#and sam is spun out also

[shallowseeker]

"Sam knows some."

Also, Sam is afraid of grief, part 99 million.

Sam knows some. (And usually, not enough.)

He doesn't always notice emotional stuff on his own—not unless it’s a puzzle he can piece together from someone’s actions, or a situation he can map onto his own experience. His empathy is a pragmatic, lived-in, experience-driven thing. He’s spent most of his life at the kids’ table, even when he was trying not to be, and his own needs and (in)stability are tragically often the center of a very small, very dry family desert with too little resources and few loved ones. And like Dean sometimes wants Cas to be fine and invincible just so he doesn’t have to worry, Sam does too. In Sam's eyes, Cas is often the invincible, unkillable hero who always comes back no matter what. He gets up even when he fails. Even when he goes crazy, he pull himself back together, (and quicker than Sam would've at that).

Most importantly... Even when Cas's dead, he doesn't die.

//

In 10x01, Cas is desperately holding his coughs in, and pulls away from the phone to cough, but one of them slips through the receiver:

SAM: The first lead, the first anything we've seen in... [Sam stops himself, hearing CASTIEL's nonstop coughing] 10x01

And yes, in this scene, Sam accidentally throws some passive-aggressive shade about his arm. He’s a friggin' whiner—but overall, he changes his tune the second he hears Cas cough.

His eyes do the panicky back-and-forth tracky thing, and his excitement dies on the spot.

SAM: [after listening] Actually...you know what... now that I'm looking at this more I think I uh...I think I jumped the gun here, buddy. [...] I'm not, I'm not blaming anything on you. What happened, happened, and... you need to be worrying about yourself. I really shouldn't have bothered you. 10x01

But goshdarnit, if there’s something Sam usually isn’t, it’s thoughtful.

He could have invited Cas to the bunker—but the bunker, in Sam’s mind, is work, not a home. So giving Cas "time off" to "rest" and "worry about himself" feels like enough. It’s a bit like how he and Dean treated Bobby sometimes. Sam’s got terminal kids-table-syndrome, with a three-course side dish of self-involvement, tunnel vision, and obliviousness. He is, in short, so emotionally stupid sometimes that it's almost-but-not-quite endearing.

(SEE Jody and Dean in 11x12: Dean undersells his own connection-making ability / empathy... and oversells Sam's.)

///

In 10x02, Sam calls Cas because, really, Cas is one of the only people he has left in his life. They're short on family, short on friends. (And important to note, even the people they saved aren't around to ask for scraps—because Crowley killed off a whole slew of them in season 8.) So Sam's turning to Cas, even when Cas is sick, like how he (and Dean) so often relied on Bobby, even when Bobby was actively suicidal / soul-crunched into his own demon deal / freshly getting used to his wheelchair.

SAM: Right. Now, Cas, listen. I know you're not feeling so hot, but this is kind of an “all hands on deck” situation here, so... CASTIEL: So... I'll meet you there. 10x02

[...]

So, yeah. I seriously doubt Sam knows the full scope of how bad the grace situation is. (Not saying he wouldn't rationalize it if he did, since he's a pragmatic guy. But fair's fair. He doesn't fully know here...)

HANNAH: I’m sorry. I just can’t see how Sam Winchester could ask you to drive all this way to help with his brother, knowing your condition. [Castiel glances at Hannah, then turns back to the road.] HANNAH: He doesn’t know … about how badly your borrowed grace is fading, does he? CASTIEL: He knows some. 10x03

And there it is. Cas is being purposely cagey.

AS USUAL.

Yes, Sam is sometimes oblivious, but part of this whole dynamic is that Cas is notoriously super weird about showing weakness.

Anyway, I’d bet my Monopoly dog piece that Cas intentionally stayed away from the bunker in his downtime, trying to recover as much as possible in order to sure up enough energy to pretend to be strong.

Cas tell Hannah he wants to "say he's fine" so they can "avoid talking about something" no one can do anything about.

Uh-huh.

BONUS SIDE NOTE: Cas also told Hannah he doesn't want help, from his family or anyone else, because the only way to help him is not one he wants to pursue. (Another reason he's keeping it to himself.)

CASTIEL [lashing out]: And another angel should die so that I can be saved?! Is this really that hard to understand? Hannah... 10x01

///

Interestingly, though, Dean noticed Cas wasn't fine (re: batteries) back in season 9.

While it's true that Dean absolutely leaned into a sort-of endearing "Bobby-will-always-be-fine" dynamic, and perhaps clung to an invincible-Cas-hope early in their relationship, in the later years, it evolves.

Despite the occasional flash of hero worship (i.e. thinking Cas could time travel in s11), mostly Dean no longer believes that Cas will be fine...

...he just HOPES he will be.

(SIDE NOTE: In a hilarious full circle, Bobby ALSO expects a lot of Cas... Around and around we go!)

CAS: I'm fine, Dean. DEAN: No, you're not. How long you got? CAS: Long enough to destroy Metatron, I hope. 9x22

///

Anyway, it’s a massive difference with Sam, even in the terminal seasons. Sam has flashes of fear surrounding Cas’s death, but he really, really struggles to process it. He dissociates, throws himself into work, and refuses to face it.

(Kinda like how he rushes into the Eileen relationship in early s15 as a way to sidestep processing Mary, Jack, and Rowena.)

But unlike Dean, who grows into accepting and even fearing for Cas’s mortality, Sam seems to almost truly believe the line, "Cas will be fine. He always is." (Cas HAS to be fine in order for DEAN to be fine, you see...)

Strongest person I know!

I think the season 12 script cut line of Sam saying this

and this

is genuine.

12x10 via @spnscripthunt-inactive

Because later, when Cas actually does die, Sam really doesn't believe his own eyes. He keeps asking Dean for confirmation. He looks, and he backs away, not believing, then bolts to address the next mission-oriented thing.

No-way, no-how running boy~~~~

And later:

//

BONUS: Sam & Jack ("Cas'll FIX things!!!")

SAM TO CAS (about dead Jack): Cas, is he here? C-C-Can you-- Can you...?

(fix him?)

SEE also Sam vs grief with it comes to Dean-losing-Cas specifically.

x - x - x -x - x

Here's Sam realizing there's nothing he can do to ease Dean's grief about Cas, specifically, in the notorious Sam-freaks-out-and-is-bad-at-support 13x05... and 15x09 fake future, complete with with Sam’s beautiful jaw-wag of disbelief and panic-tracking eyes:

Look at him, the poor dude. He's TERRIFIED.

///

It's scary that Dean or Cas could die

Cas and Dean aren't just his family—they're his heroes He chafes at the thought of their mortality. It sends him into a tailspin every time.

CHUCK: No, this is more. This is...hope. Ah. That's what's stopping me – you. You still think that Dean and Cas are gonna fly through those doors just in the nick of time. 

(SEE ALSO: Sam and deciding not to smash the orb)

//

He really does expect them to charge in and be unstoppable

Like this x

Or

or this

Everything is gonna be fine... right?

///

...

And later still:

JACK: You can't just give up! SAM: What choice do we have?

[navybrat817]

Mr. and Mrs. Barnes

Pairing: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky suggests sneaking off at the gala. How can you resist?

Word Count: Over 3k

Warnings: Unprotected v. sex, sex in a closet, dirty talk, possessiveness, established relationship, slight insecurities, mention of breeding, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes and he's a simp for you (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Sorry, lovelies. I just really wanted this. Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky didn’t bother to hide his discontent as he looked around at the ballroom. Was it a gala? Fundraiser? What cared? He hated functions like these. People were either there to kiss ass and move up the chain of command or gloat about how well off they were in life under the guise that they were doing good for others. He didn't attempt to converse with any of them, but still had to go as a way to support SHIELD in some capacity and show that he was no longer the Winter Soldier.

At least Steve and Sam were excused from the event due to a mission.

Leaning against one of the pillars and tugging at his bowtie, he spaced out momentarily. No one looked his way, but he still felt judged. Like he didn’t just belong at the event, but amongst anyone. He wanted to go home, get out of his tuxedo, and get the product out of his slicked back hair. He debated sneaking away from some air until he blinked and saw the reason he was truly there: you, the only real person in the crowd of liars and cheaters.

He never understood the expression of clothes clinging to someone like a second skin until you stepped into your floor-length black dress earlier this evening, the fabric enhancing every beautiful curve of your body. His eyes narrowed as you moved around the room and exchanged smiles and handshakes with people. Your aura drew people to you, men brushing against you and their stares lingering for far too long. It served as another reminder of why he didn’t want to go tonight, especially when a General gripped your arm.

If he had a glass in his hand it would’ve shattered.

Convincing you to stay in bed didn't work since you both had to make an appearance, but it didn't mean he wanted you apart from him. “Get over here,” he whispered, craving your attention, needing you close.

As if you sensed him seeking you out, likely feeling the weight of his stare, you turned to meet his gaze across the room. Your eyes sparkled with love that he never thought he’d receive in his lifetime. The kind of love he never wanted to be without again. “Would you please excuse me?” You asked loud enough for him to catch as you removed your arm from the man’s grip. “My husband is waiting for me.”

Your hips swayed as you worked your way toward Bucky, not stopping for any other man who tried to catch your eye. Hearing you call him your husband brought the first smile to his face since he arrived. He still couldn’t believe some days that you wanted forever with him. “I was wondering when my beautiful wife would remember I was here,” he said once you were close enough, reaching out for your hand.

The moment you took it, he stood tall and pulled you against him. He was certain no one else came close to the intimidating vibe he put out, his hold on you possessive as you smiled. “As if I could forget. Practically heard you growling when General Rando touched my arm,” you teased.

“Because he has no right to touch you,” he said, your lashes fluttering as you spun away. His hands guided you back to him. “I know you’re better with people than I am, which is why you’re the one who has to socialize and I’m sorry for that. But you also said I’m not allowed to break any fingers tonight and I won't be held responsible if he tries to touch you again.”

He swore he didn’t have a possessive bone in his body until you sauntered into his life, giving him hopes and dreams and longing.

You laughed at him, a seductive sound that had a few heads turning. “You do know I can break his fingers myself, right?”

He chuckled, leaning close to your ear and tickling your skin with his breath. “I know you're more than capable of kicking his ass. One of your many wonderful qualities,” he whispered. People underestimated you and that was always a mistake. “But I still don't like that he touched you like he wanted to own you.”

You rang a finger along his bowtie. “We all know who owns me and we know I own you, too,” you said, holding up your hand to show him your wedding ring. He tried to ignore how fast his heart pounded at the sight of his ring on your finger, the pledge you two made together. “In a very healthy, non-toxic sort of way, of course.”

He smirked, glancing around at the crowd before looking back at you. “Of course, but maybe we could give everyone a friendly reminder that we’re a happily married and loyal couple.” His voice dropped lower, teasingly. He wanted to make your heart race like his. “Or maybe we could sneak away for a bit. Make this night a little more interesting.”

“Sneak away?” You feigned innocence as you blinked at him. He was certain any innocence you had before he met you was gone thanks to him. “Whatever for?”

“You know what for. It’ll be like that expo we went to a few months ago.” Bucky tilted his head slightly, studying your face closely. He easily picked up your sharp inhale, the way your pupils dilated and lips parted. It was clear that sneaking off was something that very much interested you. “C’mon, baby. This gala is boring and neither of us want to be here. My idea is much more fun. You know it is.”

He touched your cheek, your skin warm under his hand. He wasn’t able to keep you in bed earlier like he wanted, but the thought of pulling you away and having you right here and now had his stomach fluttering with excitement. “This gala is boring,” you agreed carefully.

“Then let’s make it exciting.” His thumb brushed across your lips and it took everything in him not to push his thumb inside. “You made me come to this thing. Don’t I deserve something for showing up and behaving?”

“I haven't made you come yet.” His muscles went taut when you briefly sucked the digit into your mouth, electricity crackling under his skin. He admired your boldness, how you were unashamedly yourself in front of these people. You didn't and would never care what they thought. “And I didn't make you come to this event, but I can make it worth your while.”

He held your chin and moved close until only an inch separated your faces. Your eyes gleamed with a hunger that rivaled his. The air crackled between you, daring you both to give over to your obvious desires. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?” He rasped when you suddenly pulled back and helped move him across the floor in a dance.

“My plan? I thought sneaking away was your idea,” you smiled, guiding you both closer to the open doorway. “But if we can find a closet or dark corner, you can do whatever you want with me. And I’ll even let you fuck my throat first thing tomorrow morning for behaving.”

A rumbling, deep groan escaped his throat. His fingers dug in possessively when he gripped the nape of your neck and tilted your head so he could taste your skin. Your body molding against his, soft and yielding against his solid frame, wasn’t enough. There were too many clothes in the way and he wanted to bury himself deep inside you.

“You drive me crazy, Mrs. Barnes,” he whispered, lifting his head to look into your eyes.

“The feeling is mutual, Mr. Barnes.” You bit your lip once he waltzed you for enough away from prying eyes, the heat flaring between you. “I need you.”

Every nerve ending came to life when he claimed your mouth in a searing kiss. His tongue plunged past your lips, holding you steady as he devoured you. You melted against him, which only brought forth his primal hunger more. His intensity never scared you and he would be forever thankful for that.

You gasped as your back hit a wall, the sounds of chatter and music from the ballroom muffled. Your nails scraped the fabric of his jacket, both of you lost in sensations of lust and desire. As one of your hands continued its journey to his shoulder, the other wandered down his torso and didn’t stop until you gripped his thick erection through his pants.

He abruptly broke the kiss when you gave him a squeeze, his eyes wild. “Fuck,” he breathed, gripping your wrist and pushing more firmly against your hand. “You feel that? That’s what you do to me.”

With dizzying speed, he spun you so that your back pressed against his front. You panted as his hand ventured through the slit of your dress and brushed along your trembling thigh. “Wait until you feel how wet I am,” you whispered, grinding your hips back against his.

His mouth brushed the exposed column of your throat, alternating between small bites and open mouthed kisses. “Still get wet for me?” He asked, massaging your breast with his vibranium hand and drawing another gasp from you when he pinched your nipple. He marveled at how much he could feel with that hand and how he’d never harm you with it.

“Have you seen yourself? One look from you and I’m soaked.” Your back arched as he bit down again. He wished he saw himself the way you did. “And you’re my husband. That craving for you isn’t going away.”

He rocked his hips against yours, seeking out more contact and friction as his cock throbbed and heart swelled. Marriage wasn’t a constant honeymoon phase. It took work. Effort. Compromise. But you were worth every moment, every struggle, every up and down.

Laughter from a few feet away had him lifting his head, both of you looking toward where the noise was coming from. “Fuck,” he snarled, wanting to scream at whoever it was to go the fuck away.

“There’s a closet around the corner. We just need to pick the lock,” you told him, smiling over your shoulder. “I may have scoped out the place in case this happened.”

He chuckled, utterly in awe of you. “I fucking love you,” he exhaled.

Walking with an aching hard-on wasn’t easy, but he managed to get you both further away from the ballroom. He picked the lock with record speed once you got to the door and moved you both inside. He flipped on the light, wanting to see as much of you as he could. For a moment, you two stared at each other and waited for the other to make a move. He loved the anticipation.

“I’m disappointed in you, Mr. Barnes,” you said, reaching for the doorknob to lock it. He was about to ask what he possibly did to upset you when you smirked. “You didn’t mention anything about me not wearing any panties.”

His cock was ready to burst from his pants. “Because that fucking clown out there interupted me,” he rumbled, pinning you against the door and crowding your body. His nose touched yours as he hiked your dress up, desperate to kiss you again. Eager to feel your wetness. “You trust me?”

It was a question he always asked. You put all of yourself into his care, your body, mind, heart, and soul. It was only fair that he made sure you still wanted him to be the one for you today, tomorrow, and every day after that. Even then a single lifetime would never be enough for him. He wanted a thousand lives with you.

“Always,” you said, an ache in your voice that he couldn’t resist. He fused his lips with yours, building up the fire all over again when his hand found your damp heat. The most intimate part of you where you allowed him to make himself at home. Your hands shook as you went to undo his pants, wanting to free him. “And you trust me?”

It wasn’t just his heart that contracted. His very soul trembled, wanting to wrap itself up in your light and love. “With everything in me,” he promised, sighing when he pulled his cock free from his underwear. “I’ll worship you later. Those gorgeous tits of yours. Your sweet cunt.”

Once you were home, he’d slip off your dress and give every beautiful inch of your body the attention it deserved. He’d draw a bath for you, too, and hopefully join you so he could simply hold you. But he was desperate for you now. He thought he’d burn if he didn’t have you.

You hiked a leg around him, moving your hips enticingly. There was only so much he could take. And who wouldn’t fall under the tempting spell of your body? “I’m ready for you.” Your soft moan echoed in his ears as he trailed a finger along your slit to your clit, barely touching it. He knew it would shoot small sparks through your body until you begged for more. “I mean it, Barnes. Get. Your cock. In me.”

“My needy little wife,” he whispered against your lips as he gripped the base of his cock and probed your entrance. The breathy sound you made when he began to push in had his blood pulsing in euphoria. It was a wonder he fit some days with how tight you were, but your slick heat stretched and welcomed him every time.

“My needy husband,” you smiled as you enveloped him completely, your fingers curling in his hair.

“What kind of man isn’t needy for his wife?” He began to thrust in deep, deliberate strokes. It matched the rhythm of the music in the distant ballroom, the two of you creating your own sultry dance. Maybe he would go up in flames. At least he’d have you to burn with. “Fuck, your body was made for my cock.”

Each snap of his hips tore more moans and whimpers from your throat and sent shockwaves through his system. You clenched around him with a smile, looking like a debauched angel. “My pussy was made for you, so ruin it.”

He groaned, his pulse beating strongly as his grip tightened on your hips. He fucked you without restraint, just as greedy for you as you were for him. Allowing himself to feel you and what you did to him was everything he was denied for so long. His life had only been order. Pain. You let him lose control. You gave him pleasure. Even a home.

I love you.

“I love you, too, Bucky,” you panted, brushing a thumb over his cheekbone as his eyes closed against the emotions threatening to surface. “I love you, too.”

His pace picked up, urgent, frenzied. At this rate, he might explode into fragments from your declaration and how good you felt. “You love me?” He bit out, his eyes opening and breaths harsh as he felt you clench again.

You cried out, his hand flying up to brace your head before it hit the door. “So much,” you moaned as you gazed at him. You were the most beautiful person he had ever seen. Fierce in love and loyalty, patient and steadfast. He feared some days he’d need you more than you needed him, but you drove that thought from his mind. “I’m yours.”

“I’m not gonna last,” he warned. He couldn’t with the way you looked at him, the way your walls gripped him, knowing you were his.

“Neither am…” Your mouth fell open as your release hit you, your fluids drenching him. It was a wonder to watch you go over the edge in a blissful orgasm. He wanted to be right there with you.

“There you go. Good girl,” he encouraged, your body still tight around his cock. He erupted in one last thrust, his head falling back with an animalistic roar. “Fuck…”

Bucky braced a hand against the door, the other holding you like a lifeline. If only the two of you were at home so he could properly cuddle with you. His breathing remained ragged for a bit as he came down from his high, your breathing beginning to steady, too. He couldn't help but smile as he took in the sight of you thoroughly ravaged and satisfied. “Worth every second of being here,” he sighed, slowly pulling out of your twitching hole. You inhaled when he moved a hand down and swiped two fingers along the mess seeping out of you. “Clean them off for me, baby,” he ordered huskily, bringing them to your mouth.

Obediently, you parted your lips and allowed him to push his fingers in. You swirled your tongue around them to taste your combined essence, moaning at the tangy flavor. He tucked himself away once you finished up, afraid that he’d fuck you all over again if he didn’t get completely dressed. It didn’t stop him from gazing longingly at you as he fixed his jacket.

And it didn’t stop him from imagining your mouth around his cock the next morning.

“Now.” You grimmaced slightly as he helped you steady yourself and straighten out your dress. He knew that look. It was the look you got for a split second whenever the sticky remnants continued to trickle down your thighs. He loved having that claim on you. “How do you expect me to go back to the gala after that?”

“I don’t,” he smirked, his hands moving back to your hips as he snuck in a gentle kiss. “I think it’s time to get you home and back in our bed where you belong. I promised I’d worship you, remember?”

You nodded, your eyes still slightly dazed. “On one condition.”

He titled his head. “What’s that?”

A slow smile curved your mouth, his heart pounding and cock twitching back to life at your answer, “You put a baby in me tonight.”

So, lovelies, was it okay? I feel rusty. And who wants a future fic of Bucky breeding you? Just me? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[eclipsedechoesofmywords]

idea for joaquin:

i see alot of sushine x grumpy reader when ppl r writing joaquin fics but pls i need more sunshine x sunshine and its joaquin and reader being literal comedic geniuses on missions and flirting over comms 😫

"Ray Of Sunshine"

[Joaquin Torres x fem!reader]

Masterlist

Summary: You and Joaquin are pains in Sam and Bucky's ass.

Warnings: Mild action violence, relentless flirting, and Sam Wilson contemplating a career change

Word Count: 831 words

A/N: I think we can all agree that bucky and sam are officially parents.

"We should get a team dog," you said, thinking out loud.

Three voices answered you at once through the comms. Two were a chorus of "NO!" The other, "YES!" You decided to focus on the latter.

"A small golden one…" you continued, ducking behind a concrete pillar as gunfire sprayed the warehouse wall behind you.

"We could name it Ray," Joaquin suggested. You could hear his grin.

"Ooh, like a Ray of sunshine!"

Sam's groan was so loud it nearly drowned out the sound of Bucky vaulting over a shipping container to your left. "Focus, both of you," Sam barked, his wings slicing through the air as he disarmed a guard. "We're in the middle of a mission!"

"And we are not getting a dog," Bucky added, firing at a henchman sprinting toward you.

"But imagine the morale boost!" you argued, popping up to toss a smoke grenade. The room flooded with gray haze, and you darted toward the server room, Joaquin's laughter in your ear.

"Picture it, Buck—little Ray, tiny vest, teeny goggles," Joaquin said. You could practically see him miming the dog's outfit with his hands, even though he was three rooms away, hacking into the security system. "He'd be the best at fetch. And espionage."

"Espionage?!" Bucky snapped. A grunt, a thud—probably him body-slamming someone into a wall. "It's a dog."

"Exactly! No one suspects the dog!" you chirped, sliding into the server room and slamming the door shut. "Quin, how's that hack coming?"

"Already in," Joaquin said, smug. "You're welcome."

"Show-off."

"Admit it, that's why you love me."

Your cheeks warmed.

"Less flirting, more focusing," Sam cut in. The Captain America voice dialled up to 'I'm two seconds from drowning you both in a lake.' "Torres, any alarms?"

"Nope. Smooth as butter. Also, you do love me, right sunshine?" He didn't need to ask, he already knew the answer.

You rolled your eyes, typing rapidly on the server's interface. "Keep dreaming, flyboy."

"Oh, I will. Vividly. With plot."

Bucky made a sound like a feral cat. "I'm begging you two to take this seriously."

"We are!" you and Joaquin said in unison, then burst into laughter.

The two of you had turned into an art form really: you'd crack a joke, he'd retort back, and somewhere between the banter and the bullets, the bad guys ended up in a pile, thoroughly confused about how they'd been beaten by a duo who argued about pizza toppings during a car chase.

"Got the files!" you announced, yanking the hard drive free.

"Great! Now get out before backup shows up," Joaquin said. "Also, duck."

You dropped to the floor just as a guard burst through the door, his weapon whirring over your head. Joaquin's voice turned sharp, all playfulness gone. "Three o'clock. Disarm and go."

You spun, sweeping the guard's legs out from under him and snatching his gun. "Thanks."

"Anytime. Now when do we get this dog?"

"NO DOG!" Sam and Bucky shouted in unison.

The second you spotted the scruffy golden retriever trotting through the lot on the way back to the quinjet, you froze. "Uh. Joaquin. Look."

He looked over to where you were pointing. "Is that…?"

"A literal ray of sunshine," you whispered, clutching your chest. The dog wagged its tail.

"No," Sam hissed.

"Yes," you and Joaquin breathed.

"Not a chance!" Bucky said.

But the dog padded toward you, cocking its head, and dropped a muddy stick at your boots. You gasped. "It's fate."

"Sam. SAM. They're adopting a street dog," Bucky deadpanned. "This is your problem now."

Joaquin scooped the retriever into his arms. "C'mon, Cap! Look at…his eyes. He's got the heart of a soldier!"

"Leave. The. Dog." Sam said.

"Too late!" you said cheerfully. "Ray's one of us now!"

By the time they got back to the quinjet, with the dog, Sam's eye twitch had reached apocalyptic levels. Bucky stared at the retriever, now sitting happily on your lap, and muttered, "If it pees on my gear, I'm shaving it bald."

Joaquin bounded down the jet's ramp, helmet off and hair adorably windblown. "He’s so cute, look at him!"

"He looks like a menace," Sam said, though the corner of his mouth quirked up as the dog lolled its tongue at him.

You scratched Ray's ears, batting your lashes at Sam. "C'mon, Cap. Every team needs a mascot. We'll train him! He can fetch grenades!"

"He'll fetch lawsuits," Bucky grumbled.

Joaquin plopped beside you, shoulder brushing yours. "Admit it. You love him."

Sam looked at the dog. At Bucky. At the two of you, grinning like idiots.

"...He's not getting a rank."

You and Joaquin whooped, high-fiving as Ray barked as if in victory.

"But he is writing the mission report," Bucky added, his amusement showing.

Joaquin leaned toward you, whispering, "Worth it."

"Next step: matching outfits," You whispered back.

His smile could've powered a city. "Already designing them."

[petertingle-yipyip]

SENSES - JOAQUIN TORRES

(will probably change the gif when i can find a better one of him in that suit. also, testing the waters with a new character bc @fallingfavourites basically dared me to. what do we think?)

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x Reader // Word Count: 2,840

Summary: What was supposed to be a simple in and out ends up with a lot of blood and admissions.

“The gala’s an easy in.” You reasoned.

“It’s a stupid way in.” Sam shook his head.

“It’s not stupid!”

“We can admit it’s a risk, right?” Bucky tried.

You blew out a sigh and leaned further back in your chair. Sam sat in the chair closest, leaning elbows on the table in thought. Bucky was sitting on the edge of the table across from you with the permanent frown he seemed to point in your direction.

“We need the ledger.” You calmly stated. “I have an invitation to their building. They’ve been inviting my family to their events for years trying to win back my mom’s money. I have the best chance at getting in and out.”

“If we go along with this, you’re not going alone.” Sam continued.

“Course not. I’d never go to an event like that without a date.”

“This is serious, Y/N.” Bucky scolded.

“Well aware, thank you.” You rolled your eyes. “I’m not going with either of you. My mom would never let me.”

“Your mom’s not here.”

“But these people know my mother. We went to a couple

of these before she got tired of the ass kissing. I had a date each time with a specific image.”

“What kind of image?” Sam asked though Bucky simply groaned in annoyance.

“Pretty boy.” You shrugged.

“Oh.” Sam scoffed. “I’m not pretty enough for you mom?”

“No.” You laughed. “Neither of you are, but…”

“Don’t say it.” Bucky pointed firmly at you. “He’s not going.”

“I don’t like this anymore than you, Barnes.” You snapped. “You really think I want to take him anywhere?”

“What ever happened between you two anyway?” Sam asked so you turned his way with a fierce glare. “Just asking.” His hands went up in surrender.

“He didn’t tell you?” You stared in suspicion.

“For once, the kid wouldn’t talk.” Bucky answered.

“He’s not a kid.”

“You both are.”

“Buck’s right.” Sam chimed in. “You two used to not be able to stop making eyes at each other then suddenly, you’re avoiding each other like the plague.”

“It doesn’t matter.” You pushed yourself to stand. “I’m bringing him, regardless of anyone’s feelings about it.”

“And if he says no?” Bucky asked.

You frowned at the valid question. If Joaquin said no, you didn’t have a backup plan ready. Instead of confessing that, you spun on your heel and headed to find your former flame.

It wasn’t hard. He was at his computers. You stood beside him and leaned against the edge of his desk. It took a minute for him to register that it was you beside him.

“Hey.” He said carefully. You watched his eyes scan your face quickly before he frowned. “Everything good?”

“You have a suit?” You asked.

“Like a… Like a suit suit?” His voice dropped to a hushed tone.

“No.” You rolled your eyes with a small smile. You quickly shook the expression. “Like a nice suit, for going out.”

“Oh… Yeah, I’ve got one somewhere. Why?”

“We’re going to a gala to take a ledger.” You shrugged.

“Why us?” His brows furrowed but you noticed there was no objection.

“My family has an invite and you clean up nice… You can say no.”

“No!” He said quickly and you raised a brow. “I mean… No, it’s not that I don’t want to. I just kinda figured you’d wanna take someone else.” He explained carefully.

“Unfortunately, no one else fits the bill.” You sighed. 

“You never know.” He shrugged slightly. “Might be fun… Kinda like old times, right?”

“We’ll see… Tomorrow night, be ready by five to head to New York.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned at you, the same damned grin that made your heart beat a little faster.

You had to force your features to remain neutral until you were sure he couldn’t see. You assumed he had seen the flush of your cheeks at the least and you cursed yourself for that.

You hated that you and him didn’t end on necessarily bad terms. You two just couldn’t make it work. Both of you were too focused on other things to truly be present

in your relationship so for all the “moon eyes” Sam swore he saw and the “lost puppy looks” Bucky teased you about, it just hadn’t gone the way you wanted.

But damn it all if you didn’t wish otherwise. Keeping

distance from him was what you thought was best so you both could move on. Your heart, however, didn’t seem to get the memo.

The night of the gala was relatively predictable. Joaquin dawned an all-black ensemble that had you in silent awe when you first saw him. You knew he could dress up when the occasion called for it, but something about the monochrome look hit you hard. You forced yourself

to focus.

Joaquin, however, didn’t hide the way he was blown away by your look. The perfectly tailored gown took his breath away. He couldn’t stop himself from trailing his eyes up and down your figure, tracing the lines of the bodice down to the shape of your hips to that teasingly

high slit in the skirt, which dangerously showed off your legs that looked even longer with the heels you wore.

He didn’t have words for the way the color suited your skin tone, the complimentary tones of your makeup, the delicate pinned style of your hair. He ran a hand over his mouth to hide the smile at the necklace around your throat, the one he had given you for your birthday when you were together.

Sam was waiting with Joaquin and the man let out a long whistle that snapped Joaquin out of his trance.

You laughed slightly before flipping your teammate off.

“Ha ha.” You said sarcastically. “I’ll have you know my mother designed this dress.”

“It’s nice.” Joaquin offered honestly. “You look…” He blew out a breath. “Wow.”

“Thanks.” You nodded slightly, fiddling with the fabric of the skirt. “You look good, too.” You confessed.

He smiled proudly and it was hard not to smile back.

“Alright, alright. Enough of that.” Sam laughed slightly. “Tonight you need to have each others backs, got it? None of this scorned lovers bullshit you pull around here.”

“No one is scorned.” You rolled your eyes. “We’re going to a gala, not infiltrating an enemy stronghold.”

“You kinda are.” Sam countered. “Be quick and be careful. Sooner you guys are back, sooner this is over.”

“Well aware, thank you.” You took hold of Joaquin’s arm and dragged him to the car.

The ride to the event was relatively quiet. The music from the stereo filled the gaps and you were thankful to be driving so you could focus on the road rather than the man in the car with you. Your fingers tapped to the music while Joaquin was playing on his phone.

The gala itself was the same as you remembered. Your arm laced through Joaquin’s, you two fell into an easy stride. You liked the confidence he showed, offering a welcome grin to the people who came to kiss up to you and engaging in conversations when prompted.

“I like this one.” One of the older female investors quietly told you with a sly smile while her husband chatted with Joaquin a few feet away about something you weren’t listening to. “He’s much better than the rest you’ve brought to these things.”

You smiled in agreement and looked over at your date. He waved slightly and you found yourself returning the gesture.

“He’s great.” You agreed, trying unsuccessfully to keep the sadness from your voice.

“Let me guess.” She put a hand over yours. “Mommy doesn’t approve?”

You forced a laugh as if you’d been caught. You hadn’t even considered what your mother would say about Joaquin. She’d probably love him, probably would’ve started dishing out down-payments for your wedding by now.

“My father hated my husband when I brought him home.” The woman laughed. “Destiny used to seem make-believe, but you’re destined for fall. You can’t choose who it is, and neither can your mother.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You nodded in thanks and made it back to Joaquin. You tucked yourself into his side and looked to the man he spoke with. “I hate to be rude, but I’d like to reclaim my date.”

“By all means.” The man gestured for you to go. “He’s a charming young man. Well done, Ms. Y/L/N.”

You nodded in thanks and pulled Joaquin away.

“You know, I think I’m getting the hang of this whole ‘rich people party’ thing.” Joaquin said proudly, tugging the front of his jacket slightly.

“Cool it, Casanova.” You laughed slightly. “We’re not here to network.”

“Right.” He nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. So… Where do we go now?”

You two managed to sneak away relatively quickly. You searched various offices, going up and up in floors until you nearly gave up. It was practically the last office on the last floor when Joaquin found it wedged behind a bookcase.

“I could kiss you!” You said happily.

He flushed immediately, stammering for a real response, and you had to laugh. You hugged the book and went for the exit.

You had only a split second to regret that decision. Not enough time for you to recognize the threat, to register the flash of silver, to reach for your own blade in your corset.

A sharp pain ignited in a long line down your back. The burning sensation wrapped from your back, around your waist and stopped near your belly button. You looked down in shock and saw the split in your gown, the growing stain of blood.

You wobbled on your feet from the explosion of pain and felt a strong pair of arms catch you. A warm piece of fabric was draped over your shoulders and pulled close. The hand that wasn’t locked on the ledger was wrapped around your midsection, trying to keep the blood inside your body.

That sword almost cut you in half.

You didn’t even register he was talking to you until he shook your shoulders.

“Y/N, we need to move. Can you walk?” He asked firmly.

Any hint of the charming, flirty man you masqueraded with was gone. In his place was the battle trained soldier, looking out for his own. He was looking into your eyes, and your heart sank at the worry reflected.

It really was bad.

“You’re not dying here. Understand?” He insisted.

You managed a weak nod and followed him out. He managed to keep you two in the shadows for the most part, avoiding the brunt of the search for you. You had only encountered three men, thankful they didn’t have swords as well, and you used the ledger to knock one of them out while Joaquin managed against the other two.

When you came back to the gala, Joaquin did the talking. He said you two were heading out for a much funner night but you’d sing their praises to your mother. A few name drops and handshakes later, Joaquin was able to get you into the car and begin the drive back.

Maybe an hour into the drive, you began to slip in and out of consciousness.

He reached over and immediately took your hand in his. He gave it a squeeze and your eyes opened a little wider.

“Stay with me, Y/N… C’mon.” He begged.

“We need to… to stop somewhere.” You said between shallow breaths. The bleeding had slowed but you were left exhausted and cold, despite Joaquin’s jacket still over your shoulders, and you had kicked off your heels at some point. You had half a thought to ask if you had bled through it. “We can’t drive… all the… all the way back…  like this.”

“Where are we gonna stop?” His voice was near desperation and you couldn’t stop the pang of guilt.

“Anywhere.” You gritted your teeth as you shifted in the seat. You took as deep a breath as you could manage and rapidly spoke in one long exhale. “First hotel you see. I don’t care the price or the quality or the size. You find us a room and make sure I live through this night.”

He said nothing but squeezed your hand again.

You didn’t know how long it was until you were pulling into a run down roadside hotel. You rummaged through your purse for your credit card and shoved it at him. He promised he’d be quick before locking you in the car.

True to his word, he was at your door with a room key quickly. He practically carried you to the hotel room.

Once the door closed, you all but collapsed. He was quick to catch you, but he wasn’t able to avoid your injury. You cried out at the pain, gripping his shirt sleeve.

He helped you to the bathroom and you needed his help to get the dress off. You didn’t know if it was his hands shaking or your body. The dress fell with a thud, leaving you in short spandex and a bra. Joaquin ran the tap and used one of the towels to clear the blood away. The friction of the rough fabric against the tender skin had you gripping the sink and wincing sharply.

“Shit, Y/N.” He muttered. You glanced up to meet his eyes in the mirror.

“That bad?” You rasped. Your body weight was mostly supported by the countertop.

“Now would be a great time for some special healing ability.” He flicked his attention to you with a nervous smile. “Any chance?”

“No.” You offered the same smile. “My bag in the trunk… It has a kit if you…”

“Hey.” His hands found your hips and turned you around. “Stay with me.”

“Trying…”

“Try harder.”

You nodded quietly, placing a hand on his arm. He looked down at it, smiled to himself, then focused on the slash across your stomach.

“Keep talking.” Your voice was close to a whisper but somehow, Joaquin heard.

“I, uh…” He began nervously. “I used to think you’d come to your senses, but you never did. You left me alone with all these questions… I didn't have answers but I also couldn’t have given you more.”

He squeezed your hip slightly and you made a noise of acknowledgement.

“I guess I accepted that you wouldn’t be mine again but…”

“But?” You croaked.

“I’ll always be yours, Y/N.”

You chuckled slightly as Joaquin’s eyes met yours.

“Tell me that when I’m coherent.” You smiled slightly.

He laughed a bit and nodded. “Let’s dress these wounds and get you something to eat. The guys’ll be pissed if you don’t make it back.”

You hummed in agreement and leaned into him. He guided you to the bed and sat you on the edge before he scurried off. Within five minutes, he was back with your pack on his shoulders and an arm full of vending machine treats.

He shoved an orange juice bottle and packet of pretzels into your hands while he rummaged in your pack. You lifted your arms while he placed, wrapped, and taped the dressing into place. The pain had dulled since you first got the wound or maybe you were used to it. The dizziness was receding slowly thanks to the snack Joaquin brought, which were both empty by the time he finished.

“Thank you.” You dropped the trash to the end table.

“I’m always here for you, Y/N, whether you want it or not.” He put a hand to your cheek for a moment.

“Joaquin, I…” You began, then found yourself lost for words.

There were things you could apologize for. But should you apologize for breaking up with him? For avoiding him? For getting yourself nearly sliced in half?

“We can talk about it later.” He offered kindly. “You feel okay?”

“All things considered, yeah… I’ll make it.”

“Good.” The relief was palpable in his tone. “You should rest now.”

You nodded quietly and shifted back against the flat pillow. The blanket was thin and scratchy, but the exhaustion overruled the quality of the bedding. You were lucid enough, however, to notice Joaquin wasn’t lying down.

“Joaquin?”

“The couch pulls out.” He reasoned.

“You should have the bed.” You began to push yourself up but his hands were gently forcing you back down. “Let me-“

“You almost bled out tonight. I think you deserve the bed.”

You grabbed one of his hands. “We can share. We’ve done it before.”

“You sure?”

“Please?” You pulled your best pout and he broke almost immediately.

He discarded his dress shirt and slacks before climbing into the bed beside you. You rolled to your other side to face him.

“Maybe it’s the near death experience talking…” You said quietly, as if you two were sharing secrets. “But I think I’ve come to my senses.”

“Yeah?” He brushed some loose hairs off your forehead. “Tell me in the morning.”

[dewwinchester]

next. | d.w.

request: @rustic-guitar-notes: "can u write a little cutesy piece basically about reader and dean living a very normal life and leaving hunting?? like they have a whole house together and sam visits sometimes and it’s all just soft and NORMAL."

synopsis: this is written as a sequel to done, however, it can also be read as a standalone fic.

pairing: dean winchester x female!reader

word count: 2.6k+

warnings: fluff - she/her pronouns used - no use of 'y/n' - a smidge of angst if you squint - a surprise Sam appearance - Eileen mention! - pet names used (sweetheart)

a/n: this took me FOREVER i'm so sorry!! but I hope this makes up for it <3333 (also eileen is blurry wife confirmed by me)

Why did cooking have to be so difficult?

The instructions stared up at you from your phone screen, mocking your efforts. You had no trouble following directions and were confident you had done everything perfectly. Yet, your kitchen was beginning to fill with smoke, and the burger patties on the stove—the patties you had spent hours putting together—were starting to fall apart and burn.

There was stuff everywhere. Herbs were all over the counter, white flour-handprints covered your shirt, and you were certain some of it was in your hair. Flecks of ground beef were on your tiled walls and floor (which, thankfully, your dog Miracle cleaned up right away). Salad ingredients littered your bench space, leaving you little to no room to move.

You were beginning to feel claustrophobic. This kitchen was a lot smaller than the one you were used to.

You were accustomed to the bunker, with its vast countertop space, where anything you needed was within arm's reach and easily spotted. Currently, what little kitchenware you had was hidden behind cabinet doors, and you were still getting used to the setup.

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you felt your heart rate begin to accelerate. You felt stupid. All you wanted to do was make a nice meal, and cooking was simply reading and following instructions—why couldn't you just do that?

Just when you thought things couldn't get any worse, a shrill beeping rang through your house.

The smoke alarm.

Panicked, you fumbled to turn off the stove and wave away the smoke, desperately trying to silence the alarm before one of your nosy neighbours came knocking at the door. When the beeping finally stopped, you returned to the stove, sighing at the blackened mess that was left.

It didn't look too bad. You were sure that you could fix it simply by scraping off the burnt bits; no one would even know just how badly you messed everything up.

You decided to turn your attention to something that only an idiot could mess up—chopping. You were once quite skilled with a blade—a year ago you would have been using it for something entirely different, like chopping off the heads of vampires or other various creatures that went bump in the night. Today, however, you swapped a machete for a chef's knife. Most of your weapons were carefully packed away, with only a few small trinkets and books to remind you of your old life as a hunter.

You sliced lettuce, tomato, and cucumber, being sure to tuck your fingers away and allow the knife to rock against your knuckles, just like the professionals did on television.

You were so focused on perfecting your chopping technique that you barely noticed the sound of keys turning in the lock or the front door swinging open. The sound of footsteps behind you went unnoticed until you felt a hand on your shoulder.

Out of pure instinct, you spun around, knife gripped tightly in your hand as a surge of adrenaline washed over you. You raised the blade towards the potential assailant, holding it a breath's distance away from their neck, your knuckles turning white. You could hear your heart pounding in your ears and your breath hitched in your throat at the sudden movement. Your brain was telling you to strike, to move on the enemy before it was too late, but the gentle hand that curled around your wrist caused your defensive stance to falter.

“You gonna stab me, sweetheart?”

"Dean?" you breathed, immediately pulling the knife away from his throat. Your heart was still thundering away, but the buzz of energy in your system had subsided to a gentle hum. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Well, I thought I would come home early and surprise you," he said, taking the knife from your hand and placing it on the countertop. "I didn't think you were gonna Long-Kiss-Goodnight-me."

“I’m sorry,” you sighed, anxiety and embarrassment quickly replacing the adrenaline. “Old habits…”

Dean took you by the shoulder and pulled you toward him, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. He placed a firm kiss on the top of your head before resting his chin there. You melted into him and snaked your arms around his middle, feeling every worry melt away. He smelled like work: fuel, oil, and metal, and despite washing his hands copious times, there were still motor oil stains on his skin. Normally, the smell would have had you scrunching your nose up and ordering Dean into the shower, but for the first time, you couldn’t find yourself caring.

“How was work?” you asked, pulling back to look up at him. His hair was scruffy, the ends standing up in a hundred different directions. It was longer than Dean usually allowed it to get, but he told you he wanted to “experiment with the length” (you weren’t going to admit that the thought made you ever so slightly giddy).

"Pretty good," he replied, furrowing his brows for a moment as he wiped a patch of flour off your forehead with his thumb. "Some guy brought in an old Mustang. Got to—"

His eyes tore off you, looking towards the mess you left on the stove.

"What the hell—"

"Don't ask," you grumbled.

"What did you—what even—"

"I thought I said don't ask."

Dean picked the frypan up off the stove, inspecting the charred contents, and you felt like shrinking inside yourself. He looked over to the chopped ingredients on the counter before turning back to you.

"Dinner…?"

"I tried," you gave up. "I really did. I thought I would do something nice and surprise you, but apparently, I'm the world's worst cook."

Dean wasn't going to admit it, but you were right. You could make a mean bowl of cereal and a damn good cup of coffee, but when it came to toasting, baking, or frying, it usually ended with someone needing to get the fire extinguisher.

Your face fell into your hands—the tears were back, and you tried your best to hide them, but your shaky breaths immediately alerted Dean.

"Hey," he said with a light chuckle. He pulled you back towards him, one hand on your back, the other holding the back of your head. "It's all good."

"No it's not," you said, voice muffled by Dean's embrace. "I used to be good at something. Now I'm not good at anything."

"What d'you mean?"

"I used to be good at—at hunting. I used to wake up every day knowing exactly what to do and when. Now I can't even make a meal without messing up. At least you're good at something."

Dean nodded, fully understanding. It had been roughly six months since your last hunt, since you'd both hung up your hats and said goodbye to the life forever.

Surprisingly enough, Dean settled into your new life faster than you both had thought. He had gotten the mechanic job right off the bat and quickly fell into a routine. It was good for him. He had something to look forward to every day. He had new skills that he was able to put to use.

You, on the other hand, were finding things a little more difficult. You had no experience doing anything, making finding a job damn near impossible. You found yourself itching to check for the latest missing persons case or some kind of sign of the next apocalypse. You busied yourself by walking the dog, by cleaning the little house you rented in Kansas, by reading dozens of books.

Dean never pushed you. Instead, he let you adjust at your own pace.

Sure, there were still nights where one of you would wake up from a nightmare a sobbing, shaky mess, where visions of blood, death, and monsters flashed behind your eyelids. But you were always there for each other with comforting touches and words—you were each other's beacons of light when things began to grow dark again.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said, hands moving to your shoulders. “You are gonna head out, grab a pizza from down the street. I am gonna stay here and tidy up.”

“But—”

“Then,” he continued, “We’re gonna settle in for the night. Couch. Beer. Movie.”

“Fine,” you sighed, a smile creeping back onto your lips.

Your car smelled like pizza as you pulled into the little cul-de-sac where your house was. Three boxes sat on your passenger seat, and you had to refrain from reaching over and snagging a piece before getting home. Dean would have your head if you started without him.

You passed several houses on your block that looked somewhat similar to your own before your little house came into view. It was smaller than the others, but it made up for it with a massive front and back yard. It had a brown roof, beige-yellow walls, and a wooden door. For most people, it wasn’t much to look at—many of the people who inspected it had turned their noses up and laughed at it.

It wasn’t much, but it was home.

Upon pulling into the driveway, you noticed another car parked on the side of the road up ahead. The sight of it brought a wide smile to your face.

Sam.

It had been days since you last saw him. After spending all day every day in the Winchesters’ pockets, you had felt strange not seeing Sam constantly. After everything, Sam had become one of your closest and dearest friends—he was like an older brother to you. He knew everything about you, and you knew everything about him. You could talk to each other freely without judgment—he just got you.

You quickly parked your car, grabbed the pizza boxes, and headed inside.

You could hear Sam and Dean before seeing them. After years of hunting, stakeouts, and sneaking around, you were surprised the brothers weren't a little more subtle. Six months ago, you would have assumed they were arguing about something, but as you approached the front door, you actually heard them laugh.

You pushed the door open and headed inside, immediately greeted by Miracle. He sniffed around your feet and tried his best to investigate the pizza boxes in your hand, his tail wagging profusely. Dean took the pizza boxes from your hands, shot you a wink, and took them into the kitchen. Miracle quickly turned his attention away from you and followed the smell of the pizza. Traitor.

"Hey, stranger," Sam said, standing at the end of the entryway, hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets.

You threw your keys on the small bench near the front door and practically ran over to Sam, throwing your arms around him in a tight hug. You had to stand on your tiptoes to reach him.

"This is a nice surprise! Long time no see," you said, pulling back to take a look at him. He looked well-rested—happy—and there was a glint in his eye that you couldn't quite put your finger on. "How's Eileen?"

"Good," he lowered his head, the look in his eye now spreading to the rest of his face. A smile crept across his lips, the kind that had your brows furrowing in interest. "Yeah, she's real good."

You made a mental note to ask about it later.

"Pizza's gettin' cold!" Dean called, which caused you and Sam to roll your eyes in unison.

After indulging in five slices of pizza and three beers, you were completely stuffed. The boys had spent at least forty-five minutes arguing over which movie to watch, so the film—which should have ended by now—had only just started playing on your TV. You teetered on the edge of post-meal drowsiness, your eyes drooping. You fought hard against it; you wanted to stay awake and catch up with Sam, to hear more about how domestic life was finally treating him.

You felt content in your surroundings, and the knowledge that both your boys were here safe made you feel warm. The couch beneath you was soft, and with your head resting in Dean's lap, you felt even more comfortable. His thumb rubbed against your shoulder in small circles, and the rhythm of his touch eventually sent you off to sleep entirely. You had lost the fight.

“She asleep?” Sam asked in a whisper, gesturing with a nod towards you.

Dean shifted ever so slightly and cast his eyes down to you before nodding. "She wouldn't stop askin' me to invite you over. Thought the surprise would keep her buzzed for hours."

Sam chuckled, "Y'know, she can invite me over whenever she wants?"

"Man, if she had it her way, you'd never leave."

Sam smiled, and the two sat in comfortable silence for a moment, until his eyes grew concerned. He sat forward and grabbed the TV remote, turning down the volume until the film playing was barely audible.

"How's she doing?" he asked.

Dean shrugged, "Can't tell. Sometimes she seems okay. Then… I don't know…"

"What do you mean?"

"Came home today and found her in the kitchen. She was freaking out about dinner—"

"She's never been the best cook."

"I know," Dean said, "but she started tellin' me she wasn't good at anythin' anymore."

Sam's brows furrowed, "It'll take her some time to adjust. I mean, we aren’t exactly the best examples of settling into the real world."

“I keep tellin’ her that, but I don’t think she believes me.”

At that moment, Sam wished for nothing more than for you to wake up. He wanted to tell you about the several times he’d attempted a normal life and failed, how the hunting life had an iron-grip hold on him for years until he finally felt the time was right to cut free. But he decided to leave it for another time. You looked too peaceful.

But he knew that you would be fine. You always were. Aside from his brother, you were one of the strongest people Sam knew.

"How're things going with you and Eileen?" Dean asked. "Honeymoon phase over yet?"

A smile tugged on Sam's lips, "Yeah… I uh—I guess it kinda is."

"Dude, already? What did you do?"

"Nothing," Sam defended. "We've just found a routine. Settled in…"

"And…?"

Sam's hands swiped down his face as he sat back on the couch with a huff. His foot bounced against the floor, his eyes drifting from his brother to you and then back again.

"I wanted to tell you guys together."

Confusion flashed across Dean’s face as he sat up, careful not to jostle you around too much. “Wanted to tell us what?”

Sam let out a breath, “Eileen’s pregnant.”

Silence fell over the lounge room—the only sound being that of the soft dialogue coming from the television. The confusion on Dean’s face slowly morphed into shock, then confusion again, before a grin broke out.

“Are you serious?”

Sam nodded.

“You’re—you’re serious?”

Sam chuckled, nodding again.

There was something about it that Dean couldn’t believe. His brother—his baby brother—was having his own baby. It felt like just yesterday that he was picking him up from Stanford. The man next to him was no longer that college kid; he was starting his own family.

The thought made Dean look down at you. He wondered what it would be like to do all of that with you. Sure, the two of you had spoken about it here and there—marriage, family, the whole nine—but it never really went any further than that.

Dean’s brows furrowed as he looked up from you and back to his brother.

“She’s gonna kill you if she finds out she missed this.”

Sam laughed quietly, which caused the corners of his eyes to crinkle. “Well then, how ‘bout I stay the night? I’ll tell you guys in the morning… Just—try to act surprised. For our sake.”

“Deal.”

[kitty384]

He Knew Before I Did

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: During a simple recon mission, you suddenly get sick—and Bucky is the first to realize what it might mean. You’re pregnant. And somehow, he knew before you did.

Warnings: Nausea/vomiting, implied pregnancy, soft emotional support, fluff, established relationship

The mission wasn’t supposed to be complicated.

Simple recon. No combat. No one even fired a shot. We were in and out in under twenty minutes, and the van ride home was smooth and quiet.

So why the hell was I sweating through my suit, stomach twisting, mouth dry, eyes locked on the floor like I was going to die right then and there?

“Y/N?” Sam asked from across the van. “You look kinda pale. You okay?”

I nodded too fast. “Yeah. Just… hot.”

That wasn’t a lie. But it also wasn’t the whole truth.

Something felt off.

Wrong.

Too tight in my ribs. Too loud in my ears. Too unsteady in my body.

And then the nausea rolled in like a freight train.

My hand slapped over my mouth. I barely managed to scramble to the van door before I threw up.

Hard.

The world blurred. Everything spun. I leaned against the side of the van, gripping the edge like it could keep me upright, trying to catch my breath.

“Y/N!”

Boots hit the pavement. A hand touched my back, firm but careful. Gloved fingers pulled my hair away from my face.

I didn’t have to look to know it was Bucky.

Of course it was Bucky.

“You alright?” he asked, voice low and serious—but not panicked.

“I—I don’t know,” I croaked.

He didn’t ask more questions. Just rubbed slow circles on my back and waited.

When I finally stood upright, dizzy and mortified, I saw the way he was looking at me.

Not confused.

Not surprised.

But like something had just clicked.

“Buck,” I mumbled, wiping my mouth, “please don’t say it.”

He tilted his head. “Say what?”

“You know what.”

He hesitated.

Then gave me that look—the one that was equal parts “I love you” and “I’m worried out of my mind and trying not to freak out.”

“Have you… taken a test lately?”

I blinked at him.

A test?

Oh.

Oh.

I froze.

“I mean—no,” I said quickly. “But I—I don’t think—”

Bucky gently took my hand, grounding me. “Y/N. It would explain a lot.”

I started doing the math.

The weird cravings. The mood swings. The late period I’d blamed on stress. The way he’d been eyeing me for the last two weeks like he knew something I didn’t.

“Holy crap,” I whispered.

Bucky didn’t smile. Not yet. But his eyes softened.

“We’ll stop by the pharmacy on the way back,” he said. “Just in case.”

The second we got home, I locked myself in the bathroom.

Bucky didn’t knock. Didn’t push. Just sat outside the door like he had a thousand times before.

I took the test with shaking hands.

Set it on the counter.

Waited.

And when the time passed, I looked.

Two lines.

Clear.

Positive.

I sat on the floor, the test clutched in my hand, suddenly crying and laughing at the same time.

Then I opened the door.

Bucky stood up instantly.

One look at my face and he knew.

I held out the test, voice shaking. “I think we’re gonna have a baby.”

His hands hovered, like he didn’t want to grab me too fast. “Are you okay?”

I nodded. “Are you?”

That’s when the smile broke across his face.

Gentle. Overwhelmed. Bright.

“I knew it,” he said, pulling me into his arms. “I knew the second you threw up.”

I laughed into his chest. “That’s not very romantic.”

“It is to me.”

We didn’t tell anyone that day.

We just laid in bed, curled together under soft blankets, my hand resting over my belly while his hand covered mine.

We didn’t speak much.

But we didn’t need to.

We were building something now—something brand new.

And he knew before I did.

Because of course he did.

Because he always does.

Masterlist

Request

[persevereforahappyending]

No Man's Land |12|

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x Reader

Summary: Sam can’t help but be drawn to the cute stranger from her gym, even if everything about them makes them the perfect suspect, just when Ghostface has returned.

Warnings: Talks of Killing, Talks of Murder

Word Count: 2.5k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

Tara ran off almost instantly after Mindy said the shrine would be the killers lair, then pointed out this wasn’t a normal Stab movie. Sam moved to go after her sister, despite trying to play everything as normal and as if the attack last year changed nothing, she knew Tara was struggling. Kirby waved her off though and said she’d check on Tara herself. Sam frowned but she knew it was probably better if Kirby went, she had been through this before and every time Sam tried to talk to Tara it almost always ended in an argument.

Sam turned back to the display case that contained the cloak of Billy Loomis. Her eyes trailed from the white mask down to the blood knife at the bottom. So, many lives were ruined just by Billy putting on a stupid costume. She wasn’t sure who could possibly be after them this time, though she didn’t expect her boyfriend to be the bad guy last time either. Whoever was coming after them did their research though, they had everything from each of the Ghostface attacks, going back all the way to the very beginning. She noticed there was even a small display about Sidney’s mom, the murder that started it all.

Sam didn’t know how to protect everyone. Two random kids were killed, which Sam couldn’t care too much about because they were apparently planning to kill her and her sister, but then she was attacked at the gym, she only survived because of you. Since then, the attack at the bodega and then the attack at the apartment, everyone had only survived because of you. She didn’t know where they’d be without you, who else would be dead. She knew she still had to be cautious around you, but you were proving more and more that you were trustworthy and nothing like Richie.

The floor creaked behind her, and she froze. She slowly lifted her head to see you through the glass, standing behind her. You hadn’t said a word, you hadn’t pressed her for answers too hard, answers you rightly deserved. She owed you an explanation about everything, who she was and why this was all happening. You knew who she was, but Sam owed it to you to tell you everything from her own mouth.

“Are you okay?” You asked, finally breaking the silence.

Sam turned around and saw you looking at her with nothing but concern. She wasn’t sure how you could see all of this, see this mess that went all the way back to her birth father and not flinch. There was still no judgement in your eyes, you were looking at Sam with the same kindness you always had. Your first question since seeing all this wasn’t to demand an explanation or ask who any of these people were, you just asked if she was okay, you truly were too good for her.

“Why are you still here?” Sam asked as she spun around. “You’ve been cut and stabbed,” she gestured at you. “Shot at, almost died three times all for some stranger who goes to your gym.” She shrugged, you might have been too good for her, but you also seemed to be crazy.

You only smiled at her words, making her furrow her brow. Maybe you really were her type, you were definitely crazy. “I assure you; this is nothing compared to what I’ve been through,” you said. “And you’re not just some girl from my gym anymore, I think I know you well enough to not want you to get murdered.”

Sam shook her head. You were military, special forces at that, you had definitely seen some things. With the way you handled yourself, first with the knife, then the gun, and then even in the apartment you used your surroundings to your advantage, nearly choking Ghostface out with a curtain. You could more than handle yourself, Sam could only imagine what you would do with the right equipment and an actual plan instead of getting caught off guard. But this wasn’t some war zone, you were at home, you shouldn’t be fighting for your life like this.

“You don’t know me,” Sam mumbled. “Not really, but if you insist on sticking around you should probably know what you’re getting into.” Sam walked across the stage and took a seat, letting her legs hang off the edge. You slightly followed after her, taking a seat right next to her but leaving enough space so the two of you weren’t touching.

Sam stared across the theater, Ethan was walking around, his hands shoved in his pockets as he looked around, Bailey stared at a few of the displays, furrowing his brow at the sight of some things. She looked to the side to see Gale staring longingly at one of the displays, Sam could only assume it had something to do with Dewey. Then there was Mindy, crouched down as she tried to comfort Anika off to the far end, with Chad standing a couple feet away, his arms crossed as his own eyes scanned over the group.

Sam clenched her hands into fists. She had heard a bunch of crap about her life and her family ever since that world learned the truth. She had known the truth since she was a teenager, she had spoken the words more than once. For some reason just opening her mouth to tell you seemed impossible. You could go online right now and find several articles talking about what she was about to tell you, saying the words out loud shouldn’t be a big deal.

“Whatever you say,” you said, interrupting her spiraling thoughts. “I promise you; it won’t change anything.”

Sam glanced at you and saw nothing but patience and understanding in your eyes. No one could really say nothing would change until they knew whatever it was, but you truly believed what you were saying. Sam knew she shouldn’t doubt you, you knew the rumors, you knew the basics, and you still stuck around. Everyone who learned the truth though ran and when they didn’t run it was usually because they had an ulterior motive, or they betrayed her.

“When I was younger, I learned my father wasn’t who I thought he was,” Sam let out a shaky breath as she got started. “My real father is Billy Loomis.” She could hear you suck in a breath at the name. “He’s the one who inspired all this,” she gestured around the room. “A year ago, my sister was attacked, by her best friend.” Sam shook her head, there were times she still couldn’t believe last year happened. Amber had never liked her growing up, but she always just figured Amber was an angry kid, she never imagined the girl would be a serial killer.

“Turns out it was all a ploy to lure me back home,” Sam let out humorless chuckle. “My now ex,” she wrinkled her nose. She couldn’t believe she had fallen for Richie, he had been so sweet and charming, that should have been the first indicator that something was wrong with him. “Set it up. He manipulated me, pretended to love me, then he tried to kill me,” she shook her head. “Oh, and he was apparently cheating on me the whole time with Amber.”

“Your ex, that was-”

“Richie,” Sam cut you off. “He tracked me down, became my co-worker, then friend, and then…”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“And it was all to make a stupid movie,” she scoffed. “He’s dead. I made sure of that. So, is Amber.”

“I’m sorry.” Sam looked at you with a furrowed brow, after everything she just said she wasn’t expecting another, I’m sorry’. “He might have been an asshole and a psychopath.” Sam couldn’t help but chuckle at your bluntness. “But whatever you felt for him was real, that doesn’t just automatically end because of what he did. It’s okay to be hurt or even feel bad about it.”

Sam nodded, no one had ever told her that before, well her therapist did but she dismissed it at the time. “But I don’t feel bad,” Sam whispered. “I don’t feel bad one bit,” Sam let out a humorless chuckle. “It felt good to kill him after what he did to me.”

Sam rested her head in her hand as she looked at you. You were looking down at the ground with your eyebrow scrunched up in concentration. “Someone started rumors about me online,” Sam said, making you look up, your brow still scrunched together. “Saying I set the whole thing up last year, that I killed my boyfriend, and he was actually the hero.” Sam shook her head, despite Sidney being there, despite all the police statements, the world seemed to believe some random reddit user over the facts.

“The world sees me as just another killer,” Sam shrugged. “Just like my father.” Sam ran a hand through her hair. “Now you know what a mess my life is,” she scoffed. “Why it would be a terrible idea to get involved with me.”

She thought back to the kiss the two of you shared just the other day. She had stopped it; she said she couldn’t. She told herself it was because she couldn’t fully trust you, she didn’t want to risk getting involved with someone else. The truth was she didn’t want to bring someone into her life, it was such a mess, she didn’t want someone else having to deal with the looks and the comments. You certainly didn’t deserve to be with someone like that, you were too good for all that, you deserved to have someone normal, someone who wouldn’t potentially get you stabbed every other day.

You had been silent most of the time and when Sam looked at you, she saw you nodding along. “Your life is a mess,” you finally said. Sam couldn’t help but smile, you were still as blunt as ever, she found she kind of liked that about you.

“About a year ago I was shot,” you said, your voice becoming distant as if you were going back to the memory. Sam furrowed her brow, she had seen the scars all over your body, she knew you had been shot before, she never imagined one of those injuries was so recent though. “Centimeters from my heart.” You kept touching a spot over your heart, Sam could only assume it was where you were shot. “It’s why I’m in town.”

“But you seem fine,” Sam said. Kirby said it was odd you were in town for longer than usual, that you were stationed in North Carolina. Kirby also said you were still active duty, if you had been injured enough to be discharged then that would be one thing but if you were healed and still active duty it didn’t make sense for you to be home for so long.

“Physically I am,” you rasped out. You were looking across the theater, but it was clear your mind was somewhere else. “But up here,” you tapped your head. “Haven’t been cleared,” you clenched your jaw.

“You seem pretty sane to me,” Sam offered. You were the most stable person she had met, which maybe she wasn’t the best judge in that department knowing her track record.

You huffed out a laugh at that. “Well, not according to my therapist. She won’t clear me until I talk about what happened.” Sam thought back to when you had told her you had a therapy appointment, you had said it was mandatory, that meant you were ordered to see your therapist, it wasn’t something you willingly went to like she did.

“You don’t have to talk about it.” If you had been seeing your therapist this long and it still didn’t seem like you were any closer to getting clear that meant you probably hadn’t talked about whatever it was yet. Sam might have been comfortable seeing a therapist and wanted to talk about her issues, but she knew that wasn’t the case for everyone, her sister in particular refused to see a therapist or talk about what happened in any meaningful way.

“No,” you shook your head. “It’s been long enough.” Sam remained silent as she nodded, she would give you as much time as you needed. “We had been deployed for a few months, it was supposed to just be a peacekeeping mission,” you shook your head. “Had done plenty of them before, meant to help build relations, and make connections. But then…”

You blinked away tears that had begun to fill your eyes, but you never let them fall. “A local militia attacked, we were caught off guard, we’re meant to always be prepared but it had been months without incident,” you continued. You cleared your throat, trying to keep your voice as unwavering as possible. “My whole team was killed, my brothers,” you buried your head in your hands.

Sam sucked in a breath; out of everything she was expecting you to say it certainly wasn’t that. She couldn’t imagine the guilt you must be living with being the only survivor of something like that. The only reason she was as okay as she was was because of her sister and Chad and Mindy, without them she couldn’t imagine what she’d be like. They might not have liked to talk about what happened, but they relied on each other, they leaned on each other when one was struggling, and they celebrated together when something good happened.

“I was meant to die that day,” you whispered. “I should have,” you shook your head. You pressed your palm against your eyes before finally lifting your head again. “Somehow the bullet missed my heart, and the rescue team got to me just before I bled out.”

Sam opened and closed her mouth a few times. She wasn’t even sure where to begin with something like this, she was pretty sure there was nothing she could say to comfort you.

“See?” you said, giving her a tired smile. “I got just as much baggage as you.” Sam gave you a sad smile. “But I promise you, I’m much more screwed up, you don’t want any of this,” you gestured at yourself. “Coming into your life. Trust me,” you whispered. “It’s you who’s better off not getting involved with me.”

Sam opened and closed her hand. She wanted nothing more than to reach for you, to try and comfort you. She didn’t believe you; she was definitely not better off without you. You didn’t deserve anything that had happened to you, you weren’t to blame for your team dying. Ever since Sam had met you, all you had done was prove how good you were, you protected her, you joined the group to help protect everyone when you didn’t even know them. You told her your story as if you were warning her to stay away but it only proved to her that you truly were one of the good ones.

Taglist: @thatshyboy1998 @artrizzler19 @btay3115 @acutenobody @godamnityess

@luvwanda @rqizzu @riyaexee @bella423 @rayisaknight

@assgradiangod @canyonyodeler @marsyay78

[natalievoncatte]

3. Dress

Kara wore dresses. Lena had seen her wearing sundresses and skirts and even a cocktail dress once, and of course she’d worn a dress at the wedding and look very

(Painfully)

pretty

(Gorgeous)

in it.

So it wasn’t as if Lena had never seen her in a dress before. Still, if you asked Lena to picture Kara in her head, Lena would imagine her best friend in khaki pants that hugged her hips and displayed the impressive girth of her thighs, and of course the buns of steel. She would further visualize Kara wearing a plaid button-down tucked into a broad belt that emphasized the inhumanly flat plane or her muscular belly or the broad set of her block shoulders.

(If she didn’t visualize her wearing nothing at all)

Dresses simply didn’t seem to be her thing. She just felt right when she was a little… masc, one might say. Kara had a way about her, a swagger that worked with the belts and a habit of setting her arms with her hands in her hips that emphasized her physique.

Lena sometimes wondered how a pair of glasses had actually fooled her.

For the last eight weeks or so, Lena had been living in Kara’s apartment, sleeping on the couch in a weird state of limbo after she sold her penthouse. They had decided that Lena would soon be moving, but not where or when. Obviously she’d stay close -her life was here now, after all- but she wanted a change.

In a way, Lena was following in Kara’s footsteps, trying to relate to the world as her whole self. She’d come upon the idea of using a sort of checklist- reinventing herself with the same ruthless efficiency she brought to the lab and the boardroom. That was one part of herself that needed to go.

Lena’s whole life was constructed. She did everything she for a purpose, and that purpose no longer meant anything anymore. There was no longer a Lex or a Lillian to outmaneuver, no longer a board to persuade or dominate. She was running the Foundation, but from her laptop, and had hired Sam to handle the financials. She wasn’t even meeting with benefactors; she had people for that. Her main work focus now was a science education program for elementary school girls.

It was so liberating, not having to be the badass boardroom bitch. She’s stopped straightening her hair, abandoned her contacts in favor of chunky glasses, and, in a colossal shock to everyone, Kara included, stopped dyeing her hair black, a habit she’d picked up and kept because it pleased Lillian and kept up because stopping would be annoying.

She had even worn sweatpants. In public. Everyone in her family had been gifting her goofy clothes to wear; she was currently swaddled in a “Why Hex a Little When you Can Hexalotl” t-shirt that Kara had regifted, originally from Nia.

That was when Kara walked out of her bedroom area of the loft and Lena’s brain spun around and smacked against the front of her skull.

Kara was dressed to the nines in a black a-frame halter top mini dress that bared her shoulders and magnificent back, and she’d matched it with dark eye shadow and plum lipstick that was striking against her sun-kissed skin, and a pair of strappy high heels.

“Hey,” she said, sounding glum.

“Where are you off to?” Lena said, trying not to add the mental dressed like that.

“A date,” Kara sighed.

Lena kept her face even, despite the fact that her mind had just ripped in half. She was desperate to know why Kara sounded so glum, and also flat fucking terrified.

The idea of Kara going on a date horrified her. It made her instantly sick with worry -not just for Kara which was honestly a little silly- but because… because…

Lena was suddenly very aware that she didn’t want Kara to date. At all.

(Because she should be dating me)

Which sucked, because Kara was straight, because there was a god and he hated Lena Kieran Luthor and her accursed blood. That had to be why Lena was cursed to suffer a crush on

(be madly in love with)

the perfect girl who came from the sky.

“You look lovely,” said Lena. “Have fun.”

Kara blushed for a moment, then Looked at Lena a little oddly, a little forlorn.

“I’ll text you.”

Okay.

Kara left, and Lena was alone in Kara’s

(their)

loft with just herself and Zillow open on her laptop.

Lena browsed for a while, but none of the places looked right. They were all as if HGTV had puked onto an old house. The minimalism and open concepts reminded her too much of her Old Life. She wanted quirky. She wanted unique. She wanted a place that reflected who Lena really was.

Jesus H Christ, was this a mid life crisis? She wasn’t that old.

Lena was startled out of her reverie when the door swung open and Kara stormed in, slammed it shut, and kicked off her shoes, storming barefoot across the loft.

“Fucking asshole,” said Kara.

Lena blinked, stunned by the profanity, only to be filled with outrage.

“Kara? What happened?”

“This is the last time I let someone at work set me up on a date. I didn’t even want to go, Alex badgered me into it.”

Lena put her computer aside. Kara grabbed a pair of beers from the fridge and popped the lids with her thumbs as she sat down, which was literally one of the hottest things she did on a regular basis. She offered Lena one and took a pull on her own.

“He was a jerk,” said Kara. “I tried asking him whether a hot dog is a sandwich, and he just said ‘who cares’.”

“Kara, a hot dog is a sandwich. We’ve been through this.”

Kara glared at her. “I’m not doing this again, Lena. Not until you admit that a burrito is a sandwich.”

Lena rolled her eyes.

“The last straw was when he told me I shouldn't work out so much. He said my muscles make me look like a man."

Lena blinked. "Where did your coworkers find this jerk?"

"Accounting. He wouldn't shut up about his finance degree. He insisted on paying for everything, too. Oh, and he told me I eat too much! All I did was order some appetizers!"

Lena drained her beer and grabbed another. She listened patiently as Kara vented about this guy and the other various jerks she'd gone one date with.

"I'm doomed, Lena. Every guy is a dick and insecure around me."

At around this time, she finished beer five. Lena nodded.

“Even if I think it’s working I lose the spark. Like when James finally wanted to go out with me and I was just like ‘nah.’”

“James… was nah for me too,” said Lena.

(Honestly, Kara, you should try dating girls.)

“Wait,” said Kara, “What?”

Oh.

She said that one out loud.

Shit.

“Um,” Lena said, lamely panicking, “I um, that was a joke, I meant… well it… worked out for your sister?”

Kara gaped at her.

Lena swallowed hard. “Would you believe it sounded funny in my head?”

“Have you… ever dated girls?” said Kara.

Lena’s stomach almost shot out of her throat. She put her most recent beer down to keep it from sloshing as her hands shook. She looked at Kara, who looked back, expectant… and hopeful?

“Yes,” Lena admitted. “Jack was the only man. I ever dated except James, but there have been women, too. Not that many. Despite my reputation I was never that social.”

“Who?” Kara asked, immediately.

Lena licked her lips. “Andrea.”

Kara stared. “Andrea? Andrea Rojas? Really?”

“It was a teen thing that ended in our eariy twenties, but it was serious. So do you remember how I told you I knew Roulette from boarding school?”

Kara nodded.

“Well, I knew her, um, biblically.”

Kara snorted. “No way. Who else?”

Lena smiled. At least she wasn’t being weird about it.”

“You’re not saying no to trying it yourself,” said Lena.

Kara looked away.

“I…”

She took a drink of beer.

“There are no queer people on Krypton, Lena. There weren’t, I guess I should say.”

The pain in Kara’s voice made Lena shift closer, set aside her drink and curl a hand softly around her arm.

“You don’t have to tell me this if it hurts.”

Kara shook her head. “I… my culture would not allow anything, uh, gay. Or homosexual. Like we literally don’t even have a word for it, it’s so foreign to us. We were taught that the only acceptable pairing was for the best possible offspring. Most of my people didn’t have sex at all, it was all artificial. My aunt and uncle were some who did, they had Clark naturally.”

“So Kryptonians can’t be gay?”

Lena’s heart sank.

“I didn’t think so, but, there was this girl once and she made me feel something I never felt before… and seeing her made all of my other feelings feel different. After I saw her I suddenly felt like I was just going after guys because I was supposed to. Even when I was with Mon-El I had this feeling that… I mean it felt good and I liked being able to cut loose but it felt like…”

Lena waited, not wanting to push her.

“Frankly, it felt like using him as a sex toy. Nothing else in our relationship really felt that deep. Even when he came back and went to Argo with me, I was more happy about my mother seeing me continue our family line than I was about him actually being with me. The second time he left I almost felt relieved.”

“That’s a lot, Kara. I had no idea.”

“I had no idea you liked girls either,” said Kara.

“I really do,” Lena admitted. “Who was she, this girl that stole your heart? High school crush?”

“No,” said Kara. “I met her as Supergirl. The first time I ever saw her, I saved her.”

“Very romantic.”

Kara sighed. “She was the prettiest. She’s so soft, so inviting, and whenever she looks at me I feel like she’s staring right through me, seeing everything in a good way. She’s smart and kind and brave and she has the prettiest blue-green eyes and one of them is a little more blue and the other is a little more green.”

Lena felt the blood drain from her face as her hand shook. Kara smiled wistfully.

“I was always too scared to say anything. I didn’t think she’d ever want me the way I want her.”

Lena looked up and met Kara’s gaze.

“I want more than to not be alone,” said Kara. “I want to be understood. I want to be with someone but I want to be together with someone I can be alone with. Somebody who gets me, who likes what I like, who takes joy in sharing the things we love. Who looks really cute in my clothes. Especially the hexalotl shirt.”

Lena blinked.

“Oh.”

(Oh)

“I like all that stuff but also blondes with big muscles who fly.”

Kara lunged across the couch and had Lena’s arms in her grip, and suddenly was lying on top of her, in that dress. Lena stared up at her.

“I wonder who we know who fits that description,” said Kara.

“I want you to kiss me.”

Kara smirked and leaned down, bringing her lips to Lena’s, and Lena honest to god moaned into her mouth as the kiss deepened, panting with excitement. As if her intentions weren’t obvious, Lena ground herself against Kara, working her thigh between her legs.

“I thought you were straight,” Kara blurted out.

“As spaghetti,” said Lena.

“What?” Kara blinked.

“I’ll explain later. As great as that dress looks on you, darling, it’d look better on the floor.”

[idk-maybe-i-did-it]

what happens after dark

Overview: two traumatized super soldiers who help each other with nightmares, two hearts falling in love. when something happens to the other, will they stop being afraid to show their love?

Warnings: blood, violence (obv), choking/strangulation, nightmares, PTSD, panic attacks, anxiety attack, I think that’s it?

roughly 2.1k

A/N: cross posting on ao3, tbh I would write more about them if someone wanted, I love them sm in this. also sorry if it’s rushed I wrote this in like an hour lol

─────────

Her breathing came fast— so damn fast— and screams trailed her as she ran.

Pounding feet. Yelling. Screaming. Slick walls.

A sickening sound from the left, her hand wrapped around someone’s throat, the terrified look in the man’s eyes. The startlingly inhumane way she looked reflecting back in his eyes.

Crack

Air, she needed air.

The world spun when she stood, her limbs barely holding her up as she stumbled to the balcony and shoved the doors open.

Air.

Her legs gave out as soon as she was outside, though she doesn’t notice. All she knows, feels, hears— screams. Clawing at her throat doesn’t work, she still can’t get the air in. Nothing’s working, nothings working, nothings working—

“I’ve got you,” a rough voice says.

When the arms wrap around her, one achingly cold in contrast to the warmth of the other, she panics. Panics and panic and—

“It’s okay doll,” he soothes. A metallic arm around her side, slipping under her shirt to rest on her stomach; grounding her with the cold.

“I’ve got you.”

His warm hand easily tilting her neck back, his thumb brushing her throat gentle as can be. She doesn’t panic, doesn’t scream like her body yearns, she calms. The air returns, her breathing slowing as she gulps down sweet reprieve.

Something about the man is familiar. Something screams for her to trust him.

—

Bucky doesn’t mention it later that morning in the kitchen. Sam and Tony are there when she prowls in, her savior and reckoning going over mission plans as he drinks coffee. He doesn’t spare her a glance. He never does.

She wished he did sometimes, but it’s better this way, safer this way. She can be herself and maintain her reputation: a strong, unbreakable force of steel. He can maintain his: stoic and unreadable, a dangerous weapon.

It’s not like he would want anyone to find out what they do at night anyways. That would be a nightmare.

The water heats up fast, her tea brewing in the mug as she pours it, and even though the cup is burning into her hand, she pays no mind to the pain. James Buchanan Barnes, her gut does a flip as she brushes past him and settles at the table, gods, he’ll be her ruin.

“Do what you want today before the trip,” Tony calls over his coffee. The man stays busy 24/7, she doesn’t understand how Pepper puts up with it.

Then again, she knows a certain someone else who stays busy too. And she would put up with his being busy every day of the week if it meant she’d be able to call him hers.

—

It’s not like they’re anything special, they’re friends. Not even friends really, they work together. It’s a nice, tentative bond. She’s stupid to think he would want anything else, to think they could be anything else.

But still she finds herself wishing, hoping, yearning—

Why would she even think about being with him, hasn’t he mentioned before that he doesn’t want her like that? Or was it just her mind playing tricks on her?

Maybe it’s time her past has caught up to her, time her horrible truths came to light again. Maybe if she reveals how wicked she is, how terrible of a person she can be, he’ll be smart and leave her alone. She’s a killer after all, a terrible, brutal, horrendous monster who doesn’t know what the word mercy means.

It’s not as if—

“Hey! You tortured that bag enough yet?” Steve calls, his strong hand falling onto her shoulder and jolting her from the stupor.

Her knuckles feel sticky. Her linen wraps are slightly red as she pulls her hands back. Four punching bags. She’s gone through four.

An unnoticeable gulp. The widening of her eyes. A shake to her hands as she looks down at them. But no, she’s perfectly fine and calm as she looks up at Steve. Ever the face of an angel.

She’s bashful, running a hand against her neck. “Sorry, guess I got a little carried away there huh?”

Her gut is alight with nerves, her chest squeezing tight and panic coming to a broil in her chest as she realizes she demolished the punching bags and didn’t even know. She didn’t even notice. She was out of it, locked in her mind, not caring, not calculating not—

A piercing, steel blue gaze, all the way from across their gym, so many things unsaid in that look. But just meeting his eyes, seeing those unsaid thoughts, is enough to push air into her lungs and calm her.

She gives him a hidden grin, her eyes betraying how she feels, and starts unhooking the destroyed punching bags. It doesn’t take much from her, hardly a bead of sweat, and she carries the four bags across the room to put with the others. She’ll have to ask Tony how much it costs to replace those one day; ever since she’d joined a year ago, they’d had to keep the supplier on every order.

Her wraps are more red as she finishes up, the blood leaking just a little faster as she marches up the stairs to her level. She’d never take the elevator, it’s too encasing.

—

A rumple of sheets, metal hitting the floor, panicked gasps as he struggles. She’s tossing her bedsheets off and slipping into his room before she even thinks.

Her chest clenches hard as she steps in, his panic and confusion creeping through the air. Dark eyes meet hers from the floor and she knows, she just knows, he doesn’t remember where he is.

When Bucky lunges, she ducks. When he swings, she catches. When he stumbles, she yanks him back. When his eyes, dark and panicked and confused, meet hers she knows he’s deep in it. Fear doesn’t ring through her though, she keeps him safe and doesn’t let him get hurt.

Whatever punches he throws at her, whatever pain he inflicts, she takes it. She takes it all, arms wide open (figuratively, she’s fighting his demons off with him after all). But when his hand catches her around the throat and she’s lifted against a wall, her eyes do widen.

Lungs, lungs lungs lungs—

She can withstand this, withstand the force of Bucky. She’s done it before, but not like this. Not when he’s been in a dream.

Her hands wrap around his metal arm and she uses the leverage to kick him square in the chest. It sends him back against the bed, has her slamming against the wall even harder, but at least she can breathe.

one, two, three, in.

four, five, six, out.

She feels it the second he snaps out, hears it in his sharp inhale, and she instantly takes her hand off her throat. No need to make him feel worse, dammit.

“I’m fine Buck,” she manages hoarsely, her voice rough like a rock sliding between two others.

But he doesn’t touch her that night, won’t let her get any closer than arms length. She can see the fear in his eyes, the panic, the heartbreak as he looks between his arm and her already bruising neck.

She’s a super soldier, yeah, but she gets hurt sometimes too.

—

They don’t talk more than normal the next day on the mission, but she notices his eyes on her neck, hidden beneath her suit, as they head out. Her throat hurts, but her chest hurts more every time she remembers that wounded look in his eye.

The mission goes a little haywire, she heard Steve call for them to leave when she was just barely about to grab what they needed. She would’ve gone, she would’ve, but when he yelled Bucky’s name in that horrific way.. her powers came out and all the enemies in the room become pools of blood.

Tony didn’t mention it on the way back to the meeting spot, but she had what they needed when they boarded the jet.

Bucky was fine, Steve just panicked. The terrible fear she felt when his name was yelled though, the fact that it was enough to make her snap like that, sent her on a two day spiral.

—

They got some news on the third day, after the evidence they’d retrieved was processed through SHIELD. Some dumb shit, nothing that really concerned her, but apparently her blood-stunt was spread through the rumour mill at HYDRA. That was what this meeting was really about. She was to use the powers when necessary, that’s what Fury drilled into her. That’s what Steve and Tony carefully reminded her of.

Those words, so easy and simple. So hard to follow. It’s really not hard to understand why she fainted during training the next week, why blood started dripping from her nose and her scars began to burn as healed blood vessels popped all over again, as old wounds began to reopen quietly. She was trying so damn hard to keep it in too.

//

He saw it the moment her eyes fluttered, her limbs going heavy. He felt it when a fly near him exploded into drops of blood, felt the air still and felt it the moment her blood ran out. Her body folded like putty, her limbs dropped beneath her, and her arms ran red.

“Let it out, let it out doll, let it out,” he pleaded quietly over her body. His strong arms, normally tanned and steel, are painted red after he’d ran across the room and dropped on his knees, sliding as he caught her.

He’d never shown any outward caring for her, not more than colleagues or friends did, but so much of what he felt for her was shown as he scrambled to keep her together in his arms.

He held her as her arms leaked, as her nose dripped, as her eyes stayed closed. He’d been watching her all week after her nightmares picked up, they always did when she withdrew, and he knew the second she walked into the kitchen this morning that something bad was going to happen. Now she was bleeding on the floor, Steve and Tony and Sam and Clint and Natasha—

Steve and Tony and Fury were so stupid. So fucking stupid.

His panic was still there, his worry and heartache and— he wasn’t going there. But as he gathered her in his arms, carefully cradling her head near his shoulder where she always ended after her dreams, he turned his rage onto Steve and Tony.

“What the fuck did you two tell her last week?” He seethed, his grip tightening as she stood with her in his arms. Her blood was slowing but she was still knocked out cold.

Bucky could see the guilt and confusion in Steve’s eyes, his oldest friend whom he never got mad at, as he demanded answers.

“Do you not know how much it takes for her to hold it in?” He asks, voice brimming with quiet fury. His eyes are lethal as he turns them on Tony, one more furious glance at Steve, before he storms out with her.

It’s happened before, she’ll be fine, that’s the only reason he fussed them out before taking her to Doctor Cho.

//

“Hey doll,” he breathes softly, his eyes wide and searching hers as she wakes that night.

Her body aches, but her wounds are closed and her nose is fine. She doesn’t care about the pain, about the screech her body gives as she stands. She’s hurt, she’s tired, and she stumbles right into Bucky’s waiting arms.

“‘t hurts,” she mutters softly against his neck. Collapsed on his lap, his arms strong and warm beneath and around her, she feels at peace. His heart beats, a little frantic, beneath her ear and settles her nerves. She’s with Bucky, in his arms again, and that’s all that matters to her.

“I know doll, I know,” he murmurs solemnly against her head as his fingers thread through her hair.

She feels her body relaxing in his grip, her muscles loosening and her breathing evening out again. She dozes off to the sound of Bucky reassuring her.

“I’ve got you sweetheart, I’ve got you.”

//

He’s still angry at Steve and Tony as he carries her from the med bay to their floor, his grip both harsh and terrifyingly gentle as he holds her. He walks past the entire team at some point, but any questions are silenced with a look.

Maybe he showed too much with his care, maybe she’ll be mad at her for letting their secret out, but he doesn’t give a damn.

For her, he’d do anything. And he’s not afraid to show it anymore.

[chaoticforever]

Where The Path Led | Yandere Stephen Strange x Male! Reader

Summary: Who thought having sex with Doctor Strange would cause the man to become very obsessive and delusional?

Y/n stirred groggily, a throbbing headache pulsing in time with his heartbeat. He blinked his eyes open, squinting against the harsh morning light streaming through the window. The brightness only added to his discomfort, and he felt a wave of nausea wash over him. The room spun slightly, and he had to close his eyes again to steady himself.

After a few deep breaths, he cautiously opened his eyes again, this time letting them adjust to the bright light. As his vision cleared, he turned his head to the right, wincing at the sharp pain from his neck. That's when he noticed something that made his heart skip a beat or two.

This wasn't his room.

It took him a moment to register that he also was not alone. An arm was draped casually across his waist, belonging to someone still deeply asleep. Following the arm up, Y/n recognized the face — it was his colleague, Stephen Strange. The man looked peaceful sleeping, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The sight of Stephen lying next to him sent a rush of memories flooding back to Y/n.

The night before, Y/n had gone to a bar in the city, intent on drowning himself in alcohol. He had discovered yesterday that Marcus, his boyfriend of two years, had been cheating on him. The betrayal stung deeply, and he needed an escape. He wanted to forget, if only for one night.

And that's when Stephen had appeared. Noticing Y/n's somber mood, he joined him at the bar. The two men had shared drinks and danced together. Before they knew it, they ended up back at Stephen's place, and one thing had led to another.

Now, Y/n thought back to that moment with a sense of regret. He hadn't wanted to sleep with anyone; he had just wanted a night to forget his issues. Carefully, he eased himself out of Stephen's embrace, holding his breath and slipping out from under the covers. Spotting his clothes scattered on the floor, he began to dress quietly, wincing at the rustling fabric. He located his phone and keys in one of the pockets and quietly left Stephen's home.

Upon returning to his apartment, Y/n made a beeline for the bathroom. The cool water on his face felt amazing, but he knew he looked and felt like a mess. He vowed to himself that he wouldn't indulge in such heavy drinking again.

Going to the kitchen, Y/n began making this hangover remedy his dad had often made for him back in his early twenties. Y/n didn't think he would need it again, but it turns out that he did. As he mixed the ingredients, his phone rang and saw that Mercedes was calling. He answered.

"Hey, Mercedes."

"Hi, Y/n," Mercedes' cheerful voice came through. "So, what did you get up to last night? Drinking liquor at a bar, perhaps?"

Y/n blinked, because how did she just— "Uh, how'd you know that I went out to a bar last night? I didn’t tell you about that."

"I heard from Juan," his friend explained. "Said that he saw you at Charley's bar, getting wasted. He also mentioned that he saw you leave with someone — a tall male with black hair and a goatee. Did you hook up with somebody last night?"

Y/n sighed as he poured the remedy into a cup. "I did. I slept with my colleague, Stephen. It was a drunk hookup though, nothing more, and It won't happen again."

"And why won't it happen again?"

"To be honest, I don't like Stephen in that way," Y/n replied, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. "And after finding out about Marcus, I don't feel like dating or hooking up with anyone for a while."

"I understand," Mercedes' voice was soft. "Take all the time you need to heal but don't let Marcus' actions hold you back. He doesn't deserve your time or energy."

Y/n smiled. Mercedes always knew the right thing to say to make him feel better.

"Thank you, Mercedes," Y/n said gently. "Listen, I'm going to hop in the shower, but we can talk later. Tell Sam I said hi."

"Will do! Talk to you later, n/n," Mercedes responded before the call disconnected.

Y/n placed his phone on the charger and headed for the shower, hoping the warm water would soothe his aching body and clear his mind after the chaotic night he experienced and a challenging morning.

XXXXX XXXXX

Monday morning arrived, and Y/n woke up feeling refreshed and surprisingly energetic, considering the events of the past few days. He had spent the rest of his weekend relaxing in the living room and briefly chatting with his dad on the phone. It felt like he had finally gotten a good night's rest, and the absence of a killer headache was a welcome bonus.

The male stretched his arms above his head and yawned, feeling the satisfying crack of his joints. He whistled softly to himself as he went through his morning routine, preparing for the long day ahead.

As he drove to the hospital, his thoughts drifted back to his night with Stephen. A flush crept up his neck, thinking back to their sexual encounter. Even though they worked in different areas of the hospital— Y/n as an immunologist and Stephen as a neurosurgeon — they still often saw one another. Y/n wondered if the man in question would bring up what happened between them. He hoped he'd agree to forget about the situation and move on.

When he entered the familiar halls of the hospital, Y/n greeted his colleagues with a smile and nodded to familiar faces. He made his way to the staff lounge for that much-needed cup of coffee because his appointments were back-to-back, and he knew the caffeine would be essential to getting through the day. The lounge was empty as he poured the liquid into a cup.

And then:

A familiar voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Good morning, Y/n," that was Stephen's voice. Stephen's arms wrapped around Y/n's body, planting a hand on his chest. Y/n's breath hitched as Stephen planted hot, wet kisses on the back of his neck. "You were really amazing last night, you know?" Stephen nipped at Y/n's earlobe. "We definitely got to recreate that, huh?"

Y/n’s breathing hitched. He couldn’t deny that Stephen’s lips felt amazing against his skin, but he really needed to talk to him to make sure they were on the same page. And seeing how this guy was sucking on the back of his neck, It's clear that they weren’t on the same page.

Y/n turned around in Stephen's embrace, stopping the kisses and taking one step back. "Stephen, we need to talk," he said.

The man in question, on the other hand, shook his head. "Later. I want to make love to you again. Right here, right now."

His hand reached forward, palming Y/n's erection with his fingers. This caused Y/n to take two steps back, needing to put a sizable distance between them. There was no way they could do anything here, especially in a hospital where they could be walked in on at any given moment.

Stephen looked annoyed as he took two steps forward, placing his hand on Y/n’s shoulder. "What is there to talk about?"

Y/n took a deep breath in, gathering his thoughts together. "Look, man, last night was — it was a mistake. A good mistake, but still a mistake. We were drunk, and—"

Stephen's eyes narrowed, and his grip on Y/n's shoulders tightened. "A mistake?" he repeated, his voice dangerously quiet. "Is that truly how you feel?"

Y/n's heart stilled as he saw a flash of something dark in the surgeon's eyes. It was only a fleeting moment, but it was enough to send a chill down his spine. Still, he needed to get these words out. 

"Yes," Y/n said softly. "We should forget it. You know, pretend it never happened."

For a long moment, Stephen didn't voice anything, gray eyes fixed on Y/n’s face. Y/n honestly didn’t know what Stephen was going to say, but he just hoped that he didn’t blow up in his face or be upset with him. Then, slowly, he released Y/n’s shoulder and took a step back, grinning.

"Alright Y/n. If that's what you want, then we will pretend that it never happened." 

The h/c-haired doctor nodded, internally sighing in relief that Stephen understood where Y/n was coming from "Thanks for being so understanding. We should both probably get to work right about now." 

Stephen offered a small smile and opened the door for Y/n, who thanked him and left the lounge. Stephen headed to his office on the fourth floor, while Y/n headed to his office on the third floor.

Booting up his computer, the h/c haired doctor pulled up his patients' files and began reviewing them, preparing for the long appointments. His first patient was a young girl named Sarah, and he took a moment to familiarize himself with her medical history before her appointment.

Exactly at nine o'clock, there was a soft knock on the door. "Come in," Y/n called out. The door opened to reveal a brown-skinned muscular man and a young girl with brown hair and brown eyes peeking out from behind him. Y/n acknowledged the man's attractiveness but shook off the thought since it wasn't appropriate.

"Good morning, Mr. Flynn. Please, come in," Y/n said, offering them a warm smile and extending his hand for him to shake, "I'm Dr. L/n, but feel free to call me Y/n."

"Nice to meet you, sir," Jesse responded, shaking Y/n’s hand and stepping inside. the office, guiding his daughter forward. "This right here is my daughter, Sarah. She's a bit shy, so please bear with her."

"It's nice to meet you, Sarah," Y/n knelt down to the girl's eye level. "You can call me Y/n, too. No need for formalities." He patted on the examination table. "Take a seat here, and we can have a little chat?"

The young girl nodded silently and climbed up onto the examination table, her eyes darting around the room. Jesse took a seat in the empty chair next to his daughter as Y/n began the examination.

"Sarah, your dad explained to me on the phone last week that you've been having tummy aches lately. Can you talk to me about that?" Y/n's voice was friendly.

She twisted her hands in her lap. Then, in a small voice, she spoke, "My tummy hurts sometimes, and I don't know why."

Y/n nodded understandingly. "That must be scary. Can you tell me where it hurts? Does it hurt all the time or sometimes?"

Sarah pointed to her mid-region. "It hurts right here and it usually hurts after I eat."

"I see," Y/n murmured, making a note on her chart. "Okay, I'm going to take a look and see if I can figure out what might be causing you to have these tummy pains."

Sarah nodded, her hand reaching out for her father's hand, and Jesse held it.

Y/n proceeded to perform a gentle examination, taking care to explain each step to both Sarah and Jesse. He asked additional questions about Sarah’s diet, any recent changes in her routine, and any other symptoms she experienced.

When the exam was over, Y/n concluded that Sarah was likely experiencing some digestive issues, possibly due to a mild food intolerance. He suggested dietary changes for her and an over-the-counter prescription to help soothe her stomach.

"Thank you, Y/n," relief was present in Jesse’s voice. "We really appreciate your help. Sarah hasn't been well lately, and we wanted to make sure she was okay."

Y/n waved off the thanks. "It's my job. I'll send the prescription to your pharmacy, and you can pick it up tomorrow. Try the prescriptions for a couple of weeks, and if she shows no signs of improvements, we'll discuss further steps." He reached into his candy drawer and offered Sarah a lollipop. "And here's a lollipop for being the most amazing patient I've ever had!"

A smile appeared on Sarah’s face as she took the candy from him. "Thanks, Y/n!"

"You're welcome. It was nice meeting you and I hope that you feel better soon."

Jesse and Sarah exited the room, and Y/n began sending Sarah's prescription to her pharmacy. Just as he finished, there was another knock banging on his door.

"Come in," he called out, expecting one of the nurses or maybe his next patient.

To his surprise, it was Jesse who poked his head into the room. "Sorry to bother you, Y/n. I just realized I left my jacket here," he walked over to the chair where he was sitting and picked up the jacket.

"It's no problem at all," Y/n assured him.

Jesse slipped his arms into the sleeves of his jacket and turned toward the door. Just as he was about to exit, he paused and turned back, as if to say something.

"Listen," Jesse began. "I know this might be a bit forward, but I wanted to ask: do you have a special someone in your life?"

Y/n's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He hadn't expected this line of questioning, but he supposed it was not uncommon for patients' family members to become curious about their doctors' private lives. He wasn't sure about telling his patient's father that he likes dudes since he didn’t know his stance on same-sex couples, but something compelled him to tell him.

"Well," he chose his words thoughtfully. "to answer your question, no, there's no special someone in my life. There used to be a guy but he lost that title privilege."

Jesse nodded, taking a step closer to Y/n's desk. "Interesting. So, if I were to ask you to join me for dinner tomorrow, what are the chances that you would say yes?"

Y/n's heart skipped a beat, and he found himself momentarily at a loss for words. He had not expected this turn of events. Jesse was a handsome dude, no doubt, and seemed like a good guy. Y/n would be down for it, but the timing wasn't right.

"Oh, I'm flattered, Jesse. Truly," Y/n said sincerely, voraciously, "But to be honest, I just got out of a two-year relationship, and I'm not looking to date right now."

Jesse's face fell, but he gave a nod. "I get it. It's too bad I didn't meet you three years ago. Have a good rest of your day."

Jesse turned the doorknob and left Y/n's office. Y/n watched him go, intrigued by his forwardness. He wondered when the next time they'd see one another again.

And Y/n found his question answered by the time Valentine’s Day rolled around. However, not only did he find the answer to his question but he found a revelation as well, a scary discovery about Stephen.

As Y/n sat in his office, writing notes, he heard a knock on the door. He called out for the individual to come in, but instead received another knock. A bewildered expression crossed Y/n's face as he got up to open the door himself, only to find no one outside. However, he spotted a bouquet of roses and a box of expensive chocolates, each with a note attached.

The note attached to the roses said, "For my one true love, Y/n. I can't wait to see you again soon. -Stephen." The note on the chocolates read, "To sweeten your day, my love." There was a heart under it.

Confusion painted a portrait on his face. It seemed as though Stephen believed they were in a relationship, despite Y/n's clear indication that he wanted to forget about their one night together. Y/n knew he needed to set the record straight and speak to Stephen as soon as possible.

His opportunity came during lunchtime when he was sitting at one of the tables outside. Stephen approached and took a seat next to him without asking, greeting Y/n politely and inquiring about his day.

A forced smile appeared on Y/n's face. "It's going well, thank you. And yours?"

"Wonderful, now that I see you," Stephen replied, reaching over to take Y/n's hand in his own. "Did you get the flowers and chocolates I sent? I know you like roses."

Y/n nodded slowly. "Yes, I did, and—"

"Shh, Y/n," Stephen interrupted, pressing a finger to Y/n's lips and running it over his bottom lip. "No need to thank me. That's what good boyfriends do."

Y/n's eyes widened because what the—? Did he just hear that correctly? Stephen thought that they were— "B-Boyfriends?" 

Stephen smiled and planted a kiss on Y/n's cheek, his fingers running over Y/n's knuckles. "Yes, boyfriends. You and I, of course. Where do you want me to take you for Valentine's Day dinner tonight? I know this amazing Italian restaurant—"

"Stop," he removed Stephen's hand from his and held up his own hand. "Look, I think you've got the wrong impression. We aren't boyfriends; we're not dating."

"And why is that?" Stephen questioned, scooting closer to Y/n in his chair. "We had sex, Y/n. That makes you mine now."

At that moment, Y/n realized that something was seriously wrong with Stephen. His insistence that they were dating, despite Y/n's clear rejection, was an obvious sign of delusion. Y/n knew he had to be firm and stand his ground.

Y/n shook his head. Why wasn't Stephen getting it? "I'm not yours. At all. We only had a night together. I am not interested in pursuing anything further. I don't want to be with you. Do you understand that?"

Stephen's jaw clenched, and for a split second, Y/n saw a dangerous flash in his gray eyes. Then, Stephen pushed the table away and stormed off, muttering something about Y/n being ungrateful.

Y/n let out a sigh, feeling drained by the conversation. He hoped Stephen would finally understand and leave him alone.

But Y/n really didn’t feel like working for the rest of the day, so he took the rest of the day off and asked his secretary to reschedule his remaining patients.

As he made his way to the parking lot, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He was half expecting it to be Stephen, but he was relieved to find Jesse standing there.

"Oh, wassup, Jesse. What are you doing here? Is everything alright with Sarah?"

"Yes, she's doing much better, thanks to you. The pills you recommended worked well," he responded. "I actually wanted to talk to you about something else."

Y/n raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh?"

"Well, it's Valentine's Day, and I know it's a bit last minute, but I was wondering if you'd like to join me for dinner tonight?"

Y/n was at a loss for words. Sure, he did find himself wanting to get to know this guy better. But he hesitated, unsure if it was a good idea since there are ethical implications of dating a patient's family member. He could get in a lot of trouble.

"I appreciate the offer, Jesse, but I don't know if it's appropriate," Y/n attempted to explain. "I mean, you're Sarah’s father, I'm her doctor. It’s a conflict of interest." 

Jesse waved his hand dismissively. "Nonsense. It’s only a conflict of interest if we’re dating, which we’re not. We’ll just be two people enjoying a meal together. What do you say, doc? It could be fun."

Well, when Jesse puts it like that, Y/n guess that sort of makes sense. Since they’re technically not dating, it wouldn’t cross any ethical lines in a literal manner.

Besides, his friends had Valentine's Day plans, and he was the only odd one out. Y/n was planning on spending the day in his living room and ordering some pizza.

"Well, I do enjoy a good meal and good company," the h/c-haired male agreed to the dinner. "Where did you have in mind?"

"There's this restaurant downtown that recently opened," Jesse suggested. "It's called Lepley's and it has good reviews. I've been wanting to try it. Sound good?"

"It sounds perfect. Shall we meet there? Around seven?" Y/n gave a thumbs up.

"Seven it is," Jesse confirmed.

Jesse walked back to his car, and Y/n entered his own vehicle, still processing what just happened. Momentarily, Y/n wondered what the evening would bring.

Unbeknownst to Y/n, a certain man with a goatee had watched the interaction. Stephen's gaze followed Y/n as he drove from the hospital, a dark look in his eyes.

XXXXX XXXXX

Y/n arrived at the restaurant promptly at seven, his heart fluttering with a mixture of excitement and nerves. He had taken the time to dress nicely, opting for jeans and a dressy shirt. Casual yet stylish too.

As he entered the cozy establishment, he spotted Jesse sitting at a table by the window, looking around the place as the gentle music played in the background.

"Y/n, over here!" Jesse waved him over.

Y/n made his way through the bustling restaurant, feeling a pair of eyes on him as he walked. He couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious, but he forced those thoughts aside, reminding himself that this was simply a nice, friendly dinner.

No extra strings attached. 

"Hey, Jesse," Y/n greeted politely, sliding into the seat across from Jesse. "This place looks wonderful." He took another glance around the loud, crowded place. Valentine's Day made this place packed.

"It does, indeed," the man sitting across from Y/n agreed, brown eyes flickering over to the fish tank that was on display. "I've heard great things about this place." 

A waiter approached their table, handing them menus and offering them drinks. Y/n and Jesse both ordered a lemonade.

"So, what's it like being a doctor?" Jesse asked, leaning back in his seat to give Y/n all his attention. "I imagine long hours."

Y/n nodded in agreement. "Long hours for sure. It's very demanding and a lot of work, yet there's nothing more rewarding than helping patients with health issues."

"That paycheck must be very rewarding too," he said. "With that salary, you get to live in a big house and drive a fancy car."

The waiter returned with their drinks and took out his notepad, asking them what they wanted to order. Jesse ordered a steak with a side of mac and cheese, and broccoli cheese casserole. Y/n then ordered a simple cheeseburger and fries. The waiter said their meals would arrive shortly as he took their menus and left the two alone.

Y/n took a sip from his lemonade before answering Jesse’s remark. "Well, believe it or not, I don’t live in a big house. I live in a small apartment. However, I plan on upgrading to a house once my student loans are fully paid off, which should be real soon. I also plan on keeping my Chrysler. I’ve never been much of a big spender; I like the financial stability that comes with being a doctor. But enough about me. What do you do for a living?"

Jesse explained that he works in the finance department of Stark Industries. He analyzes investments and monitors the company’s financial performance. That was simply remarkable, especially to work for such a renowned company.

Soon, their food arrived, and they dug in, the conversation flowing easily between them. They talked about their hobbies and even shared embarrassing stories from their childhood, laughing together.

As the evening progressed, Y/n relaxed, enjoying the time he shared with Jesse. It had been a very long time since he'd connected with someone so effortlessly, and Y/n found himself hoping that this wouldn't be the last time they met up.

Y/n and Jesse ordered a rich chocolate soufflé to go and decided to split the bill, both insisting on contributing. As they walked out of Lepley's, they realized that their cars were parked on opposite sides of the lot. Jesse's eyes wandered to Y/n.

"Well, I think it's time we call it a night. Thank you for having dinner with me."

Y/n smiled. "Thank you for inviting me. It was definitely better than spending this day alone with a box of pepperoni pizza."

Jesse nodded, placing a hand on Y/n's shoulder. "Happy Valentine's Day, Y/n."

"Happy Valentine's Day, Jesse," he said.

And then, the two men parted ways. As Y/n walked to his car, he felt a sense of content. He was glad he had gone out tonight, and he could say that thoughts of his ex-boyfriend were no longer at the forefront of his mind. Despite the rocky start to his day with Stephen, the night with Jesse had ended on a good note.

Or so he thought.

Y/n had just unlocked his car door when he felt a hand cover his mouth and pull him backward. Startled, he tried to push his assailant off, but the person wouldn't let go, keeping a tight grip on him. He was dragged into an alley, and the arms around him finally released their grip. Y/n scrambled forward and turned to see who the fuck had dragged him in there.

And it was Stephen. Fucking. Strange.

"What the fuck Stephen?!" Y/n shouted, his heart pounding hard and fast in his chest. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

Stephen remained silent, staring at Y/n angrily. He was pissed. Before Y/n could react, Stephen pushed him up against the wall, his hand wrapping around Y/n's throat, squeezing the sensitive area a bit.

The dark-haired doctor leaned in close, their noses almost touching. "Who was that guy you were having dinner with?"

"I... I was just hanging out with a friend."

"A friend?" Stephen's lip curled. "Is that what you call it? I saw the way you were looking at him. I won't tolerate cheating."

"You can't cheat on someone when you're not together, which we aren't!" Y/n felt drained by this entire situation. This dude was crazy and needs serious help.

"Oh, we’re together. Always," Stephen pressed his body against Y/n's and dry-humped him from the front. "and forever." Stephen then pressed his lips to Y/n’s. The kiss was aggressive, almost violent, and Y/n tried to pull away, but Stephen held him in place, his hand leaving Y/n's throat to grip his jaw. "You always did like it rough," he murmured against his mouth before pulling away with a grin.

But the grin soon faded as Y/n's foot connected with Stephen's groin, causing him to double over in pain and drop to the ground. Y/n seized the opportunity to run back to his car and drive away, his hands shaking on the steering wheel. As he turned off his car engine, entered his apartment, and dropped his keys on the table, Y/n's hands were still trembling.

This was the last straw for Y/n.

Tomorrow morning, Y/n is filing a report with Human Resources and if that didn't resolve the situation, he would consider transferring to a different department. This kind of behavior cannot continue.

XXXXX XXXXX

Y/n was up early the next morning, determined to meet up with HR before his shift started. He was going to put an end to this situation with Stephen once and for all. It was clear that Stephen had developed an unhealthy obsession with him, and the h/c-haired male refused to put himself in more situations like this.

After a shower and a cup of coffee, Y/n dressed in a sharp suit, ready to face the confrontation head-on. He was aware that presenting himself confidently and assertively would be important to being taken seriously. As he finished tying his tie, the news played in the background — something he usually ignored while getting ready for work. But this time, Y/n turned the volume up and his eyes were wide with shock at the reporter's words.

A picture of Stephen appeared on the screen, and the reporter explained that Strange had been involved in a major car crash, his vehicle flying off the road and crashing into a nearby riverbank. He had died from the accident last night.

Stephen was dead.

A mixture of emotions washed over Y/n, but the predominant feeling was... relief. He was relieved that he wouldn't have to deal with Stephen or his antics anymore, and he could go to work without always worrying about being harassed. A smile crept onto Y/n's features as he shut off the TV with a click of the remote. He no longer had to worry about talking to HR.

Today was going to be a great day at work. In fact, it turned out to be his best.

As the months passed, Y/n's life only improved. He finally finished paying off his student loans and upgraded to a four-bedroom house, ecstatic to move out of the city and away from the constant chaos that seemed to surround his old apartment building. He received a salary raise at work, took a vacation, and even adopted a golden retriever named Max to share his new home with. His life was great, and he's going to keep it like that.

Y/n was now sitting on his couch in the living room, channel surfing as his dog snoozed by his side. A huge storm raged outside, with lightning flashing, thunder rumbling, and rain pouring down. He had just found a channel to settle on when the lights flickered and the TV shut off.

"Damn this storm," Y/n muttered.

With a sigh, the man grabbed his phone and headed toward the basement. When he reached the circuit breaker, he flipped the switch, and his lights came back on.

Y/n returned upstairs, but he felt too tired to stay up any longer. He had been dozing off before the lights went out, so he decided to go to bed. After changing into his pajamas, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and let out a small scream. Stephen Strange was standing behind him, a smirk tainting his features. But when Y/n turned, no one was there.

He looked around the room, ensuring that no one was in his house, and shook his head, thinking his mind was playing tricks on him. Stephen was dead; there was no way he could be standing here. It had to be his imagination or something.

With that thought, Y/n got underneath the covers and closed his eyes tightly. The sound of rain always helped him fall asleep faster. He entered the first stage, the twilight stage, when the man heard a weird noise that he couldn't describe. He opened his eyes to see an orange portal materializing on his bed. And he backed away very fast. What the hell was that? Just then, he was sucked into the portal, only to find himself... back in his room?

Y/n blinked. He realized that he was, indeed, back in his own bedroom, but something felt off. How had he fallen through some sort of portal in his room, only to end up back in the same place?

"Leave it to you to make pajamas look sexy, Y/n," a familiar voice commented.

The h/c-haired male stilled, recognizing the voice. No, no, no, that can't be right.

But, sure enough, when Y/n turned, there stood Stephen Strange. He was alive...? And wearing some sort of cloak.

"W-What are you doing here? They said you died in the car crash," he stammered.

Stephen threw his head back in laughter as if that idea was totally preposterous. "Well, technically, I did die in the crash, I was saved, thanks to surgery. I went to Kamar-Taj, became a wizard, and all that good stuff. The Sorcerer Supreme here."

Y/n couldn't believe this. How had this guy managed to do bad shit and become a wizard? It seemed unfair. Y/n tried to take a step back, wanting to put more distance between them, but Stephen held up his hand, and Y/n's lower body froze. He couldn't move the lower half of his body — no matter how hard he tried.

"What the hell did you do to me?" Y/n tried to run but, once more, couldn't do it.

"Just something to ensure you don't run off on me," Stephen explained, walking towards Y/n until he was standing right in front of him, eyes glancing at Y/n lips. "You know, I've missed the taste of you."

Before he could speak, Stephen's mouth captured his in a fierce, possessive kiss. Y/n couldn't move his lower body, but he could still move his face, so he turned his head to the side. Stephen gripped his jaw, forcing Y/n to maintain eye contact, and continued his relentless, demanding kiss. Finally, Stephen pulled away, his breathing ragged. "Tell me you love me," he whispered, cupping Y/n's face in his hands, his thumbs stroking Y/n's cheeks.

Y/n shook his head, his breath coming in short gasps, "I hate you so much, man."

The wizard paused, his eyes darkening. "You hate me?" he repeated slowly, his voice low and dangerous. And he looked furious, pissed. With a wave of his hand, Y/n was thrown on the bed and landed with a thud. Stephen climbed on top of him, pinning his arms against the bed. "You hate me after everything I've done for you? After everything I've given you?"

"Yes, I do," Y/n breathed out truthfully. "Because you're fucking crazy, Stephen."

"Now, that’s one thing we can agree on," Stephen released his right hand to run his finger over Y/n’s jawline. "I’m crazy for you, and you are going to love me."

Then, something weird began happening to Y/n. Longing and desire engulfed him, his thoughts filling with images of the person he hated most. No matter how hard he tried to think of someone else, his thoughts kept returning to Stephen.

"What," Y/n shook his head as if he was trying to shake whatever was happening to him off. "What did you do to me?" His vision was starting to become blurry.

"Rest now, my love. We'll talk later,"

Y/n soon slipped into unconsciousness, his mind clouded with confusion and a growing sense of unease for the future.

Stephen smiled as he watched Y/n fall into a deep sleep, his breath evening out. He moved to place Y/n's head in his lap, gently stroking his hair. Even asleep, Y/n looked good, just as he was that night.

The Sorcerer Supreme's thoughts drifted back to that fateful night with Y/n, the night that had changed everything. He remembered the way Y/n had looked at him across the crowded bar, their eyes locking briefly before Y/n quickly looked away, taking another sip from his drink. Stephen had known in that instant that Y/n was interested, and their amazing night together had only confirmed his theory—they were meant to be together. That night was literal proof of their love.

When Stephen had woken up the next morning to find Y/n gone, he had been confused about his whereabouts. But he had shrugged it off, absolutely certain that he would see his lover again soon.

And when he saw Y/n in the lounge, he couldn't resist coming up behind him and kissing his neck. God, Y/n's skin had felt so good against his lips, and he had the sudden urge to take Y/n right then and there. But Y/n had surprised him by saying that their night together had been a mistake. There was no way that night could've been a mistake. It was perfect.

Stephen knew that Y/n was only saying that because he was scared — scared of getting into another relationship. And that was okay. Stephen would give him the space he needed because he knew that deep down, Y/n felt the same way.

So, he had given him space, settling for watching him like a hawk from afar. But when Valentine's Day rolled around, the best holiday for couples, Stephen knew it was the perfect opportunity to spend some time together. Y/n had more than enough time to get over that stupid ex, and now it was their time to be together.

Stephen had also decided to get Y/n some generic Valentine's Day gifts, chocolates, and flowers, and planned to take him to a fancy restaurant in the city. But once again, Y/n didn't want to go out with him, which was starting to piss him off. After all, they were boyfriends after their night together, so why did Y/n keep insisting that they weren't? It's annoying.

However, what was even more annoying was discovering that Y/n was going on a date with someone else. Someone who wasn't him. Stephen's blood had boiled with unruly anger. How dare he cheat on him like this? He wouldn't stand for it.

The surgeon hadn't thought twice before he pulled Y/n into an alley after his date and scolded the man for cheating. Y/n was clearly playing hard to get, wanting to make him jealous, and it was working. Stephen was going to show Y/n exactly who he belonged to, which had resulted in a kick to the groin. That had been painful, but he had recovered quickly and hopped into his car to follow Y/n. He wouldn't let Y/n escape his grasp.

That's when he got into a car accident and died briefly during surgery before being brought back to life. He was then taken to Kamar-Taj, where Stephen had become the Sorcerer Supreme and the Master of the Mystic Arts. Pretty cool.

Throughout his time there, one person remained at the forefront of his mind.

Y/n.

Stephen had also realized that his love for Y/n was still strong, and he knew that Y/n loved him as well, even if he was too stubborn to admit it. Now that he was a wizard, he was going to use his abilities to bring Y/n to his new home.

And that's exactly what he did.

Stephen brought Y/n to his new home near the Sanctum, using magic to make the inside of the home identical to Y/n's old room. He knew that Y/n would love him for the time and effort he put into making sure everything was just right.

Once again, Y/n surprised him by saying that he hated him, which frustrated him.

Was it that hard for Y/n to accept their love? Well, if he wanted to be stubborn, Stephen would have to make him see it. He cast a spell, a love spell, to ensure Y/n's devotion. It was his way of making Y/n see the truth — they belonged together.

Y/n woke up sometime later, yawning. His eyes fluttered open. The first thing he saw was Stephen, sitting next to him.

"Are you okay, my love?" Stephen asked, fingers tracing patterns on Y/n's cheek.

Y/n smiled lovingly at Stephen, his pearly white teeth flashing. "Of course, I'm okay. I get to wake up every day next to you, handsome." He moved forward and wrapped his arms around Stephen's neck, pulling him into a nice, loving hug.

Stephen's smile was victorious, and he melted into the embrace, his arms coming around to possessively wrap around Y/n's waist. Y/n was finally his, and he had finally admitted that he loved Stephen as much as Stephen loved him.

He knew that some might call him obsessive or even delusional, but he didn't care. He did nothing but help Y/n see the truth. In his eyes, Y/n was his and his alone. He would do whatever it took to keep it that way, no matter what. After all, what’s life without a little danger?

XXXXX XXXXX

[shallowseeker]

Oh Sam: "I'm obviously spun out also..."

Jack flinches-- at every mention of Cas's name. Jack was unaware of the root of Dean's anger-- of any of this. 13x03 via @spnscripthunt-inactive

To me, this moment, a lot more started making sense to Jack... about everything, but especially about Dean.

In the first two episodes, Jack had been completely in the dark: grieving his mother, navigating a world he didn’t understand, mourning the loss of the protection he thought Castiel would offer, and wrestling with the terrifying possibility that he might be FUCKIN EVIL.

But now, in an about-face, he finds himself more aligned with Dean than Sam.

Sam, in trying not to overwhelm Jack had given Jack zero context for Dean’s grief.

Jack didn't even know it was about:

Because OFC... Sam's also trying... not to think about that.

/////////

Let me remind thee of Sam's frame of mind....

Sam in 13x01 saw EXACTLY what Dean saw and yes, it's true that Dean can't SAY it...

//

....and Sam is ObViOuSLy SpUn OuT ALsO

but fundamentally.... Sam can't BELIEVE it:

what a painful thing for him to ask. :(

...

///

Gentle reminder - by this point in the ep, they had already carried Cas inside the house. (the angels find him there on the kitchen table). Just to give Sam's question here some additional context...

denial skills x1000000000

//////

and side not to sam grief-trackers.... sam makes the same plea to Cas when Jack dies after Moriah*** Moments where Sam feels so small :C

[studiogrimm810]

Baby

pairings/characters: (pining)dean winchester x impala!reader, sam is also there

summary: when a novice witch doesn't know what spell she's casting, she accidently awakens life in an inanimate object

warnings: none really, this one is just super silly imo

word count: 2,778

A/N: this is a request!!! and if i'm being so honest, this was kinda difficult to write lolol,, i'm such a stickler for lore accuracy and just explanations but some things were left to be unexplained. i just decided to take that pressure off and just have fun w this one. enjoy!! heheh

———————

Dean chased the young witch through the rows of books that decorated the campus library. He skidded around a corner that she swiftly slipped past and bumped into a shelf, knocking over dozens of books in the process, but he didn’t halt. He pushed harder, letting his feet stomp the outdated carpet as he crawled closer and closer.

Sam, close behind Dean, kept the same speed but with a slithering stealth as to avoid the clumsy piles of books left in his brother's trail.

The brothers were almost on her, ready to tackle and question. They were drawn to the college campus after seeing articles and news coverage of strange happenings at the university, they had come to find a novice witch who hadn’t intended on hurting people. So, when Sam and Dean cornered her on the top floor, scouring through the archives of textbooks for anything religious or cultist, and confronted her- she ran.

Here she was again, pounding helplessly against a set of locked glass doors.

“Stop running,” Dean pants, “we just wanna talk,” he tried to coax her to stay but it didn’t work. She fumbled with something in her pocket and threw out a puff of dust at the door with a trail of words. The metal lining of the doors melted and glass shattered, settling into the floor in a prickly goo. She obviously wasn’t expecting that, but she used the opportunity to dart. “Fuck,” Dean hissed, sprinting after her.

She was headed to her vehicle, a simple hatchback with one too many stickers on it, and hopped in. Dean, ever so ready for a car chase, whipped out his keys and instructed Sam to get in as quickly as possible.

The witch pulled up a book and out another jumble of herbs, chanting something incoherent.

Just as Dean opened the door to Baby and dipped in, Sam in sync, he instead bypassed the seat entirely and landed on the stiff concrete with a groan.

Tires skidded and the witch was gone.

Dean looked around him, no steering wheel, no leather seats, no car. Only the keys remained in his hands, but the Impala vanished.

“That bitch!” Dean was seeing red, seething as he jumped to his feet and paced, scanning the parking lot for any desperate hint of his Baby. “When I get my hands on-.”

“Dean-,” Sam stated cautiously, trying to get his brother’s attention.

“It ain’t gonna be kind, I’m-.”

“Dean!” Sam barked and Dean spun around to face him.

“What!?” Dean thundered, riddled with rage. Sam looked over at the bundle of items on the cement. There were a few duffles, a splay of weapons, a few books- all items that Dean knew were homed in the trunk of his precious Baby. But, under the emergency blanket they leave in the back seat, was you.

“Who the hell are you?” Dean booms with clenched fists. Your eyes are wide and observant, looking over his tense form. The blanket over you slips, his rage haltered with confusion as his eyes dart to the slipped cloth and he realizes you’re naked.

“D’ya mind?” You grimace in annoyance, holding the blanket over you the best you can.

“Shit, right,” he spins on his heels, looking right at Sam, mouthing ‘what the fuck?’ in which he gets a confused shrug in return.

You stumble up to your feet with a heavy sigh, hugging the blanket around your chest like a towel. You brush back your messy hair which is as ruffled and tangled as you feel in this worn blanket.

“Fuckin’ hate witches,” you grumble, adjusting the blanket that’s hugged tight over you breasts and when Dean turns back to you, he has to forcefully advert his gaze.

“Who are you?” Dean repeats his question, a little less forcefully this time.

“Baby,” you shake your head with a small tilt that Dean almost matches. The tone of which you say makes it sound like you’re worried about his confusion.

“Baby, your name is Baby?” Dean scoffs, not believing a word.

“Well yeah, you gave it to me,” you hook a hand on your hip and cock your head, waiting impatiently for him to catch up. Dean's face falls, twisting in confusion and turning back to look at Sam who is just as confused.

“C’mon, Winchester, I know you’re not this slow,” you pinch your nose, sighing and dropping your hand by your hip, keeping the other hooked on the edges of the blanket.

“How do you know my name?” Dean asks, stepping closer, his brow furrowed.

“I’ve been owned by a Winchester for the past forty-some years,” you say as if it’s common sense. You look back and forth between the brothers, annoyed with how dense they’re being. “Jesus, take your time,” you roll your eyes and go over to one of the duffles, bending down to shuffle through the bag. The blanket hugs your ass, the gentle fabric lining your curves and kissing your dips. Dean’s eyes linger and he forgets the issue at hand.

You pull out one of Dean's flannels, dropping the blanket to your hips and slinging the flannel over your shoulders. Dean swallows thickly and gawks at your smooth skin, noticing a strange birthmark on your shoulder. It resembles the chicken scratched initials that Sam and Dean carved into the Impala all those years ago.

What the fuck?

“Wait so-, you’re telling me that you’re the Impala?” Deans brow raises. You dip back down to retrieve a pair of boxers- making sure they’re clean- and slipping them up your legs, discarding the blanket fully. As you turn to face the boys, they take notice of the many marks on your body, all the tone of a birthmark, but lined on your skin like tattoos. The Devil’s Trap that was painted on the inside of the trunk spanned your entire thigh, and other wardings and markings litter your forearms.

“Good boy! You did it,” you praise sarcastically, dropping the feigned excitement instantly. Dean ignores the effect your words have on him. Sam is speechless and Dean honestly feels a little put in his place. You look back between them, awaiting a response.

“You guys should really get your shit back to the motel or something. Someone sees this and they’re gonna have some questions. Sorry I can’t hold it anymore,” you look back at the pile of items on the pavement. You look back at the boys to find them still dumbfounded with dropped jaws and words caught in their throats.

“Seriously, you two need to catch up if you wanna get me fixed. This skin feels weird,” you shudder dramatically, folding your arms over your chest.

“So,” Dean clears his throat, losing his confidence when your expectant eyes burn into his own. “You’re-.”

“Getting impatient,” you nod, walking past them both to the closest car- a Jeep- and popping the lock to get in and hotwire it. Quickly, you get it roaring to life and bring it over to the boys, putting her in park and hopping out. The loose flannel barely hugs your torso and you have just enough buttoned to cover the more sensitive parts of your chest, but Dean’s eyes still linger on the soft flesh exposed by his flannel.

“You guys gonna get to it?” You ask, gesturing to the pile of their items. They oblige mindlessly, collecting their items that used to be housed by the Impala- you, they suppose. They’re still so confused by the whole ordeal and they just follow the order and pile into the stolen car. You round the front and get in the passenger seat, expecting Dean to drive.

The ride back is tense. You’re sat in the front seat, letting your fingers trace the modern interior of the car.

“What is this? Just plastic?” You ask, glancing over at Dean who has to keep his eyes on the road in fear that if he even catches too much of you in his peripheral vision that he’ll crash the car out of negligence.

“Yeah,” Dean says, clearing his throat. His hands grip the wheel and his foot presses a little harder into the gas.

“Don’t give her so much love, Dean, I’ll start to get jealous,” you tease with a soft nudge. You turn back to face Sam. “Comfy back there?”

“Fine,” Sam nods curtly, eyes glazing over your form. “What, um, what was it like? How is this even possible?”

You adjust in your position, resting against the chair and thinking of a way to word it. Then you remember.

“Y’know when Gabriel put you guys in that ‘Night Rider’ illusion? That was pretty accurate, Sam. I just can’t talk or think too much. I just know. But, when I was given this body, I came equipped with language, thoughts, and conscious recollection of my lifespan,” you explain proudly, sitting up a bit straighter with a smile.

Their silence causes your smile to falter. You nibble at your lip and turn back around.

“You’re upset,” you note to neither brother in particular.

“No, no, we’re just confused. We’ve never- this just doesn’t really make any sense,” Sam rationalizes because of course he does. He’s always the practical one, trying to give everything a cause for its effect.

“Yeah, listen, sweetheart. To us, the Impala has been a car. Our home on wheels. We’ve just never given it a second thought to it being you,” Dean offers, not wanting you to feel uncomfortable or unwelcome. The boys couldn’t describe it, but they felt a connection with you, one of which made the reality of your situation settle with them semi-rationally.

You don’t have a response to give, so instead you just look out the window and watch the trees pass- wondering who they could become too.

———

The motel is as rundown and dull as you expected, but it was still the first room you’ve gotten to explore yourself so you aren’t complaining.

You look along the peeling wallpaper, different patterns and colors lining the odd textured wrap. There’s a painting of a field of flowers with a windmill, it’s pretty, but sunbleached you’d assume due to lack of color.

The brothers are whispering something between each other, but you can’t really make it out.

Dean goes to grab a beer, popping the cap and getting your attention. You tilt your head and walk over. Dean has taken a swig but you reach up to grab it from his lips.

“The fuck?” he gurgles through a gulp of beer. You take a swig and cringe.

“Yuck, with how often you two drink these, I really had higher hopes,” you shake your head, handing the bottle back. Dean watches you with a raised brow as you walk back over to look around the room more.

“So you’ve never-,” Dean starts but he realizes he doesn’t even know what his question was.

“If it’s not something a car does, then it’s not in my history,” you interrupt, looking over the books on Dean’s bed, selecting John’s journal.

“But you know us?” Sam contributes.

“Yes,” you say without looking up from the journal.

“How?” Dean barks exasperated.

“How do you know how to breathe?” You combat, looking up at him with a stoic face but rolling your eyes in annoyance before looking back down at the journal.

Dean can’t help but watch as your eyes scan over the page. Your hair feathers around your face and the contrast of your skin to your hair makes you almost sparkle. Your attitude is like a cherry on top of this melted sundae.

“John and Mary-,” you let the names roll off of your tongue, “It’s unfortunate I won’t get to meet them,” you say, flipping through the pages, “I suppose you two will do,” you joke with a smirk.

Dean's own smile works against his initial dread for the situation, enjoying your snark.

“You ain’t missing much,” Dean shrugs, taking a swig of his now sticky beer. He can’t tear his eyes off of you, the way your lips silently move as you read and when your gaze hardens at certain points of the text.

You tilt your head and move the book to look down at the birthmark on your thigh. You trace the skin thoughtfully.

“Keeps demons out,” Dean fills in.

“Yeah, I know,” you blurt, not as a remark but just a statement. “I bet it won’t work like your tattoo- oh! Tattoo’s, I want some,” you snap your head up from the book and Dean's eyes widen in amusement.

“Tattoo’s,” Dean echos with a smirk, “really? You’re a human now and that’s the first thing you wanna do?”

“You offerin’ sex?” You ask with feigned seriousness. He chokes on another gush from the beer, sitting up and tripping over his words. You cackle having earned the exact reaction you baited for. Sam also chucked at Dean's fluster, not used to seeing his brother so put in his place.

“N-no, that’s not… I don’t even, like- you don't-,” he trips over his words, setting his beer down and trying to find a casual way to situate his hands.

“Calm down, De, or else you’ll make me believe you’re actually considering it,” you wink, setting down the journal and stretching. “Now that tattoo?”

“I mean-,” Dean shrugs, looking over at Sam who is as careless about the request as Dean is. “It’s your body now, may as well have fun while you have it,” Dean clears his throat, rubbing his hands together after successfully landing on that as the casual placement.

“Hell yes!” You cheer in victory.

———

After finding more suitable clothing for you, the brothers usher you to a nearby tattoo parlor. They wanted to find a reason to tell you no just because of how odd this whole situation seemed but they couldn’t say no to you.

The walls are lined with reference art, some good and some great. All different colors and styles. The kind woman behind the desk greets the trio casually and not overly happy like you’d expect a usual receptionist to be.

“Dean, show her,” you instruct, glancing back at Dean, wanting him to show her his tattoo. The woman looks expectant at Dean in a way that makes him feel a little small- almost like she’s matching your light agitation and subconsciously taking your side with little to no prior knowledge of the situation.

Woman power! You think with a stifled giggle.

Dean rolls his eyes but that’s all that’s defiant about him as he unbuttons his flannel- a different one from earlier because you’ve refused to give his back, but Dean wasn’t complaining about the way it hugged your waist since you’ve tied the loose pieces into a knot on your stomach- and showed the woman his tattoo.

“Sick, and where do you want it?” The woman nods in approval and looks back at you. You think for a moment but point at the center of your sternum, right beneath your tits. “Got it, let’s get you some paperwork and I’ll start a sketch.”

You haven’t stopped talking Dean's ear off as you half-ass your clipboard of paperwork. You point out different works on the wall and tell him where you’ll put it on your body next. He has to force out the mental image of the one you say you want on your ass.

“Miss Winchester?” Your adopted name is called by the receptionist from earlier.

You handle the pain like a champ and Dean makes a joke of how many car crashes you’ve survived- the artist doesn’t get the joke but you snort.

Sam offers to go out and get some food for the trio and you insist Dean stay with you. The placement of your tattoo leaves your chest exposed and as flustered Dean gets at first, you're honestly a little impressed with how well he keeps himself together.

The artist doesn’t talk much outside of small contributions to yours and Deans conversation. She doesn’t seem to mind too much though.

Sam makes it back with the food and the artist leaves you to have a break from the intense blackwork she’s doing on such a sensitive spot.

Conversation doesn’t stop and Dean has to take a moment to fully admire how well you fit with them, like a missing handlebar they never knew they lacked.

Dean starts to wonder just how bad it would be losing the Impala if it meant keeping you.

The way you light up at a joke Sam tells proves that Dean will be just fine with one of the other rust buckets on Bobby’s lot.

———————

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest) >>check out my other works here

>tags: @blossomingorchids @areswasneverhere

[roanofarcc]

A MOMENT IN THE IMPOSSIBLE

pairing. trevor lefkowtiz x alive!reader (requested)

summary.  near death experience sometimes gave people the ability to see and communicate with ghosts. what you did know was what a second near death experience meant for your ghostly communication, but you were about to find out. 

warnings. fem!reader, reader gets into an accident but is okay. mentions of injuries but nothing graphic. emotional trevor <3 talks of death (obv).

word count. 3.3K || masterlist

The first time you faced down death was as a small child, bright and plump in your winter coat and new set of ice skates. The frozen pond had been a journey you and your friends trudged to, noses cold but fingers warm under mittens. 

As your skates hit the ice, you embraced the winter breeze and the pleasant noise of blades cutting little grooves on the pond. You and your friends spun, leaped, laughed, and had not an inkling of worry in your minds. 

But the ice wasn’t frozen evenly across the pond, leaving spots only shallowly frozen. Somehow, your friends managed to keep on the thicker ice, but you weren’t as lucky. You glided across the ice with a grin, not noticing the cracks that formed under your blades. Before you knew what was happening, the thin ice crumbled, plunging you into the freezing water. 

The aftermath was foggy, a distant memory that lived under a haze in your brain. But the very moment it happened, the feeling of ice water soaking your winter jacket and your skates feeling weightless under the water, you remembered clearly. You should have been scared, but the plunge knocked the fear out of you, leaving it on top of the pond as an odd peace shielded you from the bitter cold. 

The story was retold years later, swapped at parties, and used as an icebreaker, no pun intended. Someone had managed to pull you, but your heart had stopped. No one was sure if it was an answered prayer, you got lucky, or it simply wasn’t your time to go, and the universe knew that. Whatever it was, you survived, a chill forever itching your bones when the weather turned gray. 

A good story wasn’t the only thing you received from that fateful day. Your second chance at life also left you with a newfound look on life, literally. Not only could you see the living and breathing people milling about their lives, but you could also see those in the afterlife. Everywhere you went, ghosts haunted. Some were so far out of time while others you almost mistaken for being alive. 

Once the initial shock wore off and you accepted that no one would ever believe what you could see, you started to befriend the ghosts you saw, especially those who were alone. Your presence was inviting; they were drawn to you, almost. 

For the longest time, well into your adulthood, you believed your talent came in far and few between, but then you met Sam, and learned she possessed the same ability as you. The two of you quickly fell into a friendship, sharing stories of your ridiculous lives and the characters you had met along the way. 

She eventually invited you over to meet the band of ghosts who haunted her house. 

You couldn’t have imagined a more perfect group to inhabit the old mansion. Each ghost had their quirks, wells of knowledge, and passion for drama. You fit into the odd puzzle that was Woodstone, so much so that Sam and Jay offered you a job at their B&B. 

It was almost perfect. You enjoyed the revolving door of guests and got along great with the ghosts. But luck was a tricky thing, and you couldn’t have such luck forever. 

“Is using ghosts technically cheating, or is it using your resources?” you asked, resting your chin on your hand as you lounged at the check-in desk of Woodstone. 

“I think it's a question of ethics, morals, and whatnot,” Pete replied. 

Trevor, who mirrored your position on the opposite side of the desk, replied, “Unless the rules explicitly against supernatural intervention, I think you’re fine.” 

You smiled. “Can’t say most people put that in the fine print. Though maybe they should. Who knows how many people can see ghosts and don’t tell anyone.” 

“People do get into near-death accidents every day, I’d guess,” Pete pondered. “I doubt all of them gain the ability, but if you and Sam had, who knows. That’s not really something you could ask people casually, though, right?” 

“Not without being called crazy by most people you asked,” Trevor said. “I know if someone asked me when I could see ghosts back when I was alive, I’d think they’d smoked something. Unless…” He trailed off, smirking at you with his signature look you had grown to roll your eyes at. It was a playful annoyance; Trevor was the easiest to imagine he was still alive when you spoke to him. The only disconcerting things about him was his lack of pants, but otherwise he reminded you of the cocky frat boys you went to college with, only he was a little softer around the edges. 

You indulged him, tilting your head to the side in question. “Unless what?” 

“Unless everyone who could see ghosts are hot. Based on you and Sam, those odds are looking pretty good.” 

Pete made a face before he made up an excuse to follow Jay around the kitchen instead of remaining in that conversation. 

You scoffed. “You’re hopeless, you know that?” 

Trevor shrugged, the grin not leaving his face. “What can I say? I have a thing for women way out of my league.” 

“Sam’s married, first of all.” Trevor waved his hand dismissively. “Second of all, out of your league is undercutting it a bit, don’t you think? We don’t exactly exist on the same plane of existence.” 

“Semantics.” 

You admired his persistence. You had never admitted it to him, but you liked Trevor. It made you feel silly; he was dead. Of course, you had a crush on a dead man. Trevor was too charming for his own good, a flirt and a constant presence. It was a recipe for disaster, but you never planned on admitting it, let alone indulging such a thought. You couldn’t even touch him. You didn’t see a way where a relationship was tangible or realistic, certainly not outside the walls of Woodstone. 

He made it very hard to act like you hadn’t thought about him in any romantic sense, with his constant lingering and comments he seemed to only direct at you since you had started at the mansion. 

“How exactly would you propose that ever working?” You phrased the question with a sarcastic twinge in your tone, but a part of you wanted to know. 

Trevor thought for a moment, humming as he pursed his lips. “I guess it’d be a little tough. I’m more of a hands-on kind of guy.” You rolled your eyes once more. “What’d they do in the olden days? Just kinda look at each other? That wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.” 

You raised your brows in surprise. “Do you think you could handle a relationship without ever touching the person or, you know, leaving the house with them?” 

“All I’m thinking about right now is how it sounds like you’re considering it.” 

You leaned over the counter, nose to nose with Trevor, with the smallest space in between, but that space was much further in reality. Separated by life and death. He stilled, eyes widening. “Unfortunately, I’m pretty hands-on too,” you replied, earning a subtle blush that spread across Trevor’s cheeks. You stepped back with a shake of your head. 

“Wait,” he reached out for you as a reflect, his hand passing right through your arm. With a groan, he threw his head back. “If we could touch, would you consider it?” 

You hesitated, unsure of your answer. He would still be dead at the end of the day, but a part of you did consider it. Trevor was the only person you felt connected to, in a way that leaned romantic, in a long time. Your luck with alive people was slim, but it was difficult to imagine a future with someone who was already dead, while you continued living. 

Instead of giving him a solid answer, you shrugged, at a crossroads. “I don’t know.” 

Instead of looking dejected, Trevor smiled widely. “That’s not a no.” No, it was not. 

“Can I say something that may potentially not help your situation?” asked Hetty as she watched Trevor lament on the sofa. 

He raised his brows. “Since when do you ask?” 

Hetty sat on the armrest of the sofa and folded her hands in her lap. “I’m trying to be kinder on a Thursdays.” 

“Only on Thursdays?” 

“I’m just a woman, Trevor. There’s only so much kindness I can offer,” she huffed. “And I am going to take that as a yes. What exactly do you foresee happening with you and Sam and Jay’s receptionist?” 

A dramatic sigh fell from Trevor’s lips. He had no clue what he saw happening. He knew it was a far-flung idea, a ghost and living being in a relationship. He would settle for a short-lived fling of shared gazes and conversations. That wasn’t like Trevor. He didn’t long for relationships or find himself daydreaming of his crushes. When he saw someone he was interested in, he wooed his way into a date or two, followed by some hands-on activities. Then either they tried to get serious and he ran away, or there was a mutual agreement to keep things casual until someone caught feelings and broke it off. 

Then he died, and suddenly he was acting like someone from the days before the internet and hooking up was cool. He wanted to hold hands, listen to you talk about anything and everything, and all around just be in your presence. His heart was too soft when he was around you; it was weird. 

“Nothing, probably,” he answered after a beat. “She’s alive. I’m dead. I get it.” 

Hetty pressed her lips in a thin line as she observed Trevor with a scrutinizing eye for a moment. “I don’t think I have ever seen you in such a state. You really are torn up over this, aren’t you?” 

“It just seems unfair for us to still have feelings when we can’t do anything about it."

Hetty opened her mouth to say something else, but was interrupted by a panicked Sam, who rushed into the living room. Her cellphone was pressed between her ear and shoulder as she waved over Jay, who had been watching and laughing at videos on his phone for the past hour in his armchair. 

Jay stood up, confused as Sam finished up her conversation. 

“Yes…O-Okay.” Her voice cracked, filled with emotion that was immediately concerning to everyone in the room. “Thank you…You too.” She hung up, dropping her phone onto the coffee table with a sniffle. 

“Babe, what’s wrong?” Jay asked, grasping her shoulders and pulling her into his arms. 

Through tears, Sam explained that you had been in a car accident. Trevor felt his no-longer-beating heart drop into his feet. Your mother had called Sam on your behalf and told her you had died in the ambulance, but by some miracle were resuscitated by the EMTs. You were alive, recovering from surgery in the hospital. 

You were alive, but Trevor felt shaken to the bone. You had died, again. Obvious Trevor hadn’t known you when you were a little girl who fell through the ice, but he knew you now. He cared for you dearly, and the idea of you nearly vanishing from his life hit him much harder than he expected. It felt like the time he was teaching his neighbor’s kid baseball, and the kid swung the bat just as Trevor approached behind him. The bat socked Trevor right in the gut, bruising a rib. That was how it felt to know he had almost lost you and had not even known. 

Hetty’s fingers grasped his shoulder, shaking him lightly with a pinched expression. “She’s alive,” she repeated. “She’ll be all right, right?” 

Sam swallowed thickly but nodded. “According to her mom, she’s set to make a full recovery.” She turned to Jay. “We should go see her. Maybe bring some flowers or…or those cookies you make that she always talks about.” 

Jay wiped a couple of tears from Sam’s cheeks and sniffled himself. “Yeah, of course.” 

Dragging his hands down the length of his face, Trevor tried to soothe the terrible ache in his chest. He wanted to see you, bring you flowers, and ask if you’re okay. But he was suck in that house forever, and you could go anywhere you wanted. He couldn’t even hold your hand or hold you close. 

He wondered if the universe hated him, cursing him with feelings for the last person on Earth he could have. 

It got worse, too, thanks to the questions posed by his ghost-mates. If he didn’t feel so heavy with your absence that haunted Woodstone, he would have strangled Sass for putting the worry in his head. 

“You don’t think a second near-death experience will reverse the effects of the first one, do you?” Sass wondered aloud. 

Trevor stared at him, wide-eyed. 

Alberta hung her head. “Now, why would you ask that right now?” 

“It’s not a bad question,” Hett said. “What does two near-death experiences do to a person if one gives them the potential to see the dead?” 

“Or it could give someone the ability to be even more interactive,” Isaac suggested. 

Trevor nodded vigorously, panic swelling like a balloon in his chest. “Yeah, I like Isaac’s better.” 

“I hope she can still see us,” Flower sighed. “She’s catching me up on the music of today. I need to know more about this ‘One Direction Infection.’” 

Standing beside Flower, Thor furrowed his brows. “Infections no good. Friend lost foot to infection.” 

“Enough talk about infections,” Alberta snapped. “What’s important is that she’s not dead, and Sam said she plans on coming back once she feels better. Until then, we just need to think positively, okay?” She was looking at him, more sympathetically than her usual gaze. 

In the midst of your accident, he realized his crush was far from subtle. The other ghosts, Sam, and even Jay knew. It didn’t help his case that he was clearly the most torn up about it, since he couldn’t come see you at the hospital to ease his worries. Sam tried to tell him you were doing just fine and recovering better than the doctor predicted, but without seeing you with his own eyes, Trevor wasn’t convinced. 

On top of that, he started to worry that you had lost the ability to see him since the accident. What if you couldn’t? What would he do? How would be cope? How would you cope if such a big thing ceased to exist in your life? Would he have to spend the rest of his ghosthood playing telephone with you through Sam? Oh, he just couldn’t stomach all of that. It made him sick, couch-riding for days. He hardly moved, hardly thought of anything else. None of the ghosts, Sam, or Jay could ease his worries. 

It wasn’t until you arrived back at Woodstone did Trevor stop his wallowing. You stood in the doorframe of his bedroom, smiling lightly. Your arm was in a sling, and there were splotchy bruises on your face. 

“Hey, Trevor,” you greeted. He let out a breath he’d been holding since he first heard you were in an accident. His lungs relaxed, his heart unconstricted.

“You can still see me,” he said, more to himself than anything. 

You furrowed your brows, confused. “Of course I can,” you replied. “You were worried about that?” 

Trevor nodded slowly. “I was worried about a lot of things, all of them involving you.” Your expression softened as you entered the room, a slight limp in your step. “Sam said your heart stopped. Y-You died. And then Sass wondered if, when they brought you back, it would change your ability to see us because that was how you got it in the first place. And I kept thinking, ‘what if she can’t see us anymore?’ It freaked me out; really, really, freaked me out and-” 

You approached him, eyes wide and worried, as you said his name softly to stop his ranting. “I’m okay and I can still see you,” you reassured him. “I didn’t think you’d be so worried about me.” 

He scoffed, almost offended. “Are you kidding me? How could I not be? You’re…” he trailed off, a soft sigh falling him his lips before he turned on his heel. He didn’t like being so vulnerable, not in front of someone like you. 

As he turned his back to you, starting toward the window to collect himself without having to look you in the eyes, you reflectively reached out as you would have anyone. It was a hard habit to break with the ghosts, reaching out. Before your mind reminded you that your hand would only phase through him, your fingers brushed against the fabric of his suit jacket. 

Startled, Trevor spun around as you gasped. Your fingers didn’t phase through his ghostly form like they were supposed to. No, your hand grasped his jacket as if he were alive and standing in front of you. 

“What is happening right now?” he asked, staring at your hand on him. 

You sputtered for a response, pulling your hand back before you reached out again, thinking maybe the pain medicine you were on was playing tricks on your mind. But when you neared his arm, you didn’t pass through him again. You touched him, fingers curling around his forearm, which was impossible. 

Trevor stayed impossibly still, scared he’d break whatever weird illusion he found himself in. “Y-You’re not dead, right?” 

A startled laugh escaped your lips. “No,” you whispered. “I’m alive but…” You trailed your hand up the length of his arm, pausing on his shoulder before you met his gaze. “I don’t know how this is possible.” 

Trevor’s hands shook slightly as he reached out too, his fingers hesitantly brushing your sweater. No pain enclosed them, which often occurred when he’d phased through a living. The soft fabric of your sweater met his fingertips, solid and real under his touch. 

He could touch you. He was touching you. It felt like a dream, one he had many times before, but that time he wasn’t sleeping. 

A part of him was scared that whatever was happening wouldn’t last; he didn’t want to waste a moment of the real dream he found himself living. He grasped the sides of your face with both hands, feeling your soft skin under his fingers. That alone was enough for Trevor. To feel you, to feel real himself. 

You studied him with a soft gaze and the prettiest smile on the planet in Trevor’s eyes. You leaned in just a little, brushing your nose against his, a dramatic beat in your heart at the contact. 

Trevor seized the moment, unsure if he’d have another moment outside of that one. He closed the small gap between the two of you, pressing his lips against yours. 

The kiss was the desperate kind, the unknown if it was first and last that you’d share or the start of many. It didn’t matter in that moment. All that mattered was the firm pressure on your lips and the softness of Trevor’s thumbs lightly brushing your cheeks. His hands cradled the sides of your face like you were the most important thing he’d ever held. 

You kissed his back feverishly, savoring the feel and taste in case that was all you got. 

It wasn’t until your lungs started to scream at you did you pulled away from the kiss, but you remained as close as you could get to Trevor, scared to let go. 

Maybe it wouldn’t last, or maybe you had thinned the veil between your life and death just enough to be able to touch the dead. You had no idea if it was a fluke or a permanent effect. It didn’t really matter in that moment because you had Trevor in your grasp, and he had you in his. What came after was miles away, something you’d worry about later. You only cared about drinking in that moment, savoring the impossible while it lasted.

[cranberryjuice-posts]

Hi, I wanted to ask for a Clarisse fanfic where the reader is gifted in the arts? I would also like to ask that the reader be a daughter of Hades :)

What’s a girl to do

Pairings - Clarisse La rue x daughter of hades! Fem! Reader

An - this lowkey sucked but YALL will live

You had always been gifted in the arts. From dance, music, art itself and even theater.

Being that you were a hades kid most kids avoided you, not that because your dad was the king of the underworld but because just being around you gave them an unsettling feeling.

Something every great artist had was a muse, someone they could go to for inspiration, someone that gave their work meaning. But you? You didn’t have a muse.

Sure you’ve had inspiration come from all types of media but never once did you have an actual person you could call your muse.

That had changed though when you met clarisse. It started out small with small doodles of her. Then she started to show up as small details in your song lyrics. And even going as far as using her as your model in your photos

You two were friends.. but you knew you wanted more then that.

——

Clarisse spun her spear around on the sandy beach. She was so in the moment that she hadn’t heard the sound of your camera going off.

She ended in a pose with her spear tucked under her arm. Panting that’s when she realized you were sitting near by.

“You know its creepy to take photos of people without their knowledge right”

“Eh you’ll live” you smiled. Clarisse had always been beautiful even in situations like now where she was panting and sweaty from her workout.

You walked over towards her smiling sat the picture

She was a natural. The way clarisse moved her body it was like she was meant to be infront of the camera.

subconsciously you started leaning into her to show her the photo. “this one here, I like how your curls kinda spun around with you, you know” You smiled, clarisse nodded placing a hand around your waist, she had always done that but it didn’t mean it didn’t get you flustered everytime.

“Mmhm” she stuck her spear in the ground before reaching over placing her free hand onto yours clicking back on the camera to a photo of her standing with her spear pointed down the sun hitting her at a certian angle adding dramatics. “this one is better”

“Well I think both are fine” you smiled looking over at clarisse. Your faces were close. So close if you even just moved a little you might accidentally kiss.

You waited for clarisse to do something, to move away and tell you to piss off but she didn’t. Instead you started to feel her rub circles on your hip.

Almost out of a movie mark clarisses bother appeared. “Clarisse!” He yelled gaining the now irritated girls attention.

“The hell do You want Mark im busy” she looked over at him not wanting to deal his bullshit. “It’s Sam and Jane, they got into another fight and are in the infirmary now Chiron wants to see you about it all”

You watched as clarisses closed her eyes trying to calm down even a little. She looked back at you before squeezing your hip and letting go to head off to beat her siblings.

You stood there frozen and embarrassed. Clarisse didn’t like you. There was no way if anything she liked silena. Clarisse only saw you as a friend…

Right..

——

Around 3am you decided to sneak out of your cabin not able to sleep.

Lazily walking around the camp trying to not get caught you noticed a familiar girl jumping out the ares cabin window. Using shadow travel you quickly moved to stand beside the cabin.

Clarisse sighed as she landed on the ground, silently closing the window “since when did you sneak out”

“Fuck!” She whisper yelled having to pull her hand back from hitting you. “What the hell are you doing out here”

“Selling hardcore drugs— now you tell me why your ever so quietly leaving your cabin” you sarcastically spoke. Clarisse rolled her eyes in defiance. “Your a pain in my ass you know” she scoffed.

You shrugged your shoulders. “You’ve said worse to Me” starting to follow the girl into the forest you took in the scenery.

The full moon brought you a sense of comfort, mainly in the fact that the goddess nyx had always brought protection to people in need through the veil of night.

Clarisse continued until she came to a clearing in the woods, high on the mountian side and far enough away from the camp you wouldn’t get caught but high enough you could see the stretched out lake.

“Wow..” you whispered. “I never new this spot existed”

“That’s supposed to be the point”

“Is this where you take girls to makeout with them then torture them before k—“

“I’m not some insane serial killer dumbass” clarisse laughed pushing you softly before sitting down. You followed her lead sitting a little to close to her.

After a few moments you watched as clarisse silently complained befote grabbing some Kindle Wood arranging it to make a small fire. Using a lighter most likely taken from the big house.

After sitting back watching the fire clarisse looked over at you. “How long have you been doing all this shit”

You raised an eyebrow confused. “You mean photography” you chuckled, Clarisse nodded in response her face unreadable.

You sighed for a moment “uhh I’m not really sure, I just I’ve always had a passion for the arts and been naturally gifted in them, I like photography the best with painting being right underneath though” you tucked some hair behind your ear slightly embarrassed.

“Why me” she continued to asked. “Like out of every camper here why am I the one you take the most photos of me”

“Well I Ju—“

“Wait wait don’t tell me you like me” clarisse laughed at the end of her statement. You went to speak but decided to stay quiet letting clarisse finish her laughing fit it. She soon stopped looking over with a playful face. “Wait seriously.. you use me as your muse because you like me”

You started to get up embarrassed walking away quickly not wanting to listen to the girl yelling after you. About five steps into your leave clarisse grabbed your arm. “Gods damnit can you just wait” she huffed.

“Yeah because I just love being laughed at thanks clarisse” you tried to pull your arm away but it was pointless “you know it’s actually really shitty to laugh at someone when you find out they like yo—“

You were cut off by clarisse grabbing your head and crashing her lips against yours. Not caring how messy it was, clarisse kept a firm hold on your head while grabbing your waist pushing you against her.

The kiss moved from messy to controlled. You let clarisse hold you close, soft breaths leaving both your mouths not wanting to pull away but still needing to breathe.

Pulling away you felt clarisses hot breath on your lips. “Do you ever stop talking” she asked now with her hand on the side of your face comfortingly rubbing circles. You rolled your eyes but kept quiet, your arms around clarisses neck.

Clarisses kissed you once again slowly, she pulled away kissing your cheek. “I like you to dumbass”

“Really..?”

“Uh yeah you really think I let anyone take photos and draw me?”

You playfully pushed the girls shoulder before pulling her back into a grinful kiss

“Great now that we’re together can we please go back to the fire it’s cold as shit out here”

“Whatever La rue”

[writtenbyan-aries]

Summary: anon request - "can you do a zach one where he like exposes him and readers secret relationship and she just goes with it , like " you weren't so quiet last night " and she just has her jaw dropped and says something back and it ends with smut" 

Warnings: this one shot will contain reader having sexual daydreams during the podcast, those dreams will include, oral (m rec), unprotected sex, the rest will contain Zach's usual banter and fluffiness

Word count: 2.1 k | not edited 

Also - I know it might get confusing, but the italics are what happened the night before, but in the form as if it's happening right now, like you're replaying the night in your mind. Hope that made sense, enjoy! 

╔═══━━━─── • ───━━━═══╗

"You want to know what I think is crazy?" Zach asks as his fingers drag up and down your arm. 

"Hmm?" You hum quietly as you keep your head on his chest. You feel him laugh slightly, "That no one has figured us out yet." 

You laugh, moving your head to look up at him, "Well now you just jinxed the hell out of that." 

He shrugs, a smirk on his face, "I mean I like us being a secret and all, but it's so hard for me to not say certain things when you're on the pod with us." 

You nod, "Yeah, I know what you mean." You smirk, "So what, is that your way of telling me you're going to out us at tomorrow's show?" 

He raises his brows, "I'm full of surprises babe. Guess you're going to have to wait and see." 

.·:*¨ ✘ ¨*:·.

The next day, you're sitting on the red bench, headphones on and you're getting ready to do the show, but your mind just isn't there. 

Instead it's elsewhere. 

Specifically, replaying the time spent with Zach the previous night. 

The way you felt coming back from the restaurant, you needed him, his hands resting on your hips as you unlock your door made you crave him. 

When you finally got the door open, it was like the energy that craved one another clashed, As soon as you push the door open, he spun you around, lips on yours as he backs you into your apartment. 

"Hey." A hand is woven in front of you, "Earth to y/n." 

You look over at Tara and blink as you take your headphones off, "Yeah, hi. I'm here." 

"Where the fuck did you go. You were like-" she mimics how you were staring, "Zoned out." 

You laugh, "Sorry. I'm tired. I was up all night." Zach and Jared walk onto the set, "Oooh. Up all night doing what?" Zach teases and you roll your eyes, "I was coming up with a list of places that've already been to for Sam and Colby." 

Zach sits down and raises his brows, "Wow that was very specific." Zach sighs, placing his headphones on and you can't help but laugh. 

Friends around friends, lovers when it's just you two. 

You lean back, placing your headphones back on and Tara speaks up, "So I have to ask, how does it feel being better than two of the most liked ghost hunters in the world?" 

You laugh slightly, "What do you mean?" 

"I know you do paranormal investigation stuff too, and just the fact that Sam and Colby are coming to you for stuff.. I don't know that just.." Tara laughs and you tilt your head, "Are you just saying that to make a jab at them?" 

She nods and lean in to your mic, "Well then it feels pretty damn good." 

"Alright, alright. Anymore and we'll be scraping your brain off the walls from your head swelling to the point of exploding." Zach tries not to laugh and you shrug, "Hey, I take it when I can." 

You give him a quick and subtle wink then quickly change the subject, "Cat got Zach's tongue so I'll just go ahead and do the intro for him." You laugh, "What's up guys, we're here with Tara, Alyssa, me, Jared and oh, I guess Zach is here too." 

Zach just stares at you and you can't help but laugh. 

"Okay, but I love the fact that she announced Tara and me first." Alyssa laughs and you point to her. Tara nods, "Yeah, I'm going to have to say that we need to all vote to make y/n the person who announces the show." 

"Like a pre-recorded track because there are days she isn't here." Alyssa points out and you nod, "I agree. All in favor." You raise your hand and instantly say, "Three versus two. Girls win." 

"Youre ridiculous. Who invited you here anyway?" Zach rolls his eyes and you furrow your brows, "Um, you?" 

"Can you just like, zip it." Zach motions at his mouth and you smirk, "Make me. Take my headphones away." 

Zach tries not to laugh, "I mean, I can. But you might moan a little." 

"Oh my god. No. No. No." you close your eyes and look away from him, but in secret, you'd be on your knees in seconds for him. 

Zach places his hands on your shoulders, urging you to your knees. You drop down, complying to his every silent request. 

You stare up at him as he shrugs his black jean jacket off, eyes locked on yours as his jaw is slightly slack from your hand sliding over his throbbing cock that's being held back by his jeans. 

"I don't think.. you should say that to our guests?" Jared says with a nervous laugh, "I'm actually surprised you haven't gotten sued yet." 

"Please." Zach shrugs, nodding to you, "She won't sue me." 

Tara points to you, "I think you should just for his reaction. 

You laugh, "Thinking about it." 

You weren't thinking about that at all, Zach undoes his belt, followed by his jeans. The quick sound of the zipper going down causes your skin to perk up with goosebumps, caused by excitement. 

You rise up from your calves, licking your lips as you work fast to free him from his boxers. 

Zach speaking pulls you back into reality, "So now that we're past that embarrassing ensemble.." 

Zach trails off and so does your mind, You loved hearing Zach's little moans and groans as you held his cock with your lips and tongue. 

The way his fingers gentle drug over your head, slowly pulling your hair as his pleasure grew larger, "Fuck." 

Zach didn't really swear in general, so when he did, and it was because of you. It was even fucking hotter. 

You blink, snapping back into reality. 

"So I thought we could talk about something serious today." Zach says and Jared laughs, "Oh no. Someone's getting fired." 

"Yeah it's you." Zach says, pretending to be serious and Jared laughs, "I'd love to see you try, I'll just tell you no and you'll listen." 

You laugh and nod, "No that's so true." 

"Yeah whatever." Zach rolls his eyes, "No I have an exciting announcement." 

Your heart thumps and your head snaps towards him slightly. 

His eyes move to you and he smiles a little bit, "So, I have some news that may shock a lot of people, but I think everyone should know this, from me." 

"What's the fuck is happening?" Tara asks and Zach sighs, speaking quickly, "We're going to be doing a live dropouts show." 

You let out a breath and keep your stare on him, "Wow, Zach. That's great." 

"Better be, because they want all of us who are here right now." Zach gives a thumbs up, "What a relief it was to get that off my chest." 

You laugh slightly as your eyes trail down his neck to his necklace that's lying comfortably on his chest. 

Your back slams onto the bed, Zach's lips kissing over any skin they can reach. You let out a moan as he sucks a hicky into the skin over your hip. 

He kisses up over your boobs and up your neck. He leans up and you feel his cock slip between the folds of your pussy. 

The shiny necklace dangling from his neck as you feel him slide into you fully. You find it so hot when it swings back and forth with each thrust.

"Hey, I can't lie." Jared laughs and Tara cuts him off with a yell, "Say it!" 

You look over, at Tara, laughing as she keeps pointing to jared. You look over at Zach and he gives you a look that would make your legs go weak if you were standing. 

It wasn't a weird look. It was him just staring at you, knowing why you keep zoning out, and he was just making it worse. 

"I liked y/n's intro." Jared sighs and you look over at Jared with a clap, "Thank you." 

"You definitely thought it was better than Zach's intro, right?" Alyssa asks and Jared laughs, "I'm not answering that." 

You yelling with excitement, "Fuck yeah! Because you know that girls are just better than boys!" You motion between you, Tara and Alyssa. 

"Whoa, whoa!" Zach says waving his hand out in front of him a few times, "Settle down. Settle down, I'm getting flashbacks." 

"War flashbacks." Jared snorts and Tara asks with a laugh, "Flashbacks of what?!" 

You look at Zach, laughing and he shakes his head while furrowing his brows, "I don't know what you're laughing about because these flashbacks are of how loud you were being last night." 

It all happened so fast you blank, "What the fuck." 

"What did he just say?" Jared asks, mouth dropped with surprise. 

"Oh yeah, okay." Tara rolls her eyes and as you're still staring at Zach, he tilts his head slightly, giving his brows a quick flick. 

He outted you at tomorrow's show. 

Might as well roll with it. 

"You gonna tell them or you want me to, princess?" Zach smirks and you shrug, letting out a dramatic sigh, "Whatever helps you sleep at night." 

"Oh, you know exactly what helps me sleep at night." Zach winks as you look at him and you shake your head, looking down to rest it in your hand. 

"I can't tell if they're joking." Alyssa laughs and Tara cuts in, "Yeahhh, I mean, okay. I've actually been extremely suspicions about these two for weeks now."

"Oh please tell us what made you think that, Tara." Jared leans in, super invested into the conversation. 

You look up and look from Tara to Zach and he shrugs, "Hit me." He nods to Tara and she smirks, looking between you and Zach, "Well for starters, he stares at her every time she looks away." 

"I like looking at the back of her head. It makes it so I don't have anything mean to say." Zach shrugs and you  just laugh. 

"What else you got, Tara?" Jared encourages and Tara laughs, "Another thing is, they'll stop answering me at both at the same time. Like I'll be texting both of them and then all of a sudden.. radio silence." 

"I have a very strict bed time, Tara." You and Zach both say, just adding fuel to the fire and you just laugh, knowing that you're caught. 

"See!" Tara tells pointing, "See!" 

"Well.. if you don't know you do now." Zach laughs and Jared eggs him on, "Know what? Zach. Care to enlighten us with a perfect confirmation?" 

"What's my lawyer?" Zach yells looking around as he raises his hand. 

"So isn't true? You and.." Alyssa points from you to Zach and you laugh, nodding your head slowly. 

"Wow." Jared says, "I honestly did not expect this is come out onto the podcast today." 

Zach reaches for his water and takes a sip, "Listen, we played dumb, but we knew what we were doing." Zach scoffs, "Alright. You can't tell me that you weren't fooled."

"I knew my suspicions were there for a reason." Tara laughs, "How long?" 

"Two months." You laugh and they don't believe you.  Zach nods, "No she's serious.  It was after the episode with Jake and Johnnie." 

"Oh shit, yeah I guess that was two months ago." Tara nods, "I'm just like.. having a holy fuck moment." 

"Yeah." Zach laughs, "She came to see if I was as rich as I bragged that I was, and I must have passed inspection because she didn't go home that night." 

"Oh my god." You laugh, "That's not.." you shake your head and Jared laughs, "I just.. that really does shock me, like.. y/n. Why him?" 

You shrug, smiling as you look over at Zach. He glances at you and smirks, "What can I say? I'm full of surprises."

.·:*¨ ✘ ¨*:·.

Thank you for reading! Let me know how you liked it. Love you all! Thank you so much for reading! 

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[daylighted]

Baby!reader saving dean?

ok ok oko k let me lock inNNN PLS. gotta gather my thoughts first & foremost bc part of me wants to say its not something life or death because the pressure of that might send her into an emotional breakdown. BUT also in the same breath diamonds r made under pressure. so...

dean was taking a longer time than he usually did.

you hadn't been on many hunts, even less with just you and dean, but you knew how long certain things usually took: sam took 23 minute long showers. dean took 17 minutes. it took 4 minutes and 32 seconds for dean to get gas and your cheetos.

it did not take an hour for dean to emerge from the cave he'd disappeared into. something about demonic cult activity, and something being let loose in the area that they gathered, here in this cave deep in the woods.

he made you wait outside. said it was to keep watch but more and more, keeping watch was turning into the only role you were allowed to play. it was sweet that he was protective and worried, but you were capable of things. very capable of them. amongst those things was handling yourself and knowing how to keep yourself (and them) out of danger, even though they didn't seem to like testing that theory.

it feels wrong to abandon post, but you felt it in your gut that something was wrong. dean wouldn't break routine without at least telling you first. something was off. of all people, you and sam were probably the most likely to know when something was wrong with dean.

it's dark and cold inside of the cave. bat wings flap above your head, their beady eyes watching you in the darkness as you venture in. the air is thick and heavy, like you were choking on it with each breath.

the silence was the most unnerving part. you were used to dean's music, dean's playful singing in the car, dean's pestering jabs.

there's no light, and the one dean entrusted you with had burnt out batteries, so your only guiding force was your hand on the wall and your slowly inching feet, every step you brushed a rock making you jump.

"dean?" you ask, the words slicing through the air like blades. the rock you kick this time clatters, and your eyebrows furrow, bending down to grab it.

a blade. one of the special ones that dean and sam each have. thin and shiny, even in the limited light in the space.

limited light. just a few feet further in was something dull and golden, flickering off of the blade.

you take off into a blind sprint, your one hand still on the wall so you don't end up running smack into rock. this time, when the toe of your boot hits something, it's soft, ruffles against the stone floor.

"dean!" you drop down in front of him, bending over him to reach for the discarded flashlight, shining its beam over his face.

blood behind his head, his eyes closed, chest still heaving but each breath from his mouth shuddering. terror fills you like ice water and angry fire in your blood evaporates it.

"wake up," you mumble, patting his cheek ignoring that your hands are shaking so much that the circular beam on his face trembles. "wake up, wake up, wake up..."

he doesn't. what were you supposed to do? you'd taken the winchesters around your whole life, but you weren't fully convinced on how, but you didn't think you could carry him when he was dead weight like this.

a little whimper leaves your shuddering mouth, shaking your head. "wake up." you're much more forceful about it this time, angry at him for the fact that he wasn't conscious to reassure you. you were scared. he always held you when you were scared but he wasn't. "wake up right now, dean, or i'll... i'll..."

you couldn't stab him. that wouldn't be very nice. but your fist tightens around the blade's handle again. your skin tingles with awareness, every hair on your arms standing up to attention. you don't know why until there's a sharp intake of breath from behind you, and the rage's flames stoke higher, brighter.

there's hardly a blink before you're on your feet and spun around, flashlight abandoned in dean's lap again, pointing down the long, cold corridor of nothingness. but you don't need to see to know to bury the sharp part of the blade into the demon behind you.

the scream echoes down the chambers, the demon disappearing into black smoke. the blade in your hand clatters to the ground, echoing like a warning bell in the cave.

dean coughs from behind you, the flashlight that was once facing left now illuminating your back. you turn to meet his eyes, your own filled with tears and glossy.

you'd killed something. someone. something? you'd done that. you'd never done that before. you didn't even know how you did it, just that you knew dean wasn't capable of defending himself, and you couldn't let him get hurt anymore. you would never, ever let something hurt dean, and somehow, your hands became weapons on their own to follow through on that promise.

there's a weary, melted expression in dean's gaze as he looks you up and down. he looks like he might say something for a second, but his mouth closes before the words come out. instead, he lets the flashlight fall into his lap again, and opens his arms, just like you knew he would.

you sink to your knees in front of him, arms thrown around him instantly. it's easier than you think to help dean rise to his feet, supporting some of his weight as he walks unsteadily next to you. he doesn't let go of your hand the entire walk back to the car, or the ride back, even when you're still mostly clueless on how to properly drive.

"thanks," dean says once you pull into the parking lot, his fingers still wound in yours, his other hand pressed into the knot on his skull. "for... saving me. finding me."

he says it like it's something he isn't used to. like he really believed that no one would find him in instances like that, or no one would look. you'd always find him. you'd always look.

you're still shaken up about it all. it was a lot to process, sinking a blade into something that looked human but wasn't really. hit a little to close to home in a room you tried to keep sealed away.

even now, that's too much to think about, so you give him the sweetest smile you can muster with all of the feelings churning inside of you. "i'll always find you."