let his lips leave yours as he stands and pulls the both of you away from the table until he can bring you close, right into his wide, warm chest. then his hands can roam, gentle over your sensitive back, up to your neck then the back of your head to push your face into his. the other hand gets to go from your waist to your hips, or dip to the small of your back and press you flush to him.
you can only get away from him for a second, just enough time to whisper, “i love you, too,” before he swallows you back up. you melt right into him, and he loves it so much, but he feels how tired you are and he remembers he is too. so he only kisses you for a minute longer before letting your head rest on his shoulder. without any reservation, he presses a long kiss to your temple and you sigh a sweet sigh into his worn out tshirt.
unwilling to let go, he waddles with you, all bundled up into his arms, to the edge of the bed. without warning, he collapses into it, taking you right down with him and pulling out a little shriek from your mouth that he finds to be nothing short of endearing. he laughs, a belly laugh that you can feel the vibrations of as it moves up into his chest and out of those pretty lips of his. with some struggle to readjust yourself, you press a sweet peck to those lips. another easy i love you.
then you collapse back into his hold and the low quality plush of the motel bed. “now promise me you’ll pull yourself together next time we get a case?” this time your ask is so much more lighthearted, sweeter because it’s mumbled into the skin of his arm. you mean it just as much, but you can’t help the fact that you feel like you’re floating, “now i really, really can’t have you getting us in trouble. i’ll need to be able to kiss you at any given moment, so you have to promise me that you’ll trust me to take care of myself. because it works, and you know it. it’s the safest way. for both of us.”
the sigh he heaves can be felt through practically your whole body. it’s heavier than you wish it’d be, but he relaxes against you just a bit more. “i know,” he relents, “i’ll do my best, okay?”
“thank you,” you breathe out, too relieved to care that he couldn’t quite promise. you know this all means he’ll just be more protective of you, but you can say the same for yourself. now that you’ve kissed him and he’s told you he loves you and you’ve said it back, right against his lips, you’ll worry about him extra. but the both of you know the best ways to keep each other alive, and that has to be enough for you. you allow yourself to snuggle closer into him before joking, “d’you think dean’s ever gonna come back?”
you feel sam’s quiet laugh more than you hear it. “yeah, he really did us a favor with that one, didn’t he?” you can hear the smile in his voice before he remembers himself, “do not tell him i said that.” having you in his arms like this has got him a little giddy, saying things aloud that he normally wouldn’t.
letting out a laugh of your own, you promise, “i won’t. but i’m starting to get hungry. maybe we should call him and tell him the coast is clear, we didn’t tear the room to shreds or anything like that.”
sam chuckles again, and you decide very quickly that you like the way it feels for him to laugh with you so close. neither of you move, not to get a phone to call dean or to stop yourselves from growing drowsy. not for anything.
you’re half asleep when you hear the familiar sound of the impala’s engine near the room. it turns off, then comes the sound of its front door being open and shut. just because you’re hungry and it spells the arrival of food, you force your eyes open and let out a groan when you wiggle your arms out of sam’s hold to stretch. the way his hands shift to your waist as you do so has you a bit flustered and you wonder if you’re supposed to pretend in front of dean that you haven’t spent the last half hour kissing and cuddling. but sam doesn’t seem to care, because he just sits up when the door’s lock clicks, one hand by your head to hold him up, the other still settled decidedly on your waist. so you decide not to care either, and turn your head around to accidentally grin at dean when he peeks his head through the door. you had meant to look casual, but the second someone else becomes a witness to the fact that you’re laying together like this, you’re beaming.
dean visibly relaxes when he takes in the sight, pushing the door all the way open to walk in, then lock the door back up behind him.
“hey, there,” is all he says, shooting the both of you a look that says, really, you’re just gonna keep sitting there like that in front of me? it’s not that bad, but he’s allowed to tease because he just turned a twenty minute food trip into an hour purely for yours and sam’s sake. you clear your throat awkwardly, and only when you sit up does sam’s hand fall away from you.
you pad over to the table as dean places the paper bag of fast food on the surface. he drags over an extra mismatched chair and sam follows close behind you, pulling the remaining chair to sit beside you. as you begin to pull food out from the bag, now clearly gone cold to the touch, dean sits down, complaining that they didn’t have pie, so he bought you two cookies for dessert instead.
“well, thank you for the food anyways,” you smile, hoping he picks up on the fact that you’re thanking him for the other thing too, “damn shame there was no pie, though,” you say, more for his sake than yours. you wonder why he didn’t just pick some up from somewhere else since he was gone so long.
“mhmm, and don’t sweat about the pie. just got a slice somewhere else,” he shrugs, “ate it in the car, there was only one slice left and i didn’t want you to feel like you were missing out,” he explains with that familiar teasing edge which makes you think he indeed caught onto the double meaning of your thanks. you let out a small huff of laughter before tearing into the food, only now realizing just how hungry you are. you’d felt it creep up on you on the car ride back, smiled at the mention of food from dean, even stupidly thought about it during a quiet moment in the argument with sam. but the second your lips found his, that was the only hunger you’d felt. to keep kissing him, to keep him close, keep him loving you. only when you settled all the way into his arms, sure that you’d be able to satiate that hunger again, could your body remember you hadn’t eaten since early this afternoon.
the three of you eating like this, late at night and without much conversation, is common and comfortable. dean is on what you assume to be his second burger, because there’s no way he’d have just sat in the car, probably parked in a random lot and wondering how long he should be gone, and just waited to eat an extra-bacon burger until he came back. sam’s nearly the same as always, too, but tonight he sits so close that his forearm brushes against yours. you bump elbows or knees every so often, and the side of his socked foot is pressed against yours the entire time.
you sigh, content with the nearness of him that’s so much more complete and full than it was just hours ago. now, there’s no need to hover. now, you can just swoop in and land, take what you want, give what the other needs.
dean makes no teasing comments, but you can feel the way he’s been examining, reading the two of you. you’re not sure if you’re supposed to say something aloud, but you know that he knows the two of you so well that he understands almost exactly what must’ve happened while he was gone. maybe he’s not teasing because this is the outcome he wanted to come back to. he probably knows better than the both of you how you were crushing, pining even, over the other.
he takes his turn in the shower when he finishes his food, and you and sam begin to clean up a few minutes later. once all the trash is crumbled up and tossed away, you go around and turn off all the lights but a single bedside lamp. as you turn away from clicking off the lamp in the corner of the room, sam’s right there in front of you. you don’t have the time to be startled by him sneaking up on you, he’s so quick to cup your face with his hands and slot his lips against yours. he lingers a long moment before pulling apart just enough to rest his forehead on yours.
“gonna kiss you forever,” he whispers, and you realize you’ve turned this giant man into a complete and utter sap.
“you better.” your grin is wide and real and he can almost feel your lips moving, he’s so close. just as you’re ready to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him hard, the steady white noise of the shower shuts off. you sigh and laugh a little, leaning in to steal one more chaste kiss before brushing past him. but he turns with you, hands still warm on your cheeks and not letting go until he’s kissed you once more.
when dean’s gone from the bathroom, sam follows you in to brush his teeth with you. you’ve done so plenty of times, but tonight, sam gets to loop his free arm around your waist and pull you into him, rather than stand shoulder to shoulder in the cramped space. he gets to make you giggle through toothpaste when he does so, and you get to switch your toothbrush to your other hand and wrap your own arm around his waist, too. he gets to make you laugh dangerously harder when he tightens his hold on you to prevent you from bending and spitting into the sink when you’re done. you try to hold back the laughter with your mouth full of toothpaste, then he’s the one laughing around his toothbrush because there’s white, foamy spit rolling down your chin from the corner of your mouth and threatening to drip to your dark-colored tshirt. of course, he lets you spit and rinse your mouth, relishing in the continued sound of your laughter.
“you asshole! almost ruined my shirt til the next time we make a laundry stop!” you take revenge as he rinses out his own mouth, splashing the running water onto his face as he swishes water around in his mouth.
he spits the water out in surprise and sputters an indignant, “hey!” before he bursts into laughter again.
you’re both giddy, high off of kissing each other, and silly from the exhaustion of a hunt, so he tugs you into him by your hips and keeps laughing into the crook of your neck. you wrap your arms around his neck and thread your fingers up through his soft, newly washed hair. you kiss the closest thing you can reach and he melts right into your arms.
it’s only when you yawn that he pulls away from you. “we should get to bed, huh?”
you nod and twist towards the door, peeking through it to see dean sleeping in his bed, his still form highlighted by the warm light of the cheap lamp. taking sam’s hand with a shy smile, you lead him to the other bed, turning off the last light and climbing under the covers with him not far behind. he loops his arm under your head, then the other over your waist to splay his hand flat across the small of your back. the way he does it is exactly the way you wished he would, as if he’s thought about holding you like this every night you share a bed, just as you had. with a final glance towards dean, he kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips.
you try to stifle the giggle that the soft, ticklish contact of his lips wants to pull from your chest, praying that dean is really as asleep as he looks. the both of you stiffen a bit when you hear dean’s blankets rustling, but you let out another breathy, quiet laugh when it goes silent again.
sam’s about to kiss you all over again when dean’s voice rings out into the hush of the night, startling you both.
“no shenanigans while i’m asleep, lovebirds,” he grunts.
that brings more laughter out of your lips and a rush of heat to your face that you’re sure sam feels, too. he just groans in annoyance at his brother, because of course dean had to get in at least one borderline dirty comment. neither of you really answer as dean shifts around in his bed again, likely turning his back to you and mumbling something mostly unintelligible.
the only word you can catch is “finally.”
#sam winchester x reader#sam x reader#sam winchester x gn!reader#sam winchester x you#sam winchester#sam winchester fanfiction#sam winchester headcanon#sam winchester fic#supernatural fanfiction#sam winchester oneshot#spn fanfiction#supernatural oneshot#sam winchester imagine#supernatural sam winchester#sam winchester fluff#spn sam winchester#supernatural#supernatural requests#supernatural fluff#sam winchester supernatural#supernatural x reader#spn fanfic
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post season 7 buddie fics
in honour of season 8 coming out in a few days, here is a list of fics that have been released over the hiatus set post season 7. all of these are general audience, teen and up or not rated (no smut) make sure to kudos/comment on these amazing works :)
ice cream before dinner (my beloved) by: cloudydaisies "gerrard messes with the team's schedules and eddie 'i just drove my son to flee the state' diaz is the only option to watch mara and jee-yun after school on tuesdays, which, shouldn't be a problem at all, right?" word count: 58k important tags: girl!uncle eddie, fluff, friends to lovers, love confessions, feelings realisation, minor buck/tommy, family feels take me home (to my heart) by: literalmetaphor "eddie and maddie end up in an impossible situation." word count: 20k important tags: car accidents, injury, hurt!eddie diaz, hurt!maddie han, maddie & eddie friendship, worried!evan buckley, getting together it's always on the tip of my tongue by: allyasavedtheday "eddie diaz vs the great romance paradigm." word count: 17k important tags: character study, therapy, emotional hurt/comfort, falling in love, demisexual!eddie diaz all my little words by: youbetsya "eddie: did you just send me an email?? buck: yeah lol eddie: why… i dont think you’ve ever emailed me actual words before. just stuff to print when your printer is broken buck: did you read it? eddie: Not yet. too busy trying to figure out why the fuck you’re emailing me buck: just read it dude 🙄" word count: 11k important tags: texting, idiots in love, getting together, eddie diaz mustache three strikes and you're out by: eightpackdiaz "buck's soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend chooses to ignore him every time the kiss cam points in their direction. eddie does the opposite" word count: 3.1k important tags: minor buck/tommy, cheating, kiss him, jealous!eddie diaz, tommy kinard bashing, first kiss a honey shade of blue by: hattalove "one toddler, two conversations, and so many missed opportunities for buck to act like a guy not in love with his best friend." word count: 8k important tags: getting together, pining!evan buckley, first kiss catatonia by: dqstcrdly "buck and eddie get into a car accident, buck thinks eddie is dead, and goes catatonic about it." word count: 13k important tags: car accidents, near death experiences, love confessions, angst, hurt/comfort, getting together, tommy kinard bashing knowing me, knowing you by: kiwibuckley "five times eddie was the better (boy)friend, and the one time he was the boyfriend" word count: 10k important tags: 5+1 things, friends to lovers, getting together, minor buck/tommy, tommy kinard bashing, eddie diaz loves evan buckley, petty!eddie diaz, pining sweet talk by: daisies_and_briars "eddie asks to crash at the loft while christopher is gone, struggling to be on his own. only problem? there's only one bed, and no couch." word count: 6.5k important tags: there was only one bed, minor buck/tommy, healing, couch theory this postcard tells you where we've been by: daisies_and_briars "eddie finds a collection of postcards buck sent to chris over his summer in el paso." word count: 3.5k important tags: getting together, first kiss, fluff, christopher diaz has two dads glass on the pavement under my shoe by: doitgently "buck takes a great big tumble. like always, eddie is right behind him." word count: 9.4k important tags: near death experience, major character injury, love confessions, angst with happy ending you'd have to stop the world (just to stop the feeling) by: wenttoafortuneteller "the eddie diaz gay realization arc we all deserve. in which bobby puts some pieces together, chimney sees something he shouldn’t, hen gets to have a conversation she’s been waiting to have for years, and buck can’t understand why his best friend is avoiding him." word count: 23k important tags: character study, catholic guilt, pre-relationship, self-discovery, self-acceptance, feelings realisation hope it hurts, burns & you finally grieve me by: dylaesthetics "eddie spontaneously visits a church and things fall into place." word count: 4.8k important tags: character study, religious guilt, angst, friends to lovers, getting together
#buck x eddie fic#buddie fic#buck x eddie#buddie fics#buddie fic rec#eddie diaz#evan buckley#911 abc#911 show#911 fandom#buddie 911#evan buck buckley#buck x eddie fanfics#buddie fanfic#buddie recs#buddie recommendations
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