#*those are pie crusts for the next couple days

[whatimdoing-here]

"Alex, how was your day?"

[tastesoftamriel]

My grandmother once told me “a way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” which to be fair considering her may have been sword technique advice. However, I was curious if you’ve ever done food for seduction. If you wanted to get someone into your bed, what would you cook them before hand? And do Tamrielic cultures have a standard “come hither” meal?

If it's a romantic meal you're after, you've come to the right place. Whether it's Heart's Day or something a little more low key, you'll make anyone in Tamriel drool over you and your kitchen prowess with these meals!

Altmer

Just like with anything else in the Summerset Isles, subtlety is key when wooing. Relationships can take centuries to build between Altmer, so some choose to speed things up a little with what's known as a courtship basket: a not-so-simple picnic that's bound to wow. First, pick a stunning picnic location and an even more stunning wine. Load up that basket with all of Summerset's finest, from peach blossom indrik ricotta and Russafeld Heights grape honey to freshly baked spiced loaves and caviar. The rest is up to you!

Argonians

As many know, Argonians become life mates through bonding ceremonies, which are a quintessential part of Saxhleel culture. Bonding ceremonies usually entail a feast, usually with foods purported to put the happy couple in an amorous mood. One of the most famous aphrodisiac dishes is juicy Moss-Foot Croaker tree frog legs grilled in pandan leaves with wild bush honey, served atop gratinated witchetty grubs and Spotted Seatrout roe.

Bosmer

Love is a precious thing in Valenwood, and courtship often involves lots of food to test a potential spouse's skill in the kitchen and as a homemaker. The much-loved Husband's or Wife's Pie (known to some as Courtship Pie) tests those culinary skills from the fiddly all-butter thunderbug carapace crust to the twelve-hour meat and jagga filling. It's an exercise in patience and love to be sure!

Bretons

Nothing is quite as romantic as a night in Wayrest at a nondescript, candlelit gourmet restaurant with a two-year waitlist. If you can't wait that long, do the next best thing and host that dinner at home (the bedchamber is just around the corner, no?). Popular courtship dishes are generally rich and include foie gras with wild berry and shallot coulis, lamb saddle served medium rare with black truffle sauce, and salted caramel and brandy custard mille-feuille.

Dunmer

The famous Queen and lover Barenziah was particularly fond of a certain dish, which Dunmer in the many years after her influence still present to potential mates as a not-so-subtle hint at something more. The dish is none other than the notoriously finicky marshmerrow and comberry choux-fflé, which is exactly what it sounds like: a feat of culinary engineering that combines delicate marshmerrow and scuttle soufflé in a clamshell of sweet saltrice choux pastry. Guaranteed to make any Dark Elf fawn over you as if you were Narsis Dren.

Imperials

Imperials aren't exactly renowned for being the best with big feelings (it's all the Divine guilt), so showing someone you love them with food is the most common love language in the Province. Whether it's one of Salmo's sweetrolls, a hearty home cooked meal, or an unforgettable stay at one of the Imperial City's top hotels, there's no wrong way to go about Imperial courtship food. However, if you really want to impress, go for a dark chocolate and pomegranate torte, with a fudgy melting chocolate centre and topped with pomegranate treacle. Indulgent!

Khajiit

It's said that Khajiiti love is as fiery as their curries, but we all know better than to eat a hot curry on a date. So, what does one offer their partner when romantically inclined in Elsweyr? Try a silk-wrapped box of moon sugar bonbons from the closest gourmet sweet shop! A box of moon sugar candy is one of the most thoughtful gifts you can woo a Khajiit with, whether it's cardamom-milk cakes or hard boiled coconut and ginger sweets. Just be careful at the confectioners, because clashing flavours are a sign of bad taste...

Nords

If there's one race whose digestive system is directly linked to their nether regions, it's Nords. Just the mention of a romantic meal of buttery mudcrab legs with sourdough, twice-roasted elk basted in juniper spiced Honningbrew Mead, and snowberry pudding with a Nord Ale caramel drizzle is enough to make any Skyrim native do that thing where they brush their hair behind their ear while biting their lip at you.

Orcs

Historically speaking, there are two food items that are a must for wooing an Orc: echatere cheese, and proper Wrothgarian ale. Put the two together and you'll be planning a spring wedding. Echatere cheese and Orcish ale fondues, pies, sauces, and much more are the best way to use these star ingredients, but I prefer a bit of a twist: echatere cheesecake with a caramelised biscuit crust and berry-ale compote.

Redguards

Redguards are known for being passionate lovers, who write rambling love poetry and frantically check their birthsigns for relationship compatibility. With that in mind, you're going to have to work hard in the kitchen to gain a Redguard's love. If you're not sure where to start, skip the Middas special camel-stomach meatloaf at the inn and get right to the kitchen to make some rasmalai! This unique spiced dessert of sweet cottage cheese balls are served with crushed pistachios, and a cardamom, saffron, and rose-infused cream. The punchier and more balanced the spices, the more likely you are to pull that date.

[lifeontoast]

The Great Pumpkin Pie Disaster

 

Edward Nashton x fem!reader (she/her pronouns used)

 

SUMMARY: Edward attempts to bake a pie for Y/N - long story short, it’s a disaster.

 

Word count: 1.6k(ish)

 

Trigger warnings: disastrous baking

 

A/N: something for my Eddie fans - hope you like it :) Feel free to drop me any other Paul Dano requests if you have them. (I hope it isn’t ooc oops).

Dedicated to that one anon who said my writing was yummy - ilysm.

 

…

 

EDWARD’S POV:

 

It’s not right that I get the day off and my angel doesn’t. She spends all day thanklessly slaving away for the scum of the city. She’s too angelic and… perfect for that. I tried telling her that she didn’t have to work, now that we live together, that I could make enough for us to get by, but she told me that she wanted to help. I worry about her, all those people who could hurt her. She always insists that she can look after herself, but I’m not sure. Anyway, it’s just not right.

 

There’s no point in me having a day off if she’s not there to spend it with me, so I tried to go to work this morning, but she wouldn’t let me. How honourable of her! She is so lovely to me. So, I’ve decided that I’m going to make it up to her, by making her a pumpkin pie. She loves it when we go to the diner and have a few slices – she always says that the filling is silky-smooth and creamy. Apparently, that’s good. I wouldn’t know; I know next to nothing about baking. Not like her, whose cooking skills are incredible. I would know about that, though, as she cooks dinner for us every night. I often wonder how she manages it, the buying of ingredients and the preparation, when she always seems so tired after a long day at work. She never complains though. She’d make the perfect wife for me. After all, she needs someone to protect her from the scum of this city. Some days I just feel so absurdly lucky that she’s chosen me as her protector. She makes my head spin and my heart beat madly.

 

I’ve rambled enough; it’s time to get started. I already bought all the ingredients once she’d left and found a recipe online. Now all I have to do is make it. It should be easy.

 

NORMAL POV:

 

You couldn’t help but feel slightly jealous of Edward this morning as you left for work and he stayed at home. He tried to go to work as usual, but of course you didn’t let him. It wouldn’t be fair to rob him of his first day off in weeks just because you wanted one too. You kissed his cheek as you usually did, when he grabbed your wrist and solemnly promised to have a surprise waiting for you when you got home. Feeling excited, you left the apartment with renewed enthusiasm, wondering what your surprise would be.

 

EDWARD’S POV:

 

This is harder than I thought… making the pastry was easy, but getting it into the dish is proving… difficult. I have to keep trying though, for Y/N. Millions of YouTube tutorials later, the pie crust was still littered with holes where the pastry had over-stretched. I tried to smooth them out as best I could, but it was no use. It would have to do. Nothing terrible would happen to it, though, I was sure. I started on the filling next. This was trickier. For one, I over-boiled the pumpkin, so it was a brown mush when I checked on it. As if this wasn’t enough, I dropped a couple of eggs on the floor, which Y/N had just cleaned the night before. I felt instantly terrible and vowed to clean it up, but I didn’t know which products to use, so I ended up just wiping it with a paper towel and hoping for the best. I felt guiltier and guiltier about it, until I snapped.

 

This latest setback was just too much; I sank down onto the eggy floor and tried my best not to cry. This would not do for Y/N! She was the most ethereal creature on this terrible earth – everything had to be perfect for her. I wondered how she manages cooking for the both of us every night. She makes it look so easy! I steeled myself, the thought of Y/N loving the pie I’d made motivating me. Getting up off the floor and wiping my tears with my pumpkin-covered hands (as I realised far too late), I threw away the overcooked pumpkin and re-boiled the spare one I’d bought (just in case).

 

I was more careful this time; I checked on it every 5 minutes, stirring it constantly until it was the perfect, orange shade. I smiled, finally! However, my cooking luck was not to last – this time, I burnt the butter. Oh no! Things just kept on going wrong! I was determined to keep calm, though, in order to have the pie ready for my angel’s arrival. That was that last of the butter, too; it was that one thing I’d forgotten to buy. Just my luck. I was determined to make this pie – after all, she deserved it for working so hard. She works so, so hard. I hoped the butter wouldn’t be unusable and put it into the mixture with the rest of the ingredients. When I stirred it, the consistency looked promising, just like the one at the diner. ‘Silky-smooth and creamy’ I remembered her saying, her voice reverberating through my mind, as it so often did. I was getting excited now – it was actually going well!

 

NORMAL POV:

 

Meanwhile, at work, you were still thinking about what your surprise would be. It had to be something romantic, as Edward was obsessed with romance… but what exactly? A riddle scavenger hunt? Roses? The new book you’d wanted?

 

Work was boring you to death, as it usually was, but more so today. It was a slow day. You tried not to think of Edward, probably laying on the sofa and watching gameshows or reading. It was no use; the jealousy of the morning was beginning to come back. You sighed, it was going to be a long day.

 

EDWARD’S POV:

 

Pouring the mixture into the pastry base, I felt happy. There was no way that this was going to go wrong now. All I had to do was slide it carefully into the oven, and let it bake. I did so, and jumped around the kitchen joyfully. Finally, I’d done something right! I set a timer for half an hour, and then all I had to do was wait. I couldn’t sit still – my excitement was exhilarating. Eventually, I decided to watch some TV. I sat on the couch and flicked through the channels until I found an old re-run of Family Fortunes.

 

NORMAL POV:

 

Thank goodness it was nearly time to leave. Time had run away with you today; all that daydreaming about Edward and you had not got anything done. Oh well. You waited eagerly for the hands on the clock to turn to 5 o’ clock, and then you practically ran out, not pausing to say goodbye to any of your co-workers in your haste. You swung by the diner on the way back, picking up a couple of slices of yours and Edward’s favourite pie to take home for dessert. Walking quickly home, you found you had a spring in your step, and were running happily by the time you reached the door to your apartment. Taking your keys out and unlocking your door, you shouted out an ‘I’m home!’ before hearing an almighty crash from the kitchen.

 

You walked in to investigate, and found that the kitchen was covered in orange goo and fragments of pastry. Beside the mess, Edward was sat on the floor and sobbing his eyes out. You quickly added two and two, and realised that Edward had been baking. For you. But that the noise of you opening the door must have startled him, and he dropped the… pie, it looked like. You knelt down on the floor, and took a small amount of the orange goo onto your finger and tasted it. Pumpkin pie. You felt touched, he had done all this for you! Kneeling next to Edward, you put your arms around him and held him close to you.

‘Edward, what happened?’ you asked, looking into his eyes.

He said nothing, still crying, his head in his hands.

‘Were you baking? For me?’ you felt terrible. He had done such a brilliant job, and it was all your fault that his hard work was spattered all over the floor. He just nodded, looking very upset.

‘I’m sorry, angel!’ he said, and your heart broke.

‘No, Edward, it’s okay! I’m sorry for making you jump. But it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re so kind, making me a pie! I brought you a little surprise, anyway.’ You showed him the pie from the diner, and he smiled at last.

‘Thanks, Y/N. I’m sorry, I just wanted to do something special for you on my day off.’ He said quietly, tears still slipping down his cheeks.

‘And you did! It means so much to me that you were thinking of me. Thank you, Eddie.’ You smiled too.

 

EDWARD’S POV:

 

I can’t believe I dropped the pie after I spent so long making it! I just wanted to cry and cry – I’m so useless. But my angel made everything better. She comforted me and cleaned up the floor without complaint, then she spent the whole night by my side. She always makes me feel better when I’m feeling down. What did I do to deserve her? I ask myself that every day, and I know that I’m the luckiest man alive. She’s just so wonderful.

 

NORMAL POV:

 

At last, you sat down to dinner (after having cleaned up the pie mess). The two of you cuddled up on the sofa, savouring your pie. It tasted even sweeter to Edward, knowing that his lovely angel was enjoying it too.

 

…

 

A/N: as usual, thanks so much for reading! You guys rock! Once again, feel free to drop me any other Paul requests if you have them.

[brokenmusicboxwolfe]

Oven repair still isn’t going well. I just can’t seem to get those two damn screws out. Excuse me I ramble/vent/moan/bore about things. (I am waiting a few minutes for some WD-40 to soak into rust, and the farmer sprayed the fields, AGAIN, an hour ago so I can’t go outside. I could do something useful, even with these grungy hands , or I could….)

I’ve had to stop working on the computer and the rest the tech issues. Which had already stopped my working in plumbing. Which had stoped me working on the roof. Which had stopped me working on the kitchen floor and wall at Mom’s house. Which had stopped me from working on the floors at my house. Which had stopped me working on….

Yeah.

So why the stove gets top priority?

Because, damn it, I like to have bread! I have toast every morning. Toast with cheese and fruit. That’s almost every breakfast. I count on having bread! **

And there is the mac and cheese I was going to fix to eat on for a week. And that sweet potato I was going to use last night. And the crust for the grape juice pie I was going to make in a couple weeks to use up juice (cluttering up the fridge) that I made from those fox grapes. And the bagels I’ve been craving**** I was going to make once I used up the bread. And roasting some of the peanuts from the field when they get harvested. And pumpkins and their seeds at Halloween. And turkey at the holidays. And cookies! And…

Okay, I also just like baking. I’m good at baking. Baking is so easy. And yummy.

I dunno. I can survive without an oven and a stove with a burner that goes full volcanic on low, but do I want to?

I have had my life’s pleasures whittled away from me. Like, at first it was just no trips or going out to eat. Fine. But then it was no going to the movies. No going to bookstores. Dropping all my comics and magazines. No buying books, or DVDs, or even little treats. No buying shrimp when the ground chicken is cheaper. No new clothes when I still have my parents’. No getting an internet provider good enough to watch videos all the time. No new sculpey or paints!!!

No family goes without saying.

And it isn’t just normal decay, with poverty (and the neglect that can lead to) speeding things up. Worse, thieves and vandals have repeatedly shown up lately to wreck my, already held together with duct tape, world.

Ok, yes, I have a few things left I get to enjoy. I’ve still got the pool (I almost refilled it after repairing the storm damage, but damn it’s cold) and the woods (when I get time, and the swamp is going dry again…gotta write about that sometime). And there are the animals, of course (but caring for them is soooo expensive). I appreciate my luck to have any of that.

But it all feel so precarious.

Any of them can be taken from me so fast. One tree can take out the pool, and sooner or later one will. Or maybe I will get so I physically can’t clean it any more first. The person that owns a quarter share of the farm and woods can still cause me to lose my woods. As it is, the people that own the next property seem to have it in for the swamp. The pets will all die eventually (old age I hope!) , and I should want no more strays show up. I’ve reached the “Oh no!!! Not another one!” stage every time a new one shows up.

As it is, I never go anywhere. I never do anything fun. I can’t buy things. I have no social life or any way to get one. Everything is broken or breaking around me.

My cooking may not be fancy, and I’m not a fan of the actual process of cooking, but having something yummy to look forward to eating at the end of the day has been something I counted on. During a day working on repairing, cleaning, or cutting brush, knowing I have leftover pizza in the fridge or that I can always make myself oven fries as a treat or that I’ll have brownies for dessert makes it easier to keep shoving through pain.

Ah well, it’s out of my hands. The problem will either be something I can afford to fix or it won’t. I’ll just have to adapt if it turns out to be “won’t”.

But first I have to get those damn screws out!

(Wanders off to go get a hack saw, chisel, hammer, drill, crowbar, and dynamite….’cause those suckers are coming out!!)

** I have no taste for store bought anymore. Mom went from occasionally making bread to making all our bread (when Pop developed stomach issues) thirty years ago. Then when Mom injured her arm*** in the shop, maybe fifteen years ago, I took over. After all those years of home made, when I’ve had folks give me store bought I realized I kinda hate it. So it isn’t just the cost of buying bread from a store (when every penny counts) but I don’t actually like it.

***Long story. Dislocated shoulder. Screw up by hospital folks. Mom with a completely paralyzed arm for six full months. Docs could do nothing but wait and see if it came back, and luckily it did.

**** If you think I hate store bought bread, the bagels are worse. I never liked bagels until I tasted properly made ones at a shop near my brother’s. It was a revelation. Too bad the shop is over 100miles away! There are NO bagels but grocery store plastic bag ones in my damn county. So it’s homemade or nothin’.

[nishaagarwalll]

Exploring the Evolution of Online Pizza Delivery: From Phone Calls to App Taps

In the vast realm of culinary convenience, the journey of ordering pizza has undergone a remarkable evolution. From the early days of dialing a number and placing a phone call to the modern era of a few app taps that let you buy pizza online, the process has transformed significantly, making pizza delivery not just a meal option but a tech-savvy experience.

The Era of Phone Calls: Dialing Up Delights

Cast your mind back a couple of decades, and you'll find a time when ordering pizza involved a simple yet time-consuming process: picking up the phone and dialing the local pizzeria. In those days, it was a bit of a ritual – browsing through a physical menu, trying to decide on toppings and sizes while engaged in a friendly conversation with the person on the other end. The anticipation grew as you waited for the doorbell to ring, signaling the arrival of your piping hot delight.

The Digital Revolution: Online Ordering Emerges

As the digital revolution gained momentum, so did the way we ordered food. The advent of the internet paved the way for online pizza delivery services. Suddenly, the process became even more convenient. With a few clicks on your computer, you could navigate through online menus, customize your pizza, and place an order without uttering a word. The phrase "buy pizza online" gained prominence as it echoed the changing landscape of food delivery.

Mobile Apps: The Ultimate Convenience

The real turning point came with the rise of smartphones and mobile applications. Ordering pizza shifted from computers to the palms of our hands. The introduction of dedicated pizza delivery apps took convenience to new heights. The process was streamlined to a few simple steps – open the app, choose your pizza, customize it according to your preferences, and finalize the order. The phrase "buy pizza online" became a call to action, urging users to embrace the seamless experience of app-based ordering.

Embracing the App Era: How It Works

The beauty of ordering pizza through apps lies in its simplicity. These apps are designed with user-friendliness in mind, ensuring that even a novice smartphone user can effortlessly navigate them. As you open the app, you're greeted with a visual feast of pizza options, from classic choices to innovative creations. The power to customize is at your fingertips – extra cheese, different crusts, and an array of toppings – allowing you to tailor your pizza precisely to your liking.

The Future of Pizza Ordering: Convenience Redefined

The evolution of online pizza delivery has fundamentally altered the way we interact with food. What started as a simple phone call has transformed into a tech-driven experience that revolves around the phrase "buy pizza online." As technology continues to advance, we can only imagine what the future holds. Will virtual reality allow us to visualize our pizzas before ordering? Could AI-powered assistants take our pizza preferences to the next level?

Conclusion: The Digital Slice of Life

In today's fast-paced world, convenience is king, and the evolution of online pizza delivery embodies this principle. From the days of phone calls to the era of app taps, the process has become synonymous with the phrase "buy pizza online." The journey from a mere meal to a tech-savvy experience showcases the power of innovation to transform even the simplest of pleasures. So, the next time you crave a slice of your favorite pie, remember that the world of online pizza delivery is at your fingertips – waiting for you to tap into its delicious offerings.

[writing-for-marvel]

I got an idea for my Christmas request: Steve Rogers sees girlfriend!reader watch many Christmas romance movies and got flushed and always gets excited everytime a romantic scene (like kissing under a mistletoe, strolling around the NY streets together during snow, etc.) and Steve tries to recreate all those scenes together since he loves the reader very very much and he would like to show it 💗💗💗

Thank you love! I absolutely adore this request - I had an idea for this as soon as I read it so I really hope you like what I’ve done 🥰

For my 500 follower + Holiday celebration

Steve Rogers + Christmas romance movies

Warnings: implied sex

Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Taglist

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Marriage Actually

You always looked forward to the end of the year and the festive season. The joyful music, the dazzling fairy lights, cheerful children awaiting Santa’s arrival and the selfless generosity you saw from complete strangers around the holidays.

But what made it your absolute favourite time of the year was three years ago when Steve finally confessed his feelings to you (feelings which you absolutely reciprocated) on Christmas Eve. You would celebrate your anniversary surrounded by the hearty scent of the tree in your living room, a warm fire and the smell of freshly baked food in preparation for the feast the following day.

But in reality, Steve celebrated the whole festive season with you. The month of December became your anniversary month, which started with decorating your tree, kisses under mistletoe, wrapping presents, stringing up lights and finished with a kiss at midnight come the new year.

One of your favourite December activities was snuggling under a blanket with him and watching trashy romantic Christmas movies. You understood that the movies themselves weren’t cinematic masterpieces, but they always managed to elicit a warm feeling spreading through your chest at all the big romantic gestures.

This year on Christmas Eve you spent the entire morning in bed together, and the afternoon preparing for the lunch you were hosting the next day. You lost track of time, mixing together the ingredients for your pecan pie, making the crust from scratch. Out of the blue, there was a ring of the doorbell.

“Steve, there’s someone at the door!” You yelled as you continued to construct the pie. After a couple seconds of no response, and another ring of the bell you yelled out again. “Steve?”

Fine I’ll get it myself, you grumbled under your breath as your calls were met with silence. Wiping your messy hands on a rag, you quickly walked to the front door, before your visitor chose to ring the bell again.

You opened the front door slightly more aggressively than you had intended, only to find Steve on the other side.

“What are you-” You started to question, but then you read the large, poster size card he was holding, ‘say it’s carol singers’, just like the scene from Love Actually, one of your most beloved Christmas rom coms.

“There’s no one else inside.” You laughed as he whispered just go with it as he turned on soft Christmas music. The faint music faded into the background as he let the card at the front drop, revealing the one behind it.

‘I’ve loved you from the moment I met you’

‘I love your kind heart, your mesmerising laugh’

‘I love everything about you’

‘I promise to love you, even on days you don’t love yourself’

‘I never want to be apart from you again’

‘You are my home’

‘You are nothing short of my everything’

‘To me, you are perfect’

‘I want to spend the rest of my life with you’

‘Will you marry me?’

Blinking away the tears which gradually formed as Steve kept turning over the cards, you saw him pull a box out of his pocket and get down on one knee.

“I can say all that out loud if you want to hear it.” He said, opening the small box to reveal a gold band with a diamond in the centre.

“No, it was perfect.” You smiled, wiping away the tears which were now spilling down your cheeks. “Now get up here and kiss me.” You demanded, wanting nothing more than to feel his lips on every inch of your skin.

“I’ll take that as a yes then?” He asked, standing up to tower over you, teasing you by leaning in but waiting for your response.

“It’s absolutely a yes.” You quickly confirmed before throwing your arms around his neck and crashing your lips onto his.

Permanent taglist: @imagining-harrypotter @tripletstephaniescp @hoeforthefictional @moonshooter @steverogerswifesblog @yliumy @p0tterhead934 @asgardwinter @demonpoxballad @nagygreta @libbymouse @squished-insect @mayasreadingnook @thecraziestcrayon @elbell20 @chasegirl2020 @hallecarey1 @sea040561

Steve Rogers taglist: @mansaaay @thechoosenonecreator @imlolxd @claudiaatje @belllarogers @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @badassbaker @melancholybaby @starry-night-20 @samwinter09 @erynnnn @patzammit @rqmanoff @gitasor @tenaciousperfectionunknown @sebastiansleftkidney @baby-banana @farfromjustordinary @harriettrose1 @ajeff855 @softieforeveryone @gryffindorqueensworld @buggy14 @leyannrae @buckysmetalarmholder @blackwidownat2814 @carelessreadersstuff @cevanslady @twinerd14 @cheerupbarry @directorsnarrative @lili-ann-love @misguidedasgardian

[beyondspaceandstars]

Pastries & Memories

Relationship: Dark!Bucky Barnes x Innocent!Reader Warnings: manipulation, mentions of stalking, gaslighting, mentions of kidnap and harm Summary: The smell of pastries brings back triggers the unsettling memory of how you actually met Bucky. But when you confront him, there's no telling what's right anymore. A/N: i’ve been really into dark fics lately and naturally wanted to give it a shot! this certainly isn’t the wildest, darkest piece out there but this is me just dipping my toes in the water. i hope it’s still enjoyable!

Masterlist

He had taken you in. Comforted you. Welcomed you. Loved you. Saved you. Protected you.

At least — that was how your brain fuzzily pieced it together. How you actually ended up living in this apartment was a bit beyond your reach mentally. You could remember the outdoors, walking somewhere… then… then you were off. Bucky, you thought, told a different story.

But none of it actually mattered, really. In reality, you felt like you had always been with him. You two had finally connected one day and the rest had become history. He was all you needed. A lover, a protector, a rock.

You reeled in your wandering mind as you stood at the kitchen counter cutting up some strawberries. There was a little farmers market that had set up in the city last week and after a little persuasion, Bucky allowed you to check it out. He gave you some cash and you had chosen the most lovely looking strawberries. You felt a bit proud of yourself for venturing out of the apartment completely unaware that he was tailing you closely as you went, always on the lookout for his best girl.

When you had gotten back to the apartment that afternoon, he had pestered you about what you were going to make with the berries. You had giggled and pushed him away, commenting on how he hovered around like an anxious puppy. You hadn’t seen the stiff stance he took as darkness flashed in his eyes.

Truthfully, you hadn’t really decided what you were going to make with them at the time. Indecisive, you asked Bucky to look for some strawberry recipes online. Your internet access was greatly limited by your protective boyfriend but you didn’t really mind. Whatever was out there nowadays couldn’t have been more important than your love — well, except for strawberry treats, you realized.

Bucky obliged and hunted around for some baking blogs for you to browse. Eventually, you had settled on a fresh strawberry pie. The filling didn’t call for a jam like the others did, instead choosing to highlight the lusciousness of the fresh fruit. That sounded perfect for these lovely berries.

So, there you stood, dicing them carefully as you waited for the pie crust to get done with its par-bake. Bucky had collected the items for you from the store earlier that week but you wouldn’t give him a clue as to what you were baking. He had seemed pretty upset with that, almost threatening to not pick up the items, but then you explained you wanted to surprise him. He worked hard, you said, and he deserved to come home to some fresh baked goods.

Although, you maybe should’ve told him when you were going to make it.

As you were just finishing up with the strawberries, Bucky walked through the apartment door, giving a resounding "hello" to you. You greeted him back.

Bucky placed a large kiss on your cheek and proceeded to place a paper bag on the counter next to you. The outside of it had a logo for the bakery you thought you had read about just a few streets over. You frowned at the sight. Why…

"Oh, gosh," Bucky sighed as he looked around at the hectic kitchen. "I’m sorry, doll. I didn’t realize you were making your strawberry thing today. I wouldn’t have stopped at the bakery."

Your eyes shot from the bag to your boyfriend. "T-That’s fine, honey. I should’ve told you."

"Well, I guess you can never have too many sweets, right?" He asked with a light chuckle. You smiled in return, your mind still taking in that bakery bag. Bucky walked over to it now and opened it, letting the fresh smell of pastries hit your nose. You nearly jumped out of your skin.

You knew that smell — how did you know that smell? You gave an odd sniff, taking in the scent of baked dough and custardy filling. You knew that. A cheese danish. How did you know that?

Tears began forming in your eyes but you weren't exactly sure why — hell, you weren’t sure of anything right now. Where had this overwhelming sensation appeared from? The danish? Were you just hungry? Your hands were shaking. You saw the bakery flash in your mind. You had walked past it before — why would you have done that? Bucky never let you go that way citing the city safety. But you had once.

You were walking past the bakery, suddenly craving a pastry. But you didn’t stop for one. No — it was early morning and you were late. Late for what? You didn’t work. Except that maybe you had.

Bucky came into frame now. His smile was wide but his eyes were dead. He said some words — you couldn’t make them out — and you tried stepping around him. He didn’t like that. Of course not. Bucky was a stickler when it came to listening to him, to say the least. But you knew that was always for the best so why did you disobey him that time? He grabbed your arm in the memory. And then there was a pain in your neck. You were under now. Into the darkness.

You gasped as the memories suddenly dissolved. A hand was gripping your arm once more. But this time was very real and it was from a very, very concerned Bucky.

"Doll?" He asked, his eyes growing with worry and…anger? "What’s wrong?"

You couldn’t blink the tears away fast enough. What was that? Your mind was swimming as you tried finding some words to answer Bucky.

"N-Nothing."

"Nothing?" He frowned. "You’re crying."

A ding came from the oven. You mumbled a silent thank you and quickly went to tend to your pie crust. You pulled it out and placed it on the cooling rack before turning back to your strawberry filling. According to this recipe it needed a few more items…

"Sweetheart," Bucky’s voice boomed through the apartment. You jumped, nearly forgetting he was standing right over you. Your obliviousness far from an accident. "What’s going on?"

You eyed the bakery bag. Bucky had now taken the pastries out and placed them on a platter. Cheese danishes confirmed. You gulped.

"Could you… Could you tell me about the day we met, again?" You asked the question slowly, carefully, as that bakery logo flooded your mind. It was abruptly disrupted by Bucky plunging something into your neck. You shook your head and turned back to the filling, adding what was instructed.

Your question wasn’t really a weird one. You enjoyed hearing the story of how you two met as your memory was not really the best these days. You never did find out why…

"We met at a coffee shop," Bucky explained. You could tell he was suspicious but he amused you nonetheless. "I had seen you a few times in there before and, thankfully, one day I got the courage to speak to you. I asked you what book you were reading and you told me about it. We talked until closing time. I couldn’t get you out of my mind from that point on."

You nodded, letting the familiar story wash over you. This time, though, it felt so foreign. Like it was a fairytale. Too perfect. Too natural. You looked at the pastries, halting all progress on the pie.

"Well, then," you said, "I guess I just had the weirdest thoughts."

Bucky took a step closer to you. His front was nearly fully pressed into your back. "What kind of thoughts?"

You shook your head. "It’s silly-,"

His hand gripped your arm tightly. "Tell me."

You wanted to turn away. Wanted somehow to get out of this position. This wasn’t how today was supposed to go. You were supposed to surprise him with a nice pie once he got home. He’d shower you with love and thank you’s before you turned your attention to dinner. While you made dinner, he’d watch some sports game on the television. You two would then eat like a nice couple and Bucky would compliment you profusely. That was how it all should’ve gone. That was how the good days went.

You wanted today to be a good day. But it was turning into a bad one real fast despite how much you really didn’t want to go down that path. Bad days were few and far between now but you remembered them in bits and pieces from the beginning of your relationship. They were just glimpses but, boy were they strong. You had forgotten things a lot or took long to understand something and Bucky had little patience for it back then. There was the pushing, the yelling, the degrading… No, no. You couldn’t turn down there but you couldn’t lie—

"I saw myself walking," you said, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. "It was a nice morning it seemed and I had walked past that bakery." You pointed to the bag. Bucky stiffened. "I thought I wanted a pastry but I was…late? I don’t remember the details and then you were suddenly there. You said something and eventually took me by the arm. Then there was a pain in my neck. It all went black."

There. The words were out. You explained it and now all you could do was pray and pray and pray that nothing bad came from this. You couldn’t stop your thoughts, really. Something happened there. That damn bakery, you guessed.

"Doll," Bucky tsked. He didn’t sound too angry just…dismissive. "Maybe you should go lay down. You’re not thinking right."

Your jaw went slack as you turned around. Bucky’s hand left your arm but you were now pressed against the counter, his body practically toppling over yours. Still, you looked up at him, in a bit of shock. He looked pretty calm — not at all mad, thankfully — as he stared down at you in worry.

"I— I think I know what I saw, Bucky," you insisted. He shook his head.

"You know your memory isn’t very good, honey," he said. "I think maybe you’ve been reading too many of those thriller novels. Might be mixing up fiction and reality." He motioned towards the bookshelf in the apartment holding your favorite books. Your brows furrowed at it. You owned maybe two thrillers and neither dealt with…anything like that.

"But it was me in the memory. I swore I was walking and there — there was that bakery!" You exclaimed, pointing at the bag. "You were there in front of me. Why were you there, Bucky? Did… Did something happen?"

Bucky’s jaw clenched as he looked over you. His eyes were a bit darker now, taking in your stubborn form. You tried holding your ground under his gaze but you were too intimidated by him. Besides, a bad day could be upon you. But you also felt your curiosity was justified and he hadn’t snapped right away. Was there really something to this?

But Bucky just shook his head again. "I really don’t know what you’re talking about," he sighed. "Why would you have even been over by that bakery? I tell you to stay away from there, don’t I? Unless you’ve been sneaking out."

Your jaw dropped fully this time. That was near to impossible it felt like not to mention it was absolutely something you’d never do. You’d never break Bucky’s trust like that. You knew the consequences that could come from it. They could even follow if he had just thought you did something. That was another part of the path you had to steer from.

"N-No!" You placed your hands on his chest, trying to reason. "I didn’t, Bucky, I swear. Y-You’re right. I’d never be over there, that’s such a silly thought to have. I must’ve read about it or something. The newspaper can be so graphic sometimes." You now prayed you were handling this right.

Bucky’s eyes searched you fiercely as you waited for his judgment to reign down upon you. He took your hands in his in an almost crushing hold. You tried to steady your breathing. Every word was pretty true. It must’ve just been something insane you had read. This could never happen to you. Not with someone like Bucky around. Your protector in many ways.

Eventually, Bucky nodded and said, "I’m canceling the paper subscription until you get better. I don’t want you getting scared like this, sweetheart." A beat. You let out a sigh of relief. "That means no more thriller novels either, okay? I need my sweet girl back. You’ve become so jittery." With that explanation, Bucky pulled you into a hug, his arms tight around you. You reciprocated, throwing your arms around his neck. You were glad he couldn’t see your confused expression. You hadn’t become jittery…had you? Maybe this outburst was a sign of something to come. Bucky was pretty smart when it came to stuff like that.

"I’m sorry to worry you," you mumbled.

Bucky pulled away. He forced you two eye-to-eye once more. His hand came to your cheek, caressing softly. "I just want to protect my girl, okay? That’s a lot of bad things out there."

You agreed and Bucky gave a small smile before placing a soft kiss on your lips. He eventually broke the hug and you watched as he took the bakery bag and its treats. Both were immediately dropped into the trash.

"What did you do that for?" You asked. You actually wouldn’t mind a cheese danish now.

Bucky shrugged, his smirk doing little to hide the concern for you. "Who needs that when my girl is making me a homemade pie?" Bucky took a strawberry from the bowl and popped it in his mouth. You gasped at his action, swatting his hands away while he laughed like a child.

The situation was now suddenly long forgotten. So fast, so swift. As he had wanted.

You turned back to the pie filling, completely oblivious to Bucky’s sudden change in expression. His dark eyes roamed over you like a hawk to prey.

[thatsbucknasty]

she used to be mine (xi) waitress au

summary: Inspired by the broadway musical. Y/N Beck is a pie baking force to be reckoned with. She’s pregnant with her lazy ass husband, Quentin Beck’s baby. As everything around her turns upside down, Doctor James Buchanan Barnes charms his way into her life.

pairing: Y/N x Bucky

tags are closed

author’s note: Alrighty guys, we’ve almost reached the end of this story. I hope you’re still reading, please tell me if you are!

chapter 11: she used to be mine

I wake up startled by a searing throb down the side of my belly. I quickly remove the sheets and there’s no blood so I try to lift myself up from the bed and start walking to the kitchen to get my decaf ready. I remember Bucky talking about the Braxton-Hicks contractions in one of our appointments a couple weeks ago and he told me I should walk so I walk. I have one of Wanda’s pregnancy books that she keeps sending me and walk, walk, walk for what feels like hours, although it’s only been 15 minutes.

I see myself in the mirror and I can’t recognize myself. My body’s changed so much, I’m pretty sure I have a few more wrinkles around my eyes and a few more freckles from all the damn walking under the sun. But that’s not what bothers me the most about all these changes. I just don’t feel like the person I used to be. She was good, a bit messy but always kind, she had a lot more hope in life for herself and those around her. I don’t know if it’s the pregnancy, or the divorce, or everything combined that’s made this version of me so bitter. And this isn’t something I can fix with a little more butter and sugar, in fact I don’t think it can be fixed.

-

It’s been the longest week of my entire life. Old Nick and Sam collectively decided to gang up on me, and I feel Bucky had to do with it a little bit too. They forced me to go on a “stay-at-home-vacation” until the baby is born, which should be any day now, so I’m just here, alone on a Saturday morning, while everybody is working, Quentin is sleeping with that woman and hasn’t even bothered to call me or show any interest in either his unborn child or our imminent divorce.

This is boring, I feel useless and I need to get out of here. This house, this awful, lopsided couch, that crooked picture frame of me and Quentin at prom so many years ago. I want to throw all of it away and start fresh in a nice, picket white fence house, just me and my baby. Wanda and Nat would come visit and I would bake some of my “La vie on rose petals and vanilla ice cream pie”, we would have a no boys allowed day when it’s just us, and sitcoms, and I could have wine or coffee again, little peanut could have a puppy or a kitty to play with and I would give her all my love and we could be a real, whole family. If I wasn’t tied to this place, these curtains that never let any light on, that man who was always so violent and disgusting but only just showed his true self, maybe I could have that pastel colored life that I should deserve. But what if this is what I deserve?

-

I called Quentin six times this week. Matt finally was able to send me the divorce papers that I already signed, but that lying, cheating, bastard hasn’t sent them back to me and won’t even dare to answer my calls or texts. I cleaned every surface of this dingy house and put every item that reminded me of my screwed up marriage in a box outside for the garbage collector to take away. Quentin can buy new shirts and underpants, if he can’t answer the stupid phone I can throw away his stuff. I don’t even care anymore.

I find myself walking again but not around my kitchen. I’m waking to the diner cause I felt trapped in the house and I need to cook, something with lots of garlic or onions, I will call it “Wrecked home scrambled eggs pie” served with sauteed bell peppers on the side and a spicy sauce dripped on top of the crust. 

-

I go through the back door and into the kitchen before the girls see me, Sam reacts by giving me a side eye and continuing flipping the burgers he’s working on right now.

“Table 9 order’s ready!” Sam calls out and Wanda takes it.

“We have a pregnant lady in the back, stress baking”.

“I can hear you!”

“Alright good, well you shouldn’t be here. You’re lucky it’s a busy day so we can’t just drop everything and drive your ass back home where you should be!” Nat’s in the kitchen window scolding me now too, perfect. I knew this was coming and to be honest I prefer their banter than the deafening silence I felt at home.

“Just so you know, I’m texting Bucky and he’s coming over” Sam interjects.

“Wha- guys, I’m just baking one pie and then I’ll go, tell him he doesn’t have to come”.

“Why couldn’t you bake this one pie at home then?” Wanda asks with genuine curiosity in her voice.

I decide to be truthful.

“I felt trapped and lonely, I missed the diner. Plus I didn’t have any bell peppers at home and I was craving them”.

They all look at me weirdly, there’s no pity in their eyes, there’s just… tenderness.

-

Bucky arrives an hour after I got here, with a stern face and his lab coat still clinging to his frame.

“Hey, what’s up, sweetheart? You’re supposed to be resting”. He rubs my shoulders and all I can think is how grateful I am for this little family and this man life blessed me with.

I explain how awfully sad and stressed I was feeling at home and he takes a seat between me and Steve, who’s eating a slice of pie while Wanda’s showing him what she calls “satisfying cleaning Tik Toks”, and Sam’s chatting with Nat about a concert he’d like to take her to next week. Everything about this feels so calm and I’m even starting to feel sleepy with Bucky’s skilled hands rubbing my knotted neck and shoulders.

“Well, well, well. Look who’s decided to finally stop being a fucking hypocrite! It’s Y/N and the stupid fucking Doctor. Tell me, Doc, did you enjoy gazing at her lady parts when she’d go for a “check up” and fell in love because you too are lame and boring?”

I grab Bucky’s hand and stand between him and Quentin, using my other hand to protect my belly.

“What the hell are you doing here, Quentin? You’re not welcome here anymore”. I say, head up high but voice trembling.

“Came home to drop your divorce papers- that I’m not signing by the way- and to tell you to fuck off because whether you like it or not, I’m gonna be a father and you can’t do anything about it baby girl. It’s you and me! It’s always gonna be you and me, so tell you precious Doctor and your friends goodbye. We’re coming home!”

Quentin grabs my hand and tries to yank me away from Bucky but before I can do anything else Steve and Sam are already punching the shit out of Quentin, sitting him down on the floor and pushing his arms around his back. Bucky is taking me away from the fight, shielding my eyes from the view, he knows I don’t need this kind of stress. Nat called the cops when Quentin arrived, knowing the asshole would pull out a stunt like this. Minutes pass and I can’t step away from Bucky’s embrace to see his ass handcuffed and thrown into the police’s back seat.

Bucky takes a step back to look at my face as he feels me trembling and his shirt soaked with my tears.

“Y/N, sweetheart, it’s over. He’s gone”.

I try to form words but then it hits me.

The pain.

This is not what I asked for.

The excruciating cramp-like aches in my lower stomach.

If I’m honest, I’d give this life back for a chance to start over.

The water running down my legs.

I would rewrite the story, from beginning to end.

I can’t feel my legs. All I feel is fear, pain and anger.

This is the life that I’m bringing you into, little girl. I’m so sorry. To you, but also to the little girl I once was. Because she also deserved a good life and she’s gone, but she used to be mine.

chapter 12: contraction ballet

[nincompoopydoo]

BABY EMERGENCY

PAIRING: Jack Thompson x reader

WORD COUNT: 1853

SUMMARY: You, the Sousa’s neighbor, mistakenly arrive at their doorstep, thinking it was pie night rather than date night. Yet, the sight of a disheveled, troubled and somewhat handsome Jack Thompson convinced you to help out with baby Nancy.

A/N: Uh, I think I got carried away because this is almost 2k words oops. Also, changed the name because I like this one better. Anyway, enjoy read and Jack Thompson being cute in a house that’s not even theirs.

MASTERLIST

← PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Jack Thompson never expected to be met with a pair of wide eyes when he opened the front door, or to be met with the smell of apple pie, tucked nicely between your arms and under a piece of blue Gingham cloth. He blinked as you began to frown, face blossoming with confusion. “Darn it, was date night tonight? I should have called before-”

“Who are you?” Jack interrupted, confused by your sudden presence. You chuckled sheepishly, eyes lit up. “I’m sorry, how rude of me. I’m Y/N and I live next door. I just got off work from the bakery downtown and I thought we could have some pie,” you paused, eyes darting towards the front lawn. You note the missing car you completely missed when you were walking up to the front door. “But it seems I got the dates wrong.” You let your shoulders slump a little. The thought of spending the Friday night alone was certainly unpleasant. Yet, you flashed him a strained smile.

“Are you here, for the baby emergency?” he asked hesitantly, hands shoved into the pockets of his slacks. You frowned once more. “Baby emergency?” you blinked, shifting the pie in your arms that were beginning to feel sore by every passing moment. “It’s more like a pie emergency.” You laughed. It was a terrible joke if it was even meant to be one yet Jack found himself struggling to resist a smile. You had a contagious laugh. Shifted in your stance, you were ready to turn around, leave with embarrassment and later wallow yourself in self-pity when you heard the sound of a newborn’s cry—Nancy. Nancy Sousa was a fussy one; she mostly cried than laughed according to Peggy’s claim during one pie night with prominent dark circles under her tired eyes. Then, it clicked in your head; this must be Jack Thompson, the babysitter and colleague, that Peggy had told you about last night.

You caught the sight of him wincing, hand rubbing against his temple. Daniel often did that when Nancy had one of her temper tantrums. There’s a sinking feeling in your stomach—Guilt. Guilt, if you didn’t at least ask if everything was alright. Well, you were already here after all. You could either sit alone at your dining table with your apple pie or you could lend a hand to this very sorry and somewhat charming blonde man. You took a step forward, peeking into the house behind him. “Do you need help?” As soon as those words left your mouth, Jack heaved an immediate sigh of relief, looking at you like you’re his savior. “Yes, please.” 

~

You reminded Jack a lot of his mother, the way you moved around the kitchen as you rummaged through the cupboards in search of a knife. Your skirt brushing against his forearm every time you squeezed through the small space with the soft murmur of an apology and the flash of a small smile; he’d only just met you and yet, your presence gave him a sort of comfort. You reminded him of home.

“Aha!” You exclaimed and waved a pie knife in the air. Jack chuckled at your wide grin as he held a spoonful of the beef & ham to Nancy’s gaping mouth while you pried up the crust of your apple pie. Scooping a slice onto two plates, you glanced at Jack, hunched down in his chair as he carefully scraped out the remnants of the baby food while Nancy watched him eagerly. He was in his dress shirt, clearly he had come right after work. His sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tie loosened and his blonde hair slightly disheveled. He was very handsome, to say the least, but you’ve heard of his talent for making bad situations worse; though the past half an hour might be making up for that claim.

As you eyed him, he happened to turn his head and caught your stare with his direct blue gaze. You divert your eyes away in an instant, cheeks burning in embarrassment. You hear him clear his throat Nancy lets out a soft burb, followed by a trail of giggles. “Pie’s ready.“ you said hastily, nearing the dining table with a couple of dessert plates and forks on the table. Jack accepted the plate you handed him with brows raised in amusement at the sight of an inviting slice of sweet and savory. Your eyes perked up at a sudden thought that came into mind. “I know just the drink.” Yanking the refrigerator door opened, you pulled out the bottom drawer and met with the sight of an emerald towel laid by the corner of the drawer. Beneath it, you pulled out a couple of root beer bottles from the six-pack. 

Shuffling to the chair opposite Jack, you popped the bottles excitedly. He gave you bewildered look. “Trust me, it goes well with the pie.” You pushed an already opened bottle to him, taking a swig out of yours. Jack chuckled lightly, shaking his head. “I meant to ask if we are even allowed to drink these because I ain’t risking anything with Peggy.” He gestured to the bottles, giving you a look before reaching over to Nancy to wipe off the smudges of baby food around her mouth. Your heart clenches slightly at the endearing sight. “I’m sure it’s fine. Peggy and I are old pals. Plus, she owes me for stealing my hairpins.” You waved one hand dismissively, already digging into the pie. Jack’s gaze flickered to you. “Old pals?” he questioned and you beamed. “Yeah, I was a nurse for the 107th during the war. That’s how I met Peggy. It was only three years after the war when I happened to move next door and now we’re best friends and their glorified piemaker,“ you explained as Jack laughed at your claim and you decided that you liked it when he laughed. It’s incredible how you were already enticed by a man you’ve only met in the past hour. “You are a glorified piemaker alright because this is really good stuff,” Jack said with amusement, shoving another bite in his mouth. He took a sip of the root beer. “And you’re right. Root beer surprisingly goes really well with apple pie. Who would’ve thought?” You hummed in response, glancing at Nancy who had become quiet for the past couple of minutes. It seems she had fallen asleep while sat in the baby high chair. The two of you shared a knowing look.

With the soft clank of your spoons against the dessert plates, Jack gently reached over to the girl and carefully held her against his chest as the three of you made your way to the nursery. 

~

There’s that feeling of endearment and the occasional ache in your heart whenever you catch sight of Jack and Nancy together and it’s the words of your mother and your aunties that kept ringing in your head throughout the evening. When are you going to settle down? That particular question was bound to be brought up and nearly impossible to escape during the annual Christmas dinner and every year you turn up without a date. If you were to be honest, you always had a deep yearning for at least love—if not marriage. Yet, being the independent woman you were, living alone and working at the bakery downtown six days a week, you have never put much thought into it. Well, until now at least. Except, it’s the daydream of being all domestic with the man right in front of you who’s busy tucking your neighbor’s daughter to bed.

You knew you were damned from then on.

Switching off the lights, as Jack brushed past you as you quietly pulled the door close, leaving it ajar. You turned around to see that he was already seated at the table, spoon in hand as he gazed at his unfinished slice of pie. There’s a part of him that believed that the pie tasted so good partly because of the person who made it.

“What about you?” you blurted out, pausing as you made your way to the table, seated across him once more. “The war. Were you . . .” you trailed off, instantly regretting your initial question. You blamed it on the exhaustion from your shift and frankly, you had a knack for saying things without thinking things through. You noticed how his face changed as soon as you mentioned the war yet before you could apologize, Jack answered. “I was in the navy . . . The 25th.” you nod thoughtfully, sensing the growing tension in the air. You desperately needed to divert the topic somewhere else. “That’s funny, I met someone who used to be in the 25th and for the life of me I can never remember his name. I don’t think he even told me,” you said, recalling the face of a young blonde man you briefly met on VJ Day.

That was an understatement, the man kissed you for heaven’s sake.

It was when you gazed at Jack, it hit you like a ton of bricks as you noticed the familiarity of the blue in his eyes. With wide eyes, you gawked at the man in shock and Jack must have realized it too. 

You were the nurse with the pretty smile he had kissed on VJ Day.

“Oh, Jesus,” he muttered and blinked at you, trying to process the whole situation while you gaped at him. “You-you kissed me on VJ Day,” you exclaimed, almost too excitedly and before you knew it, the two began to crack up, as quietly as you could. 

It is a small world after all.

Just then, the front door swung open, the two of you immediately stood up and were met with the sight of a very red and sweating Edwin Jarvis who came rushing into the kitchen. “Mr. Thompson, I apologize for my lateness but I-” the man halted in his step as soon as he spotted the two of you, watching him with bewildered faces. “Oh, Miss Y/N. You’re here,” he stated between huffs, trying to catch his breath. “Jarvis, what are you doing here?” you asked as the two of you watched him collapse onto an empty chair by the dining table. “Well, it started out as a baby emergency and I tried to ring you up but you weren’t answering. So, I came here as fast as I could but traffic was absolutely atrocious!” He explained as you went to fill a glass of water. “However, I suspect you already settled the issue, Mr. Thompson.” Jack smiled at Jarvis, giving him a pat on the shoulder. “Thank you, Jarvis. I appreciate it.” 

You returned with a glass of water, a spoon and plate. “Pie?” you gestured to the apple pie, sitting idly at the center of the table. His eyes lit up. “Oh, that would be delightful. Thank you.”

You caught Jack’s gaze as you began to sit, the two of you shared a smile. This was certainly not what you expected your Friday night to turn out.

[mianavs]

Gezellig

You were the warmth that only another person could give

Kenma x f!reader

a/n: kenma is definitely my comfort character~

wc: 1.8k

It started with an apple pie recipe.

Kenma was editing his latest play-through video for a new video game when the craving for his favorite food creeped up on him again. He considered going to the nearby bakery that sold decent mini apple pies but a glance at the clock on his computer put an end to that idea—it was midnight and the bakery had been closed for three hours.

Normally Kenma would have settled for the day old pastry on his kitchen table but the craving for apple pie had plagued him for a while now. The reason? His neighbor had baked one a couple days ago and Kenma couldn’t stop thinking about the delicious aroma that had seeped through the walls into his unit.

A hasty thought crossed Kenma’s mind and he got up from his gaming chair to wander into the kitchen. He scanned the counters until his eyes landed on the two large apples Kuroo dropped off along with other groceries Kenma let spoil more often than not. The presence of the main ingredient spurred his impulses and Kenma fell back onto his couch as he scrolled through YouTube for an easy apple pie recipe. His perceptive eyes were immediately drawn to the golden crust of the pie on your thumbnail and his fingers clicked on your video without a second thought.

In the end, Kenma never got to making the apple pie and instead binge-watched every video on your ASMR cooking channel until he passed out at five in the morning.

Kenma knew he was obsessed when he turned on the notification bell on your channel. He loved the simplicity of your videos. There wasn’t any cheesy background music or obnoxious text. Your videos were intimate and comforting with the natural sounds of your cooking or baking and the high-quality recordings. More often than not, Kenma found himself unwinding to your content after a stressful meeting with the board members or a difficult gaming session. In fact, the more he watched your videos the more he found himself closing his eyes and imagining himself in your kitchen listening to the sizzling of the sautéing vegetables or the whir of your mixer combining the ingredients of a cake. It wasn’t necessarily hard to do since the layout of your kitchen was very similar to his own.

He should have found it suspicious when his neighbor’s cooking seemed to predict the video you would upload next but Kenma wasn’t one to dwell on unnecessary things like that. So when his neighbor cooked a delicious smelling recipe, Kenma would crave it the next day and ordered it to eat while he watched your nimble hands cook a similar dish.

In the two years Kenma had lived in his unit, he’d never crossed paths with his foodie neighbor. Although considering his line of work, Kenma supposed it wasn’t too surprising. He spent most of his time in his office and only when out when necessary. So when his doorbell rang and it wasn’t Kuroo with groceries or takeout but a young woman with a sheepish look on her face, Kenma froze like a deer in headlights.

“Hi! Umm…I’m your neighbor,” she introduced herself and awkwardly held up a small bowl. “Do you have some salt I can borrow?”

“Uh…yeah, come in.” Kenma replied stepping aside to let her in. There was a softness about her demeaner that drew him in and it wasn’t until her eyes blinked at him in confusion that he realized he’d been staring.

“T-this way.”

As Kenma led his neighbor to the kitchen he wracked his brain for the location of the salt container Kuroo had bought for him to use despite never having cooked a meal in his life. It took a couple of tries flipping through cupboards before he found the large salt container and handed it to his neighbor.

“Thanks!” She accepted it and began pouring some into her bowl. “Y’know your kitchen is a lot like mine but way cleaner!”

“I don’t really use it,” Kenma admitted. “I find it kind of intimidating…cooking.”

“It is at first but it gets easier the more you do it.” She smiled as she handed the salt back to Kenma and he couldn’t help but admire the way her entire face seemed to smile. Her eyes crinkled into crescent moons while the apples of her cheeks framed her gummy smile endearingly.

“I guess that applies to a lot of things.”

“Yes, it really does! I’m a firm believer in practice makes perfect.”

With that she thanked Kenma profusely and apologized for the intrusion before slipping on her shoes and walking out the door. While it may have only been a few minutes, the impression she left on Kenma lasted much longer. He went outside more just so he could run into his nice neighbor who would always strike up a conversation with him about anything. And while he was normally not one for small talk, it never felt forced around her. She had a knack for making even the dullest subject a compelling topic and Kenma quickly looked forward to those moments outside their apartment complex, in front of the convenience store, or outside her unit.

But even those short conversations Kenma has with his neighbor reveal very little about her. So when Kenma gets a notification from your channel and opens YouTube, he drops his phone when your thumbnail picture isn’t food but rather his neighbor that he’d grown fond of. Kenma’s eyes dart to your shared wall as he comes to terms with the fact that his favorite content creator and his pretty neighbor are the same person. It takes a couple of minutes for the initial shock to pass and another twenty minutes for him to play the video in the comfort of his office and with his headset on.

You’re all smiles as you announce a giveaway to celebrate one-hundred thousand subscribers. You introduce each of the five prizes and explain each one in detail. They’re all cooking tools from one of your sponsors that Kenma recognizes from your previous videos. When you’re describing the rules to enter, the similarities between your apartment and his are glaringly obvious now and Kenma can only shake his head in disbelief. The video ends too quickly so he watches it another ten times almost convincing himself that it’s to understand the rules of the giveaway and consider each of the products despite knowing he’d never actually enter.

A week after your giveaway video, Kuroo comes over with food and drinks after a business trip. A meal and a couple of beers later, Kenma opens up to Kuroo about you and the fact that you’re not only his favorite YouTuber but his neighbor as well. The liquid courage spurs him on and Kenma talks about your gorgeous smile, soft-looking hair, and your laugh that goes from a giggle to a cackle within a matter of seconds. Always the observant friend, Kuroo notices the persistent smile on Kenma’s face as he goes on about you and urges his best friend to ask you out on a date. The thought of spending hours with you is enough to get his heart racing but his insecurities never fail to rear their ugly heads and Kenma dismisses the idea as quickly as it comes up.

Kenma drinks even more to drown his insecurities and fantasies of you while Kuroo drinks with him knowing it’s best to support him quietly like this. When the last drop of alcohol is consumed, the two friends are completely drunk and Kuroo crashes in the guest room while Kenma stumbles to his room and collapses on his bed as the world spins around him.

Your image comes to mind but it’s too hazy for Kenma’s liking so he pulls up your giveaway video and watches it for the hundredth time. You’re so happy about your channel’s milestone that Kenma can’t help but smile like a fool as you thank your subscribers profusely. It’s with lowered inhibitions that Kenma is able to scroll to the comment section and write out how much your channel means to him.

The sound of multiple notifications stirs Kenma awake to a terrible hangover. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and focuses on his blindingly bright screen to see what the fuss is about. There’s a message from his publicist asking if he’s okay but before Kenma can reply he gets a notification from your channel; however, it isn’t the typical one that lets him know you’ve uploaded a video. The notification is a heart reaction to a comment and Kenma’s heart is in his mouth as his shaky finger taps on your giveaway video.

He doesn’t have to scroll far to find his comment because it’s the first one with ten thousand likes and three hundred comments to boot. Completely mortified, Kenma reads through the comments that have a wide range of reactions. Some gush about how cute it is for Kodzuken to fanboy over your channel while others express their disappointment that their favorite gamer actually likes cooking ASMR. While they are unnerving, it isn’t the comments that worry Kenma but the little red heart you’d left on his comment.

While he doubts you knew who he was before, this comment and the crazy feedback will definitely pique your interest enough to look him up and find out who he really is. Scared of facing you, Kenma holes himself up in his apartment. To get you out of his mind, he buries himself in work and video game streams and turns off the notifications for your channel.

After a week of not hearing anything from you, Kenma thinks he’s in the clear until one evening he opens his door expecting his takeout only to find you.

You’re a sight for sore eyes and Kenma’s heart hammers in his chest as your eyes soften and you break into a smile. The aroma of cinnamon and apples wafts up to his nostrils and you raise your mitted hands to reveal the same pie that had drawn him to you in the first place.

“Your fans mentioned you like apple pie,” you explain with a chuckle. “And I still owe you for the salt.”

“My…fans?” Kenma asks, still stunned you’re talking to him despite the comment fiasco.

“Yeah, you see I needed a reason to visit my neighbor and ask him out. Luckily, he’s a famous streamer with lots of fans.” Your confidence almost hides flush on your cheeks that deepens the longer Kenma stares at you in shock.

“…Unless you don’t want to go out-“

“I do!” Kenma blurts out. “More than anything.”

Your entire face breaks into a smile. “Well then how about a pie date?”

With a stomach full of butterflies, Kenma lets you into his apartment for the second time only this time he knows what he feels for you and is comforted by the fact that you feel the same way.

[sunnypogue]

christmas (coho!rafe)

thinking about coho!rafe & his girlfriend’s first christmas together in their own home.

the tree is up the day before thanksgiving, rafe tasked with weaving multicolored lights through the branches as his girlfriend makes pie crusts at the kitchen island. she ignores the exasperated look her mother gives her when she comes over for thanksgiving dinner, waving a hand flippantly in the air saying,

“all the good trees get snatched up tomorrow anyways. we wanted the cream of the crop.”

the ornaments are up that friday, rafe watching with a permanent smirk etched on his face as his girlfriend pulled each ornament out with extreme care, cradling them as if they were ancient artifacts. she gave a brief spiel about nearly all of them, before hunting for the perfect open spot on their noble fir.

she almost toppled over twice, rafe’s laugh thundering over nat king cole’s voice warbling in the background. in response, she snatched the beer out of his hand and replaced it with the angel topper. 

“you’re the one who wanted the eight foot tree. your turn, bubs.” she pushed him over towards the tree with her foot, sipping her cocktail delicately. “make those long legs useful.”

their christmas card picture is shot on a thursday afternoon, rafe enlisting the help of one of his teammates girlfriends. the front side is a sweet picture of the couple in their backyard, fall foliage littering the ground, the soft winter sunset casting a muted glow over the scene. rafe helped pick the color scheme, grinning in a deep red sweater and khaki’s. she’s softly smiling next to him in a cream sweater dress, hand hooked into the crook of his arm.

the back side of their card is a photo of the two of them in matching black turtlenecks and silver chain necklaces. rafe has an arm resting on his girlfriend’s shoulder. she’s got her arms crossed in front of her. the caption reads:

“have a rockin’ holiday season and a happy new year.”

it’s a hit across the board. they’re sent countless snapchats from friends and family with their card displayed on various mantles. rafe takes all the credit. she rightfully gives it to him.

the couple does their own small gift exchange early christmas morning. running on fumes (rafe insisted on watching both home alone’s, starting at one am), she puts the kettle on as rafe starts a fire, his vintage christmas playlist softly playing bing crosby’s “white christmas.” she brings two full mugs of english breakfast tea over, immediately curling into his side as they pull each others gifts from under the tree. 

the exchange is dragged out for over an hour, with two make out breaks (“something about these matching pj’s” rafe explained as he pulled her firmly into his lap), multiple trips to the kitchen for coffee and tea, and one good cry (rafe gifted his girlfriend a canvas portrait of her and her father - she was a blubbering mess).

they facetime their families a few hours later, opting for a virtual christmas due to conflicting schedules (her family was with her brother on the west coast, his was in the bahamas), before settling in on the couch, the light from the christmas tree illuminating their living room. 

the remainder of day is filled with boozy champagne cocktails & christmas movies. rafe streams a little bit of basketball on his phone. she orders in chinese for dinner.

they emerge from their house at dusk, full of lo mein and champagne, to walk around their little neighborhood to look at lights. she’s still in her pj’s and a coat. rafe opted for grey sweats and a canes sweatshirt. the walk is better described as a stroll, the couple taking their time as they take in the decor. 

she suckers him into one more movie when they return home. he obliges, cueing up “the holiday.” she falls asleep twenty minutes in. rafe wakes her up for the mr. napkinhead scene. she giggles, and then promptly falls back asleep.

when the credits roll, rafe leaves the tree lights on. he scoops her up, carrying her to bed. she stirs when he puts her down, eyes fluttering open.

he grins down at her, “happy christmas harry.”

he had been saying it all week.

she snorts, turning over on her side. 

“happy christmas ron. now come to bed.”

[perlukafarinn]

Sweeter Than Roses

happy holidays @galaxystiel​ from your @destielsecretsanta2020​ secret santa! sorry this is late but since i didn’t know i would have to pinch hit until a couple of days after posting date, this was the quickest turn-around i could manage. i hope you like it!

Dean loved the holiday season. Of course he did, he made about a quarter of his annual income in December. People liked to eat baked goods on Christmas, go figure.

But he hated the holiday season, too. Every single day was busy, every hour was rush hour. Sometimes he didn’t get the last orders done until an hour after closing. He had seasonal hires, of course, but in the three years since he opened Rolling Scones, he’d always ended up underestimated how much extra help he needed.

Thankfully, things quieted as soon as Christmas was over. The last week of the year, while still busy, was a calm oasis compared to what came before. This meant that for the first time all month, Dean wasn’t busy with twelve other customers when Cas dropped by.

Cas had been coming to Rolling Scones twice a week, like clockwork, ever since he took over the flower shop next door a few months ago. Dean had been sad to see Mildred, the previous owner, go but he’d been prepared to welcome his new neighbor. He’d even set aside a complimentary piece of pie for him, because who didn’t like pie?

The first time Cas had come by, Dean had been so dazed that he almost forgot not to charge him for the pie. Dean hadn’t even thought he had a type when it came to men but here Cas had been to prove him wrong, handsome and charming and weird in the exact right way to come across as endearing rather than awkward. 

He always came about half an hour before the lunch rush, ordering a cup of coffee and a new type of pastry every time. Then he hung around while he ate, talking with Dean if he wasn’t with another customer. 

And yeah, maybe Dean treasured those quiet moments with Cas, learning about flowers and their symbolic meaning and explaining to him how to make the perfectly flaky pie crust. Maybe he looked forward to the days Cas would come by the rest of the week. Maybe he’d added a few items to his menu since Cas started frequenting, just to give him the incentive to keep coming. 

It was called being a good business owner. 

This past month, Cas had come by for his coffee and pastry and taken them to go. He’d been busy, too, so stopping wouldn’t have been an option even if the bakery hadn’t been crowded and Dean hadn’t been on the phone with some asshole who absolutely needed sixty-four macarons in eight different flavors for a holiday party that same evening. 

Today, though, was just a slightly-busier-than-average Monday. For both of them, judging by the foot traffic outside that Dean could see from his spot behind the counter. 

Cas even arrived a little bit earlier than usual, carrying a huge bouquet of red roses.

Dean watched him, amused as Cas navigated his way past the chairs and tables, head just barely poking up past the flowers in his arms.

“What’s this?” he asked as Cas finally arrived at the counter. 

Cas placed the flowers down, giving Dean an abashed smile. “Cancelled order. A young man was intending to propose on Christmas Day but apparently, his girlfriend had different plans.”

“Yikes, poor guy.”

“Yes,” Cas said. “But I felt the bouquet should be enjoyed by someone, so I thought of you.”

Dean grinned. “You’re not planning on proposing, are you? ‘Cause I like you but I don’t think we’re there just yet.”

“For the bakery,” Cas clarified, cheeks growing pink. “I - uh, I thought they might look nice in your window.”

“Relax, I’m kidding.” Dean picked up the bouquet. It was heavier than it looked and up close, the smell of them was almost overwhelming in its sweetness. “Thanks, Cas. I don’t gotta feed them, right?”

“Only water.” 

Dean looked around for some free space for the flowers then, failing to find one, put them back down on the counter. “So, what’ll it be today?”

Cas placed his order - a cup of coffee and a festive peppermint eclair Dean only offered around the holidays - and stood at the counter as he ate, talking with Dean in between customers. As soon as he left, Krissy walked up to Dean and smacked his shoulder.

"He gave you flowers?” 

Dean rubbed the spot she hit - kid was getting stronger by the day. Maybe he should stop making her knead the bread. “Yeah?”

“And you didn’t take the hint and ask him out?” she asked.

“They weren’t for me, they were for the shop. It wasn’t a hint.”

Krissy crossed her arms, raising her eyebrows in disbelief.

“Was it?” Dean asked faintly.

“I know they say your mind starts to go as you grow older but, wow.”

“I’m not that old,” Dean protested. “You’re… young.”

“Nice one, boss.”

“Shut up.” Dean scratched the back of his neck, observing the roses still sitting on the counter. “You’re not messing with me? You really think that was a hint?”

“He gave you red roses. Dude couldn’t have been more obvious if he walked up to you and shoved his tongue down your throat.”

Dean shoved at her. Krissy danced out of reach, sticking her tongue out at him.

"Go man the register," he told her. "You've got customers waiting."

She rolled her eyes but did as told. Dean picked up the bouquet, getting it out of her way, and went to the back to find something to use as a vase. As he looked, he thought about what Krissy had said.

Had Cas meant that gift to be romantic? There were times when they talked that Dean thought his feelings might not be unrequited but then, he usually dismissed it as wishful thinking. Cas had never asked him out. He usually responded to Dean's more overt flirting with a confused but polite smile. That had to mean he wasn't interested and was just too nice to say so, right?

But then again, red roses. Those were objectively the most romantic flower, even Dean knew that. Sure, Cas had said they were for the bakery, but he'd also said I thought of you. He could've thrown them out or donated them or done whatever he did with flowers he couldn't sell. But no, he'd brought them to Dean, because he'd thought of him.

And Dean had gone and screwed it up by making a bad joke. 

He needed to make it up to him. Just asking him out wouldn’t be enough and it wasn’t like he could give Cas flowers back. But, Dean considered, an idea forming in his mind, he could give him something else.

 It took a couple of tries. Dean’s first attempt ended with a soggy middle. His second in burnt edges on the carefully crafted apple/rose petals. His third was perfect, the apples sliced not too thick and not too thin, curling up beautifully in the oven as they dried while still retaining their vibrant red color.

He stared down at his creation, cooling on the counter in his bakery’s kitchen. It was an apple pie and a rose bouquet rolled into one, the apple slices serving as petals arranged on top, sweet and tart just the way Cas liked best. 

Cas wasn’t due for another visit until tomorrow but Dean was too nervous to wait. Both Krissy and Kevin were working today and the lunch rush wouldn’t start just yet, he had the time to drop by next door and deliver his gift. And possibly ask Cas out, put his heart on the line for what might just be a simple misunderstanding of intentions.

No big. A couple of minutes, in and out.

He put the pie on a plate, covering it with cloth for the short trip over to Cas' shop. Krissy dryly wished him good luck on his way out, to which he responded with a raised middle finger.

("Good luck? He's just delivering pie."

"Oh, Kevin.")

Dean had only been inside the flower shop a couple of times since Cas took over. A lot had changed since Mildred left, most noticeable of all a window in the ceiling that let in the pale morning light, shining directly down on the counter where Cas was working alongside a dark-haired woman. He smiled as he spotted Dean at the door, turning to the woman to say something before leaving her alone with the customers and making his way over.

"Hello, Dean." God, had he always looked this beautiful? "What brings you here?"

Dean opened his mouth, then realized that he had no idea what he was going to say. Wordlessly, he shoved the pie at Cas' chest. Cas looked confused but accepted, pulling the cloth away.

"Oh, this is lovely!" Cas looked back up at Dean. "You made this for me?"

Dean shrugged, his ears growing warm. "Just- since you brought me those roses yesterday. Thought I'd bring you something nice in return."

"Thank you, Dean, but there was no need. It wasn't any trouble for me, I had the roses by chance and no one else to give them to."

Dean's stomach sank. So it hadn't been romantic after all. Krissy had been way off and Dean had been desperate enough to believe her.

“It’s, uh, no big.” Dean cleared his throat. He needed to get out of here, quick. “I was gonna test out this technique anyway, so I figured I might as well try it on someone. Anyway, I gotta go back. Busy time, you know how it is.”

Cas nodded. “Thank you again for the pie.”

“No problem.”

 Krissy had the good sense not to say anything when Dean returned less than two minutes after he left. She must have explained to Kevin what was going on because for the rest of the day, the two of them were model employees, quiet and helpful - in other words, nothing like their usual selves.

Dean sent them home early, figuring he’d use the time it would take him to close up by himself to stew in his disappointment and get it out of his system before he got home. He hadn’t lost anything, after all. He and Cas hadn’t broken up. It was just a stupid crush, a passing infatuation, and Cas would still be his friend once he got over it.

He’d be fine.

He’d almost managed to convince himself he believed that whole crock of shit when someone knocked on the door. Dean looked up, ready to tell them off when the bakery was so clearly closed, but stopped short when he saw Cas standing outside, giving him a small wave.

Dean was tempted to pretend he hadn't seen him, or to wave him off under the pretense of needing to close up quickly. 

He'd need to talk to Cas again sooner or later, though. He closed the register, walking up to the door and swinging it open. A cool breeze greeted him. Dean now noticed snowflakes lazily drifting from the sky, covering the ground in soft, powdery snow.

Dean stood aside but Cas remained in the doorway, looking nervous.

"I think I may have misunderstood you earlier," he said. "After you left, Meg told me that the pie was- that it might be a romantic gesture?"

Dean stared at him, his face on fire. Great, so Cas had been completely clueless and this Meg chick had to go and rat him out? And now he was here to, what, make sure Dean knew nothing was going to happen?

"Was it?" Cas prompted after a long silence.

Dean looked away. "Does it matter? Look, I promise I'm not gonna make things awkward if that's what you're worried about. Nothing has to change, I'll get over-"

"There was no proposal," Cas blurted. "I just wanted to give you flowers."

Dean blinked. "You-?"

"I intended to be honest with you but when the moment came, I lost my nerve." Cas smiled sheepishly. "So I made up a story about a botched proposal. The truth is I like you and I've wanted to ask you out for a while."

Dean laughed. He couldn't help it, this situation was beyond ridiculous. 

"I wasn't testing out any new techniques," he admitted. "I just wanted to give you pie."

Cas' smile widened and if he'd been beautiful before it was nothing compared to now, beaming and pink-cheeked, eyes sparkling in the artificial glow of the streetlights. Dean wanted to kiss him so bad and for once, he had no excuse to hold back.

Cas must have been thinking the same thing because they met in the middle, noses bumping in their excitement, before Cas cupped Dean’s cheek and tilted his head, bringing their lips together. It was a sweet kiss and Dean smiled as he could taste the apples and cinnamon on Cas’ lips. 

Dean’s heart was pounding as they parted, stomach fluttering with what felt suspiciously like butterflies. 

“I know offering pastries to a baker might be as useless as offering flowers to a florist,” Cas said, “but I have some pie left over if you’d-”

Dean cut him off with a quick kiss. “Baker or no, I never turn down pie.”

But even with the promise of pie Dean was in no hurry to move and neither, it seemed, was Cas, because they lingered in the doorway, trading kisses until their noses had gone cold and Cas’ dark hair was dusted with melting snowflakes. 

[idreamofplaid]

The Feel of a Heartbeat

Square Filled: Autumn for @spngenrebingo​; Meet Cute for @spnfluffbingo​; Heat or Rut Blockers for @spnabobingo​

Characters: Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader

Rating: M

Summary: Sam lost his Omega many years ago and gave up on the idea of ever having another, but he’s about to find out that part of his life isn’t over.

Word Count: 4161

A/N: I thought this was a oneshot. There’s a Part 2 in the works. That’s where the smut is gonna happen. 😉 This story is also asking to be even longer than that. There’s the question of why Dean needs the pie that I want to answer. 🙂

Created for @spngenrebingo @spnfluffbingo & @spnabobingo

Sam had told himself any number of lies over the years. More than once, he had told himself this was the last case; and then he was out. Out never came. He was still hunting, and it was his life now. He had assured himself that everything he’d done had been for the greater good without any selfish motives. He’d also told himself he was evil, and neither was true. Sam had learned he was more complex than the simplicity of either of those things. 

The biggest lie he’d told himself was that he shouldn’t have an Omega in his life; it was better if he didn’t. He had tried commitment once, and it had ended badly. Very badly. He had watched his Omega die, burning on the ceiling. It had taken him years to come back from that.

Thankfully, the grief had initially suppressed his ruts. It also took away his scent. This became evident to him when his ruts finally returned. Normally during a rut, Omegas would be drawn to him. They would practically surround him, needing and wanting his knot. He still got his fair share of flirting and attention, but it wasn’t the same; and for Sam that was a relief.

Sam had no interest in the attention of an Omega or anyone else. His heart still hurt too much for Jessica and the guilt he felt for his perceived role in her death was too strong. A part of him had been taken away, ripped from him in the cruelest way imaginable. A couple of times he had sought out the company of an Omega when the pain of needing to mate had become too great, but the relief his body found only crushed his heart more. None of them was Jessica, and he didn’t dare to let himself feel anything like what he’d felt for her again.

That’s when Sam started taking suppressants, and he had been taking them ever since. They had blocked his ruts and brought a certain peace to his life, but no satisfaction. He just told himself that part of his life was over; his chance to bond himself with another was gone. Over the years, he found ways to accept it and deal with the resulting emptiness. Mostly, this involved burying himself in research and killing monsters, but the loneliness never went away.

Sam’s life changed on the day he walked into Lebanon’s one and only bakery looking for pie. One of the effects of the suppressants he took was that they not only erased his scent but also the scent of any nearby Omega, taking away any temptation and the possibility of fulfillment or pain. As he stepped inside the bakery, it was more than just pie fillings and frosting he smelled. 

The scent of pumpkin and sugar was heavy in the air; but what Sam smelled wasn’t muffins. This fragrance was laced with the aroma of crisp fall air, the way the day smells when you walk through an apple orchard while the trees are heavy with fruit and the fallen leaves are crunching beneath your feet. This smell was all delicious Omega, and that was something Sam hadn’t smelled for a long time. 

He hadn’t thought about it much really. It didn’t register with him that when the suppressants took away his scent and his ruts, they also took away his ability to smell Omegas. Then Sam saw her. He was instantly overwhelmed by the combined smell of sweetness, warmth, and freshness. It made his heart race, his knees a little weak, and his cock twitch with interest. 

It absolutely couldn’t be. Sam stood unmoving for a minute, transfixed by what was happening to him. He had been barely nineteen when he’d last felt something like this. It was unmistakable, and were it not for the suppressants; he would have probably gone into rut right there.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N was putting apple turnovers in the display case when Sam walked through the door. His presence filled the space as soon as he stepped into her shop; her senses tingled, and she could feel him. When Y/N looked up, she saw a man so handsome that for a moment she forgot what she was doing. 

His hair grazed his shoulders, and those shoulders were the broadest ones she’d ever seen. His eyes were a soft, warm hazel highlighted with green. Then he smiled, and her knees went a little weak. Dimples. How could a man who looked this strong also have dimples so adorable? Y/N tried not to stare at his muscles; his pecs were straining against the first closed button on his shirt, and his biceps filled the sleeves of the plaid flannel he was wearing to their limits. She silently reminded herself to stay focused.

She looked up and smiled her brightest. “Hi. What can I help you with today?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she could feel a blush creeping into her cheeks. It wasn’t cupcakes she wanted to give him.

Sam smiled even bigger, and she could swear she saw a certain kind of gleam in his eye. It was the kind that only Alphas have. His expression was self assured and sexy, the kind of look that made an Omega want to submit and be marked. She told herself she had to be imagining it. This guy wasn’t an Alpha. If he was an Alpha, she would be able to smell him.

This tall, handsome, every bit an Alpha but the smell, man opened his mouth to speak; and his voice had a depth and a richness that calmed her on a primal level. He had the soothing tone that an Alpha would have only with his Omega. It was the way she had always imagined it, and him, to be. 

Sam interrupted the confusion of her thoughts. “I need a pie.” A bit of hair had fallen across his temple, and all the Alpha power she had sensed earlier was replaced with an almost boyish charm. He tilted his head to the side, and his hair moved over his forehead. “That is, my brother needs a pie. I need a pie for my brother.”

His awkwardness was cute, and she decided she must have imagined the Alpha thing. None of the Alphas she’d ever known could so endearingly fumble their words. He chewed at his bottom lip and tried again. “I mean I’m here to buy a pie for my brother because he’s been having a rough time lately, and pie cheers him up.”

He was handsome and thoughtful too. “Okay. I think I have exactly what you need.” There went her word choice again, sending her mind in other directions. “Do you want something with fruit? I made the cherry and apple fresh this morning. I’ve also got chocolate, banana creme, and lemon meringue, or you can order anything off the menu, and I’ll have it ready tomorrow afternoon.”

She gestured over her shoulder to the menu, but Sam was quick to answer. “No, I...um, definitely need it today.” Sam rubbed the back of his neck, and she noticed how long and thick his fingers were.

Her voice took on a softness and a certain seriousness. “Apple is a great choice for this time of year.” Whatever this situation was with his brother, she wanted to help him. She felt it was her place to help him. He had activated all her Omega senses. She was still confused about how, but it had definitely happened.

Y/N lifted the fresh baked pie from the case. The crust was beautiful. She had taken great time with it, working the crust into a work of art. She had carefully latticed the top with the strips of crust weaving over and under each other and offering a peek of the fruit underneath. 

Y/N was proud of that pie, and that was the one she wanted him to have. He pulled his wallet from his back pocket, and Y/N noticed he started to take out a credit card; but then he handed her cash instead. “I’m Sam. Thanks for this. I’m sure Dean will like it.”

She handed him his change, and her fingers lightly grazed his palm as she did. “I’m Y/N.” She smiled. “Come back next week. I’ll be making pumpkin spice muffins with cream cheese frosting and cinnamon apple bread.” He nodded and treated her to another dimple adorned smile before he took the boxed pie from her and left with a jingle of the bell over the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam couldn’t stop thinking about her. There was something about her smile, something about the way he looked at her, and when she touched his hand; it felt like he had come home. There was something so familiar about her, like he knew her, but he was sure he’d never met her before. 

The next week he left his salads and smoothies behind for another trip back to the bakery. It was fall, nothing wrong with indulging in some baked pumpkin treats. He would work it off during his morning run.

Y/N was with another customer when Sam walked in. That gave him an opportunity to look at her, study her really. Her mouth was small. It didn’t cover much of her face, but her lips were full; and, to Sam, they appeared very kissable. He wondered how soft her bottom lip would be if he dragged his finger over it while he looked into her eyes before he kissed her. 

Sam’s eyes travelled down her body. He watched as she wrapped cinnamon rolls; the paper sounded with a satisfying crinkle as she placed them in the bag. It made Sam think about sharing one of those pastries with her. He imagined her breaking off a piece and putting it into his mouth. He also imagined that her fingers would be even sweeter than the cinnamon roll.

Her smile set off a sparkle in her eyes when she saw him. “Hi, Sam. Are you back for the pumpkin muffins?” 

He sank his hand into the pocket of his jeans, not quite sure what to do with it. “Yeah, they sounded too good to pass up.” 

She picked what appeared to be the largest muffin in the case while she asked him, “here or to go?” 

On impulse, Sam answered, “here.” He could think of nothing better than to stay in her presence as long as he could. 

She put his muffin on a plate, and he noticed how tiny her hands were. Sam wanted to hold her hand, lace his fingers through hers, feel connected to her. “Do you want some coffee to go with that?” 

“That’d be good,” Sam replied. 

She smiled at him again. “Go ahead and find a seat. I’ll bring it out to you.” 

Sam chose one of the round cafe tables in the corner farthest from the door. When Y/N brought over his coffee, she was carrying a second cup. “Mind if I join you?” 

There was nothing Sam wanted more. “Sure.” Her movements were fluid, graceful as she pulled out the chair and sat across from him. Sam had never been so thankful for small tables. Usually such things made him feel too big for the world, like he didn’t fit. That was a feeling he’d never been comfortable with, and he found himself trying to feel smaller in spite of his Alpha status. It was a lingering result of the guilt he felt after Jessica’s death. 

Y/N took a sip of her coffee. Sam could smell it, nutty with the slightest hint of vanilla. She said, “I haven’t seen you around before. Have you been in Lebanon long?”

“It’s been a few years. My brother and I have a place outside town. We both travel a lot with work. When I’m home, I don’t usually have a reason to go places like a bakery.” Sam’s focus was fixed on his coffee mug for a second, then he looked at her. “I have one now. This coffee is amazing.” He paused, and she could see him thinking. As he took another sip, he looked at her in such a way that Y/N knew he meant more than the coffee had caught his interest.

They talked for nearly an hour. Y/N was thankful it was a slow morning. She only had to leave the conversation once to get a loaf of banana bread for one of her regulars, and eagerly she had returned to her spot near Sam. Already, she enjoyed the feeling of being near him. He wrapped her in his presence without even touching her, and she was realizing more and more it was a place she wanted to stay.

As their morning together was drawing to a close, things between them got quieter. There were fewer words and more comfortable silence. Sam looked at her, and she could see him thinking again. Finally, he asked her, “Have you ever been to the fall festival?”

Y/N felt her stomach do a flip. She hoped this was headed where she thought. “I’ve been a couple of times. It’s great for getting into the spirit of fall, and autumn is my favorite time of year.”

“Would you like to go again...with me? You could show me the ropes. I haven’t been to many fall festivals, or any other kind really.”

Y/N felt the butterflies in her stomach settle, and the calm of being around him took over again. “Yes, I’d like that.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It surprised Sam how much time he spent preparing for this date. Thinking about what he was going to wear wasn’t something Sam did beyond making sure it was functional enough that there was a wide range of movement and comfortable enough that he could spend a ten hour stretch in the Impala wearing it. He hadn’t even cared about clothes in his Stanford days when he was young and falling in love with Jess.

Sam had no idea which colors looked best on him, but blue was his favorite; so he decided to go with that. He chose one of his newer plaids that was predominantly blue with some gray and white mixed in, along with his best pair of jeans. At least a fall festival wasn’t fancy, so his clothes worked. He wasn’t sure how he’d feel about wearing one of his FBI suits on a date, especially one that was taking on so much importance for him.

He’d even thought about asking Dean if he could take Baby for the day, but he wasn’t ready for the kind of questions a move like that would inspire. It was hard enough telling his brother he was taking someone to the town festival at all. Neither of them had hardly given the banners announcing the Lebanon Fall Festival a second glance in all the years they’d lived there. 

The biggest decision came for Sam two nights after he’d asked Y/N out. He was alone in the bunker bathroom and staring at himself in the mirror. It’d been a long time since he’d looked at his own reflection, really looked. 

The years had aged him, not that that was a bad thing. It meant he was still alive. It also meant there was wisdom in his eyes. Sam had suffered in those years; he’d learned, and he had overcome much loss and pain. The hard edge he’d once had that was fueled by anger was gone. It had been replaced by a steadfastness, a certainty of who he was that had been defined by the things he’d endured.

It was with that certainty, Sam opened the medicine cabinet, took out his bottle of suppressants, and dumped them into the sink. He turned on the water and watched as they dissolved and disappeared down the sink. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N was practically giddy with excitement by the time she heard Sam’s knock at her door. She smoothed her hands over her hair one last time, took a deep breath, and opened it. She knew he was handsome, hadn’t been able to get the memory of that out of her head. He had been in her dreams these past few nights, but to have him in front of her again was purely breathtaking.

He led her to his truck parked by the curb. It was a vintage model, at least a couple of decades old. She wasn’t good with cars; so she couldn’t pinpoint it, but it fit the day perfectly. Sam opened the passenger door for her and helped her in.

The short ride to the fair was filled with laughter and fall sunshine streaming in through the windshield. Sam told her stories about when he was a kid. She found out he’d loved books growing up, still did, and so did she. They talked about the last books they’d read and favorite genres. They talked about the places they’d like to go. Sam shared with her that he’d seen most of the United States but not much outside of it, and he would like to change that.

She could imagine traveling the world with him, experiencing it through his eyes; but that was something she would do with her Alpha. Y/N felt a pang of sadness stab her heart at the thought of losing that dream with Sam. For now, she should just focus on enjoying this day with the fascinating man in front of her.

They played games together: ring toss, tin can bowling, and pumpkin tic tac toe. Sam was, not surprisingly, skilled at all of them. But when it came to popping balloons with darts, he was exceptionally good. He’d won the two prize limit in under five minutes. Both were teddy bears in the typically bright colors of carnival toys. She kept the green one, and the pink one she gave to a little girl waiting in the line next to them. 

When she turned back to Sam, he was watching the little girl hug her new bear with a soft look in his eyes. Y/N was mesmerized by the look on his face. Finally, she asked him, “Where did you learn to do that?”

The look on his face changed, and it made Y/N sorry she’d said anything. “My dad taught me.”

Sam was quick to recover, the melancholy gone from his eyes. “Would you like to learn?” She nodded, and he positioned her in front of him. “Pick up one of the darts.” Sam draped his arm along the length of hers and settled his fingers over her hand so he could guide her movements. “Focus on the target. Don’t think about it too much. Just keep your eye on the place you want the dart to go.”

He moved her hand in a circular motion. “Stay loose.” Sam let go of her hand and dropped his own hand to her waist. “Now, throw it.” Y/N kept her eye on the center of the balloon and let the dart fly. It landed just to the left of her target. “Not bad,” he told her. Sam kept his hands on her waist. “PIck your spot on the balloon. Focus. And let it go.” This time, the dart she threw landed in the center of a red balloon with a loud pop. 

Y/N couldn’t help but jump up and down a little. She was surprised she’d been able to do that. Sam’s hold on her tightened slightly, then he let her go and stepped back. “Throw the last one.” Her last dart didn’t pop another balloon, but that did nothing to diminish her glow. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The day had a magic about it. The air was cool, and the sun was shining with a diffuse brightness in a vibrant jewel toned blue sky, the kind of a glorious autumn. Seasonal produce was everywhere. The yellows, oranges, and reds of squash, pumpkins, and apples created a rich backdrop for the sounds of laughter coming from the people playing carnival games and enjoying fall treats.

Sam felt good, better than he had in a long time. Y/N’s enthusiasm filled his veins with an excitement of his own. It was possibility. The blood of life was flowing through his veins again. Somewhere in the back of Sam’s mind, a spark of recognition flared. This is what it felt like when his instincts weren’t dulled by suppressants. This is what it felt like when he was falling in love. He reached for Y/N’s hand, and she laced her fingers through his.

Sam enjoyed the feel of her hand in his. The way their fingers wrapped together made him feel something deep inside of him that he could only define as peace. It was a rare feeling for him, so rare he didn’t think he’d ever felt quite this way before. He could feel her smiling at him, knew it without looking. When he did look, her expression comforted him somehow, wrapped around him, and gave him hope for the future. “Are you hungry?” she asked him. “You haven’t lived until you have fall carnival food.”

They passed by several concession stands before Y/N found the one she wanted. Sam had never seen anything like it; there was more junk food here than he allowed himself in a year, and now he wanted all of it. He’d never had funnel cake, kettle corn, or a fried candy bar; but it was the caramel apple stand where Y/N came to a stop. Sam had never had one of those either. 

There were green apples and red apples covered in a layer of caramel. Some had crushed peanuts on them; some had been dipped in candies, and others were decorated with swirls of chocolate. “Want one?” She looked at him expectantly.

“Yeah.” Sam answered with a smile that turned on his dimples. Y/N took her time choosing exactly the two apples she wanted. Both were Granny Smith with festive dark chocolate drizzles; one had nuts and one didn’t. She kept the one with the nuts for herself.

To Sam’s surprise, it wasn’t entirely easy to take the first bite out of a caramel apple. The layer of solidified gooeyness with the firm apple underneath made it a challenge to sink his teeth in just right, but when he did the intense sweetness of the caramel with a hint of tartness from the apple was perfect.

Sam thoroughly enjoyed the indulgence of the apple and managed to make an adorable mess. Y/N pushed a stray bit of caramel from the corner of his mouth onto his lips with her fingertip. Her touch lingered for a beat, and Sam felt something stir inside him and come to life. 

She asked him then if he wanted to try a bite of her apple. “It’s good with the peanuts.” He took a bite of the apple she offered him. His eyes met hers, and it was then that the thing awakening inside him exploded. The intense smell of pumpkin, sugar, and autumn air once again flooded over him like it had that first day he met her in the bakery. It was like a strong ocean wave that threatened to knock him down. Omega. HIS Omega.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N felt a little shy as she held out her apple for Sam to take a bite. There was still a phantom tingle in her fingertips from touching his lips. Her body was nearly humming from his closeness. It felt natural to her to feed him, like the intimate gesture was just one of many they frequently shared.

Her eyes found his, and she let herself float into the warm golden brown of his hazel eyes. For a moment, she lost herself in him and in the way he was looking at her. Then, she smelled it. It was the distinctly earthy smell of firewood set ablaze. She tore her eyes from his to look around. Had someone started a bonfire?

There was no fire. Y/N looked back at Sam, and she could only describe what she saw there as amazement, maybe even awe. He looked like he wanted to say something. She could still smell the firewood. Now it was joined by the scent of bourbon, warm and rich, kissed by the sweetness of maple syrup. It was him; the smell was coming from Sam.

Y/N’s heart started to beat faster, and her breathing was rapid and shallow. He was an Alpha, and he wasn’t just any Alpha; he was hers. She felt the slick begin to pool in her panties, and pain with a white hot intensity jabbed at her abdomen and radiated through her core. She dropped the apple and grabbed for Sam’s arm to steady herself. “Alpha?!”

He wrapped his arms around her. “I’ve got you. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

Everything: @gambitwinchester​ @princessmisery666​ @onethirstyunicorn�� @peridottea91​ @logical-princey​ @emilyshurley​ @beenlovingromansincedayoneish​ @fangirlxwritesx67​ @waywardbaby​ @atc74​ @ledzeppelinsbonzo​ @shaniquacynthia​ @mariekoukie6661​ @tumbler-tidbits​ @67-chevy-baby​ @fandom-princess-forevermore​ @terrarium-jpeg​ @emoryhemsworth​ @crashdevlin​ @heycasbutt​ @jules-1999​ @mrsdeannafuckingwinchester​ @cosicas-cuquis​ @sammyimpala-67​ @queenoftheunderdark​ @dean-winchesters-bacon​ @mrs-meghan-winchester​ @timelordy-fangirl2​ @sweetness47​ @hobby27​ @awesomesusiebstuff​ @kickingitwithkirk​ @gh0stgurl​ @becs-bunker​ @sandlee44​ @supernaturalgrandma​ @lonewolf471​ @sea040561​ @dawnie1988​ @maddiepants​ @volleyballer519​ @outcastedangel​ @kdfrqqg​ @lizette50​ @daisymoder72​ @sorenmarie87​ @oldfreakything​ @triiitoo​ @deansotherotherblog​ @winchesterxfamilybusiness​

Sam/Jared: @girl-next-door-writes​ @stunudo​ @feelmyroarrrr​ @theychosefamily​ @idabbleincrazy​ @evansrogerskitten​ @focusonspn​ @i-joined-social-media-finally​ @autumninavonlea​ @spnxbsessed​ @durinsbride​ @deansyahtzee​ @wendibird​  @team-free-will-you-idjiot​ @waywardnerd67​ @neii3n​ @fullmooner​ @supernatural-took-me-over​ @julesthequirky​ @sammysnaughtygirl​

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

I’m Ready

Summary: “I can’t...I can’t take my forever if you’re not in it.” 

Picks up right where the show left off. Not technically a fix-it, as I didn’t change anything, but I promise it gets better. 

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of (canon) child abuse and neglect, mentions of past trauma, working through trauma, denial, bit of pining (but, like, in a denial sort of way), some fluff, some angst (but not as much as there is fluff)

Author’s Note: So many thanks to @there-must-be-a-lock​ for endless suggestions, fixes, and beautiful images (header AND dividers!!!). Thanks to all my friends for cheering me on, especially @thoughtslikeaminefield​ ; I probably wouldn’t have kept going with the story without you.

This is my first Destiel story and my first time posting in a while. Please be kind.

Word Count: 7704

In case you missed it: ItMightHaveBeenintentional’s Masterlist

Dean isn’t sure how long he’s been in heaven, at least not by heaven’s timeframe. Probably years, maybe even a couple of decades. He doesn’t age in heaven, and time works differently, running fast and stretching slow. 

For Dean, heaven is a chance to rest, catch up with his massive found family, and just breathe for the first time since he was a kid. No worrying about Sam, no waiting for the next monster to pop out, no prepping for the next apocalypse.

Nothing like heaven to give a guy time to kick his boots off and just relax. 

Unfortunately, relaxing has never come easy to Dean. Sure, he can go through the motions (binge watching horror movies, binge drinking, hell, just bingeing in general), but relaxing is an entirely different matter.

Relaxing means letting his guard down. It means giving up his hypervigilance. It means sleeping hard and staying asleep until he wakes naturally and unassisted by attackers. It means spending long moments reminding himself the monster at the end of the book is really gone.

Sam is safe. Everyone he’s ever loved is safe and close, where he can reach them.

Almost everyone. 

...

Jake Walker is born on the ninth of July at twenty-one seconds past 9:14 AM. His mother Samantha is exhausted after a two-weeks-early delivery, but both she and the baby are strong and steady. Her wife didn’t faint, none of the medical team ever sounded the least worried, and she heard her son’s first shocked wail as he came into the world. Exhausted, but definitely good.

His mom Betty, on the other hand, is an absolute wreck. She’s been anxious the entire pregnancy, despite good news from the doctor at every visit, and she is terrified that the unexpected early arrival of their son means her worst fears are just beginning. 

Betty takes slow, calming breaths, focusing on not clamping down too hard on Sam’s hand. She has to stay strong, calm, for her new family. She has to keep her head on straight, in case—in case —

“Your son is absolutely fine, seems he just had a real particular time he wanted to arrive. Here he is.”

Betty opens her eyes to find a delivery nurse beaming at her, proffering a small, swaddled bundle.

“Never seen such a calm baby. Here, he’s been waiting for you.” 

Betty looks down into the startlingly clear, mossy green eyes gazing up at her from the squashed, serene little face, and she feels something click into place in the middle of her chest. Samantha leans her head back against her pillow, letting out a long slow breath as she smiles, and Betty’s pulse slowly finds its way back to something like normal.

“We’ve been waiting for you, too, big guy.”

...

Trauma doesn’t heal in a day, not even in heaven. All the shit Dean remembers — all the shit he tried to forget — everything he ever managed to suppress — drives him from his bed at night, leaving him sleepless on his front porch, staring blankly into the night, or tinkering on Baby in the garage, digging into the perfect engine, determined to distract himself from his spiraling thoughts. 

Dean has never been an idiot, no matter how many times he played the fool in life. The people he and Sam couldn’t save, the people he let down, none of those deaths are on him. Dean isn’t responsible for the pain and suffering, but he’s haunted by it all the same. 

The problem is, haunts don’t go away on their own. Every hunter knows that. 

It’s not that he wants forgiveness; how can he be forgiven for something he isn’t responsible for? He needs to see those people, though, see that they’re okay and at peace. He has to make sure everyone is where they should be, safe and at least content. And even if he ultimately isn’t their killer, didn’t want their deaths, would have done anything to prevent them, he still needs them to know...to know everything. 

He needs absolution.

And if the person who needs to hear those things the most is MIA, well, they’ve got a history of not saying a lot of things face to face. There’s always prayer, right? 

Dean starts by visiting a couple of people he hadn’t been able to save along the way, feeling strangely like someone following a twelve step program. Objectively, (ie, according to the people he talks to), he’s got nothing to apologize for. He did his best; he made tough decisions in situations forced upon him. They don’t blame him in the least, and most are truly and obviously thankful for his intervention.

Their words don’t make much of a dent in the mountain of guilt Dean carries on his shoulders, but it’s a start. 

Once or twice, Dean finds himself looking up at the sky, so far from empty, opening his mouth to call out — an action so common on earth it nearly became reflex —but he stops himself both times. He’s not ready for that conversation.

But he needs to talk to someone closer to him, a deeper connection than the monster victims he’s been visiting. 

He’s restless, needs to move a little, needs to talk to…

Someone. He needs to talk to someone. But he can’t. Hell, he can’t even say the name. 

Pacing the garage turns to a wandering ramble down the road, past Sam and his family’s house, past Mom and Dad’s house (there’s a conversation or fifty that he’s not ready for), until he finds himself in front of what can only be described as a hobbit hole. He shakes his head, not for the first time, the corner of his mouth tilted up as he knocks on the circular front door. 

He’s greeted by bright red hair, a surprisingly crushing hug, and one of the brightest smiles Dean has ever seen.

“Hey, Charlie. Can we, uh...You up for a walk? I was hopin we could talk for a while.”

...

Jake grows quickly and steadily, always near the top of all his growth charts but never alarmingly so. He’s bright, quick to anger and quick to laugh, and fiercely loving. He is both his mothers’ boy, always up for a cuddle or a wrestle, and he loves to build block towers and demolish them with equal abandon. 

He makes his displeasure with vegetables known early on. On this particular morning, he introduces his strained peas to the kitchen wall with surprising velocity. Betty knows better than to encourage this attitude, so she hides her smile behind calm, controlled admonition as she offers another spoonful. 

Jake looks her straight in the eyes, his smile dazzling and laughter bright, and she knows she hasn’t fooled him one bit. She sighs and lets her own smile match his. He won her over the day he was born; there’s not much point trying to fight it now.

“Come on, babe, eat your peas and we’ll see about some of those stewed apples left over from Mommy’s pie filling. Deal?”

She scrunches her nose and wiggles her eyebrows. Jake’s little eyes widen at her expression, and he tries to imitate it before dissolving into giggles. Betty takes the opportunity to poke a spoonful of peas into his open mouth. 

She’s not spent much time around kids before this, but Betty swears she’s never seen a baby look so resigned and exasperated in real life. But she’s played her trump card. He’s too young for the crust, but a couple of spoonfuls of smashed up fruit (apple is his favorite), and Jake is guaranteed to eat just about anything she presents.

“Pie?” she asks.

Jake smiles and opens his mouth wider.

...

“SURPRISE!!!”

The last time he was shocked this badly, Sam didn’t let him forget that fucking cat for years. Or ever, really. Seems like everyone he ever knew is stuffed into his living room, barely leaving room for the balloon bouquets and a massive… That’s not a cake, it’s…

That’s the most beautiful apple pie Dean has ever seen in his entire life. 

Dean is engulfed by arms, hugging and patting and slapping his back (was that a pinch on his ass?), everyone eager to get their turn with him, wishing him a happy birthday, saying they can’t wait until he opens his presents, it’s so good to see him, he’s looking so rested!

He manages to extract himself from the wellwishers, citing parental obligations, and finally makes his way over to Mary, smiling warmly and offering him a knife and a plate. His eyes flick anxious from his mom to the golden brown circle of perfection before him, but he can’t bring himself to ask. Mary’s smile widens.

“I didn’t lay a hand on it except to take it out of the box. Happy Birthday, Dean.”

Six plates of pie later, Dean reclines on his couch, letting the relaxed atmosphere of the party sink into his bones. The excitement and crowd of early have begun to wind down, leaving a double handful of family, both blood and found, all telling the most embarrassing, terrible Dean stories they can think of.

It’s possible Dean’s never laughed this hard in his entire life.

He heaves a deep sigh of contentment and props his feet ponderously on the coffee table, draping an arm across the back of the couch and surveying the room. 

Donna, one of the apparent party conspirators, tosses him a sparkling grin over her shoulder before turning back to a rather animated conversation with Charlie about the length of Dean’s wig at the LARPing battle. Sam and Kevin are recounting Dean’s worst cooking disasters to Garth’s wife, and Bobby is entertaining Mary with Dean’s disastrous attempt to flirt with the pizza delivery girl who delivered to Bobby’s house most weekends when Sam and Dean would stay with him. 

If Dean had to describe one perfect day, this would be just about it, down to the flakiness of the pie crust and the amazing collection of horror movies and original vinyls he’s been gifted. Almost every single person he could possibly want present is there, and since he isn’t dwelling on absence today, Dean decides to push his wandering thoughts out of his head and just soak it all in.

Every muscle in his body hums contentedly, and Dean feels strangely warm and peaceful, but excited, all at once. It’s weird, just sitting here and enjoying the moment, not worrying about the next minute or hour or day or even year. He’s full of pie, he’s got great tunes to look forward to, and there’s nothing to worry about. 

He’s happy.

Naturally, that’s when the panic sets in. This won’t last; it never does. Happiness can’t last. He learned that a long time ago. 

Sure, it’s heaven, but he doesn’t deserve to be here, so something is going to spoil it for him, for everyone. Probably Dean himself, he thinks as his eyes dart from his mom to his dad. Dean always seems to find a way to fuck things up, couldn’t take care of Sam, couldn’t keep himself alive, couldn’t even keep the Empty from—

“Hey, birthday boy.” Jody’s voice somehow reaches Dean through his darkening thoughts, and he comes back to himself in stages, focusing on the warmth of her hands on his shoulders. She stands behind the couch, leaning down to squeeze his shoulders. “Wanna get some air?”

He nods blindly and climbs numbly to his feet. Jody guides him efficiently out the door and points Dean in an arbitrary direction. They walk for what could be moments or hours as Dean plows through the morass in his mind. 

“I get it,” Jody finally says. 

Dean glances sharply at her. 

“I still have random panic attacks sometimes, wondering if Alex is safe at the hospital, if this is going to be the hunt that gets Claire.” Her eyes are fixed on some point in the distance, and he gets the feeling she’s deliberately not meeting his eyes. “I check on Owen every thirty minutes on my bad nights, and I have to lay hands and eyes on Sean to convince myself he’s really there before I can calm down. It always takes me a minute or sixty to make myself remember where we are, where everyone is, and that there isn’t some big or even small bad waiting around the corner or under the bed.”

Dean stuffs his hands in his pockets, stuffing down his automatic reassurances. The first half of his life was spent avoiding conversations like this, and it took him a long time to unlearn the knee-jerk reaction to brush off people’s concerns with some variation of “Everything’s fine.”

Jody, with an awareness born of decades of hunting and parenthood, senses his discomfort. She slows her steps and catches Dean’s elbow, turning him gently to face her.

“That feeling in your gut when the happiness comes, the panic, that knowledge deep, deep down that everything good is bound to turn to shit.” Jody reaches out and wipes a trickle of moisture from Dean’s face.

It’s not raining, he thinks, frowning. Where the hell did that come from?

“You're going to unlearn it. You’re the toughest bastard I’ve ever met, Dean, and you've been through literal hell. If anyone has earned their happiness up here, it’s you. You’re allowed to be happy, and someday you’ll know it.”

Dean would love to reply right now, to contradict Jody. He’d love to remind her of all the bad calls he made, of all the torturing he did in hell, of all the lies he told... 

But this knot in his throat is choking him. And still Jody persists.

“I know how goddamned stubborn you are, but you’re not stupid either. We have nothing to forgive you for. Maybe once you’ve talked to everyone on your list, you’ll see that, too. But in the meantime, take a deep breath, give me a hug, and at least say in your head that you’re allowed to enjoy yourself at your own damned birthday party, even if you can’t admit it out loud.”

And if the damp patch on Jody’s shoulder bothers her as they stroll back to Dean’s house to grab a couple of beers, at least she’s tactful enough to not mention it.

...

Jake takes care of his family. He’s a fairly serious, empathetic toddler, quick to kiss other’s ouchies. After receiving his first Elmo bandage, Jake insists on bandaging his stuffed puppy’s tail, his tyrannosaurus rex’s left eye (“He fight with stegosaurus,” Jake solemnly informs Samantha as he presses the adhesive strip in place), and then an old, almost-healed shaving cut on Betty’s left knee. 

“Mama better now?” Jake asks, somehow managing to sound strictly professional and absurdly adorable at the same time. He looks up to Betty for approval, and she wonders how she manages to let him touch the ground at all with how much she just wants to hold him all day long. 

“Mama so much better now,” she informs him, careful to stay serious. He rewards her with the golden smile that is the highlight of her days before rushing off to find someone else he can fix up. 

Both Betty and Samantha marvel in his quickness to share his snacks. They never refuse an offered Cheerio from him, no matter how damp or sticky (though a few of those disappear quickly when Jake’s attention wanders). 

The discussion over a first pet is fairly quick and decisive. Everyone agrees the pet must be something fluffy that can be cuddled. Betty vetoes anything smaller than a cantaloupe, citing her clumsiness and tendency to step on things that should never be trod upon. Jake vetoes cats, saying he just doesn’t trust them, and Mommy and Mama share one of their silent conversations before Samantha speaks up.

“A puppy it is, then, Jakey. Let’s go look up some good breeds.”

Their first pet is a rescue named Garth, at Jake’s adamant insistence, though they're still not sure where he learned that name in the first place. Garth is clumsy, awkward, easy-going, and the most spoiled and cared for pet in the neighborhood. 

Jake’s little sister Tabitha comes along shortly before his fourth birthday, and he takes to big brotherhood with an authority and self-assurance that delights every stranger the family meets. When she eventually starts walking, Jake is right by her side, guiding each one of her toddling little steps while a beaming Mommy and Mama follow close behind.

No one is even a little surprised when Tabby’s first whole word is “Hake.” She masters the letter j eventually, but continues to refer to his big brother by the name she gave him for most of the rest of their lives. Jake doesn’t even pretend to be annoyed.

“It was just a matter of time,” Samantha says one night, as she and Betty are getting ready for bed one night not long after Tabby has given Jake his new moniker. “You know what I mean?”

Betty, who has known exactly what Sam means since the day she literally tripped over her future wife at university, smiles and turns down the covers on her side of the bed. 

“That’s Jake,” she says. They’ve spent hours, discussing their son’s odd, charming quirks long into the night, offering up phrases like “old soul” and “wise,” and eventually realized nothing they said could ever completely encompass the loving little person they somehow managed to bring into the world.

“That’s Jake,” Sam agrees, and turns her version of Jake’s golden smile on her wife. Mischief sparkles in her eyes, and Betty wonders how she ended up with three people in her life that she absolutely cannot win against. 

“Ready to get sweaty, Betty?”

Betty groans but can’t hold back her grin. “You are the absolute worst, and that is exactly why I love you.”

…

Sam manages to shock Dean when he insists on a big family Christmas. His extra years on earth apparently helped the younger Winchester warm to the idea of holidays, finally getting to enjoy them with his son as he never did during his own childhood. 

Sam doesn’t have to try very hard to talk everyone into celebrating. Things have been calm and serene, more than a little on the uneventful side, and Dean figures it will add some variety to his afterlife. Something to plan, something to look forward to that won’t be crashed by murderous Elder Gods or various other supernatural entities. 

Probably. 

Dean secretly loves that feeling of finding the perfect present for someone, something he was never really in a position to do back on earth. He takes a deep breath, proactively reminding himself that this is okay, this is allowed, this is good, that everything is not only okay but actually kind of great, really.

He can be happy. He can. He can do this. 

 The shade of red Sam’s face turns before he finally dissolves into laughter is a thousand percent worth the degradation of actually gifting someone a signed vinyl copy of Celine Dion’s first solo album.

“It’s perfect, Dean. Thanks, man.” Sam pulls his brother into a hug, and his giant paw slapping Dean in the middle of the back literally knocks the panic right out of him. Deans huffs, at a loss for words, and hugs Sam back perhaps just a smidge too forcefully before letting him go.

“You’ll never top Sapphire Barbie for best Christmas present, but this runs a close second.” Sam shakes his head, still grinning as he reads over the back cover of the album while Mary and John look on, varying levels of confusion and amusement on their faces.

“What’s he talking about, Dean?” John asks. He takes a long drink of his whiskey. “Sapphire Barbie? Some kinda code word or something?”

Sam and Dean glance at each other, their shoulders tensing automatically. For a moment, Dean can actually feel the phantom hunger pains transposed over the current fullness of his belly, and he can see a tiny Sam (still way more hair than necessary), huddled despondent and hungry under a shitty, moth-eaten motel blanket, convinced there would be no Christmas. 

“Dean, uh...accidentally got me a Barbie for Christmas one year, it was — a, uh — yeah, he wanted to make sure I got a present, so he grabbed it, and…” Sam trails off. 

John huffs a confused laugh, and Dean’s hackles rise at the scoff, so like Sam’s and yet so much more...condescending. John rises from the couch and goes to refill his glass. Sam seems content to let the moment pass, but something in Dean’s gut, something latent and ignored since his heavenly ascension, sparks and smolders bitterly. 

“How the hell do you ‘accidentally’ get somebody a Barbie?” John asks, still chuckling, and Dean suddenly realizes he’s real fucking tired of biting his tongue.

“I stole the Barbie. Stole a couple of other things, too. A Christmas tree, some decorations, a baton.” 

Mary glances between her sons, confused, before turning to John. “Where were you while this happened?” 

A parade of emotions march over John’s face: confusion is followed by slow recognition. Guilt makes a quick appearance only to be chased away by dull, ashamed anger. 

Dean can practically see John’s mind flashing through the scenario, recalling more about the hunt than his own sons on that cold, nasty Christmas Eve. He knows the instant his dad reverts to default setting of laying the blame on his eldest son. Dean braces himself automatically, his body viscerally reacting to the familiar storm on his father’s face.

Dean has the fleeting thought that at least his dad is drinking from a glass now; ought to hurt a lot less than being hit with a whole bottle.

“You left your brother to go steal from somebody else’s home on Christmas? After what happened with the shtriga?” 

Dean knows true anger, near rage, for the first time in heaven, and the bitter wash of it through him is cutting and all too familiar. 

“Pretty stupid thing to do, I know, but I wasn’t even twelve yet, so I wasn’t making the wisest of decisions.”

“Not even twelve?” Mary cuts in. “Sam? Does anybody feel like explaining this to me?”

“What the hell were you thinking, Dean, anything could have—” 

But Dean had a lifetime of being plowed under by his dad’s inability to take responsibility, has had way more than enough of shouldering the blame for shit he should never have been left with in the first place.

“I was thinking that somebody should get a seven-year-old something for Christmas, should make sure he has enough to eat. Where were you, Dad? What were you thinking? Because you sure as hell weren’t thinking about us.”

That knot starts up in Dean’s throat again, the muscles tightening against the fear that blossoms in his chest, echoed from decades of training. Sam’s hand finds Dean’s arm, and Dean looks to him. Instead of the caution or reproach he’s expecting, though, all Sam simply nods. 

“Say it, Dean.”

Dean stands slowly, facing John Winchester with every bit of strength he’s built, every bit of courage he’s earned from a lifetime of terror, and realizes that the angry, bitter man before him is no more a threat to him anymore than Chuck is. And without looking, he knows Sam stands behind him, solid and resolute.

“I wasn’t even twelve. It was Christmas, and you abandoned us. Yeah, I stole Sam a Barbie doll. You know what I got for Christmas that year? The year before? Every fucking year before that for almost as long as I can remember?”

John opens his mouth, even now unable to admit his faults, but Dean barrels on before his dad can get a word out.

“Not a damn thing from you. Not one damn thing. Not presents, not food, not a warm place to sleep or a word of thanks or approval. Not even a fucking phone call to say Merry Goddamn Christmas.” Dean pauses one last time, and it suddenly feels like he’s towering over the man whose shadow always felt too dark, too large, too suffocating; the man whose respect he used to crave more than food and water. 

“What about me, Dad? Huh? What about me?”

Dean doesn’t recall leaving his parents’ house, doesn’t remember driving home, but he finds himself on his own front porch, leaning forward in his rocking chair. He takes in a long, deep breath before scrubbing his hands through hair and leaning against the back of the chair.

A breeze rifles the leaves of a nearby tree, ruffling Dean’s hair. He taps his thumb against the arm of the chair and takes a long moment to breathe in the night air. 

Dean lets his thoughts roll around for a while. The stars creep slowly across the black, the crickets chirp, and the breeze continues to tickle through Dean’s mussed hair. 

“You and I could write the book on shitty dads, am I right, kid?”

He’s not sure why he decides to talk to Jack. Just nice to have someone to talk to, knowing they’re not going to talk right back.

“Could just cut him out. Dunno how that’d work in heaven.” He thinks a moment, then grins to himself. “Not sure Mom’d let me get away with that. Sam would back me up, though.” Dean grins into the somehow not-empty night. “I would be the guy that brings a family feud into paradise, huh?”

Dean takes in the wilderness around him, the empty house at his back, the extra rocking chair for...a visitor, he supposes. He has learned today that heaven, as perfect as it is, still holds anger and bitterness and loneliness, and he figures that’s to be expected. 

“You still did good, kid. You and me, we did good even with our shitty old men in and outta our lives. Glad we cut yours out for good. Guess I’ll figure out how to deal with mine eventually. All I’ve got now is time, anyway.”

Dean pushes up slowly, still surprised at the lack of cricks, pops, and aches that accompanied the action his last couple of years on earth. 

“Night, Jack,” he says into the wind. He glances over at the empty rocking chair one last time. “If you see him, tell him —just tell him—” 

Dean frowns, shakes his head, and turns his back on the night.

…

Jake’s not a crier, not really. There are inevitable tears that come with bad falls, but Jake sheds tears like it’s a physical reaction that he’s getting out of the way so he can move on. 

So when Betty goes to change the sheets in her son’s room, only to find him silently crying on the floor, she panics. Sheets flop forgotten to the side as she drops next to his, reaching instinctively for his still-plump cheeks.

“Baby, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? What happened?”

“Nothing happened, Mama, I’m sorry I scared you,” he sniffles, his eyebrows down low on his small forehead. 

Jake has never lied in his entire young life, and Betty is torn because he is obviously upset about something, but his face is full of nothing but truth and confusion.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Jakey,” she says, settling on the floor next to him and opening her arms. He instantly climbs into her lap, hooking his own arms around her neck and nuzzling under her chin. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Can you tell me what made you cry?”

“I...I don’t know,” he says, his little voice quiet and heavily confused. “I was playing with Tabby, she was helping me build a tower with my blocks, and then Mommy came to get Tabby for her snack.”

Betty is stumped. Jake has never had any kind of separation anxiety, as far as she can tell. He’s spent nights with both sets of grandparents, even a couple of weekends with aunts, uncles, and cousins, and never shed so much as a single tear.

“You...are you crying because you miss Tabby? She’s right in the next room, baby, you can go with her for snack time, you know that.”

“No, Mama, I —I don’t know why I’m crying. Tabby hugged me, she said she loved me, then she went with Mommy, and I felt...really happy. Like —the happiest ever, and...it was too much happy?”

The last part comes out as a question, and honestly Betty isn’t sure how to answer it. 

“Well, baby,” she starts hesitantly, not sure where to lead this particular discussion. “Can you explain  what you mean when you say ‘too much happy’?”

He snuggles closer against her chest, his forehead pressing along her jaw. “I dunno. I think...maybe I’m not supposed to be that happy? Is that why the tears came out? Because I got more happy than I’m supposed to get? Was I wrong, Mama?”

Betty breathes slowly, tightening her hold on the little boy in her arms. “You weren’t wrong, Jake. You can be as happy as you want. There’s never too much happy, I promise.”

She feels him shift, and she looks down to meet his clear, green gaze. He studies her carefully, scrutinizing her expression, and she’s reminded why she’s always been so very careful to tell her children the truth, albeit on levels they can understand.

“You pinky promise?” 

The proffered pinky is smudged, pudgy, and absolutely perfect. Betty hooks her pinky finger with her son’s, bumping his nose gently with her own. 

“Jakey, you have my eternal permission to be as happy as you are capable of feeling. And no one is ever allowed to take that from you. Good?” He nods, and she carefully brushes the tear tracks from his cheeks. “Sometimes feelings are really big, and they’re just a little too big for your body. They have to find a way out, and that’s why the tears come out.”

“Is that why you cry when you watch the kissy movies?” he asks, suddenly smiling. “Your feelings are too big, too?”

“Yup. We’ve got big feelings in this family, Jakey. Better get used to it, kiddo.”

...

More time passes. Dean walks, he talks, he goes through the motions. He heals a little with every conversation, every time he reaches out, and even though some of the wounds feel as fresh as the day he got them, eventually all that’s left are faint scars. He’d never willingly erase the scars, anyway. He earned them, and he’ll be damned if something like a little death and talk therapy could just wipe them away.

Gradually — so gradually Dean doesn’t realize it until Donna makes a comment one night after their regular poker game — Dean learns to not only let his guard down but drop it entirely. He’s shocked to realize the loss of his emotional armor doesn’t even bother him. 

Dean works on Baby, drinks with Bobby, teaches Mary how to make an apple pie from scratch, and even manages to have a couple of honest, semi-civil conversations with his father. They don’t exactly reach Andy and Opie levels of father-son bonding, but John does eventually manage to grudgingly admit he fucked up some (a lot). Dean supposes anyone can make progress in heaven if they try hard enough. 

He’s talked to everyone he can think of, settled scores, smoothed ruffles, filled himself to bursting with absolution. Dean is so absolved he thinks he might punch the next person who pats him on the back and tells him how much good he’s done for the world.

And still, he comes home every night to that extra rocking chair. 

He waits now, waits while he talks with Sam, waits while he walks through the woods, waits while he changes Baby’s oil. He can’t shake the feeling that something is coming. He can feel it around himself, like a suit of armor or a second skin. Nothing terrible, nothing ominous, but something. Which is weird because nothing ever seems to happen in heaven, not really. 

Could be he’s just bored, but Dean doesn’t think that’s it. Not entirely.

He talks to Jack nightly now. It’s a habit, something to help Dean talk through and untangle his thoughts into something he can understand. He looks forward to their talks, being able to get his feelings out without being either validated or rebuffed. Just letting some steam off.

He’s done it for so long that he can barely remember the night he started. Dean knows Jack can hear him, but the kid’s been true to his word, stayed hands off and radio silent. He lets mortals deal with their own issues, keeping himself and the supernatural world well away. Even the angels leave people alone in heaven.

Especially the angels, Dean grudgingly admits to himself, late one night after leaving Sam’s house. Instead of going home to that extra rocking chair, he drives Baby slowly, aimlessly, yet somehow ends up back on that same bridge where he met up Sam all those years ago. 

He parks right at the end (no traffic in heaven) and strolls out to the middle, scuffing his boots and sending little puffs of dust in the air. His hands are stuffed deep in his pockets, out of habit more than anything else, and he lifts his gaze from the ground up to the full moon in the sky.

“Hey, kid,” he says softly. “Hope it’s goin good for you.Things are pretty good here. I know you know, you’re everywhere and all that,” Dean waves his hand vaguely, then continues, “Just wanted to let you know, I guess. I didn’t tell you enough, but we—I —really appreciated you. Appreciate you. You, uh...you did real good, kid. Then and now.” He pauses, then takes a breath, standing straight and letting all pretense go.“Please tell Cas...he did good, and...I miss him. And I know you’re all taking the hands-off approach, but —I dunno, maybe...he could —stop by? Or…”

The silence around Dean is heavy, comforting like a thick blanket.  

Or a tan trenchcoat, he thinks.

“Jack —“

He cuts himself off, though. He spent all this time in heaven working through rivers of bullshit, wearing down mountains of lies and self-loathing until he can finally be honest and open with everyone. And if he’s going to be honest with himself tonight, Jack isn’t who he needs to talk to.

“Sorry kid, I gotta put you on hold.”

Purgatory flashes before his eyes, that sense of loss and being lost, the desperation and certainty that he’d never see his best friend again. 

I can’t do this anymore, he thinks. I can’t pretend anymore. And I’m done lying to myself.

“Cas. Castiel. I hope you can hear me. I miss you. I don’t know where you are. Bobby said you were here, that you helped remake this place into something pretty damned awesome, but I never see you. I can feel you sometimes, can tell some things are up here just because you put ‘em there. Someone will tell a story, and I swear I can feel you standing right beside me, can almost hear you frowning and not understanding the joke. I…”

He knows there’s something left —knows he hasn’t found the right words yet. He has no idea what that right thing is, or even what he’s still waiting for, but he figures if he just barrels on, it’ll come to him. 

“There was too much in the way, back on earth, in Purgatory. Too much always coming after us, trying to kill us or worse. I got in my own damned way, never knew what to say or how to say it. Didn’t think I deserved...I should’ve…”

He’s not sure what’s more bizarre, that he’s praying to someone who probably won’t respond — probably can’t even hear him — or that he’s doing so in a place wildly opposite from that last time he prayed like this. 

Dean isn’t sure how he keeps ending up in this situation, but here he is, gasping out his feelings to the night air, barely able to squeeze the words past that perpetual knot in his throat. 

“It’s a lot clearer up here, more room to breathe and think. This heaven you and Jack made...it’s great. Hell, it’s damn near perfect. But there’s no you. And I just can’t see my heaven as right without you. I can’t...I can’t take my forever if you’re not in it.”

A wispy cloud, silver in the moonlight, drifts across an otherwise flawless sky. Dean stares upwards for several minutes, wondering if Cas can see the same stars tonight, wherever he is. 

“Maybe...I don’t know if you can come back. Or if you even left. I don’t know how any of it works.”

He’s on the cusp. He can almost taste the next step. 

Dean’s at a loss, though. He could be brave: he could say everything he should’ve said in that last moment, everything he should have told Cas. 

Or he could take the comfortable path, revert to being a dick and tell Cas exactly how he feels about all this silent treatment, about the no-show in heaven or not telling him about his deal with the Empty until it was too late, about waiting until the last second so Dean would have no time—

Or he could do both. 

Both is good.

Metal railings squeak under Dean’s punishing grip. He’s not sure when he grabbed hold of the bridge itself, but right now he needs all the support he can get.

“You left me! You should have told me, given me a chance. Another chance, just one more. I’m sorry, Cas, I knew but I didn’t. I— I should’ve told you, should’ve held you, I could have—“

The tears flow unimpeded, the air squeezed from his lungs in convulsive gasps, but Dean can’t stop now.

“I should have told you everything I felt, every day. I should have trusted you more, and I’m so sorry. You were always family, you were always there for me when I needed you. We both fucked up so many times, lost so much time together. I was so angry at you, at me, at everyone and everything, and I let it get in the way.”

The silence around him is maddening. Here he is, ripping his guts out in the middle of the bridge, and all he gets back is crickets and evening breezes. Dean shoves off the railing, too frantic to stay still.

“Gimme something, Cas, anything! I’m pouring my heart out! I fucked up, and I’m sorry, and I swear I’m gonna do better, but you’ve gotta give me the chance! Just...just give me some sort of answer, please? Let me know you’re there!”

The silence persists. 

Just as quickly as Dean’s rage crescendos, it fizzles suddenly. He drops to the ground, back and head slamming hard against the side of the bridge as he lets out a roar of helpless rage. His fists grip his hair, teeth grinding against the wave of helplessness that threatens to overwhelm him.

“I missed my chance, I waited too long, I should’ve said— I should have—“

And then it comes to him.

His hands draw down from his hair, scrubbing his face before steepling his fingers in front of his mouth. He can’t believe it’s taken him this long to realize. 

“I’m an idiot.” His voice is barely audible, even to his own ears, but he has no doubt his words will reach their intended destination. “This place you built, you and Jack, it’s as good as it gets. I deserve it, I earned it. I got my family, I got the easy life for a while. I got my family. I had my rest. There’s only one thing left in the universe I need, only one person I want.”

Dean stands, dusting himself off and turning his face back up to the stars. 

“I’m ready, Cas. I— I love you. And I’m ready for the next thing. Whatever that is. However that is. As long as—”

One last pause.

“As long as you’re there, that’s all I need.”

...

The inevitable day of separation comes: Jake’s first day of kindergarten. Samantha is proud of her guardian warrior, knows he’s going to succeed at everything he puts his little bullheaded mind to. Betty hopes very hard that he won’t be too lonely without Tabitha there with him. Tabitha only knows that Jake’s finger tastes good and makes her gums feel better when she chews on it.

Jake, as always, approaches this monumental step with aplomb and logic. 

“I’ll give it a shot,” he says casually as his little sister gnaws on his thumb. “An’ if I don’t like it, I’ll just stay here and take care of Tabby. You an’ Mommy can go to work, then, ‘kay, Mama? I can make nut butter n’ jelly sammiches. But I’ll try it out.”

...

School isn’t so bad, Jake decides on his second day. His teacher Mrs. Harris seems to know what she’s doing (she already knows who she can trust with scissors and glue), and the other kids are nice enough. There’s different toys (“learning tools”, Mrs. Harris calls them), so that’s interesting enough, but—

Something is missing.

“Can you tell me what you mean, Jakey?” Betty asks at dinner that night. “Are there supplies you need? We got everything on the list.” She wipes a smear of sweet potato off Tabitha’s face before looking back to her son. His mouth is turned down in a frown of concentration, like he’s trying to remember something.

“I don’t need anything, Mama, just...someone. I need someone. My friend hasn’t come to school yet.”

“It takes time to make friends, baby,” Samantha says. “It’s only the second day of school. Have you tried asking anyone to play yet?”

“Yeah, and they’re fun and all, but they aren’t my friend. My friend isn’t here yet,” Jake says. Then his frown vanishes with the sudden mood change of a five-year-old, and he turns beseeching eyes on Betty, aiming unerringly at the softer target. “I finished my green beans. That means dessert now, right, Mama?”

Jake decides on the third day that the best place to wait for his friend (he just knows he’s going to show up any day now) is the playground.

“My friend likes the playground,” he murmurs. “That’s good, I like the playground, too.” He eats his lunch slowly, watching the other kids wolf down their food so they can have extra playtime. He’s barely finished his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, though, when he’s distracted by movement on the other side of the play yard. The door to the school opens and the school secretary steps out. Then she turns and gently pulls someone out from behind her.

A small boy stands in the doorway, white shirt tucked neatly into black slacks. His blue tie is a little loose, as if he’s been tugging on it, and his tan jacket is a little too big, hanging loosely around his small frame. His hair looks like someone was in too much of a rush to comb it properly. He clutches a pink piece of paper in one hand and, in the other, a backpack inexplicably decorated with flying, winged slices of pizza. 

“Late drop-off, parent had to run,” the secretary tells Mrs. Harris before tiptoeing out of the room. 

With an anxious glance at the other children, the boy scuttles forward and immediately trips over his own untied shoelaces.

Jake is at the little boy’s side before anyone else can react, kneeling down to check on him. The prone child is too shocked to cry, both by the fall and by the sudden appearance of this unknown factor. Jake checks him over, then nudges him until he sits up. 

“You gotta keep ‘em double tied,” Jake says seriously. “Or else that’ll happen all the time.” Without waiting for an answer, Jake sets about the laborious task of looping each set of laces in turn, rabbits chasing each other around trees and down holes until the shoes are secure.

Jake climbs to his feet and reaches down, gripping the other boy’s shoulders and helping him stand. A dark smear of jelly stains the shoulder of the coat in the shape of a smudged purple handprint.

“Thank...thank you,” the smaller boys whispers. He lifts his eyes hesitantly, and clear blue meets olive green for the first time. “I’m Chris.”

“I’m Jake.” He thinks for a long moment, frowning. Something is settling in his chest, something big and permanent and scary; at first he thinks it’s too much. 

Then he thinks back to what Mama told him: you can be as happy as you want. 

He smiles at Chris. “You’re with me. You’re the one I was waiting for.”

Hope and just a bit of delight flicker across Chris’s eager face. 

“I am? You mean it?”

Jake nods and grabs his new friend’s hand. “Yep. Now you’re here, that’s all I need. And nobody's allowed to take you from me, Mama said so. C’mon, let’s play cars.”

[carpsurprise]

i finally got some writing inspo!! here’s something for my fellow haley simps <3

plot: when haley feels indebted to the farmer for helping her find her great grandmother’s bracelet, she invites them over to give them a gift.

word count: 1.3k

notes: ok gn!farmer like usual but... mmm tried to do a lil something w/ haley’s character but that’s kinda if u squint!! i’ll also post this on ao3 just cause why not am i right?

The farmer knocked on the girl’s front door, waiting anxiously for someone to appear behind it. There was muffled talk behind the door. In a few short moments Emily opened the front door with a large smile, greeting the farmer with a quick side hug.

“Hey! Sorry, I’m getting ready for work,” she apologized, running back off to her room with haste. 

Haley had appeared next from the kitchen, a frilly apron tied around her waist and neck with a spatula in hand. “There you are!”

The farmer nodded, walking further into the kitchen and taking a seat at the table. Haley spun herself back around to check the timer atop the counter. She murmured to herself something about five more minutes before setting her weight against the counter with a smile.

“Thanks for coming, it’ll be done in just a few moments.”

“You made me food?” The farmer questioned, memory lingering back to the handwritten note that had made its way into their mailbox, covered in stickers and sweet perfume. 

She scoffed, trying to hold back a shy smile. “Well, yes,” she sheepishly admitted, “I wasn’t sure what else to do for you. I told you in the letter I wanted to try to show you how grateful I am for finding my great-grandmother’s bracelet.”

The farmer smiled at her, shaking their head gently. “Haley, really, it’s fine.”

“I need to show you I’m thankful. So many people wouldn’t have helped me out, and I understand why; but still, I’ve treated you like dirt and you still helped me out.” She kept herself quiet for a moment. “I don’t like the feeling of being indebted to someone.”

 There was no use in talking back to her, leading the farmer to quietly accept her gesture. She talked idly as the timer clicked rhythmically, mentioning the stickers she had adorned on her letter in passing with an excited expression. Emily had emerged from her room with her bag thrown over her shoulder, waving a quick goodbye to the farmer and to her sister. As she closed the front door, Haley turned her attention back to the farmer.

“I also made her some. She’s been pretty generous to me recently, I feel like I need to pay her back too. It’s always tricky when others are nice to me. Maybe I don’t like the feeling of being less than someone else,” she shrugged, “or maybe it’s nothing.”

Her self reflection had made the farmer spiral into their own thoughts. She hummed to herself unknowingly, turning herself back around and moving dishes in and out of the sink. The farmer looked at her apron. Haley’s initials were embroidered on the ribbon tied around her waist, likely a gift from her sister. Music was playing quietly from the living room, just barely above a whisper. The farmer turned their head from the living room to Haley’s figure.

“You’re a very kind person, Haley, I just don’t think you think of yourself that way.”

She placed the dishes down suddenly, all of them clattering against each other in the sink. Seconds of silence had passed before the timer snapped to a stop, ringing its shrill ring. The surprise of the timer had made Haley jump slightly, leading her to grip the edge of the counter for a couple breaths. Despite her new sudden behavior, she turned around with a smile, her hair flying with her. “It’s done!”

Haley pulled the oven mitts over her hands, bending over into the oven with a shaky breath. She nearly dropped the dessert onto the counter, ensuring it was on a stand before pulling her covered hands back and waving them by her sides with an exasperated sigh. Pulling the door of the oven closed, she messed around with the controls, shutting it off and throwing a smile to the farmer over her shoulder. 

“Just gonna let it cool for a sec before I bring it over!” She called, grabbing knives and forks to set in front of the farmer and the empty chair across from them. The farmer left a lingering look on the second set of silverware, their eyes trailing up to look at her inquisitively. “What? I never said anything about giving the whole thing to you.”

This seemed more like Haley. The farmer peered over at the dessert, and the ceramic pan that only half hid the farmer’s thank you present. The top looked like baked crust, easily giving away what Haley’s gift was. She rushed over to the pan, pulling the oven mitts over her hands once more and moving the pan to the center of the table. It was what the farmer had guessed it to be: a pie, but decorated much better than they had expected from Haley’s abysmal baking skills.

The farmer tilted their head, marveling at the cut out hearts and braids atop the pie. “Wow, Haley! This looks amazing, I almost don’t even want to eat it.”

“You most definitely are, that’s for sure,” she teased, sitting down across the farmer. She brought her finger to the crust gingerly, poking it gently to see its texture. She nodded to herself, still propped up on the table with a sweet smile. “We’ve got, like, thirty minutes to kill before we can eat it.”

She sat back in her chair, beginning to chat with the farmer about herself and them, and the upcoming fall festival. Haley talked about what a bore it usually was and how she only truly cared for the pigs and other farm animals that Marnie would bring. The farmer talked about their planned grange display, trying their best to make it interesting for Haley’s sake. Thirty minutes had passed, leaving Haley more giddy by the moment to have the farmer try her pie.

Haley cut the farmer a slice of pie, insisting it was her responsibility to do so, also cutting herself a piece and placing it on her plate with little care. The farmer grabbed a fork, pausing and looking at the spilling contents of the pie. They looked at Haley, who had followed their train of thought and made it apparent on her face.

“Apple pie?”

She nodded. “Mhm.”

“Like the apples you had asked for me to give you a couple days ago?”

Haley had already put a piece in her mouth, nodding to not speak with her mouth full. It was good timing, leading the farmer to think it must have been intentional. They nodded with her, matching her slow, yet knowing nod. The farmer stuck their fork into it, the warmth and flavor making them sigh through their nose with a delighted roll of the eyes. Their reaction had made Haley perk up, loving the silent compliment of her baking. 

She swallowed quickly, propping her elbows up onto the table with a bright smile. “It’s good?” The farmer nodded. Haley kept her smile, flipping some of her hair behind her shoulder and bringing another piece up to her mouth. “I’m so glad, but it’s definitely— at least partly— due to your apples! Those things were so good, I couldn’t keep Emily off them!”

“Thank you,” the farmer spoke in between bites, wanting to continue the conversation without the temptation of more apple pie. 

“So, are we even?” 

The farmer rolled their eyes and brought a napkin up to their mouth. “Haley, I’ve already said you don’t need to do anything for me in return. It’s completely fine, you don’t owe me anything.”

Haley shook her head, biting back her smile. “Hmm, how upsetting. I guess I’ll have to do something else for you so you agree with me.”

[waywardnerd67]

Sweet Slice

Title: Sweet Slice Summary: (Y/N) is new to Lebanon escaping the big city life when she gets a job at a local bakery. Things get complicated when her past returns and her boss gets in the middle. Pairing: Dean x Reader Rating: E - Everyone Warnings: Angst/Fluff Word Count: 2173 Squared Filled: Baker!Dean Bingo Card: @spnaubingo​ A/N: The sandwiches described are from the grocery store my mom works at. They can be found at http://www.straubs.com/category/sandwiches

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Staring out over the horizon, (Y/N) watched as the sun peeked over rising into the dark sky. Black and navy faded into beautiful pinks and reds as a sign of a new day. Breathing in the cool morning air, she threw up a few silent thank yous to whatever higher being was listening to her. Grateful for a new day, a new start and a new life for her. Carefully standing on the rooftop, she climbed back in through her single window and started mapping out her day.

(Y/N) had only lived in Lebanon, Kansas for three weeks. Finding a studio apartment above the only bakery in town that was owned by the handsome Dean Winchester. She gave him almost all her savings for the first month's rent and went in search of work. In a town of only two hundred-fifty people finding a job was harder than she expected. Until last week, when she approached Dean about the next month’s rent and offered her a job on the spot.

Now, as she pulled the hair out of her face and wrapped a red bandana over it (Y/N) headed downstairs for her first day at Sweet Slice. Approaching the kitchen entrance she could hear Led Zeppelin playing through the store speakers and pans clanging against one another.

“Morning boss.”

He looked over his shoulder a wide smile spreading across his face, “Good morning, let me get this pie in the oven and then I will give you your mission for the day.”

(Y/N) chuckled watching as he finished the pie he was working on. No one would ever believe from looking at Dean that he was a baker. His broad shoulders, muscular arms gave off the impression he was a tough guy. There were a few scars on his forearms she could see from the sleeves of his flannel being rolled up to his elbows. His large hands and thick fingers were the most deceiving as they gently and delicately handled creating the lattice pie crust on top.

“Ready?”

His husky voice brought her out of her daydream as she nodded following him to the other side of the kitchen. On the long table were various deli meats and cheeses along with a variety of breads then seemed to be freshly baked.

“I’ve always had this idea of not only offering specialty pies and baked goods but also to have a lunch hour with sandwiches on some of our breads. Today, I was you to just come up with some sandwiches for the menu and I’m going to taste test them for lunch.”

She smirked, “So basically you want me to make you a sammich?”

His laughter was infectious filling her body with a joy she hadn’t felt in a long time, “Yeah, I guess so. One of the perks for being the boss. If you need anything just holler at me.”

(Y/N) grabbed the pencil and paper on the table and started writing down some ideas she had. Sandwiches were something she knew all about being from New York. As a teenager she had worked at her local deli making sandwiches and giving the old mob men trouble as they flirted with her. The memory sent a chill down her spine. It was in that deli shop she had met Wyatt and her life changed forever.

Shaking her head, she went back to her list of sandwiches and began constructing them. A few of them, she had to have Dean bake up a few hoagie rolls because regular bread would not be right for them. By noon, she had assembled six different sandwiches for them to enjoy. She waited to garnish them until right before they sat down to eat. Dean had taken his flannel off wiping the sweat from his face from being near the oven.

His eyes widened as they glanced over the sandwiches plated in front of him, “These look awesome and I’m starving. Let’s dive in.”

The first sandwich was an Italian Sub that was on a fresh hoagie roll, spread with a mayo mustard blend and topped with salami, top round roast beef, baked and glazed ham, provel, dill pickle, onion, pepperoncinis and shredded lettuce. The noises coming from Dean as he devoured his half made her cheeks burn.

The next couple of sandwiches were simple ones with meat, cheese and simple lettuce, tomato, pickle toppings that could be offered cold or warm. The fifth sandwich was one her grandmother made for her every Sunday. Layers of baked and glazed ham, hard salami, mortadella, and provel topped with an olive Italian dressing blend on fresh baked focaccia bread.

“Now that sandwich sent my taste buds on an adventure. Whew!” He chuckled, finishing the last bite.

The final sandwich was her take on a grilled cheese sandwich. She had called it The Cure All making it whenever she had a particularly bad time of the month or a wicked hangover. On sourdough she placed two slices of cheddar, a layer of jalapenos, two slices of american, a layer of bacon, topped with caramelized onions.

Dean admired the sandwich for a moment before taking a large bite from it. His olive eyes rolled back as he closed them chewing slowly. She watched as he swallowed the bite and his full lips pursed together blowing out a gush of air.

“Wow, I think that may be the perfect sandwich and our signature sandwich to kick off a lunch special.”

Her cheeks were aching from smiling, “I guess I can add sandwich creator to my severely lacking resume.”

“If I have my way, you will never need a resume again and stay with me forever.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth a few things happened all at once. Their eyes snapped up connecting immediately. Her heart leaped within her chest with a bright, burning hope she has not felt in a long time. While Dean’s cheeks flushed crimson.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean… not that I wouldn’t want to be with… um. Crap.” He put his head in his hands, “All I’m saying is you’re amazing and wonderful for what I have gotten to know of you these last few weeks. I think we would work great with one another.”

There was something deep within urging for her to reach out to him and after five years of being with someone who only pretended to care for her and use her she had kept herself guarded. Looking into Dean’s eyes, she could see the kind of man he was. The kind of man to sacrifice himself for the ones he loves. The kind of man to go out of his way to care for someone. The kind of man that would protect those closest to him fiercely and without regard to his own well being.

(Y/N) reached across the table placing her hand on top of his, “There is nowhere else I’d rather be than right here with you.”

It was in that moment that everything changed for them. They became partners in every way they could in their lives. Sharing the business together, his home together, building a life together over the next year. Until her past caught up to her in the little bakery in Lebanon.

It was a normal Tuesday as Dean and (Y/N) prepared for their normal lunch hour. Their business doubled from them adding a sandwich and slice combo. Some of their normal morning customers had picked up a pie or two for that evening so when the bell rang signaling another customer, (Y/N) thought nothing of it walking to the front counter.

“There you are my sweetness. I’ve been looking for you for a long time.”

She froze in her spot, the familiar raspy voice knocking the wind out of her. Looking up, standing in the middle of the empty bakery and locking the front door was the man of her nightmares. Standing nearly a foot taller than her, his jet black hair was slicked back and dark brown eyes narrowing in on her.

“H-How did you…” The words would not come out as fear struck her mind instinctively backing up towards the door leading into the kitchen.

His menacing smile spread wider, “You know I have my ways. You know when I want something I get it. No matter what.” He took two steps towards her as he spoke.

The same desperate fight or flight feeling kicked in pushing her feet towards the kitchen yelling, “DEAN!”

Before she made it two feet through the door a pair of thick, leather covered arms wrapped around her waist. She let out a piercing scream before Wyatt clamp his hand over her mouth. He walked them back through the door holding her tightly against his body where she could not kick or push herself away.

“You’ve always been weak and pathetic, but that’s how I like my women. You can’t fight me.” He snarled into her ear.

“But I can.”

She looked up wide eyed as Dean appeared in front of them stepping through the door. He was holding up a large iron skillet never once taking his eyes off of Wyatt.

“Put (Y/N) down now.” His jaw clenched as he spun the skillet in his hand.

Wyatt laughed pushing her into the front case. She cried out as shards of thick glass sliced and embedded themselves into her skin. She glanced up just in time to roll herself over the glass that had shattered as Wyatt’s large body flew back towards her. Crimson filled her vision as she looked down to the floor. Bile burned up her throat as the sickening cracking of breaking bones echoed throughout the room. Her vision darkened as the last thing she saw was the door crashing open.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Every inch of (Y/N)’s body throbbed. She could hardly lift her eyelids, her vision blurry from exhaustion and her glasses missing. Trying to speak, she coughed and a large hand engulfed hers. Instinctively, she flinched pulling it away. Squeezing her eyes shut terrified she would see Wyatt sitting beside her.

“(Y/N), you’re okay. You’re safe.”

Her eyes snapped open tears freely flowing down her face, “D-Dean…” she croaked.

“Shhh. Don’t try to speak until you’ve had some ice chips.” He stood grabbing a cup and feeding her some ice, “After Sam and I took care of Wyatt, we had to rush you to the hospital. You lost a lot of blood and one large piece of glass embedded itself into your back.”

Dean became quiet looking down at their hands clasped together, “W-What hap-pen?” she whispered, eating some more ice and the cold soothing her burning throat.

She was surprised to see his eyes shining with tears, “We almost lost you and…” he looked away from her wiping his eyes.

“And what, Dean?” Her stomach churned and knotted a thousand thoughts running through her mind.

“And it wrecked me. I didn’t want to imagine life without you and when I did it gutted me.”

(Y/N) reached up wiping the few wayward tears from his cheek, “I’m right here because of you. Thank you.”

Her hand slipped down to his chest gripping his shirt and pulling him towards her. Every move she made was agonizing but worth it as his lips pressed against hers.

“I will always be here for you.” He whispered as she nodded her forehead resting against his.

Lying back she asked, “What happened to Wyatt?”

A low growl escaped Dean’s lips, “He and his buddy are currently in a cell hopefully getting to know their new roommates intimately.”

She wanted to know everything, but exhaustion was consuming her. Her eyes closing as Dean sat beside her on the bed humming her favorite Zeppelin song and lulling her to sleep.

Over the next several months, between her physical recovery and mental anguish as she relive her life with Wyatt to detectives and lawyers. (Y/N) slowly started getting her life back to normal. Dean accompanied her to New York where Wyatt and his goons were all put on trial for what they had done to her. After the guilty verdict was read, (Y/N) felt a great weight lift from her shoulders finally feeling free to live her life in peace.

When they arrived back in Lebanon, they noticed the vacant building across from the bakery had been sold and a new sign was being lifted into the air to attach to the store front. As the tarp fell to the ground, they both stared up completely stunned at what they saw.

The sign had a cake with a halo above it that read Angel Cakes Bakery. A tall, dark hair man stood admiring the sign before glancing over to them. He gave a small wave walking back into the building while (Y/N) looked over to Dean.

His jaw set in a strong line before muttering, “Son of a bitch…”

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