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Let Me Take Care Of You

prompt: Winter Flu

pairing: Sam Winchester x fem!Reader

wordcount: 1.1K

warnings: slight language, established relationship, mentions of violence, fluff

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ 𝘯𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹

I woke up with my body hurting the most it has after a hunt in quite a while. We got back to the bunker late last night after finishing a hunt close by. I started getting reports of a rogue werewolf a few days ago and with it being so close, Sam, Dean, and I decided to check it out. Turns out, the one werewolf was part of a pack that had gone off, but the pack didn’t take too kindly to some hunters poking around in their business. 

They lured us to an abandoned building in the middle of winter in a blizzard to try and catch us off guard. It was a pretty easy kill, though, cause they were all rookies, but the chill, snow, and surprise caught us off guard and it took a little more effort than we realized.

We got back, covered in blood, dirt, and grim and I couldn’t be any more happier to get in the warm, steaming water of the showers - to get out of the snow-soaked clothes clinging to my body. Last night, when I came out, Sam was in the library sitting at one of the tables with two cups of hot tea which I couldn’t have been more happy to see. I sat down next to him, taking the warm mug from his waiting hands and taking a sip, taking one of his bone cold hands in mine.

He told me that Dean had called first dibs on the shower. I had told him he should change, but he said it was fine. When Dean came out drying his hair with a towel, Sam got up to go shower and I took the chance to go to our shared bedroom and get under the blankets, passing out almost instantly.

Remembering last night, I turn around on my side, expecting to see my handsome man, but his side of the bed is empty. Worrying that he may have been kept up by nightmares again, I sit up, sliding my legs off the side of the bed and my feet into the fuzzy slippers Sam had gotten me when we first found the bunker, and wrapped a blanket around my frame. There was a chill to the air, probably meaning the heat was on the fritz again. I’ll have to get Dean to fix it. 

I walk down the hall where the rooms are and peek into the kitchen, but Sam’s not there. I walk in anyway, turning the electric kettle Sam got on and prepping two mugs with Sam’s favorite tea. When that’s done, I take the steaming mugs and walk towards the library, knowing Sam will be looking over something from the Men of Letters archives. 

And my deduction was right. There, in the middle of the library, Sam is sitting looking over an ancient looking book with his laptop and notebooks open taking notes and researching the contents. Not only that, but there’s dozens of used tissues surrounding him. As I walk closer, I can hear him sniffling as he reaches for another tissue from a box sat in front of him.

“Oh, honey,” I say quietly to not startle Sam, placing the two mugs down on the table. 

Chocolate brown eyes turn and look at me, his eyes swollen and puffy from irritation. His nose is red and his lips hang open slightly from his congestion. I go to place my hand on his forehead, but Sam stops me, lightly grabbing my wrist and pulling it away. 

“I’m fine, just a little blocked up,” Sam says, his voice sounding nasally. 

“Honey, you’re not fine,” I say, grabbing the sides of his face with both hands. “Not to sound like a jerk, but you look bad.”

He scoffs, a slight smile pulling his lips upward. “I promise I’m fine, sweetheart.”

“Let me take care of you,” I whisper, my thumbs rubbing against his cheeks. “You deserve it, baby.”

Sam sighs, leaning into my touch. I reach over and push his laptop closed and mark his place in the books splayed across the library table. Then, I slide my hands down and take his giant ones in mine, pulling him up and guiding him back towards our room. Sam follows close behind, his frame sagging ever so slightly. 

When we reach the room, I sit him down in bed, pulling the covers over him and sitting next to him. Sam lays on his back, watching me as I work to make him comfortable. Once satisfied, I lock eyes with him, leaning forward and brushing his bangs out of his eyes. 

“I’m gonna go get some more tissues for you and make that soup you like, okay honey?” I say while running my fingers through his hair. “You get some rest. You’ll need it if you wanna recover.”

Sam hums, eyes falling closed at my soothing touch. I watch as his breathing evens out and his lips part ever so slightly as he falls asleep. Once asleep, I stand up and go prepare the soup for him.

About an hour later, while I’m working on the finishing touches of the soup, my back turned to the entrance to the kitchen, I feel hands touch my waist, causing me to jump and spin around in shock. Sam stands there, a quiet, breathy laugh leaving him. 

“Sorry,” he quietly says. “Didn’t realize how focused you were.”

I sigh, shaking my head at him, a smile forming on my face. “You should be resting, baby.”

Sam huffs, wrapping his arms around my waist fully while mine reach up to rest on his arms. “I woke up and wanted to find my pretty girl.”

He leans down, nuzzling into my neck, pulling me in closer. He starts swaying with me, placing a soft kiss to my shoulder. 

“Soups almost ready,” I softly announce. “Sit down and I’ll make you a bowl.”

He reluctantly lets go, letting me guide him to the table to sit down. When he does, I rub his shoulders, placing a kiss to the crown of his head before letting go and walking back to the stove. Grabbing a bowl out of a cabinet, I dish out some soup and walk back over to Sam, placing the bowl and a glass of water in front of him before sitting next to him. I sit and watch him eat, admiring his features. Dean walks in at one point, makes a joking comment on Sam’s looks, grabs himself a bowl of soup, then walks back out to wherever he’s been all day.

Once Sam finishes, I grab the bowl before he can, rushing over to the sink. He chuckles. “You know, I’m sick, not helpless.”

“So he admits that he’s sick!” I tease, turning to look at him. He laughs softly, shaking his head at me. I walk back over, taking his hands in mine once more. 

“Thank you,” Sam says, eyes locking onto mine, showing the affection and appreciation within them.

“I’ll always take care of you, Honey,” I reply, leaning down to kiss his forehead, watching his eyes slip closed at the contact. “Even when you refuse it.”

[lght-roastcoffee]

Twisted luck masterlist

Sam Winchester x reader rewrite

supernatural masterlist

Season 1

Prologue

S1E1: Woman in white

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Fluffcember 2024

Heyho.

@alpaca-clouds here!

I was asked whether I would create Fluffcember as an official challenge this year, and I thought to myself: You know what? Why not?

Hence this blog - and a really early posting of the list.

Rules

This is a 1-month-challenge for fluffy fanworks.

All sorts of fanworks (art, writing, graphics) welcome.

We will however not accept any AI-Art or AI-Writing!

SFW and NSFW is both welcome - but please make sure to tag it accordingly.

Tag CWs if you share under this tag!

No minimum or maximum word count for writing!

We will reblog entries during the month of December!

If you have questions: The asks are open!

Full list of prompts under the cut.

Day 01: Roasted Marshmallows

Day 02: Winter Flu

Day 03: Snow Man

Day 04: Christmas Sweater

Day 05: Northern Lights

Day 06: Gingerbread House

Day 07: Condensed Breath

Day 08: Sparkling Snow

Day 09: Sugar Rush

Day 10: Carols

Day 11: Slippery

Day 12: Skiing

Day 13: Fire and Ice

Day 14: Winter Soup

Day 15: Naughty List

Day 16: Chocolate

Day 17: Snowed in

Day 18: Mistletoe

Day 19: Fondue

Day 20: Fairy Tales

Day 21: Cabin in the Snow

Day 22: Winter Storm

Day 23: Confessions

Day 24: Christmas Tree

Day 25: The Perfect Gift

Day 26: Forgiveness

Day 27: Family Gathering

Day 28: Cold Turkey

Day 29: Mint

Day 30: Warming Up

Day 31: Fireworks

Alternatives:

Hot Bath

Fallen Through The Ice

Holiday Decoration

Homecooked Meals

Coming Home

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Writing Tips Master Post

Character writing/development:

Character Arcs

Making Character Profiles

Character Development

Comic Relief Arc

Internal Conflict

Character Voices

Creating Distinct Characters

Suicidal Urges/Martyr Complex

Creating Likeable Characters

Writing Strong Female Characters

Writing POC Characters

Building Tension

Plot devices/development:

Intrigue in Storytelling

Enemies to Lovers

Alternatives to Killing Characters

Worldbuilding

Misdirection

Consider Before Killing Characters

Foreshadowing

Narrative:

Emphasising the Stakes

Avoid Info-Dumping

Writing Without Dialogue

1st vs. 2nd vs. 3rd Perspective

Fight Scenes (+ More)

Transitions

Pacing

Writing Prologues

Dialogue Tips

Writing War

Writing Cheating

Worldbuilding:

Worldbuilding: Questions to Consider

Creating Laws/Rules in Fantasy Worlds

Book writing:

Connected vs. Stand-Alone Series

A & B Stories

Writer resources:

Writing YouTube Channels, Podcasts, & Blogs

Online Writing Resources

Outlining/Writing/Editing Software

Writer help:

Losing Passion/Burnout

Overcoming Writer's Block

Fantasy terms:

How To Name Fantasy Races (Step-by-Step)

Naming Elemental Races

Naming Fire-Related Races

How To Name Fantasy Places

Ask games:

Character Ask Game #1

Character Ask Game #2

Character Ask Game #3

Miscellaneous:

1000 Follower Post

2000 Follower Poll

Writing Fantasy

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round and round the garden (1)

sam winchester x fairy!reader

wc: 4.7k

warnings: soulmate!au (partners share scars), fem!reader, limited use of y/n, timeline is foggy but we’re working with s8 sam lookwise, reader is a creature, implied age gap (reader is early 20's), reader is uber tooth-rottingly sweet, highkey dumbification of sam winchester, references to thick reader (everyone cheered) but can be ignored, dean being dean, destiel is canon, animals, canon warnings (child kidnapping, violence ect.)

an: literally just wanted to write something fantastical and cutesy so here it is !!! this is part 1 of (probably) 4 :))) let me know if you want to be added to taglist <33 love y’all

summary: the case was bizarre, but no aspect more so than the “witch” at the end of town with the prettiest goddamn face Sam had ever seen and the long pink scar up her arm that matched his own.

part two part three part four

The house wasn't big.

If Sam could really call it a house.

It was more like a cottage, reminding him of children's illustrated stories he never had the childhood to read. Of picnics and fireplaces.

The cottage dazzled like a water colour painting: green shrubbery seeping into every corner of the canvas, with lush pink and orange and yellow fruit speckled across the page.

Creeping around it, wrapping it's branches over the house like an arboreal hug: was the largest tree Sam had ever laid eyes on. The trunk was almost as wide as the street they were parked on and it's leaves draped low over the windows peeking from inside. It stood like a monolith against the backdrop of the forest leering behind it.

The line of trees were inched back just enough to almost convince Sam that this tree, the one engulfing your cottage, made them nervous.

A stone footpath lead to the door.

"I-- looked away for just one minute ..." the woman was inconsolable.

Jenny Perez sobbed into the arm of her couch. Her sister leered in the doorway.

Sam and Dean watched her from the couch over.

"Ma'am," Sam stepped carefully. "We know this isn't easy, but are you sure you didn't see anything in the moments leading up to Manny's disappearance? Even anything ... strange?"

Washington State. Five kids. Two months. Missing.

Each snatched out their gardens where they played.

Sam and Dean had been in Illinois on the tail end of a wendigo hunt when the news of a sixth missing kid blew far enough across the country to land a tiny column on the front page of the Chicago Tribune.

Manny Perez (7) was taken from the backyard of his home this past Sunday night in Fernglade, Washington.

His mother, Jenny Perez (38), said she heard rustling in the bushes behind their house and her son laughing before going to take some food out of the oven. When she returned, her son had disappeared.

Sure it was a terrible story, but regardless, it didn’t arouse enough suspicion out of either Winchester to make it their problem. To convince them it was anything more than a 53-year old psychopath holding children in his basement.

Not until Dean found the entry. The one in John’s journal.

He’d been looking for a passage he swore was in there on wendigo hunting seasons when the ruggedly clipped article fell from between it’s pages.

“Sammy …” he’d flashed him the clip, “look familiar?”

Several articles actually: eight kids missing from the little town of Fernglade. Every Autumn, every twenty years out of some poor mother’s backyard. John had only scribbled one lonely note amongst all the newspaper staining: THE TREES

“No! It’s like I told the police … I just heard him laughing.” Her voice came out as broken shards between the heaving and the hands clutched close against her chest. “I thought I heard another child’s voice, but that was—”

“Jenny, enough.” Sandra Perez piped up from the doorway, clearly enflamed. She turned from her sister to face the brothers on the couch. “What my sister is refusing to consider, and what the rest of us know to be true, is that Manny was taken by that witch.”

“Hermana … she isn’t a witch—”

“A witch?” Dean’s calibre had twisted to intrigued.

“She lives on the edge of town. By the forestline.” Sandra’s arms were crossed tightly. “Jenny always used to let Manny go afternoons out there, God knows why—”

“A lot of the neighbourhood kids did too.” Jenny interrupted, desperate in her approach: hands outdrawn. “She’s not a … a witch. She’s a bit strange but the kids loved her and she was kind to them—”

“And now look. All those children are gone, Jenny.”

The woman deflated back into the couch again, her tear-soaked sleeves came up to find purchase against her cheeks again. They muffled a sob.

Sam and Dean exchanged a look. Dean shrugged with a look that said “maybe?”

Dean turned to the sister, “What has you convinced that this woman is a witch?”

Sanda Perez looked affronted by the question. Like Dean had slapped her clean across the face.

“Oh! Well she’s … there’s always things burning at that house and people have said they’ve heard … like, chanting at night over there.” She wrapped her arms tighter around herself, grasping at the straws of gossip that had dripped down to her willing ears. “And her house is strange and she’s always in the forest at night when it’s unsafe. Who knows what … what rituals she’s doing out there!”

The brothers nodded. “Sure. Would you mind giving us that address?”

Now that Sam was faced with the house, getting his first view through the grimy passenger side window, he’d stray from the description of “strange”. He might have agreed that “enchanted” or “mystical” fit the description of the cottage better if he didn’t resent the magic clichés.

Dean’s finger pressed into the open journal page, tapping along the stained ink of John’s nearly illegible handwriting. THE TREES.

“Now that’s a tree if I’ve ever laid eyes on one.” He leaned over so his eyes could find the top of the tree from under the cover of the car.

Sam nodded. Something felt off when he watched the house, his stomach was twisting up past his other organs in his throat.

“I don’t know man …” his finger reached up to tug at the collar choking him at the neck. Maybe the fed suit wasn’t helping. “Something feels weird about this place.”

Dean scoffed loudly. He picked up the takeaway cup from the centre console, coffee long cold, and slugged the last of it down in one long sip. He surfaced again, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Every place we go to is weird.” It was clear he didn’t share the sentiment. “I’m sure we’ve faced worse.”

He unbuckled his seatbelt.

“Well, come on. Let’s go meet this witch.”

Despite Sandra Perez’ less than convincing account of the “witch” at the end of town, it was still worth a visit to know who the townsfolk had decided was guilty in the matter of several counts of child kidnapping. How evil and vile of a person they must be.  

The air was crisp outside the car and the further they ventured up the path, the more delightful the aroma became. There was a thin string of smoke curling from behind the house, it carried a warm woody scent and the tussles of flowers lining the bannister of the porch was making Sam’s head spin happily. He managed a small smile.

“Nice garden.” He whispered offhand.

Dean seemed unconvinced, eyes flashing over the shrubbery with skepticism. “Yeah, well don’t get too close to anything. And don’t touch anything either.”

The door was tall, intimidating and clearly made of some fancy wood. It was slot between the white brick on the face of the house. The feeling from the car had only tripled on the walk up and Sam had his hand against his stomach. He could feel his blood rushing past his ears.

“Dean, I’m really not sure about—”

Dean’s fist connected with the door three times. Curt and professional, like a fed’s would be.  

There was an obvious shuffle behind the door, by then each beat of Sam’s heart was like a foghorn against his vibrating ribs and for a moment he was sure he was going to be sick.

Suddenly, there was sniffle by the foot of the door. A dog? And a voice, caressed gently by a giggle, ushering the animal away.

Sam’s brain was swelling too large for his head, the doorknob creaked from inside – his fists grew ice cold – with a soft grunt, the door was pulled ajar …

It stopped.

With a smile that knocked the wind clean out of Sam’s lungs, you greeted. “Good morning, gentlemen.”

Warmth flooded back in to his palms and the thumping of his head cooled to a dizzy buzz. The nausea subsided to a hot bubbling.

Your frame took up the doorway. It seemed to fizzle around the edges, glimmering like light off a rippling pond.

Sam’s eyes slipped down your body like warm coffee down his throat. Your face was gentle, eyes round and wet beneath a set of suffocatingly black eyelashes. Wide-set thighs rippled all the way down to soft calves and pink painted toenails.

A cream crochet top reached over the expanse of your shoulders, sloping down where the rugged sleeve edges hung off your palms, a sparkling green skirt flirted at the top of your thighs. It’s silk ruffles shivered with your every breath.

If he was momentarily able to lift his eyes from you, which he most definitely was not, maybe he'd notice how Dean didn't seem even moderately as amazed as he was. That might have been the first sign if he did.

"Good afternoon ma'am, I'm agent Alice. This is my partner agent Cooper." Dean dug out the FBI identification from his jacket pocket, flashing it casually. "We just have a few questions regarding some recent--"

"Oh please," you waved your hand airily, "No need for the semantics. I've been expecting you, lunch is out in the garden."

The sound of your voice was sending waves of warmth through his stomach. Like he was sipping hot cocoa at your every syllable.

The ID in Dean's hand wobbled, his face clenched in confusion. "I-- sorry, what?"

In the shift of Sam’s gaze back up your form, he came to find your eyes set on his.

You smiled again. His tongue felt heavy and half-formed words gurgled at the back of his throat: begging to be spat out.

“I-I’m–“

“I know who you are.”

Your eyes flickered back to Dean and Sam felt hollow at the loss of their warmth.

“Not every day you have the Winchesters at your door, now is it.” You finished, stepping aside to allow them in.

“You know who we are?” Dean’s cadence dropped warily, clearly spearheading the conversation where Sam was finding difficulty. But your figure was already disappearing into the darkness of the house.

Despite his sceptic tone, Dean stepped in quickly after you. Sam trailed behind.

The cottage was warm. At least that was Sam’s first thought.

It was quickly ribbed out the way by the sheer visual of the interior.

There wasn’t a single blank wall or spot on the floor uncovered by carpetry.

Rows of paintings and stacks of photographs lined the space between wooden countertops and cherry red couches. Persian rugs and indoor plants spilled from a technicolour mirage of pots.

Desks were cluttered with books, paint supplies abandoned still wet. A dusty chandelier.

But more striking than the portraits and the vinyls and the rugs and the botany textbooks, were the creatures.

“Just watch for Goose,” she waved vaguely at a moving creature that was quickly nearing Sam’s feet, avoiding Dean’s question. “He won’t bite but he will try lick you—”

For a moment, Sam connected that this had to be the dog at the door. But the dog, Goose, was hardly a dog at all. Only once he was licking a stripe up the strip of bare skin at Sam’s ankle did he realize that … it can’t … that’s a fox.

And that wasn’t the start nor the end of it.

Draped over the couch was the largest snake Sam had ever seen. It was curled into the red frilled cushion, fast asleep. On the countertop, two ferrets were dipping in and out of sight behind the fruit basket. A gecko bathing in a sunspot on top of a stack of books. A flock of white budgies perched between the crystals on the chandelier. Three pairs of brown twitching rabbit ears peeking out from a basket of laundry.

It seemed Dean had also taken stark notice of the menagerie that was the cottage, so distracted that he’d forgone mentioning that his question had gone unanswered.

His finger pointed weakly at down at the white boa on the couch. “That’s … that’s a snake.”

You laughed again and Sam was sure he could get drunk off the sound.

“Nothing gets past you boys, hey?”

You kept walking, motioning for them to follow through another arched door out into the garden behind the house.

“Her name is Lydia. She’ll come join us when she’s awake.”

“I sure as hell hope not …” But it was muttered and Sam gave Dean a stern look for his comment. You didn’t turn back.

The garden behind the house was impossibly even more beautiful than infront. Vines creeped up the outer walls, a lemon tree grew along the underside the of the bigger tree engulfing the house. Shrubs and bushes and stark purple flowers. Your whole patch of land seemed untouched by the fingertips of Autumn that was reaching over the rest of town.

In the middle of it all: sat a small white painted table. You’d lined it with sheer cloth and platters of pastries, sandwiches and cakes.

There were three chairs around it.

“Sit, sit, sit.” You were wringing your hands, a light waft of nervousness fluttering off you. “I didn’t know what exactly you hunters eat or don’t eat … so there’s a little bit of everything–“

“Oh, hell yes.” Dean’s initial skepticism seemed to dissolve at the prospect of food and his ass was in the chair before you had chance to say anything else.

You seemed pleased. 

Sam’s face flushed red. He remembered that he still has yet to say a full sentence in your presence.

“Uh,” you turned to the sound of his voice. “T-Thank you.”

The speckles of light through the canopy of the trees drifted over your face. Sam had never noticed that on a person before.

He’d also never paid much mind to people’s hair. Not before yours. It looked like something ripped off the cover of a fashion magazine from the 70’s.

“You’re so very welcome.” Your voice was kind. “It’s more of an indulgence. I haven’t had guests in a while, not since …”

It faded off. “Well, not for a while.”

Jewels jingled around your neck, crystals wrapped in black string: dipping low down between the swell of your breasts that was just visible above the hemline—

Sam quickly swung his gaze back to the table where Dean was scarfing down an icing covered puff pastry.  

His brother was making wildly animalistic groans over the taste. For a moment, it was the only noise filling the space against the shiver of the trees in the midday gust.

Sam didn’t know where to find his tongue. He couldn’t get himself to step away from you.

“Coffee or tea, boys? I have it inside warming on the stove.”

“Coffee.” Dean responded blurrily around a mouthful. You turned to Sam again.

“I—just, I’m—coffee is good.”

You nodded. “Sure. I’ll be right back.”

He watched your figure retreat towards the house. The nausea was bubbling back into view.

“This is some fucking good cake.”

When your frame had disappeared back into the house, Sam turned back to his brother who was cleaning remnants of a second pastry off his plate with a tiny fork.

He quickly neared him, pulling out the chair across from him hastily.

“Dean, have you even considered the possibility that this food is poisened?”

Dean’s face twisted to a grimace, but only for a fraction of a moment before shrugging. “Hey. Worse ways to go.”

But Sam was shaking his head. The dizziness had returned.

“Do you feel sick? I’ve been feeling like … like off since we first step foot on this property.”

Dean watched him with hooded eyes, gaze flickering between his brother and the sliced ham and cucumber sandwich resting at the top of a nearby plate.

“Is that your explanation for the fool you’ve been acting since we walked in the door?”

Looking up from wiping sweaty palms down his trousers, Sam stalled. “W-What?”

“Exactly.” Dean gave in, reaching for the sandwich. “You haven’t been able to string three fucking words together since we got here.”

“I—she’s a witch, Dean.” Sam pressed. “I think she put like a … a spell o-or a hex on me!”

“She couldn’t have done that in the five minutes we’ve been here.”

“She knows who we are, she could’ve hexed our motel room.”

“Looks to me like someone has a crush—"

But Sam’s face was earnest. And maybe turning a little cherry red at the accusation. “Dean.”

Dean huffed. “Fine, fine, we’ll interrogate her and see what she says. If she’s a witch, we just gank her. Problem solved.”

“But—”

The sound of footsteps were reapproaching. The brothers fell quiet.

“Here we go.” Ringed fingers clinked against the side of an ornate red pot where you leaned over Sam’s shoulder. Steaming black liquid slipped into the teacup resting against it’s matching saucer in front of him.

His breath caught in his throat.

“You like the sandwiches?” You aimed at Dean.

He nodded, “Yeah, great stuff.”

You rounded the table and Sam worked hard not to make eye contact with the expanse of thigh peeking up at him as you moved.

“I have to admit, I really wish you’d brought along your angel.” You poured into Dean’s cup.

His head flickered up at the comment. “Cas?”

“I’m a big fan of his.” Your voice buzzed with eagerness, “The whole rebellion against heaven thing. I thought it was really cool.”

To label Cas "his angel" was a fair assessment. The matching fleshy red handprint on each of their chests had confirmed it a long time ago.

Dean nodded slowly. “I’ll be sure to pass on the message.”

You smiled and it made Sam’s stomach contents bubble again. He was starting to worry that maybe you really had cursed him.

The chair grumbled against the grass where you pulled it out. “Right, so I’m assuming you guys are here to question me? Kill me maybe?”

Awkward silence fell. Dean and Sam exchanged glances.

“Uh—”

“Well—”

Between another bout of laughter, you poured your own cup. “Don’t worry. You’re not the first, probably not the last.”

Dean took a long enough break from scarfing food down his gullet to look up at you. “Yes. To question you, for now.”

You nodded. Eyes finding Sam.

“What about you, Bigfoot? Here to kill me?”

Sam reached deep to find his voice again. “Uhm, just a few questions.”

Smiling, you sat further back in your chair. “Great. Go right ahead then.”

“How do you know who we are?” Dean leapt right in, repeating what had been previously left unanswered.

“Someone like me’s gotta know when hunters are moving in and out of town, don’t you think?”

“Someone like you?”

“Yep.” You nodded, seemingly unwilling to offer more than what was being asked.

Sam leaned forward. “So you are a witch then.”

You chuckled under your breath, leaning forward to stir your coffee as if he hadn’t tossed an accusation in your lap. “I see you’ve been speaking to people around town.”

Nobody answered.

So you filled the space again.

“No, I’m not a witch. Slimy bunch them, but then again, I guess you’re not too far off.”

“So what then?” Dean’s voice held that rough edge that dripped through when he was growing annoyed.

Grinning, you shrugged.

A chime, like a ringing sleigh bell, filled the space. Sam’s eyes were drawn just past your shoulders where a tall pair of opal pearlescent wings had appeared behind your head.

“No fucking way.”

Sam choked around nothing. There was a long pause, interjected with a long stare between the brothers across your table.

“Fairies don’t … they don’t exist.”

You reached for a sip of your coffee, looking unperterbed. “Dryad, actually. Give it a google.”

The wings shivered against the movement.

"So what," Dean's glare was heated over the set table, "Evil fairy godmother is that it? What did you do with the kids, eat them?"

For the first time since he'd lain eyes on you, Sam could make out a shine of something unkind crossed your features.

You set the teacup down slowly and your eyes met Dean's with the same heat of the sun glaring down into the garden: "I had nothing to do with those children going missing. I loved them."

Sam wanted to interject, but his chest was tight ... a straining grip of guilt was tightening his throat. She's cursed me, she's cursed me, she's cursed me--

"A couple of the parents said their kids used to come visit around here. Visit the witch at the end of town. That true?"

Gathering a breath and another sip from your cup, your face distorted from indignant to disconsolate. Sam could feel the tightness in his chest ebbing.

You nodded.

"Yes. That's true." From behind your seat, accurate to your predictions, the wide white outline of a snake-- of Lydia-- was creeping through the grass.

Dean's eyes fixated on her approach, all way up until she bound the foot of your chair up into your chest. She rested her head there like a lap dog. You stroked a hand over her head like one too.

"They used to come visit," you continued, "after school some days. I'd make them tea and cupcakes, and they'd come to visit my animals. I taught them about the trees."

A fond look had crawled onto your features. There was another tinkle of bells and the wings behind you disappeared.

"Now nobody comes. Parents are scared. They think I'm ... hiding their children in my basement or something."

Dean surveyed you for a few moments, seemingly deciding you were of little enough danger to dare another piece of white chocolate cake.

"Yeah, you can spare us the pity party sister." He muttered around his fork.

Sam sent him a short lived look. "Well, then if it's not you--"

"We haven't yet decided that it's not you, just by the way."

"--then what is it? Surely you have some idea?"

Lydia was curling up around the back of your neck now. Your eyes found Sam's - he momentarily felt like he was melting - and you sighed softly.

"I've heard some things, nothing definitive." Your hand stroked over the section of the snake still draped in your lap. "It's coming from the forest."

"And you heard this where?" Dean's tone dripped with skepticism.

"The trees told me."

Where Sam was sure would normally be laughter echoing from his older brother, instead, his hand stilled over his plate.

THE TREES.

His eyes flickered to Sam. It was quiet. Dad's journal.

"You can speak to trees?" Sam question was clement.

You seemed refreshed by it, watching him for a moment before nodding. "Part of the gig."

Another silence fell. You sighed. Sam could smell Dean's thoughts from across the table.

"Let me get this straight." Dean cleared his throat, leaning forward in his chair. "You're the garden fairy and you're telling us that the trees have something to do with this? Not really working your best angle here, if you ask me."

The garden rustled again. A white duck emerged from one of the bushes followed by a string of ducklings. You shrugged tiredly.

"I'm trying to help." Your voice was soft. Melancholic.

Your hand reached for a strawberry sitting on a tower of others just past Sam's cup, crocheted sleeve slipping back to your elbow to reveal the scores of golden, beaded jangling bracelets and--

Sam's blood ran all the way icy, turning to a slurry in his veins.

"Care to explain that?" Dean's voice came passing over him as if said from the end of a very long corridor.

Twisting your wrist to look, you shook your head. You grabbed the strawberry and brought it to your lips with the other hand.

"Oh, this?" A jagged scar peaked from the edge of your elbow up into the palm of your hand. It shone pink with marred tissue. "You think I got this from kidnapping children?"

Sam's heartbeat was ringing in his ears, he gripped the edge of his seat with whitened knuckles. His eyes chased up to the side of your face, finding the little spot by your eyebrow where ... the end was split with the mark of the edge of a blade in a fight gone wrong.

"Not mine unfortunately." You continued, dissolving the strawberry to pieces between your lips. "My other half's. I swear they're a bull-fighter or a boxer the way they bang me up."

Somewhere a bird chirped. There was a turbo washing machine in Sam's stomach on full blast and he thought he was about to be sick. At the same time, he was washed over by a feeling of inexplicable warmth. Like a cooled stream of bubbling champagne down his gullet. Like how they always said it might feel. Only now he could put a feeling to the talk.

"Listen, if we find out you've got something to do--"

"D-Dean," Sam's voice tripped over pebbles, "We should go."

The hands now released from the edges of his seat were shaking and his palms were scorching.

Dean looked at him, confusion tugging on his hardened face. Sam thought he might argue, but he nodded slowly. Maybe he noticed his brother's red, sweating face. Again, maybe he was just bored.

"Uh, yeah." He started to push the chair out, but his eyes drifted on a ham and cheese sandwich lingering on his plate. He hesitated.

You jumped up quickly, wrapping Lydia like a scarf, all in the same motion. "I've got a box you can take some food, if you'd like? I could just run inside--?"

"That would be great--"

"No, that's really not necessary--"

Your eyes drifted to Sam, waving him off with a smile that buckled his knees now that he was standing. "Don't be ridiculous. Let me go grab them."

Figure disappearing into the house again, Dean surveyed his brother. "What's up with you?"

Sam didn't answer. In fact he didn't say anything at all until you'd returned, Dean had stuffed as many sandwiches and pieces of cake he could fit into the tupperware and you packed Sam a box against his will.

Not as soon as he would have liked, they were standing at the door again out on the porch front.

"We'll be back, probably." Dean quipped officially, but he lifted the box of food all the same. "Oh, and uh ... thanks."

You were smiling again. "Sure. You know where to find me."

Not for the first time that morning, Sam was struggling to peel his gaze off your face. Your eyes were a swirling mess of colour and the light was flickering off of them at him.

"I'll see you around, Bigfoot."

Your shoulder peeked at him from under your top, a deep red welt matching his own left collarbone.

He nodded curtly, turning back down the path even before his brother. His collar was sticky against his neck and his brain was firing off signals the whole walk down, it begged him to turn back.

Dean jogged to catch up.

"What the hell is going--"

Sam slammed the door on him, crashing into the passenger's seat. He began ripping off his suit, the black jacket flung mindlessly into the back of the Impala.

By the time Dean fell into the driver's seat he was already fighting against the button securing the shirt to his right wrist.

"You have been acting all sorts of crazy since we got here, Sammy. What the hell is--"

Sam pried back the sleeve: bunching it at his elbow. He stuck his arm out to his brother.

Dean glanced between his face and his arm only once before pausing. The long jagged scar from his palm up his arm was impossible to miss. The one that sat identical on your arm.

"Oh."

Sam was sucking in deep breaths through his nose.

Dean's eyebrows rose into his hairline. He let off a disbelieving laugh.

"Well, I'll be damned."

-

taglist:

@firstsnowdrop @writerofthewinds @aria1245 @nyx22-blogs @lucysaloser @britishscum @pookiesnatcher @music-keep-me-sane @cryptid-with-a-cane @sammys-concubine @i-live-for-fantasy @grimbunnie @crystalreedwifey

[lght-roastcoffee]

The Taming of the Rake: A. Bridgerton Masterlist

pairing: anthony bridgerton x sister's best friend!fem!reader status: ongoing

At her wit's end after Anthony's multiple attempts to scare away her suitors, Daphne employs her best friend's help to keep her brother distracted while she tries to find a husband. It's a foolproof plan, except it ends up working a little too well. (or, a Bridgerton version of The Taming of the Shrew/10 things I hate about you)

Chapter 1 - I said, "dancin' is a dangerous game" Chapter 2 - coming soon...

Get added to the taglist!

buy me a ko-fi!

[lght-roastcoffee]

🚨⏰ Attention Please 🙏🚨

Dear friends and compassionate supporters,

This is Eman Zaqout, from Occupied Gaza, Palestine. I am a Biotechnologist ,🩸💉 and scientific researcher contacting you at a really desperate moment.

I am seeking your assistance to raise funds for saving our lives, facing the starvation in Gaza and help me achieve my doctoral degree dream after being awarded OWSD PhD Fellowship for inspirational women.🍉👩‍🎓

Just like any motivated and loving life woman, and for years, I poured my heart and soul into my work at Al-Shifa Hospital and Turkish Palestinian Friendship Hospital, as Biotechnology Specialist serving cancer patients with compassion and skill.💪🤍

[ photos of Turkish Palestinian Friendship Hospital before and after the IDF destruction ]

[ photos of Al-Shifa Hospital before and after the IDF destruction]

I also gave medical lectures to students at different universities and training centers in Gaza👇☑

As a result of my outstanding grades in my study and the excellent performance in my job, I have been a holder of different scholarship and I am active participant in many research visits and scientific missions. 👩‍🔬The last scholarship as at McGill University in Canada three months ago before the starting of the genocide in Gaza.😥

However,😥

My life changed dramatically when Israeli military launched a sweeping war against Gaza. My home and our neighborhood in the North have been destroyed along with our belongings and precious memories early in this crisis.😭💔

My job and my husband's job are gone. Israeli military forced us to evacuate from the north Gaza to the south where they claimed it would be the safe zone but it is not at all. Our sweet home and neighborhood have been destroyed.

Forced to flee with nothing but the clothes on our backs, today, we find ourselves sheltering in a displacement camp lacking access to sanitation, medical supplies, food and drinkable water. I will not talk a lot about the dire and unbearable life we have to go through, as no word can express it fairly😔

The good news in the midst of this tragedy, that I am one of the 22 women from the developing world who have been awarded OWSD- PhD fellowship to pursue my PhD study in Malaysia🍉💪. But now I am stuck in Gaza unable to achieve my dream because Israeli army has occupied and closed all the border crossings 😭💔

Meet 22 fellows awarded OWSD PhD fellowship

This genocide has been more than a year of hell and horror. We have reached a point where there is no hope left for us here in Gaza, where we are unfortunately just waiting for our turn to die.

Nevertheless,

I refuse to succumb to despair, holding on to the belief that brighter days lie ahead.

With your kindness and generosity🥺, I hope to survive the genocide and reclaim the path to achieving my doctorate 💉🩸

Your compassionate aid would mean the world to me and my family.🥺🙏❤🇵🇸✌

Please note that our campaign is vetted

Thanks @90-ghost.. link here

Thanks @dlxxv-vetted-donations.. link here

Thanks @northgazaupdates2.. link here

Thanks @aces-and-angels.. link here

[lght-roastcoffee]

Bridgerton Blue

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Benedict is stunned by his wife in Bridgerton blue.

Warnings: None, really. This is fluff and a teensy bit suggestive.

Word Count: 0.7k

Authors Note: Request fill for anon; see next post for details. I just had to use a GIF with him in a light blue cravat for the story. This is written from Benedict's POV. Sorry it's so short, but I hope you enjoy it! <3

The air catches in his lungs as he sees you. 

Sashaying into the bedroom from your dressing room, a vision in light blue. 

“How do I look, husband?” 

Your tone is affectionate, tinged with playful teasing but a hopeful earnestness that has a dense warmth spreading behind his ribs.

“Truly beautiful, my love,” he asserts as you swish the fabric back and forth, giving a little flourishing twirl as you draw nearer. 

He is captivated by the beauty of your look, yes, but more by you. Simply aglow. A beaming smile that seems to inhabit your whole being. He would do anything to keep you looking like that—as if the sun lives within you. Scarcely believing it is him you have chosen to spend your life with, to share the wonder of yourself with.

“And you are so very handsome,” you wink as you arrive in front of him, hands running up his sharply tailored jacket over the ruffles of his shirt. “This matches my dress perfectly,” you hum happily, him captivated by the way your eyes shine in the candlelight as your fingers toy with the tips of his cravat.

“It is by design’, he confesses. “I asked my tailor to work with your modiste,” he adds, enjoying the way your expression lights up even more at his forethought.

“You are the very best husband,” you attest ardently, and he can feel the sincerity behind your words as he cradles your face, your jaw moving delicately in his cupped palm.

Your hand encircles the back of his head and pulls him down gently but insistently. He happily obeys, smiling against your lips as you push up onto your tiptoes. Sharing a languid kiss that has a tingle running down his spine, your nails a mild scrape over his scalp.

“I wanted to wear Bridgerton blue,” you explain quietly, tilting to bury your face into his neck and inhaling heartily, the tip of your nose pressing under his ear where he dabbed his cologne, just for you, your very favourite scent. “To tell the world I could not be prouder to have your name, to be your wife.”

Your impassioned declaration stirs something profound in his soul—the magnitude of your mutual desire and love. The missing puzzle piece he had been searching for until that fateful day last year when the jumble that was his life suddenly found its shape, its order, its wholeness.

“I am the luckiest man in the world,” he murmurs into your cheek, your eyes fluttering closed as he peppers gossamer kisses over your skin.

His hands slide around you, pulling you closer, loving the slight hitch in your throat as your bodies mould to each other. 

“And I could not be prouder to be your husband,” he echoes your words, nuzzling your face until your lips ghost each other, breathing shared air. “I love you so very much.”

“I love you too,” you whisper over his cupid’s bow, arms banding tight around his neck as he lifts you from the ground. 

There is a bloom in his chest and a tug low in his gut as the kiss deepens, your tongue seeking his, a sensuous parry that always alights an intense flame within him. A burning want to be with you. Only you. Away from the world and all of its noise. To lose himself in the profundity of your connection when you are intimately entwined, hearts syncopated, bodies alive.

“Must we attend this ball, my love?” he pouts as you break apart, his tone turning mischievous, deploying that crooked smile that always has your pupils rapidly dilating. 

“I fear your mother will disown us if we do not attend her ball…” you chuckle reluctantly as he places you back onto your feet. But there is a distinct stirring in his britches as you crowd closer and offer coquettishly: “I will make it worth your while if you do, Mr Bridgerton…”

And just like that, he is putty in your hands. Cannot help but bring your knuckles to his lips to drop a lingering kiss onto the fabric there—a promissory note for what you will share later, his voice husky as he replies.

“Lead the way, Mrs Bridgerton.”

masterlist • wips • taglist (follow this blog to be tagged)

Benedict taglist pt 1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @ferns-fics @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @hanji-emo-blog @sya-skies @urfavnoirette

[lght-roastcoffee]

⋆ ˚｡⋆ Scared ⋆ ˚｡⋆

prompt: "I'm in love with you, and that scares me."┆Tuna-Tober ⊹ Day 8

pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

wordcount: 692

warnings: slight language, mentions of past injuries, angst with a happy ending

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ 𝘯𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ 𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘢-𝘵𝘰𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘴 ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹

I can’t stop thinking about him.

Him and his bright green eyes. His freckle-dusted cheeks. The leather jacket he always wears. It’s probably so warm. He’s so kind to those he saves. He may not show it often, keeping his emotions behind a well guarded wall, but I see it every time. 

Dean Winchester is a beaten and bruised man with the heart of a hero. I understand why he can’t let anyone in. I understand the past burdens placed on his shoulders and the horrors he’s had to witness. But why does he have to be so mean?

“It’s like every time I turn my back you’re there needing saving.” Dean lifts the glass of whiskey in his hands to his plush lips and takes a sip. “Just for one night, that’s all I asked. But you can’t stay out of danger.”

“Dean, it’s not like I wanted to be attacked.” I huff, crossing my arms, leaning my back against the Roadhouse bar next to him. 

“Well, it sure seems like it sometimes,” he says, taking another swig. 

I scoff, rolling my eyes. “What are you trying to say, Dean?”

“I’m saying I’m tired of always saving your ass when I should be busy ganking the monsters.”

I huff again, pushing myself away from the bar. “Am I that useless to you?”

He sighs, looking down at the glass now resting on the bar and closes his eyes. “I’m just saying you’re getting reckless, Y/N. I’m not always gonna be there to save you when things go sideways.”

“But you don’t want me around.” I face Dean, anger and frustration slowly rising in me. “I’m just another burden to you right?”

Dean lifts his head, looking to the ceiling, before facing me, slight frustration coating his expression. “Stop putting words in my mouth, Y/N. That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“But that is what you meant,” I say, voice raising slightly in anger. “I get it, Dean, really. You’re tired of saving me. You’re tired of babysitting the child you see me as. If I’m such a burden, maybe I should just leave then.”

I start walking towards the doors of the Roadhouse, but a hand at my wrist stops me in my tracks. Dean spins me back to face him, eyebrows scrunched together and frustration shining in his eyes. “Damn it, Y/N! Just let me talk!”

Thank whoever is listening that it’s empty right now. “No, Dean, I think you’ve said all you’ve been wanting to say.”

He lets go of my wrist and runs a hand through his hair, messing it up further than it was. “I… I’m in love with you!” I freeze, his words running through my head as I process them. “And that scares me, okay? I-I don’t want to be the reason you die or see you die. I can’t handle that.”

The frustration slowly leaves my body as it relaxes seeing the man I’ve been crushing on in such a vulnerable state.

“Dean,” I whisper, closing the space between us. I rest a hand on his shoulder, making him look at me. “I love you, too.”

He wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me into him as I wrap mine over his shoulders. He buries his head in my shoulder and just holds me like that. I squeeze him just as hard in return, enjoying the comfort he brings. After a while, he pulls back slightly and cups my face in one of his rough hands. I stare wide eyed into his emerald ones shining in gratitude and love. Tired of waiting any longer, I pull him down and press my lips to his softly. Dean sighs into the kiss, lips moving against my own as he deepens it slightly.

Someone behind me clears their throat, causing us to separate in surprise. We both turn our heads towards the door to see Sam standing there. “Did I miss something?”

I laugh as Dean chuckles into my shoulder, placing a kiss there. Dean pulls away smiling as he looks me in the eyes again. 

“Just walk away, Sammy.”

[lght-roastcoffee]

⋆ ˚｡⋆ Just a Dream ⋆ ˚｡⋆

prompt: Nightmare┆Tuna-Tober ⊹ Day 7

pairing: Sam Winchester x fem!Reader

wordcount: 1K

warnings: established relationship, angst, spn level violence and gore, slight language, there's fluff in the end

author's note: So I was supposed to be done with this last week... I had a busy last week filled with work, school, and I got sick again. I have more freetime this week and next week, so I should be able to finish (hopefully by the weekend!) We only have 3 more prompts left!

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ 𝘯𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ 𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘢-𝘵𝘰𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘴 ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹

I- I’m walking. No, staggering.

There’s a pain in my arm, one of my hands is holding the wound on my bicep. It’s so dark, I can barely see anything in front of me. . It smells damp and rotten, and bloody.

We were hunting a demon. It was killing young women at the college in town. It’d go to the popular bars and choose its victim. Sam was able to track it down and I was the bait. Right. But it went south after it figured out I was a hunter. 

No… Not this night again. Please…

A crash sounds behind me causing me to swivel around and prepare for whatever made the noise. What do I have? What did the demon leave me with? 

Splash! 

To the left! That came from the left! Right?

I scramble to reach for the knife I keep concealed in my waistband. The dagger my father gave to me before he died. 

“I can smell you, hunter,” the voice said to my right. “I can smell your fear. Do you really think those boys are coming for you?”

My head snaps in the direction the voice came from, dagger turned and ready in defense. Another crash, like pipes being kicked on the ground, comes from behind me, closer than the last time. I turn my body in its direction, heart beating pounding against my chest.

“I think the Winchesters were just waiting for the moment you’d get reckless.” 

“Stop,” I demand, creeping forward slightly.

“They probably think you’re just a liability.” There’s movement in my peripheral to the left again. “You’re nothing to them.”

“Stop!” 

I rush forward, looking for the exit of the building. I spot a large garage door and dash to the chains to raise it. As I fumble with the chains, an arm darts out of the darkness and grabs my injured arm. Pain shoots up my arm as I’m dragged back away from my exit. 

Where are they?

“Now.” The demon throws me to the ground and I try to push myself back up and away. “Let’s begin, shall we?”

In my struggle, the demon managed to get on top of me. I see an opening, briefly, but I take it. I grip the dagger in my hand and bring it down on the demon, directing it to its chest. I strike my target, but it does nothing to help me. 

“You bitch!” 

Black eyes pierce my own as the demon grabs the wrist with the dagger and twists until I can no longer hold on. The dagger falls to the ground in a clatter that rings in defeat in my ears. The demon reveals its own weapon, a dagger with a serrated edge on one side and black as midnight. There’s a handle on it with spikes sticking out. 

The demon slams the handle into the side of my face as it repeatedly punches me. I feel the blood from the spikes drip over my features. Stars paint my vision as I struggle to stop the blows to my head. In my struggle, the blade of the dagger hits my arm, drawing more blood. I can feel myself growing weak from the blood loss, but the demon keeps dealing blow after blow. 

ᴡᴀᴋᴇ ᴜᴘ.

Then, for a second as the punches stop, a searing white pain shoots through my side. I scream in pain, opening my eyes which must have closed at some point to the demon laughing over me, the dagger still sticking out of my stomach. There’s more pain as it’s dragged agonizingly slowly out of my body.

“Hey!”

The demon’s joyous expression turns to fury as it turns its head just in time for a knife to enter its back. Its soul or whatever it has sparks before the body goes limp. The knife is removed and the body moved away.

Brown, floppy hair enters my vision first, followed by the warm, hazel eyes belonging to Sam Winchester. I can’t hear what he’s saying, his lips moving, but I can see the terror behind his eyes as he pulls my head into his lap. I smile despite the searing pain. Black starts ebbing its way into my vision. I know what’s about to happen now.

ᴡᴀᴋᴇ ᴜᴘ!

I gasp, struggling to catch my breath. My eyes snap open to the familiar hazel ones starring in concern. I feel Sam’s hand smooth back the hair on my sweaty forehead. 

“It’s just a dream, Y/N,” he says while taking my face in his hands. “It’s just a dream.”

Tears form quickly in my eyes as I recount the nightmare I had. It was a hunt gone wrong. Sam and Dean had just gotten to the warehouse just in time. They rushed me to the closest hospital and I survived. But I almost didn’t. 

I go to sit up, Sam helping me along the way. He rubs my arms as the tears finally fall. 

“You’re okay, it was just a dream.” His eyes bring me comfort, just as much as his touch, as it grounds me back to reality. 

Sam brings one of my hands up and kisses that back of it before pressing my palm to his chest. I can feel his steady heartbeat and the rise and fall of his chest. I start breathing with him, syncing mine to his.

“It was just a dream,” I repeat, head clearer now. 

“What do you need from me?” He asks, stroking the hand still at his chest with his thumb.

“Lay with me,” I whisper into the space between us. “Please.”

He smiles softly. “Of course.”

I scoot over on the bed to give him room. Sam slips under the covers with me, sliding us down until my head is resting on his chest and his arm is wrapped around my shoulders. His heartbeat comforts me more as I fully let go of the fear from the nightmare. I feel Sam press a kiss to the top of my head before nuzzling his face to my hair.

“You’re okay.”

[lght-roastcoffee]

⋆ ˚｡⋆ Rainfall ⋆ ˚｡⋆

prompt: Sharing an umbrella┆Tuna-Tober ⊹ Day 6

pairing: Charles Xavier x fem!Reader

wordcount: 740

warnings: established relationship, alcohol use

author's note: We’re halfway done! Only five more fics left before I can set this challenge behind me! Like I said yesterday under the other Charles fic, I do plan on writing two fics tomorrow as a way to catch up after I got sick earlier this week, so get excited!

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ 𝘯𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ 𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘢-𝘵𝘰𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘴 ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹

The pub was loud and noisy as I sipped on the pint of beer in my hands. I was supposed to be celebrating with Charles, but it seems he’s caught up in whatever his colleagues are having him do. I look over my shoulder from my spot at the bar and spot him downing a massive pint of beer. He’s going to feel that in the morning, I fear.

Charles had just presented his thesis on mutation in the human genes and his theories on these mutations accessing abilities unknown to mankind to this day. And to celebrate the end of his master’s program before starting his venture into his doctorate program, a party was arranged at the pub closest to the school. Charles had also invited Raven and I, but it seems I’ve been left to my own devices. Raven couldn’t come because she was called into work at the restaurant she’s been working at. But I was free and looking forward to being in Charles’ company for the night.

The man himself stumbles into the bar stool next to me leaning heavily on the counter. The bartender sets a new, but significantly smaller, beer glass in front of him before turning to the other patrons. The dazed smile on Charles’ face has me returning it with one of my own.

“Charles,” I start, “is it such a good idea to be drinking so heavily when we have a meeting in the morning?”

He chuckles, turning his head to face me, his hand reaching to grab mine. “It’s alright, love. We don’t need to be there until later, so we can nurse my inevitable hangover with a nice breakfast.”

He leans down and kisses my temple. My eyes closed at the contact, pulling a smile from my lips. Clumsily, he separates from me, standing to take his coat off of his chair and reaching for some bills in the pockets. I get up to do the same, watching as he downs some of the beer that had been forgotten about, shaking my head as I do. Charles placed a few bills on the counter, enough to cover his tab and mine (which was only the one beer), then took my hand and led me to the door.

As we exited the nice, warm pub, I huddled closer to Charles as the cold wind of the London fall washed over us. Not only was it cold, but it had started raining at some point.

“Ah, no worries!” Charles says, briefly letting go of my hand to reach back through the door for an umbrella.

Turning back to me, he opens it up and holds it over our heads. He wraps an arm around my waist, tucking me into his side once more before ushering me on the wet sidewalk. We continue like this down the block towards his townhouse. Before we were able to reach the steps, the umbrella flew out of Charles’ hands and down the sidewalk, leaving us without shelter from the pouring rain and soaking us. We try to run after it, but it’s gone before we can reach it.

We both stand there, clothes soaking through, the cold settling into our bones. Suddenly, Charles starts laughing, bending over, hands on his knees. I join in and walk to his side as he extends back to his full height. I wrap my arms around his neck as his loops around my waist, pulling me into his still-warm body. Our foreheads meet and we stare into each other’s eyes. His blue ones sparkle with child-like joy.

“You’re gorgeous, love,” he breathes out, a hand raising to brush my wet hair back.

I stare into his eyes, rubbing my thumb on the back of his neck, before softly pulling him down in a kiss. He returns it, pushing a little further into the embrace. His lips move slowly against mine, tasting of something sweet and the beer he downed before leaving the pub.

Overhead, thunder sounded, cracking against the silence of the street. We pull apart, laughter ringing out as he takes my hand and hurrying back towards the steps of his townhouse. Getting the door opened, he pulls me along with him into the foyer. We discard our drenched coats and scarves before standing in front of each other once more.

“You are truly beautiful, I hope you know that,” he sighs, brushing my cheek with his fingers.

[lght-roastcoffee]

⋆ ˚｡⋆ Always ⋆ ˚｡⋆

prompt: "If you won't take care of yourself, I will."┆Tuna-Tober ⊹ Day 5

pairing: dofp!Charles Xavier x fem!Reader

wordcount: 2.4K

warnings: mentions of alcohol and drug use, angst, broken Charles

author's note: So I’ve missed two days now… I really did intend to stick to the one story per day, but my week so far has been busy with work and college, and I think I’m getting sick so I haven’t been as willing to write when I go home. But I have the day off Friday, so I’m going to try and crank out at least the next two prompts (Day 7 & 8) just to kind of catch up a little bit. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ 𝘯𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ 𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘢-𝘵𝘰𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘴 ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹

It’s been hard, the past few years. Leaving everything behind and traveling to a new country is never easy. However, he encouraged me to do so. After Cuba, I received an offer from Oxford University to take up Charles’ old position when he left to start Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. He said it would be a great opportunity for me and seeing how he acted with Moira, I thought getting away for a while would be the best decision for the two of us. 

I grew up living next to Charles and going to school with him and Raven. I met Charles in school when we were young. We were in a science class when my mutation developed, going over the parts of a plant and its inner workings when I could feel the teacher’s poor plant crying out to me in hunger. Mrs. Duvall hadn’t been watering it regularly and the pain I felt from the plant was agonizing. 

I lost control, the plant rapidly growing as its vines stretched up the walls and ceiling of the classroom, encircling Mrs. Duvall and the other students before I could hear another voice in my head. It was Charles Xavier, he had introduced himself. I needed to calm my mind and relax before any more damage could be done. I was able to find his bright blue eyes from across the room and it helped me calm down. Since then, Charles has been my only true friend, no one after that day willing to interact with the “freaky plant girl.” And after he found Raven in his kitchen that one, fateful night, the three of us have been like family to each other.

As we grew older, though, and we all moved to London-Charles and I for Oxford, Raven just to be close to us-I found myself falling for Charles’ boyish charms. His confidence, for one, was unlike anything I had seen in a man. Not only was his ability powerful and he knew how to control it, he was incredibly smart and used that for good. His research and interests opened new possibilities for him as a professor and intellectual mind. 

I had gone to Oxford for similar reasons, but mainly for research on mutations, like Charles, but also to research plant biology. What I learned in my studies helped unlock new aspects of my mutation. I can grow almost any plant imaginable, as well as experiment with creating my own. I can create deadly poisons and toxins that are beautiful to the human eye. 

After graduating, I decided I’d start my own path and travel the world discovering all there is to offer in my mutation and help those in need. I traveled to impoverished regions of the world and helped their farmers grow all kinds of produce and food for the people. I taught them how to find the best soils, the best fertilizers, and quickly, these places saw improvement in their hunger and trade. 

I continued this until one day, while I was in a secluded corner of the world helping someone recover their diseased crops, I felt an itch against my mind. I immediately knew it was Charles, my old friend I hadn’t seen in who knows how long. The brief, but most welcome contact brought a smile to my face despite the confusion of my students. And within days, he was there, with his cerulean blue eyes and smug smirk on his face, asking me to join him on his recent mission. How could I say no to him ever?

So I followed him to D.C., right into the CIA compound labeled as Division X where I reunited with Raven and met the other mutant recruits, as well as agent Moira MacTaggert. My feelings for Charles seemed to return the longer we were together. I followed him on his missions, my mutation and knowledge of it coming in handy at times. I got to know Erik Lehnsherr, who noticed my predicament quite early and secretly teased me, earning more whips from my vines than gentleness. 

But I saw how Charles looked at Moira and listened to his flirtatious comments. She was beautiful and had a brilliant mind, so open to the discovery of mutants and welcoming to us all. Erik tried to tell me differently, Raven, too. But I knew what I was seeing. If he was into me how I was him, why would he be making advances on Moira?

Then the fight on that beach in Cuba happened so fast. Erik throwing out Charles’ plan and declaring his own war against humanity. The bullet piercing Charles’ spine, leaving him paralyzed. And Raven taking Erik’s hand in the end and disappearing. There was no going back to the way things were. 

After we returned to the mansion in New York, Charles and I started making plans to open our own school for the children with mutations who had nowhere else to go. A place they could come to have a normal education while learning how to control their abilities. Moira helped, too, which I will forever be grateful for. A human willing to risk their career to help those who have previously tried to harm her. But she also helped Charles. The lingering touches, the niceties exchanged in hushed tones.

When it all became too much, my heart breaking more and more as I watched them around the mansion, I applied for the open position at Oxford. I didn’t mean to keep it secret, but I genuinely forgot about it, not thinking I’d get the job. But when a letter came in the mail, wheeled in on Charles’ lap, the guilt washed over me. 

He smiled at me, bright and genuine as he handed the envelope over and watched me open it. I remember a hand flying to my mouth in utter shock as I read the acceptance letter. I remember the warmth of Charles’ arms around my frame as I fell into his embrace, laughing along with me. I remember the completely genuine words of encouragement he said to me, telling me to pursue this opportunity and go to Oxford. 

Within the week, I was flying to London with my life packed back to Oxford and saying goodbyes to my remaining friends. Charles promised we’d call each week to recount our days. This only lasted the first few months before the calls started becoming nonexistent. I tried to visit as often as I could in the beginning, too. I’d fly over and surprise Charles at his new school, visit with some of his students, then return to London to continue my research and lectures. But work for both of us started piling up and never gave way for me to visit again. I wrote occasionally, hoping to hear from him, or even Hank, but never did. 

Soon, the years started to go by. I missed him. I tried dating to occupy myself when work allowed me, but no one ever lived up to my memories of Charles. I watched the broadcasts of President Kennedy the day he was assassinated, catching a glimpse of what looked like Erik, and tried calling the mansion again with no luck. My concern continued to build and build until I was given a week's vacation time for my contributions at Oxford and booked the first flight to New York. 

Now, as I follow the familiar roads to the Xavier mansion, I notice the front gate in shambles, like no one has been living there for some time now. I have to get out of my car to open the gates and let myself in. It’s evident that the maintenance of the mansion has been lacking as the drive up to the house has become somewhat overgrown. The fountain out front has dried up and started cracking in places and vines and hedges have started overtaking the front of the mansion, which is covered in dirt and moss from mismanagement. 

I walk up to the doors of what I used to call home and knock on the hardwood. I hear silence as time passes. I knock again and this time I can barely make out what sounds like running. The door jiggles as someone from inside unlocks it and cracks it open. Hank’s face appears, lacking his signature blue fur and pointed canines. 

“Y/N?” Hank asked, shock covering his features. “W-what are you doing here? I thought you were at Oxford?”

“I was- Am,” I say. “I got an extended vacation and thought I’d visit, since it’s been a while.”

I try to look past him into the foyer of the mansion, seeing nothing but darkness. “What happened?”

Empathy clouds his eyes. “Look, it’s not a good time right now. I’m sorry.”

“Where’s Charles?” I question as my nerves set on high alert. “What happened to the school?”

“He’s- he’s resting right now.” Hank adjusts his stance, blocking my gaze from looking inside.

“Resting? Is something wrong?” I frantically search his face to find something that will answer my questions.

“It’s really not a good time-” I cut him off.

“Hank, if you don’t let me in right now, I’ll string you up to the roof.”

I push past him, probably shoving a little harder than necessary. I thought I’d never see the mansion in the state it’s in, one of disarray and time long passed. 

“Where’s Charles?” I demand from Hank. “I need to see him.”

“He’s upstairs, but-” 

I don’t stay long enough to hear the rest of his sentence. I race up the stairs, checking each room I pass as I go. Soon I stopped at what used to be my room when I would stay over. Clothes, empty whiskey bottles, glasses, and trash covers the room. More concerningly, syringes are scattered across the nightstand next to the unkempt bed. Lying on top of the blankets is the body of the man I called my friend. 

I take in the state of him. His hair grew longer, reaching his shoulders and looking like it hasn’t been washed in days. His once clean-shaven face is full with a beard in desperate need of a shave. His once bright and energetic blue eyes now stare at the ceiling in a dull daze. He’s dressed in a ratted robe, stained t-shirt, and pajama pants, something I never would have expected to see him in. One of his arms is lying next to him bare of the robe and an elastic band tied around his bicep, a used syringe discarded next to him. 

“Charles…” I whisper, tears forming in my eyes at the sight of my friend broken. 

His head snaps to the side to look at me finally, confusion then realization crossing over his face.

“Y/N…” 

I rush to his side, quickly working to undo the band around his arm and moving the syringe. Then I take his hand, his other reaching out to touch my face in disbelief. 

“You’re here,” Charles whispers shakily, tears quickly falling from his eyes. 

My other hand wipes the tears falling as he caresses my cheek. “I’m here, Charles.”

We sit there in silence for a while before he decides to sit up. I helped him, also noticing him using his legs.

“Charles, your legs,” I gasp. 

He sighs, what looks like shame forming in his eyes. 

“What happened, Charles?” I move so he can swing his legs over the side before wrapping him in my arms once more.

“It all became too much,” he whispered into my shoulder. “It was all too much. I couldn’t shut them out.”

He told me about opening the school after I left. About the success he saw in that time. He told me about the building war and U.S. relations in Vietnam, how students, teachers, and staff were getting drafted exponentially more than anyone else in the vicinity. How everytime he used Cerebro, all he could see were mutant men and children drafted getting killed on the battlefield. The toll it took on him and his control of his abilities. He told me how it became overwhelming, the voices and pain in his head when he finally lost control. He told me about the serum Hank created to help him block out the pain and how it canceled out his powers, but gave him back his legs.

By the end, he was breaking down in my arms and I latched myself to him. One hand found its way to his hair, combing through the long tendrils as the other rubbing up and down his back. His sobs wrecked through me, pulling tears from my own eyes. 

After a while, his sobs quieted, but he didn’t let go. If anything, his hold on me seemed to tighten, almost like he’s afraid to let go. 

“I’m so sorry, Charles,” I whisper into the side of his head, pressing a gentle kiss there. 

He pulls back to look me in the eyes, his eyes glistening with relief. “I’m- I’m happy you’re here. But I…” He pauses, swallowing on words unsaid.

“It’s alright, I’m here now.” I smooth his hair back from his face, feeling him slightly lean into the touch. “Let me take care of you.”

His brows scrunch together, eyes closing. He starts to pull away, shaking his head. “No, it’s fine. I-I’m fine.”

I sigh, reaching for his hands again. “Charles, respectfully, if you won’t take care of yourself, I will.”

With that, I led him into the familiar en suite bathroom, setting him down on the toilet and grabbing the brush on the sink counter. I stand between Charles’ legs and his hands come up to the sides of my thighs. Gently, I work the brush through his hair, hitting more knots than I expected, but working them out as softly as I can.

Once the knots have disappeared and Charles’ face has begun to relax, I set my hands on both sides of his face, tilting it up so he’s looking at me.

“There’s some things we still need to talk about,” I begin, rubbing my thumb along his cheek. “But I want you to know that I am here for you. For whatever you need, Charles.”

I lean down and press a kiss to his hairline, feeling him slightly squeeze his hands still on my thighs. 

“Thank you,” He whispers, finally smiling slightly.

“I’ll always be here.”

[lght-roastcoffee]

⋆ ˚｡⋆ Never ⋆ ˚｡⋆

prompt: "I'm not leaving you."┆Tuna-Tober ⊹ Day 4

pairing: Sam Winchester x fem!Reader

wordcount: 1.1K

warnings: mentions of blood, spn-level violence, established relationship

author's note: First, I imagined season 4 Sam after it's revealed he's been drinking demon blood for this. Second, this is a day late. Unfortunately, I got a little sick yesterday and every time I sat down to work on this, I got a little dizzy. But it's out now! I'll just finish the challenge a day later than I had planned, but I am still planning on doing all 10 prompts I've set for myself.

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ 𝘯𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ 𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘢-𝘵𝘰𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘴 ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹

Sam’s screams penetrate the walls of Bobby’s house, setting everyone on edge. Tears gather in my eyes for what feels like the umpteenth time since Dean closed the bunker door behind him. He and Bobby sit up stairs, deciding on their next move while I sit in the basement on a worn out dining chair. 

After everything that happened with Castiel and Jimmy Novak, no one expected a darker secret to linger. But when I turned from the demon who had vomited its black smoke from its vessel to see Sam-my Sam-with blood smeared across his mouth, everything around me vanished. The look in his eyes after everything calmed down and Sam met my eyes was haunting. The anger residing in his hazel eyes was a stark difference to the gentleness I usually saw, and it scared me.

Dean snuck away as Sam and I cleaned up the mess and the bodies, making sure all evidence had been scrubbed clean from the scene. The silence between us is unusual. Usually, we’d laugh and joke, despite the morbid circumstances. But after the look in his eyes, I don’t know what to think anymore. 

I knew that after Dean’s death, things weren’t quite the same. Sam took off, leaving me at Bobby’s, and never answered my calls. I knew he was still hunting, and doing a great job, from what I heard. So I stayed with Bobby as I helped him around the junkyard and assisted with some hunts now and then. So when Dean came stumbling across the threshold, very much alive, all I could think about was Sam and if he did something to bring him back. 

Dean and Bobby went off to find him while I stayed back, not quite ready to face him after he up and left. And after Dean confronted the angel who raised him from Hell and we learned of the impending apocalypse, I could tell Sam wasn’t the same man anymore. But who would be, after his brother, the person who raised him, died gruesomely right in front of him?

So I kept myself occupied, helping Bobby in his research on the seals and trying not to get too close to Sam. But he wormed his way back in, apologizing for leaving like he did and for holding back the truth of his escapades during that time. He promised he wouldn’t use his abilities anymore and that was that. 

Sam started trying to get back in my good graces. He started by arriving with coffee any time he saw me, then I’d notice new books stacked on the nightstand of my room in Bobby’s house, until he started inviting me out on more and more hunts with Dean, and I’d join. It all came to a head after a close call with a werewolf we were tracking and I laid in his arms, bleeding out and confessing, before Cas showed up and healed me, thanks to Dean’s prayers. We were good again, but I could tell that something was still eating at him. Well, I guess I know why now. 

“You okay, kid?”

I look up, feeling the tears falling freely against my cheeks as Dean stops in front of me. He sets a glass of water next to me on a rickety table. 

“Is this really necessary?” I managed to say. “Does he really need to be locked up like some- some animal?”

Over the course of the days we’ve kept Sam locked up, my anger has slowly been gathering. Whether it’s directed towards me, for not doing more to help the man screaming and pleading for help, or towards Dean and Bobby who were so prepared with trapping Sam and leading me away before I could ruin anything. But they’ve kept them in there, listening to his unnatural torture and continuing on like it’s nothing, no food or water because there’s a high chance he’ll get out is we open the door. This “detox” is destroying Sam and it seems I’m the only one who can see it. 

Dean sighs, pats me on the shoulder, and makes his way back upstairs. I sit there, the sounds of Sam’s cries lulling me into a restless sleep after not doing so for days. I only wake to the sound of rushed and heavy footsteps coming down the stairs. I see Bobby, then Dean, their faces a mix of worry and horror as they rush to the bunker door. That’s when I recognize the deafening silence. 

I rush over with them, Dean throwing the heavy iron door open and I see Sam on the ground seizing. I rush to his side, going to kneel down to keep him stable. Before I could do so, however, his body rose into the air and started slamming against the iron walls. I realize I’m screaming as Dean and Bobby push past me to get to Sam and restrain him to the cot. After everything settled down, Dean tried to drag me out of the room, but after landing a hard punch to his face and a knee to his groin, they gave me some space. Dean sat outside the door, listening for any trouble after getting some ice. 

I sat at Sam’s side, combing my fingers through his hair and humming softly. After a while, he groans, trying to reach up with his hand, but the handcuffs stop him. I sigh, tears forming once again at the torture the man I love is going through. He tries again and jerks awake frantically scanning his surroundings.

“Hey, Hey!” I push against his chest, hoping to calm him down even just a little bit.

“Y/N?” Sam relaxes slightly, confusion swimming across his features. “What happened?”

“You gave us a scare,” I answer, reaching up to smooth his bangs out of his face. “You started flying across the room. Bobby and Dean saw no choice but to restrain you.”

He lays his head back, eyes squeezing shut. “I’m sorry.”

I shake my head before cupping his face, hazel eyes opening to stare back at me in anguish, giving him a slight smile in return. “Hey, I- I understand, Sam. Just don’t do that again, okay?” 

“I- I don’t know if I can stop myself.” Tears form at his lash line, threatening to spill over. “I don’t know if I can stop myself from being the monster everyone thinks I am.”

“We’ll figure something out,” I say softly. “Just like we always do, right?”

The look he gives me, all watery and intense, makes me realize he’s terrified of my reaction. 

“You won’t leave me?” He whispers, voice shaking. I lean over him, face hovering over him. 

“I’m not leaving you,” I whisper. “Not ever.”

I press a soft kiss to his lips, tasting the salt from our joined tears. I pull away before resting my forehead against his.

“Never.”

[lght-roastcoffee]

⋆ ˚｡⋆ Jealous ⋆ ˚｡⋆

prompt: "Are you jealous?"┆Tuna-Tober ⊹ Day 3

pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!Reader

wordcount: 1.6K

warnings: slight language

author's note: So I've only watched the netflix show and have yet to read the books, so my knowledge of the series and universe is from that. I love Benedict though. He's the himbo rich boyfriend I've always wanted. ♡

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ 𝘯𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ 𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘢-𝘵𝘰𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘴 ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹

“Why do you insist I wear these silly gowns, Mama?”

My mother huffs as she swats at my fidgeting hands, trying to find a more comfortable angle in this ridiculous corset. She straightens the damned thing back to how it was, one of the bones digging its way into the side of my waist.

“Because, darling,” she begins, smoothing my hair to the side, “tonight is your first ball back into society. I know you enjoyed your time in the country with your aunt, but it is time you find yourself a husband.”

Taking my gloved hand in hers, she places a dance card on my wrist and leads me into the Danbury estate where tonight’s social event is in full swing. 

“Now, remember.” Mama turns to face me, cradling my face in her hand. “Tonight is for you to socialize and get to know those of the Ton. If you do not find someone who has caught your attention tonight, I will still love you.” 

Mama smiles at me before taking my hand again and guiding me inside the grand ballroom. It was filled with a vast assortment of fellow debutants, bachelors, and families mingling. In the middle of the room, couples were participating in the dancing, others talking near the lemonade tables, and others hovering around the dance floor conversing with their neighbors. Off to one side, I spot the one person I was hoping to see tonight dressed in the ever-recognizable blue color nearly all the Bridgertons wear. I quickly say goodbye to Mama, who was already conversing with Lady Danbury, and rush over to my friend.

“Eloise!” I greet, catching the girl’s attention. “It is so great to see you, my dear!” 

Eloise’s face lights up in recognition, turning to hug me. “Y/N! How was the country? You will have to recount your time to me! I’m sure your aunt taught you much in your time together.” 

My mother thought it best for me to get away after my failed engagement to Lord Pedleton, a filthy man double my age of twenty years. My father thought the union would bring fortune to our families, but all it brought was harm after Lord Pedleton was found bedding his maid. The scandal it brought to both our families caused my father to break the union and my mother convinced him it was best I spend some time with my aunt.

For the past year since, my aunt has taught me everything she knows and how to be in society as a woman while enjoying the more… improper joys in life. She took me to gallery openings of her friends, invited me to parties and gatherings with equal minded artists and intellectuals who did not look down at me for being a woman. She encouraged me to begin writing and worked with me to finish my first novel, publishing under a pseudonym and watching as others enjoyed my craft. To say I thoroughly enjoyed my time away was an understatement, and Eloise knows as I’ve written to her through the year and sent her an advanced copy. 

“It was wonderful, Eloise,” I sigh, a slight smirk forming on my lips. “The things I’ve done would make you blush.

She laughs, throwing her head back and grabbing my arm. “Oh, I’m certain! But I’m sure you missed me, or more accurately,” she leans in, mischief dancing in her eyes, “you missed my brother, did you not?”

My cheeks flare as I swat the girl away in playful annoyance. “Eloise!”

“What?” Eloise raises her hands in defense. “I only speak the truth! It is not like you haven’t been smitten with him since we were children!”

“Smitten with who, exactly?”

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. That’s how the saying goes, is it not?

Benedict Bridgerton struts over to the two of us from whatever corner he was hiding in, butterflies erupting in my chest at the sound of his voice. His face lit up in boyish excitement as he stepped to his sister’s side. 

“No one!” I quickly reply, glaring at my friend before she can speak any more. 

Benedict chuckles, looking between Eloise and myself. “Well, I do hope whoever has your eye is worth it.” 

I roll my eyes. “There is no one that has my eye, Ben. Eloise was just asking about my time in the country.”

“Ah, yes! How was it?” His blue eyes pierce mine as he engages in the conversation. The look he gives is filled with an emotion I haven’t seen before.

“Oh you know,” I shrug, trying to avoid the total truth, “my aunt introduced me to her friends and I learned how she lives. She is always lively company to keep.”

“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, and that you have now rejoined us!” Benedict slightly bowed in a playful manner, pulling a laugh from myself and an eye roll from Eloise. “You’ll have to join us sometime for a game of pall mall. It hasn’t been quite the same without you there to taunt Anthony.”

I smile widely, returning his bow with a curtsy. “Of course, Mr. Bridgerton. I wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

The three of us stand in our corner recounting the past year together and catching up. I didn’t quite realize just how much I had missed my friends, but I am glad to be back in their company. 

While in the middle of Benedict explaining his recent work of art, I feel a tap on my shoulder, pulling the attention to the young man behind me. 

“Excuse me, miss,” he says. The man is young, not that much older than myself, with dark hair and a scrawny frame. “I apologize for interrupting, but I was wondering if I could take your next dance.”

I blush slightly out of both embarrassment and disbelief. “Oh, uh, sure.”

He takes my hand in his, filling out a line on my dance card before leading me to the dance floor. The music begins and the familiar tune fills the room. The man bows and I curtsy before getting swept into the dance. My partner is nervous, I can tell. His dance moves are clumsy and rushed, palms growing clammy. He refuses to meet my eye and is silent the entire time. 

Not very far into the dance, I glance back to where I left my two friends, Eloise silently laughing at my misery after getting tripped over and Benedict watches with a hard look on his face. I continue moving, but I cannot take my eyes off Benedict. The look on his face, eyes hard, jaw clenched, is one I had only seen when he was frustrated or angry. Why would he be angry?

Soon, the music ends and I remove myself from my partner, excusing myself back to my friends quickly. 

“Well that was quite the show!” Eloise laughed. For what felt like the hundredth time tonight, I rolled my eyes at the girl, but joined in her laughter.

“He might not be the greatest dance partner, but he wasn’t hard on the eyes, was he?” 

At my jest, I hear Benedict scoff before crossing his arms across his chest. “Please, the boy could hardly keep up.”

“Are you jealous?” I tease, stepping closer to him. Up close, I see his eyes shift across my face, shock dancing over his eyes briefly.

“Well- I-” Benedict stutters.

“I believe mama is calling me,” Eloise announces, clearly trying to leave and nearly tripping over another girl as she backs away. “I shall catch up with you later, Y/N.”

I huff before the feeling of a hand on my forearm is dragging me outside to the gardens. I struggle to keep up with Benedict’s quick strides before I stop around a secluded corner.

“Ben, what-” He interrupts me.

“What if I am?” Benedict stares at me, eyes wide and darting between mine.

“I’m sorry?”

“What if I am jealous?” He steps closer, but I stand my ground. He slowly closes the distance, taking one of my gloved hands in his.

“I would say that I have been jealous as well.” 

He leans in closer, face mere inches from mine, allowing me to see the creases and lines on his gorgeous face. His blue eyes, with flecks of green scattered like stars, dilate at my words. His other hand comes to rest on my cheek, thumb rubbing against my cheekbone. 

“You are so beautiful,” he says shakily. “You have been since I first met you.”

The breath catches in my throat, my hand slightly squeezes his still in my grasp. My eyes dart from the intensity in his eyes to his lips just briefly, but just enough for him to notice. Suddenly, the feeling of his lips on mine is the only thing I feel, my head spinning as I return his kiss. My free hand trails along his arm to rest at his shoulder, the other letting go to do the same while his finds my waist.

“Wait-” He carefully pulls away slightly, searching my eyes. “Are you sure-”

I pull him back in, arms securing themselves around his neck as he melts into my embrace. We continue before the need to breathe takes over and we part, chests rising and falling with each inhale. The sight of him, hair disheveled, lips slightly swollen, is a sight I’d like to see everyday if he’d let me. He smiles, still catching his breath before laughing quietly. His infectious personality has me joining him, my head falling to rest on his chest with his arms wrapping around my frame.

His hand tilts my head up to look at him. “I am glad you’ve returned, my love.”

[lght-roastcoffee]

⋆ ˚｡⋆ Stay ⋆ ˚｡⋆

prompt: "You can sleep here tonight."┆Tuna-Tober ⊹ Day 2

pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

wordcount: 1215

warnings: language

author's note: I don't have any notes for today, but I wanna let you know that I had Season 5 Dean in mind while writing this!

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ 𝘯𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ 𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘢-𝘵𝘰𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘴 ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹

My breaths came out labored as I ran away from the vamp. Hand pressed to my abdomen, I turn to look back. The fucker was gaining on me, and fast. I need to think of a way out. I lost my damn machete in the fight before I was able to get away, but not before the vamp clawed my stomach. 

I can feel my head getting lighter at the blood loss and I started staggering my steps as my body weakened. How do I get out of this?

I felt hands grab my shoulders, yanking me back, causing me to lose my balance. I fell to the ground, knocking my head in the process and stars danced across my vision. The vamp took the opportunity to get on top of me, getting ready to attack my now exposed neck, holding my head to the side. I squirmed and wiggled, trying to gain the upper hand to knock the vamp off me, but to no avail. Seeing no way out, I squeezed my eyes shut as the monster started leaning down.

“Hey!”

My eyes snap open as the vamp looks at the intruder. Next thing I know, its head is falling to the ground, rolling to rest next to my legs. 

I take a minute to calm down and breathe before looking at my savior.

“Dean…” I croak out weakly.

The man rushes over and examines my injured state. “If you wanted my attention so bad, you could’ve just called, sweetheart.”

I scoff, wincing as pain radiates from my stomach again. Dean smirks, but quickly realizes the situation. 

“Alright, let’s get you out of here.” Dean carefully scoops me into his arms and I wince as he grazes certain spots. His hands quickly adjust, lifting me into the air. He brings me out of the abandoned warehouse the vamp had been nesting in and to the impala where Sam was waiting. 

“Oh my god!” he exclaimed. “Is she ok?” 

I raise my head to look at the man. “I’ll live, Sammy. Don’t worry”

Dean sets me in the back seat, being careful of my injuries. “I’d say don’t get blood on my seats, but you’re covered in it at this point.”

I chuckle, rolling my eyes. “I’m sure your seats will survive. If not, I’ll personally clean them for ya.”

He huffs out a laugh before closing the door behind him and getting into the impala. The car starts with that wonderful rumble before pulling away and onto the road. 

I lean my head on the window, relishing in the cool glass pressed to my skin. I catch Dean glancing back every now and then as he drives to the motel they’re staying in. Concern and worry rolls off of him which I felt since he found me in that warehouse. 

I met the Winchester boys a few years ago after Bobby had asked me to help on a particularly difficult case. Since then, I’ve joined the boys occasionally on their hunts. Dean and I hung out and we started flirting harmlessly with each other, usually after the hunt and on shot number 3 at the closest bar. But it’s been a while since I last saw them, considering we’ve all been involved in a lot of shit as of lately. The apocalypse is a nasty son of a bitch requiring all our time and efforts, I guess. 

I feel someone gently touch my shoulder and I open my eyes, not realizing I dozed off. Dean’s green eyes are the first thing I see, concern dripping from them. “C’mon, let’s get you patched up.”

With his help, I limp into their motel room and sit down on presumably Dean’s bed. Sam has their first aid kit set out and open before I realize and Dean comes to stand in front of me. “So where’s it hurt, sweetheart?”

I slowly lift my shirt up, revealing the nasty scratches littering my abdomen. Thankfully, the bleeding has stopped.

“Well, they don’t seem too bad, at least.” Dean pulls a chair over and picks up a cloth. He wets it with some alcohol before raising it to the scratches. “This is gonna sting.”

He gently daps at my wounds and I wince slightly, hand instinctively grabbing onto his knee and squeezing. He continues to work, cleaning then dressing the wound with bandages and gauze before lowering my shirt back down. 

I sit there for a second, noticing Sam gone, probably to go get food. I look back at Dean, who’s already looking at me. One of his hands is resting on my knee, rubbing feather-soft circles into the fabric of my jeans. 

“Thank you,” I speak softly, “for saving me back there.”

A faint smile curls up the corners of his lips. “What else was I gonna do? I can’t lose my best girl.” 

I feel my cheeks heat up slightly as I smile. We sit there for a few minutes like this, taking in each other’s comfort. Ever so slowly, Dean leans in and I let him. He rests his forehead against mine and stares into my eyes, wordlessly asking my permission to kiss me. 

Just as I nod slightly, the motel room door handle jiggles, causing us to quickly separate. Sam steps over the threshold, a bag of fast food in his hands, staring at the scene in front of him. I feel my cheeks flame up as he stands there, surprised by the interrupted moment.

“I, uh, I think I forgot something in the car.” Sam rushes to set the food on the small table by the door, almost tripping in the process, causing me to chuckle. 

“Way to ruin the moment, Sammy,” Dean whispers under his breath. I laugh, leaning into Dean more as I do. 

“I should probably go,” I say, going to stand. “I really need to get cleaned up and I still need to get a room for the night.” 

Dean chuckles, taking my hand in his. “You can stay here tonight.”

I stare at him, shocked at his suggestion. “You want me to stay?”

“Well, you don’t have to if you don’t wanna,” he says softly, rubbing circles into the back of my hand, “but I’d like it if you did.”

He pulls me into him and gently caresses my cheek with his other hand. 

“Ok.” 

With that, he closes the distance and kisses me softly. My eyes close at the sweet feeling of his lips on mine, my hands coming to wrap around his neck. After a few seconds, we pull apart, foreheads resting against each other. “Ok, I really need to clean up now.” 

He chuckles, letting me go and watching me walk into the small bathroom to shower. I’m out 30 minutes later, pulling on a pair of old sweatpants of Dean's and one of his t-shirts. I walk back into the room and see Dean resting on the bed, Sam still gone. I walk over to his bed and lay down next to him. Strong arms pull me into his chest, moving my head to lay there. Dean presses a kiss to the top of my head as my eyes begin to grow heavy with sleep. 

“Goodnight, Dean, “I yawn, snuggling deeper into his chest.

“‘Night, sweetheart.”

[lght-roastcoffee]

⋆ ˚｡⋆ Enough ⋆ ˚｡⋆

prompt: "Why? Why do you love me?" ┆ Tuna-Tober ⊹ Day 1

pairing: dofp!Charles Xavier x fem!Reader

wordcount: 1508

warnings: drug & alcohol use, angst, depressed charles

author's note: this is my first fic back into writing. i think it went pretty good considering I haven't regularly written anything other than essays in the past, like 4 years! hope you like it!

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ 𝘯𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ 𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘢-𝘵𝘰𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘴 ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹

It hasn't been the same since that day on the beach. The day Charles lost his legs and two of the most important people left him stranded, injured, and alone in Cuba. But I never left him.

After recovering and adjusting to life in a wheelchair, we opened a school for mutants in Charles's childhood home, just like we all talked about.

The school thrived and the students began advancing through their studies in an environment which welcomes them despite their differences. Charles was proud of what he had accomplished and started letting me in again. Our relationship was never really defined. It was more of a flirtation before he lost his legs, but, slowly, as time began healing him, he started accepting my affections for him.

It started with small words of affirmation from me. He didn't believe them at first, but I could tell that me telling him he was good and enough affected him a great deal. Almost like no one has ever told him so.

However, things quickly took a turn for the worst. The Vietnam War in America brought the draft, which took students and teachers and staff from Charles’s home to never see again. The devastation of the war brought mayhem to the school as students prepared to leave for war and others went back home after family members died overseas. Soon, the once full and lively mansion became a husk of its former glory. 

Eventually it was just Hank, Charles, and I, all coexisting under the same roof. I refused to give up on the hopes of the first class of X-Men, the dream that someday, mutants will be accepted and respected just like anyone else. But Charles was losing hope, and fast. As a way to combat his dark spiral, Hank had created a serum that would give Charles his legs back, but at what cost?

When he realized he could not keep the use of his legs and his psychic abilities, Charles dove into a deep depression, one that was pulling me in with it. In an effort to counter this, I moved out of the mansion. I hated seeing Charles in such constant pain. What happened to him destroyed his character and brought out the absolute worst in him. 

The man who I knew to be a genius, to be so kind and warm, turned into a hard shell of who he once was. He became obsessed with keeping the voices out and grew dependent on the syringes of serum Hank continued to produce. And I couldn’t stand by and watch it destroy him.

Soon, a year had gone by since I left the mansion. I never strayed too far, moving into a house I was able to buy close to the mansion. I didn’t have the heart to truly leave it all behind. I got a new job at the local college teaching and I adopted a cat. My life was ever slowly moving on from the X-Men and my former life.

Today’s my cleaning day, the one day each week I can take to deep clean my home and get everything back on track. To make matters easier, brooms were flying across the rooms, sweeping up dirt and grim settling on the floors. Dusters reaching the tops of the cabinets, bookshelves, and shelving that I can’t reach on my own. I had some towels polishing the mirrors, windows, silverware, and wooden furniture. All while I sat on the couch in the living room, book in hand and music softly playing from the record table in the corner.

I guess I was too focused on my book and the noise around me drowned out the sounds of knocking. A squeak from the wooden floorboards had me dropping my book and raising my arm in defense as I shot off the couch ready to defend myself. Quickly, I recognized two out of three of the men standing in the entryway of my home. 

Hank looked mesmerized as he watched the usually inanimate objects drop to the ground as I focused all my energy on the intruders in front of me. The man I don’t recognize gives me a look of disbelief, almost like he can’t believe what he’s seeing, even though I sense he’s more than meets the eye.

Then there’s Charles. He looks like a mess, but not much more than when I last saw him. His hair, which I had always made sure to clean up for him, reaches his shoulders and looks like it hasn’t been washed in days. His attire is a far cry from the once preppy scholar I met all those years ago. He was wearing white, stained t-shirt, a hippie-style floral button up, blue jeans, and sunglasses. He had grown a beard which looks like it could use a shave, but looking at him again, he is still just as handsome as when I first met him.

Charles stared at me with an expression I couldn’t quite understand. I can’t tell if he’s angry, shocked, or even just happy to see me. My eyes began to burn as unshed tears started to swell. 

“Charles…”

I’ve missed him so much. Charles lowers his gaze and I hear a cough from the other man. 

“Sorry to barge in, but we need your help.” The tall, brooding man towers over me, but I can feel his power. He doesn’t mean any harm, so I turn to him.

“What exactly do you think I can help with?” I ask. “I haven’t been a part of a team in quite some time.”

The man crosses his arms. “Well, it’s a little complicated.” 

The man, Logan, recounts his adventures to me, though I had already gathered bits and pieces of it through my power. Raven is in trouble and they need Erik’s help, but he’s been locked up.

“Wherever Erik is, I’m sure it’s well deserved, but I still don’t understand why you need my help.” I turn to Charles, who has yet to say a word to me. “You haven’t reached out this past year, so why should I help you?”

Charles flinched, just barely. If I didn’t know him so well, I probably wouldn’t have seen. Then, his face hardened and he finally met my gaze. 

“Don’t think this past year is my doing,” he spat out. “You’re the one that left me.”

I glance at Hank, who understands the plea in my face and ushers himself and Logan out of the room.

“I left because I was done seeing you hurt yourself.” I stand from my place on the couch and begin to walk closer to Charles. “I left because I couldn’t stand to see the man I love slowly disappear with each day.” 

Even through his sunglasses, I can see his eyes as they harden. I step closer

“Then why did you stay in the first place?” he asks.

“Because I love you, Charles.” His eyes soften slightly, but he keeps his walls up. I step closer again and he lets me invade his space.

“I have loved you since the moment I met you in that bar all those years ago.” The tears from before return as I watch the man in front of me.

“Why?” he asks shakily, a tear running down his face. “Why do you love me?”

The emotion in his face almost breaks me. The man I’ve known for many years has been replaced by someone who has faced more than his fair share of loss and heartbreak. 

“You, Charles, are the kindest person I know,” I begin, taking one of his hands in mine. “Your heart is so big and welcoming to anyone you meet. Do you know how special that is?” 

He begins to fall into me, head dipping to rest on my shoulder as I wrap my arms around him to support him. “I love you, Charles.”

His sobs shake my frame from under him, tears streaming down my face as well. I place a kiss at his temple, sending a wave of comfort from me to him. 

After a while, he calms down and he holds me, arms around my waist and face buried deep in my neck. I hold him back just as tight, rubbing soothing circles onto his back. 

“I’m sorry I left you,” I say softly.

“I understand, love.” 

He pulls back just enough to look me in the eyes. The emotion in his face is one of pure relief. He is no longer alone. Charles reaches up and cups my face in one of his hands, leaning down and pressing a light kiss to my lips. I let out a small gasp, tears coming back once more, as I lean into him. It’s neither passionate nor heated, but it’s comforting and feels like home. We pull apart and I notice a small smile on his lips.

“We’ll do better,” he says, softly stroking my cheek with his thumb. “You’ll come with me, won’t you?”

“I’ll go anywhere with you, Charles.”