#and I think dean hears it one night and tucks it away to never be thought about again

[bloodfreak-boyking]

do you guys think when Sam was really little and starting to pray, he would pray to Dean because Dean was always the one that fixed things and made things right? Cause I sure do

[prentissluvr]

three seconds — sam winchester

for : 200+ followers event [ closed ] ➖⟢ pairing : sam winchester x gn!reader ➖⟢ genre : fluff ➖⟢ cw : light swearing, accidental cuddling, casual mention of marriage between sam and reader (it's just dean teasing tho lol), idiots friends to lovers, kissing, barely edited ➖⟢ wc : 1.2K prompt : sleeping in the same bed, as they’d often do, but one morning waking up cuddling

to be truthful, this isn’t the first time you’ve woken up with yours and sam’s limbs entangled with each other’s. it’s just far less common for his hand to be so gloriously attached to your waist or his face to be tucked all sweet and warm into your neck. your own hands are placed in his hair and on his broad shoulder blade.

waking up like this is heaven; first, in the moments before you can process exactly what is happening, and second, once you realize and can bask in the splendor of having him so intimately close and vulnerable with you. then it comes crashing down as you remember that this isn’t quite how it’s supposed to be, and that you’ll never, not for a moment, be able to get this feeling out of your head, your body.

which means every moment after you untangle yourself from him will be full of a pure, undying, taunting want, maybe even need, to have him like that again. such a feeling is a general inconvenience as one considers that sam is your best friend, that he and his brother are just about all you have, and that you’d rather die than lose them to the fact that you’re in love with him. so clearly, it’s better he never knows, it’s just that constantly thinking about cuddling with him tends to lead to you making heart eyes at him or your cheeks flushing hot when he looks at you a moment too long.

then there’s the realization that sam is still asleep, the steady rhythm of his breath tickling your neck is both comforting and terrifying all at once. what if he wakes and jerks away, uncomfortable with your proximity? should you push him away before he even realizes the position you’re in? it’s not as if sam doesn’t enjoy physical affection; he pretends he doesn’t, but you’re convinced that he’s a cuddlebug at heart. maybe that’s an overly cute way of putting it, but you can feel how much he loves hugs, how much he enjoys having his head in your lap when you get a rare movie night. you’re just worried that this is too much, too close for even him.

and yet, you’re feeling selfish, because what if you never get him like this again? so you close your eyes again and just revel in the way it feels to have the tip of his nose pressed to your neck and his forehead against your jaw. his hands on you, so steady and sure in his sleep. his hair, soft between your fingers and the muscle of his back under your palm. his leg, tucked between yours. just the weight of him, pressed against you all solid and real and almost immovable until he wakes.

you hear dean stir a few feet away and you pray he won’t be able to tell you’re not asleep. breath even and eyes still gently closed, you hear dean move about, mumbling to himself. he’s digging around in a bag, pulling something out. then you feel him move closer and you swear he’s hovering at the foot of the bed.

then you hear a click, like that of a camera shutter, and you realize dean’s taken a picture of the two of you like this. pictures of the three of you are rarer, and dean being the one to take it means it’s special. you suppose blackmail is special in its own way and beg to no one that dean didn’t hear your breath hitch as you realize this moment is now immortalized by a picture that dean’ll print out someday and shove in your faces to make fun.

then dean’s mumbling to himself again, now close and loud enough for you to make out his words. “these two,” he sighs, tone practically chastising as if he sees something glaringly obvious, but the both of you can’t seem to quite get there. “i swear, the heart eyes from across the room, the longing gazes. god, they’ll be the death of me.” 

he really, truly thinks you’re asleep. he talks like this when he doesn’t know you can hear him. though usually not about you and sam, not like this. “they’re both such idiots. idiots in love,” he laughs humorlessly to himself, then turns away, stuffing the camera back in the bag he dug it out from. “maybe i should lock them in a closet,” he considers, voice so low you can barely catch his words, “see who caves first. then they’ll probably only thank me for that or the puke-inducingly cute photo once they’re married, those ungrateful asses. kids these days.” he lets out a huff of breath as he heads to the bathroom, seemingly done with his ranting about … about what? you and sam being in love with each other? what the hell was he saying, married? you and sam? you have to hold back from letting out a lovesick sigh.

you’re so caught up turning dean’s words over in your mind that only sam’s hand lightly squeezing your side brings you back to the present. your eyes shoot open and you pull your hand out of his hair. sam parts from you, barely. how long has he been awake? you’re almost too scared to look at sam, who hasn’t even attempted to untangle himself from you. he’s still got his hand on your waist and his leg tucked between yours and your eyes catch his without you meaning to. it’s always like that; your eyes will wander until they find his face, every time. it’s habit, instinct, unavoidable.

he looks at you long, and something about his pretty eyes turned green from the morning light and the color of the sheets keeps you holding his gaze, taking him in as he does you.

when sam finally speaks, his voice is hushed, but there’s this barely contained joy to it, begging to be released. “think we should save him the trouble?” the playfulness in his voice tugs at the corner of your lips. when he sounds happy, you can’t help but feel that way.

“of?” you ask, thinking you know what he means, but wanting to be sure.

“of locking us in a closet. sounds like a bit of a hassle, if you ask me,” he smiles at you, and his words plus the sight of his dimples has got you grinning without restraint. you wonder again how long sam was awake, but completely without apprehension this time. all the two of you needed was a few playful words exchanged, and now you know. though you wouldn’t have without dean’s unwittingly overheard grumbles, so you supposed you will have to thank him after all.

“i don’t know,” you say with a false air of careful thinking, “seems like it could be fun, y’know? it’s been too long since we’ve played a good trick on dean, don’t you think?”

sam doesn’t have an answer for that because he’s been too busy staring at the way your lips move, still pulled into a smile as you talk. you take another good look at him and wonder, how in the world did i miss it? the way he looks at me?

if he doesn’t kiss you within three seconds flat, you’ll do it yourself. it takes him those three seconds exactly, and you move in such synch it’s possible that your lips meet right in the perfect middle of the barely-there space between you.

[joannasteez]

WIP WEDNESDAY!

thanks for the tag! @harmshake a little lumberjack!roman i’ve been slowly chippin away at, i have no clue when this will be ready to post but i dont know, maybe its worth a share of what i have so far

his beer is cold. wet glass slipping against his skin. a crisp hoppy taste on his tongue that settles till his belly excites with warm. the ache in his hands seeking a temporary remedy, holding to the chill of the bottle. thick fingers working with a diligent memory of axes and chainsaws. an all day affair thats old and tedious. the smell of walnut and oak and maple, chips of fly away wood and the hard sun. a good cold beer after a hard day was a must. mandatory. so friday's meant a beer plus two extra. but never four because jey always overdid shit and he had to be the dad of the group. had to take care of baby boy jey. and sometimes seth. and sometimes dean. because dean loved to play and fuck around, car keys jingling between the saucy slip of his fingers, feigning the mind of a sober man and the reckless lust of a drunk one. cackling and teary eyed, because panic about roman's face was just so fucking funny.

lucy's is a town bar. built dead center and extremely assessable. and lucy's has everything. karaoke for jimmy & jey, darts for seth and solo, pool for dean, and nice comfy worn leather booths for roman. his favorite booth on the far left side of lucy's, tucked up against the wall. equidistant from the bathroom set behind the karaoke stage and the bar. where his quiet half sleepy eyes could roam and observe. a little people watching as he sips the gold-ish brew. nibbling at almost soggy nachos and pulling loose the tight knot holding his hair. oak wood from day labor soaking through the inky thickness of it. listening to dean and seth complain about management. because if they weren't at work, they were off the clock rambling and ranting about work. a cyclic state of affairs that started and ended the same way.

first seth. that half snarly little grimace. hair rolled up in a top bun. voice raspy and raw.

"...because how the fuck are you never actually in office and thee greatest-most idiotic micro manager ever, he needs to pick a damn struggle...

and then dean. his finger running to scratch against his auburn beard. just as pissed. words slightly slurred.

"...and then had the absolute gaul to tell me how to do my job. that piece of shit prick never held an axe or a chainsaw in his damn life. goddamn third generation wood chippin dick..."

and roman laughs. his eyes wrinkling. sipping and chewing and falling into the recurrence of every friday night.

"...and his little assistant, who he's totally nailing by the way, i hear her screeching like a damn banshee whenever he's actually in office, had the nerve... the unmitigated nerve to send around a birthday card asking for small donations and to write him a message..."

and dean cackles. gasps from disbelief and leans into roman's shoulder. his forehead banging lightly into the wood of the table. empty beer bottles rattling from his show of contempt.

"...boys i swear, i promise the two of you, they both can get an expedited shipment of my fat cock to suck dry if they think i'm putting two of my very hard earned dollars into a target card for his birthday. his pops should've kept him swimmin in his balls..."

roman smiles. his eyes roaming about lucy's. towards the peace of the bar. his favorite little bartender hard at work. smiling and mixing away.

and here comes the turning over into the second bit of his friday night cyclic affair. a from afar trailing of the eyes, sneaky bouts of admiration sweetened by the beer fizzling his blood. and God do you look sweet. a friendly toothy little smile that piques his curiosity. plush lips, round eyes and fanning lashes that leave you looking delicate. he's unsure though, it could be the beer, the droning of the bar and the exhaustion in his shoulders. tight and soldering to his bones. it all could be feeding his mild delusions. making you look more angelic than you could be, a projection of dreams born from some long avoided longing. and when you finally commit yourself to seeking out the source of such an ardent sensation only the eyes of another can give, you meet him. a glass in your hand and curiosity about your face. so clearly in bartender mode. gauging patron based needs, before the inevitable look away. your lips bitten and a smile threatening to break.

but it never becomes anything more than this tit for tat of a moment. lingering eyes and unspoken things.  something threatening to edge the course of friendly and cautious. your smile seeming to only do him a favor. a courtesy. because he probably wasn't the first man to have such a silent high school adjacent crush on his local bartender and he for sure wouldn't be the last. and no one will ever hear him say it but roman isn't too keen on rejection. he rather live with your cautious little smiles. a short tuck away into his back pocket as he sips at his beer. he'll add it to store away for later, when he's alone with silence and the beginnings of bedtime fantasies.

no pressure tags: @kill-the-artiste @thesamoanqueen and anyone else who’d like to participate!

[according2thelore]

I just saw a writing prompt that I HAVE to share with you when we talk about the Codependent Brothers(tm) because it'd be hilarious.

A reversal of the "there was only one bed" trope. Instead, I offer: too many beds

I just love the idea of Sam and dean, maybe post getting together, not knowing how to function when having to sleep separately. They're so used to cramped motel rooms with single beds, and after becoming official(read: declaring their love to each other in the moonlight and then fucking nasty in the impala) they feel even LESS able to handle this dilemma.

Maybe they have to put up an act for someone, maybe they are forced to eb separated by outside forces, or maybe they just forgot that that was an option. Either way I just think it would be hilarious watching them fumble their way through realizing they have to sleep in separate beds for once.

(This would also fit in the LS/ES Verse because LS! Sam and Dean would have to hide their relationship from their younger selves, who make it a point, and take great effort to actively Not Be Too Weird Or Clingy around their brother who they're secretly desperately in love with.)

"there's two beds."

dean looks up at sam's flat tone, and his stomach sinks as he realizes, oh shit. there are two beds.

the clerk at the counter must've given them a key to the wrong room.

they'd been carefully "accidentally"ing themselves into rooms with kings since that night a few months ago, dean's blood soaking underneath sam's nails and sam finally kissing the fuck out of dean--the absolute hell out of him--as he'd slipped into hypovolemic unconsciousness.

since then, dean had talked sam into sleeping in his room in the bunker. it started as sam sleeping over after sex, but they weren't twenty anymore, and after the sixth night of marathon acrobatic fucking, dean had said "maybe we could watch a few episodes of game of thrones" and tried very hard to strategically fall asleep on top of sam so he couldn't get up and leave.

after that, the convincing got less...well, convincing, but sam stayed anyway. somehow, his clothes migrated over to dean's dresser. his toothbrush sat next to his on the sink. his house shoes stayed next to the bed.

that's it. just the one bed. but now...

"i could," dean clears his throat. "i could go ask him to switch us."

sam tears his eyes away from the damning beds in question.

"huh? i mean. no."

dean blinks. sam shrugs, looking unsure.

"nah, it should be fine, right? it's just for a night."

dean nods.

"yeah. i mean we've slept in separate beds for thirty years." dean agrees, a factual statement. they stare at each other. they stare at the beds.

just two red-blooded american guys staring at two separate beds.

like god intended.

dean is in front of the clerk thirty-nine seconds later, being told that there's a boxcar rally in town. he won't find a king bed this side of the river.

or the next river. dean asked.

dean has been sleeping in a bed by himself--he does the math--for almost thirty-six years of his life. he knocked off three cumulative years for how often he and sam shared beds as kids and that year with lisa.

so he's used to sleeping in his own bed. never mind that dean has never been sleeping better than the past few months. he thought he just slept poorly, but he dares any person alive or dead to not sleep like a goddamn baby when sam has his hulk-hogan arm wrapped around your torso. you can't. it's a scientific impossibility.

it turns out that the regular soothing effect of hearing sam breathe that could get dean to sleep for the first forty years of his life (minus the first four for obvious reasons, dean doesn't really count those anyway) worked exponentially better when sam was actually exhaling against dean's sternum. who knew?

dean was getting a full six, a full eight, a full nine hours of sleep tucked up behind sam, and the hair in his mouth--while a trade off that deserved consideration--could be overlooked.

dean is sitting in his bed later that night, unsure of where to put his arms. or his legs. or his body. sam is standing next to his own bed, looking confused.

dean looks at him, and damn. this room is huge. he's like...really far away.

"so." dean says, voice a little louder so sam can hear him all the way over there, "we should get up at seven. to get to montana by tomorrow afternoon."

sam nods.

"yeah, okay." he says. he sits down on his bed. dean realizes that because he's used to sleeping on the side closest to the door, and sam is used to sleeping on the opposite side, that they're pressed to opposite sides of their separate beds, giving the maximum amount of space between them.

dean frowns. he turns the light off.

he can barely hear sam breathe in the dark. how the hell did he hear him before? he scoots over, and finds that sam has already done the same. they stare at each other across the three foot space between beds.

dean is hot. like he's...really hot. he kicks the blankets off.

sam has pulled his blankets up to his chin. how the hell is he cold right now?

minutes tick by. they build up on top of each other like snowflakes on a drift.

dean has his eyes closed, and thinks he's probably close to something, but just as he's maybe getting somewhere, sam turns over, and dean loses the sound of his breathing.

dean blinks up at the ceiling, wide awake.

"hey. hm. hey sammy. can you. uh. can you turn back over?" dean whisper-calls.

sam turns back over.

dean looks at the clock. it's thirty two minutes past when they laid down.

"what the hell?" dean smacks the clock a few times. it stays the same. he watches for over thirty minutes as it turns from 11:23 to 11:24. dean flops back against the bed. this is a fucking nightmare.

sam sneezes.

"gesundheit." dean says. sam thanks him. dean starts counting cars that go by on the interstate. he makes it to forty-seven when sam sighs heavily.

"okay," he says, firm, and he stands up. dean whirls back around to look at him, and watches as sam crosses the chasm between their beds, and kicks dean's body with his knee. "move."

dean rolls over immediately, tangling in his blankets in his fervor to get over.

sam wraps his humungo he-man arm around dean's waist as he crawls into his bed.

dean is asleep before his head hits the pillow.

in the morning, dean's left arm and leg are cold and numb, sam having squished all the blood and feeling out of it. they sleep through their alarm, they sleep so well. dean is pulling sam's hairs out of his mouth for the rest of the day. sam has a crick in his neck that dean sees him wincing about every time he turns his head.

"next time," sam says, folding himself into the passenger seat of the impala as they get ready to drive away, "we'll go to the next state if we have to."

dean nods.

it would be easier. it's not like they need it, though, or anything.

~~~

ES/LS BONUS!

"yes, it's time to go sleep in my bed," dean says, standing up. his teeth are clenched. "by myself."

his younger self looks at him like he's speaking a different language. dean glares at him. it's his fucking fault he's not getting any goddamn sleep around here.

"yeah." sammy says, hauling himself up. he sounds defeated. "a night of 'sleep' will do me good."

"why did you say it like that?" sam says, brushing his bangs out of his face, and looking up at his older self. "i heard those air quotes. what was that about?"

"because we sleep normally." sammy says, bitterly. "like regular people."

"do y'all hang from the ceiling or something?" younger dean asks. "what the fuck is happening right now?" "we're going to bed!" dean snaps. "because we're regular people, who treat each other regularly!"

"i have never felt more normal in my life," sammy agrees solemnly. "good night."

dean and sammy don't see the baffled what the fuck sam mouths at younger dean, or the way younger dean makes sure he has his silver knife in his pocket. maybe things aren't all they seem around here. bc what the hell was that?

but their younger selves don't see the forlorn look dean shoots sammy before he closes his door. sammy sighs ten minutes later, thunking his head on his own closed door. he forgot his toothbrush in dean's room.

~~~

this ask was DELIGHTFUL!!!!!!!

this was SUCH a fun prompt, and i had such a great time writing it, thank you sm bestie 🥹

trust that i have seen your other ask! i have been in a ES/LS rut for the past few weeks as i work on my big bang piece (an ES!Dean/LS!Sam fic that i'm excited for y'all to see later this year!). but i shall answer! i promise!

thank you for this ask, animangalover! mwah <3 hope you're doing well!

-lizzy

[wickedwitchofthesouth]

Listen I know the whole "do you Journal Dean?" "Ever since I was a little girl" joke makes it look like Dean does not unfact journal BUT WHAT IF!!! what if he DOES journal because John journaled because let's be honest other than drinking and breaking things that's the only other (non-violent) way he knows how to cope.

Okay maybe he doesn't have a little diary where he writes all his deepest darkest little secrets but I like to think that maybe when he moved in with Lisa and Ben, he also started going to therapy? Obviously it was impossiblely hard to convince him and sure he only agreed to go once a month and to be honest, now that he looks back on it didn't really do shit but the one thing that seemed to help him the most was writing. He does not journal! but maybe he writes letters to everyone. Letters he'll never send, letters filled to the brim with words he'll never say

In the beginning most of his letters were addressed to Sammy, is baby brother, the only reason he even wanted to hunt. To protect his brother, to allow him to live in a world where nothing goes bump in the night.

And after Sammys first death, nothing was easy, but the letters helped. more than Ben and Lisa more than the few and far between calls he'd pick up from bobby. The letters were the only place where he didn't feel the need to pretend.

But after Sammy came back the letters stopped. Dean convinced himself that Sam was the only reason he felt this empty pit in his heart and once he came back he didn't need the letters anymore. Even if he wanted to write, where would he even get the time or privacy.

They'd stopped, but Dean still carried them around like stolen momentous that he constantly told himself he needed to get rid of (and conveniently forget to)

The second time the letters start is when he loses Cas to the leviathan. He's angry, he hates what Cas did to them... what he did to himself. 'Fuck this! fuck you and fuck every other prissy angel out there! I shouldve never trusted you i hate you. i hate you for leaving us more fucked over than the last 2 apocalypses, i hate you for leaving with your tail tucked between your legs. I hate you just for leaving at all, so come back so i can yell at you to your face, you coward! Just come back'

Every thought in his head that he can't bring himself to yell out loud, he tells the parchment with his pen as the vessel.

'Shit is getting fucking harder, we need you cas we cant do this without you' 'I can't do this without you"

When Cas comes back the letters stopped again. Dean finds a place to hide them so well that half the time he forgets they're even there

And thats just how the cycle goes, he writes when talking takes more energy than he has left to give. One for each person he's ever lost. 10 for Sam, 20 for Cas.

Sometimes he just writes when he's angry at someone. 20 for Sam, 30 for Cas

Sometimes he just writes for the sake of it, unspoken words he's too scared to confess out loud. 50 for Cas, 100 for Cas, all for Cas

When Dean dies, Sam finds the stash of letters stowed away in a dusty old shoebox on the roof of Dean's cupboard. He sees the letters addressed to him. Something in him is begging him not to read them, but his curiosity gets the better of him.

He should've listened to that something because for the rest of the day after that Sam finds himself reading through letter after letter that was written to him but never sent. He cries like a baby, the kind of sob that Dean would've made fun of him for when they were kids. Gosh what he'd give just to hear Dean give him a snarky remark now.

Sam doesn't read the letters addressed to other people, he doesn't have the heart too anymore. So the next day he makes it a mission to take the letters to everyone Dean has ever written too

Two letters left where they'd spread Charlie's Ashes, One at Kevin's, four for Dad, four for mom, one for crowley, three for Jack, and on it goes

Until the only things left are the unread letters addressed to Castiel. Even after taking out all the other ones it still feels like the box is over flowing, but cas is the only one left.

He leaves them in the flower feild where Dean had spread Cas' ashes. Sam knew that it wasn't where Cas was layed to rest, because truth be told Sam had no idea what had even happened to Cas. Dean refused to talk about it and Sam was too distraught by the awful expression on Dean's face every time Cas became a topic to bring it up over and over again.

So he let the letters go in a place where he thought Cas would appreciate. Wherever he was, Sam hoped that it would bring him peace - the thought that Dean would have wanted him to rest in a place as beautiful as the flower field over looking the mountains.

[mishapocalyse]

Perfect Heart (Part One)

Dean Winchester x Reader

Warning ⚠️: Depictions of self harm, suicidal tendencies and mentions of depression and mental illness. Language. Later --sexual themes. Description: Dean and Sam went on a hunt, leaving you to your own devices. A week before they left you overheard them talking about you leaving you to feel as worthless as ever.

Read at your own risk.

Note: If you’re struggling just know you are never alone.

Dean had been waiting on you to call him back as he had left several voice messages and fifteen missed calls in your voicemail box. He wasn't at all worried, he knew you. You would accidentally leave your phone on Do Not Disturb while you were busy working on something, whether it would be finishing that book series or binge watching your shows on Netflix.

He trusted that you were safe and sound back at the bunker, while he and Sam took their time driving back from a hunt damn near five hours from you. Dean planned on making some dinner for the two of you.

Probably something he wouldn't burn, like spaghetti, or just picking up something so that he wouldn't risk it. Whatever he planned on doing, he knew you would appreciate it.

You would have appreciated it, if you were even stable enough to pick yourself up off of your bedroom floor. You stared into space, fighting this game of tug o' war inside your head.

Contemplating whether or not you would actually do it. Whether you would off yourself tonight, or wait another couple months when you hit rock bottom in the comfort of your bedroom.

Your eyes squinted, the lights were too bright, the walls too dark, and such a suffocating color. You had your knees pulled up against you, trying so hard to comfort yourself, steadily rocking back and forth.

"I'm okay." You said to yourself between breaths. "I'll be just fine."

That voice in the back of your mind would not keep quiet, though. The dark, amalgamation of voices, of childhood trauma and past relationships coming back to haunt you, when you thought you had finally gotten away from it all.

You tugged your jacket a bit tighter around yourself, tucked your head between your legs, trying to breath as calmly as you could. Your thoughts drifted away, to Dean and to Sam. The two brothers who you thought so highly of. But you heard their conversation a couple of days before they had left.

That was a week ago.

You were walking down the hallway, about to head down to the common area when you heard the two brothers arguing downstairs.

"Do you really think I wanted to bring her along? Y/N? One of these days she's going to get herself killed." Dean huffs.

"Then why don't you tell her to leave then? Get it over with. She can go home, back to her apartment. And never have to see us again." Sam replied, a loud slam on the table made her jump, it was probably either Dean or Sam throwing their stuff onto one of the tables.

"I couldn't do that. I couldn't just tell her to leave. It would make things a hell of a lot worse. If it were up to me or you or anyone. The best choice would just let her go. Let her make her mistake." Dean retorts, the chair squeaking as she heard his sigh sitting down.

Sam scoffs. "Just let her die then? That's as bad as saying for her to just kill herself, Dean."

You slowly retreated back to your room in disbelief. You felt like you were dreaming, except it was not even a dream, it was a full blown nightmare. You expected to be safe after that night. But as you had gotten to your room, you could hear the boys coming up the stairs, their voices growing louder as you hurriedly shut off your light and locked the door. They could have easily picked the lock, but hopefully they would just ignore it and go on.

"She still asleep?" You heard Sam ask.

"That's all she ever does anymore, Sam. It's sad, dude." Dean mutters.

Sam stops just right in front of your door, the two pairs of footsteps as it was silent between them for a brief moment.

"Look Dean, I know you're upset at the fact Y/N doesn't hunt with us as often anymore. You need to cut her some fucking slack. I'm not going to lose my best friend because you want to be a dick." Sam growls, walking away, leaving Dean just outside your door.

It takes you a minute to recuperate as you peak up to still see his boots at your door. It doesn't take long, but he knocks, without your surprise.

"You up?" His gruff voice asks. You don't answer, or move. You just wait him out, as you hear him heave a sigh as his boots retreat down the hallway.

Now here you were. They would be back in no time, and you sat with the phone ringing beside you. You tried to act like it was all fine except it wasn't. You drew back your sleeves, your head resting on the side of the bed, your legs now spread out in front of you. It didn't take long for you to lose the battle in your head. The small switchblade you were given by Bobby pricked at your skin as it drew the cleanest of lines.

Just like he said it would.

But Bobby was not meaning it in the way you were using it for. You didn't care though. Even if you did, you wouldn't care for long. Getting a grip you sliced at yourself again, and again and again until you were numb. You wanted to go slow, so that you could pray to that asshole who sat at his computer writing the Winchester's story and never putting you in it. You were the least important and the one who was always picked last. Who would care if you took yourself out of the picture.

Not Dean.

Not Sam.

Not Castiel or Gabriel.

Not anyone.

You felt alone; you were alone.

And you were going to die alone.

You were getting tired, not being able to feel your arms. Would tonight be your last night in the bunker? You surely hoped so.

Dean and Sam entered the bunker, after a quick stop at the closest fast food shop, Dean placed the bags of food on the table, hurriedly going up the steps to your room to annoy you into coming down. He crept up to your bedroom door, and waited. Your light was on, and the soft noise of your TV made it seem like you were awake. He raised his hands and began to bang on your door, jolting you awake again. You had drifted off, and began to panic as you realized you were covered in your blood and the scars on your arms were still oozing blood. You cursed as you dragged yourself off of the floor, as much as you hated yourself, you had to get up. Getting the energy to haul yourself into the bathroom you stripped and bathed yourself. The water stung, and the pain was a bit more than you could take so after cleaning yourself you hopped out. Patching yourself up with the first aid kit you hid under the sink you awkwardly shuffle into a t-shirt, a large sweatshirt, and a clean pair of sweatpants. You threw away the clothes you hurt yourself in tossing them under the bed until later. You took the rug that was normally in front of the bed to cover the stains from your burden.

"Y/N? What's taking so long? Your foods gonna' get cold, dummy." You heard Dean on the other side of the door. The doorknob jiggled.

"Why's the door locked? You okay in there?" You didn't answer him. Instead you looked at yourself in the mirror and sure enough you looked like absolute shit. You didn't care. Wandering to the door, you unlocked it and sure enough Dean Winchester stood there, leaning against the door frame with a smile.

"Hey Y/N/N--" He froze. You didn't bother even hearing him at the moment. You trudged downstairs seeing Sam as he gave a wave and small smile which you ignored as you grabbed your food, passing Dean on the way back up, earning a confused look. You hurried back to your room, making sure to lock back up, settling down on the floor, facing away from the door. You had set your food on the dresser, not bothering to eat either. You weren't hungry, but you didn't want the two brothers to be concerned about you.

Dean sat next to Sam and nudged him. "Is Y/N okay?" Dean said in between bites of his sandwich. Sam shrugged looking at his brother.

"I don't know. I think it's best we chalk it up that she needs space."

The two brothers nod to each other.

"Agreed."

[writingkeepsmewhole]

Talk...To...Me...

Fic Summery: Sophia has never known love, her always picking the “good guy” him always turning out to be like a snake in the weeds. What will happen when she's took home one night by a “bad guy” him showing her things she never knew about herself. Part Summery: Smut, filler chapter.

Warnings: Smut. dirty talk.

Let me know if you want to be tagged would love to add you: @vicmc624​ @deanwanddamons​ @that-one-gay-girl @akshi8278​ @loelizabeth100 @nihilismworld​ @grungebbygurl​ @lettuceheadjerry​ @suckmyapplejacks​ @goddessofmischiefs​ @naretional​ @michellethetvadidict @stuckupstucky​ @olichat

Part 1 Part 12

Dean pulls my head down gently, his mouth meeting mine once more. My eyes fluttered closed. His lips soft, slowly moving across mine. My hands fall to his chest, grabbing fistfuls of the fabric there.

His thumbs gently brush my cheeks then his hands move one of them going to the back of my hand the other falling to my hip.

I take in a breath as things heat up Dean’s kisses making me grow warm. He runs his hand up my back, pulling me closer to him. Pulling me down onto the length between his legs.

I can’t help but blush when I feel myself physically shiver. Dean felt it too and pulled away from me. 

“Are you alright kitten?” He asks his green eyes bright despite the dimness of the room.

I nod and smile at him. Too embarrassed to express what I was feeling even if I could talk.

"Are you sure? You seem nervous." He says, tucking my hair behind my left ear.

Turning my head I look away from him, my heart pounds in my chest.

Memories of Harry making fun of me any time I got nervous. Him always telling me that getting nervous was for children.

Taking a breath I start to get up, not wanting to feel that way around Dean.

He gently holds onto my hips keeping me in place.

I don't look up at him not wanting to see the look on his face.

Using his thumb and forefinger he lifts my head up. His eyes found mine. A softness inside of them I wasn't used to seeing, even from him.

"We can stop if you want to. I don't want you to ever feel nervous with me." He says softly. His voice was so quiet as if he spoke louder it would scare me off.

I take a deep breath and shake my head.

"Tell me what you're thinking." 

I open my mouth but quickly close it knowing that I can't.

"I'm sorry that was a lot to ask. Can you tell me what you want?" He asks, moving his head down looking at me through his eyelashes as if he was trying to make himself smaller and less threatening.

Swallowing down the fear in my chest I take a breath.

"One word at a time, kitten." He reminds me gently. His thumb running over my bottom lip, as he runs his tongue across his own.

Nodding my head I look at him. Just focusing on his green orbs and nothing else I take a breath. My heart is slowing down.

"You." I say, glad when it comes out as firmly as I meant it.

I didn't stutter or sound as quiet as I normally do.

Dean grinned, noticing that as well.

"Well that you can definitely have."

Gently taking my hand he placed it on his chest.

"I don't want you to be scared or nervous with me. We'll go at your pace." He says softly.

The feeling that the moment would be broken if we spoke too loudly once again wrapped around us.

Ignoring the doubts in my mind I run my hand over his chest. My heart skipping, I don’t look up at him knowing I’ll lose my confidence if I do. I move my hand lower reaching his hips, I slip my finger tips under the waist of his jeans.

I hear him suck in a breath, his mouth next to my ear. He moves closer to me, his lips brushing my neck. I suck in my own breath as he leaves small soft kisses along my skin.

Closing my eyes my head falls to the side, digging my fingers into his lower back trying to find anything to hold onto.

Anything to keep myself grounded in this moment to know it’s Dean doing these things to me.

“Talk…to …me.” I whisper out, my stomach in knots.

“What would you like me to say?” He whispers back. His deep voice rumbling through me.

I don’t have an answer for that. I just knew I wanted him to talk to me, talk me through this.

Pulling away from me he gently takes my face in his hands, making me look up at him.

I bite my lip looking up at him, feeling nervous. I swear I hear him growl, him looking me up and down.

“I think I might actually die from this.” He says, I think more to himself than to me.

“Do you trust me?” He asks, gently pulling my lip from my teeth.

I nod, trusting him more than I could anyone. Despite everything, something deep inside me trusted Dean.

He smiles, running his hands down my arms, placing them around his neck.

“Hold on Kitten.” He says, grabbing my thighs.

I gasp when he stands up, him easily packing me outside. In a matter of minutes we are in the back of the impala, my mind razing with where this night might lead.

Laying on my back Dean holds himself over me, making my whole body feel warm. Blushing I try to look away from his heated gaze, him grabbing my chin and making me look at him.

“You want me to talk? Okay baby I’m gonna talk but so do you. You want me to stop, what do you say?” He asks, his eyes locked on mine.

“S-top.” I force out earning a grin that melts my heart.

“Good girl.” He says leaning down pressing his lips to mine.

I give into his touch my mouth melding with his like I’ve done this my whole life. His kisses soon return to my neck, him placing my hands on his back once more.

“I love the way you smell.” He whispers, breathing me in.

“I could stay here all night.” He says kissing just below my ear.

I definitely felt the same, my body was buzzing with his affect on me. I blush realizing he hasn’t even touched me yet. WIth the thought popped into my head that’s all I could think about.

With him settled between my legs I don’t have to move much before my leg is practically hooked around him.

“I want to taste you.” He purrs, making my heart skip. His large hand runs down my side, as his kisses move lower. He lifts my shirt just an inch, peppering kisses along the skin there. My mind feels with imagines of what my body looked like. My stomach knots up realizing what he is planning. I grab his head, stopping him from going any farther.

He looks up at me through his long eyelashes, his green eyes meeting mine instantly reading me.

“Too fast?” He asks gently.

I nod, biting my lip scared I ruined the mood.

“No problem Kitten.” He says, moving to kiss my nose, making me blush.

“So what do you want? Me touching you, or do you want to touch me?” He asks, reminding me of the hard object digging pressed against me.

The look in his eyes makes me blush. I lift my hands covering my face, earning a soft chuckle.

He kisses my jaw, then my neck I gasp when he gently bites the skin there.

“Answer me.” He demands softly. 

I turn away from him scared he’ll sense what I’m thinking.

He makes me look at him, him running his thumb over my bottom lip.

“Me, or you?”

I took a breath, my mind and heart racing with the possibilities, but I couldn’t bring myself to say anything.

He smirks leaning closer to me so closer his mouth almost touches mine.

“Or do you want me to pick, princess?” He asks, pushing his hips into mine. I lift my hand to my mouth to stop the moan that tries to escape at the pleasure that shoots through me.

“No, none of that.” He says lifting my hand along with my other one penning them over my head with one hand.

“All your noses are like music to my ears.” He says grinding into me once again. My moan escaping this time, it makes me blush.

“All your sounds are good sounds.” He whispers into my ear.

I close my eyes at the sensations he is giving me. Rolling his hips, he starts sucking on my skin.

“Look at me baby.” He says, my eyes fluttering open to meet his.

He thrusts hard into me making me gasp a grin spreading on his face.

“Do you want to know a secret?” He asks, leaning down so our noses are almost touching.

When I nod my head it makes them bump each other gently.

“I can get you to come like this. If you want?” He says, lifting an eyebrow at me. Daring me to say yes.

I nod my head, wrapped up in him.

He grins, once again grinding into me. He returns to my throat leaving hickeys I’m sure, but I don’t care.

All I care about is reaching my peak, something I haven't done in I don’t know how long. Dean keeps me locked in place right where he wants me, manipulating his hips in ways I didn’t think were possible.

He trusts hard once again into me making me arch into him as tingles shoot through me.

“You like it, when I do that don’t you Sophia ?” He asks which I quickly nod my head. At this point I think I would like anything he did to me.

He does it again holding me down when I arch away from his grip, his tight hold on me doing something to me I couldn't explain or understand.

“You’re so close, baby.” He whispers softly.

My heart pounds fast, everything speeding up. I feel the pressure build inside me growing more and more, the tension almost too much to take until I feel it snap, heat and pleasure pulsing through me spreading to every inch of me.

“Good girl, thata girl.” Dean whispers, kissing the side of my head.

I open my eyes looking up at him. I blink realizing how tight I was squeezing them closed. I take a shaky breath, my heart trying to jump from my chest.

“Better?” He asks, running the back of his finger down my cheek.

I turn my head into his touch nodding my head. I felt shaky and wired it the most intense orgasm I think I’ve ever had and I was still fully clothed.

I blush looking up at him, meeting the sweetest smile. Leaning down he kisses my forehead.

“Come on, let's go get you cleaned up.” He says, helping me sit up.

I didn’t want to think about how wet I was as I walked into the house to do just that.

[oh-negative]

Un named hellsing fic part one

Greetings mortals, hear a first taste (ahaha..) of a fic we started on…let’s us know what you think or if you’d like to see us add on! We have great ideas for the plot but we’re still pretty rusty…it’s been a while,enjoy!

……………………………..

As a kid you loved reading, both fantasy and non fiction, anything to escapes into another world outside of your own.

It didn't matter if you were learning about the infinite galaxy's light years away, historical figures of yore, or even magical worlds filled with adventurers and princesses to be rescued from the furthest roomed tucked away in the highest tower....

But your favorite was the supernatural. Nocturnal creatures who danced with shadows,beasts who transversed in the full moon or phantoms who haunted empty halls of abandoned cathedrals.

So it was no supervise you chose to study folklore, despite being the top of your graduating class. Unfortunately that wouldn't have flyed under the roof of your parents,who would be funding your time in secondary education,so you spent your college years bent over bio engendering textbooks,essays on organic chemistry and genomics only to balance them out with your secondary course of study; folklore and mythology.

    Your parents, though less the thrilled about your minor courses- not seeing them as practical- just learned to drop the subject after a while....after all how can they continually bug you about it if your status on deans list never seemed to budge. Mom still would occusually fret over the extra work load distracting you from your other classes,But you insisted you knew what you were doing, and once you got you first big girl job, neither could have been prouder. It took a couple years after graduation to land it, in the mean time working as an intern in a biotech company doing mainly intern related work- but you made it. 

Your hard work paid off and you were given the opportunity of a lifetime to work across the pond,..England to be exact. 

Looks like those secondary courses paid off. Your academic writings on the biology of the undead & how they could help cure viruses landed on the right desk - somehow you knew your pandemic ramblings were well justified after all.

               It's been seven years since you made the long, and far, move to north London to serve as the leading specialist of the bio-science of the supernatural & undead at the renowned protectors of his majesty & London itself;

                                                                          Hellsing.

   CHAPTER ONE: 

                    North France; 1:00 AM 2030

It took everything in you to control the eye twitching,brain numbing prodding being spoken before you, after all you did promise Integra you would be on your best, and certainly not sarcastic, behavior. But truth be told you knew even some promises had to be broken in order to get what you wanted...and right now what you wanted most was for the three older gentleman seated at the oval table before you to stop talking, agree to your request, so you could go back home and possibly sleep on the way there.

Ever since the pandemic of 2020 one of your main areas of study was how to possibly save lives with the use of supernatural DNA. For you it wasn't about politics,eugenics, or increasing the human lifespan- it was about saving lives, But of course in the wrong hands that could absolutely be the case. But no matter how serious the whole matter was you could almost feel your eyelids threaten to close for a second,before you had to re-explain yourself to axis powers who never seem to age out of their political standing...sometimes you wondered if you should be studying them instead of the things that go bump in the night.  You clear your voice to speak up over the men once more, who have started chatting amongst themselves while you zoned out briefly...

     " sir, with all due respect, I feel like our division at Hellsing is really on to something, the only problem is...we have no one to test...most supernatural creatures- ..mainly of the the vampiric persuasion immediately turn to dust and iron when killed or exposed to direct sunlight. Our bio-science fraction have proposed a idea that I think will help us further the possibilities of pursuing test subjects " 

Now that the eyes have all fallen back on you, you feel your posture stiffen and all of a sudden you understand why Integra always went around in her studious apparel-..confidence, and for a brief moment you wish you'd have waited for her availability to allow her to come with you..until you remember the type of anxiety induced headaches she can cause with her presence.

A man you knew as France's security for NATO urges you to continue,eyes sternly fixed on you, the others follow suite waiting for you to continue

" yes miss y/l/n/h please continue...surely you're not considering testing humans ...are you?"

" no sir" you clear your throat " it's a little bit more difficult,like I said it's pretty much impossible to get a sample of the undead without endangering myself or others, the samples I do have are not enough,not nearly pure enough. My prospect is this.....by now we know the catacombs all over the world - including the ones here in Paris- have had undead remains found perfectly preserved. That's no coincidence. I believe through the text we have obtained in our field of study that we could find remains that have not been destroyed to use as possible testing subjects."

You watch jaws drop over what you have considered to be the least invasive thing humans have done for the sake of "saving lives" since antiquity and can't help but to wear your smugness bluntly in the face of their surprise.

"Your wish to …transverse the catacombs?!"

" precisely "

You extend your hand, the manilla folders holding your months worth of research across the table, as you watch the prime minister's facial expression briefly resemble that of a child who just tasted a lemon for the first time.

Hours pass, in that time you have defended your credentials at least a half a dozen times, sworn to the country of France, England and the United States that you're not bat shit insane, and eventually folded to a group call back to fletchley to have your boss back you up. You really didn't want to have it come down to that, as it was your first time dealing with a conference by yourself, but hey, when your boss saved London and,essentially the world, from an undead super army of nazis, she makes a good trump card. You would just have to prepare for the verbal lashing for interrupting her own meeting when you arrived back to London.

Some hours later in north London

You felt exhausted by the time you and  the security guard who accompanied you to France returned to the Hellsing manor. No matter how fast the private jets were, it always found a way of draining you. The sun was well past the horizon by the time you got into the entrance, saying your goodnights to the security guard before starting the trek to the corner of the manor that housed your own dwellings. Briefly you consider going to your work space located in the basement, but thought against it. Knowing a certain draculina would be waiting to chastise you on your priorities. Surely she already knew of your safe arrival.

An elevator ride later to the upper floor where the personal chambers were and a long walk down a corridor before you couldn't help but to let out the longest, draining sigh as you opened the door to your quarters.

You looked down at your phone. Dead. No doubt there was probably some questionable text messages from boss lady as well as some emails that could use your attention- but after a long day of arguing your years worth of education in order to get the grant and support from a bunch of crotchety old  men,your were exhausted and decided it would be a problem for the morning,as you set it on the charger dock at your bedside table.

It was all you could do to kick off your shoes and slip off your jacket before plopping into your bed and immediately succumbing to the day's events,sleep consuming you almost immediately. Apparently a shower would have to wait as well.

You fall into such a deep slumber,the kind where it knocks the sense of time out of you,wrapping you in an unconscious blanket of blackness. With slumber falling on you so heavily you didn't so much as twitch when the sound of bullets being discharged from a pistol rang out into the night during the wee hours of the morning,alerting the residents of hellsing to an intruder.

[rizlowwritessortof]

Gentle as a Sigh

All Dean wants is a little time to worship her like she deserves.

Pairing: Dean Winchester/Reader

Word Count: 1872

Warnings: Smut, Somnophilia (Consensual and Planned)

Dividers from the amazing @firefly-graphics

She is so soft in sleep. There is no sign of the defiant spirit that allows her to be the fierce hunter she is, no trace of the tough armor she displays to the world. Only those who know her best have seen this side of her, the nakedness of love and trust and vulnerability. Dean watches her for a long moment, hesitating. She gave her consent to this, and yet it almost feels like betrayal. But he would never betray her trust. He would never do anything that she would not consent to if she were awake. And if she were awake right now, she would laugh softly, tell him to stop worrying, that she told him it was all right.

It had taken him months to get up the nerve to talk to her about it. One night after they had made love and were lying in each others’ arms, he had finally brought it up. He had waited for her to call him a freak, to shove him away and storm out of the room, but she hadn’t.

“So Rowena gave you a spell for this? You – you talked about this to Rowena?”

“Yeah. I know. It’s weird, but I – I tell her weird shit sometimes. And she tells me weird shit sometimes. We have a – strange relationship.”

“Yeah, I guess. So – you want to wait until I’m asleep, and say this spell that will keep me from waking up, so you can…”

“I know. It’s okay. Just – just forget it.” He had refused to look at her, wishing he had kept the whole thing his dirty little secret. “It’s just – I love to touch you when you’re asleep, and watch your face, hear those soft little sounds you make… but you always wake up. Hunter’s reflexes.”

“So you just want more time to touch me, and watch me, and listen to me?” He shrugged his shoulders, then nodded.

“Just forget I said anything. I’m sorry.” He had moved to leave the bed, but she had grabbed his arm to stop him.

“Dean – look at me.” He turned his body towards her, reluctantly looking into her eyes. “So you’re asking me if I want to try this? If I want to let you try this?” She moved closer, her hand tracing his jaw line, heat in her eyes. “Fuck, yes.”

He had stared back at her, shocked. “Yeah? Are you sure? ‘Cuz I know it sounds weird…”

“It doesn’t. It sounds so fucking hot, the thought of you touching me, teasing me while I’m asleep… Just thinking about you wanting me that much, Dean… I…” And she had stopped there, climbing on top of him and kissing him until he was rock hard again beneath her, riding him almost desperately until they were both exhausted, lying together, sweaty and spent. He had asked again, just to make sure, his hands sliding up and down her back.

“So, you’re okay with it? With the spell to keep you under, the whole thing? Because I don’t ever want to do anything that makes you feel – not safe with me.”

She had looked at him and put a hand to his face. “Dean, I trust you more than anyone else I know. You would never hurt me, and you would never do anything I didn’t want you to do. I know that.”

“No, I wouldn’t. Not ever.”

“There’s only one thing I ask – that you tell me everything you do. Afterwards, I mean.”

He had stretched up and kissed her, sweet and slow. “I promise.”

The night he’s been waiting for is finally here, so he takes one more nervous breath, and whispers the spell.

She sighs, barely a sound escaping, visibly going completely limp on the bed. His heart is pounding in his chest as his tongue darts out to moisten his lips, and he turns her carefully to her back. Then he sets his jaw, reaching for the low neckline of her tank top, pulling it down to tuck it beneath both breasts. He lets his fingers trail over her soft curves, squeezing and kneading, barely breathing as he revels in the softness of her skin, the firm flesh denting beneath his touch. Her nipples are hard now, and he begins to brush his fingertips back and forth over them, his touch gentle as a sigh as he watches her face, the way her head presses into the pillow, her back arching slightly into the sensation.

“Does that feel good, baby girl? God, you’re so beautiful.” His cock is swelling, the pressure against his zipper making him suck a harsh breath in through his teeth. He takes a minute to undo his jeans, a sigh of relief escaping his lips before he goes back to his gentle petting of her nipples. In the silence, the barely-there sounds she is making are unspeakably erotic, and he is already struggling to stay in control. He has never been so turned on in his life, and he has barely touched her.  

He bends slowly towards her, circling a nipple with his tongue as he traces around the other with his finger. Her breathing is picking up, her back arching more into his touch, her lips parted as she pants softly. His senses are full of her scent, her sound, her taste, and he can’t suppress a quiet moan of his own as he teases at the tip of her nipple with his tongue, lapping at her until he can resist it no longer and he sucks the stiff nub into the heat of his mouth. He sucks softly, his tongue swirling around her nipple, then harder, and harder as she shudders, pushing up against his mouth with a whine. He continues, waiting until she is writhing beneath him before moving his mouth to the other side and doing the same. He moves one hand down between her thighs, his cock jumping at the wetness soaking her panties.

He finally releases her nipple from his mouth, staring down at the pink, swollen buds for a long moment before slipping his fingers under the edge of her panties and pulling them down her legs. He drops them to the floor, then bends her knees and spreads her legs apart, caressing the inside of her thighs as he gazes down at her. He never wants her to feel uncomfortable or self-conscious, so he always limits his staring, but now – now she is unaware as he reaches to stroke his fingers over her almost reverently, looking his fill. She’s the most glorious creature he’s ever seen, and he wishes he could convey that to her in her waking state, but this will have to do.

He traces his fingers over her pussy, gently exploring every crease and fold, her hips lifting of their own accord each time he touches a particularly sensitive area. He dips a fingertip into her entrance, now slick with her arousal, then moves to circle her clit, her soft, desperate moan dragging one from him in response. He determinedly ignores the throbbing of his cock, focusing his attention on her, wanting to pull more of those needy noises from her. He rubs over her clit, clenching his teeth at how swollen it is, and she bucks up a little more at the contact. “It’s all right, baby, I’m gonna take care of you.”

He lays down on his stomach between her legs, closing his eyes to take in her scent, swearing quietly. “You’re gonna make me come before I even get to wake you up and fuck you, sweetheart,” he says softly, then leans in and drags his tongue over her, savoring the taste of her, then placing little sucking kisses over every inch of her pussy. He takes two fingers to spread her lower lips, teasing at and then spearing his tongue into her cunt, her moans spurring him on. She is squirming beneath his onslaught, pressing herself up against him, and he growls softly, burying his face in her to reach as deep as he can with his tongue.

He pulls back finally, slipping one finger, then two, inside her and rubbing over her sweet spot, latching onto her clit and sucking hard. She is whimpering, head thrashing, meeting every thrust of his fingers,  her walls clutching at him. She lets out a stuttering cry, soaking his fingers and his hand, her legs quivering with her orgasm. He eases back from her clit, feasting on her as if he couldn’t get enough, working her through her high until her shaking begins to subside and she quiets once again, her breasts still heaving with her quickened breaths.

He resists touching himself as he rises to his feet. His erection aches for release, but he wants it to be inside of her, and he won’t take that step without waking her first. He sits down on the side of the bed, says the counter spell quietly, and then bends to kiss her. Her response is warm, her hands reaching for him, and she moans into their kiss as he cups her breast, kneading gently. When he pulls back, she smiles at him, speaking softly. “So, how was it?”

“It was amazing. How do you feel?”

“Like I just had the best wet dream of my life.” She searches his eyes. “Did I?”

He grins. “Well, it wasn’t a dream, but – yeah.”

“Did you…”

“Just my mouth, and my fingers. But I’m dying to get inside you, baby.”

“Well, then, get undressed and get up here,” she says, and he strips down as she removes her tank top, then welcomes him back with open arms and a hungry kiss. “I need you to fuck me now,” she mumbles against his lips with a gentle nip.

“Oh, hell, yes,” he answers, slipping one arm beneath her knee as she hooks the other around his hip. He slides home smoothly, then shifts back and drives back in, hard and deep. She gasps at the welcome intrusion, her hips rising to meet his thrusts. He is fighting the need to come, determined to carry her with him, and from the sounds she is making, it won’t be long. She is crying out with every stroke, her nails digging into his back as she begins to spasm and squeeze around his cock. He swears as he loses control, pounding into her hard as he fills her with the heat of his release, a little dizzy as he lowers himself down. His face is buried in her neck, and he kisses her there once, twice, loving her happy sigh and uncontrolled shiver.

When they finally part, she curls up on his shoulder and he holds her close. She drops a kiss to his chest and smiles against his skin. “So, I’d say that went well.”

He hums in agreement, his arm tightening around her. “Oh, yeah.”

“So, you want to do that again sometime?”

“Fuck, yeah. You?”

“I definitely do. And – maybe sometime – I’d like to try it on you. If you want to.”

He pulled her closer, smiling as he kissed her. “You want to have your way with me while I’m asleep? Oh, hell, yes.”

Tags for my lovelies:  @saenalife    @deanscarlett    @jensensgotyoudean    @jinkieswouldyoulookatthis    @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog    @geeklibrarian    @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid     @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan ��  @mrswhozeewhatsis    @littlegreenplasticsoldier    @sleep-silent-angel    @darcia22    @winchesterprincessbride    @ellen-reincarnated1967    @eyes-of-a-disney-princess      @deanslittleangel2y5    @melanie451        @spectaculacular-sammy     @bookchic20    @jodyri    @selma-jean-blog           @savingapplepie-eatingthings    @kittenofdoomage    @masked-maiden42    @lean-mean-deanwinchester    @ericuhlorain    @undecided-garden    @ceeceewinchester    @typicalweirdbookworm          @callmesweetheartifyoumeanit    @youtoldalie    @tanithlowisabamf-blog    @deandoesthingstome    @jxackles    @nerdwholikesword    @soivebuiltupaworldofmagic    @kreweofimp  @gabavaldman    @chaos-and-the-calm67-blog    @darkx143    @disassociativedogma    @ioanashalala    @jencharlan    @deansthirstblog     @dorky-and-i-know-it    @mischief-maker1    @winchestersandwordprocessors    @percussiongirl2017    @bringmesomepie56   @akshi8278     @torn-and-frayed    @sandlee44   @wingedcatninja  @evansrogerskitten   @emoryhemsworth  @peaceinourtime82  @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior  @sarcasmqueen74   @maliburenee      @mrsjenniferwinchester  

[witchy-writing]

Crushing

Dean x gn!reader

Summary: y/n has found Dean in a compromising position, Dean has found out about y/n’s crush. Not everything ends well.

a/n: Sorry! I just love some angst sometimes, and I love writing angst. Let me know what you think. Or even request a fic :)

warnings: angst, implied sex/adult themes

word count: 945

“You’ve got to get over this crush thing” Dean yelled, his arms waving up and down in the space between the two of you, the argument escalating. Why oh why did he have to find out the small crush you had been harbouring, which had developed a few months after you first met him.

The argument had started about ten minutes earlier, when you had walked into the bunker, finding Dean on top of a scantily clad woman. Her blonde hair was a mess, sprawled out across the floor, Dean’s hands were in it, grabbing and pulling as he made out with the unknown woman. Her lipstick was smeared all over his face, his shirt was undone, the sleeve halfway down his arm, his belt was unbuckled, and you watched him groan and moan as he grinded his clothed cock against the woman’s leg.

The short gasp and the small wail that you accidently let slip, betrayed your presence in the room. Dean and the woman turning their heads to look at you. You froze, tears welling in your eyes, your fight or flight kicking in, fear and hurt flooding your body. You span around and ran, but as you left you heard Dean sigh, before muttering “I have to deal with this, look I’ll call you later Maria.”

You could hear his feet thumping on the floor behind you, before he aggressively grabbed your arm, pulling you back, a small squeak escaping your lips, as he turned you round to look at him. You didn’t look at him though, you didn’t want to see his face, his green eyes, his slight brown stubble; you didn’t want to see the bright red lipstick stains peppered over his face, you didn’t want to see his swollen lips from the heavy make out session. To be honest you didn’t want to see Dean at all, you wanted the ground to swallow you hole, to go back in time, never meet Dean, never fall in love with him. You just wanted to be alone.

“Look at me y/n!” Dean growled, roughly grabbing your chin, with his hand, a hand that had been touching that woman, and playing with your hair; it made you feel dirty, like you wanted to peel your skin off. You pulled away from his touch, your eyes still not meeting his green ones, the ones that previous to today you could spend hours getting lost in.

“You’ve got to get over this crush thing” Dean yelled, his arms waving up and down in the space between the two of you, the argument escalating. Your heart shattered, it felt like only yesterday when you had fallen asleep in the library and Dean had picked you up and carried you to bed, it felt like only yesterday when he kissed you on head and tucked you on the bed whispering “I love you, y/n”. It felt like only yesterday; but it wasn’t it was two months ago. That night gave you hope, it made your heart flutter, hopes that one day Dean would be your future. But now, that hope has died, the butterflies that lived in your stomach, poisoned leaving you in cramps. The heart flutters you felt before warping and making your heart feel like it would almost stop.

“Look, y/n. I don’t feel… whatever it is I’m supposed to feel for you”

“But you told me you loved me!” You finally found your voice, yelling at him, fury spreading through your veins, covering you body in hard armour. You were going to at least fight for this, fight for the two of you, even if nothing had fully bloomed yet.

“I love you, y/n” He assured, your heart healing slightly, hope bubbling up from the pit it died in, but then he continued. “I love you so much… just not in that way.” You gasped, stepping back slightly like you had been shot, you felt like you had been shot; and Dean was the one pulling the trigger.

“I don’t want to lie to you, y/n. I care about you, I always will, but you and me, are never gonna happen.”

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Every sentence, every word was like another bullet piercing your heart, shattering it into a thousand tiny pieces. Your head starts to spin, bile rising in your throat, a slight burn left in its place. You finally look into your ‘shooters’ eye, the different hues of green swirl together in a mixture of sadness and pity. Dean tries to reach out to comfort you, but you slap his hand away.

He signs, lowering his arm. “y/n” He whispers, “you need to move on.” He finishes, turning around and leaving you alone, in the corridor of the bunker, alone like when you first met him, alone like you have been for most of your life.

Your body gave into the void, it felt like you were falling forever, your knees smashing into the floor, the pain shooting through your body, yet the physical pain hurts less then Dean’s words. You were wounded, but no one could fix you. A thousand pieces it a lot to put back together, and there were some pieces sure to be lost. Leaving a hole, a void never able to be filled. Even if you painted the pieces gold, nothing could mend your broken heart.

You sat on the floor, a puddle of tears surrounding you, hoping that it would get deep enough to drown out your hurt, your fears, your anger. You were alone again, with nothing but a broken heart and the words of the one who loved you bouncing around your head.

 Main master list

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Sweater Weather

Summary: The reader gets a call in the middle of the night from her best friend Dean and it doesn’t sound like his date went exactly as planned...

Pairing: AU!Dean x reader

Square: Midnight Call (SPN Dean Bingo) & Best Friends Since Childhood (Tell Me A Story Bingo)

Word Count: 1,100ish

Warnings: language

A/N: Written for @spndeanbingo​ and @supernatural-jackles​ Tell Me A Story Bingo! Inspired by Jensen’s cuddly gray sweater at Nashcon! 

_______

A phone call in the middle of the night was never a good sign. You wearily picked up your phone, sitting up in bed and yawning as you answered.

“Dean,” you said, rubbing your eyes. 

“Hey,” he said, voice a little breathy. “This is kinda embarrassing-”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I sort of need a ride. You uh, know how I had a date tonight?”

“What’s her name, Casey, yeah. Everything okay?” you asked, climbing out of bed, grabbing a pair of sweatpants from the floor.

“Um…well good news is the dinner I had tonight was amazing. Bad news, she kicked me out of her car on the side of the road,” he said. You froze, blinking a few times.

“She what?”

“We got in a little fight and she got pissed cause I didn’t act like a dick to a guy that wasn’t acting like a dick to her and yeah, I’m uh, sort of on the side of some dark as fuck backwoods road at the moment.”

“...Why?”

“She kinda drove out of town cause she was driving and we were arguing and she pulled off the highway somewhere. I do see some small town diner down the road. Very, very far down the road.”

“Text me the road and I’ll meet you at that diner,” you said, thunder cracking overhead. You peeled back your curtains and saw rain hitting the windows. “Please tell me you have a coat.”

“I have that nice gray sweater you bought me for my birthday,” he said. “Although it is kind of soaked.”

“I’m gonna kill this bitch when I see her,” you mumbled, yanking up your pants, going into your closet and finding a pair of his sweatpants and a hoodie you’d stolen from him in there. “I’ll bring you some warm clothes, okay?”

“Thanks. She’s not a bitch. We had a little-”

“I’ve known you since I was five. If some guy ditched me on the side of the road in the middle of the night, what do you think you’d be doing?”

“Kill him,” he said. “Yeah, well, we broke up anyways so you’ll never have to see her again.”

“Good call,” you said. “I’ll be there as soon as I can Dean. Just stay away from strangers and if you hear a chainsaw-”

“I don’t need that mental image right now, Y/N,” he said. “Be careful driving. Rain is coming down pretty hard.”

“Don’t worry about me,” you said, heading out to your front door. “I’ll be right there.”

You shook off the rain when you stepped inside the diner, Dean sat in the corner booth, shaking slightly, holding his hands over the radiator vent behind the seat.

“Dean,” you said walking over, his head turning your way, a big smile on his face.

“Aw. Your pajamas have a little fox on them. Wait. Are those the same ones from high school?”

“Yes, they are,” you said, holding out the fresh clothes to him. “Go get out of those wet clothes. There’s underwear in there too.”

“How-”

“I stopped at the dollar store quick on the way here. Figured you’d be soaked,” you said.

“Thank you,” he said, taking the items and quickly ducking into the bathroom. You sat down at the booth, the lone waitress at the counter walking over, a menu in her hand. 

“He said he was waiting for a ride,” she said.

“Do you have any tomato soup? Or grilled cheese?” you asked.

“Yeah we can do that. For you?” she asked.

“Um, I’ll have a slice of that pumpkin pie. Oh and do you have onion rings? And coffee?” you asked.

“Be out in a few minutes,” she said, turning and leaving, Dean exiting the bathroom after a minute. He slid back into the booth, tucking into your side, your hands going to his. 

“You’re freezing,” you said. 

“I’m okay,” he breathed out. You reached into your purse and pulled out a small oval shaped thing, ripping it out of the baggie and shoving it into the pouch of his hoodie. “What’s that?”

“It’s a hand warmer cause someone always teases me about my cold little hands,” you said, reaching in and turning it on. He shut his eyes and smiled when it started to give off heat, Dean humming.

“Oh I love you, so much.”

“I know. I ordered you some hot food to warm up. Then we’ll head home okay?” you said. He hummed, kicking off his boots and sitting cross legged, toes tucked under his legs. “You really are far out. Like you must have been arguing for awhile.”

“I mean…yeah, we were. The me not causing drama for her when there was none started it and eventually we got to how I supposedly really like you and treat you like my girlfriend and her saying she’s not taking a backseat to you. I told her she could leave then cause you come with the package.”

“Right, right,” you said, rubbing his back. “So you’re saying she was out of line and I’m just your best friend? It’s that simple?”

“Well…” he trailed off. You smiled, leaning over and kissing his cheek. “How obvious have I been?”

“I had a sneaking suspicion in third and twelfth grade but I let it go. But you did just accidentally text me something I think was meant to go to Sam. Something like, I should have been dating Y/N the whole time?” you said. His cheeks flushed and you smiled. “You know, dating could be a good thing. A really good thing. If you want to really give it a-”

He tilted his head, meeting your lips, smiling through it before finally pulling back. 

“Yeah, I like that,” he said softly. 

“Good. I like that too.” Your food came out and you took Dean’s wet sweater and other clothes from him, giving him more room to eat. “You know when I bought that sweater I just kept thinking how cute you’d look in it.”

“Not my usual style but I like it.”

“Oh really? Why?”

“Because it’s my lucky sweater. I got you didn’t I?” he said. You laughed and nodded, Dean’s eyes going big when your pie came out. “Oh you even got me pie!”

“We’re sharing that Winchester.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say,” he said, smirking and bumping your shoulder. You bumped him back, Dean chuckling. “Thanks for having my back always, means a lot.”

“Always Dean. Always. Now eat up so we can get the hell out of this place.”

_______

[potter-imagines]

Left Waiting at The Three Broomsticks (Fred Weasley x Read)

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Request: Hi! I was wondering if I could have a Fred Weasley imagine where he pisses off his gf somehow and so she gives him the silent treatment and only talks to literally everyone (including George) but him so he gets all jealous and pouty lol. Eventually he gets her to start talking to him again and then it’s all fluff etc. Hopefully this wasn’t a confusing request! Thank you!! :)

Warning: Tiny bit of sexual content towards the end, little bit of swearing, kinda angst at the beginning ?? and a lil towards the end ?? I think that's all, a lot of fluff scattered about

Word Count: 9.5k (I am so sorry I got carried away)

Two hours. Y/n had spent two hours waiting for him. Two stupid hours on a Saturday night that she could have spent elsewhere making something productive of her day but no. The last two hours Y/n had been seated in a small booth in the corner of The Three Broomsticks waiting patiently for her boyfriend, Fred Weasley.

The thing that infuriated her the most was that it was his idea in the first place! Originally, the couple had planned a stay-in date in her dorm room for the night before, Friday, but other plans came up. Fred got tangled up in a prank with George that had landed him in detention with Snape for the night. Yes, it annoyed her but what could she do? It wasn’t like Snape would excuse Fred because she tells him they have a date. If anything, Snape would hold him back longer.

When Fred and George were finally dismissed, it was nearly eleven at night and Fred was sprinting down through the dungeons to the common room. Their arrangement was for eight and he was praying to anyone listening above that she was still awake, but not furious at him.

Skipping up the transporting stairs, Fred basically shouted the secret password at the Fat Lady making her narrow her eyes at him. She swung open, not without muttering about how rude he was, and Fred jumped inside. Ten or so students were scattered around the common room, chatting amongst themselves. Hermione, Ron and Harry sat around the couch near the grand fireplace. They sent Fred a wave, which he frantically returned. The golden trio watched in curiosity as Fred darted up the stairs of the girl’s dormitory.

Hermione looked back to the group and asked,

“Wonder what that’s about- he seemed in a hurry.”

“Heard him and George got detention. They put stink-bombs in the Slytherin common room! Heard it stained some of the furniture maroon!” Ron chuckled at his brother’s antics then resumed his debate with Harry over their thoughts on the Quidditch World Cup happening every four years. Harry tried to explain the concept of the Olympics to Ron, but Ron was too focused on how amazing it would be for the World Cup to happen each year. Hermione went back to her studies, blocking out the mindless bickering of the boys.

Above the common room, Fred Weasley was scurrying to his girlfriend’s dorm room. He hoped Angelina and Alicia were out so he could be alone with her. Their time spent together had been oddly less than usual the last few weeks. Fred had no change of heart- actually, he found himself falling more in love with her every day, but their final year at Hogwarts was creeping up from the woods and he was working on a dream career behind the scenes with George that was eating up his time with her. He had shared this idea with her before- but it was just an idea then. Fred and George planned on putting their dreams to action once they finished up the next year. He wanted her to come- George did as well, but he didn’t want to mention it until it was a reality.

Reaching his destination Fred took a second to compose himself. A thin line of sweat was forming near his forehead. This was the first chance he had to take a breather since detention ended. Fixing his dark robes Fred knocked against the door, quiet enough not to startle her but loud enough to hear.

“Y/n… Y/n… love, are you awake? It’s Fred-“

Abruptly, the heavy wooden door cracked open and a weary looking girl poked her head out into the quietness.

“Darling, did I wake you up? I’m so sorry.” Fred stepped forward and wrapped the girl in a tight embrace. Y/n’s head fell against his chest out of instincts. His arms fastened around her waist as he invited himself in the room, slowly walking her back.

“Here, go back to bed, love. You look exhausted.” Fred led the sluggish girl to her familiar bed. Throwing back the covers, he readjusted her pillows so there would be room for him to fit as well. Fred then walked back to Y/n and took her hand softly. Kissing the back of her hand, Fred helped Y/n get into bed then slipped in beside her. His arms snaked around her body without thought. The naturalness of holding her in his arms made Fred feel confident in his dreams of starting a future with her. All the tension in his body collapsed when she leaned into his frame. Fred held her close and kissed the side of her cheek lovingly.

“I’m sorry about detention tonight but I promise I’ll take you out Saturday, alright? We can have a date at Hogsmeade and spend the night together, does that sound nice?”

The sleepy witch gave a tired mumble and nodded her head. She was cuddled under a stack of blankets, wearing Fred’s sweatshirt which made him smile. He’d usually crack a joke at this and tease her but, she was already asleep when he looked back to her. Fred couldn’t help but stare at her for a while. There was never a moment that went by where Fred didn’t think of Y/n as anything other than beautiful but in these moments, she looked ethereal.

Moonlight poured in from the open window and splashed across her s/c cheeks. Her hair was sprawled against the white pillowcase. Fred smiled at the sound of her light snores. Fred wouldn’t leave until he was sure she was deep asleep. It was their thing. She hated going to bed without him there.

“Okay, I love you, Y/n. Get some sleep, angel.” Fred whispered.

He pecked her forehead, then kissed her lips gently. Removing the covers, Fred tucked them back into Y/n so she could keep warm. He closed the open window then tip toed out of the room. Instead of rejoining his friends, Fred decided to head to his room. He felt too guilty for missing out on their plans to go have his own fun. Anyways he did have a Potions paper coming up and if he was going to spend the day with you Saturday, he surely wouldn’t be doing any homework.

So, the plan was confirmed the next morning, Friday. Y/n ran into Fred on her way to breakfast and they discussed where they’d meet and a time. They ate breakfast together, walked to class, then headed in different directions when six rolled around. Fred had a Quidditch match and she had a group project, so they didn’t cross paths for the rest of the night. Even though he refused to admit it, Fred absolutely hated when Y/n missed one of his games. His favorite thing to do was search for her in the stands during each game and it made him sad not to see her smiling face standing out in the crowd. Y/n entered the common room around midnight and went straight for her bed. Gryffindor had lost so there wasn’t a single housemate sitting in the common room. She could only imagine how upset Fred must be, she’d be hearing about it tomorrow. Y/n giggled to herself at the recollection of Fred’s angry rants about his teammates to you in private. She basically crawled to her bed, dreaming about the handsome, goofy, witty twin that had captured her heart.

Which would bring us to Saturday night. Fred and Y/n had made specific plans; they were to meet at The Three Broomsticks at seven then hangout for a while and spend the rest of their night sneaking around the castle with the help of The Marauder’s Map. Fred had practice at six so he was planning on meeting up with the girl at the pub. Y/n expected him to be running late- it wouldn’t be Fred if he didn’t show up a good twenty minutes late.

Only Fred never showed up at seven thirty, not at eight, and by the time nine neared, he was still nowhere in sight. The Three Broomsticks would stay open for a few more hours but the thought of sitting there alone for any longer, jumping at the sound of the door every time it opened, it made Y/n feel less than sane.

Throwing a handful of coins on the table, Y/n thanked her server then exited through the front doors. The walk back to the castle wasn’t long but being with Fred made it a lot more amusing. He’d pick her flowers, give her piggy back rides, play games, race, and hold her hand the whole walk back.

This time, Y/n walked alone hugging the material of her raincoat to her chest. A light drizzle had been pouring on and off for most of the day. Earlier, it was perfectly bearable- hardly noticeable. Although the weather had only worsened as the night grew darker. Hard rain drops crashed against Y/n coat, cascading down her covered arms and bouncing to the wet ground. Her black boots were soaked. She could feel the water rising to her socks, one of her biggest hatreds. Wet socks.

The hood of her jacket only helped so much before the pelting raindrops started to seep to her hair. Typically, Y/n loved the rain. If Fred was here, they’d be dancing right now. But he wasn’t, she had no clue where he was and that was exactly what Y/n was headed to find out.

By the time Y/n made it back to the castle and up to the Gryffindor common room, it was past ten.

Much as Y/n had expected, the common room was lively with energy and conversations. Katie, Alicia, and Angelina were all sitting in a circle with Fred, George, Lee Jordan, Seamus, and Dean. A dark bottle of Dragon Barrel brandy and Daisyroot Draught were being passed amongst them. Y/n watched as Fred leaned into his brother’s side, obviously tipsy and slurring his words while he practically shouted to their friends who were only sitting feet away.

His frame twitched with every small hiccup he let out. The whole group was smiling, they were happy. Y/n wondered to herself if Fred even noticed that she wasn’t there. She wondered if he liked it more when she wasn’t there, they were having fun and although the group was also her friends, no one was interested enough to invite her. Biting on the tender skin of her bottom lip, Y/n bundled her fist to her sides. The anger refused to simmer, only continued to boil. Her dripping clothes weren’t helpful to her sour mood.

It wasn’t the fault of her friends, no, but they were bound to get caught in the crossfires. Fred was the one who left her waiting for hours on end. Her chest was tight- livid yet sad all at once. It was an aggravating feel, unfamiliar. Y/n hated the suffocation entering her drying throat. More than anything she longed to handle situations like these in an aloof fashion. The last thing wanted was to wear her emotions on her sleeve, but she couldn’t help it. Her head screamed ‘just go to bed, ignore him’ but her heart wanted to scream at him and let him know just how bad he had hurt her. Her breathing quickened, each inhale received a choppy exhale.

For the first time, Y/n decided not to join her friends or to even say a word to Fred about how he stood her up. She was sick of it- completely exhausted and drained from his lack of care and presences in their relationship the last few weeks. If he wanted her as bad as he claimed, he’d find a way to show it. And leaving her sitting alone in a noisy pub while he partied and drank with their friends, showed her the exact opposite of his words.

Diverting her leer from the inebriated group and studied the rest of the room, hearing voices near the sitting area. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville were all staring at Y/n in mixed judgement. Harry, Ron and Neville looked concerned by the appearance of Y/n. Hermione on the other hand, she was absolutely flabbergasted, Y/n could see the pity written on her face. You had mentioned having a date night with Fred in Hogsmeade to the four the night before. Harry had invited Y/n to hangout with them and visit Hagrid, but she politely declined and informed them about the special night Fred had planned for them.

Harry and Hermione stood up at the same time ready to comfort the teary-eyed girl. They motioned her over but just as she started towards them, Angelina Johnson noticed her friend who had been absent for most of the night. Setting the bottle of brandy down, Angelina wobbled up to her feet and smiled giddily,

“Y/n! Come- come drink with us! I was wondering where you- why… why’re you all wet?”

As the words fell from her mouth, a crowd of eyes planted on Y/n. Her fists clenched, bone white knuckles visible, at her sides. Angelina scurried over to her friend and wrapped her in a tender hug. If the scenario had been different, she’d gladly join in the fun but there wasn’t an ounce in her body that desired a drink.

Y/n’s eyes found their way to the boy she had been longing for all night. Her lips quivered, the anger and sadness reaching it’s overpour. He looked so handsome, so happy, but it meant nothing to her.

Pulling back, Angelina squinted in confusion at Y/n. The lack of embrace given back had thrown her off. The group had been awaiting her arrival, no one was quite sure where she’d gone off to. Angelina scanned Y/n’s reddening face, noticing the emotions bubbling under the surface.

Moving away, the dark-skinned girl turned to her friends. No one else seemed to notice the offset of Y/n’s attitude.

“Angel, where have you been? I missed you!” Fred’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. Quickly standing up, he held his hand out to his girlfriend. Y/n shot a dangerous look to his outreach, then up to his face. Usually she’d find his toothy grin and childlike state loveable but for obvious reasons, it made her irate.

Stepping back, Y/n sternly scowled at Fred,

“Missed me? You’re the one who left me waiting all goddamn night, Fred Weasley.”

A part of Y/n felt guilty for forcing her friends to witness their unpleasant exchange. George was now to his feet standing behind Fred, just as lost as the group he had been sitting with. Despite the alcohol running in his veins, George could sense an argument budding by the second.

“Not like any of you really seemed to care where I was.” Y/n kicked herself for this cold statement.

Her friends weren’t at fault- not in the slightest. But everyone was at risk of becoming a victim to her fiery wrath. In actuality, it did hurt her a little that no one had gone searching for her. It had been hours! Tears welled in her eyes as she took in the reactions of the group. George took his arm off Alicia and nudged his twin.

“What- I don’t know what you’re talking ‘bout, love. I think you should have a drink and loosen up-“

Y/n couldn’t take it. She just couldn’t take it anymore. Scrunching her face, she used every bit of strength to force her salty tears to hide at bay. Although her emotions screamed to be heard and saw right through her façade. Sweeping her hand across her cheek, Y/n caught the stray tears that rolled down her rosy cheeks. Huffing all her emotions out at once, Y/n shook Fred away from her and hurried towards her room.

Fred stood appearing dumbfounded. He could only gawk in perplexity. Blame it on the alcohol, but Fred’s mind was drawing a blank when surveying her words. For most of the night, he was the one thinking she was leaving him waiting. No one else had a clue as to where she’d gone off to, so he assumed she was in the library or wanted some space.

“You’re an idiot, Fred.” Hermione’s sharp voice cut through the thick air. The happiness and drunken laughter was extinct. The girl’s shared an exchange, all confused as to what just happened. The glass bottles didn’t help clear their judgement. Dean and Seamus took small sips from the Daisyroot Draught. The tension was unbearable, it felt wrong for their friends to be a part of it.

George set a hand on Fred’s shoulder, pulling him back slightly. Leaning forward, George whispered to his twin,

“I reckon it’s best if we turn it in for the night.” Fred gave a tug of protest. His intoxicated fought against him though he knew he did something wrong and needed to find Y/n. In spite of his desire to chase after the girl, George couldn’t let him do that. It was obvious Fred had forgotten something and Y/n was more than upset. Sending his brother up to drunkenly apologize to his hurting girlfriend for a reason he can’t even recall, that was a recipe for disaster and would only cause a bigger mess.

“Fred, you’re going to bed. You’re too drunk to talk to Y/n right now, okay? We’re going up the boy’s stairs, not the girls, okay? You two can talk in the morning, maybe you’ll remember where you fucked up tonight by then.”

Suddenly, Fred stop moving and let out a low groan,

“Oh shit… merlin’s sake, I fucked up, George. Oh my god- Hogsmeade… shit! I told her we’d meet at Hogsmeade and I forgot-“Fred whipped around in his discombobulated state. Everything clicked at once. Fred had been so concentrated on Quidditch that once practice had wrapped up, his exhausted body dragged him back to the common room out of muscle memory. It was his typical routine; Quidditch practice, head back to his dorm, shower, change, eat, work on some possible products with George, then hangout with his friends. How could he be so neglectful?

George sent his brother a comforting look then grabbed him by the shoulders, helping aid him up the winding staircase. It came as a shock to him that Fred had forgotten about their date. All he spoke about was Y/n, it was a rare occurrence for the couple to

“So that’s where she’s been all night?” George pushed open the door to their room, looking to his twin sternly. Fred had most of his weight piled on George, trying his hardest to remain upright. Lee had decided to stay back, allowing the brothers a chance to talk.

George helped his frantic twin in the dark room, then gave him a light push towards his bed. Fred plopped down, burying his face in the fluffy pillow. Pulling off his jumper, George threw the large maroon comforter over Fred’s tall frame while he wailed,

“I’m a terrible boyfriend. I planned the bloody date too! I left her-“

“How ‘bout you get some rest? You can find her in the morning and apologize to her and… hope for the best. It’ll give you more time to think of a way to make it up to her. You’re just a rambling mess right now.” The alcohol was not wearing George down. He had been on an adrenaline high since his second shot. This was the first moment of the night where he had stepped back. His tiresome hands rubbed against his face as he made his way to his bed and collapsed on it.

Fred was still moaning on, the sound of his drunken voice making it harder for George to fight back the urge to sleep,

“She’s gonna dump my sorry ass-“

“Go to bed, Fred. It’ll be okay.”

George let out a sigh of exhaustion. The twins had been best friends with Y/n since they were just children, new to Hogwarts and unfamiliar with the power of magic. It pained him to see his brother hurt, but it also hurt to see Y/n upset. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Turning his head, George let out a breathy chuckle at the sight of his twin passed out cold. The worry that dripped from his voice was now gone as he eased into his dreamland.

George wanted to scold him, knock him upside the head for skipping out on Y/n again. He cared a lot about her, she was basically a sister, a triplet to him. If Fred was gonna win her back, it wasn’t going to be easy, George knew this. Y/n was stubborn, and the twins had witnessed this first hand for years, it was a trait they loved, when not directed towards either of them.

As George’s head hit the pillow, all he could do was pray to Godrick that the morning would bring good news.

Sunday morning arrived much faster than Y/n had hoped. A bright, loud, light interrupted her sleep as the gears in her head started to turn. Her mind was groggy, the events of last night were foggy. Warm sunlight broke through the glass stained windows. Y/n wiped her eyes and slowly sat up. Her mouth was dry, screaming for a drink of water.

For a minute, she felt calm- happy almost. The room was half empty; Angelina’s bed was bare and Alicia laid in a star-fish position, a snore sounding from her mouth. The image made Y/n laugh.

Standing up, Y/n’s hands flew above her head as she stretched. She cracked her back, a morning ritual for the girl. Just as she reached for the knob of her dresser, a wave of recollection nearly knocked her off her feet.

Fred had stood her up, of course, how could she forget? The irritated skin under her eyes and nose suddenly made sense. Leaning against the wooden cabinet, Y/n huffed. It was times like these she wished she could crawl into bed and stay there for eternity. Nothing would get better though if she didn’t at least try to fix it.

As quick as the thought came, it had evaporated once more. Why did she have to be the one to put forth the effort to fix things? There was no use in fixing their relationship if Fred wasn’t willing to try too. More than try, Y/n thought. It took a piece of her when she came back to the castle just to see him drinking with their friends, not thinking a thought of her. She needed to see that he cared. His words held no value to her anymore, not until he could prove he meant what he said.

Y/n went through her morning routine like a snail, wanting to drag out her time. Eventually, she was fully dressed and ready for the day. She liked to take advantage of the days her school robes weren’t required. The cooling weather led her to a fuzzy black sweater, and light washed jeans. Sliding her delicate wand into her back pocket, Y/n exited the room and took the stairs down to the common room.

Approaching the bottom of the steps, Y/n could hear familiar voices exchanging hush words. She stepped into the room and was surprised to see the lack of students. The only ones present were sat one the long leather couch on the left half of the massive room. All of their gazes fell on Y/n.

Fred, George, Ron, Angelina, Harry and Hermione were all relaxing- well all of them except Fred. He on the other hand was frantic- disheveled. His knee bounced in anticipation. The clock was sneaking

“Oh, uh, hey Y/n!” Ron Weasley moved his hand side to side, waving to Y/n. The temptation to admire the handsome boy at his side leaped into her heart. Using every ounce of strength, Y/n trained her eyes on Ron, not allowing a single peek at Fred.

“Hey, Y/n/n!” The voice of Angelina brought a perk to Y/n’s head.

“Hi.” She greeted the younger Weasley and her close friend back, then headed for the portrait. Before she could make it half the distance, the tall figure of her boyfriend appeared.

“Angel, how did you sleep?” Fred was by her side in an instant. He was desperately trying to read her expression, testing the waters to see her mood. He had hardly slept, he spent most of the night thinking about this exact moment, when he’d have the chance to apologize and make it up to the girl he loved. “Can we please talk? I’m really sorry for last night, honestly, I am so so sorry, darling.”

Y/n stared at him, or rather, through him. It was like she didn’t see the tall wizard in front of her.

“I’m gonna go study, I’ll meet you with you guys later.”

“Y/n, love-“ His warm hand took hold of her of her own, an action she’d typically love. The familiar grasp sent a burst of comfort in her stomach, but she ignored it.

Wiggling out of his grip, the girl shot him a look of displeasure then rushed off. Hermione chased after her, no one else brave enough to step in. Besides, Hermione was one of her closest friends. Watching the younger girl follow after her roommate, Angelina walked after them. Fred stomped like a toddler having a tantrum as the portrait swung open then closed. He knew he had to do something- anything to get her to talk to him again, and that was his plan.

For a Sunday evening, the school library was relatively empty. A majority of the students occupying the tables were studying away for their O.W.L.S. The exams weren’t for another two months but hardly anyone dared to procrastinate until the last week before opening their books. The stress of the exams was enormous, but the students still had other classes to keep in mind.

Y/n Y/n/l and George Weasley were sitting across from on another at a study table. Three hefty textbooks were open as the two discussed their Potions paper. Y/n had been stuck on hers and George had yet to start so they decided to head to the library together and get it done.

Fred was usually right by their side, his hand wrapped around Y/n’s shoulders, but she neglected an invite for him. About an hour after their exchange in the common room, Y/n had apologized to each friend she had snapped on the night prior. They were understanding, clearly seeing where her frustrations had come for. They also felt bad as she was right, no one had even checked to see where she’d gone, and George especially felt terrible for not searching for his friend.

At least three hours had passed since the two Gryffindors started their study session. Y/n was sneaking up on her last two pages while George still had three left. They collaborated every few minutes, then returned to tranquil silence, scribbling away.

Y/n was in the middle of sharing her idea for the last section of her paper when George’s eyes brighten and he interrupted her,

“Fred, how nice of you to join us.”

Turning in her chair, Y/n found her boyfriend standing behind her with a nervous smile. She hated how perfect he looked, even in the poor lighting of the library. He still managed to make her breath hitch in the back of her throat.

“Hi, Y/n. You look beautiful as always.” Fred announced himself softly. George scoffed teasingly, muttering a ‘hello’ to himself to make up for his brother ignoring him. Freds words were genuine though didn’t make much of a difference. Y/n was still hurt and a compliment wasn’t going to mend that. She needed to feel it, to see him truly show that he cared- that she meant something to him. That she was deserving of his time. Sweet comments didn’t not add up to that feeling.

George closed his textbook, then glanced up at his twin,

“Should I leave?”

Before Fred could answer, Y/n slammed her hand on top of George’s Potions book. Wide eyed and frightened, the boy gaped in shock. Even Fred was taken aback by her unexpecting movement. Leering at her friend Y/n replied,

“No. I want you to stay, we were in the middle of a conversation.”

Fred’s heart dropped at her words. It was heartbreaking to have the girl of his dreams now shunning him- brushing him off with ease. It was driving him mad. All he wanted was for her to acknowledge him, give him a little hope that he can earn his way back in her heart. He loved her, every bit of him loved her.

All he wanted was to make it up to her for his mistakes the night before. He couldn’t stop thinking about the look on her face when she saw him sitting with their friends. She was miles exceeded hurt- more devastated at his negligence than hurt alone.

Maybe it was the fear of meeting the reality that losing Y/n was a possibility, but Fred experienced a new sort of emotion when his girlfriend asked for his brother to stay. Yes, they’re friends, all three of them are. Fred had to remind himself of this like a record on repeat. He couldn’t fight the envy off though.

It made his heart twist as she stared at George. Never did he think he’d be jealous of his own twin, but Fred was livid. The seething stream of covetousness overtook his veins. Fred wanted to be the one you ran to for comfort, not his brother. His entire life he had shared everything with George, Y/n was far too meaningful to Fred for her to be shared.

Now it does take two for a turn of events like that to happen. Fred knew, clear as day, that George had no romantic feelings for Y/n and she had none for George. This was true, but for some reason, it didn’t help tame Fred’s envy.

He knew causing a jealous scene would do no good for anyone, so Fred realigned his train of thought and asked,

“Could I steal you from that conversation, please love? I really need to apologize to you.”

Fred allowed his hands to reveal themselves from their previous position hiding behind his back. When he moved them, a full bouquet of colorful flowers and small green plants of different shapes and sizes. The flowers were a display of fuchsia, pink, orange, red, and yellow. They were beautiful, so beautiful, Y/n thought to herself. She couldn’t help the gasp that slipped past her lips.

Fred had gotten her flowers their first-year dating but since the last month or so, she hadn’t received many of his heartwarming gifts. It wasn’t the monocle value of a present but the thought and attention to care that captured Y/n’s heart. Fred had always been the best at creating meaningful gifts on a tight budget. Whether it was flowers he stole from school grounds, or necklaces he made out of stones she found around the Great Lake. He’d make her perfume- proving rather excellent in the Potions department. He also asked Molly to teach him how to knit in order to make Y/n a sweater. This of course delighted Molly over the moon.

George bit on the skin of his knuckles to keep for laughing at his brother. He recognized the flowers, as did Y/n. Fred had picked them from the garden outside the castle- something that had earned him a detention before. George decided not to comment on his observation, Fred was sure to murder him in his sleep if he put his apology in any jeopardy.

Fred extended the bouquet to his flustered girlfriend. He felt a sense of accomplishment while watching her reaction. It was small to most, but for as stubborn as she was, it was big in his eyes. The girl reached forward, accepting the gift with a tiny smile rising to her lips, one she didn’t force down.

For the first time since the night before, Y/n fully saw Fred. She peered directly at him silently. George glanced between the two, stuck between a dual. Without speaking, Fred took some steps forward and pulled the chair next to Y/n out. He slipped into the seat, the couple still staring at each other. Y/n studied his demeanor, he didn’t push her anymore, but he wouldn’t leave her side. Not that she would tell him but, she was happy he joined in. She didn’t want him to leave, she had missed being around him. Tearing herself away, Y/n focused herself back on the other twin.

“As I was saying, George…”

Fred drowned out the words but accepted the fact that Y/n didn’t reject him from sitting down. She also didn’t set the flowers down for the rest of their study session. The remained clutched in her hands, resting in her lap the whole time.

Monday night came in the blink of an eye. Classes had resumed and the castle was bustling in stress. When the end of the year neared, the time spent sitting through lectures was an eternity, while the weekends flew by. Fred had always hated summer break, actually, that’s not entirely true. His dismissive of break budded around the same time his relationship with Y/n became official.

Their first two years, she would spend the holiday back home in London with her family. She loved her family but once she experienced her first holiday at the Burrow, she never wanted to miss another. Her family was a bit distant, not the warm and welcoming pure-bloods like the Weasley’s, but not as cold as the Malfoy’s. Y/n’s family had no issues with her spending breaks at the Burrow, as long as she had Molly and Arthur Weasley’s approval. Molly insisted each time that there was no need for her to even ask to stay. They accepted her with open arms, ecstatic to see Fred had found such a lovely girl.

The end of the school term was coming up and Fred needed to fix things with Y/n before that happened. She planned to spend the break at his family’s home and he feared she’d take her agreement back if things weren’t improved between them. Spending almost two days stuck in the anger of his love was two days too many. Fred was going to fix this and he planned the best idea he could think of, good thing he had their friends happily available to help.

Unbeknownst to Y/n, while she was resting up from her illness Harry, Ron, Lee and George were helping Fred create his masterplan. Hermione helped in her own way by remaining near Y/n’s dorm, sitting in as the lookout. It gave her an excuse to get her school work done so she didn’t protest.

Alicia and Angelina stayed in the room. Once Y/n started to feel better, thanks to Madam Pomfrey, the girl’s altered Hermione who passed the news along to Harry as the chain continued until it reached Fred. At the confirmation, his plan was set into action. Ron was sent to retrieve the girl after Alicia and Angelina convinced her to get some food from the dining hall.

She walked through the common room then down the moving staircase, when her redheaded friend popped up. Ron scared the girl, making her stumble back, her hand placed over her chest.

“Y/n! I’m so glad I ran into you! No one has seen you all day- Angelina said you were feeling ill this morning.” Ron rambled at a fast pace. Y/n, still surprised by his sudden arrival, took a deep inhale, nodding to the boy,

“Yeah, I saw Madam Pomfrey this morning when classes started. I just had a stomach bug and she said I’d have to wait it out but the medicine she gave me seems to be doing the trick.” Y/n gave Ron a kind smile. Ron was two years younger than her but they had always been great friends. Y/n would travel to the Burrow as a guest of the twins during the holiday breaks, so Ron and her had spent a lot of time hanging out together. It was sweet of him to ask how she was doing, but he didn’t seem that her health was the reason for their conversation.

“That’s good to hear. You wouldn’t happen to be heading anywhere, are you?”

“Just to get some food. I’m starving-“ Ron nodded eagerly, cutting his friend off in the process.

“That’s great! I mean, not great, just… well… uh, follow me please!” Scrambling like a mess, Ron clasped his hand over Y/n’s wrist and abruptly dragged her down the stone corridor. She couldn’t find the words to question him and allowed Ron to lead the way. Her curiosity was far too big to ignore his odd request.

Ron carried on for another five minutes then took a sharp turn, heading for the courtyard. Two figures ran off around the side of the castle in the darkness. Y/n swore she recognized the pair as George and Lee. What were they up to? Snapping her head to the younger boy, Y/n waited for him to fill her in on why he had dragged her halfway across the castle to the freezing courtyard.

“Okay! We’re here- I’m just gonna… head out. See ya, Y/n!” Ron rushed his farewell then ran off towards the direction George and Lee had escaped to. What in the world is going on? Left by herself without any explanation, Y/n threw her hand up in annoyance.

“What?”

Alone in the cold, Y/n wrapped the opening of her fuzzy cardigan against her body, attempting to keep warm. Although warmth entered her vein as a pair of arms snaked around her waist, snatching her backwards into a firm surface. She gasped, thrown off by her attacker and tried to turn in retaliation, but their grasp was far too firm. The familiarity of the hold made her body ease up. As much time as the spent together, she could recognize his touch anywhere. Fred.

His touch released a swarm of butterflies through the girl. She could feel the anger washing away as she leaned her body into his chest, having pined for his arms for two too many days than she was accustomed to.

The tall Gryffindor held her tightly. Moving forward, Fred pressed his lips against the shell of Y/n’s ear. The heat of his breath causing her to shudder as he whispered,

“I’m so happy you came, darling.”

Y/n smirked, looking up at him. The concurrent willfulness of her nature could only carry on for so long until her headstrong demeanor crumbled. A pang of chagrin still grumbled in her stomach but the sight in front of her certainly was a runner in her change of heart.

Soaking in her surroundings, Y/n realized they were just a few hundred feet outside Hargid’s hut. This explained the garden full of massive orange pumpkins. In the middle of the path was a small gazebo decorated in fairy lights and sunflowers. A small table set for two was tucked inside. Small teacup white candles line the path, creating a runway of sorts. Another candle, larger and purple, sat flickering in the breeze in the center of the neat table.

Y/n stood motionless absorbing the creation her boyfriend made- all for her. Speechlessness was not common for Y/n so Fred undoubtably began to second guess if his efforts were good enough. His fears were stomped in a matter of moments when Y/n harshly yanked at the material of his collar and placed a brisk, short kiss to his lips. Fred was startled, losing the opportunity to kiss her back but Y/n didn’t want him to. It gave her a sense of control- they still had issues they needed to work out, but she loved him nonetheless. Besides, avoiding and staying mad at Fred forever? Impossible. In two days, Y/n had to stop herself a million different times from approaching Fred and sharing a laugh with him, or kissing him, or holding his hand and giving him a hug. She didn’t want to fight off the urge anymore- and Fred couldn’t handle the distance spaced between them. Thus, being the motivation for his grand, heartfelt, date.

“I’ll assume that means you like it. I won’t take all the credit- it was my idea, but our friends are the main reason I was able to pull this off. I feel really bad and… I need to do something special for you- I don’t do that enough lately. I forget sometimes to remind you how important you are in my life and how much I love you.” Fred sheepishly smiled, nervously awaiting her reaction.

The small table was set, a new bundle of crimson red roses placed on her seat. To the side of her plate was a small box with a beautifully wrapped ribbon tied to the top. Fred had a special way of showing his love and adoration for his girlfriend, but even this was new to her. Never before had he gone so over the top to prove his feelings to her.

Y/n lifted her hand and intertwined it with Fred’s, smiling up at him,

“It’s gorgeous, Freddie.” The bashful smile made Fred’s heart melt on sight. He had prepared himself for the repetitive rejection she had been sending, so when she whispered those sweet words, his chest tightened, and his pace stopped.

Fred almost fainted in shock at the sound of her voice. He squeezed her light hand and drew it back, forcing her body into his own. Y/n couldn’t help the laugh that fell from her lips. She missed his playful ways. With the foreheads pressed against each other, Fred grinned,

“I’ve missed your voice, love.”

Although his words made her heart take flight, the reality of her hurt was still roaming. Y/n detached herself from his grasp and rested her hand on the black metal table. Her fingertips fumbled with the white cloth, it served as a distraction only for a short period of time. Fred sent her a sorrowful look. Her shift in moods was confusing to him, he only wanted to make things better.

Y/n sighed and ran her hand through her h/c locks. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply then asked,

“Why don’t you have time for me anymore, Fred?” The question of the night- or rather month. His date was beautiful, absolutely stunning. As riveting as it was, it couldn’t erase the hurt she had been experiencing.

Fred shook his head frantically, dismissing the accusation. He knew why she would think that way, he understood. It wasn’t true, though. Actions speak louder than words and Fred despised the fact that recently, his feelings for Y/n weren’t lining up with his actions. His words could only do so much. But he also knew soon, things would be different. Missing the Hogsmeade date was his fault, and he paid for it. Two days might seem minute to most, but when you spend essentially everyday attached to someone’s hip, two days of them purposely ignoring you and speaking to every soul expect you, it can feel like a lifetime. He realized a few things in this time.

Fred remembered how fun it was to act as if he was still trying to win her over. Gifts, no matter their cost, always brought a gleam to her face which never failed to make Fred grin. However, it was much more entertaining when she wasn’t upset with him and would throw the flirtatious comments right back at him. He was also reminded of how lucky he was to be with Y/n. While she ignored him, Fred found himself envious of every living being Y/n spoke to, as they were not him. When he started engulfing himself in his plans for the joke shop, his effort in his relationship had decreased and this was something he vowed to never let happen again.

“I’ll always have time for you, darling. And if I don’t, I’ll make some. I truly am sorry about this weekend- you don’t deserve that.”

“It just seems like you’re distracted, like you don’t care anymore.” Y/n batted her reddening eyes, finally throwing her worries to the air.

“No, no, Y/n, not at all. I’m so sorry I made you feel that way, love. I’m a terrible excuse of a boyfriend, I never meant to create this mess. I love you so much.” Fred’s head bowed down. It tore him up to know the way his actions made her feel, the only girl he loved.

“I love you too, Freddie. I really do but I can’t feel alone in this relationship. I let our date Friday slide, even though I was annoyed, but Saturday night? I feel like it broke me. Just knowing you forgot about me-“ Y/n fought back the burning sensation in her eyes as the tears began to brim.

The anxiety blooming inside her was clear to Fred. Suppose that was the downside to dating your best friend, they can always tell when somethings wrong. Before a tear could hit the floor, he whisked her to the iron garden chair, then kneels before her, his hands holding her face as if it was a priceless, dainty piece of china.

“I didn’t forget about you, darling, that’s impossible to do. I’ve been… well I’ve been working on something with George for when we leave school next year. It’s real important to me and I wanted to share it with you but I was scared that it might not happen but… if I have your support and you with us, I know it’ll happen.”

“What’re you rambling on about, Fred?”

“Remember how I told you that George and I wanted to open a joke shop? Well, it’s happening… I think. We’re really close, we just gotta make it through next year then we’re free! We’ll have our own joke shop and get to sell our own products and start our future.”

A silence overtook the atmosphere. Y/n’s lips were stuck open in a small ‘o’ shape, eyes glued to the floor. Was he really going to leave her all alone next year? Would they have to break up? Surely, he wouldn’t want to be in a long-distance relationship.

She was snapped from her own mind when her skin registered the touch of Fred’s lips as they traced her knuckles, kissing each finger as he did. His eyes then peered up to meet her own. She could tell he was serious by the feeling of his stare. Then he continued, making Y/n perk up,

“But none of that can happen without you… Y/n I want you to come with me. Move in with George and I, start a future with me. We want you to be a part of the shop. I want you there. You’re the only girl I want, for the rest of my life.”

Her once open mouth clamped shut in a swift motion. Ever since she met the twins, Y/n wanted a future with Fred. Everyone saw it as a childhood crush, but she always knew it was more. She never stopped loving him- never could. Even when his pranks took a step too far over the line. They always found their way back to each other and would work through it. Fights such as the most recent were rare- but Fred’s admission filled in a lot of empty spaces that had left Y/n sleepless for days. Finally, the crushing weight was lifted from her chest as she choked out a shaky breath.

Leaping forward from the chair, Y/n threw her body into her boyfriend’s body and clamped him in a koloa like hold. Fred chuckled in amusement, falling onto the near ground at her jump.

“Why do you have to be so lovable? I hate it. I should be angry with you, but I just love you too much. Besides, I think you did enough suffering.” She giggled as she pinched his round cheeks in her hands. Fred poked his tongue out at her and grabbed at her sides. Y/n swatted his hands away, giving him a stern glare saying, ‘don’t push it’.

Slowly, she leaned down and brushed her lips against Fred’s, smirking down at him. It was a change in roles. In their more adult situations, Fred was typically the one on top with Y/n pinned below him, but that’s a story for another time.

A small, almost whimper, sound came from Fred. He hated being teased- that was his job. Dragging out the moment, Y/n tugged on the skin of his bottom lip with her teeth, earning a groan of approval from Fred. She grazed over his mouth one last time before dipping her head down to meet his and interlocking their lips, still straddling his waist. Fred’s hips pushed towards her core out of instinct. Not ready to give in quite yet, Y/n lifted her body and shifted forward, entrapping Fred even more so in the heated kiss.

They parted for seconds to sneak a bit of air, then continued their needed make out. It had been a while since they proved their love to each other in this way. For the last month, it had been small kisses here and there when the couple had a chance to see each other. Y/n needed his touch- she needed him. Fred longed to have under him, pleasuring her. He desperately wanted to sink his head between her legs and really show her just how much he loved her.

The coldness of his fingertips hit Y/n’s skin as his fingers dug into the sides of her waist. As much as she longed to keep the exchange going, the last thing either of them needed was a detention.

Y/n plucked herself away, a small pout lining Fred’s lips. His hands remained tied up in her own, lying them on his stomach. The weight of his question seeped in like molasses. Opportunities like this presented themselves once in a lifetime, there was no way Y/n was going to let it slip by.

Rolling off his lap, Y/n plopped down on the ground to the side of Fred. Their heads turned simultaneously towards each other, Fred winking to Y/n.

This is what she wanted. To see him care for her, show his love. His attention. It was the one thing she had been striving for but now that the cat, or rather joke shop, was out of the bag, Fred didn’t feel the need to hide anything from her anymore and keep his work to himself. He was over the moon with excitement to have her join George and himself. It was everything he could hope for.

Coyly averting her peer, Y/n asked,

“Do you really mean it, Fred? You really want me to come with you and George?”

Kindly, Fred swiped his thumb under her chin and raised her head up so their eyes were level.

“I wouldn’t want you anywhere else in the world then with me.” The serenity in his voice didn’t go unnoticed. Y/n propped herself up to her elbows and brought Fred in a bone crushing hug. Heavy chuckles croaked from Fred as she smothered him lovingly. He managed to sneak in a tiny peck to her check and she hugged him. Placing her head on his shoulder, Y/n poked the side of Fred’s cheek, commenting,

“You’re gonna be stuck with me forever, Fred, I love it!”

Throwing his arm around the elated girl, Fred just smirked.

“Duh, that’s kind the whole point of you moving in with me.” He replied in a matter-of-fact tone. The night was growing darker and the steady wind was escalating. In an hour, two if they were lucky, Filch would be surveying the grounds in search of students, mainly Fred and George, out past curfew. It was a sport to him, catching students breaking rules and getting to turn them in. It was part of his job, yes, but Y/n hated that he never took it easy on anything for the Gryffindors like he did the Slytherins. Fred looked at the scenery around them and remarked,

“Y’know, angel, as much as I’d love to spend the rest of the night laying with you in my arms, we can do that in my dorm room tonight… in an actual bed instead of dirt. I mean, we didn’t set up this whole thing for nothing! If I knew laying in the dirt would win you back, you should’ve told me!” His sarcastic words were received with a light slap.

“Smart ass.” Y/n rolled her eyes teasingly and started to sit up. Before she could get to her feet, a pair of hands planted themselves at her waist and lifted her. Fred had his moments, but he was always a gentleman to her. His teasing ways were comforting to Y/n, reminding her that they were good now, in comparison to the recent downfalls.

Fred helped Y/n to her seat, then jogged over to his own. He presented the girl with a cake he made for her. Hermione brought him to the kitchens and taught him how to make one. It took about three hours, he burnt the first, put too many eggs in the second, then forgot to add eggs to the third. Finally, on the fourth attempt, Fred created a passable cake. Hermione had no desire to spend any more time in the kitchen, so she quickly frosted it for him, not wanting him to ruin it this far in, then covered it and locked it in the fridge. Much to Y/n’s surprise, it was one of the best homemade cakes she’d ever had. Her teeth were practically chattering from the intense amount of sugar, but she had to keep in mind it was Fred who baked it.

After eating, Fred and Y/n took their sweet time strolling around the castle. Fred swung his hand back and forth, causing the same effect to Y/n’s. They laughed feverishly as Fred chased Y/n up the moving stairs as they raced to the common room. When they entered the room, they sprinted straight for Fred’s, still in a chase. Hermione, Ron, Harry, George, Angelina, and Lee all watched in amusement as the couple seemed to be reunited.

“Wonder if they’re back together. You guys think the date worked?”

Everyone shared glances at the obliviousness of Ron. There were times when social cues and context clues just didn’t exist to Ron. George scoffed at his little brother and shook his head. The rest of the group roared with laughter as Ron’s face scrunched in irritation.

“Not sure, Ron. Why don’t you go out to our room and ask them?” George smirked mischievously causing Ron to turn white as a ghost in realization. A faint ‘oh’, tumbled out of his lips and his eyes went wide.

Despite their assumption, up in the top room in the Gryffindor boy’s dormitory, Fred Weasley laid snoring in his large mattress, still in his school robes. Squished against his chest by his arms, Y/n was sound asleep, similarly dressed. The two didn’t care what they looked like or who came in, as long as they were together, that’s all that mattered.

[rose-edith]

Hello! It's me again; absolutely thrilled at your open inbox and in love with you latest posts. I saw you were in a mood for some Supernatural and I wanted to request, if possible: character of your choice that Reader just loves kissing! She could, and mostly is, kissing then any chance - on their forehead, lips, hands, nose, and in many, not always appropriate to mention places! Oh so much love to receive! If you don't want to do such request that's okay. Also, Happy New Year <3

Happy New Year! Thank you! Hope you like it!

Loving to kiss Dean Winchester would include:

•you’ve known the Winchester’s forever. You and Sam are very good friends, but your relationship with Dean is tricky…you’re not together, but you’re not just friends either! As he likes to put it you’re his ‘old faithful’, the person he can always turn to.

•but you’re not exclusive either…but then you’re not exactly not in love, you do love each other. It’s tricky, but the agreement is that it’s an unspoken, complicated arrangement. So maybe don’t try to define it?

•either way kissing Dean happens to be your favourite thing to do. And the reason why? It always makes him smile, and in your opinion he doesn’t smile enough, so whatever little joy or small smile you can bring to his face, the better.

•so every time you climb into the back of Baby- Sam always shotguns the front seat (which you think given his height and insanely long legs is only fair enough) you always stop Dean from getting in right away. You pull him closer by cupping his cheek and press a small, chaste kiss to his lips in thanks for doing the driving. So every journey always starts with a smile.

•and if a journey happens to be particularly long? Well, you can be relied on to keep Dean’s spirits up. You always sit behind him in Baby, so you’ll give him a massage, or press lots of kisses to his neck while humming his favourite song or whispering the wonderfully filthy things you’re going to do to him the next time you happen to find yourselves in bed together. Sam always does his best to ignore you, but if he sees or hears anything he gags- but he’s not really disgusted, he’s glad you and Dean have each other, even if he’s not sure how it works or what you are to one another.

•when you get split up on cases and you end up calling him for an update you always end every phone call with a kiss. You can’t see it, because you’re not with Dean, but he actually blushes a little bit when he hears the smacking sound of your lips imitating a kiss! THE Dean Winchester BLUSHES!

•late at night when he’s in a drunken stupor but still can’t seem to sleep completely you’ll tuck him up in bed and press a kiss to his forehead. That makes him grin, and if he asks you’ll even hold him all night, he can be the little spoon and you won’t tell a soul!

•you’re always awake first, and Dean is…well, he’s a virile young man so he often awakes with a very hard, pressing matter down below. Nothing cures any thoughts of a hangover quicker than waking up to sloppy, wet kisses being delivered down his chest, stomach and slowly making their way to where he evidently needs the most attention. Oh yes, that never fails to get a big smile out of him…amongst other things.

•on the rare occasions (exceedingly rare!) that Dean is rejected at a bar, you’ll stride straight up to him and pull him in for a hot, hard kiss. Honestly it’s a kiss that could go through plasterboard. You’ve been kicked out of bars before for kissing him like that.

•when he’s busy doing research you always deliver a tiny kiss somewhere to his head, he deserves a little reward and it always spurs him on!

•he’s a hunter and gets injured a lot, so you end up patching him up quite a lot, and in those moments you always end up giving him a ‘magic kiss’ to make the pain go away. The weird thing is though, that it actually does make Dean’s pain go away, you never believe that claim he makes…but it’s true! It can’t be explained, but your little loving kisses heal him!

•and then there’s the kisses when you think one or both of you are in danger and there’s no escape, that your deaths seem certain. These aren’t meant to be witnessed by anyone else. They’re more than just two people kissing, it’s two souls interacting and seeking final moments to be wrapped up entwined together. In fact, when Castiel once witnessed such a kiss he swore for a moment your souls were locked together too, but he didn’t tell anyone that, because he didn’t understand it, whatever it was went far beyond whatever words could convey.

[wearywinchester]

Safe and Sound

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When a hunt goes wrong and plagues you with a nightmare, a green eyed hunter is there to pick up the pieces.

Requested by Anonymous: “staying at bobby’s house and y/n having a night terror (i mean full on screaming/crying) dean ofc runs from his room thinking she’s being murdered and he wakes her up and just has to hold her”

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: angst, injury, night terrors, nightmares, fluff

The woods were never a place you wanted to linger in, monster on the loose or not. It was eery and vast, tree after tree surrounding you at every turn. Throw in the fact that it’s a cold fall day and there’s a bit of a drizzle pelting down on you between the thick branches above you. Better yet, the fact that you’d gone and got yourself lost.

That’s what did it for you. That was your downfall, a hunt that still taunted you even when it was over.

You knew it was a trap the moment you fell for it. But it had you fooled, that wendigo had you fooled when it’d adopted the voice you’d recognize anywhere. That deep, gruffness and the sarcastic wit that belonged to a green eyed hunter who seemed closer than close.

You fell for it, having been so desperate to find him after having been split up that you’d gone and took the bait.

You followed that voice, the one that called you sweetheart and the one that called out for you. The one that seemed just paces away when the real owner of it was much farther than that. He was a good mile away from you at that point, maybe a little less, but far enough to leave you be a target with much help other than your own two fists and your gun, the blade that sat tucked in your boot having been a last resort.

It was cold, it was frigid as the icy rain fell against you, wetting your hair and beading against your jacket before seeping through the material. It was cold and the sun dipped more and more below the horizon as it sat behind the clouds.

Your heart raced a mile a minute as you looked around, trees in every direction. If you turned you just might lose your way more than you already had, everything having looked the same and you couldn’t find your way even if you tried. You were scared to even call out, scared to lure the monster that so clearly had its sights set on you. Because you knew if you got an answer, you knew if you heard that ever familiar voice, you wouldn’t be able to tell real from fake.

Your sweat mingled with the rain, mixing with the tears rimming your eyes that stung and burned. They clouded your vision till you blinked them away, subsiding for a moment or two until the next bout had welled up.

You hated the way you felt, vulnerable and alone and without any form of help other than your own ability to defend yourself against a supernatural freaking monster that’d been a million times stronger than you ever were.

You jumped at the branch snapping just behind you.

You needed to wake up, you had to wake up before you went and relived your fate just hours earlier. You could feel yourself laying there, you were in that spare bedroom, the sheets crinkled in your palms as your nails dug into the fabric.

It was all there— you were there. You were in that room, you told yourself that you were there, that you weren’t back in those woods. You told yourself that, and if you could just open your eyes you’d be okay, you’d be safe. But you couldn’t. You were so far trapped within the cruel aftermath of a hunt gone wrong that you couldn’t tell the difference between a brutal nightmare and your own reality.

Your heart hammered away within your chest, the pounding beat of it pulsing in your ears and hindering your ability to hear as well as you needed to. Your eyes were wide, cheeks burning as you held your breath in hopes to lessen the noise you’d been making but the heaves of your chest didn’t help your cause. Your heightened breaths weren’t helping.

You needed to catch a breath.

Your hands shook, they trembled in a way that was painfully obvious to a monster seeking out its prey. You were only making yourself look more and more defenseless by the second, you knew you were. If you were to aim your gun at a target you knew you’d be too shaky to get it, you’d be too distraught to hit a damn wendigo.

The break of another branch sounded to your right, a sound far closer than you would have liked as your head turned in an instant to catch the source. Your grip on your gun was tight, unwavering despite the quiver in your hands.

You were a strong hunter, you had always been brave in the face of danger. You always pushed your feelings aside to appear tough, tougher than you really were. And it became abundantly clear how you were just the opposite in that moment, just how scared you could really be when you haven’t got two other hunters there to step in and keep you closer than arm’s length.

Your grip on those sheets tightens as you shift, as your chest tightens as it rises and falls at a quicker pace. You were tense as ever as your heart pounds, the very same way it did hours before and you knew it wasn’t going to calm any time soon.

Your brows furrowed and your face contorted in fear, eyes squeezing shut all the more tightly despite your growing desire to open them.

But it was a task that was proving to be too great.

You felt a rush of air brush by you, a gust that had you turning your head, but your attention was quickly grabbed at the sound of the bushes swaying in a way that’s from more than the stormy breeze.

Your breath was shaky, faltering with every inhale and exhale and you were near paralyzed in fear at this point. This wasn’t your first rodeo, not even your twentieth. You’d faced death on more than one occasion, faced scarier monsters than this yet you couldn’t find it in yourself to put one foot in front of the other.

All you could do was listen to the sound of your own labored breath.

Your nails dug into your palms as your legs tensed, pushing yourself upwards on the mattress in an attempt to protect yourself, something that was no use. Everything was no use.

Dean didn’t know, he was completely unaware as he resided in the room down the hall. But you’d been unaware of him, you’d been unaware of the way he’d only let himself lay half asleep in that bed because he was too worried about you to get a single ounce of restful sleep that night. You didn’t know how much he’d been tossing and turning trying to keep himself from checking on you every other minute.

The tension in the air was only getting heavier with the pound of your heart, your surroundings getting darker the more time that passed. You had no idea where Sam and Dean were, had no idea how doomed you really were. The thought alone had your tears worsening as you remained all by yourself.

Your heart was in your throat as you took a step forward, swallowing thickly. You weren’t blind to the shadow passing by in front of you, darting around to your side as your gaze follows a moment behind it. You knew your fate, you were trying to accept it. You gave it your all as a hunter and you knew it was dangerous, but that didn’t stop the fear that erupted within you as you stood there.

“Y/n!”

Your breath hitched your gaze skipping to the source. You fell for it again.

“Dean!”

You fell for it.

You heard that commotion behind you, that rustle and crunch of leaves on old trees. You barely had the chance to turn around before you saw that shadow again, before you felt frail fingers wrap around you in a bruising grip that was tighter than tight, the sight of the gaunt wendigo something that came into view much closer than you ever expected to be. It’s claws dug into your skin, sharp and unforgiving as it snagged you without hesitation—

Your scream pierced through the quiet of the house, louder than ever, louder than it had been when the incident actually happened. It was a heart wrenching sound, shrill and fearful as you screamed at the top of your lungs. Your eyes still squeezed shut, something that’d trapped you within that reality turned nightmare as your screamed carried on.

Dean was on high alert once he heard it, any ounce of exhaustion and fatigue having dissipated the moment he heard you scream. It was a sound he’d never forget, one that tears through him as the fear ripples over him in waves.

It very well could have been a monster that couldn’t leave well enough alone. It could have been a monster seeking revenge, could have been a sick person with an agenda on their mind, someone holding no supernatural abilities. The sound had him thinking the very worst, had him thinking there just might be a physical threat to you. It was so high on his list he didn’t even consider the possibility of it being a nightmare, not at first.

It didn’t matter as he tugged open the door, Sam quick to appear at the bottom of the stairs as Bobby opened his own bedroom door. Dean nearly left a dent in the wall with the knob as he rushed down the hall, ramming his hip into the railing in a less than pleasant motion but he didn’t care about that.

When he swung open that door he felt only a small wave of relief to find the room empty of a threat, something that was fleeting when his gaze landed on you.

Another scream tore against your throat as you thrashed against the mattress, Dean’s voice sounding over you.

“Y/n!” He calls out, hands settling over your arms. “Y/n, wake up.”

The action only startles you, eyes opening at the feel of his hands on your arms and you cry out, not quite as loud as your screams but that look you give him, that fear within it as you cower away from him rips his heart in two.

“Hey, hey sweetheart, it’s me,” he says, voice quieter as he raises his hands slowly, “baby it’s me, Dean.”

You’ve still got that look in your eyes, you’re still huddled at the opposite corner of the bed as you look at the green eyed hunter trying his hardest not to display his emotions to keep you calm. To try and ground you now that you’re awake.

Sam ducks out of the room to keep things as open as possible, to keep from startling you further. You’ve got beads of sweat glimmering on your skin, tears wetting heated cheeks as your shirt sticks to your back, your chest heaving. Your heart is racing a mile a minute as your gaze bounces around the room, and you can barely prop yourself up with the way you shook.

“Y/n, hey,” he says again, soft and patient as he tries to grab your attention, watching as you take in the room around you. “Look at me, sweetheart.”

He’s cautious as the tips of his fingers brush over the top of your hand, something that has you flinching ever so slightly in a way that’s noticeable to him.

You swallow thickly as you look at him, brows furrowed as he sits on the edge of the bed. You were in that spare bedroom, the one you came back to. You were in Bobby’s house, that ever familiar home, not some dark and cold mine in the middle of the woods. You were a meal for some monster anymore. You were back where you needed to be, back to safety.

You were embarrassed.

You were humiliated as you sat there, a distraught mess of tears and heavy breathing. Your cheeks burned as you sat there with sweat dampened clothes on, your lip quivering in a way that showcased every ounce of vulnerability you had to put on display. You were embarrassed as the realization set in—of your screaming, of your crying, of the fear you fought so hard to push down as a hunter to be taken seriously. To not be seen as someone too weak for the job.

“I’m— I’m fine,” you say, voice on the verge of faltering as you swallow, brushing the back of your hand over your forehead.

“Y/n, you’re not fine. You just had a freakin’ nightmare,” he says, trying his best to keep his frustration at bay. “Please don’t start—”

“I said I’m fine, Dean, alright?” You insist, tone harsher than you meant it to be but your huff certainly didn’t help make things better. But that embarrassment was only fueling it. “You don’t need to look at me like that. I said I’m good. You don’t need to fuss over me.”

You were absolutely the opposite as you stood to your feet, standing in an unbalanced footing as you walked towards the door.

“Y/n.”

“Go back to bed, Dean.”

You didn’t say anything more as you headed for the bathroom down the hall, catching a glimpse of the younger Winchester and Bobby paces away, hoping they’d gone unnoticed.

You closed the bathroom door behind you with a little more force than you intended, huffing out a shaky breath. You were quick to turn on the faucet, cupping your hands under the running tap before you bent down and splashed the cold water over your face. It soothed the heat in your cheeks momentarily until you’d done it again, repeating the action a few times to cool yourself down.

The sting on your cheek was plenty apparent to you, the cut in it having been irritated from your thrashing and crying. You were still crying for that matter, your lip still wobbling in a way that was seemingly out of your control as you looked at your reflection.

You were not okay, you were far from it as you stood there on trembling legs, your heart still pounding in your chest. You were visibly shaken, visibly upset as you stood there, worse for wear both physically and emotionally.

You closed yourself off after they got you back that day, you shut down just like Dean knew you would. You always did that when something goes wrong, when you get hurt. You always did that. You got quiet, got stubborn, you got this ridiculous thought in your head that you need to push yourself away from everyone just so you look tough. Just so you don’t look quite so vulnerable when that’s the last thing you need to do.

You shut yourself out and took up the other room so Dean wouldn’t see you so upset.

But it’s the same every time.

It doesn’t matter how close you are to being six feet under, it doesn’t matter how bad you’re hurting. It doesn’t matter. You hated looking anything other than strong, anything other than tough because you were embarrassed to be vulnerable.

So, you put on that tough guy act even when it’s obvious you’re not.

It’s clear with the way you’re so on edge, and how you’re so distraught you can barely contain the way you tremble. Even with the knowledge that there’s no threat you still can’t hold it together. You were embarrassed that Sam saw, that Bobby saw, that Dean saw.

It made you feel weaker than ever. But as the seconds pass you don’t know if you can find it in yourself to care about that.

You can’t.

You give yourself another glance in the mirror, at the angry cut on your cheek. You splash some cool water over your face a couple times more before patting yourself dry with the towel on the hook. You let out a defeated sigh as you open the door, turning the light off before stepping out into the hall and heading for your room.

The hardwood was cold against your feet, sending a chill throughout your body despite the heat in your cheeks. You wanted to curl up in bed, you were so tired but that fear of that nightmare coming back had dread pooling within your stomach.

You reached your doorway, reached that spare room but you stopped in your tracks.

That room wasn’t empty, it wasn’t abandoned, left alone for you to come back to by yourself. It wasn’t vacant. Not as Dean sat atop that mattress, the dampened sheets sitting in the hamper in a crumpled heap as new ones, fresh ones took their place.

He sat on that bed with his arms crossed over his chest, brows furrowed deeply.

Your breath hitched, and you swallowed thickly as you pressed your palm to the doorframe to steady yourself.

“You stayed?” You ask quietly, blinking at him as he meets your gaze.

He looks at you for a moment or two, that hardened look he’s got on his face softening the more he does until it goes soft completely, the hints of a comforting smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It’s bittersweet, a half smile that falters at the sight of your wavering expression.

“Yeah,” he nods, voice just above a whisper. “I did.”

You laugh softly, a simple puff through the nose in a laugh that’s not quite humorous as you bite the inside of your cheek and shift on your feet. The thought alone is making you have a hard time suppressing your emotions, especially when he’s looking at you the way he is. Guilt adds it’s way to the pile, tugging at your heart for the way you had gotten so harsh.

It wears away at you as you stand there, his words playing over and over till your lip wobbles a little more than it had been. You stand there until you can’t, crossing the room in a few paces before climbing over Dean and tucking yourself into his side.

He’s got this way about him, this way of being the most comforting person you’ve ever known, the sweetest man you’ve ever known. He’s got the softest heart for the gruffest personality, one that’s layers deep but so far you’ve been the only one to manage to get to that side of him. You’ll always be the one to do that.

He wastes no time in tugging you all the more closer, your head dropping to rest on his chest. His skin is warm, a comforting warmth to the way you shiver against him. He knows you’re cold, doesn’t have to ask before he tugs that blanket over your waist. But he knows it’s more than just shivering, he knows the difference. He knows it as you tremble against him.

You feel his hand as it runs over your head, the cold metal of his ring brushing against your cheek in a repeated motion as he does it once, twice, three times more. You can feel his lips as they press to your forehead, lingering when he hears the way you sniffle, the occasional tear dropping against his chest.

“You were screamin’ for me,” he says quietly, the tip of his finger tracing over your shoulder in an absentminded pattern.

His words make your heart squeeze, a frown tugging at your lips. You can hear the upset in his voice no matter how hard he tries to hide it, and you can’t find it in yourself to look up at him.

“‘M sorry,” you mumble, and you can feel the way he tenses softly as he looks down at you and you know he’d never accept anything of the sort. “Shouldn’t have been so harsh.”

You feel him squeeze you closer, feel his lips press to your forehead. His grip only tightens when you flinch at the sound of a branch tapping against the window, tugging the blanket up to your shoulders.

“‘S okay,” he murmurs. “You were scared.”

“I’m still scared,” you whisper, your lip quivering a little more now that you’ve admitted it.

“I know you are, sweetheart,” he says, his hand smoothing over your hair, brushing through the tangles gently as he takes a deep breath. “I know you are, but I’m right here. That son of a gun ain’t gonna get you.”

You nod against him, sniffing once more as you swallow down the lump in your throat, hurting and raw. You curl against him some more, the charm of his necklace in your palm as you feel the poke of his stubble against your forehead. The trace of his fingers against your shoulder keeps you here, keeps you in that moment as you let the breeze from the open window brush over you.

You were okay, you were safe there. You were safe now that you’ve got your green eyed hunter, now that you’ve got him there.

—

Tags: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes @agalliasi @campingmonkey @deandaydreaming @lanea-1 @vv1nch3st3r @happyt0exist @malindacath @awkward-and-indecisive @ajreturnstocringeyaccount @deanswaywardgirl @drownthewitch

[wormstacheangel]

Suptober Day 2: No Vacancy

wc: 1.1k tags: mutual pining, my beloved <3

It’s all the same thing. Motel after motel, they all said the same thing, no vacancy. Over and over, they mocked the too-tired hunters who just wanted a bed, any bed at the moment. Then, finally, Dean didn’t care anymore. He just wanted somewhere to rest his head that wasn’t his overly cramped car.

“Dean, just pull into the hotel.” Sam pointed at the big building that stood lakeside with a beautiful mountain view.

“Dude, even with Charlie’s magical card, I know it’s gonna be too much.” Dean talked while pulling into the hotel parking lot. Dean stopped out front and gave his wallet to Sam, “Just get whatever they have available. The kid’s neck is gonna hurt if he keeps sleeping like that.”

Dean motions to the back seat, where Jack sleeps on Cas’s shoulder.

“Got it.” Sam carefully closed the door behind him to make sure not to wake him before he headed inside.

The car was silent for a moment before Cas asked, “The lake looks beautiful. Maybe I’ll take a walk while you all rest.”

“Just don’t go exploding in it.” Dean tried to joke, but it came out too bitter, and he winced away from Cas’s gaze in the rearview mirror.

“I was just thinking of a nice stroll, actually. Maybe skip some stones if I get really bored waiting for you to wake up.” Cas kept his voice even, casual, and Dean was thankful. “But I’ll happily wait. For you.”

Dean looked back at the mirror, only for Cas to look away suddenly.

Cas cleared his throat, his head turning to hide his face into Jack’s sweat-covered hair. “To wake up. I’ll wait for you to wake up.”

Dean felt the warmth grow in his chest as the hope crumbled again. “Yeah. Yeah, course.”

Silence filled the cabin. The only noise was Dean’s constant finger drumming and muffled noise around them. So when Dean saw Sam walk back, giving them a thumbs-up, he felt relief—watching his brother get back in the car and point at where they should park.

“They only gave us one room, but it has two queens and a pullout couch.” They walked back to the hotel, duffle bags swung over their shoulders, while Sam explained the gist. “Figured we give one bed to Jack, and we can play for the other.”

“I can take the couch.” Jack insisted, but Dean waved his words away.

“No way. You used way too much mojo last hunt. You need the rest.” So they all cramped up the elevator and headed to the fifth floor. Sam apparently got them a nice view. It was the only room available apparently, coincidentally it was also really expensive. “I’ll take the couch.”

“No arguments here.” Sam was the first one out of the elevator, and they all followed him until they got to their room. “Wow.”

Dean whistled. “Shit. We should do hotels more often.”

“It actually smells clean,” Cas commented in disbelief--the brothers both took a deep inhale and gave each other an approving glace--while Jack pushed ahead to fall into one of the beds.

“Dude, it has a small kitchen.” Sam dropped his stuff on the other bed next to Jack before gently patting Jack’s leg. “Take a shower first. You’ll feel better.”

Dean walked over to the couch and quickly took out to the bed as Cas and Sam tried to convince Jack to shower. Dean didn’t look up as he took out his pajamas. He simply cleared his throat to get the kid’s attention before saying, “Jack. Shower. Go.”

Jack groaned, kicking his legs off the bed, and headed to the bathroom. Dean gave his brother and Cas a smug look while they rolled their eyes back at him.

They were all soon clean and tucked into bed. Even the damn couch mattress was better than any motel. And yet, Dean didn’t sleep.

He thought he was going to pass out as soon as his head hit the pillow but instead, Instead, he felt like he finally got the energy to drive them the rest of the night home. There was no noise to keeping him awake or an annoying, blinking light in his eyes. Nope. This is the most comfortable he has been in days, yet all he can think about is Cas sitting on the balcony, reading a book under the moonlight.

Dean could see the angel from where he lay in bed and didn’t want to miss the exciting moment when Cas licked his finger to turn a page. A habit he picked up from God knows where and while Dean would have found it disgusting if anyone else had done that, he was mesmerized by the way Cas’s tongue poked out to wet his finger.

In the glowing moonlight, Dean thought he could find the courage to say something. Anything.

“Staring is rude.” Cas’s voice is low, and yet it still made Dean jump out of his skin. “Or so I have been told.”

He didn’t look up from his book, and yet Dean could hear the amusement in his voice. Cas was teasing him.

Dean got up from his cocoon of blankets-- course, they got extras-- and headed outside to join the wide awake angel.

“Thought you were gonna take a walk.” Dean leaned against the door frame with his hands shoved into his sweatpants pockets. Watching as Cas looked up from his book with a small smile.

“I may still do that. But I also wanted to enjoy the view.” Cas motioned towards the mountains and the lake that shinned with the moon’s glow. He shut his book, watching Dean as he moved closer to the balcony but didn’t dare go to the edge. It was quiet again, but this time it was comfortable.

“I also figured,” Cas got up from his seat to join Dean. He was copying his stance while brushing their arms together. “That maybe you would be a little worried if I left. But I could be wrong.”

Dean could feel the warmth run up his face because he wasn’t wrong, Cas and lakes were never a good combination. But, instead of answering, Dean gently nudged Cas with his elbow. Not looking at him while stepping a little closer. It was cold out there; it made sense to huddle up.

They stood looking at the view for a while until Cas wrapped his coat around Dean’s shoulders. Until Dean felt his friend supported his whole body weight. Until Dean felt arms practically carry him inside, holding him until morning came. Hearing whispers as fingers gently touch his skin. So carefully like he does when he flips a page of his favorite book.

“You’re worth waiting for.” Dean wasn’t sure if he felt lips on his head, but he tugged the blanket of warmth closer. “Go to sleep, Dean. I’ll be here when you wake.”

His hands didn’t loosen their grip. Knowing damn well, this hotel was worth every penny if he finally got to sleep like this.

[cassiesboy]

well now i need to know your transnatural sam headcanons ever since that ficlet made me cry

OH BOY OK.

honestly i don't have super fleshed out headcanons, idek that i'd call it a headcanon i just think sam is genderweird all the time. like consciously i know it's not canonically written into the show which makes this a headcanon but look at him

THAT BEING SAID... (extremely longwinded below cut)

i think sam's was always sort of gender non-conforming when he was little, not really on purpose or even realizing it, it just sort of was how he was. he liked poetry. he liked keeping his hair long. he hated haircutting day and he'd always look for excuses to draw it out or ways to make his long hair less noticeable... he'd tuck it under hats and hope john didn't notice long enough to do anything about it. it never worked too long, so he tried to savor it. on bus rides to and from school, he would pull locks of it out from under the hat and braid them, staring out the window.

at the same he liked rough-housing with his brother. he kinda liked when he'd scrape his knee doing something and the red of it would stay there for a while, then go purple, then yellow. the pain he could do without, but he studied the changing colors with fascination.

being as they were constantly on the move and doing physically intensive things, sam didn't really have the luxury to worry about his clothes very often. he just wore whatever hand-me-downs dean grew out of, occasionally supplemented with some shirt or jacket john grabbed him at a gas station.

sometimes, when they stayed in one area long enough, sam would search out local thrift stores, and he'd walk around in them, transfixed by all the options. five dollars in his pocket, tall and meek, he couldn't find the bravery to put the buttery soft dress he liked on the counter, but he stood there staring at it for a while anyway, staring at the silky maroon shimmer of the fabric, thinking it was probably the kind of thing girls wore to the dances he'd never get to go to. things as they were, he got himself a bunch of baggy shirts for bands he didn't care about, slipped gold jewelry into the pockets of his jeans. the tens and tens of racks of clothing, arms heavy with hangers, towered over and around him like many evergreen trees in a forest, surrounding and disguising him. when he left, he took the jewelry out of his pocket and inspected it. gold hoops with little dangling gems. he didn't know who he'd lifted them for. his ears weren't even pierced. tucking them away again, he wrapped a thin gold chain around his neck.

bullies always seemed to notice what sammy was before he even began to think of it. it was at times like those that sam was glad for all the wrestling him and dean did when he was little. defending himself came naturally. but just as easily came finding the people he wouldn't have to defend himself against. when he was older, he thought about them a lot -- the kids he met in primary school that caught his eye, that asked to braid his hair, that sat beside him at recess and produced crowns out of the weeds. they had soft hands and guarded eyes. sammy's hands already had calluses.

i think stanford was probably a really healing time for sam. he was probably pretty flighty at first, worried that people would get on him for not doing masculinity right. that's what that moment in the ficlet is about -- jess comments on his hair and sam immediately defaults to the thing john would've wanted to hear, scared that his misstep would result in ridicule. but people there liked it!!! my mutual killi (@ophanims) has joked that like. sam would take a gender studies course and then immediately start painting his nails but like THAT'S LITERALLY IT!!! sam would realize he has a pocket of acceptance here and revel in it... he'd pierce his ears and find those earrings he lifted years ago and try them on in the mirror... he'd go to open mic nights and listen to people's poetry... he'd grow his hair out and let his girlfriend style it for him...

jess would sometimes buy shirts baggy on purpose so they'd be big enough for sam to wear them too... at some point he's getting dressed and puts on one of jess's shirts and it hangs low and loose on his waist and he thinks about that dress from the thrift store again and suddenly has a flash of himself in the mirror, in that dress, jess at his arm, earrings shining in his ears... he asks jess a few days later (terrified) (hopeful) (soft) (vulnerable) if she'd do a little makeup on him and she smiles and a few hours later he's got this subtle little cateye and white on his waterline and he just can't stop looking at it!!!

this turned into wavering between headcanon and drabble a lot here but i guess what i'm saying is i think sam was always the kind of kid that just couldn't fit into masculinity even when he tried it. projecting a little here but to explain what i mean, when i was little i really really tried to do femininity a lot. there was a phase in middle school where i wore dresses and heels to class every day, and they were these little yellow heels and they were too big on me but i loved how loud they were. these days i get that with workboots. but i think sam was the same sort of way. he tried to do masculinity and the trappings of it were always too large or too small for him, and he slipped or burst out of them every time, and it led to ridicule. and so i think on some level he always KNEW he was wrong, he always KNEW he coveted the wrong things, he always KNEW the earrings were for him, but he knew just as well not to know that or else it would become unbearable. and. so. and so. well yea.

to conclude: