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zepskies · 7 months ago

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'Twas the Night...

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean listens, sometimes when you least expect it. This year, Christmas begins to become something new for both of you.

AN: Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, everyone! This is my @spnfanficpond Secret Santa gift for @eldritchlibertine! The idea is based on this request from @whichwitchwanda (a story prompted from the header image).

Word Count: 2.4K

Tags/Warnings: Fluff and more fluff! Christmas feels. ❤️

A door burst open, and your eyes raised from the page. You nearly dropped your book into your lap when you saw it—the wide, bristled top of an evergreen tree trying to shove its way through the door of the bunker.

Or rather, it only seemed that way.

All the way up at the top of the rod iron staircase, grumbled cursing and muttering and arguing filtered down to you in the common room, where you were leaning back in your seat with an old copy of Wuthering Heights. You sat up, an incredulous smirk beginning to curve your lips.

“Dean, it’s not gonna fit.” That was Sam, obviously. You’d recognize his testy bitching anywhere.

“You kiddin’ me? All that work I spent sawing this thing outta the ground, I’m gonna damn well make it fit. Come on, put your big boy pants on.”

The equally familiar gruff, grousing tone of your man’s voice almost made you snort. You set down the book on the table and debated whether you were going to get up and try to help, or let them hash it out. You were surprised they hadn’t called out for you yet.

After a few more seconds of listening to their frustrated huffing and puffing, you shook your head and got up. You reached the top of the stairs, and their sounds of irritated, breathless struggle became even clearer.

“Dean,” Sam protested.

“Shut up. I’ve almost got it…”

“You’re gonna break the damn frame—”

“Something tells me you didn’t get this thing at Home Depot,” you remarked.

There was a pause, and Dean called your name questioningly. He also sounded a bit embarrassed.

“Yep, I’m here, Chevy Chase,” you said, laughing as you grabbed the branches that were stuck in the doorway. You bent them at the angle the guys needed to get the whole thing inside, and all too quickly you had to step out of the way as Sam and Dean broke through the doorway with the rest of the tree.

Sam caught himself on the wall, while Dean threw a hand out to grasp at the railing of the stairs. You grabbed Dean’s arm to help steady him. Once he had his feet planted, he slung an arm around your waist and looked down on you with a satisfied smile—one that he then aimed at Sam.

“See? Told you it would fit.”

“Where did you even get this thing?” you asked. You eyed Dean in curiosity, even as you were helping him stream the lights around this seven-foot monstrosity. You’d also taken great delight in putting on some holiday music. Now, Frank Sinatra’s “White Christmas” was playing from a Bluetooth speaker on the War Room table.

Dean shot you a distracted smile as he worked in concentration, bringing a string of lights around the part of the tree that was closest to the wall. He handed off the other end to you, and you wrapped the line of multicolored lights around.

“Eh, there’s a nice bit of forest a few miles out of town,” he said. Your brows raised high. You’d suspected, of course, but you still shook your head with a smile.

“You know you need a permit for that, right?” you said.

“I tried to tell him,” said Sam. He was on his way up the stairs, heading out back to the car to get the box of ornaments he and Dean bought at Walmart this morning along with the pretty multicolored lights, all while you were still sleeping.

Dean rolled his eyes at his brother, but just kept focused on his task. Once he started something, he had to finish it, you noticed. And when he got into something, he was Mr. DIY, putting in his all. You liked watching the crunch between his brows, the set of his lips, the sureness of his hands while he mentally calculated what they were going to accomplish next.

Most of all, you liked the look of self-satisfaction when he was done, and happy with his finished product. It didn’t matter if he was tuning up the Impala, making a home-cooked meal for the three of you, or decorating a wild tree. That face was the same.

“Illegally obtained tree aside,” you said, not bothering to temper your smile, “I thought you guys didn’t really celebrate Christmas. Or any holidays, for that matter.”

Dean gave you a small grin, though again, he seemed a little embarrassed. He freed one of his hands to scratch at the back of his head.

“Yeah, well…weren’t you the one who was talking about the Christmases you had growing up?” he said.

You blinked, your mouth gently falling open in surprise. That had been a couple weeks ago, when the first snow of December began to fall over Lebanon. Late that night, after settling into bed together, you’d turned towards him in his arms. Maybe it was the turn of the season making you nostalgic, but somehow the conversation drifted into you making a confession, about what you missed the most about your family.

Your parents had passed on, and your sister was distant. She had her own family and her own life, and she wanted to keep it far away from the things you hunted. You couldn’t blame her, even if the thought of her always pierced your heart.

Beyond than that, what you missed was the house where you grew up, small but cozy and lived in. You missed the smell of pine and cinnamon that filled the living room every day of December. You missed the nights you and your sister curled up by the fire late at night playing imaginary games, long after your parents’ had put you guys to bed. You missed your mother’s cooking, and helping her bake molasses cookies on Christmas Eve.

You missed togetherness, the feeling of warmth and safety.

You tilted your head at Dean.

“Yeah, but…” you trailed, not willing to finish the thought as another suspicion grew in your mind.

“Just thought we could do some of that this year for you, that’s all,” he said. And he shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal. His hands were busy untangling some lights. “Matter of fact, we could all use the time off.”

You couldn’t help but pause. Your breathing shallowed, and no matter how much you fought it, tears stung in your eyes. You bit your lip to try and hold it all at bay. When Dean glanced up at you, he had to do a double take. It made you smile, despite your slightly blurring vision.

“Hey, what—”

You dropped your end of the lights and went to him. You raised up on your toes so you could wrap your arms around his neck in a warm hug. Dean uttered a surprised huff, but his arms came around your waist and gathered you closer. He soon realized he was still holding onto the tangle of lights, and he hung them on a nearby tree branch for now. His smile overtook his surprise and crinkled the corners of his eyes.

“I love you. You know that right?” Your voice was muffled in his neck, but he heard you well enough. He chuckled and slipped a soothing hand up and down your back.

“I do know, actually,” he said, his voice warm and teasing.

A giggle escaped you. You tugged on his short hair in retaliation, making him chuckle.

“Hey,” he warned, but it had heat of a different kind. His hand began venturing down to your ass, but before he could do some retaliating of his own, a door swung open and Sam came down the stairs hefting a couple different boxes of ornaments.

He raised a brow, though he smiled at the way you and his brother were entwined. You half pulled away to nod at Sam, sniffling at quickly wiping at your face. Dean dried some of the wetness from the corner of your eye with a curled finger. You glanced up at him and couldn’t help blushing, smiling, despite your embarrassment.

Dean still had an arm wrapped around your waist as you peered over at the boxes Sam set down near the tree. One of them caught your attention and made your eyes widen.

“Oh my God. They’re Scooby Doo themed!”

The rest of the afternoon was spent decorating the tree with Frank Sinatra and Bing Crosby echoing throughout the common room. After you made a trip to the grocery store, soon the smell of cinnamon, brown sugar and rich molasses joined the scent of pine throughout the entire bunker.

It was a Christmas Eve well spent. The night was filled with a rewatch marathon of Home Alone and Christmas Vacation. You agreed to Dean throwing in Elf into the mix, as long as you got to watch Love Actually, and The Holiday with Jude Law. Dean complained more than Sam about your girly chick-flicks, but he became just as invested in Colin Firth pouring his heart out in mangled Portuguese to Aurelia as you were, if less teary-eyed.

When The Holiday came around though, he was half asleep as he laid sprawled across your lap and the couch. Your nails gently massaging his scalp nearly did him in, along with Sam’s heavy-ass pour of eggnog. It was tradition, at this point.

By the end of the movie marathon, you were the one snoozing from your corner of the couch, your hand still in Dean’s hair.

He carried you to bed that night, your eyelids heavy as you teetered back and forth between slumber and the waking world. At least you were already in your pajamas. All he had to do was tuck you under the sheets on your side of the bed, then slip in behind you afterwards.

His arm draped around your waist, and you curled towards him, half on instinct as you let out a deep breath. Dean smiled as you settled against his chest. Your soft snores soon greeted his ears. Only then did he let himself rest…

Just not for long.

You woke earlier than you planned to in the morning, mainly because your man pillow was no longer beside you. You reached out a hand and found Dean’s side of the bed empty and cold, the covers pulled back. With a frown, you opened bleary eyes and checked your phone. It was around the ungodly hour of 5:30 a.m.

What the hell was Dean doing up at the crack of dawn?

Unless… You paused as your memory served you a grim reminder. Unless he’d had a rough night, kept up by memories and dreams he didn’t always want to talk to you about. It wouldn’t be the first time he came back to bed after a few hours with the heady smell of bourbon on him.

You got up with a sigh, rolling your neck as you did so. You just wanted to check on him. Maybe you could even persuade him to come back to bed.

You threw on a sweater over your pajamas and some fluffy slippers Sam bought you for your birthday—all to shield you from the bunker’s chilly air and ice-cold floors. You’d have to remind Dean to check on the heater.

You padded out of the bedroom and down the long hall…and became distracted by the Christmas tree in the common room. It really was beautiful all lit up. The lights softly flashed in green, red, purple, and gold. Traditional red and gold ornaments hung beside the Scooby Doo themed ones, with Fred and Daphne front and center, along with the rest of the gang scattered throughout.

And then you found Dean.

“Damn it…friggin’ piece of shit ribbon…”

Dean’s muttering drew your attention to his hunched figure kneeling at the base of the tree. Your head tilted in wonder as your face broke out into a smile. What the hell is he doing? You tried to be light on your feet as you approached him from behind. Peering over his shoulder, you could almost see what he was trying do with some shiny red wrapping paper and a big golden bow.

Your heart swelled. Had he really gotten you and Sam something for Christmas too? He didn’t need to get you anything…

Dean’s hunter reflexes must’ve been tingling though, because suddenly he sat up straighter and looked over his shoulder. His eyes widened when he saw you standing there in your pajamas, arms crossed over your robe.

He actually jolted, muttering a curse as he tried to cover up what he was doing.

“What’cha doin’, babe?” you asked. Your eyes gleamed with amusement.

Dean tried to get up, but his foot slipped on a stray ribbon. He careened back onto his ass and knocked into the tree. Not only did its branches poke into his face and arm, making him wince, but he managed to displace a couple of ornaments, sending them tumbling to the floor by his hand. He grunted and raised up onto his forearms. For the pièce de résistance, that lovely golden bow landed right in his lap.

With raised brows, you took in the sight of your man—all bedraggled and looking sheepish (and adorable) as hell. Your hand went up to cover your mouth, but you were unable to quiet the giggle that bubbled up and escaped your lips.

Dean cleared his throat. “Hey.”

You glanced down at the bow, almost perfectly placed in his lap.

“Hey,” you replied, your lips curving into a smile.

You lowered down to kneel in front of him, and you took his face in your gentle hands before you leaned in for a sweet, sensuous kiss. Dean breathed into it. Your eyes shut along with his as you savored the moment, and him.

When you parted, your smile remained as you fingered the shiny edge of the bow. Dean began to smirk as well, despite how warm his face had gotten. His big hands found their way to your hips, welcoming you when you took a comfortable seat over his thighs.

You whispered against his lips, “I already know which present I’m gonna unwrap first.”

AN: Lol there we go, a cheeky ending for you! Let me know if you liked this! ❤️💚

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wardenparker · 6 months ago

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At the Ballet

Joel Miller x female reader A PedroStories Secret Santa Gift!

Rating: General audience, but please remember that this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 1.4k Warnings: Cursing, one that got away, slight angst from yearning. Summary: When Tommy's girlfriend gets tickets to the ballet, Sarah is excited to attend. But Joel never could have expected who he would find there, or that he would find himself grateful for a night at at the ballet. Notes: Happy PedroStories Secret Santa 2024 to @pascalispretty! I hope your holiday season is lovely and bright, and that you enjoy your story! Swan Lake was one of the first ballets I ever saw, so that really stuck in my mind, and I loved the idea of Joel finding his way to the arts because Sarah loves them.

“I don’t understand why the hell we’re doing this.” Joel grumbled, inspecting himself in the mirror as Tommy tossed his well-loved plaid flannel back onto the bed and put a sports jacket into his hands instead.

“Because she’s my girlfriend.” Tommy reminded him for the fourteen time.

“Okay, fine.” Joel huffed. He rolled his eyes at the jacket and hung it on the nearest piece of furniture, wondering if he even had a clean button-down shirt in his closet. “I don’t understand why I’m doing this.”

“Because you’re my fucking brother.” Tommy shot back. He’s actually got a real tie on, not a clip on or a bolo, and he’s trying so damn hard for this girl. “And because Sarah is excited to go. So finish getting dressed, you grumpy ass, and I’ll buy you a drink at the theater.”

“You should have led with that.” He’s busting his brother’s chops, but it’s worth doing. Tommy’s girlfriend has been around long enough that she’s been introduced to Sarah and started coming over for dinner semi-regularly, and she had somehow gotten ahold of four tickets to the ballet. Sarah had been thrilled at the news and immediately started planning what she was going to wear and begging her Dad and uncle to take them all out to dinner as well.

And, well, Joel Miller has never been able to deny his daughter anything in the world.

It’s with that in mind that Joel is begrudgingly cleaning himself up tonight. Because his little girl is down the hall putting on a dressed and doing her hair, and she looked so damn much like her mother when he had passed her room earlier that it had made his heart ache. Anything for Sarah. Anything at all.

Ballet Austin is a little bit of a drive away since they live on the edge of the city, but he doesn’t mind. Of anything, Joel actually does like driving. It gives him a sense of peace. Or at least it usually does – right now Sarah, Tommy, and Tommy’s girlfriend Sonja are chatting animatedly about the show that they are all going to see. Swan Lake apparently has a hard plot to follow, if he’s overhearing this right. Or maybe it’s just that ballets have no dialogue. Either way, he doesn’t really care. He’s going for all of them to enjoy themselves, not to understand what the hell is going on onstage.

At least, that was what he thought.

He had never expected to open the program in his seat and see you there. Clear as day, though, your photograph and name with the character name Odile were listed right there on the page listing principal dancers.

Suddenly, Joel is the biggest ballet convert in the world.

There is plenty of good reason for it, though. More than just being you, the dancing is gorgeous. Not that he doesn’t remember what a good dancer you were when you were younger. Teaching him how not to embarrass himself at the homecoming dance. Doing the choreography from Footloose and goofing off instead of playing whatever sport was supposed to be the assignment in gym class.

He knew you had taken dance classes, but he had never really bothered to find out more. To ask what kind. To pay some damn attention and get to know you better. He should have been so much better. He knew it even then, which is why he could do nothing but kick himself in the pants when Alex Draper asked you out at the beginning of junior year of high school before he could summon up the courage.

That was the year Sarah’s mother had moved to town, and he had started dating the new girl instead. The whole thing stank of what might have been.

******

Sarah begs Joel to take her to the stage door after the show, hoping to meet some of the dancers and tell them how amazing their performance was. She’s always liked theater and this wouldn’t be the first time that he took her to a stage door, but the chance that he might run into you has him smoothing his shirt and straightening his tie and practically thanking Tommy for forcing him to dress nicely.

“What’s got Joel so self-conscious?” Sonja whispered from the top of the alley where she and Tommy waited and cuddled in the dim streetlight.

“You accidentally managed to lead him right to the first girl he ever loved.” Tommy whispers back, chuckling quietly into her shoulder as he leaves a kiss on her neck. “One of the dancers that Sarah wants to meet so desperately.”

“And we’re back here?” Sonja huffs. She smirks and nudges Tommy, obviously trying to point him down the alley. “Joel Miller as a boy in love? I gotta see this.”

Sarah is, in point of fact, the only fan at this stage door tonight. And while Joel hates that on principle because it means that she doesn’t really have anyone to share her unbridled enthusiasm with, he’s also glad. Her presence there is delighting the dancers and every single one of them is stopping to sign her program and take a photo with her, all of them giving her a big hug in the process.

The young woman who danced Odette is lingering, seemingly waiting for something or someone, or maybe just enjoying the attention, when the stage door opens again, and you walk through.

“Sweetie, come over here!” Odette calls, waving you over. This is what she was waiting for, apparently, and her smile beams as she introduces young Sarah Miller to the dancer she became so enamored with during the show.

It really isn’t too often that you’re asked to sign programs, and you are beyond flattered to have Sarah ask for an autograph and a photo. You stand and chat with the young teen for a few minutes before even registering that she is young enough that she should have chaperones nearby, and that is when you look up to find him staring at you.

“Joel?” It has been almost fifteen years since you saw him last. Since your high school graduation day. But you would still recognize him anywhere.

“Hey.” His hands are in his pockets, but he still has that lopsided grin and perfect single dimple that made all the girls swoon. He still aims it like a weapon, always able to make the whoever he was talking to feel like the only person in the room.

“Hey yourself.” The warmth in your cheeks is unmistakable, and for good reason. Joel Miller didn’t just grow up good, he grew up damn sexy.

“Dad, you know her?” Sarah wheels around with a bright, excited look on her face.

“Dad?” Your eyebrow is raised, but you do remember hearing about Joel getting married shortly after high school, and something vague about him having a kid. Your mother had given you the news she heard while out grocery shopping one day. Just the same way that she had given you the news a year or two later when that same habit of grocery store eavesdropping yielded the news that Joel was now single again after a nasty divorce.

“This is my daughter, Sarah.” He introduces her proudly, both hands on her shoulders and a puffed up chest saying more than simple words ever could about how much he adores his little girl. He introduces you to Sarah next, explaining you used to be friends in school. “She—we— really loved the show tonight.”

“Well, thank you. Everyone in the cast is just incredible.”

“Yeah, you are!” Sarah chirps, her eyes wide as she looks between you and her father. “Dad! You should invite your friend to come have ice cream with us!”

Joel’s smile grows, tucking into the corner of his mouth like a secret, but he lobs that fastball of an offer back to you politely. “I’m sure she has other things to do tonight, honey. Maybe another time, sweetie.” He doesn’t want to say no. He can feel his heart hammering out of his chest and he wonders how you managed to get even more beautiful when you were already the prettiest girl he had ever seen in his whole life.

Looking back to your friends, you lend them a quick smile before facing Joel again and shaking your head. “Not at all,” you tell him – both of them, technically. “Free as a bird.”

Your smile grows, and Sarah matches it. “Free as a swan,” she insists.

“Right.” Joel joins in that laugh, air rushing out of his chest as he gets nervous all over again. “Free as a swan.”

He’s not going to fuck it up this time. He’s not. He’s not going to let you slip through his fingers a second time…

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #PedroStories #PedroStoriesGift24 #Joel Miller #Joel Miller x female reader #Joel Miller x reader #Joel Miller x you #Joel Miller x ballet reader #The Last of Us #TLoU #TLoU HBO #preoutbreak Joel #Secret Santa gift

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