#my head is so Full for this wet flannel of a man who deserved better

[watermelonlipstick]

The Hunter With The Dragon Tattoo

This is a request for anon, who asked: 

i don’t know if your requests are open, but if they are, could you do one where the reader has tattoos that dean doesn’t know about and then he sees them when he has to stitch them up after a hunt? (maybe like season 1 or 2 dean) thank you!!!

And then wrote to me privately that they have a dragon tattoo on one shoulder.

It was a lot of fun to write; tons of opportunities to slip in some good classic rock references! I miss in the super early seasons when Sam and Dean seemed to rag on each other pretty much constantly. I hope this is what you were thinking of!

Title: The Hunter With The Dragon Tattoo

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (gender neutral)

Word Count: 2589 

Summary: Dean is surprised to discover the reader has tattoos.

Warnings: canon-appropriate violence/mention of blood, swearing, fluff!!

           Sam moves to the middle of the front bench to shuck off his coat as Dean is getting out of the car, and gives it to you with a long arm over the leather. “Can you hand me that blue jacket?”

           You have to over-rotate to use your other hand to grab it, keeping your grip tight on your own shirt in the most bastardized version of a sling. Sam, of course, notices.

           “You think it’s broken or dislocated?”

           A hard chuckle blows out of your nose. “Really hope it’s just dislocated, I’ll tell you that.”

           He gives you a sympathetic smile as he throws on the blue jacket and zips it all the way up to his neck. It looks like he’s covering something up and naturally, he is, thin hoodie and t shirt underneath drenched with enough werewolf blood that it’s clinging to his chest almost pornographically. But his face is untouched and he has use of both his arms which is more than can be said for you or Werewolf Shiner Winchester, making him the only reasonable choice to send for gauze and ACE bandages at the closest pharmacy.

           Dean stops his grimace-covered stretching just outside the car and opens your door with an outstretched hand as Sam slides into the driver’s seat. “You coming?”

           Taking his hand with your good one, you let Dean close the door behind you without any of the normal grumbling about treating you like you’re made of porcelain, in an effort to keep your face neutral around the jolts of pain through your shoulder. Sam pulls out of the motel parking lot ultra-gently like it’s his first day with a learner’s permit the way he does when he knows Dean is watching. It makes you smile to yourself as exhaust dissipates across the cracked blacktop.

           Crossing the asphalt with tired strides Dean opens the motel door for you too, and you walk in before him. “Is that yours?” he asks, dropping his coat on the cheap couch and wincing through the removal of his flannel. In the light of the room you’re better able to see his black eye and realize it’s going to take weeks for that to go away, not relishing another inevitable conversation about makeup to sell a G-man cover story. It makes it so much easier for the families of victims to believe you’re legit when none of you look like you’ve been in a bar fight, but getting Dean to believe cover-up is in the name of the greater good is an uphill battle on the best of days.

           “Is what mine?”

           “The blood you’re covered in like nacho cheese. Dude, if that’s all over the car—”

           He deserves credit for trying not to smile as you try to look over your shoulder like a puppy chasing its tail, but he does guide you over to the mirror on the wall to see. He’s right, blood has seeped all down your coat, sticky and shiny like syrup. It’s far too wet to be from near 30 minutes ago when you got in the car. “Fuck, I really like this jacket.”

           “You have like 5 just like it taking up space in my trunk; you’ll live. Here, take that off, I’ll stitch you up.” Dean starts rifling through his bag for supplies, rolling some kinks out of his neck.

           “It doesn’t even hurt, I just need you to pop my shoulder back in so I can take a shower.”

           “I don’t give a shit what hurts, slugger. You’re going to pass out in the tub if you keep up the stuck pig act.”

           You roll your eyes and reluctantly try to slide your arms out of the jacket, wincing when you jostle the dislocated arm. Dean takes the sopping coat from you and tosses it into the kitchenette sink from where he stands, the concern coloring his face when you look back at him not reassuring you at all. He puts the floss-threaded needle he’d had in his hand between his teeth and starts pulling on your collar.

           “Shoulder first,” you insist, done wiggling and writhing out of clothes before your shoulder is where it belongs.

           Dean’s mouth tightens into a firm line but he backs up to give himself enough room to shove, an exasperated hand beckoning you. “Okay, you ready?” he says around the needle, looking like a farmer field medic with a piece of hay.

           “Yeah just let me—FUCK,” you grunt when he catches you off guard without any preamble, clutching at the shoulder for a moment until you could take a deep breath. You do a test rotation and are happy at the relative lack of pain, trying not to be frustrated that Dean didn’t warn you so you wouldn’t tense up.

           “Shirt off.” Dean’s tone is firm and precise, no room for discussion, as he gets out a lighter and watches intently to heat up the needle.

           “Wow, you sure know how to make someone feel special,” you hum, feeling much looser without the shooting pain from your shoulder. The buttons of the flannel come undone relatively easy, but the fabric makes a sickly wet thwack as you snap it down to rest around your elbows.

           From his spot at your side, you see Dean’s face contort in surprise and watch as he reflexively reaches out a thumb to rub the skin of your shoulder.

           “Ow, what the hell?” you flinch.

           “Has this always been here?” he asks, partly amazed but mostly incredulous as his eyes trace the inky lines of the dragons where they wind around your skin.

           “I wasn’t born with them if that’s what you mean.” You can tell he’s truly shocked because he doesn’t even react to the jab, just hovers a gentle fingertip over the tattoo. “Earth to Dean? I thought you were all scared about me bleeding out.”

           He gulps and clears his throat before covering with a smile that’s a combination of cheeky and shy. “Right, yeah, sorry. Just didn’t realize I was in the presence of The Tattooed Wonder.”

           “Hardly, I only have a few. Now start stitching before I change my mind and wait for Sam; his are way neater than yours anyway.”

           “Few? Where are the other ones? Girls on the back of your leg that hula when you walk?”

           “Nice try.”

           He bites his lip before shifting the strap of your tank top off and sponging the back of your shoulder with a wet towel. When he unceremoniously pours a slug of whiskey over the wound you feel it for the first time and hiss, adrenaline and distraction of the joint pain worn off.

           “Sorry,” he murmurs, already dragging floss tight on a stitch with his teeth and moving on to the next as quickly as he can, half-humming that old Queen song, “gonna get me on the track, got a dragon on my back.”

           You weren’t lying earlier when you’d said that Sam’s stitches were usually cleaner, but Dean is being very careful in a way he usually isn’t—Chicks dig scars, Sammy! Stopped the bleeding, didn’t it?—and you tip your head back to check his work. The extra time he’s taking is to match up the back of one of the dragons, ripped open by a werewolf claw and currently held together by the delicate pinch of Dean’s index and thumb.

           It’s tough, but you manage to grab the reins on a smirk. Dean doesn’t notice, too focused on trying to keep the damage to your tattoo at a minimum. The gesture and the concentration are impossibly sweet, even though you’d long accepted that ink injury was inevitable with your lifestyle.

           When he’s done, callused fingertips tugging the last knot in place, Dean grabs the whiskey again. “Hold still,” he breathes, close enough you can feel it dance across the skin of your neck, and you hope he can’t see the goosebumps trailing down your arms like ivy. “That should do it. You can grab the first shower, but it’s big enough that some gauze on top for a few days wouldn’t hurt.”

           “Thanks,” you answer, startled and annoyed at your own voice when it creaks a touch. The flannel feels gross and heavy with blood, so you pull your arms out entirely and reach to drop it in the wastebasket.

           “I can deal with that if you want,” he offers, ruffling the velvet-short hair at the back of his neck. “The coat too. Not the first time getting blood out of clothes.”

           “Oh, okay. Uh, thanks. That would be really nice.”

           Dean only meets your eyes for the most fleeting moment when he takes it before biting his lip again and nodding to himself. You get to your feet and gingerly slip the displaced straps back over your shoulder, feeling the shift in energy in the room and not knowing what to do with it. Settling for a jocular little punch to Dean’s bicep, you grin at him. “Thanks for putting me back together, doc.”

           Sam comes back a couple minutes after you’ve closed the bathroom door with a translucent plastic bag full of first aid supplies. “In the shower?”

           Dean looks up from where he’s sitting on the couch and hands Sam the beer he’d already gotten out of the fridge in anticipation, his leg bouncing rapidly. “Yeah. They have everything?”

           His younger brother nods and accepts the bottle, taking a sip before laying out his haul on the coffee table and tossing the bag. “You okay?”

           He glances up with a quirked eyebrow. “Just tired, man.”

           Sam waits a silent beat, giving Dean a chance to spill whatever it is.

           “Did you, ah—did you know Y/N’s all inked up like a friggin’ sailor?”

           Sam chuckles and runs his tongue over his teeth. “A sailor? Y/N’s only got a few tattoos, dude.”

           “You knew?”

           “Of course I knew, some people like to learn things about their friends. That’s why you’re acting weird?”

           Dean scowls over the glass lip of his beer before taking a long pull. “Not acting weird, sue me for being surprised we’re working with the goddamn Hunter With The Dragon Tattoo.” His voice is low and surly like a kid on the edge of a tantrum even he knows isn’t worth it.

           “Y/N can do whatever they want, Dean. It doesn’t matter if you like the tattoos, you’re not their dad.” Sam’s barely keeping the giggle out of his voice, enjoying Dean’s frustration the way only a little brother could.

           “No, I don’t—it’s not that I don’t like them,” Dean stammers, the end of the statement fading off as a flush starts rising in his cheeks. He knows he’s said too much and Sam jumps on it.

           “Wait—you do like them, don’t you?” He crashes onto the couch, long limbs just enough in Dean’s space to be irritating. “I bet you loooooove knowing about those tattoos—I bet you’re dying to see them.”

           “Shut the fuck up,” Dean growls, kicking Sam in the thigh with a socked foot. Sam blocks him and starts laughing hard enough it makes him rattle all over like he’s on a rickety rollercoaster. When he finally catches his breath Dean is still pouting to whatever syndicated sitcom he’d thrown on. Over the tinny TV speakers they hear the shower turn off.

           “You know, if you’re feeling shy I could say something for you.” Sam’s grin is ten steps past cheeky, firmly planted in devilish, and he waggles his eyebrows suggestively over top of dimples perfectly sliced into his cheeks.

           Dean’s eyes widen like a cartoon and his voice is a gravelly hiss as he grabs a tight handful of Sam’s t-shirt, now crisp with dried blood. “Sam, I fucking swear to God—” but the threat is ineffectual, sheepish panic clear as anything on his face. The glint in Sam’s eye brightens and he twists out of his brother’s grip before he can react, crossing the room in a few huge steps so he’s nearly face to face with you when you open the bathroom door, Dean leaping off of the couch to chase him and slamming into Sam’s back when he stops short.

           “Whoa, Jesus—you scared the shit out of me,” you breathe, one hand on top of your fresh t-shirt to still your racing heartbeat, fistful of dirty laundry in the other.

           “Just need that second shower, didn’t mean to freak you out!” Sam smiles, warm and light and genuine. “Thanks! Gauze is on the table if you want it.” he says as he slips past you with a friendly and familiar kiss on the cheek, wink that you can’t see to Dean over your shoulder as he closes the bathroom door fast enough that the mirror next to the frame barely even steams.

           “Hey, could you—” you start.

           “Hey, do you—” Dean says at the exact same time. You both chuckle, and you can’t tell if you’re annoyed or not that the little charge in the room didn’t dissolve while the dried blood on you had rinsed down the shower drain. Dean holds up an open palm to indicate that you should go first.

           “Could you cover those stitches for me? The skin is kind of catching on my shirt.”

           “Uh, yeah. Definitely.”

           Shaking your hair loose and hanging the towel it was in on the back of a kitchenette chair, you sit on the edge of the bed to tug the collar of your t-shirt as far onto your shoulder as you can. Dean snatches some medical tape and a couple 4x4s from the table and sits down next to you, the heat coming off of him soothing the chill of the few remaining drops of water cooling on your skin. “I’m gonna need more slack than that,” he says, trying to be matter-of-fact but not quite covering the gooey softness around the edges that are making his voice more sultry than gruff. You try to pull harder on the collar but it’s already digging into your neck. The hand holding the gauze floats down to Dean’s lap while he rubs his jaw with the other. “Do you—could you just take it off?”

           You roll your eyes at him.

           “Or live with it, see if I care.” He holds your gaze, and that stubbornness you recognize.

           Reluctantly, you move your arm inside the shirt and slip it out from under the bottom hem, squirming in a way that covers your chest while exposing your shoulder. When he sweeps the shirt back you reflexively jolt away from him like you’ve been shocked. “Not being fresh, just don’t want to tape it in,” he murmurs.

           “I noticed you put the lines together really straight; thanks for that.”

           “Only took an extra second.” He rips another piece of tape off a roll with his teeth and is being so deliberate that now you’re sure he’s stalling for another few seconds to keep touching you but you don’t care; the feeling of his fingertips on your skin is tender and delicious.

           “If I knew you were going to be that careful, I would’ve been letting you do my stitches this whole time.”

           “Guess I’m just a regular damn seamstress,” he smiles, finally smoothing the last tape and only surreptitiously glancing out of the corner of his eye as you tuck your arm back into its sleeve. “So seriously, what’re the other tattoos?”

           “I’m sure you’ll see them soon enough,” you whisper as you stand up, committing to memory the way it makes Dean’s pupils flare as you ease under the scratchy motel sheets on the opposite bed.

-

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

Tags: @sams-sass @vxnderlindes @deanwinchesterswitch @akshi8278 @itsjensenanddean @flannellover67 @weepingwillowphoenix @tj-drinks-tea @whatareyousearchingfordean @winchestergirl2 @winchest09 @samwisethegr8 @fawnxng @nurse-sarahrn @lovers-in-japan-reign-of-love @thewinchesterandreidwhore @deanwanddamons @stressedoutkitten @winchestershiresauce @tatted-trina6 @percico-heronstairs @downanddirtydean @moosewinchester-deactivated2021 @queenoftheunderdark @lyarr24 @wonder-cole @sergeantsea​ 

And as always, if you want to be on my taglist, were on the taglist and changed your handle, or I lost track of it, please let me know!

[writing-imagines]

Jealousy // An Ellie Williams imagine

Possible warnings: drinking, jealousy, pettiness (?), Dina and Jesse are really the only spoilers

Request: Hey!! I was wondering if you could maybe write something where ellie is jealous because the reader has been hanging out with Jesse or Dina a lot. Maybe end it angsty or fluffy (idk it’s up to you (: )

Life in the apocalypse wasn’t easy by any means. You had to face the fact that anytime you left the safety of Jackson’s walls, you could easily be killed. Having to face that fact everyday really took a toll on those who understood it. While yes, you we’re born into the cordyceps infected world and didn’t know much about the world before it, you still struggled standing on death’s doorstep every day. That’s why any chance you got to let lose, you took full advantage.

You sat at the bar, beer in hand, and enjoyed the couples dancing. Some were really good and others were terrible, but they were all having a good time and that’s what made it entertaining. As you went to take another sip of your beer, the bottle was swiftly removed from your hand. Your head quickly shot up and towards your now empty hand. That’s when you found the culprit.

“You think just because you’re my patrol partner you can take my beer?” You raised an eyebrow, making Dina laugh.

“Listen, I just danced my heart out. I deserve a drink.” She smiled behind the bottle before finishing it.

“Seth, we need two more down here.” She half yelled while waving an arm. The old man nodded and pulled out two beer bottles.

“You gonna trade anything for these, Dina?”

“Put them on my tab.” Dina winked at Seth, causing the old man to roll his eyes.

“Cheers to surviving another patrol.”

“To surviving another patrol.” You clanked your bottles together before drinking. The two of you sat and watched the dancers for a few minutes until Dina sat up straight.

“Hey, your girlfriend is here.” She pointed across the room to the open door. You had to look around a few people, but you eventually saw Ellie’s red flannel.

“I’ll be back. Don’t drink my beer!”

You jumped off the barstool and made a beeline to your girlfriend. You almost ran into a few dancing couples, but you eventually made it to Ellie. Without hesitation, you pulled her into a bear hug.

“Hey! I didn’t think you were coming.” You loosened the hug ever so slightly so you could look at your girlfriend.

“I wasn’t planning on it, but I missed you and I knew you’d be here.”

“I missed you too, babe. Come on, I already have a spot at the bar.” You let go of Ellie only to grab her hand and drag her across the dance floor and to the bar.

“Babe, take my seat.” You gestured to the barstool next to Dina and she accepted. You sat down beside Ellie and gently placed your hand on her back.

“Hey Ellie. Didn’t think we’d see you here.” Dina greeted while swirling her beer around.

“Yeah, I wanted to hang out with y/n for a little bit. We may live together, but we don’t see each other much.”

“Why is that? Y/n, your dad runs the scheduling. Why don’t you have him put you two on the same schedule?” Dina raised her eyebrow at you while finishing off her beer.

“My dad does the scheduling for the jobs around town. Maria is the one who does patrols.”

“Then talk to your stepmom about getting you two together! All the other couples work together if they want to. You should be no exception. Seth, I need two more beers! Ellie, you drink beer, right?”

“Not tonight. I have early morning patrol tomorrow.”

“Y/n, you need another one?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Awesome! Seth, where are my beers?” Dina got up and marched to the other end of the bar where Seth was defiantly hiding from her. You couldn’t help but laugh at your friend.

“She’s something else.” You took a sip of your drink, officially finishing it. When Ellie didn’t respond, you noticed the mild scowl on her face.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Are you two going to get hammered again?” Her tone said it all. Ellie was pissed.

“I was hoping to have a few drinks, yeah.”

“Okay. Just don’t be obnoxious when you come home. I’m not cleaning up your mess again.” Before you could respond, Dina came back and handed you another beer.

“Thanks Dina.”

“No problem. So Ellie, how’s the North lookout treating you? I’ve heard there’s a lot of infected out there.”

“It’s good. There’s defiantly...”

You tuned out their conversation. She probably didn’t mean to, but Ellie kind of ruined your night with that comment. Most of your time spent with Dina was on patrol, so, you were really looking forward to enjoying the night in the safety of Jackson. You sat quietly and continued to drink a few more beers while Ellie and Dina caught up with each other. Just as you finished your drink, one of your favorite songs came over the loud speakers. At that point, you had just enough to forget Ellie was mad at you and vice versa.

“I love this song. Will you dance with me?” You held Ellie’s hand and looked at her with hopeful eyes. You knew Ellie wasn’t a big fan of dancing, especially to fast songs, but you thought maybe she would try it for you.

“Oh no, I can’t. I’m terrible at dancing.”

“Come on, babe. Pleaseeee.” You held her hand a little tighter and tried to work your puppy dog eyes.

“No, I don’t want to.”

“Come on, y/n. I’ll dance with you.”

Dina jumped up and quickly pulled you onto the dance floor. You and Dina immediately started jumping around and dancing like idiots. You didn’t care how stupid you looked flailing around, you were having so much fun. The song eventually ended and you and Dina fell into each other, both of you laughing uncontrollably and getting a ton of strange looks. You wrapped an arm around each other and swayed back to the bar.

“Man, I love you, y/n. Seriously. You’re one of the best people I know.” Dina slapped your shoulder before leaning against the bar.

“I love you too, D. I-hey, where’d Ellie go?” You quickly spun around and tried to find her in that red flannel.

“She left. Looked pretty upset too.” The guy sitting on the other side of Dina said. Those words were enough to block most of the alcohol in your body. Dina looked at you with a slightly concerned look.

“Looks like you better go find your girl. Can you make it home okay?”

“Yeah. Can you?”

“I’ll be fine. Go get your girl.” Dina slapped your shoulder again before you ran off.

You stumbled through the crowd and eventually out the door. Things started spinning a little, but you had made the exact same walk a dozen times. The only thing that really posed a threat was the wet leaves everywhere. But, you knew you’d be fine if you fell. It took a little time, but you eventually found your way past the mini greenhouses and to Ellie’s. Without hesitation, you opened the door and nearly tumbled in. Once inside, you saw the most heart breaking sight. Ellie was sitting on her bed, head in her hands and trying not to cry.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” You tried to sit down beside her, but Ellie quickly stood up. Her eyes were red and puffy, causing a ache to settle in your chest.

“What’s wrong? Something is going on between you and Dina. That’s what’s wrong.” Your eyes widened at the accusation.

“Ellie, what are you talking about? There’s nothing going on between me and Dina.”

“You think I haven’t picked up on how you two have been acting these past few weeks? You specially requested her to be your new patrol partner, you always get home late from patrols, and you were just flirting with each other at the bar.” Ellie fought back tears as she spoke. Every word sounded like it was her breaking point. You slowly stood up and stepped towards your girlfriend. Much to your surprise, she let you hold her hands and looked you in the eyes.

“Ellie, babe, Dina has been my friend for years. Hell, she’s practically my sister at this point. There’s nothing going on between us. You have nothing to worry about. I swear. You’re the only one I love.” Ellie pulled her hands out of your lose grasp and crossed her arms over her chest.

“You two haven’t spent this much time together since I’ve known you. If nothing is going on, what’s caused you two to spend so much time together recently?” Her tone changed from heartbroken to even more accusatory and that didn’t sit well with you.

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s because she broke up with Jesse and has a little more free time?” You shrugged, genuinely not knowing (or caring) why Dina was spending more time with you. Ellie dropped her arms to her sides before shrugging.

“Okay, fine.” Her tone wasn’t very convincing and you knew she was annoyed. She tried to playoff her annoyance by casually walking to the dresser and pulling out her sleep clothes.

“You don’t believe me.”

“No, I do.” Once again, Ellie’s tone wasn’t convincing. If anything it conveyed more annoyance.

“Fine.” You walked over to the desk and grabbed your backpack for overnight patrols. You could feel your girlfriend’s eyes on you as you gathered your own sleep clothes.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to stay at my dad’s. I think we need some time apart.” Your tone was harsh, probably the harshest it had ever been with Ellie. You could tell she was worried now.

“You don’t have to do that. We can keep talking this out.”

“What’s the point? You obviously don’t believe me. I can put up with a lot, but I refuse to sleep next to someone who thinks I’m a liar.”

“I don’t think you’re a liar, y/n. Please, put the bag down and let’s talk.” Now her tone was laced with worry as you put on your flannel shirt.

“No. I can’t be around you right now, Ellie.” All bets of you staying where off when you opened the door.

“Please don’t go. I want you here.” The ache settled in your chest again when you heard the hurt in her voice. You took a deep breath and let it out as a sigh.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night. Love you.”

You stepped out into the cold fall night again and made your way to the other side of Jackson. You couldn’t help but notice all the looks you were getting as you walked down the street. After what felt like an eternity, you reached the doorstep of your former home. You softly knocked, hoping your dad would answer.

“Hi y/n. What are you doing here this late?” Maria asked, already in her robe for the night.

“Hey Maria. I um...I was wondering if I could talk to my dad.” You watched as her eyes landed on your backpack.

“Of course. Come inside it’s cold. Tommy, y/n is here for you!” She stepped to the side, allowing you to walk inside the house. Maria placed her hand on your shoulder to get your attention.

“Is this something you want me to hear? I know how you feel about people knowing your business.”

“It’s nothing personal. This-” she placed her hand up, effectively shutting you up.

“I’ll let you two have your talk. Let me know if you need anything.” Maria walked into the kitchen, leaving you alone until your dad walked downstairs.

“Kiddo, what are you doing here?” Tommy asked as he held his arms out and pulled you into a hug.

“Hey Dad. Do you think I could stay here for the night? Ellie and I kind of got into a fight.” Even though Maria was in another room, you found yourself whispering. Tommy quickly pulled away, his smile was replaced by a puzzled look.

“Of course you can. Is everything okay between you two?”

“I don’t know.” That lump in your throat returned and you try to hold back your unexpected tears.

“Hey, it’s okay. Did you eat dinner?”

“No, but I’m not hungry. I really want to lay down actually.”

“Okay. Here, I’ll take your bag.”

Tommy helped slip the bag off your shoulders and started towards the stairs. You followed him even though you knew where he was going. You followed him upstairs and down the hallway to the last door on the right.

“We haven’t changed it since you moved out.” Your dad opened the door, revealing your childhood bedroom. He wasn’t lying, everything still looked like you remembered.

“Brings back memories.” You couldn’t help but smile as memories from your childhood and teenage years came flooding back.

“You remember that time Dina put her foot through the wall?” Tommy walked over to the far side of the room and pointed at a discolored portion of blue paint.

“Yeah. She was trying to do a handstand and fell backwards.” You both chuckled at the memory, but your smile faded when you remembered why you were back in your childhood bedroom.

“Man, you two were always getting into something when you were younger.” He said with a soft laugh.

“Yeah, we always had a good time.” You sat down on your old mattress and let out a sigh. Tommy walked back to you and carefully sat down on the bed.

“You wanna tell me what happened with Ellie?”

“She thinks something is going on between me and Dina because we’ve been spending more time together. I told Ellie I didn’t love Dina, I only loved her. I could tell she didn’t believe me and that made me mad. So, I packed my bag and I came here because I didn’t want to be around someone who thinks I’m a liar.” You let out a sniffle as a tears attempted to roll down your cheeks. You quickly wiped them away and looked down at the old hardwood floor.

“Kiddo, I’m sure Ellie doesn’t think you’re a liar. She’s probably just really upset at the moment. You both need to cool off for a minute and then talk this out.” Tommy wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pulled you a little closer.

“I don’t understand. I used to run around with Dina for days and Ellie was fine with it. What changed?”

“That’s something you’re going to have to ask her yourself. Remember, that girls been through a lot, more than anyone should ever have to go through. If you both take your time and be patient with each other this will all be fixed.”

“You really think so?”

“I do. I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. It’s the look of love if I’ve ever seen it.” That made you feel a sense of pride, enough to make you smile a little.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“No need to thank me. This is just part of parenthood. Now, I’m going to leave you alone so I can get some sleep.” Your dad lightly tapped your shoulder in an attempt to be supportive before slowly standing up.

“Jesus the bed is hard. Good luck sleeping on it.”

“I slept on it for years. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“Night, kiddo. Sleep tight.”

“Night, Dad.”

Tommy finally left your room, closing the door behind him. You let out a sigh and actually felt a little better, albeit tired. You decided to change into your sleep clothes while you still felt a little better about the situation. You had to admit that it felt weird doing your nighttime routine without Ellie there to make conversation with. Once you were changed, you slid into the old bed and hoped to get some sleep.

Instead of falling asleep right away, you thought of the first time Ellie snuck over. You were fifteen and she wanted to show you a knife she found while on patrol. She ended up sleeping over and you two talked about anything and everything. That was the first time you felt feelings towards her. The painful ache returned to your chest the longer you thought about it. You forced yourself to shut your brain off and eventually fall asleep.

You woke up the next morning with a mild headache and a growling stomach. With a groan, you forced yourself out of bed and out into the hallway. Just before you reached the stairs you heard Joel’s voice. You tiptoed closer to the stairs until you could barely see your dad and uncle at the kitchen table.

“So, Ellie’s pretty heartbroken about this?” Your dad questioned while eating his breakfast.

“Yeah, she is. She showed up on my doorstep at one in the morning and asked to talk for a bit. She hasn’t wanted to talk to me like that in years.”

“What did she have to say?”

“She said she was really upset about y/n leaving. Felt like crying for a while, but decided to talk to someone instead. She talked about some other stuff too.” Joel paused and took a drink from his mug.

“Like what, Joel?”

“You know, getting married and moving out of the garage. She thought they were ready for that, but this little mess has her thinking otherwise.”

You had to stop yourself from gasping at that revelation. You knew you wanted to spend the rest of your life with Ellie and move out of the garage someday, but you had no idea she actually wanted to get married. Realizing the severity of this small fight increased tenfold, you decided it was time to go home. Cautiously, you went back to your bedroom, changed into your jeans, shirt, and flannel from the previous day, and mentally prepared yourself to face your family.

“Look who’s up.” Tommy greeted as you walked down the stairs. Joel looked at you with a somewhat stern look that was usually reserved for Ellie.

“Morning, Dad. Morning, Uncle Joel.”

“Hey, kid.” His stern look stayed, even as he took another drink from the mug. You adjusted your backpack, feeling a little uneasy about the situation you got yourself into.

“Where you running off to? Too good to hang out with your dad and uncle?”

“Of course not. I figured I better get home and take care of some things.” Tommy and Joel gave each other a look, making you feel even more uneasy.

“How much of our conversation did you hear?” Your uncle looked at you for a moment before reaching into his jacket pocket. A small part of you was worried you were about to be shot or stabbed. If that was going to be your last moment, you wanted to be honest.

“All of it. That’s why I’m going home, so I can work things out with Ellie.”

“You might want to take this. It’ll at least get your foot in the door.” Joel finally pulled his hand out of his pocket and revealed Ellie’s switchblade. Your eyes widened in surprise since Ellie rarely let it out of her sight.

“Well, go on. She’ll give up eventually and leave for patrol.” Joel held the switchblade out for you to take. You carefully took it and placed in in your jeans pocket.

“Wish me luck. If she stabs me don’t punish her. I probably deserved it.” Your joke didn’t totally stick, but both men gave you a halfhearted smile.

“Good luck, kiddo. If things don’t work out you can always move back in.” It was a sweet gesture, but you really didn’t want to move back in with your dad and stepmother.

“Thanks. I appreciate that.”

You hastily left the house, determined to make it back home before Ellie left. After running through town you reached the garage you could see Ellie through the door window, searching for something. You placed your hand on the door handle, but paused before twisting it. We’re you allowed to just walk in after a fight? You pulled your hand away and knocked instead.

“Come in!” You slowly stepped in, expecting her to turn around. Instead, she continued to rummage through her desk drawer.

“You don’t have to say it, Jesse. I know I’m late. I can’t find my switchblade.” You stood there practically frozen. What exactly were you suppose to say in situations like this?

“Uh...it’s me.” Ellie stopped searching and looked over her shoulder. You gave her a small smile and in return she finally turned around to face you.

“Hey. I uh...I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Sorry. I found your switchblade in my bag. I knew you’d want it for patrol.” You pulled the switchblade out of your pocket and walked towards her. When you were a few steps away, Ellie held out her hand, silently telling you to keep your distance. You handed her the switchblade and felt the awkwardness in the room intensify as you both stood in silence.

“Thanks for bringing it back. Now I can finally go on patrol.” Ellie stepped to the side and walked past you. You knew you couldn’t let her go out into the world where she could possibly die without talking things out first.

“We need to talk about last night before you go.” You forced yourself to turn around and look at Ellie. It took her a moment, but your girlfriend eventually turned around to face you.

“What is there to talk about? We fought, you left and now you’re back. We’re fine.” She shrugged, trying not to show she was still upset about this whole thing.

“We are not fine. Come on, talk to me, Ellie.” You carefully approached her and much to your surprise again, Ellie let you hold her hands.

“I’m jealous of Dina. There, are you happy now?” Ellie barely looked you in the eye as she spoke. She also let go of your hands and quickly crossed her arms over her chest.

“Babe, why are you jealous of her?”

“Like I said...she gets to spend a lot of time with you and I don’t. She’s also really pretty.” Ellie nervously bit her lip and rocked back and forth slightly.

“I’ll talk to Maria about maybe scheduling us for the same patrols or at least have us both work mornings. That way we’re both home at the same time.” Ellie finally shifted her gaze from the floor to you.

“I’d like that, but I realized it’s unfair for me to ask you to stop hanging out with Dina. You guys have been friends since before I got here.”

“She’ll understand. After all, she did pretty much abandon me the first month she was dating Jesse.” You chuckled at the memory while Ellie smiled at you. It felt amazing seeing her smile again.

“So...are we good?” Part of you was nervous that she would say ‘no’ and your relationship was permanently damaged. The other part was certain things were finally mended.

“Yeah, we’re good.” That was all the confirmation you needed to pull Ellie into a hug. A smile crept across both your faces as you held one another. Ellie pulled away just enough to fit her arms between you that way she could hold your face in her hands.

“You know, you never denied that Dina was pretty.” She tried to give you a serious look, but ended up looking adorable.

“I can’t deny it because she is pretty. She’s not my type though. I only like girls who are interested in space, comic books, guitars, and who are immune to a certain virus that turns people into walking fungus.” Ellie tried hard to fight her growing smile, but failed miserably. You didn’t even try to hide your amusement.

“You’re such a sap.”

“Yeah, but I’m your sap.”

Like a scene out of a movie, you looked each other in the eyes for a brief moment before leaning in for a kiss. The kiss was sweet at first, but after a few moments things heated up. Ellie’s hands found their way up to your hair, effectively pulling you impossibly close together. Just as you took off your flannel there was a knock at the door.

“Ellie? You in there?” Jesse’s muffled voice called out. You quickly jumped apart, both breathing heavy.

“Shit. Yeah, I’m in here! Just give me a minute!”

“Take your time. It’s not like you’re missing work or anything.” Ellie rolled her eyes and let out a groan.

“I guess we’ll pick this up later?” You asked, straightening out your shirt.

“Definitely. I’ll get back as soon as I can.” Ellie turned around to finally leave for patrol. She only made it a few steps before you grabbed her wrist. Ellie stopped and turned to face you.

“Be careful out there. I can’t lose you after I just got you back.” Your girlfriend smiled before leaning in and placing a kiss on your cheek.

“I’ll always come back to you.”

“I love you, Ellie.”

“I love you too, y/n. See you later.”

“See you later.” She leaned in and gave you another kiss on the cheek.

Ellie finally reached the door and was promptly greeted by Jesse sporting a raised eyebrow.

“And what took you so long?”

“I was busy. Now, let’s go.”

Ellie and Jesse left, officially leaving you alone. You walked over to your bed and laid down, enjoying the feeling of being back in your own home. Just as you closed your eyes for a moment of rest from the emotional rollercoaster you had been on for the past ten hours, there was a knock at your window. You turned your head to see Dina waving furiously.

“Let’s go get breakfast!” Her muffled voice came through the window. For a moment, you considered not going since Ellie told you her feelings about you spending time with Dina. But, Ellie did say it would be selfish of her to ask you to not hang out with your longtime friend. What could one breakfast together hurt anyway? You quickly climbed out of bed and met Dina outside.

“Hey, D. What’s up?”

“I think you know what’s up. You really think you could get into a fight with Ellie and not tell me about it?” Dina placed her hands on her hips and tried to look angry at you.

“How’d you find out?”

“People in this town talk, y/n. Come on, you can tell me all the details over breakfast. I’m starving and hungover. Not a great combination.”

“Alright, alright. Let’s go.”

You threw your hands up in a surrendering way before walking with Dina to the bar. It was going to be a long morning, but after the drama you had just been through, you were ready for anything.

[themoonandotherslikeit]

Holding On and Letting Go - Chapter Four

The sequel to The Hand That Reaches for God

Emerson was always told that time heals all wounds, but whoever said that must’ve not lived in the world that she lived in. They must’ve lived in the time before, when the world its self wasn’t this bleeding, throbbing wound, and that time did nothing but drag out the never ending pain.

The Maklen sisters and the Winchester brothers were inseparable, their whole lives, and when the world turned red they did the one thing they knew how to do– be together. But now, the same world that pulled them together, seemed destined to rip them apart again and shatter something that was so fragile in the first place.

Chapter Four

“You lost her and it wasn’t because she was hard to hold, or love, or touch but because she was made of your absence, of all the things you ignored and all the beautiful poetry you read but failed to understand.” - R.M. Drake

-106 Days After-

“I can’t believe you married me,” Sam said, his voice low and rough against Ophelia’s neck as he held her closely. She looked beautiful, like a dream.

“You can’t?”

“Of course not. You’re way out of my league.”

She snorted, suppressing a laugh. She squeezed him in her arms, feeling tiny against his large frame. She’d always thought they fit perfectly together, like they were made to be one. She thought about the future they would have. A baby boy that looked just like Sam and two little girls. He would protect them, and they would all love each other endlessly, just like she and Emerson did. Just like Sam and Dean did. They would live next door to Emerson and Dean, because they were in love even if they were too scared to admit it. They would all always be together. It was how it was always supposed to be. “Do you think things will be better someday?”

“Better than this? How can it be?”

She rolled her eyes. She was supposed to be the romantic of the two. He was stealing her role, but she knew it was because he was happy - smitten even. They were in love. “I mean the world , Samuel.”

“Ah.”

She pulled back from him, a blonde wave falling into her eyes. She tried to blow it away, but it just fluttered a bit and fell back into her eyelashes. He brushed it away. “You’re cute,” he told her.

“You are,” she murmured.

Ophelia had waited for her wedding day her entire life. Back at the house she grew up in, she had countless notebooks with wedding dress clippings, articles, pressed flowers, and Mrs. Ophelia Winchester written in a dozen different scripts and colors. She knew that she would grow up to be Sam’s wife someday. She had thought of everything, prepared for it all. She knew exactly what she would wear, how she would smell, what she would say, and how she would feel. She even taught herself how she would walk across that aisle without her mom. She was even able to adjust to a world that was crumbling under her feet, and make a beautiful, intimate ceremony that was so full of love she worried they couldn't contain it.

The end? That was the one thing that she never prepared for. She never imagined that it would be over long before it ever really began.

-3 Years After-

Dean left Emerson alone in the room. “Take all the time you need.”

He was far too good to her. He always had been, and she hated that she couldn’t let him love her. It just didn’t seem fair that she had this amazing man who was here and Pheli? If either of the sisters were to survive this shit show it always would’ve been Ophelia. She was the hope, and without her… what was Emerson without her? She didn’t have the answer, and maybe it was time that she found out.

She pulled off her wet clothes and toweled off, moving the curtain out of the way to look out at the empty parking lot. Everything was powdered with snow, dusted, untouched and undisturbed. It was almost peaceful if she didn’t know any better. Pheli loved the winter and especially the snow. She was all sparkles, snowflakes, and snowball fights.

Emerson pressed her forehead to the window, her breath fogging up the glass. She wrote home in the steam. She always thought that home was a place, but more than ever, she knew now that home is a person. Home was her sister. Home was the way that Sam looked at Ophelia and the soft cotton of Dean’s worn out Led Zeppelin t-shirt, it was the smell of her mom’s cookies. It was something she would never get to have again. Emerson knew that in order to belong she had to have roots, otherwise the wind would carry her away. But, roots can’t be planted in people.

Her eyes stung, threatening to spill over again, but there was nothing left for her to cry. Her chest ached with an emptiness that echoed with every heartbeat. She wondered if that was how it felt to die, if when she lost her sister she lost another part of her soul. She rubbed her chest with the heel of her hand, above her heart. She’d heard it crack inside of her louder than anything else. At first she thought it was the ground collapsing under her feet, but she was wrong. It was just all of the love leaving her body like an avalanche. All of the shattered pieces are unable to be repaired.

She pulled her fingers away from the window and towel dried her hair before digging her spare set of clothes from her bag. She slipped into her fleece leggings and buttoned up one of Dean’s flannels. She hugged the fabric to her face and took a deep breath of his scent. She didn’t deserve him. Her eyes welled up, and she tried to swallow it. What the fuck was she going to do? She didn’t have the answer. Not even close. She slipped into her boots and snuck out of the motel quietly. She needed to think, and she thought better when she could see the sky. She always had.

So Emerson scaled the building, stepping on the dumpster, and she settled on the roof in the snow. Her face turned up to the sky. Her days of denial were counting down. She wouldn’t be able to avoid it much longer. She would have to say it out loud, and she would have to say it to Dean. She didn’t know where to start. There was a lake past the trees, and if it were summer maybe they would stop for the day and enjoy the water. She stared out toward the water and sucked in her breath. The sky beyond the trees was painted fuchsia, green, deep purple. “Holy shit.” The northern lights flickered ahead of her, dancing and blurring on the horizon.

Fingers towards the sky, she reached as if she expected to be able to touch the lights. They reminded her of the glowing butterflies at the lakehouse. It felt like a sign, like hope. It felt like Ophelia.

“Em?”

Her eyes flickered behind her to find Sam, with his long lanky limbs awkwardly crawling onto the roof. He scooted next to her, draping a blanket from the motel around her shoulders. It didn’t even occur to her that she was cold, but as if he brought the chill with him she shivered. “I want to be alone.”

“Yeah I know. Me too. Thought we could be alone together.” He rested his arms on his knees and didn’t glance her way.

“Seems counterproductive to me.”

He shrugged. His hair was long, sweeping his shoulders, Emerson resisted the urge to reach out and run her fingers through it. Pheli would’ve loved it long. He would’ve had a Viking braid by now if she were with them. The thought made her stomach ache.

“Happy birthday,” he commented quietly as he watched the dancing lights. It was unclear if he was talking to Emerson or the lights.

“Not so happy.”

“She wouldn’t like that, you know. That you’re retreating into yourself. It’s why I’m not doing it. She is the light.”

“That's why there’s so much darkness,” she agreed.

“If Pheli can’t be here to shine we need to shine for her, Em.”

Emerson made a face of discontent and turned completely to him. “I don’t know how to do that, Sam. I don’t know how to have hope without her.”

He scooted close to her and wrapped a supportive arm around her. “You know when I married her she became part of my family, but I wasn’t just saying I do to her. I was promising to love you, too. You’re my sister in law, Emerson. That means something to me.”

“There isn’t law anymore, Sam,” she said, her shoulders tense under the weight of his arm.

He snorted with a laugh. “You know what I mean.” He sucked in a shaking breath and let it out slowly. “I miss her. It takes every bit of power I have not to fold into myself and never get back up. I’ve loved her for what feels like my whole life.” He turned to look at her, his hazel eyes were wet and reflecting the purple flecks of the northern lights. “I hate that I’m not with her, and I will never forgive myself for not being able to protect her. I just wish you would blame me more than you blame Dean. It’s not his fault. I know he loves you, and I couldn’t protect Ophelia…” A tear rolled down his cheek, and he shook his head. “So just let me do the one thing I know she would ask me to do. Let me take care of you.”

Emerson pulled her knees up to her chest. “I don’t think I know how to do that, Sam.”

“Try. For her.”

She let out a sob and rested her head on his shoulder. “I miss her so much sometimes it feels like I’m dying, but it just never ends.”

“I know exactly what you mean.”

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I don’t want to do this to Dean.”

“He loves you.”

“I know he does. I just don’t know how I’m supposed to let myself have everything when she’s…”

“Em, maybe you didn’t know this, but Ophelia talked about your happiness just as much as she talked about her own. She always talked about how one day we would live next to you and Dean.” Sam laughed quietly and squeezed her in his arms. “Let yourself be happy. Well, as happy as you can be.”

Another hot tear rolled down her cheek, and she glanced up at him. “I can try.”

“Okay.” He nodded and placed a platonic, loving kiss on her forehead and hugged her tightly. “And Em?”

“Hm?”

“Are you going to tell him?”

Her eyebrows came together. “Tell him what?”

He chuckled against her hair, his breath tickling her scalp. “You know what. I was with your sister for a long time. You girls are like clockwork and well… I may have noticed a change in the last few months. My brother is so focused on the now that I don’t think he’s seeing the bigger picture.”

Emerson sucked in her breath and tried to swallow a sob. “I… I couldn’t admit it. I refused, because how can I? In a world like this? Without my mom… without Phel…”

“Ignoring it will not make it go away,” he said gently, rubbing her arm.

“I know,” she murmured. “It just… wasn’t supposed to be me.”

Sam tilted her chin up to look at him. “You should tell him. If it were me I’d want to know.”

She nodded, pained. He was right. She knew he was, and she was mad at him for it. The world wasn’t fair, but it was still turning and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. “Okay.”

They stayed there for a while, enjoying the quiet, the cold, and the dancing lights on the horizon. It was a special kind of bliss that they normally didn’t get to enjoy. There was a lot of unknown due to the world they lived in, but that didn’t matter. There was nothing she could do about it, so she should focus on the known. She knew for a fact that the Winchesters would always be there. That was something she could hold on to and something she shouldn’t take for granted.

They climbed down from the roof and Sam went to her room, and she went to Deans. It was dark in the room, and he was laying on his side facing the closed window. When the door opened he didn’t move, but the lack of soft snores in the room told her he was awake. She crept to him, shaking off her boots, flannel, socks, and leggings leaving only her underwear and climbed into bed behind him. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her cold skin to his warm back.

He hissed at the chill. “Thought you were mad at me.”

“Not at you. Never at you.”

He snorted in response.

“Well, not anymore at least,” she admitted sheepishly.

“It’s okay to be mad. I can take it.”

She pressed her face to his back and kissed it gently, blinking tears before closing her eyes completely. She squeezed him tightly. “This isn’t your fault. I just… I’m in so much pain. I’m scared all the time. Even more so now.”

Dean shifted under her arms, turning to look at her, but she squeezed him tightly. “No, please don’t. I just… I need to tell you something, and I can’t see your face when I do.”

“What is it?” He asked softly, gently, sweetly.

She let out a pained laugh. “I can’t say I don’t know how it happened, because I do .”

“Emerson, take a breath. What’s going on?”

“I think… Fuck. I think I’m pregnant. It sounds insane. Asinine. This is the fucking end of the world and I…”

He had wiggled out of her grip, and he turned to face her. His nose brushed hers. “If this is a joke, Maklen, it’s not a good one.”

“I wouldn’t joke about this.”

He ran his thumb along her cheekbone. “I’m so fucking gone on you. You know that right?”

“I do,” the words slipped from her lips, barely a breath.

“How long have you known?”

“I missed my second period. I hoped it was stress… I haven’t confirmed it.”

“I’m sorry you’ve shouldered it alone. I hate that you didn’t let me in.” Dean wrapped his arms protectively around her.

“I wasn’t ready to say it out loud.”

“But now?”

“It’s not going to go away because I’m ignoring it.”

“Just like it’s dad,” he said wryly before sucking in his breath. “Holy fuck.” His eyes flickered down to her midsection.

“How do you feel?”

“I… how do you feel?”

“Scared,” she admitted. “I didn’t even think I wanted kids, let alone in this world.”

“But?”

“But I’m also… I don’t know. It feels wrong to say I feel happy.”

He smiled in the darkness and kissed her gently. “It’s not wrong. It’s right.”

Dean moved his hand from her hip to her stomach, his fingers bushing over her skin gently. The motion sent chills down her spine, and her skin prickled with goosebumps. “I know this wasn’t how we wanted to do this, but Em having a child with you… that’s been a dream of mine for a long time.”

“It has?”

He brushed a hair out of her eyes and nodded. “I’d be an idiot not to want a life with you.”

“But what about Lisa? You were going to have a life with her. I saw you and Ben together. That loss was devastating for you.”

“He was a cute baby, and I loved Lis, but it wasn’t my family. Not like you are. But I guess I need to ask you something.”

“Okay.”

“Are you having this baby? Is this something you’re ready to do?”

Emerson sucked in her breath. It had crossed her mind. Of course it had, but as she considered it there with his hand touching her abdomen so protectively that she almost felt a warmth under his palm, she knew that it wasn’t an option. She already loved the damn thing. “Yes,” she said breathlessly, her eyes welling up with tears. “I have no idea how we will make it work, but I can’t lose anyone else. I already see her. When I dream she is with us… it’s like she already exists.”

“She?” He pulled her closer. “You think it’s a girl?”

Emerson shrugged with a pained laugh. “It’s just what I see in my dreams. I have no proof of that.”

He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “Then we are doing this. Fuck it. We always did things out of order so why not again? We are capable.”

“You’re insane,” she whispered. “Maybe I’m insane. Look at the world. How can we bring a child into it?”

“This kid will be so loved, and fuck, maybe Sammy is right. Maybe there is a safe haven in California where we can raise her safely. Worth a shot, right?”

“Maybe.”

Dean rolled onto his back and pulled her on top of him, wrapping the blanket around them both. She felt safe there, cocooned with him for a moment. “I love you Emerson Maklen. I know you’re scared, fuck so am I. I’m terrified of what kind of dad I will be. You saw John and what he was like. Even if the world wasn’t crumbling I’d be afraid, because this is a big thing. This is an important thing. But I promise you I won’t fuck it up. I’ll protect you and the little bean with everything I’ve got. What can I do to help? Name it and I’ll do it.”

Before she could think, process, and talk herself out of it, the words flew out of her lips. “I want my sister.”

“Em…”

“She’s out there somewhere, Dean. I don’t think I can do this without her. I know it’s a long shot, but I need to try. I need to know we haven’t given up. Because if she was dead I would know it. I would feel it. She’s out there, Dean. I know it.”

-106 Days After-

Ophelia's hand fit delicately in Sam’s, his other hand pressing against her lower back. They were deliriously happy. “Spin me!” She demanded brightly, a smile bursting from her lips.

“Yes ma'am.” So he did. He released her back and twirled her in circles before spinning her away from his body.

She was laughing, giggles erupting from pink lips, a lock of hair falling in her face. It felt like the world had slowed down, he could barely hear the shot ringing through the trees with a crisp bang! He dropped her hand as the bullet ripped through the muscle of his shoulder. Sam fell, his vision blurring. He could hear his heartbeat whooshing in his ears as he hit the ground hard.

“Sam!” Pheli called, her voice sounding far away. She ran to him, cradled him in her arms. “Oh my god!”

He opened his mouth to warn her, but he wasn’t fast enough. Everything was still slowed down. His vision was peppered on the edges, threatening to send him into darkness. He couldn’t warn her of the dark shadowy figure behind her.

His head hit the soft forest ground as she released him from her grip. The figure behind her twisted their fingers in her hair and yanked her back hard. She opened her mouth to scream but a hand covered her lips, muffling her.

Sam struggled, trying to sit up. Trying anything to get to her, but he wasn’t fast enough. The figure took a step towards him and kicked dirt in his face, blinding him temporarily. But before the dirt obscured his vision he saw something.

The hood on the figure fell just enough for the light to catch his features. A sinister smile rested on full lips, his eyes hollow and haunted.

Gordon.

—–

A/N: I know it’s been a long time since I have made any progress on this story. I’ve been in a huge writing slump and this week I found some inspiration. I love my little OFC babies, and I needed a dose of apocalypse in the wake of my real life stress. If anyone out there is still reading I hope you enjoy it, and are excited about this chapter. If not, well I enjoyed writing it and in the end I suppose that’s the point.

Coming soon: Chapter five

Catch up on Part One Here

Tag List:

@hanaissupergirl

@deans-baby-momma

@cpag7

@tftumblin

@squirrelnotsam

@formulafun

@thatgirl1456

@wildfirekitten

@ceisbill

[oftenderweapons]

Apple of my pie (2) — Jin

A Small Town Swoons story

Chapter 2.

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x reader (nicknamed Buttercup)

Wordcount: 3.0k

Genre: non-idol!AU, Baker/Café owner!Seokjin, University student!reader Flatmates!AU, Friends To Lovers, Fluff, slightest angst

Rating: suggested 18+ (there are brief apparitions of dirty thoughts, also future episodes will contain NSFW material); 

A/N: Hello my sweet poppies! Welcome to the Small Town Swoon Universe! 🥰✨

In this episode: Jin goes on his first date with Grace, who is actually a sweet person. However, during the date, he casually meets a friend who is more than capable of making him open his eyes. Meanwhile, Buttercup remembers exactly why they’re friends. The following day, the young woman faces a challenging conversation with her classmate and friend, Lara — who is also Jin’s assistant at the bakery. 

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Sweet date; some angst between friends (Yoongi, the psychiatrist who always cuts too deep when he speaks his mind). Meet Yoongi and his sweet and horny girlfriend, Spice. Lots of swearing, especially from Lara and Buttercup towards the end. Dirty thoughts, mentions of wet dreams, playful bickering and name calling between Buttercup and Lara. There are a couple very painful references to Severus Snape and Lily Potter (lowkey Harry Potter spoilers, just in case).

Remember to vote for next prompt (check the link in my bio) and in case you need it, here’s my masterlist 💜

In case you need it, here is the music companion (Spotify only, sorry 😔)

Enjoy! ✨💜

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7 (7/7)

Sitting at the pizza shack near the university campus, Seokjin realised that Grace wasn’t a plain human being.

She was actually cute and funny. He could see himself with someone like this.

Someone who didn’t make him feel dull and a bit of an understudy.

Grace liked puppies. She was at her last year of vet school, she was interning at the local animal clinic and she had spent all day visiting pregnant cows. She hoped she could assist to at least one birth, even though the first expected date of delivery was a couple days after her internship formally ended.

Jin grinned as he listened, genuinely warmed by her caring ways and her childlike laugh. Her name really did fit her. She had a gap between her front teeth and a very sweet dimple that made him grin each time it appeared. Small, a little soft in all the best ways — and best places, he had unwillingly noted — and terribly endearing.

The date wasn’t bad. At all.

And it was way more than decent. Almost too good for being a first date.

No misunderstandings, no embarrassment, no shyness whatsoever. The pizza was good — not as good as his, but it was an eight out of ten, solid — there had been no accidents of choking on drinks or on food, no talking while having mouths full, no uncomfortable flutters in his heart as he looked at her. It was warm. It all felt warm.

However, the more time went by, the more he realised that a few things were missing,

Like you, humming at how good the food was, making jokes about unsuspecting patrons sitting around you, people watching, building impossible scenarios and stories about specific clients, basing yourself on stolen snippets of their conversations.

The strident chord was the sudden appearance of a familiar face. Actually two of them, one slightly less familiar than the other.

“Seokjin?” The very familiar face called.

He turned. “Hello Yoongi!” He greeted with a smile and a small wave. “Hello Spice!” He said, turning to the woman at his side, his hand laced with hers.

“Where’s Buttercup?” Yoongi asked, before he turned and spotted a woman sitting before his friend.

That was not you. Yoongi turned to Seokjin and eyed him suspiciously, making sure that Jin’s table companion didn’t notice.

“Guys, this is Grace.” He introduced the girl.

Spice looked at Yoongi with a meaningful look before turning to the young woman.

“Nice to meet you, Grace.” She said warmly.

Grace blushed. “Nice to meet you too, guys,” she replied with a soft smile.

“We’ll leave you to your night, he seems to be enjoying your company, Grace.” Yoongi said politely, before turning to Seokjin. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

Seokjin’s ears blushed. He felt ashamed, “Sure. Have a good evening,” he said, bidding his friends goodbye.

“To you too,” Spice said it’s a tight smile.

The two left, moving like one, perfect as always.

Seokjin knew how that felt. That’s how he always moved with you.

“They seem good people.” Grace noted, genuinely kind, as she had been all dinner long.

“They are.” Seokjin agreed. “And they’re smart too.” He said, beginning to worry for himself.

You weren’t in the living room when Seokjin arrived at the apartment. He was glad. He was glad he could have a few minutes to rethink about how Grace had stretched to her tiptoes with her hands laced behind her back and had placed a playful peck on his cheek before wishing him goodnight and dashing upstairs.

He was glad he wouldn’t need to confront you. And from the sounds coming from your bedroom, you were very likely watching one of those dramas and films you loved so much. Once more, he was glad.

However, that small peace lasted little.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He exhaled and picked it up.

Is Pollyanna still around?

Yoongi wrote. Seokjin shook his head in hopelessness.

I’ve just arrived home.

Yoongi called immediately. Seokjin hid into his room. “So you decided to follow Namjoon’s way?”

“I have to save myself. I can’t stand there forever, hoping for her to notice. Or to care.”

“You decided to follow the advice of a miserable man abandoned by the highschool sweetheart rather than that of other four sane men who told you to talk to her?” Yoongi said, raising his voice.

“You never said your opinion.” Seokjin noted.

“You don’t need my opinion. You didn’t care about anyone’s opinion. You had already made up your mind even before the discourse started.”

Seokjin exhaled, exasperated.

“Can’t you just say it?”

“What?” Yoongi snorted. Hearing his frustration, Spice rubbed his back trying to calm him down. He nuzzled into her warmth.

“Just say what you think for once in your life.”

Spice frowned at Seokjin’s voice blasting from Yoongi’s phone. He patted her head.

Yoongi huffed. “Fine. I think Buttercup deserves to know and choose for herself. I think she does care, no matter what you think. Also, all that self convincing you’re trying to do is just you trying to keep yourself from losing something that makes you feel comfortable. Because after all you’re comfortable, aren’t you? You just drown yourself in her so much that you don’t even have to face yourself and what you want. And we both know Pollyanna is not what you want.”

Seokjin frowned and pouted. He already knew he was being childish.

“This silence is precisely why I don’t state my opinion.” Yoongi said, speaking softly when he noticed Spice had closed his eyes beside him, on the pillow next to his. He smiled and looked at how beautiful she is. He cupped her cheek, brushing her hair off her face.

“Yoongi. I can’t go on like this forever.” Seokjin said, his voice hopeless and tired.

“I know. All I’m saying is… you should tell Buttercup first.” Yoongi replied, his voice more comprehensive and gentle.

“I am such a coward.” Jin whispered, sitting on the bed, combing his hair with his free hand.

“Listen. I know Buttercup is to you what Spice is to me. I know it.” Yoongi said, his girlfriend scooting closer to him and pressing her face to his chest. “I know I would give her anything she asks and do anything to stay as close as she allows me.” He petted her hair while her warm fingertips danced on his spine.

Seokjin shut his eyes tight. “I’m just trying to get as much as I can before they take her from me.”

“No one will ever break your bond except your lack of communication. Someday a brilliant, smart man will come along and realise how damn precious she is and snatch her for himself. All you’ll have left will be possibilities and smoky dreams.” Yoongi took a pause. “You guys are amazing. You are borderline disgusting with the amount of private stuff you know about each other. Tell her.” Yoongi said, smiling and closing his eyes once Spice’s lips tickled his throat.

“I’ll try.” Seokjin replied. “Goodnight doctor.”

“Goodnight, lover boy. Try not to have wet dreams of your flatmate.”

“Don’t you have better things to do? I bet your girlfriend keeps a list.” Jin said, biting back.

Spice’s voice rose in the background. “Jin is almost right. However, why be doing things when you could be doing me?”

Jin blushed and snickered. “Goodnight, lover boy.” He quipped before shutting the call.

Yoongi placed down his phone, then shook his head and chuckled. “Doing you, uh?”

Spice licked her lips and closed the light before she bent to his neck. “You’d better provide, Min.” She warned before he pounced on her with an ecstatic grin.

Seokjin went to grab a glass of water sometime around one a.m., quite unusually. His routine is basic: he falls asleep at ten thirty and wakes up at four thirty, showers, dresses and runs to the shop. He starts the ovens and by six fifteen the first morning batch is ready.

But that night for some reason, he woke up. He stood up. He reached the kitchen.

Maybe it was because his sleep had been fitful. Maybe because all he had been thinking about was you. You and how it would have been like to be on a date with you, what you were like on a date, if you would have kissed him goodbye on his cheek, if you would have invited him up, had you been in Grace’s shoes, hadn’t the two of you been flatmates.

First he noticed that the fridge was open. Next he noticed you, in thick flannel pjs and a tank top. You were sniffling and drying your eyes, filling your mouth with the leftovers from breakfast.

“What happened?” He asked, spying on you.

You stood up straight, his face appearing in the dim, yellow glow of the fridge.

“His patronus was a doe.” You said, your lip wobbly, cheeks still wet with tears, filling your mouth with chocolate pudding.

He rose from his position slowly, raising his head from his arms, once crossed on top of the fridge door.

Why are his shoulders are always so damn big? What’s the use of all of that… wingspan — ? — when your kitchen is so tiny? And when he needs to move in the narrow lanes of the bakery? What is he so big for?

As you watched him turn on his side, trying no to hit the fridge or the counter as he stood behind you and hugged you close.

“After all that time.” You murmured.

Seokjin held you closer as you turned around. That’s why he was so big. All those good bear hugs.

“I know.” He replied, one arm snaked around your waist, the other wrapped around your shoulders and head while his hand patted your head. “I know,” he repeated as you hiccuped and sobbed. Of course he knew. He had been stuck there himself. Loving someone after all that time. Always.

“Who pissed in your latte?” Lara asked the following day after your nine a.m. bibliology lesson. “You look awful.”

“Thank you Lara.” You said, pushing your stuff into your bag. “Jin went on a date last night.”

Lara frowned, “What do you mean?”

“On a date. Pizza. With a girl.”

She laughed. “You’re joking, right?”

“I’m serious.” You said, placing your bag on your shoulder and wrapping your scarf around your neck.

“Listen. You’ve been friends for years. Honestly, it was a matter of time before it happened.”

“He’s never had a girl, a boy, a… partner. In four years.” You said as you and Lara walked out of the room, stopping by the closest heater in the main corridor.

“Do you think he would be your loyal servant forever? Your knight in shining armour?” Lara took a small bag of caramelised almonds: she had negotiated that she would work for Seokjin for a monthly pay and a weekly amount of his grandmother’s almonds covered by raw crystallised sugar.

“I am not opposed to it, it’s just… I’m uncomfortable, okay? What if he moves out and leaves me paying full rent. I can’t do that!” You stated weakly with strong disappointment.

“He’s just dating the chick, not marrying her!” Lara replied, throwing another almond in her mouth.

The mere idea of him getting married made you even more petty. “I don’t want her to barge in and change our friendship.”

“Friendship...” Lara scoffed. “You weren’t screaming friendship at my birthday.”

“I was having a nightmare!” You snarled playfully.

“You were having a wet dream. How long has it been since you’ve—”

You pressed your hand to her mouth. “Shut the fuck up. Not talking about that.”

Lara licked your hand, making you yuck and pull it away, cleaning it against her jacket. “We should talk about that, though. Think about it, Buttercup; he’s not gonna be single forever and you definitely have a bone to pick with that Grace girl.”

“She can have him like… on weekdays.” You said, trying to be reasonable. “Except on free mornings. We have breakfast together on free mornings.”

Lara shook her head. “Don’t wanna burst your bubble, but you do realise that soon he’ll be out on dates on Saturday night and staying out until Sunday morning?”

You frowned, pouting. You opened your mouth, trying to object.

Lara snickered proudly. You couldn’t let her have that.

“Well, at least I’ll be able to get laid with him out of the house.”

“Don’t worry. He’ll be getting laid too, fucking finally. He needs it and deserves it.” Lara muttered as she thought about all those years he had spent looking at you with heart eyes. “And remember that Grace will be getting Saturday dinner. Filet mignon. All that meat...” Lara commented.

“The meat...” You said, dreamily. Juicy steaks and roasted chicken and ribs and… Meat.

Your brain short-circuited. He was tall. Handsome. Well-built. And you sort of knew he’s large. For fuck’s sake, that was your best friend you were talking about! Why would you suddenly think about his junk?

You shook your head.

Still, Lara went on, grinning as she saw you falter. “Grace will get all of that. Saturday evening. Sunday morning. Breakfast in bed. Milkshakes. Homemade gelato. Apple pies. Picnics with his granny. Trips to the lake. His granny’s roast-beef—”

“Don’t touch the roast-beef, bitch!” You hissed, pointing a finger against her chest. “Grace won’t have my roast-beef, my homemade gelato, my Sunday breakfast in bed, she won’t have my apple pies, my coffees, my picnics with granny and my Saturday dinners. And no, she will not have the meat either!” You snarled.

Lara cackled. “Nice. Then you should make a plan. ‘Cause I think she wants to take it all. Now that you’re having this sudden mystical revelation, can you also vaguely perceive that you are in L-O-V-E with your flatmate and he’s been pining for you for years and he’d love it if you accidentally fell tits-first on his cock, you big fucking dumb idiot?” Lara said, completely exasperated while a posh, preppy girl gave her the side eye, tutting in disappointment.

“Stop talking about love and all that jazz. We’re platonic. We’re fine. We’re great and we’ll always be, forever.” You said shrugging. “We’ve been friends for years. He’s had plenty of time to make a move, if he were interested.”

“He blushes when old ladies call him charming! God, you’re big dumb!” Lara said, kicking her foot against your toes.

“What?”

“He’s shy! You want him! You’re attracted to him!!! You were literally sobbing his name!” Lara punched your shoulder

You shook your head, making to walk away. “Night-fucking-mere!” You objected violently.

“Li-fucking-ar!” She mirrored as she tugged at your arm and followed you.

Yes. After all, you were a liar. And well, first and foremost, you liked lying to yourself.

“He’s my best friend. I am not attracted to him. And I know I’ll never be.”

--------------------------------

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7 (7/7)

[shipmistress9]

The Perks Of Your Boyfriend Being A Ghost

HTTYD -- Hiccstrid -- Rated E -- Ghost boyfriend AU -- so I guess Hiccup must have died at some point -- Modern AU -- I Guess...?

Summary: As a single mother of three children, Astrid's life is stressful and barely ever about her at all. Just good that her undead ghost boyfriend Hiccup makes sure that she gets some stress relief from time to time.

AN: As it says in the tags, this is 200% self-indulgent projecting. The only/main difference is that I'm not a single mother, and in fact have a loving and caring husband who helps as best he can. But still, let me keep my fantasies. ;P

. o O o .

With an exhausted sigh, Astrid leaned against the closed door and sank to the ground. Finally, Brianna was asleep, too. Zephyr and Nuffink had been restless as well after being locked inside on a bad weather day, had only calmed down two hours after their usual bedtime, but the eighteen months old toddler had taken even longer. But then, she was teething, so that wasn't surprising. Astrid just hoped that she would have a couple of hours now before either of her children needed her again. Not like last night where Nuffink had sneaked into her bed after a bad dream and Brianna hadn't wanted to sleep longer than six in the morning at all…

Astrid loved her children with all her heart, she really did. After she'd left her now-ex-husband when she'd learned about his constant cheating – and had inherited his fortune when he'd driven himself off a cliff soon after – Zephyr, Nuffink, and little Brianna were the most important and precious parts of her life. Under no circumstance at all would she ever give them up, and after they'd all moved into her great-grandaunt’s old mansion, their life was slowly settling into something more normal again. Something good even. They were happy.

But still, sometimes being a single mother was just exhausting and brought her to her limits. As much as she enjoyed taking care of her toddler or playing games with the older ones, sometimes she wished she could get just half an hour for herself. There was an archery range behind the house and she was dying to give her old hobby a try. But so far, she hasn't gotten the chance.

Even now, there were still so many other things to do. Like cleaning up, at least the most important parts of the house, sorting clothes so Zephyr wouldn't need to rummage through her brother's socks again to find a shirt, and the kitchen was in dire need of a thorough clean up as well. Maybe, if she put in an effort, she could get at least some of those tasks done…

However, when she tried to stand up, she found that she couldn't. Her legs gave way midway and she slumped back onto the hard ground with low outcry.

For a second or three, she just sat there in silence. Then some incoherent noises bubbled up from deep within her chest, and not even she could say whether she was laughing or crying.

Now she was even too exhausted and weak to simply stand up? That was ridiculous!

She tried again but this time, she didn't even manage to position her feet correctly; they just slid across the floor the moment she straightened her legs. And when she lifted her hands, just holding them before her eyes, they were shaking.

Defeated, she let her head fall against the door behind her. She was sobbing now, low but unrestrained. What was she supposed to do? She couldn't just sit here all night. There was so much left to do, so many tasks and duties, and failing her children just wasn't an option. They were all she had left and they depended on her.

She couldn't say for how long she sat there, crying from exhaustion, when she felt it. The brush of something cool against her wet cheek and along her neck. It could have been mistaken as a draft, nothing uncommon in an old house like this one – but Astrid knew better. The sensation returned, cool fingers caressing her skin, and without her help, her lips twitched into a weak smile.

Come…

She let out a heavy sigh. Right. Exhausted as she was, trying to get even one of her tasks done tonight was futile. It was far more sensible to get as much rest as she could so that, hopefully, she would function better in the morning.

This time, it worked when she tried to get on her feet. Her knees were shaking and she kept one hand firmly on the wall for stabilisation, but at least she could walk. Luckily, she didn't have to go far though, only to the other end of the corridor to where her own bedroom was. With her last strength, she stripped off her clothes and put on her comfortable flannel pyjama before she slipped beneath the sheets with a relieved sigh, revelling in the softness of her bed with her eyes closed.

Yes, that’s it.

There it was again, that featherlike touch, light as a breeze as it caressed her forehead and along her temple. As if brushing away a strand of hair.

That’s better, isn’t it?

Humming, she leaned into the touch, another soft smile playing around her lips. “Yes, it is,” she murmured into the darkness around her. “Thank you.”

Anytime.

There was a hint of humour in the voice, even as it was nothing but a faint echo inside her head, as always. Astrid opened her eyes, wanted to see whether there was a matching smile to go with that tone.

The other side of her bed wasn’t empty anymore, as it had been only moments before. Now, the outline of a figure was visible, a man lying next to her. Except that it wasn’t really a man, just his memory. He was pale, translucent, and aside from his face and the hand hovering near her face, he even seemed a little blurry. As if he was nothing but mist and the next draft would blow him away.

There was indeed an amused smile playing around his lips, but his eyes were full of concern. From the painting that hung downstairs in the entry hall, she knew that these eyes once had been vibrantly green, like the forest on a summer day, and that the unruly hair on his head used to be a beautiful shade of reddish-brown. Now, however, all colours were washed away by time and death, even as he was glowing slightly in the darkness of the night.

You’re working too hard.

She chuckled weakly at his word. “Well, there’s little I can do about that. They need me so I have no choice. Not as if I can take a day off from being a mum.”

He frowned but nodded. True. They’re lucky to have you, though. Not all parents care this much.

Astrid shrugged. To her, it was no question. Her children came first, always.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was still stunned at how easily she could talk to the ghost of a man that had lived long before her in this house. But it felt so natural, so easy. Aside from the very first seconds, she hadn’t even been afraid of him.

Maybe that was because he wasn’t really here and she was just going insane. But Astrid didn’t want to think about that. Hiccup felt so real. Besides, she never could have come up with such a ridiculous name on her own anyway.

Astrid was bone-tired, but watching him was still something she didn’t want to miss out on. And as they gazed at each other, his features changed; the frown and worries from before melted away and got replaced by a surprising warmth and only a small hint of underlying sadness.

You’re amazing…

His words were nothing but a whisper in her mind as he leaned closer and cool lips brushed against her own. It made her heart flutter in joy, her eyes falling close.

Her instincts told her to lift her arms, to wrap them around her lover, to hold him close. She wanted to run her fingers through his soft hair, wanted to explore the wiry strength of his shoulder, his back. But with Hiccup, that wasn't possible. It already took all his will power to let her feel him at all, to garner enough solidity for his lips and tongue to not pass right through her. At least, that’s what he’d told her all those weeks ago when this wonderful craziness had started.

So instead, she just enjoyed what she could, the cool pressure of his mouth against her own, his presence, grabbing at her soft blanket instead of firm flesh. But if that was the price she had to pay for loving a ghost then she would pay it. Because Hiccup was worth it.

I think you deserve some stress relief.

Astrid hummed when his lips wandered along her jaw and down her neck. It tickled but in the most wonderful way, the way that made her shiver in anticipation and tiny sparks of electricity run through her entire body. He always knew what she needed, be it someone to talk to, a shoulder to cry on – or this. And he was so good at this, too. A soft kiss here, a gentle bite there, and she was putty in his incorporate hands.

A soft moan slipped from her mouth when he suckled on her neck, directly above her pulse point, and her mind went blissfully blank. This was just what she needed. She luxuriated in the sensations he elicited in her body, the chance to just let go of everything. But then, she gasped when she felt something new. At first, she thought he'd brought a hand to her breast, to caress and squeeze at flesh and let cool fingers play with sensitive nipples. Except that it felt different, not like fingers but teeth gently nipping, lips and a tongue sucking on the hardening bud. Her eyes widened when she felt the same at her other breast too, three ghostly mouthed now working to drive her insane.

"I-is that all you?" she asked, shifting a little until she could look at him.

Hiccup had a look of high concentration on his face, his eyebrows furrowed. Yes. He seemed to hesitate for a moment. Is it okay for you?

Humming, Astrid laid back down into her cushion and nodded. "It is. I was just surprised, is all."

In her mind, she heard him chuckle, a little embarrassed. It's got to have at least one perk that I don't have a solid form…

That was something she couldn't really argue with. She wished she could feel more of him, his body, his warmth, his breath on her skin or his beating heart beneath her hand on his chest. But since none of that was possible, multiple mouths and hands to pleasure her… well, she at least wouldn't say no to this.

Although… it was so surreal. She was still wearing her warm pyjama and lay beneath the heavy blanket, safe from the cool night air. And yet, she could feel his phantom touches on her skin as if she was entirely bare to him – which in a way she was. Neither walls nor fabric meant anything to him.

After kissing her once more on her lips, so soft and sweet that she nearly melted, Hiccup returned his attention to the rest of her body. Before long, she could feel him everywhere. Phantom mouths were suckling on her breasts, her clit, and even her toes, tongues teasing and lapping eagerly as phantom hands ran over her entire body, caressing over delicate skin or squeezing to heighten her sensitivity.

The onslaught of sensations left her writhing and twisting between her sheets, gasping and moaning. But no matter how much she moved, his phantom touch always followed. She couldn’t escape, couldn’t get even the smallest reprieve. All she could do was press her forearm to her mouth to muffle the endless stream of moans and little screams that left her throat. It could have been scary, feeling so helpless and being at someone else’s mercy like this. But this was Hiccup and she trusted him completely. She couldn’t even say why, she just knew that she had nothing to fear when she was with him.

And it was wonderful. All her worries and the stress of the day melted off her as her body and mind got submerged in this endless ocean of sensations. Chasing only one feeling was impossible, so she quickly gave up to even try and instead gave herself over to him, to his care.

Astrid had no idea for how long he kept her in this wonderfully-mindless state of need and longing; it was just an endless rollercoaster of building pleasure. Everything inside her was tense, coiled so tightly like never before until he finally showed mercy. Her orgasm washed through her like a crashing wave, so powerful that it made her entire body shake violently, her back arching off the bed and her lips were parted in a silent scream. Her mind empty of every thought.

When it was over, she only slowly drifted down from her height, didn’t want it to end. She felt better than in a long while, safe, secure, cared for.

“Thank you,” she sighed into the darkness, her voice so weak that it nearly broke. “I… I think I needed this.”

Again, she heard him chuckle inside her head. I think you’re right there. And I also think you deserved it. You’re doing so much and–

He broke off when another sound echoed through the old house, a crying child. Brianna must have woken up. But before Astrid could react, could even do so much as let out a tired groan, it had stopped again. Surprised and a little confused, she blinked to clear her mind of its blissful haze, then jumped when Hiccup appeared next to her again. She hadn’t even registered that he’d left.

It’s okay. She’d just lost Mr Carrot, but once he was back in her arms, she fell asleep again.

Smiling, Astrid relaxed back into her cushions. Mr Carrot was Brianna’s cuddly rabbit. He was old, a hand-me-down from Astrid’s own grandmother, and rather ugly to be honest. But Brianna loved the beast.

“And thank you again,” she murmured, exhaustion taking her quickly now. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The same you’re doing now. Be the best mum a child could ask for.

Her lips twitched into a sad smile. Hiccup's own mother had left him when he'd been younger than Brianna was now, so his bar of what counted as a good mother was bound to be rather low. All she did was struggling not to fail, really.

"How did you do that?" she asked to change the topic. "Didn't you say it costs all your concentration and energy to let me feel you at all?

He nodded, his eyes flickering away as if he was embarrassed. It did in the beginning. But the more time I spend with you, the stronger I feel. I barely have to think about simple touches at all anymore. To prove his point, he reached for her face and brushed a few sweats strands of hair out of her face. So I thought I could try something more… advanced.

“Mmmh, a good idea.”

Once more, she heard him chuckle in her mind. Now, rest. You’re going to need your strength tomorrow.

Sighing, Astrid complied. She curled up in her bed, feeling more relaxed than she had in days, and hummed in surprise and delight when she somewhat felt Hiccup curl around her back. He even wrapped an arm around her waist without it passing right through her. Hopefully, they would soon get the chance to further explore Hiccup’s newfound strength.

After a good night’s sleep!

. o O o .

"I just want to write a quick one-shot. Nothing difficult. Just something short to get back into writing. It won't get any sequels."

That's what I told myself the entire time, even when I was plotting out several more chapters for this verse. Ah, well... This does work well on it's own for now. And I can always add more when I feel like it and have the time.

* - . - * - . o O o . - * - . - *

If you want to support me you can buy me a coffee. I love coffee 😊 (Ko-Fi)

[svgurl410]

clois fic

Title: i’m broken and it’s beautiful (can someone just hold me, don’t fix me) Fandom: Smallville Pairing/Characters: Clark Kent/Lois Lane (mostly pre-relationship) Rating: G Word Count: 3063 Summary: A sad anniversary, a broken locket, and a talk that promises a brighter future.  A/N: for the poetry_fiction (DW) 2021 challenge; prompt: I'll be the things left behind for you, I'll be much kinder then. I'll kiss the drowning atmosphere all a summer's afternoon, and that's not all.

AO3 link 

The rooftop of the Talon was quiet and peaceful and yet the silence wasn’t at all comforting. It was still better than being alone inside her apartment, since Lois couldn’t bring herself to be around other people, which is why she had been actively avoiding her friends all day. Well, for the past two days really.

She didn’t actually like being alone, but she needed the space. The downside of making that decision was that she had to turn down dinner at the Kents, and as much as she regretted missing out on Mrs Kent’s cooking, she knew she wouldn’t be very good company.

Glancing down at her phone, she swallowed down the disappointment as she realized that the two people she hoped would call yet knew probably wouldn’t hadn’t. She shouldn’t be surprised; after all, it’s not like her dad or Lucy had acknowledged this day, but Lois’s stupid hopeful heart wouldn’t let her give up.

You’re a sad fool. Which wasn’t anything new and likely wouldn’t change. She finally pocketed her phone, accepting defeat, as her other hand fingered a broken locket, the metal chipped and the chain having snapped years ago. It had been her mother’s, and it was one of the few things she carried around wherever she went. While Lois didn’t have that many memories of her mom, she remembered her wearing the necklace all the time, pictures of her family kept inside, always close to her heart.

Lois herself had never worn it, but she also couldn’t let go either. Letting go was never her style. Then again, it felt like she was the one people let go of, as everyone else always left her behind, from her family to the men she dated. Staring out into the night sky, she wondered if she was just destined to be alone, her heart aching at the thought, feeling as cracked and chipped at the locket in her hands.

Yet, unlike the locket, she wasn’t sure if she even wanted to be fixed, just accepted for who she was, broken parts included, but at this point, that seemed like a pipe dream. As if anyone wants to sign up for that.

A sudden noise shook her out of the path she was on, and she spun around, ready to snap at whoever dared to interrupt her solitude. Much to her shock, it was none other than Clark who had entered through the door leading to the rooftop, carrying a white plastic bag in his hands.

“Smallville,” she said, surprised evident in her tone and expression. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged, making his way to her, and offered her the bag. “Mom felt bad that you missed dinner tonight and she sent me over here with some food.”

Feeling touched, Lois’s lips curved into a smile at the thought of Martha Kent’s generosity. The other woman had been nothing but kind to her, and more welcoming than she deserved. She and Jonathan both, and Lois felt an ache in her heart as she remembered him, still not completely over the pain of his sudden death.

Their fingers brushed as she accepted the bag, causing an unexpected spark ran through her spine, and she barely refrained from jerking her hand away at the feeling. Keeping her expression as neutral as she could manage, she moved her hand away, fingers clutching around the plastic straps.

“Thanks,” she said, hoping she didn’t reveal anything in her voice or facial expression. “Got stuck playing delivery boy then?”

“Something like that,” Clark replied, shoving his hands in his pockets. “We haven’t seen you around in a few days so I figured I would drop by to see what’s up.”

“Aww, Smallville, I didn’t know you would miss me that much,” Lois teased.

“I never said I missed you,” he protested. “Just making sure you were still in one piece. I’ve seen the trouble you can get into on your own.”

“And you were worried about me,” she said triumphantly. “No need to hide it. I’m touched, truly.”

He rolled his eyes, and she smirked, already feeling better.

“More like the house was quiet, and the fridge was full for once,” Clark countered.

“With you around?” she retorted. “I doubt it.”

“And Shelby might have missed you,” Clark continued, as if he hadn’t heard her. “But he likes to chase his own tail, so there’s really no accounting for taste on his end.”

“Jealous your dog likes me better?” Lois asked. “Don’t worry, I’ll visit soon.”

“I’m sure he’ll be relieved,” Clark said, dryly, leaning against the railing.

“I know he’s not the only one,” she said, nudging him.

“Yes, I was terrified that you had found someone else to harass,” Clark remarked, glancing at her out of the side of his eye, his lips twitching into an easy grin, which she couldn’t help but return.

“Don’t worry, Smallville, I’ll never replace you,” she promised, realizing that she was only half joking. She couldn’t imagine her life without him anymore, and it was a pretty terrifying thought that she decided not to linger on.

“Well, now I can sleep at night,” he said, fortunately oblivious to her line of thinking.

“That’s what I’m here for,” she managed, as her fingers stroked the locket unconsciously.

Clark let out a chuckle, his eyes drawn to her hand, his gaze turning questioning.

“That’s nice,” he commented, gesturing to her locket.

She lifted it up and gave a half hearted smile. “Don’t lie, Smallville, I know it’s seen better days.”

He shrugged. “But clearly it means something, right? Which is more important than how it looks.”

Taken aback, she could only nod. Composing herself, she said, “Who knew you were so deep?”

“I have layers,” Clark replied easily. “Have to keep you on your toes after all.”

“Let’s not go too far,” she warned. “My toes are firmly planted on the ground.”

“Worth a shot,” he responded, with a cheeky smile. “So …” He gave her an expectant look, pointedly glancing at the necklace. “Is it a deep dark secret?”

She bit her lower lip. “Nothing that exciting. It was my mom’s.”

“Oh.” Clark’s expression immediately went sympathetic, almost apologetic. She could easily say she didn’t want to talk about it, and she had faith he would drop it, and they could immediately go back to making fun of each other, or he would even leave, but for some reason, she felt the need to share.

“She, um,” Lois looked down, “it’s actually the anniversary of her death today.”

Clark placed his hand on her arm, and Lois automatically leaned into it, comforted by the touch. “I’m sorry,” he told her.

She forced a smile. “It was a long time ago.”

“Pretty sure there isn’t an expiration date on grief,” Clark replied.

“Yeah,” she said, a touch of wistfulness in her tone. “Anyway, that’s why I missed dinner. I get kind of moody this time of year, and I didn’t want to bring you all down too. Just thought it’d be best to be alone.”

“I can leave if you want?” Clark offered.

She shook her head. “No, you can stay.”

He moved closer, dropping his hand, and Lois kind of hated herself for missing the touch almost immediately.

“Just because you think you should be alone doesn’t mean you have to be or even want to be, from what it sounds like,” Clark said. “You don’t have to protect us from you.” Offering a teasing smile, he added, “We can handle a little grumpy Lois. I have seen you in the morning before you’ve had your coffee after all.”

Suddenly feeling self conscious, she just shrugged. “I mean, it’s not been that long since …” She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. “Well, the point is you are both going through your own stuff. Doesn’t seem fair to burden you with something that happened a long time ago. I’m not that selfish.”

Clark frowned. “Lois, I would call you a lot of things, but selfish isn’t one of them.” His face relaxed for a moment. “Well, when you’re not using up all the hot water anyway.”

She let out a small laugh, and watched as he grew serious once more.

“Look,” Clark said, taking a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. “I miss my dad. I’m always going to miss my dad, five months from now or even five years. I would hate it if I was told I can’t be sad about it, just because it’s not as recent as someone else’s loss. I’d never do that to you, and mom wouldn’t either.”

“He was a good man,” she said quietly.

“And I’m sure your mom was a good person too,” Clark replied sincerely.

Lois felt her throat tightened, grateful for Clark’s kindness, which she had witnessed first hand more times than she could count. He was a little weird sometimes, and could drive her crazy on any given day, but overall he was a good man too.

“She was,” she confirmed finally, unable to stop the tears from springing to her eyes. “I miss her.”

To her surprise, Clark didn’t say anything, just pulled her in his arms, and she felt herself sink into his embrace, the tears that she had been holding back falling down, finally letting her grief and disappointment go.

Clark didn’t judge her, just stroked her back, until she sniffed and slowly pulled away.

“Are you okay?” he wanted to know, and she nodded, wiping her eyes.

“Looks like you went from delivery boy to glorified tissue,” she said, gesturing to his shirt.

“Told you- I have layers,” he claimed, looking down at the wet spot. “And I have other shirts.”

“Yeah, do you buy those in bulk or something?” Lois asked, doing her best to pull herself together once more.

“No comment.” He raised an eyebrow. “There are a few flannel ones that have suspiciously gone missing though since you moved out. Know anything about that?”

“Nope,” she said, giving him her best innocent look, leaning over to lightly punch him in the arm. “Besides, finders keepers, losers weepers, Smallville.”

“I don’t think that’s how that works,” Clark said, but he was smiling. “Did you want to stay out here?”

“Nah,” she decided. “I think I’m done now. I wouldn’t want you to get too cold.” She started heading toward the door, and Clark followed her.

“You’re all heart,” he remarked, as they headed inside, and back to her apartment. Once they were inside, she set the necklace down on a coffee table, and the food on top of the counter.

Turning back to Clark, she asked, “Do you have to head out?”

“If you want me to go, I can, but I can also stay,” Clark replied.

“I was just planning on watching a movie,” she said nonchalantly.

“Something with sharks or lots of blood and gore?” he questioned, amused.

“I’ll have you know I was watching Star Trek earlier,” she proclaimed, and then wrinkled her nose at the admission. He always got more information out of her than she was comfortable with.

“I wouldn’t have guessed you were a Trekkie,” Clark commented, raising an eyebrow.

“My mom was a fan” she admitted, taking a seat on the couch. “She liked the idea of there being life in outer space, and that there could be peace between humans and aliens.”

His expression turned unreadable, and she wasn’t quite sure what to think about that. “Oh yeah?” he said.

“Yeah, I never quite knew if she was serious or not,” Lois explained.

“What about the rest of your family?” Clark asked, taking a seat next to her.

“Who knows what Lucy thinks?” Lois sighed. “Don’t even ask the General about this stuff though. One mention of Area 51 or aliens and you can get that vein in his forehead to show up in five seconds flat.”

“What do you think?” Clark asked, and Lois wondered why he cared so much. His expression was serious, almost as if her answer meant something more, which was obviously ridiculous. He was probably just trying to distract her.

“Once upon a time, I would’ve said it’s nonsense,” Lois responded. “Now- who knows?” If he was going to be patient with her, she might’ve well give him a real answer instead of a sarcastic remark.

“Not afraid of being kidnapped in the middle of a corn field?” Clark joked. “Have your brain probed?”

“Nah,” Lois said dismissively. “Besides, humans can be pretty awful. Who says the aliens will be bad guys bent up on taking over Earth? Maybe they just might be looking for a home … somewhere to belong.”

Clark was silent long enough for Lois to look up, worry running through her veins, and his expression was filled with something, if she didn’t know better, was gratitude. It was a look she wouldn’t understand for years. As of right now, she dismissed the idea. After all, she hadn’t said anything for him to feel that way.

“Should I ask you if you’re okay?” Lois quizzed, and he seemed to find himself, and immediately shook his head, expression clearing.

“No, just thinking about how it turns out that I’m not the only one with layers,” Clark responded, with an easy smile.

“What can I say?” she offered. “I like to keep you guessing, Smallville.”

“I take it you haven’t shared those ideas with your dad,” Clark suggested.

Lois snorted. “Are you kidding me? I just mentioned the vein, didn’t it?”

“Have you heard from them-?” Clark trailed off when he saw the look on her face. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said. She picked up the necklace once more, keeping her eyes focused on it. “I never do. I am used to it. I’m better off alone anyway.”

Clark’s hand covered her’s. “You’re not alone.”

“So you keep reminding me,” Lois said. “I’m starting to wonder if I should take it as a threat.”

“Take it any way you want,” Clark responded. “Still won’t stop it from being true.”

“Guess I can deal with that,” she allowed. “So you can stick around then.”

“I’m honored,” Clark said dryly. He pointed at her necklace. “Have you ever worn that?”

“No,” she said. “As you can, it’s kind of broken.”

“Can easily be fixed,” Clark pointed out.

“I’m pretty broken too,” she murmured, without thinking. “Can I be fixed?”

“I don’t think you need to be,” came Clark’s response, and that was when, much to her horror, she realized she said that out loud.

“Oh, please, like you wouldn't make a few changes,” Lois said, as dismissive as she could, hoping she kept her feeling off her face for once.

“Nah, I think I like you as you are,” Clark insisted.

“Even when I bully you and steal your shirts?” she challenged.

“Yeah, even then,” he replied, eyes twinkling. “Besides, I’m flattered. Clearly I have better fashion sense than you will admit.”

“Whatever, they’re just comfortable,” Lois said, infusing some haughtiness in her tone. “Don’t get a big head over it.”

“No promises,” Clark retorted. Softening his voice, he added, “We’re all a little broken, Lois. Doesn’t mean we need to be fixed.”

She cleared her throat. “Whatever, Smallville.” Leaning over she punched him lightly on the shoulder. “Don’t go getting all sappy on me.”

He let out a laugh. “I wouldn’t dare.”

Popping up from the sofa, she said, “Want to watch that movie now? I am suddenly in the mood to see something with lots of violence.”

He thankfully let her change the subject, even if the transition wasn’t her best work. “Sure.”

“I’ll get the popcorn!” she said, making her way to the kitchen, gathering some snacks and drinks for the two of them while the popcorn bag was in the microwave.

Plopping back down next to Clark, she grinned and he smiled back. He didn’t even complain when she popped in The Amityville Horror dvd that she had rented recently, the two of sitting in mostly a comfortable silence as the movie played.

At one point, she leaned close and told him softly, “Thanks, Clark.”

“Any time, Lois,” he replied kindly.

He stuck around for a second movie, but she fell asleep halfway through, only to wake up in the middle of the night to an empty apartment, a pillow under her head and covered by blanket. Clearly Clark had some of those caretaker instincts, and she really shouldn’t be surprised at this point.

She fell asleep again, with a smile on her face, feeling better than she had in awhile.

And two days later, she would walk into her apartment to see her broken locket on the table, suddenly fixed, still with its original chain, just shinier and no longer with cracks. The fact Clark would go through those efforts for her left her more than a little overwhelmed.

How he got in and out of her apartment that easily, she didn’t want to know, but she was grateful and didn’t ask.

And she’d wear it to see the Kents the following day.

“That’s a nice necklace,” Martha commented, as she passed. Clark’s smile seemed to widen upon seeing her with it, and she returned the smile, keeping her gaze on him.

“Thank you.”

He seemed to get the message.

And Lois realized when he said he wasn’t going anywhere, he meant it.

Which he would continue to prove in the years to come, even when she realized he could no longer fit in the friendship box she had put him in. Falling in love and letting him in completely wasn’t easy, but she’d find it was more than worth it.

Clark was there for her for her good days, as well as the bad ones, never forgetting that anniversary, or really any other ones. And when she would wake up in the middle of the night, feeling off, she could just roll over and snuggle closer to Clark, who was always ready with open arms and a heart that she would eventually accept was her’s and only her’s.

Maybe she was broken, maybe they both were a little broken really, but their broken pieces seem to fit together, and he did accept her for everything she was and wasn’t.

And it turned out she wasn’t meant to be alone after all.

[ajokeformur-ray]

You didn’t say // J x Lilith // comfort for nausea/being sick.

Summary: You’re suffering from stress related nausea. J, though grumpy in his usual charming way, is there with you through it all. There is nothing you could ever say or do which would make him love you any less, and he most proves that sentiment to you in moments like this. 

A/N: Written for @jokershyena​. I’m so sorry that you got sick, angel. You work so hard and you deal with so much and I wish that I could have been there for you last night. J, Pat, Eric, Arthur, Hanni, Heath and I are all so, so proud of you and we love you so much.

TW; nausea, descriptive mentions of being sick. As a sympathetic vomiter this was hard to write in places, but anything for my Hyena ksksksks 💚 Written in maybe an hour; unedited ksksksk. I based this off your post so it’s Accurate.

Word count: 1, 546.

Nurse!J to the rescue 🥺

Oh, you hated this.

You hated feeling and being sick. You hated the feeling of suffocating as you choked on everything that you had eaten this week. It was long since time for you to be in bed, but there you were hunched over the porcelain toilet bowl, one hand holding your hair back and the other gripping the rim of the toilet. You gagged and winced as you coughed, a hand creeping towards the chain so that you could flush down this latest expulsion.

Just beyond the closed bathroom door could you hear rustling. It was a faint noise, barely audible over the sounds of your hyperventilating, but your ears focused on it. It was common for you to experience physical sickness due to stress, but that didn’t make it any easier for you to handle. It only made it worse. Your mouth felt and tasted disgusting, your head was spinning, your throat was full of acid, raw and sore with all the vomiting, your lungs burning with a lack of oxygen. You felt so awful and you needed, more than anything, more than anyone, your clown.

You wanted J.

J hated it when you were sick just as much as you did, and you knew that he worried about you. Sure, you would be fine, it was only vomiting, but it was the emotions behind your sickness which worried J. You were his greatest priority, his One, and J would always do absolutely anything he could to help you. You had been through so much, you had endured even more each and every day, and J was always in awe of how strong you were. You were a fighter, no matter how bad you felt did you keep going. There was little choice, for one, but also because just the sight of J’s face filled you with love. He was your joy, your strength, your light. It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows between the two of you but that only made you fight even harder for J. He had been with you for so long and he would be with you for even longer. It was the hyena and her clown for now and always.

There was more rustling from beyond the door but you could no longer hear it over the roaring of blood in your ears and the pounding in your head. Oh, but your lungs were on fire and your stomach hurt and you felt weak and shaky. You were slumped over the toilet, hands clutching the bowl. You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t - your vision started to go a bit spotty, blackest at the edges. You tried to speak, to call out for J, but you couldn’t. You gasped for breath and just at that moment did the bathroom door open with a loud bang as it bounced off the wall and nearly smacked J as it swung forward again. He paid it no mind, however. You were the only thing he could think about, the only person he could see, in this moment.

J stood in the doorway, a large and imposing figure, his head tilted to the side as he gazed at you. There was a softness in his intense chocolate eyes which was unlike anything anyone else in the city of Gotham saw. His eyes moved over the scene, familiar it was in all the time that you had been together, and his lips twitched downwards as he moved over to you. His steps were muffled by the carpet. They were slow and measured. J knew what was happening. Your mind, exhausted right to its core, was a thing of great beauty and J would attend to it in time, but in this moment was your body his bigger priority.

J grabbed a flannel and ran it under the cold tap until it was soaked through and he barely squeezed the water out before he ducked down to wipe at your face. He wiped over your forehead, temples and cheeks before he moved downwards to wipe your mouth and chin over, and the flannel was chucked unceremoniously over his shoulder. It landed somewhere with a wet plop but neither of you paid it any mind. You would find it somewhere tomorrow, you had no doubt. Your breathing was still rough and uneven and J kneeled down beside you. His hand curled around one of yours and he prised it off the rim of the toilet bowl. J’s fingers slid into the spaces between your own. He squeezed your fingers and you tried to squeeze back just a little harder, to let J know that you were okay even though you couldn’t speak, but you were so weak in this moment and you just couldn’t handle it. 

“All right, c’mere. Shush, shush, shush,” J’s other arm curled around your shoulders. “Ya’ done?” You retched once more and J stiffened, ready to help you lean forward, but nothing came up. You were finished, your body spent with the effort. “... Yeah. Ya’ done.” J pulled you away from the toilet and tucked you into the side of his body, hugging you to him. The fingers between yours flexed in comfort and you tried to smile but you couldn’t even manage that. Your thoughts and stomach spiralled alike but you focused on J. The smell of greasepaint, gasoline, gunpowder, and something which was distinctly J. “I got’cha, Lilith. I got’cha.” J, unsatisfied with how he was holding you, grabbed you and hoisted you up onto his lap. Your face, tucked into the warm crook of his neck, like a heater was he, your lungs burning even still and your body shaking, J’s strong arms around you like the safest cage in the world. “What got’cha this time, hm?”

You shrugged, your arms winding around J’s broad shoulders as you tugged yourself closer to him, trying desperately to crawl inside his body, to become one with the man who was your One. “Stress,” You tried to speak but what came out sounded less like a word and more like a noise, but so well did he know you that J knew what you were trying to say. He grunted, perhaps in sympathy, you knew not, and ducked his head to press a sloppy kiss to the crown of your head. His full lips continued to feather kisses to the top of your head and  you closed your eyes as you sunk into J’s affections. He was trying to calm you down, but you needed more. You hunkered down in his lap and pressed your ear to the space on his chest where his heartbeat beat steadily. You tried to match your breaths with his and J’s fingers squeezed around your own as he understood what you were doing. J shifted, then, and began to inhale and exhale with greater exaggerated movements, helping you without words. He was so intuitive and he knew you so well and he always, always knew exactly what you needed. 

At some point, with all of your senses filled with J, you became lulled into threshold consciousness. Your head dropped down on J’s chest and he hummed quietly. Somehow did he gather you up in his arms and he stood, barely jostling you in his hold as he left the bathroom and walked into the bedroom. His steps were slow, measured, steady and cautious and J got you into bed easily. He lowered you down onto the mattress and managed to pull the duvet back with his other hand. You were exhausted physically and mentally and you deserved so much better than this. J couldn’t stand to see you suffer, not on his watch, but there was little he could do beyond being there for you as often as you needed him to be. As you nuzzled into the duvet, still warm with the heat of J’s body, J made his way around to the other side of the bed, his arms out to his sides slightly like a penguin. You had been feeling so bad and so outside of yourself  that you hadn’t even noticed that J was wearing the nurse’s outfit he had stolen some time ago, but he would stay in it so that you could see him in the morning.

J would always look after you, in whatever way you needed him to. And right now, you needed him to get back into bed beside you. J slid back underneath the duvet and you rolled, almost asleep. J giggled at how easily you went to him even in your most vulnerable state, but he didn’t have it in him to refuse the way you clutched at the collar of his outfit. “All right, shush, Hyena. I got’cha. Get, ah - get some rest. You’ll feel better in the mornin’.” J pressed a kiss to the top of your head, closed his eyes... and you both slept.

When Morpheus came for you, he had to take you both to the same place, for there was nowhere either of you could go where the other wouldn’t follow. The clown and his hyena was a tale as old as you were; and it was one that you would be telling for the rest of your life.

Destructive raccoon boii(tm)  @jokershyena   @anyatheladyclown   @joker-daddy    @rinbyo    @imightaswellnotexistatall    @vladtoly    @joker-is-my-hero    @liz-rdwitch   @enigmaticandunstable        @ledgerskitten    @tsukiakarinobara    @germansarechill      @ezziesworld    @antonija89   @acw1   @sadjesterautumn      @mermaleizroseglasses   @justawriterinprogress     @truthbehindthemysteries  @hotpacino​​

[cagestark]

+WinterIronSpider//4+

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five

Brief sexiness at the beginning. 

-

Peter presses his back flat against the door of his guest room. His heart races, breath coming fast until he dissolves into a coughing fit that leaves him trembling. That does little to wane the erection straining at his jeans that he’d hastily pulled on in his quest for water. He reaches down to palm at himself, eyes half-open but mind distant and in the other room with the two older men.

As if today wasn’t surreal enough (somehow getting delivered medicine by Tony Stark’s boyfriend, brought back to Stark Tower to meet the billionaire, fed dinner and antibiotics by him), he was 99% sure that he’d walked in on Mr. Stark and his boyfriend having sex. Or at least participating in some sort of foreplay. The thought alone makes him gulp, his cock twitching. They were two of the most attractive men Peter had ever seen, and the combination they made was devastatingly arousing.

Had Bucky (Peter flushed just thinking the men’s names) been giving Tony a blowjob? The crotch of the older man’s sweatpants had been darkened like a warm wet tongue had lapped and sucked at it. Combined with the fact that Bucky had certainly been more than half-hard had Peter’s brain short.

He stumbles into the bathroom, blinking at the bright lights, and splashes cold water on his face—but it doesn’t help. His cock aches thinking about what he might have interrupted, what had been taking place right outside Peter’s door. Why the two men might have been fooling around out in the open with Peter in just the other room, the young man couldn’t say. It was almost as if they had wanted to be caught.

Whining softly, Peter reaches down and unfastens his jeans. When he takes his cock in his hand, it throbs. There’s no chance he’ll last long, not when he sees the look on Bucky’s face every time he blinks his eyes, not when he wishes that he’d been the one on his knees sucking at Tony Stark’s hard cock through his sweatpants. His balls draw up tightly and he fists himself harder, one hand coming up to clasp over his mouth while he keens, cumming into the toilet and over his fingers.

The infection in his lungs makes him feel winded. The cum sticking to his fingers makes him feel guilty. What a pervert he is, jerking off in Mr. Stark’s bathroom when he and Bucky have been so kind to Peter, nothing but proper. Tears burn at his eyes while he flushes the toilet and washes his hands, scrubbing until they’re raw. Then he leans down and laps at water from the faucet. It tastes so clean.

Crawling into the huge bed in the guest room, he wiggles out of his jeans and lets them drop over the edge of the bed, rubbing his bare legs against the softest sheets he’s ever known. He takes one of the pillows and cradles it to his chest. All he can hear is the sound of his own heartbeat thudding in his aching head. He wishes for a broad, warm chest that he could lay against, a heartbeat to listen to that isn’t his own.

-

Peter wakes with a head full of cotton, chest aching. The next dose of his antibiotics sits on the nightstand where he’d left it the night before. He takes it right away, reclining back into the soft bedspread to give himself some time to come awake. Despite not feeling any better, he does feel more rested. There were no sirens to wake him, no sound of people coming and going through the apartment hallway at all hours of the night. It had been far more comfortable than sleeping on the floor among all of his musty blankets, that’s for sure. All in all, it’s the best night of sleep he’s had.

It will make returning to his tiny, cold apartment all the more painful.

But he doesn’t need to think on that, now. He stands carefully so as to avoid dizziness, dressing himself in yesterday’s clothes (at least they were clean when he put them on). His stomach aches fiercely, more attuned to its own hollowness after last night’s bounty of food. He drinks some more from the faucet to dampen the hunger. Just in case Mr. Stark and Bucky don’t have any breakfast to offer him.

As soon as he opens his bedroom door, he sees that he needn’t have worried. The sound of modern rock music can be heard, but the smell—! Peter can smell syrup and pancake batter and bacon, the sound of it sizzling a nice undercurrent to the sound of Soundgarden.

Even better than the food is the sight that greets him when he rounds the corner and the kitchen comes into view. Tony sits on one of the high stools at the kitchen island instead of the dining table they’d eaten at the night before. He’s dressed impeccably in a gray suit with a navy tie and the same tinted glasses he’d been wearing the night before. Three different newspapers sit splayed in front of him while he sips from a steaming mug of coffee. Bucky is cooking, his long hair tied back to keep it from his face. He’s wearing flannel pajama pants and a long sleeve Henley shirt while he stands at the stove, coaxing bacon into crisping.

Tony glances over, and the smile he gives fills Peter’s guts with butterflies. God, the man is so handsome. He absolutely deserves People’s magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive award (which he’s received for the third consecutive year in a row). Tony Stark is the reason that Peter began to pursue a degree in biotechnology. There have been posters of the man on his wall since he was a little boy—though now that he’s grown, those posters are just carefully folded and preserved with his other sentimental belongings. No need for them when Peter can just turn on the television or pull out his phone and google the man.

“Peter,” Tony greets warmly. Bucky jerks at the stove, glancing over his shoulder to pierce Peter where he stands with pale eyes. The full lips twitch upward though, and Peter breathes a sigh of relief, gingerly stepping from the shadows towards the warmth and light of the kitchen. Tony pulls out the stool beside him. “Take a seat, kid. How are you feeling?”

“Medicine hasn’t had much of a chance to work yet, but I slept great. Thank you so much, Mr. Stark. Your guest room is awesome.”

“It’s no problem, Pete. Call me Tony, okay?”

Peter flushes, nodding.

Bucky turns away from the stove and back towards the island where some fresh fruit rests: berries and mangoes. Picking up a wicked little blade, he begins to slice the fruit, and that’s when Peter notices for the first time: one of Bucky’s arms isn’t real.

It’s an incredible piece of biotech, made up of a massive number of metallic plates that shift and move as easily as a flesh hand might. The sound it makes is soft and almost unheard over the music that continues to play. Peter can’t take his eyes off of it—while he’s specializing in environmental uses for biotechnology, he’s always had a soft spot for healthcare aspects, including the sophisticated prosthetics that have been produced lately.

Tony’s foot nudges him under the countertop. When Peter glances over, the man’s eyebrows are raised, his gaze pointed. Even though he’s not done anything to be embarrassed about, Peter feels himself flushing. He turns his eyes down toward the marble countertop and keeps them there until a plate slides into his vision.

Peter glances up to see Bucky’s wary expression—he doesn’t know which of them smiles in relief first (or whether the upwards twitch of Bucky’s lips can be categorized as a smile), just that both of their shoulders relax.

“You should eat that,” Tony says, gesturing vaguely to the fruit on Peter’s plate. “The vitamin C will be good for you. Bucky be a dream and put more—”

“You’re not getting out of eating your fruit,” Bucky says lowly. He slides a plate to Tony. “Coffee is not a food group. We’ve talked about this.”

Peter listens to them bicker with wide eyes flickering back and forth. When he pops a piece of mango in his mouth, his eyes flutter shut. It bursts on his tongue, so sweet that his jaw aches and he licks his fingers chasing the taste before remembering there’s more—he doesn’t just have to take a few bites and then save it for later when he’s hungrier—and when his eyes open again, the men have stopped arguing and are watching him.

He points down at the fruit, his mouth full of his next bite. “This ‘s real good.”

“We can tell,” Tony says. He licks his lips before continuing and Peter’s eyes track the motion. He shifts on the stool feeling his cock stir. Not now. “Classes today?”

“No,” Peter admits. “I’m pretty sure I’m still infectious. I’ve been emailing with my professors to keep up with the work whenever my fever is down.”

“You’re welcome to stay at the Tower today,” says Tony. “Bucky will be here alone otherwise—and not that he isn’t an island, but I’m sure he’d have a better time with company around.”

Peter’s heart jumps. Spending the day at the Tower with Bucky? The thought alone is enough to make his palms sweat and hands shake. Before Bucky showed up at his apartment door, Peter had gone days without having a conversation face-to-face with anyone. Any company would have excited Peter, but Bucky? That created an entirely different sort of excitement within him.

Peter could see how some mind find his presence stoic, but there wasn’t any coldness in his eyes (even if they were the color of ice), and every time Peter glanced at him, Bucky’s mouth would curve ever-so-slightly. Maybe he was just a reserved sort of guy. Peter was eager to find out. He glances shyly towards the man in question, and the uncertainty must read through on Peter’s face because Bucky says, “I’d like that a lot.”

His heart soars. “I just need to talk to one of my professors—”

Tony stands, buttoning the top button of his suit jacket with a single, nimble hand. He points a thumb at Bucky who is piling bacon onto a plate. Way too much bacon for just the two of them, considering Mr. Stark looks like he’s making his exit. “Bucky can drop you off at your apartment so you can grab your laptop and books. Right Northern Light?”

Bucky nods solemnly.

“Oh,” Peter says. His hands are sticky with fruit juice but fall to his lap to wring. “Actually, I don’t have a laptop. I’ve just been walking to the Bobst Library—they have computers open to the public, and the wifi isn’t half bad. Sometimes I just have to wait until one opens up.”

“You’ve been walking to the library with pneumonia,” Tony repeats blankly.

Peter blanches. “Oh God. Do you think I got anybody sick? I—I tried to use hand sanitizer as often as I could, and I made sure to cough into my elbow like all those elementary school health lessons taught us, you know, like Dracula wearing a cape—”

“Kid,” says Tony, putting a hand on his shoulder. “The public is the last thing I’m worried about. We have computers here. They aren’t free to the public, but they’re free to you. Make good use of them, okay? Bucky will show you. I have to go, I’ve already missed the first ten minutes of my meeting, and those are usually the only minutes colorful enough to keep my attention.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Bucky asks, both palms (one flesh, one metal, gosh that’s so cool) flat on the countertop. Tony dashes around it to place a swift kiss on Bucky’s lips, chaste though heated, one hand coming up to stroke back the hairs that have come lose from Bucky’s bun.

“I love you,” Tony says.

“I love you too,” Bucky replies. “But that’s not what I meant. Take a fucking banana, Tony. You’re worse than a toddler.”

Groaning, Tony grabs a banana from the fruit on the countertop. As he walks by again, Peter hears his mutter under his breath something about torture.  Then the door is shutting behind the billionaire, and Peter is left entirely alone with the man’s boyfriend in their ridiculously fancy penthouse.

Bucky clears his throat. “Do you want some bacon?”

Peter nods, mutely, holding out his empty plate.

-

“Sorry you’re stuck here with me, kid,” Bucky says while they do the dishes. He’s washing, Peter is rinsing. On Bucky’s left side the way he is, he gets an eyeful of that incredible bionic arm. It is so delicate when it hands Peter the crystal glasses that had held his orange juice, it’s truly a work of art. “I’m not nearly as much fun as Tony.”

“I’m not sure how much fun I should be having anyway,” Peter admits. “I have pneumonia. Can I say something? I don’t—I don’t want to be rude or insensitive or anything—”

“I’m not the kinda guy who gets easily offended.”

“Your arm—” Despite Bucky’s reassurance, he tenses all over. His shoulders rise towards his ears, and the metal fist flexes and then grip into a fist as if it could disappear into itself and cease to exist. “—it is so cool. God, the biomechanics of it. Who designed it? My applied physics class did a semester at Johns Hopkins and we got to see the Modular Prosthetic Limb in person, but this is just, just light years ahead of that!”

By the time Peter runs out of breath (sooner than he would have liked, given the coughing fit he is subjected to), Bucky stares at him with some indeterminable expression. Then his mouth twitches, and then the smile blooms, prettier than any flower Peter’s ever seen. Bucky exudes darkness and broodiness, but for a moment Peter sees something in him that is boyish and so charming, it makes butterflies bat their wings against the inside of his stomach.

Bucky holds up the arm and works the fingers, flexing and relaxing them. “I don’t know about whatever it is you just said—but Tony made this.”

And of course! Peter had hoped that’s what Bucky would say that. If possible, Peter feels his crush on the billionaire grow exponentially.

“Why haven’t I read about it?” Peter asks. Against his will, one hand drifts up and hovers over the bionic arm. His fingers tingle like they’re full of static electricity, like any moment the energy will jump from his flesh to the metal, and he wonders—is it warm? Is it cool? Does it hum? “I look for every free article online about Mr. Stark and his work, but I’ve never read about him stepping into the world of medical prosthetics—”

“Every article, huh?” Bucky teases. The metal fingers twitch, coming so close to Peter’s own, and Peter feels all the breath slip from his lungs (what little breath is left there), even as his face turns red. “Don’t tell that to Tony or you’ll inflate his ego even more than it already is.”

“He totally deserves it though,” Peter mutters, pressing his lips together to avoid smiling outright. “I mean, look at this—your arm is incredible. Can you feel? I mean, of course you can, otherwise you’d be breaking every glass we washed.”

“I can feel,” Bucky confirms. His eyes are glittering with a warmth Peter hasn’t yet seen. “And he does deserve it. Tony is—something else. You can touch it, if you want.”

The red flush on Peter’s face deepens. His fingers curl up in anxiety before slowing blooming again. It feels so intimate to touch another man’s hand like this, all the more so knowing that Bucky can feel it. As sensual as it feels (and what is Peter doing, doing something so sensual with a man who is dating Peter’s own hero?), he can’t help but sate his curiosity by exploring the most incredible piece of machinery he’s ever seen.

With the most delicate care, he lets his trembling fingers drift that last half inch to touch Bucky’s metal palm. The metal is smooth and notably cooler than flesh would have been. It doesn’t hum the way Peter might have imagined it to, but when Bucky relaxes his fingers to open his palm even more and the plates shift so smoothly and seamlessly, there is a gentle noise that comes with the movement. Peter reaches out with his other hand until he’s clasping Bucky’s in both of his own, coaxing it to turn over palm-down so that he ran run his fingers across the knuckles, such a complex piece of technology. It flinches a little under his touch, and Peter glances up shyly to make sure he isn’t hurting Bucky, but the man’s eyes are closed, his full mouth gently parted, taking in quick but silent breaths.

Peter’s own breath stutters as he quickly averts his eyes back to the hand, feeling flustered at having witnessed the man in such a vulnerable moment. Then his eyes drop more, more, and he can’t help but remember last night when he walked in on whatever was going on between the two older men. His heart skips a beat when he sees that yes…that bulge in Bucky’s pants is back. Bucky is hard.

Swallowing, he focuses on where his fingers are traces over the peaks and valleys of the man’s knuckles. The wrist is a thing of magic, too, so very thick (though it matches with the rest of the arm and with Bucky’s authentic physique too). Bucky towers over Peter, outweighs him by a hundred pounds probably, and the strength of him is obvious. When he presses firmly into the metal with his thumb, Bucky groans shortly in his throat.

Peter jerks away, red faced. His own cock is not quite full but noticeably harder than it should be from just glorified holding hands with a taken man.

“It’s, it’s real cool Mr.—” Peter cuts himself off, suddenly aware that he doesn’t know Bucky’s last name.

“Just call me Bucky,” the man says, blinking the glazed look out of his eyes.

-

Bucky doesn’t give himself enough credit, because Peter has more fun hanging around the Tower with him than he’s had in months—maybe even years. After showing Peter to the computer so he can email with his teachers, they lounge on the couch making use of Tony’s expansive Blu-ray collection. It’s obvious that Bucky has a lot of experience with sick people: he orders soup for lunch and makes sure to keep Peter relaxed and warm and reminds him to take his medicine when the time comes. It’s been so long since anyone has taken care of Peter that it lulls him into a soft, vulnerable state.

“How did you and Mr. Stark meet?” He asks Bucky.

“Through a mutual friend,” Bucky says, slowly. “We—didn’t really get along. Thought he hated me for the longest time, but then he was the one to extend an olive branch, and, well, you know what he’s like. It’s so easy to fall in love with him. He’s so goddamn smart, with a heart as big as his brain.”

“He’s great,” Peter sighs dreamily.

“He really is.”

“You’re great too,” Peter says, brain to mouth filter crumbled. “I—I mean, you’re really good together, you know? You’re both so. Yeah. Great.”

“Thanks,” says Bucky, half his mouth crooking up into a knowing sort of smirk. “We like you too. You’re a good kid.”

Peter flushes, pleased. He hopes Bucky will blame it on the potential fever.

“Do you like music?” Bucky asks.

Peter blinks at the question, leaning his head up from where he had relaxed it against the armrest of the couch. “Yeah, sure.”

So that’s how they end up laying on the floor of the penthouse while music plays from overhead. The acoustics are unlike anything Peter’s ever heard before: crystal clear and from all around. He closes his eyes and lets himself drift in and out of sleep sometimes before a movement or spoken word from Bucky rouses him.

“I’ve been trying to put together a playlist. I want to burn a CD for Tony of songs from his collection that make me think of him. Before—well, I never really knew a lot of music until he introduced me to it,” Bucky says, holding his phone above his face to poke at it with one finger. “But this isn’t really the kind of gesture I’ve ever had to make before. I’m kind of worried I’ll fuck it up.”

“It sounds so, so sweet,” Peter says. It’s so sweet that it hurts a little—Peter has never had anyone want to make gestures like that for him. For the last few years, Peter has barely had anyone to interact with at all. “I’m sure I speak for Mr. Stark when I say that I doubt you could go wrong, honestly. It will be the thought that counts.”

“Yeah, but I want the thoughts to be good, too,” snarks Bucky. “Not just sweet.”

“I know what you mean.”

For a while they listen in silence. Peter dozes again and has a little half-dream of May and Ben. Peter was just a little boy when his parents died, and he went to live with them, so a lot of the memories he has are fuzzy from childhood. But he always remembers how much they loved each other, how beautifully romantic their relationship was. May used to play records and her and Ben would dance in the apartment’s kitchen together, swaying softly.

“A record player would make this even better,” Peter murmurs, quiet so as to not break the intimacy of the moment.

“Like a CD player?” Bucky asks, propping himself up on his metal elbow. It emphasizes the obscene width of his chest compared to the narrow hips. Peter’s mouth goes dry and swallowing doesn’t help. “Or a turntable?’

“A turntable I guess. For records—not CD’s.”

Bucky’s eyes glitter.

And that’s how they end up in Mr. Stark’s private study. There is a record player there that would have put the old one in May’s apartment to shame. This one looks to be antique, kept in excellent condition, the wood glossy and unscratched. An entire bookshelf (one of the many) is dedicated to holding records, records on records, and finger trails his fingers over them reverently. If only May or Ben could see this.

He chooses one at random. Pink Floyd’s THE WALL. It isn’t glossy and new like the others. This one’s corners are worn away, and in the bottom corner is scratched TONY S. ’79 in a child’s neat script. Peter can’t imagine a nine-year-old Tony Stark listening to it, much less enough to wear away the record sleeve.

“I’m not really sure how to make this work,” Bucky admits, fingers drumming anxiously against the side of the record player. “I’m used to the ones that crank.”

Peter pulls another sleeve and smiles. “That’s okay, I know how.”

He puts the record on the platter and lowers the arm until the needle rests against it. The switch along the side starts the platter spinning, and soon there is music filling the room. The acoustics here are great, the books soaking up the sound. Peter plays around with the needle location until he finds a certain song, lips quirking into a smile at the opening notes.

“Who’s this?” Bucky asks.

“Robert Plant,” Peter says. “The band is called Led Zeppelin.”

“I’ve heard of them,” Bucky says, eyes wide and bright. “Not this song though. This song feels different.”

“It’s called Fool in the Rain. It’s one of my favorite songs. My aunt used to do this dance—” Peter shakes his body, curls flying back and forth. When he stops, breathing heavy, Bucky is staring at him with his nose scrunched up.

“Looked like you were having a fit or something,” Bucky says.

“Good,” Peter laughs, a little breathless. “That’s how she always looked too.”

When the song ends, Peter goes hunting around again with the needle. The next song doesn’t feel as upbeat, the slightly ethereal sound of a synthesizer filling the room. Even though he chose the song himself, all at once he is melancholic, his heart heavy with sorrow that’s been years in accumulating. Even though All of My Love wasn’t a romantic song, it was one of Ben and May’s favorites to slow dance too.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asks quietly from Peter’s side. “You look sad.”

“Just the song,” Peter says, eyes prickling. “My aunt and uncle used to dance to it a lot. It’s been years, but I still miss them.”

Bucky’s metal hand comes up. Peter sees it hover out of the corner of his eye, and then it comes down to rest so gently on Peter’s shoulder, and it all seems too much. There’d been no one there to hold him after May’s death, and he hadn’t had time to grieve with the stress of school and working to try to afford it. The burning in his eyes overflows and scorches down his cheeks. He turns and buries his face in Bucky’s broad chest. Immediately the strong, warm arms come down around him, bracketing him in a safety he hasn’t felt in years. One large hand comes up to cradle Peter’s head, pressing him closer, and he feels Bucky’s head lean down to rest against the crown of his own.

“I’m sorry,” Peter cries.

“Don’t be,” Bucky says roughly. “Nothin’ to be sorry for.”

They stand there hugging for one long minute, both of them loathe to let go. Eventually Bucky’s firm hold turns into a soft sway, and then they are dancing. It’s very middle-school, just a gentle shuffle from side to side, but hadn’t that been all May and Ben ever did together? And maybe it’s wrong to even compare May and Ben to Peter and Bucky, because of the age different, because of the fact that Bucky has a boyfriend.

Peter glances up, and there must be hero-worship on his face but he can’t help it. This dark man coaxed him from his sick bed, brought him to this refuge. Bucky is his hero, now, so worthy of Peter’s gratefulness and idolization and—they aren’t swaying from side to side anymore, more like swaying closer and closer together, and Bucky’s hand is still buried in Peter’s curls. It’s all very intimate, and even when the song changes, they don’t move. When Peter sees those pale eyes drop to his mouth, his breath catches in his throat.

“I want to kiss you,” Bucky says, voice low and rough. “But it doesn’t feel right to kiss you when you’ve been crying.”

“That seems like the perfect time to kiss me,” Peter breathes.

That’s all Bucky needs, swooping down to press their eager mouths together. One hand presses firmly against Peter’s lower back, dragging them flush together, and Peter is looking so far up to kiss Bucky that he feels nearly bent in half, back arched obscenely. Their mouths part mutually, and Bucky tastes like the energy drink he’d guzzled after lunch. Peter’s hands come up to grip desperately at the older man’s shirt, fisting the fabric, loathe to let him part even an inch.

“This is better than the cinema.”

Bucky and Peter pull apart like they’ve been burnt, turning to see Tony where he leans against the open door frame of the study.

[fanaticalthings]

A Cry at the Final Breath

AO3 Link

Warning: Destiel Angst. Like a lot.

——

This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was just a simple vampire case. This shouldn’t be happening at all.

Dean’s surroundings flicker in and out of existence as the blood rushes in his ears. All he can think about is Sam. Sam.

His brother is spasming in his arms and Dean can’t do anything about it. There’s so much blood. God, there’s so much. Dean’s hasty bandage job isn’t gonna cut it. His hands are stained red, and whenever Dean looks over to Sam’s face, the eyes staring back barely display a lick of recognition. 

“Stay with me, Sam!” Dean gives him a good shake, hoping that the eyes that fall in and out of focus will show some semblance of understanding.

“It’s gonna be okay, you’re gonna be okay, little brother,” Dean reassures, but to whom, he doesn’t know.

Dean doesn’t notice it, but his face is wet, and he wouldn’t have known had his tears not dampened his brother’s flannel. He’s barely keeping it together. Whenever Dean tries to keep the blood from flowing, his hands come away red.

His heart drops when Sam stops struggling– his body limp in Dean’s arms. His hands start shaking as he reaches for Sam’s wrist, looking for a pulse.

Dean’s hands come up to Sam’s face, and he drops his forehead on top of his brother’s.

“Goddamnit. Don’t do this to me, Sammy.”

Dean’s starting to panic now, and he can’t stop it. His brother’s eyes aren’t opening, and he can’t feel a pulse.

He starts praying. He’s desperate. He can’t let his baby brother die. Not now. Not when he still has a life to live. He knows that no God up there is listening to him, but right now he doesn’t care.

For a moment, Dean thinks of calling Cas, but the thought leaves as soon as it had come. Logically, he knows Cas might not be able to help at all. Hell, he could barely even heal a scratch now. Dean knows deep down that he can’t do anything.

Dean doesn’t know how long he sits there. His legs start to feel sore, but he barely pays any attention to anything else that goes on. He doesn’t even lift his head when he hears the familiar growl of the Impala’s engine. He can hear footsteps approaching, and a lingering presence over him. Without looking, he already knows who it is.

“Dean-”

“Heal him! You can do it, right? You can fix him, right, Cas?” Dean is frantic and doesn’t even let Cas speak a single sentence before he’s desperately pulling at the sleeves of his trench coat. Dean’s not even thinking properly anymore. 

“Please,” Dean whispers.

Blue eyes meet green. Dean can see the guilt hidden behind those eyes, but he ignores it. He’s hanging on by a thread, hoping that it isn’t too late.

Cas hesitantly bends down to press two fingers to Sam’s forehead, but nothing happens.

When Cas crouches down lower, Dean expects him to try it again, but instead, he puts his arms under Sam and lifts him. He looks up at Dean, and he can see it in those blue eyes– there’s nothing he can do. 

A wet laugh wracks through Dean, giving him a full-body shudder. Cas looks like he’s about to cry, but Dean doesn’t care. He can’t look at him right now. He just grabs Sam’s lifeless body and cradles him.

He sits like this for a while and imagines that harrowing November years ago when he carried his baby brother out of the house fire. Back then, he carried a new life out of harm’s way. Now, years later, he was clutching the limp corpse of his brother in his arms.

This was not fair. This shouldn’t have fucking happened. If it was Dean, fine, whatever, but not Sam. Sam didn’t deserve this.

When Cas gently pries Sam out of Dean’s arms, he’s so numb that he doesn’t even fight back. He just lets Cas carry Sam away.

Cas starts to walk towards the Impala with Sam’s body carried bridal style. Dean’s still on his knees on the ground. He doesn’t want to get up. He doesn’t want to do anything. He feels so defeated.

He’s still staring blankly at the dirt on the ground even when Cas returns to urge Dean into the car.

He feels a warm hand on his shoulder, and normally this would ground him– make him feel better, but now it only deepens the gaping chasm he feels in his chest.

“Dean, we should go now,” Cas says softly.

He speaks as if he’s afraid that Dean will suddenly put a gun to his head.

Dean wants to respond in anger. He wants to lash out at Cas and scream. It’s the only thing he knows how to do when faced with grief, but for once in his pathetic life, he feels the fight leave him.

The sky had darkened a considerable amount since Cas had gotten here and it’s starting to get a little chilly, but Dean can barely feel any of it.

“How did you even find us?” Dean grits out. He can still feel Cas’s eyes on his back. A part of him even wants to blame Cas, but Dean stays quiet.

“I felt it,” Cas responds. “Your anguish. I left immediately when I felt you were in danger.”

Somehow this makes Dean feel even worse. He doesn’t respond.

“I heard your prayer. It helped me find where you were.” Cas pauses. “As did your longing.”

Dean doesn’t bother asking him what that even means. He just continues staring at that same patch of dirt near his knees.

Cas crouches in front of him, but Dean doesn’t meet his eyes.

“Please, Dean. We should head back now. You’ll catch a cold if you stay out here any longer.”

Under any other circumstances, Dean would’ve retorted back and told Cas that he didn’t need to be babied, but he can’t find it in him to fuss about it, so he stands up numbly, and walks towards the Impala.

Once Dean gets in, he chances a glance at the back seats. Sam’s body is covered by a sheet strewn over him neatly. Dean thinks it’s probably for the best that he can’t see his brother’s face.

Once Cas climbs onto the passenger seat, Dean starts the car without a word. It stays like that for the rest of the ride with Cas staring worriedly at Dean the whole way home.

——-

The next few weeks pass by in a blur. Dean rarely leaves the bunker after Sam’s funeral.

Bobby, Jody and even Claire visit him in an attempt to get him to talk, to look at them, to do anything that isn’t wallowing in sorrow. 

The empty beer bottles grow in numbers every day, and with each one, the hole inside Dean grows a little bigger.

It still feels a little surreal to Dean. Even now, he sometimes expects to see Sam walking through the Bunker’s entrance. 

Death’s always seemed like a faraway illusion to them, he’d think that by now he would’ve gotten used to it. 

Sometimes at night, when Dean would have downed at least five bottles of beer, he’ll hear a noise and immediately bolt up. He’s foolish to believe it could be Sam, but he hopes anyway. 

It’s never Sam.

Cas is always there. Maybe not right next to Dean, but he’s always lurking. On many occasions, he’ll stand outside Dean’s room and just listen. 

He’s never felt more useless until now– a wingless angel incapable of even healing a stab wound. He suspects that by the end of the year, it’ll be a miracle if he can even power a lightbulb.

He builds a little grave for Sam while Dean is still grieving. It’s the least he can do right now and he thinks he chose a nice spot. It’s near a lake under a maple tree. It’s a beautiful sight.

Dean never visits it.

——

When Dean finally leaves his room, it’s to go on another case. He holds himself differently now– like a broken shell of a man operating on autopilot. Those once vibrant eyes that Castiel always longingly gazed into were now dull and empty. It shakes something in his vessel. Like a bird unable to escape from its cage and take flight.

Castiel is afraid. He’s afraid that Dean will do something reckless in his current state. And without his ability to heal like before, he’s afraid that Dean will get himself gravely injured and he won’t be able to help him.

When Dean finishes packing his duffel bag, he abruptly turns around and looks at Castiel for the first time in a while.

“You comin’ on this one?” Dean says. His voice is hoarse, and he sounds more tired than determined.

“Of course, Dean,” Castiel starts, ”but-”

“Good. Then let’s go,” Dean huffs before turning to walk up the stairs.

Castiel watches as he walks out the door before he follows suit. With Dean the way he is, Castiel can’t afford to leave him alone now.

Ever since Sam’s death, Castiel watches Dean like a hawk. Even when the older Winchester locks himself in his room, Castiel always makes sure he can still reach him if anything were to happen

He’s already lost one Winchester, he can’t lose the other.

——

Castiel was certainly right to be cautious. Immediately into the first fight, Dean charges in headfirst without any warning or plan. 

If Castiel were human, he would’ve felt his heart jump 15ft. But instead, he rushes forward, angel blade in hand to make sure no harm comes to Dean.

It’s a quick fight. The Djinns were vastly weaker and more disorganized than the usual monsters they’d had to face, but it still doesn’t ease Castiel’s nerves.

That night, when they return to the bunker, Castiel grabs Dean’s wrist before he has the chance to bolt into his room.

“What were you thinking?” Cas stresses. Dean doesn’t even bother to look him in the eyes.

“Obviously, I was doing the job,” Dean snaps back.

Nowadays, his patience is always worn thin, and whenever Castiel tries to talk to Dean, he feels like he’s walking on eggshells.

“And what if you’d gotten hurt? What if we’d miscalculated and there were more monsters than we’d anticipated?” He’s speaking to Dean like a mother would her child after causing trouble.

Dean finally looks up and stares Castiel down. The look he gives him is not heartwarming. It does not make his heart flutter, but instead, makes Castiel unfathomably sad.

The man staring back at him is broken and defeated. The once bright soul that Castiel had touched– had cradled in his grasp, was now a distant memory.

“That would’ve my problem to deal with,” Dean mutters back. “and if you don’t like it, then don’t come with me next time.”

Immediately, he turns to walk away.

Castiel doesn’t stop him.

There’s a faint ache in his chest when he hears the distanced click of Dean’s lock.

——

Castiel is visiting Sam’s grave when he feels it. Something is wrong, and he just knows. 

Immediately, he rushes back to the bunker to find Dean’s belongings thrown all over the place, as if he’d been in a fight. But when Castiel opens the door to his room, he sees Dean propped against the wall sporting ugly wounds.

Already, Castiel is at his side. Worry spikes throughout his mind as he inspects the injuries inflicted. 

There’s blood seeping through Dean’s shirt, and Castiel can see the nasty gash near Dean’s hip.

Before Castiel can reach forward to stanch the bleeding, Dean flinches away and swats Castiel’s hand from near his wound.

“Don’t,” Dean starts. He’s looking at Castiel menacingly as if warning him to back off. “Just leave me alone.”

“Dean,” Castiel pleads, but Dean is already turning away.

Castiel catches Dean’s hand before he’s fully out of reach.

“Please,” he begs. His eyes convey an infinite amount of sadness, and he wills for Dean to look at him– to give him a sign that the man he pulled out of hell is still there. “Don’t push me away. Let me help you. Please, Dean.”

Dean reluctantly lifts his head and meets Castiel’s eyes. It’s not much, but it’s a start, and Castiel can feel his heart swell at this small action.

Dean’s let’s out a sigh of resignation. It’s the closest thing Castiel is going to get to an agreement.

He gently grasps Dean’s hands and guides him towards the bed.

Once Dean is seated and shows no signs of getting up, Castiel leaves to get a washcloth and the first aid kit.

When he returns, Dean is still seated at the edge of the bed, looking down at his bloodstained hands.

Castiel begins cleaning the blood off of Dean’s face with the wet cloth. Dean has gone back to avoiding Castiel’s gaze, he forces himself not to feel hurt by it.

Castiel tries to be as gentle as possible, fingers fluttering softly over cuts and bruises. His fingers hover over Dean’s cheek longer than he should. Castiel wants to heal him. He wants to press his fingers into Dean’s skin and make it all better within a blink of an eye. But he can’t, and Castiel’s heart clenches at the thought.

Dean is looking at him now, but he looks wary. Castiel holds his gaze and stares longingly into those all too familiar green eyes. It makes him remember the early days– when every time he came to Dean, he could see his soul resonating throughout the universe. He could recognize this man anywhere without hesitation– this beautiful human that he rebuilt piece by piece in hell.

Castiel bends down to clean the wound on Dean’s side. He gently yanks his shirt over his head and tosses it to the side. He can see the blood splattered all over Dean like a canvas.

As he starts to scrub away at the wounds, Castiel holds back a choke at the back of his throat.

“Why are you doing this?” He whispers. Dean doesn’t answer him– just looks away angrily.

“Why are you hurting yourself?” Castiel continues. His voice is pleading and desperate. The silence stretches on.

It’s so quiet that Castiel can hear water droplets leaking from the nearby sink. Dean still doesn’t answer, and Castiel can feel his heart sink.

His fingers work deftly as he stitches and bandages the injury. There is little protest on Dean’s part, just the occasional grunt or wince whenever Castiel makes contact with the wound.

When he’s fully finished, Castiel looks up to see Dean staring down at him. He hasn’t said a single word so far, but Castiel feels something stir inside him.,

Castiel’s hands come up to Dean’s face– gingerly cupping him. He can see the anguish within the lines on his face, Castiel wants to make them go away.

Slowly, very slowly, Castiel bends down to place his lips on Dean’s. He can feel Dean flinch from underneath him, but he doesn’t pull away. The kiss is soft and passionate. Months of sorrow slip through the cracks in an instant from this one intimate gesture. Castiel can feel his dimming grace exploding within his vessel, sensations tingling throughout his entire body. It feels amazing as if he were a fully powered angel again, but it’s over too soon.

When Dean pulls away, it’s to look down at his hands again. There’s an indescribable look on his face as if he’s contemplating what had just happened.

Reluctantly, Castiel walks away to grab Dean some fresh clothes. He tosses him a faded AC/DC shirt, which Dean immediately slips into.

Without another word, Dean lies down onto his bed with his back facing Castiel. 

“Thanks,” Dean mumbles under his breath. 

Castiel can see that Dean is tense from where he’s standing. He slowly begins to shuffle closer to the bed, feeling the need to fill the heavy silence.

When the bed dips under Castiel’s weight, Dean does not move away; He takes this as an invitation to stay. Castiel remains seated at his side and brings a hand up to Dean’s shoulder– the exact place where his mark used to be when Castiel rebuilt him.

“Please,” Castiel says. It seems like please is all he can say to Dean now. How long it has been since they had last had a normal conversation, he does not know. “Talk to me, Dean.”

Castiel yearns for that sense of normalcy again. He craves those nightly conversations, the needless movie nights and the peaceful car rides that he had once shared with Dean. He does not want things to stay like this. But deep down, Castiel knows that a part of Dean Winchester died alongside his brother, buried far below the surface, never to be seen again. 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Dean grunts and that seems to be the end of it.

Despite this, Castiel continues talking. If Dean will not speak to him, then he will fill the silence with his own thoughts instead.

“You shouldn’t have gone out alone,” he chastises. Castiel knows that Dean does not want to hear this nor will he listen to him, but Castiel feels the need to say this anyway. 

“Please don’t do this to yourself, you mean too much to me,” Castiel whispers. He’s lying down next to Dean now– his back to Castiel’s chest. 

“Sam wouldn’t have wanted this.”

At the mention of his brother, Dean’s breath hitches. He turns around abruptly, facing Castiel with blazing fury.

“Don’t you dare say that,” Dean seethes through clenched teeth. “We all know it should’ve been me. Sammy didn’t deserve any of this crap and you know it!”

The ache in Castiel’s chest returns, and without thinking, he wraps his arms around Dean.

“Don’t say that,” Castiel says under his breath. “Please don’t say that.”

Dean doesn’t push him away.

“All I had to do was protect him. I had one job and I couldn’t even do it!” Dean is shaking now, from rage or sadness, Castiel does not know, but he pulls him closer to his chest regardless.

Castiel does not know what else to say, so he just embraces Dean as the shaking subsides.

“I’m just tired, Cas,” Dean relents. His face no longer conveys anger, but instead shows exhaustion.

“I know,” Castiel murmurs. “You should get some rest.”

Dean does not say anything else after that.

They spend the rest of the night like this, tight in each other’s embrace.

When Castiel wakes in the morning, the space beside him is cold.

——

The next few months pass by no differently. If anything, Dean has gotten worse– he sleeps less, drinks more. Castiel does not know how to help him.

He accompanies Dean on as many cases as he can, afraid that if he looks away for too long, Dean will disappear before Castiel can get to him.

It gets to the point where Dean starts to get irritated, snapping at Castiel when he’s hovering around too much, or running off recklessly when he feels too suffocated.

He tells Castiel to lay off him, and to stop constantly following him like a duckling. Castiel reluctantly obeys.

They never talk about the kiss. Dean acts as if nothing had even happened, and Castiel had resigned himself to rarely initiating any more intimate touches. It hurts him inside, but if it makes Dean less uncomfortable, Castiel is willing to oblige.

Nowadays, Castiel tries to give Dean a reasonable amount of space. He’s read somewhere in a self-care book that people need to be alone at times when grieving to heal themselves on their own. So Castiel stays back on a couple of cases in hopes that eventually Dean will open up to him.

——

It does not get better. It seems now that the gaping chasm between Castiel and Dean has only grown larger. The lasting effects of Sam’s death linger like a skunk’s stench. Castiel doesn’t know what to do at this point, but he still hopes.

When Dean returns from his most recent hunt, Castiel immediately approaches him. The dark circles under Dean’s eyes are more visible than ever now.

“Sit with me?” Castiel asks. He’d already taken out two glasses of whiskey in hopes of making Dean stay.

Dean almost doesn’t acknowledge him. Almost.

There’s still a deep-rooted affection in Dean’s eyes whenever he looks at Castiel. It may be faded and barely noticeable, but it’s there.

Dean slowly sits down next to Castiel and brings the glass to his lips to take a long sip. The kitchen is mostly quiet save for the drinking on Dean’s part. Castiel just watches him. Dean looks more burdened like this. The lines in his features seem to form a constant scowl on Dean’s face more often now.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Castiel breaks the silence. He can hear Dean swallow abruptly. “There was nothing you could have done, Dean.”

Castiel wants to drill it into Dean’s head that he shouldn’t have to carry this pain alone.

“So please, stop doing this to yourself,” Castiel brushes his hand over Dean’s.

There’s still a fire in those green eyes staring back, but the flames don’t appear to be as vicious as before.

“I wish I could take the pain away,” Castiel begins, “but I can’t, so let me in. You don’t have to go through this by yourself, Dean.”

Dean looks away now. Castiel can see him gritting his teeth, and for a second, he’s afraid his words will have meant nothing, but Dean reluctantly turns his head back and stares into Castiel’s eyes.

“Ok,” Dean relents. He sounds tired, but there’s a small acceptance in the way Dean says it.

Castiel smiles. He can see the corners of Dean’s mouth quirk up slightly as well.

For the first time in forever, it feels as though everything will be alright.

——

They slowly start to slip back into their old routine. One day Castiel suggests they have a movie night just like before. Dean begrudgingly agrees. It’s not much, but they’re getting there.

As the images of Tombstone flash across the screen, Castiel finds that he can’t help but stare at Dean the entire time. His features have softened slightly and it calms Castiel to know that Dean does not seem as upset as before.

They sit together on the couch, but neither of them talks. Surprisingly though, this feels fine. Castiel hardly pays any mind to the movie, and he suspects the same goes for Dean. Castiel risks a small scoot closer. Dean doesn’t notice, or if he does, he doesn’t react. Their shoulders are touching now, but it feels right. Castiel had rarely gotten the chance to be around Dean this past month and he intends on changing that.

Even after the movie has ended they don’t move. Dean is staring down at his hands again and Castiel is starting to suspect that something must be bothering him.

“I can’t get it out of my head, man,” Dean grimaces. 

Castiel stares down at where Dean is looking. His hands seem fine, and Castiel hadn’t noticed any injuries, so he stares confusedly back at Dean.

‘What?” Castiel asks. He feels the need to embrace Dean again, but he’s almost certain the action would not be met with a positive response at the moment.

“His blood.” Dean looks up at Castiel. “Sammy’s blood,” he reiterates.

Castiel remains silent. He feels guilty that he doesn’t know how to respond, so he just leans in closer to place a hand on Dean’s shoulder. He can feel some of the tension start to dissipate from Dean’s body. He hopes that this simple gesture will show Dean that Castiel is here for him.

They return back to their comfortable silence, only now Dean is leaning much closer to Castiel. 

After a moment, they talk. Not about Sam, but of small things– like how the price of beer increased recently, or how the Impala could use a wash soon. It’s mostly to fill the quiet of the bunker or to distract Dean from other darker thoughts, but it feels nice. When Castiel doesn’t understand a reference Dean remarks, it earns him a small chuckle out of Dean. It makes Castiel feel warm inside– to be slipping back into their old habits.

They stay like this until morning.

——

Things start to get better, Castiel thinks. The bottles of beer start to decrease drastically, and he notices that Dean does not feel as inclined to rush recklessly into battle every other day.

Dean still rarely smiles, but Castiel hopes that will change with a little more time.

Everything feels more complete with each day that passes that Castiel begins to lower his guard.

For the first time since Sam’s death, Dean goes to visit his grave. He chooses to go alone, which Castiel understands.

When Dean doesn’t return for some time, Castiel starts to worry. He tries to reason with himself that Dean is still grieving and has probably chosen to be left alone to his thoughts, but Castiel cannot shake the feeling that something is wrong.

He calls Dean multiple times, texts him, and even asks Bobby or Jody to try to get ahold of him, but to no avail. Without thinking, Castiel grabs the keys to the spare car and exits the bunker.

Logically, he should calm down and wait for Dean to come back. He always does. But something in Castiel sits uncomfortably, and uncertainty swims in his gut.

As soon as he’s driving Castiel can feel his heart rate pick up and he starts to run scenarios in his head. Dean was getting better, this couldn’t have been happening now, things were returning back to normal.

Castiel internally blames himself. If he were still a fully powered angel he could fly over to Dean in an instant and heal him of any harm.

Now, more human than ever, Castiel can feel the sweat collecting at his forehead, he can feel the underlying fear rolling around in his head. He isn’t even certain he knows where Dean is– if he was even at Sam’s resting place, but somehow, Castiel knows. He just knows where Dean will be, and the thought of it makes his guts churn in dread.

He drives faster. He has little regard for his surroundings, he can only pray that Dean will be okay– that he’ll just be sitting in the Impala enjoying some of his cassettes, losing track of time. Castiel knows this is a foolish thought.

In the distance, Castiel can see a barn coming into view. The barn where Sam died.

As Castiel draws near, sure enough, he can see the Impala parked onto the side.

As soon as Castiel reaches the entrance, he swings open the car door without a second thought and bolts towards the opening of the barn.

He can smell blood mixed with animal droppings and the overall musty odour the barn emits.

With angel blade in hand, Castiel walks through the darkened rooms.

The barn is crumbling from years of abandonment. There are feces scattered about, and broken glass strewn all over the place, Castiel can even see the bodies of vampires littered throughout the confines of the compass, but none of that catches his attention.

It’s so dark that Castiel almost misses him– the crumpled form of Dean Winchester lying at the side of the wall.

Castiel’s heart drops as he races towards Dean.

There’s so much blood, and Castiel can barely feel anything as the adrenaline kicks in.

He turns Dean over and is met with a pained groan.

There is a knife wound right in the middle of Dean’s chest, and Castiel sees his fears flashing to life.

“Cas?” Dean croaks.

It’s said so quietly and weakly that it scares Castiel.

Castiel is already trying to stanch the bleeding. He presses two fingers to Dean’s forehead and prays so desperately that his grace will flow out and heal him. But nothing happens.

Castiel doesn’t realize he’s shaking violently until Dean’s hand comes up to grasp at his trench coat. As Castiel gazes into Dean’s eyes, he sees acceptance. He sees the man lying before him giving up. Castiel holds back tears.

“Why would you do this?” Castiel whispers. His voice comes out shaky and broken. He’s trying so hard not to come apart.

“Had to…teach those bastards…a lesson,” Dean huffs out. His breathing is ragged and there’s more blood pooling underneath him. Castiel can tell that he’s barely holding on.

Dean’s eyes roll in and out of his head as if he’s trying to stay awake. He looks up at Castiel and offers a small smile.

“I’ll get…to see Sammy..soon.” Dean coughs and sputters and more blood comes out every time he moves.

Castiel can’t stop them now. The tears come bursting through the dam at the sound of those words. He’s rarely ever cried before but now he can’t help it. Had he not been enough? Had he not done something right? He had thought Dean was getting better, he thought he was helping him.

Castiel is practically hyperventilating now. His chest aches so much that it’s all he feels now. Had this been what Dean had felt?

He can feel a hand resting on his cheek and Castiel looks back down at Dean. He suddenly looks so sad. That previous triumph and acceptance long faded from his eyes.

“Don’t cry,” Dean whispers. It’s so hard to hear him that Castiel has to lean further down. “I’m sorry.”

Castiel is crying more now. He feels so small at this very moment– so helpless and pathetic. It’s hard to believe that he was once an all-powerful being capable of mass destruction.

“I’m sorry you had to deal….with me….You didn’t deserve….any of this.“ 

Castiel clutches Dean tighter at this.

“Don’t ever say that!” Castiel tries to shout, but it comes out barely comprehensible and strangled. “If I had the chance to do this over again, I’d choose you. It was always you. You taught me what it meant to be human.”

Castiel can’t find his breath as he speaks, but he has to say more, he has so many more things he would like to tell Dean– things he needs to tell him.

“You taught me what it was like to feel love,” he murmurs into Dean’s ear.

Castiel can hear Dean scoff at that. Even bleeding to death, Dean still has the energy to retort back.

“I bet… I was a pretty…crap teacher,” Dean lets out a small chuckle. Castiel drops his head onto Dean’s chest. He can hear the weakened ba-dump of Dean’s heart starting to slow.

He wanted to do so much more with Dean– watch terribly written movies, go out to bars and get drunk, drive around in the Impala. Castiel had hoped he would get to experience more of humanity with Dean at his side, but with every second that passes, that dream seemed to flicker like a candle’s dying flame.

As Dean’s breaths start to slow, Castiel continues to hold him close. Castiel hopes that somewhere, in another universe, he’d be living out his happy ending alongside the Winchesters– alongside Dean.

“I love you,” Castiel whispers softly into Dean’s shirt. “Please don’t go.”

Even after Dean’s body slackens in his grip, Castiel stays like this for a little while longer, holding the man he gave up everything for.

At the final breath, all Castiel can do is cry.

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

A View To A Winchester (Part 17)

Series Page

Summary: Julie’s starting a new life after divorce in a home with a very nice view.

A Dean X OFC story. I got this idea staring out the view of my home office window and thinking how nice it would be to have Dean Winchester to ogle.

Section Word Count: 5,800    

Section Content: fluff, flirting, angst, nightmare, PTSD, smut, R-rated language, all the sex

~~~~~

Dean had been merciful to her - or mean, depending on how you look at it - and kept his t-shirt and boxer briefs on when they prepped to share his bed. “Should grab you something in case you don’t want to sleep naked.” He offered. “I won’t talk you out of it, though.” Her heart almost exploded when he dug the red plaid flannel out of his closet. He remembered me mentioning that one. She could tell by the smirk on his face when their fingers glided over each other for the exchange.

She’d tugged off the skirt and kept on her panties. Once the shirt was buttoned over her chest she performed that age old magic trick and extracted her bra from the sleeve. He smiled, dipped into what was obviously his preferred side of the bed, and tapped the mattress. A stretched arm readied to cradle her. She curled in, careful not to hit him with a faceful of her hair which she’d normally have in a ponytail to sleep. I’ll give him this tonight, since he likes it down. He was the big spoon in this particular scenario, the other arm draped around her waist, locking her into position. She sighed. Just the right amount of warmth.

Her heart sped at the closeness. Anticipation built, expecting the inevitable exploration of her skin, curves, folds, wetness. She waited, trying to regulate the stilted breath. That’s when it happened.

Dean snored.

His heavy, steady breathing blew near her ear.  

Hero, yes. Superhero? Eh. Still falls asleep pretty quickly after an orgasm. Poor guy. It certainly took a lot out of him. A smile crept over her lips. God, his face was absolute perfection when he came. If a look can trigger ovulation, that did it.

She closed her eyes and took in the scents of the room along with sounds of Dean slumbering. The underlying spice and mix of whatever pheromone Dean gave off sleeping next to her was heady and made it hard to smell much else. Even his sweat is a turn-on. She focused to pick out the other odors layered beneath. Bourbon, leather, something metallic, and maybe gunpowder?

The desk lamp had been left on, forgotten. Her gaze returned to the tiny pictures on top of the simple oak dresser. She wanted to get a better look at his family in the morning. Wanted to ask why he never mentioned his mom. Nothing recent. Old pictures. Old memories. Old heartaches? Maybe she left a long time ago? Died? The thought made her heart ache for the little boy who looked so happy in his mom’s embrace.

She was on edge from having given him head, expecting Dean to finish what they’d started quite soon after. She was slippery and swollen between her legs. Julie always enjoyed that particular act; especially with Steve, who’d been fairly well-endowed himself. But, not as big or pretty as Dean’s. Never thought I’d call a penis pretty.

Dean adjusted, curled up even tighter against her. His dead weight leaned into her. The sounds of his breathing; the promise of him being inside her; they all made it difficult to drift off to sleep. But she did. Eventually.

Julie shifted the car into Park once she found a good spot in the shopping center lot. Ina had pointed out her own car down the row. Her forlorn expression from the passenger seat stared out the windshield. “He’s such a friendly boy. He’ll run to just about anyone willing to show him a lick of affection.”

“Don’t assume the worst. There could be a good samaritan who’s taking great care of him right now.”

Ina sighed. She was such a tiny, slim little thing, even shorter than Julie’s mom. The compact car seat she occupied appeared massive in comparison. “You’re right. And, it hasn’t even been a day yet since he got out of the yard.”

Julie unbuckled her belt. “Where did you say you live again?”

Ina wrapped a few strands of her long and shiny, raven-colored hair behind an ear. Her mocha brown complexion was flawless, ageless. Julie was curious as to how old she actually was. “Um, just down the road in Fairwind.”

“Nice neighborhood. I couldn’t find anything available when I was looking months ago.”

Ina only nodded.

Julie waited, expecting a dump of information. She’d only met this woman three times, but she’d been a flood of words the other two instances. When there was none, Julie cleared her throat. She had a busy day ahead. And a man she was dying to see later. “Well, how about you grab me some flyers so I can drop them off at a few places?”  

“Yep, I’ve got ‘em in the back seat.” Julie nodded, expecting her to exit, retrieve, and bring them back. All of a sudden, Ina burst into tears. Her narrow shoulders dropped forward and hands covered her face. “My Cocoa Bear.”

God, she was taking it really hard. Julie patted her on the shoulder. “It’s going to be alright, Ina. Come on, I’ll walk you to your car. Sooner we get them posted, the sooner you get him back home.”

She sniffled, stared at Julie, and nodded. “Okay.”

The day was sunny, warm and a tad humid. Julie shut her car door and followed Ina to her spot. A good workout would focus the tension and excitement she was battling within her mind. The night before had been restless. All she’d thought about was Dean, his hands, mouth, and that voice encouraging her to let go and whispering filthy promises before Cas showed up.

The chirp as Ina unlocked the car door melted Dean’s green eyes from Julie’s vision. Ina opened the back door and motioned to the seat. “Got a whole box full. Spent most of the morning at the copy store.” She was still sniffling. “Take as many as you want.”  

Julie smiled and leaned in. A strong whiff of incense hit her nose. The back seat was not the tidiest. She drifted back to being in Dean’s immaculate Baby the night before. She lifted the lid off the folder box and grabbed a handful. The black lab’s smiling, panting face stared back from the papers. “Cocoa certainly has a great mom.” The offhand comment left Julie’s lips as she pulled out of the car and turned back to face Ina.

“I’ll be sure to tell him that.” Ina smiled and grabbed Julie’s wrist. The touch was strong and quite unexpected from the petite woman. A flash of blue filled in the black irises of Ina’s eyes. Julie shook her head. Maybe she was more exhausted than she thought. Her mouth opened at the strange henna colored markings emerging, pushing through Ina’s skin. She felt cold. A stinging. Like bees. “Such a help you’ve been, Julie.” Her eyes flashed electric again. “Hm. You’re going to taste so sweet.”

Julie woke, gasping for air in the low light. The arms wrapped tight around her were huge. Her heart pumped. She heard the snort behind her and slowly recognized the space.

Dean.

He stirred and grunted, pulled her closer. “Hm.” It was not a moan of concern. He sounded content.

What the hell was that shit?

“Jules?” His lips were by her ear now. “Okay?” His deep voice scratched out the question.

She nodded into the pillow, feeling his biceps clench under her neck. “Yeah. I’m good. This-this is nice.” She brushed the hairs along his forearm. “I’m... just going to go use the bathroom.”

He pecked at her neck. His head dropped back. “This is nice.” He affirmed in a far away voice. She slithered out from under his embrace and stood by the side of the bed, inspecting his relaxed face. Closed eyes, slightly parted lips. “Coming back?”

“Of course.” She whispered, frowning at the question. “Go back to sleep, Dean.”

“K.” He nudged his nose into the pillow. The sight made her heart ache. He looked peaceful, younger, cares washed away if only for a short while. She wondered how soft and still his cheeks and lips would feel then, not clenched in heated anticipation or want. He floated into his own dreamland. She wondered as she spotted his eyes tracking something under his lids. But she didn’t dare disturb. Something tells me you deserve all the good dreams, Dean Winchester.

Julie tiptoed out of the room, grabbing her phone off the desk before she left, and headed into the bathroom. She clicked on the overhead light, shut the door and sat on the toilet seat. Cool porcelain against the back of her thighs was reminiscent of Ina’s frigid grasp in her dream. Nightmare? Memory? What the hell was that? A shiver started at her shoulders and trickled down her spine. She sat up straight.

One of the way too long sleeves drooped over Julie’s hand. Bringing the fabric up to her nose, she inhaled the embedded Dean scent under the detergent. The inhales and exhales dragged out slow.

Her eyes took in the functional, clean surroundings of his nicely updated bathroom. Modern, smokey grey subway tiles, lined with a lighter grey grout, had been installed with care on the floor. Her toes dug into the cushioned powder blue rug that ran the length of the walk-in shower and ended in front of the throne. Actually a pretty comfy seat.

There were fancy chrome faucets and sprayers behind clear, pristine glass doors. Those doors were a pain to clean at the old house. I was always lazy about that. Got dull and filmy. But, these? Not a water spot to be spotted. Impressive. A veined grey and white marble shower interior looked sleek and expensive. A pedestal sink and rather large mirror resided next to a repurposed bookcase storing rows of plushy grey and white towels, toiletries and male necessities. She made a mental note of the cologne he wore. The robe on the door hook produced a grin. He’d look like Hugh Hefner in that.

I wonder if he did all these updates. If not, he paid someone a decent amount of cash to renovate and make it really nice. Was it in horrible condition when he moved in or is this a really important space for him? File that question away for later.  

The nosey inventorying of Dean’s bathroom had distracted her. She then realized she should probably pee and dropped her panties and situated for the task. Her hands grabbed the forgotten phone lying nearby on the tile. She rifled through messages. There had been a handful from Cat, who’d been checking up on her daily since finding out about the ordeal.

How you holdin’ up? Let me know if you want me to bring Sal and Pep by to run amok in your backyard.

I’m not sure if this is going to help… found something, I think, related to Dean.

Check in with me soon, K?

I think it’s important for you to have all the details.

Ciao Bella.

Her stomach flipped at the one line she read over and over. I’m not sure if this is going to help… found something, I think, related to Dean.

“No.” She whispered. “Shit.” She wanted to remain ignorant. Live in this fantasy space with him for a little longer. Reality was only going to complicate things and make her question everything.

Maybe, though… maybe this is fate intervening.

She groaned.

But, he’s hot and sweet and even makes grumpy sexy. Makes me laugh. Makes me feel safe. What details are going to change all of those inherently authentic things about him?

Maybe it’s something about his family. His mom. Could fit some pieces together.

A low rap on the door shot her head up. “Jules? You okay in there?”

“Y-yeah.” She squeaked out. “Why?”

“Been gone twenty minutes.”

Shit. She frowned, stood, and pulled her panties up. A quick flush and washing of hands followed.

Upon opening the door, a wary smile met her in the dark hallway. Dean leaned into the door frame and inspected her. “Your side of the bed was getting cold.”

She waved her phone, identifying it as the culprit. “Lost track of time.”

“Can’t sleep?” He stepped closer, hesitant. He’s feeling me out. Waiting to see if I’ll hit the panic button. “Do you want me to take you home, sweetheart? Maybe you’ll sleep better. This bed’s not the comfiest.” He sighed. “I miss my memory foam.”

“Do you want me to go home?” she asked.

“God, no.” His still not quite awake features frowned. “I haven’t slept that solid in forever.”

She grinned. “That’s not because of me. That’s because you waited weeks to do what you should have been doing.”

His face lit up at her lightened attitude. “You had a little something to do with it.” He tugged at the hem of his shirt right above Julie’s knees. “Come back to bed, baby.”

Julie swallowed down a moan. Reality can wait until tomorrow. She nodded.

That smile flashed. The one that gave her a front seat to all his pearly whites. He led the way back down the hall. Low light from the open bedroom door split right between his bowlegs. He was a bulk, wholesale package of muscles and strength. She laughed when he spun and flung his body on the bed, making the headboard creak and the mattress bounce. It took some seconds for the motion to subside.

“Are you trying to break it?”

He shrugged and smirked. “Just prepping it for the workout it’s going to get soon.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You really haven’t…”

He shook his head. “No one else’s been in this bed except for me… until now. And, you’ve got me fully believin’ there’s a lot more in store. Italians do do it better. At least this full-blooded Italian sex kitten standing right here in front of me does.” He waggled his eyebrows.

Even with the comical expression on his face, she managed to feel heat rush to her cheeks. “How do you know I’m full…” She shook her head and strolled to the bed, dropping onto the mattress with as much grace as she could muster. A suggestive scoot closer had him do the same. She leaned her head upon an elbow to match his positioning. “You’ve investigated my ancestry, too? What did you do, grab a DNA sample?”

His free hand cupped her jaw. He leaned in and licked her mouth open. “Both parents from Italy. That’s as far as I went. This is as close to banging Sophia Loren in her heyday as I’m gonna get.” Peridot eyes sparkled in the dim light. “Say something in Italian.”

She groaned. “I don’t speak it well. I mean, I’ve listened to my mom and dad speak it a ton growing up. But, it never really stuck up here.” She tapped the side of her forehead. “And, Sophia Loren, really?”

Dean shrugged. “Lots of Sunday afternoons in front of the television growing up. Plus, she was smokin’ hot.” The hand skirted over her neck and shoulder, along the curves and dips of her back to rest on an ass cheek. “Try. For me.” He pushed her body in to meet his, fingers squeezing the globe. “Please.”

She sighed and shut her lids. Electric pulses flowed at the feel of him everywhere they connected. He was tight and rigid. Hot and hard. Her eyes opened, drowning into those beautiful eyes, and then she whispered, “Che cosa vuoi?”

She watched his smile double in size. “What the hell does that mean?” An innocent wonder filled his face, in direct opposition of the clothed erection he rubbed into the slit of her thighs. “And say it again.”

She giggled and moaned at the same time. “It means what do you want? Che cosa vuoi?”

“Che cosa vuoi?” He repeated. The deep throttle in his voice strummed into her core. She bit her lip at how sexy the foreign words, though stilted and choppy, dripped from that luxurious mouth. Dean’s eyes narrowed in focus. A thumb swiped over her bottom lip. “How do you say ‘kiss you’?”

The apples of her cheeks rose. “Ti bacio.”

“Ti bacio.” He repeated that as well, planting a delicate kiss, cradling her jaw. “How about ‘be inside you’?” His brows did a quick double rise.

She moaned, flustered at the request. “I don’t know. Inside is ‘dentro’. I’ll work on my translations for next time.”

Using his bodyweight, Dean collapsed Julie onto her back in a second. Air whooshed out of her lungs. He’d tucked his forearms under her armpits, the crook of his elbows wedging in place. Strong hands emerged alongside and caged her face and forced her back to arch into him.  “Hm.” He licked her mouth. Her jaw dropped open at the way he manipulated and immobilized her head with those meaty fingers. The tongue swirled and dipped in the wetness of her mouth. “Dentro.” He mumbled. His ability to dominate and overpower ignited her skin. Lumberjack thighs parted her comparatively smaller ones. The boxer briefed cock rutted against her damp panties, wiggling into position and only increasing her fluid production.

“Dean…” She whispered.

Lips moved to her neck. His scruff burned like sandpaper against the skin. “Say my name again, sweetheart.” The words poured out hot and impatient.

“Dean.”

Dean groaned. He bit into the flesh along her collar bone. Julie gasped. Then, he sucked and worried at the same spot of skin with pursed lips and the tip of his tongue. All the while sliding his erection into the material along the folds of her pussy. He leaned up and locked eyes with her. Whatever air left in her lungs released at the raw, worn beauty of this man. “Really wanna be inside you, Jules.”

Hands she realized she’d been using to grip onto his back clenched the rippling muscles.

His lips parted, breath even. “Can we? Will you be alright?” He searched her face, she knew, for some hint of hesitance. “If it’s too soon after all of it…”

“Dean…”

His lids closed at hearing his name. “I don’t only mean what's happened recently. I mean, that’s its own bag of crap that no one, especially you, should have ever had to go through.” Eyes opened as he continued to dry hump her in the most amazing way, unhurried yet purposeful. “But, all of it… after Steve…” He sighed, relishing the feel as much as she was. “We could just keep it fun, simple, easy… just like this.”

“Surface level?” Julie questioned, gauging him now.

He smirked. “That’s your guaranteed best experience with me. No muss, no fuss.” In an instant, the carefree gesture washed away. “You want me to be honest with you. There’s a lot, Jules…”

Her lids pressed tight together. “I did say that, didn’t I? Can you be honest with me, then, in this moment, right here and now?”

His arms untangled from his stronghold. She felt the shift of his body, him pull away, leaning into the crook of her side now. Shit, why did I ask him that? “Yes.” The word came out sure, laced with heavy conviction.

Julie took a deep breath and opened her eyes. When his eyes met hers, he didn’t waver, waiting, hovering.

“Any plans on hurting me?” He raised a brow. She shook her head and tried not to laugh. “Besides kinky plans.”

A curl of a smile. “No. Of course not.”

“Are you scared about being honest with me?”

Dean shifted on his elbow, his eyes breaking contact.

That was an answer in and of itself, but Julie tried again. You don’t ask a man like Dean Winchester if he’s scared. “Worried?”

Dean’s finger played with one of her curls. He breathed in, then spoke on the release of air.  “My life was… is, still complicated. Not many people would be able to understand. Or, want to.”

She nodded, took the words time to settle around them. “Why’d you put your life at risk to search for me?”

“Aside from it being in my DNA?” His eyes drifted back and stared at her mouth. “I didn’t want to lose you. I just found you.”

She smiled. A stinging in her eyes threatened to release tears. But she batted them away with quick blinks. “That’s all the honesty I need for tonight, then.” Dean smiled. His eyes were glassy, too, and that made Julie’s heart stop for some seconds. Fingers reached up and stroked his jaw. “Maybe another question.”

Dean’s head dropped in a dramatic fashion. His brows crinkled and his eyes narrowed, accompanied by a hard stare. “One more, sweetheart.” The authoritative tone was back and Julie’s arousal returned.

“Who’s made you feel safe?” She asked, her voice trembling.

His head tilted at the question. A foreign mix of wonder and confusion spread over his face. “What do you mean?”

“Who, in your life, made you feel really safe?” She rephrased.

Dean did that mental rolodex thing she’d come to enjoy witnessing. His eyes darted away and his lips did a slight tuck back into his mouth. Julie’s stomach twisted at how long it took him to find an answer. But, she saw him come up with one. His lips popped back out. The right side of his mouth angled up. When he turned to her he stated, “Baby.”

At first, Julie thought he was calling her another term of endearment. The word finally connected in her brain to the subject matter. “Your car?”

He smiled.

Julie could feel the frown form on her lips. “What about your parents?”

“No, sweetheart.” His smile remained, though it appeared forced. “They tried. I know they did. And, maybe I felt safe before I could really remember what that was... when I was really little.” He shrugged. “Baby’s always been there. Made me feel safe. Made me feel like I had a home. Somewhere I could hide, ride.” Dean collapsed onto the mattress, on his back.

Julie shot up, leaned on an elbow to study his face. The moment was awkward, clumsy now. I’ve fucked it all up.

Dean shook his head and chuckled.

“What?”

“Sweetheart, no one’s ever asked me that before.” His lips tightened. He reached up and grasped the side of her neck. Fingers threaded into her hair, leading her face so he could study her again. “Why would you ask me that?”

Her mouth opened, then closed. “I-”

“Why would you care?” Dean interrupted. No malice in the tone. Only genuine curiosity.

That triggered a response. “Why wouldn’t I? You make me feel safe. I wanted to know a little about the person that made you feel the same way. Figure out how-” she bit her lip and tore away from his eyes.

“What?” He prodded, tilting his head on the mattress to catch her expression under the waves of cascading hair.

She struggled with the words. “Figure out how I can make you feel safe.”

His brows knit together.

“When I left this bed earlier, you asked me if I was coming back.”

That distant, unsure look flooded his face again. “That didn’t mean anything.”

She smiled. And pushed. “I’ll always come back, Dean. If that’s what you want, what will make you feel safe. You deserve that, same as everyone else.”

His green eyes widened.

Her whole body was on fire, staring back at him. It wasn’t arousal or want. She felt exposed, emotions laid out to be either scooped up or tossed away. It had not been in any way how she expected this night to turn. But, now, in the moment, it felt necessary, needed. “I’m sorry.”

Dean’s face hardened. His mouth opened a fraction. That tongue swiped the back of his bottom row of white teeth. “We done with the questions?” The hold on her neck released.

She sat up straight and tucked some hair behind an ear. Confusion flooded her brain. “Yeah.” He hopped off the bed and wandered around the mattress to his dresser. All she could stare at was the back of him, which in any other circumstance would be quite pleasant. But she wanted to garner something, anything from his expression.

A loud sigh left his mouth. “You really are something.” His head shook. The profile presented itself as he bent at the knees to rifle through his record collection. “I don’t get anything out of you for weeks and then you hit me like a ton of bricks with everything in less than a day.” Dean didn’t look over, kept his eyes on the albums. His jaw clenched when he found something, slid out the sleeve from its confines and pulled out a record. A confident twirl of the album between his hands as he rose, the sleeve forgotten on the floor.

The record rested on the turntable. A flip switched. There was crackle and static. The record spun. The speaker waited for the track to play. Dean turned and stared at Julie. He flipped her heart the way he had the album. “I was hoping to make this last. But, you’ve made that impossible now, Jules.” Arms rose over his head. Fingers tugged at the collar and he pulled the t-shirt off in an elegant peel. “I was thinking, maybe, I could hold out for a few songs. But, it’s probably only gonna be one. And, if it’s only gonna be one...” He pointed at the flannel she wore. “Take off my shirt.”

“What?”

His right eyebrow cocked. “You said you were done with questions.”

Her mouth dried up.

Finally, a smile returned. “And, don’t say you’re sorry to me. Not again.” He shook his head. “Not ever.” A stride filled with that Dean confidence made its way to the nightstand. Two fingers pulled open the drawer. He bent down and rummaged. The tap of a foil package hit the table’s surface. A knee closed the drawer.

Julie knew this was coming tonight. Had been hoping, praying even, that nothing else would prevent this from happening. The nerves, the fright, the reality of it had made her hesitate with a pool of muddy, emotional thoughts instead of pure passion and action. Then, when she thought she had fucked it all up, with the words and the estrogen induced interrogation, this complication of a beautiful man had gotten the train back on track. But even scarier, he now seemed to be all aboard with the idea of making this night mean so much more.

“Come over here, baby.” He patted the mattress in front of his standing figure.

Julie gulped and crawled over the mess of sheets and sat on the edge of the bed. Her head tilted up. He grabbed her chin with his thumb and forefinger. “So very pretty.” She thought he must have been commenting on how he looked, perfection in light and shadow. “Take it off.” The command was soft.    

Her hands found the buttons and did not spare any time to strip herself of the shirt.

His smile widened along with his eyes. “Eager, too, huh?”

She smiled.

“Good. I won’t feel so bad when this is over in minutes.” He tore the foil package open and put it back on the table. His fingertips delved into the hair at the top of her head, combed down through to end at the swell of her left breast. He pressed his warm palm right over her heart. “You know how you hear a song and you connect it to a specific memory?”

She nodded.

Dean licked his lips and catalogued every inch of her breasts with a stare that melted her insides. “I have lots of memories with this one song. All good, maybe even great. Someone might even say this song makes me feel safe.”

Julie swallowed.

“Wanna make me feel safe, sweetheart?” He grinned.

“Yes, Dean.” She didn’t hesitate in her response.

“Alright, then.” Dean broke eye contact and walked back to the record player. He cocked his head and smiled at Julie. “We’re gonna work on our night moves, baby.”

Dean could have said they were going to work on their taxes and Julie knew it would sound just as fucking sexy.

He dropped the needle in place and made a beeline toward her. A guitar strummed and filled the room. He dipped down, caught her lips with his open mouth. His arms wrapped her up, laid her down on the bed. Once again, the weight of him pressed against her side. She moaned when he rose up to his knees on the mattress, disconnecting. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties, and pulled them down past her hips. She brought her own knees up to assist. His lips mouthed to the lyrics as he removed the last of her clothing. Her lips tugged up at the show.

She was a black-haired beauty with big dark eyes ***

And points all her own sitting way up high

He tossed the panties to the floor and ran his hands up the length of her body, stopping to massage her breasts and give her nipples a slight twist. He mouthed the next line.

Way up firm and high

Julie giggled. He flopped down on his back, flesh of their arms rubbing, and without pomp or circumstance, pulled off his boxer briefs, singing along this time.

Out past the cornfields where the woods got heavy

Out in the back seat of my '60 Chevy

Workin' on mysteries without any clues

He fell silent now. Turned to stare at Julie. He held the open condom wrapper between two fingers and raised his brows again. She nodded. A low growl bubbled up from his throat. Her eyes dipped down to watch him work his cock. She knew it wouldn’t take long. She wanted to speak, say something. Every other time he’d wanted to hear her voice. But this time is different.

And we'd steal away every chance we could

To the backroom, to the alley or the trusty woods

I used her, she used me

But neither one cared

We were gettin' our share

He rolled the condom over his erection. His body rolled between her waiting thighs. The dominance and power was gone from the way he hovered. He kissed her lips, slow and easy. His fingers slipped into her wetness. He moaned into her mouth and lubed up his sheathed erection with her want. Every cell sparked under her skin. The tip of him poking with insistence at her entrance.

Tryin' to lose the awkward teenage blues

Workin' on our night moves

And it was summertime

Sweet summertime summertime

All of the instruments stopped for a second, then resumed their rhythm. Dean searched Julie’s face again. It was all there in those apple green eyes. The request, the need, the want. He wanted to speak, too, she could sense it. But this time is different. He pushed inside her, slow and easy, letting her accept, adjust, and respond to him as Mr. Seger sang.

And oh the wonder

We felt the lightning

And we waited on the thunder

Waited on the thunder

He didn’t ask if she was ready. He didn’t need to. Because this time is different.

He pulled back, eased inside again. His forearms held his body up for part of the sway. But when he tunnelled back, nice and slow at first, the delicious friction of his chest ran along her hard nipples. This wasn’t going to take long. Because this time is different. His pace increased, breath fumed out of his nose, jaw clenched every time he bottomed into her fully.

Dean’s rhythm was quick and steady now, firm and prodding, as the song did the exact opposite and slowed in its reminiscence. Heat rose in her core. He grabbed one of her legs, propped it up to hook onto his hip. His eyes never left hers through any of it. He found that spot deep inside. And worked. Hard. She gasped at how he lit her up from within. Grabbed his shoulders and held on. While he worked.

I awoke last night to the sound of thunder

How far off I sat and wondered

Started humming a song from 1962

She wrapped her calf tight, draped it over the curve of his tight ass muscles. He was using all of himself, drilling into her now. The sound of wood creaking, mattress springs straining. Moans toppled and stacked atop each other.

Ain't it funny how the night moves

When you just don't seem to have as much to lose

Strange how the night moves

With autumn closing in

The music stopped again. Dean stilled, froze. His forehead leaned against hers. “Baby?” He whispered.

“Yes, Dean.”

“You feel so safe.”

He pulled back and she got lost in his eyes. Her heart lodged up into her throat. He nodded with a smile and exhaled, sharp and low, as the guitar started up again. His fingers snuck between their bodies, strummed her clit. And he worked. All of him. With her. This is different.

She studied every movement of his face. The vertical line that formed between his brow, deep in concentration. The little craters that appeared above either side of his top lip, embedding into laugh lines, when he quirked up his mouth. The flare of his nostrils. The look she tried to define in his crystal green eyes boring into her, shining like glass. He brought her to release and rode the wave. His moans enveloped hers. She clenched her walls, tightening around him.

The end of the song was near and so was Dean. His mouth opened, he struggled out a strangled groan, body rigid in her embrace. And he came. Hard. His body shivered. He grinned, kissed her lips, and rolled them both to their sides. Still. Connected. This is different.

The song ended. Quiet for a few moments before the next track began. Dean swiped at her cheek. Julie felt the wetness under the pad of his thumb. She was crying. Oh, no.

Dean smiled. Pulled her in close and held her. He kissed her forehead. She forced away the tears, slowed her breathing. “Tell me those are good tears, sweetheart.” He whispered in her ear.

She nodded along the scruff of his jaw.

Kisses dabbed at her damp cheeks. “Good. Because we just made one hell of an awesome memory.”

She smiled. He kissed the apple of her cheek.

He moaned, pulled out of her, then stood up. Naked and glorious. He rolled off the condom as he spoke and tied it up. “Gotta use the bathroom. Coming back.” He wandered to the doorway, then turned back to look at her with a wide grin. “Always coming back.”

*** Lyrics from Night Moves by Bob Seger

~~~~~

Part 18

Series Page

[itisannak]

‘Better Man’ by 5sos (Luke Hemmings Smut) (The Youngblood Series)

Summary: The big day for (Y/N) and Luke is here, and after the dream wedding, a honeymoon in paradise awaits for them. (Smut / Unprotected Sex / Semi-Public Sex / Makeshift Bondage / Teasing / Little bit of degrading) (Words: 4.3k) (Part 1: Lie to me, Part 2: Ghost of you, Part 3: If walls could talk)

The song begins and I start walking the aisle towards my man. My heart is beating fast, almost jumping out of my chest. I know that all eyes are on me, but mine are glued to Luke; he looks like a prince, dressed in flannel pants and a simple white shirt. Of course, our wedding wouldn't be something extra; we opted for a small ceremony at the beach, just our close friends and family. We both picked simple outfits, nothing too much.

I can't get my eyes off of him; he is my dream come true. And he looks at me with such adoration, such love; I feel like the most important being on earth. I can see him tear up as I walk the final steps towards him; dear God, what did I do to deserve him. "You are gorgeous." He breathes out, cupping my face in his hands. I smile at him and rub my thumb over his hand. "You are so handsome." I compliment him as well. He presses his forehead to mine and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. "If you are ready, shall we begin?" The officiator asks. We turn to look at him and nod, taking our places. I hand the flowers to my maid of honor and turn back to Luke, who takes my hands in his. "We gathered here today to honor the love of these 2 young people, Luke and (Y/N). The couple asked me to skip the preach and let them talk, so please, be quiet while they speak their souls." The officiator says and steps a bit back.

Luke clears his throat and looks at me. "My sweet, wonderful (Y/N). Before you came into my life, I would never consider doing what I am doing right now. At every party I went to, I found someone new. Every night a different woman on my bed, every morning the same awkward conversation. Before you I thought I was at the top of the world, nothing could get me happier. What a fool I was. You came into my life and made everything a hundred times better. Every mistake of my life led right to you. You were a game-changer. You took a boy and turned him into a man. I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you. See the world with you, build a life with you. I can't wait to spend my life wrapped in your arms, wake up every morning with you. I promise to always take care of you, have your back at all times, and never put anyone else above you. I love you, angel." He says. Fuck, how is my speech ever going to top his off? I take a deep breath to stop myself from crying. "I am not as good at words as you are. But looking at you makes my brain play my favorite song, makes my eyes sparkle. It feels like home when you are holding me, and I feel like I am in heaven when you are kissing me. You are the purest, nicest person I have ever encountered and it messes me up how and why you ended up with me. But I am thankful you did. I promise to love and cherish you always. I will let no one come between me and you. I adore you, Luke Robert Hemmings, and I am excited to become yours forever." I finish off, making Luke smile brightly. "Please repeat after me. With this ring..." The officiator begins. "With this ring..." We both repeat. "I give you my heart" "I give you my heart" I smile at Luke who eases the ring on my finger. "I promise from this day forward, you shall not walk alone." "I promise from this day forward, you shall not walk alone." "May my heart be your shelter." "May my heart be your shelter." "And my arms be your home." "And my arms be your home." We both finish, smiling from ear to ear. "If anyone can show just cause why this couple cannot lawfully be joined together in matrimony, let them speak now or forever hold their peace" The officiator speaks. I don't even understand why this part is still included in the ceremony; no one would dare speak up, they know I would kill them. "By the power provided to me by the State of California, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride." The officiator announces and Luke chuckles. "Finally." He breathes out and places his hands on my face, bringing our lips together. I smile against his lips and hear everyone around us cheer. "Hi, Mrs. Hemmings." He mumbles, bringing his lips back to mine.

In contrast to the simple wedding, the party was all kinds of extra. It was huge, just a day for the two of us to celebrate with friends and family. Everyone got drunk too fast, which made everything even more entertaining. Luke walks up to me with a bottle of beer in hand. "How is my wifey?" He asks, hugging me by my waist. "I hate the word wifey." I say. He hazily closes his eyes and brings me closer to his body, swaying his hips and making me move mine as well. We dance to the beat that is played by the band. "How drunk are you?" I ask him, leaning to whisper in his ear. As I stretch to lean onto me, his hand lowers to my ass and gives it a squeeze before it just rests there. "It's not about how drunk I am, it's about how sober you are. Come get wasted with me. I want us to have sloppy drunk sex..." He mumbles and I giggle; he is just so fucking cute when he is drunk and horny. "Sloppy drunk sex huh? You are going to waste the perfect honeymoon suite for sloppy drunk sex?" I ask. "Oh princess, I like how you think that I won't be fucking you in the bathroom in 30 minutes from now." He chuckles and softly slaps my ass. "Luke, I'd like to remind you that we are in public, and your parents are here, as well as mine." I comment and Luke side smirks. "They want grandchildren, so they'd better not say a word. And come on, I know you changed out of your wedding dress so it would be easier for me to just pin you on the stall and fuck you until my dick bulges out of your tummy." He whispers. "I actually changed out of my dress to be more comfortable and move easier during the party." I reply. "Yeah right..." He cackles sarcastically. I roll my eyes at him and watch as Ashton, Calum, and Michael walk onto the stage, a little tipsy.

The band that was playing stops and hand their instruments to the guys. "Right... I'll be right back." Luke says, pecks on my forehead, and jogs to the stage. Luke grabs the microphone after he gets the guitar and looks at the people that are gathered around the little stage. "Hey everyone. How are we doing tonight?" He asks and everyone cheers. "Good, good. Thank you for being here tonight, it means a lot to my wife and me... Wife... It sounds so funny to use the word to talk about my girl... Anyway, you are lucky to be here, because you are about to see the 4 of us, pretty drunk, perform a song I wrote for my wife, a while back when she was still just my girlfriend. I love you babygirl." He says and points right at me. I giggle and take a drink from the tray before I walk closer to the stage. Calum begins with the bassline for the song and slowly Michael joins him with the guitar. Ashton sets the rhythm as Calum opens his mouth to sing the lyrics. His girlfriend looks at him in complete adoration, reminding me of myself and Luke. Honestly, Calum should just marry that girl already.

I love the light in your eyes and the dark in your heart Calum begins, smiling at Luke and then to his girl who is already cheering. You love our permanent chase and the bite of our bark We know we're classic together like Egyptian gold We love us It don't matter, be combative or be sweet cherry pie Luke stares right at me, which makes my knees weak and heart beat faster; like the first time. It don't matter just as long as I get all you tonight I can take you out, oh, oh We can kill some time, stay home Throw balloons, teddy bears, and the chocolate eclairs away Got nothing but love for you, fall more in love every day Valentine, valentine Luke uses his most sensual voice, closing his eyes and throwing his head back. I bite my lip and feel my breath hitch to the back of my throat. So deep, your DNA's being messed with my touch It is now Michael's turn to sing, which gives Luke more guitar chords to cover. I watch him and admire the way his fingers move along the instrument, but my brain just keeps picturing his fingers moving like that inside me. Can't beat us So real, fueling the fire until we combust Can't touch us It don't matter be combative or be sweet cherry pie It don't matter just as long as I get all you tonight I can take you out, oh, oh We can kill some time, stay home Throw balloons, teddy bears, and the chocolate eclairs away Got nothing but love for you, fall more in love every day Valentine, valentine Full plate, don't wait, have your cake and eat it too Luke's low and sensual voice is back on. I feel the same way I do when we are having sex, my body is just completely hooked to the feeling he is giving me. Full plate, don't wait, have your cake and eat it I can take you out, oh, oh We can kill some time, stay home Throw balloons, teddy bears, and the chocolate eclairs away Got nothing but love for you, fall more in love every day Valentine, valentine Valentine, valentine The lyrics die down and just the music is being dragged a little until it dies down as well and everyone screams and cheers for them. I am completely lost, in a type of haze; my lips are parted and my body is covered in goosebumps.

"Did you like the show, princess?" Luke asks cockily as he approaches me. My mouth is still agape, which only enforces his smirk. I don't reply to him, I just take his hand in mine and guide him towards the bathroom. I don't even care if anyone sees us; either way, they are too drunk to remember.

I pick the last stall and pull him inside, locking it so no one will walk in on us. "I told you I would be fucking you in the bathroom..." Luke says cockily. I raise the hem of my dress and take his hand, putting it inside my panties. "This is how wet you made me with your little show." I moan and look at him as he stares at me in surprise and lust. "I did all that?" He teases me by moving his fingers slowly around my entrance. "Don't act like this is the first time you have me dripping wet while on stage... Or while doing anything in general..." I groan and bite my lip as he moves his fingers to my clit, spreading my wetness. I let out a small gasp as he presses his fingers under the hood of my clit. "Should I slip my fingers inside you, stroke your g-spot until you cum on my long fingers, princess?" He asks me, licking his lips teasingly. "No, I need my husband's cock, I need your thick cock, daddy, please." I whimper and look at him, taking my doll eyes. Luke smirks at me. "You know my buttons, princess. Now, I can't really disappoint my wife, can I?" He asks with a cocky side smirk. "You'd better not. Happy wife, happy life..." I state. Luke unzips his pants and takes his cock out. He presses me more on the wall and latches his arms around my thighs, picking me up with ease. "Just a quickie, we don't want to lose our wedding party, do we?" He asks, licking his bottom lip. With one hand he keeps me from falling, and with the other, he slips his dick inside me. I moan at the sudden feeling of his member stretching my walls. I grip his shoulders and bow my head forward until it rests on his shoulderblade. My legs are wrapped tightly around him, supporting my body and keeping him close. He moves his hips slowly, letting me get adjusted to him. "You feel so tight around me, princess. It feels like you've never been touched. And you and I both know that this is not the truth..." He whispers, grasping my thighs even harder. I try to move my hips a little, but end up with Luke's nails digging my flesh to stop me. His thrusts are now a little faster and he is trying to set a pace. Honestly, we are both too drunk to care about it; all I know is that he made my clit throb and walls pulse and I want my release. "I am fucking my wife in the bathroom of our wedding party venue, for fuck's sake." He whimpers, thrusting in me violently. I let out a small scream and my back hits the wall with a thud. "Shit, are you ok, princess?" He asks, slowing down his thrusts. "Yeah, do it again..." I moan out. I can tell he has gotten more excited by my reaction, his hands press on my skin harder, his thrusts become faster and harder. Now my back collides with the wall repeatedly, almost with every thrust. My nails dig on his neck, my breathing becoming rapid. My stomach is tied in a knot and with every thrust, I am pushed towards my high. "This is so good, this is so good." I breathe out, moving my hips a little. "I know... I want to cum so bad..." He growls, slamming in me. He cums in a few seconds, releasing inside me and triggering my own orgasm. He thrusts sloppy inside me, reaching to rub my clit in slow circles. But there is no need; I cum around him, screaming and throwing my head back. My face tenses up, as my body goes numb for a moment. Luke pants to catch his breath, still not letting me at my feet as I try to come down from my orgasm.

After we both fix ourselves, we walk out and towards where the party is held. Everyone seems to be drunk and way too relax, which eases the feeling of worry inside me. "Those panties better be stained with my cum when I take them off of you, princess." Luke whispers in my ear before he walks away to talk to some guests.

  During our honeymoon trip, we spend whole days in our hotel room, fucking like animals. Every piece of furniture in the room, every spot probably has our imprint by now. When I finally convince him to just head to the beach, I feel that I will finally be able to catch my breath; not that I am complaining, but I need my knees to stop feeling wobbly. "Isn't it beautiful?" I ask as I walk out of the water and towards the place where Luke is sitting, with all our stuff. The small cabana is close to the shore, so my voice gets Luke's attention easily. His eyes land on me and he begins scanning my body, taking his bottom lip between his teeth. I lean over him and grab a towel to dry myself off, but he grips on my waist and pulls me to sit on his lap. I giggle and lean forward for a quick peck, but he grabs the back of my head and keeps me there, forcing his tongue into my mouth. He lays me on my back and he hovers over me, cupping my face. "Luke..." I moan, trying to protest. "What is it, pretty girl?" He asks, parting inches from my lips. "We are in public." I state and he chuckles. "We will close the curtain. Come on, you can't really expect me to see you in this ridiculously tiny bikini and not have my hands all over your body?" He smirks at me and toys with the strings of my bikini. "We will get caught..." I whimper. Luke's eyes glisten and his face tenses up. His hand goes to my throat and presses it, making my breath hitch. "Did you protest to daddy? Do you remember what happens when you protest to daddy? Maybe I was too soft on you lately... You get a red ass and no orgasm, that's what happens. This can happen in 2 ways, dove. I either close the curtains and we get our privacy, or I fuck you on the sand, right in front of everyone... You pick." He spits out. I recognize the light in his eye; I am in for a good fuck. My lips are parted and my hand goes to his wrist, not fighting for his hand to get off my throat, but just getting a feeling of him.

"Curtains." I whisper, my voice barely coming out of my throat. He smiles and slaps my cheek lightly before he stands up and shuts the curtains. Without a warning and with apparent ease, he flips me on my stomach and unties the strings of my bikini. No words are being exchanged as he ties my wrists behind my back, using the tiny garment. Next, his hands grope my ass harshly, squeezing the flesh. I know better than to groan or moan. I feel him bite on my ass cheek, which makes my body shiver. He grabs the end of the bikini top that is tied around my wrists and makes me sit up on my knees. He lowers the bikini bottom and brings the string between my folds. He moves it back and forth, watching me as my face contorts in pleasure. "Luke..." I moan and bite my lip. He moves the string even slower, almost torturing me. "Yes, pretty girl?" He asks as if nothing is happening. I can't really form any words, my mind is just too lost in the sweet torture. Luke chuckles at my lack of response. He still holds the string but now he is using his thumb to stroke my clit. He moves in front of me and kneels down, bringing his lips to wrap around my nipple. He is using his teeth to roughen it up, grazing the over the tip of it. His thumb is barely touching my nub of nerves, just brushing circles on it. Ι feel my toes curl as he flicks his tongue over my bud; it feels out-worldly, making my stomach churn and my heartburn. "Luke, please..." I mumble under my breath. Luke seems to hear it, raising his gaze to meet mine while his lips are still on my chest. "What do you want, princess?" He asks, lowering his lips to my abdomen. He bites on the side of my ribs, still not breaking eye contact. "I want you, please." I cry out. Luke chuckles and shakes his head. "You have to beg for me, earn my cock, pretty girl... Or else it won't be that fun. At least not for me." He states, his tongue licking patterns on my skin. I breathe with difficulty, my body feeling like putty in his hands. "Please, Luke. Please, I want to feel you... I need to feel you. I am empty without you, my pussy feels so tingly, I just need you to ease me... daddy. I promise I am going to be such a good girl. And you can do whatever you want with my body..." I whimper. Luke sits up, slaps my cheek and grabs my jaw. "The funny thing is, I am already doing whatever I want with your body, princess..." He growls.

The hair on the back of my neck stands straight. "Please... please daddy. I can feel my pussy dripping down my thighs... Please, fuck me. I'll do whatever you want, whatever you say... Please..." I plead once more. I am vulnerable, helpless in front of him, my wrists behind my back and his strong grip on my jaw leave me completely to his will. "Listen how it is going to be, princess. I will fuck you, deep, hard, just the way you like it. But you will not cum until I say so... If I say so. I will let you, only if you are going to be a good girl. And when I am done with you, you are going to walk out of here, just in your little sundress. Your bikini bottoms are going to stay here, a little gift for the next visitor. And my cum is going to drip out of you. And you know it is going to be a lot, princess. But you are not going to let it drip down your legs, no one can see my cum dripping out of you. I don't care how, but you are going to keep it inside you. And if I see, even a drop of cum down your leg when we are back in the hotel... well princess, you won't be able to sit on your ass until the trip is over. Is this clear, princess?" He growls and tangles my hair in his hand, yanking my head backward. My scalp stings and all I can do is nod my head. "Use your pretty mouth, princess. While you still can." He smirks. "Yes, daddy." I moan and nod my head. Luke snickers and turns me around, using the string of my bikini to tie my ankles together. I feel exposed, completely helpless; my wrists are already hurting, but I love that. "That's my girl." He growls, holding my hips upwards. He slams in me, making me fall forward. I hear him growl animalistic, one hand holding me by my wrists and one hand holding my hip to bring me closer to his body. Relentlessly, he thrusts upward, hitting my g-spot; the shit knows what he is doing, making it harder for me not to cum, from the tension and the direct ecstasy crawling throughout my body. I know that if I cum now, he will edge me for the rest of the week, at best. "That's it babygirl. Take my cock deep in your tight little pussy. Doesn't it feel right, princess? My thick cock stretching your walls, my tip hitting right on your special little spot, my veins throbbing inside you..." He whispers in my ear, pounding his hips against my ass. The words dance around my brain, throwing me deeper into my little pleasure world. And the fact that I can't touch him, I can't see him, I can't taste him, kiss him, mark him, it just drives me insane. My head falls forward, my eyes shut and I try to hold myself back. "Take my cock, little whore. Take it deep inside you. Can you feel it bulge in your stomach, hm? Can you feel my cock throb and pulse inside your tightening walls? Oh, little slut, your walls are squeezing around me, milking the cum out of me... Oh, babygirl, can you feel how heavy my balls are as they slap against your pussy? I bet it feels so good." He groans. He bites into my neck, right on the sweetspot, the combination of his dick pounding in and out of me and the bite on my soft spot are enough to make my stomach twist and toes curl. But I hold back, I hold back until he tells me to just let go. "You are so wet for me, so tight for me. Everything for me. Just for me." He hisses. "Just for you." I moan. Luke grunts as he drives his hips faster inside me. "That's my good girl... You make daddy so happy... And so horny... You may cum, princess." He whispers and holds me closer, fucking me deeper and faster.

That's all I needed; my toes curl until they hurt, my heart beats faster, my stomach explodes in millions of butterflies. My eyes water as I let out a scream, which gets muffled by Luke's hand immediately. He hisses as he pounds me, until he cums inside me, rope after rope of cum staining my walls. It makes my orgasm last longer, causing my head to spin and give up. Luke still inside me, pants for breath and pecks my shoulder blade. "You were so good for me, princess." He praises me reaching down to undo the knots that keep my legs and wrists together. Once my wrists are free, he grabs them and kisses the marks that are imprinted on my skin. "Are you feeling ok, pretty girl?" He asks, turning my face to look me in the eyes. I nod and smile at him, trying to relax my body. "Great." He smiles and slips his cock out of me. "Let's see if you can follow the rest of my orders now." He smiles and slaps my ass as he reaches for his clothes, while his cum begins oozing out of me.

My Masterlist /  Lie to me / Ghost of you / If walls could talk 

[thatsouthernanthem]

soooo i wrote a fic for staci & maddy and decided that everyone should see it. actually, @lacedwithlilacs demanded everyone see it sooooo yeah!!

title: the best of you, the rest of you, honey belongs to me rated: explicit fandom: far cry 5 pairing: staci pratt x deputy (madalynn forrester)

She allows herself a smirk as she watches Rook follow Joey up the stairs before knocking back another shot of whiskey. They deserve a moment of happiness and Joey looks ten times better than she did when Maddy and Rook had split up and headed for the other Heralds. 

Maddy catches the falter in Rook’s step though, and the way Joey reaches out for him, her hand sliding around his arm to make sure he doesn’t fall. He looks about as well as you’d expect for someone who spent weeks at a time, for months, being tortured by Jacob Seed. She shudders and wiggles her empty shot glass at Mary May, sick at herself once again, for not getting there sooner. 

A body crowds into her space, huddling against her arm in the dim light, and though she can’t hear the words his lips are whispering to himself over the noise of the bar, Maddy can tell that Staci Pratt is close to having a breakdown. She catches a quiet strong, no weak, and carefully wraps her fingers around his wrist to catch his attention. 

“Hey,” she murmurs, pulling him down so his ear is by her lips. “Let’s go upstairs, just hang out where it’s quieter.” She doesn’t wait for a reply, turning to Mary May and pointing at the bottle of whiskey behind the blonde. “Add it to my tab?”

“If I was keepin’ tabs right now, Forrester,” Mary May grins as she slides the bottle and two glasses down the bar, “you’d be owin’ me for a long time. But hell, I owe you so it’ll all be even.”

Maddy mouths her thanks before grabbing the bottle around the neck and pressing the glasses into Staci’s shaking hands. “Hold onto these for me, ‘kay? We gotta pretend to be classy, at least for the first few drinks.”

His shoulders relax, just a tiny bit, and he huffs a soft noise she thinks might be a laugh. All that matters is when he looks at her, under his too-long hair, his hazel eyes are clearer than they were a moment ago. 

They wind their way through the crowd--the bar extra full of the friends they made in the Henbane River Valley and the Whitetails, full of the Resistance and Militia members who want to celebrate the end of Jacob Seed. She catches a glimpse of Nick and Kim in the corner, baby Carmina in her carseat on the table before them and she can’t blame them for bringing the four month old to the bar, not when you can’t let those you love out of your sight. She’s surprised when she skirts around Eli and Tammy--shocked that they’d leave the Wolf’s Den, even though the area is safer than it has been in years. 

Eli grins at her and lifts his beer in her direction, sliding his arm around Tammy’s back as he tries to pull her toward the crowded dance floor--Maddy can hear her protests over the thumping beat of Dorothy’s Raise Hell. 

Staci presses his hand into hers, pushing his clammy palm into hers, and she’s quick to grab his fingers, to squeeze reassuringly. Glancing over her shoulder as she starts up the stairs, she meets his eyes and smiles at him. “You okay? You can just go to bed if you want? Rook’s not usin’ his room tonight, I guarantee you that.”

“No,” Staci shakes his head, his jaw tightening for a moment as he lets go of her hand to graze his fingers against her hip and she swallows hard, his movements reminiscent of the moment they had in the Wolf’s Den. “No, I wanna...I need to spend time with you.”

She nods, biting her lip and continuing up the stairs until they reach the upper floor of personal rooms that Mary May had been kind enough to give the deputies while they worked on saving the county. Shoving the bottle of whiskey under her arm, Maddy opens her door and clicks on the light. 

The room smells a little stale--in the months she’s been in the Henbane and then the Whitetails, it seems it’s gone untouched. The bed is made, the old quilt Mary May’s grandmother had made many years ago laid on top; clothes still hang in the closet, all loners from Mary May and Grace, and a few of Rook’s softer flannels. 

Setting the whiskey on the side table, Maddy curls her fingers around one of the columns of the old, wooden four-poster bed, offering Staci a smile. He moves to the whiskey and pours them healthy portions, his fingers shaking when he offers her the glass. “To you,” he whispers, his voice hoarse and deep and she hates how it sends a shiver down her spine, hates that the pain in his voice still makes her weak in the knees for him. “For...barging into the Whitetails like a fuckin’ banshee and settin’ fire to everything to save us.”

“I’d never leave y’all behind,” Maddy whispers, her lips ghosting against the rim of the glass. She takes a pull of the alcohol, wincing slightly as it goes down warm. Staci is still staring at her, his eyes sunken behind bruises and scars. Setting the whiskey down, she shakes her head at him. “Stace, you’re okay, okay? You’re going to be okay, I’m gonna make sure--”

He cuts her off, shoving his own glass to the side table, the amber liquid sloshing over the side, before grabbing her face, pulling her away from the bedpost and into him. His lips slide over hers, rough and chapped, his tongue pushing its way into her mouth, the taste of him tinged with whiskey flooding her senses. She grabs at his hair, his shoulders, standing on her tip-toes to collide into him. 

Staci groans into her mouth, pressing her back, back, back, until she bumps into the wall beside the door. Her hand flies out to push the lock in before sliding her hand carefully under the hem of his shirt. He starts, then stills, then drags his mouth from hers to press his lips against her pulse, to scrape the wild beating with his teeth. “Is this, are you--”

“Yes,” Maddy whispers, cheeks burning red at the pure desperation in her voice. “God, yes, touch me, Staci--”

His hands barely shake when they reach up to cup her face, his thumb dragging over the wound across her cheek, barely healed, then along the one at the corner of her lip. His eyes darken as his fingers trace a cut across her throat, flexing gently as she swallows hard. She moves to slide his shirt up, to trace the muscle she can just barely feel under her fingertips but he squeezes, just enough to stop her, a whine falling from her lips. 

“No,” he mutters, his voice gravelly as he ducks his head, scraping his teeth against her jaw. “Let me touch you first.” 

Biting her bottom lip, Maddy lets her head fall back against the wall, her hands hovering at her sides until she places her palms against the wood, to keep them still. The command in Staci’s voice is implicit--don’t move, don’t do anything, just let him take control. There’s a change in him now; gone is the timid, broken man she’s come to know since his rescue. Now she sees a flash of the old Staci, a flash of the man that grabbed her in the Wolf’s Den and kissed her senseless before his terror kicked back in. She’ll do anything to keep that from happening again. 

His mouth trails wet kisses down her throat, stopping to unbutton the flannel she’d stolen from Rook earlier in the day, licking at skin as it’s exposed, inhaling sharply at the wrath carved into her chest. It’s still red, tender from the infection that had set in while she traveled the Henbane--Tracey had given her some antibiotics the last time Maddy woke up at the jail, but the tissue surrounding the tattoo is still painful. Staci brushes soft fingertips across the word before ducking down and pressing his lips against it, murmuring things she can’t hear against the inflamed skin. 

He pushes the flannel off of her shoulders, tossing it behind him before unbuttoning her shorts and shoving them down the swell of her hips and ass, kicking them out of the way before bending before her to tug her shoes and socks off. His fingers trail up her legs, his feather-light touch tickling her and she shivers, shifts above him, clenching her thighs together as he brushes against the front of her panties. 

“Fuck,” she whispers, staring down at him as his eyes lock onto hers, as he presses himself closer to her center, as he hooks her knee over his shoulder and presses his mouth against her lace-covered cunt.

She trembles, her fingers winding into his hair as she whines, as she tries to increase the friction, but he stops her, his hands firm on her hips. “No,” he growls, his breath hot against her. “My way.”

Maddy nods frantically, pressing herself back against the wall in an effort to show she’s going to listen, that she’ll be good. His index finger hooks along the hem of her panties, tugging them to the side and his tongue darts out, lapping at her folds. She keens, her hand coming up to her mouth, as she tries her hardest not to rut against him. It’s been so long, months, since the last time anyone has touched her this way--Sharky was a reprieve until he realized fucking her wasn’t helping her in the slightest, and desperate to not ruin their friendship, he put an end to it. Her fingers against her clit in abandoned homes were nothing compared to the spear of Staci’s tongue, the stretch of his broader fingers as he slid them inside of her with little resistance. 

He groans from between her legs, pulling his fingers out to lick them clean before tugging her panties off and letting them follow the path of her other clothes. Staci stands, his hands spanning her hips, dancing up her ribs until they come to rest just below the lacy bralette she’d thrown on earlier. His thumbs drag over her nipples, already hard under the fabric, as he cups her small breasts, and he smirks, he fucking smirks and she’s almost overjoyed at the expression, at the normality of it on him. 

“Stace,” she whispers, her voice breaking as he pushes the bra up and over her head. He tugs her hair out of the sloppy ponytail it’s in, and cups her face, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip. She can count the broken blood vessels on his skin, can see the way the bruise has painted blue and black, purple and yellow across his nose. “I-” She’s afraid of what she’s going to say, emotion bubbling up in her that seems too much too quick. Maddy shivers, naked in his arms as he searches her face. Her hands grab at his elbows, holding him there, against her, fully clothed. “I need you, please--”

He groans and she rises her on her tiptoes to swallow it in a kiss, crushing her mouth against his. Staci grabs her around her waist, his large hands spanning the width of her body to swing her away from the wall, to press her against the quilt spread out on the bed. She wants to push his clothes off of him, to bare him to her like she is to him, but he pins her hands to the bed with one of his own wrapping around her thin wrists. 

She wonders if she’s just that much smaller, thinner, than him, or if she really hasn’t taken care of herself as well as she thought. His free hand trails down her ribs and drag over the sharp jut of her hipbone and she can hear him hum, tsk, to himself as if cataloging the “problems” he finds. She wants to grab him up, to tell him she’s okay, that she’s going to be fine now that she has him and Rook back, but he drags his tongue over the tattoo at her rib cage and her mind goes blank. 

His tongue traces the outline of the revolver on her skin; she can feel the spear of his tongue spell out the words on the scroll work, the capitalized BANG. Rook used to tease her about the silliness of ruining a perfectly good revolver tattoo, but right now as she squirms under his tongue, pinned to the bed with his hand, she’s terribly glad she opted for the dumb thing. 

Sucking a bruise into her skin just under the tattoo, Staci finally sits back, fixing her with a look when he lets go of her hands. Maddy keeps them where he leaves him, stretched up over her head, arching her back just enough to make a pretty picture for him to take in before he begins kicking off his shoes. He shucks his pants down over his narrow hips before yanking the old shirt he wears off and behind him. 

His shoulders and chest are covered in bruises, in scratches, in marks that make her ache to hold him, to trace them and press kisses against each one and for half a second she can see the scared Staci flicker back into his eyes, as he hesitates with the hem of his briefs, his cock a hard outline under the fabric. 

Ignoring the worry of disappointing him, Maddy sits up and grabs his wrist, tugging him back onto the bed with her, sliding her hands up and into his hair, tilting his head to the side to kiss him as she presses her body against his. His hands fumble at her sides for a moment before dragging her thigh up and over his hip, rutting against her. 

She moans into his mouth at the feel of his cock against her folds, relishing the hard pulse of him even through the material of his underwear. Maddy pulls back, just enough to press her lips against the bruise on his cheek, the bruise on his nose, gently before looking him in the eyes. “Staci...let me touch you now? Please?” 

He hesitates again, his fingers spasming at her thigh and his jaw twitches with how tight he clenches it. Glancing down at the marks on his skin, worry painted clearly on his face, he grimaces. Maddy gently takes his chin and kisses him again, slowly, her hips pressing into his tightly. Staci nods, jerkily, allowing her to push him back against the mattress so she can hover over him. 

Carefully, Maddy lowers herself against him, her knees tucking against his ribs as she settles in his lap, shivering as she rolls her hips against Staci’s. He bucks up, into her, his cock straining against his briefs, but she forces herself to slow down, to duck down and press her lips against the bruise at his collarbone. 

She traces it with her tongue until she reaches the healing cut it stems from, at the dip of his sternum. He shudders under her, his hands ghosting over her bare skin before settling one on her hip, the other in her hair. Kissing the wound, she travels downward, branding each mark with her mouth, until she’s reached the waistband of his underwear. Glancing up at him, she swallows hard at the look in his eyes--how they’ve dilated with need, with want, of her--her fingers toying with the elastic as she mouths at the trail of hair that disappears under the fabric. 

Dragging her mouth along the hard outline of him, through the cloth, she can’t contain the moan that falls from her lips at the feel of him. He shudders at the vibration, his hand tightening in her hair, her name a whine as he presses his hips up toward her. She gives in, dragging the waistband down, grinning to herself as his cock springs free, heavy, red and leaking from its tip as it falls heavily against his stomach. 

He kicks the underwear down his legs as she settles between them, wrapping her hand at the base of his cock and tugging upward, twisting her wrist as she reaches the tip. Her thumb spreads the slick of his precum across the head, dragging her hand back down before leaning forward to lap at the salty taste of him. His hand is tight in her hair now, a constant pull that borders on painful, but the look on his face as she meets his eyes is worth any of the discomfort. 

A sound leaves him, like he’s been gutted, when she slips his cock between her lips, when she takes him deep into her mouth, and deeper still. She holds herself there, her palms flat on his thighs, his hand flexing in her hair, curses and sighs leaving him in huffs as she swallows him down, her nose pressing against the soft hair at his stomach. Pulling back, she gasps for air, a string of spit connecting her lips to his cock in the most obscene way and she loves it. It makes her feel powerful, the way his thighs tremble, the way he can’t quite get words out. She goes forward, to take him in her mouth again but his hand tugs her hair sharply, pulling her away from his cock. 

She whines, batting his hand away from her hair so she can take him in her mouth once more, bobbing her head as she moves up and down his length. There’s something she loves about this--the weight of him on her tongue, the taste of him, the knowledge that with a few more expert twirls of her tongue and maybe the barest scrape of her teeth, she can have him coming in seconds. 

Growling, Staci tugs her away, rolling them over, lifting her leg to his shoulder and sliding inside of her in one swift movement. Maddy chokes out a sob as the air in her lungs leaves her, her hand flying to the side to grip at the sheet as he pushes her down, pressing her into the mattress, her knee nearly at her shoulder as he pounds into her. The stretch of his thick cock sends flutters through her belly; she was prepared for him, nearly dripping wet, and still the sudden intrusion burns in the best way. 

Her other hand slides into his hair, holding it out of his face as she tries to keep focus on him, to watch as he fucks her, half checking to make sure he’s okay and half-desperate to see the snarl of his lip, to watch him growl out her name as he possesses her in a way she didn’t know she needed--in a way she’s not entirely sure he’d be able to do before all of this. 

It makes her feel bad, knowing that his pain has resulted in her pleasure, but then he’s slipping out of her to roll her over onto her belly, his hands at her lower back to hold her to the mattress before pushing back inside of her from behind, and the white-hot coil inside of her tightens further, driving any coherent thought out of her mind. 

Her moans are muffled by the sheets, her fingers sore from how they scrape for purchase in the blanket. He stutters in his fast rhythm, dipping his head to mouth along her spine, to bite at her shoulder, to whine in her ear at how fucking tight she is and all of it is too much--his voice, the scrape of his teeth, the press of his cock inside of her at an angle that hits every single perfect spot--and she comes harder than she thinks she’s ever come before. 

Mouth open in a silent sob, Maddy presses back against him, her cunt rippling around his cock, urging him to follow suit, but he tugs her up so his arm is wrapped around chest, so she’s on her knees and her back against him, fucking up into her, his free hand snaking around to circle her clit, driving her over the precipice once more. This time she has to clap her hand over her mouth, bite at her fingers, to keep from screaming, to keep from drawing unwanted and unneeded attention from Rook’s nearby room. 

Staci bites down on her shoulder again, bruising her as he comes, but he’s just as quick to lave his tongue over the indentations of his teeth, to soothe the sting as he empties himself into her. Carefully, he lowers her back to the bed, letting her rest on her stomach as he falls back onto his heels. “Shit,” he mutters, running a hand over his face and Maddy forces herself to roll over, as much as she’d love to just lay there and bask in the soreness between her legs. She grabs at his hand as he tries to stutter out apologies, “Mads, I’m so--” 

Cupping his face between her hands, Maddy strokes the cut at his cheek carefully, fixing him with a glare that stops his half-formed words. “Staci Pratt, if you are trying to apologize for fucking me within an inch of my life while your dick is still half-hard--” and he makes a choked noise there, his eyes darting down to his cock, shifting until she tightens her hold on his face, “--then you better rethink your life right now. Because that’s nothin’ to apologize for. And I am about to pass the fuck out because I have nothing left in me but exhaustion, but you better fuckin’ believe that tomorrow morning I’m going to return the favor.”

She lets go of his face and points at the pillow next to hers and jerks her head toward it. “So you better lay down and cuddle me, and be here in the morning or I swear to God I’ll--”

He cuts her off, kissing her hard, all tongue and teeth and desperation and she swears it tastes like love. Her heart aches, her fingers thread through his hair, and she lets him tug her down to lay against the pillows. He pulls away first, pressing kisses against her cheeks and nose, her chin and throat, holding her body against his. 

She can feel the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows hard, as he tucks her head under his chin. She can feel the beat of his heart and the shift in his jaw as he smirks softly above her. “Within an inch of your life, huh?”

“Shut up, Staci,” Maddy breathes, grinning against his chest. “Go to sleep.”

[romansrgn]

Summary: One night can cause a man to lose everything he didn't know he wanted. But is really too late to get it back?

Desc: Seth Rollins X Reader (Kinda)

Requested by: @colbynatorsforlife 

Word Count: 1824

Warning: Angst, Talk of Cheating and SMUT

taglist: @queenofthearchitect 

 I walked out of Vince’s office feeling like a weight was just  lifted off my shoulder. I’ve been trying to avoid it by both denying it and by not talking about it. But I knew that there was no way I can deny what was going to be obvious to everyone else.

Naomi, Ember, Bianca, Sasha and Alicia were outside waiting for me, they had my back the entire time so it was only fitting that would be the first ones I told.

‘How did it go?” Alicia asked.

I merely shrugged fighting back the urge to burst into tears “It was hard. Harder than I hoped it would be.”

Sasha removed her glasses and wiped the tears from her eyes “This would be difficult for anyone in your position but you’re you. You’re the toughest bitch I know. You’re going to be a tough act to follow.”

My face scrunched up, now I’m full on crying “That’s not helping.”

Naomi swatted Sasha away “Move, Sasha. We’re supposed to be cheering her up. Not crying and acting a hot mess.”

Bianca placed the Raw Women’s Champion over my shoulder “Go get em, girl.”

“We’ll be waiting for you when you’re done.” Ember added as we all huddled together for a group hug.

We broke apart when I heard my music hit. I gave one last look at my girls before heading to the ring.

When I’m in front of the crowd I always get chills but this was different this was something I wanted to bottle up and carry with me forever. In a weird way I think it was because they knew. They read the blogs. They speculated on instagram and on twitter. They felt the atmosphere change, I wasn't coming into the American Airlines Arena as Williow, I was simply (Y/N)

I grabbed the mic from Jojo who announced me. She gave a comforting smile before exiting the ring, leaving me alone.

“The last three months have been a string of highs, more highs” I looked down at the Raw Women’s championship “and some low’s.” I looked at the crowd who was holding onto my every word “But there’s a time when you have to face all the obstacles life throw's at you no matter how unprepared you are. Which is exactly why I have to relinquish my championship.”

The crowd gasped and looked on in confusion.

Backstage Superstars from both brands where gathered around watching the monitors in support.

“I’m not giving this title up because of an injury or anything like that. It’s simply because I’m expecting my first child in the summer of this year.” I lifted my buttoned down flannel shirt to reveal a tank top covered bump.

The crowd cheered and so did all the superstars in the back, expect one atleast. Who merely looked at the screen in shock.

“I want to thank my fans, the superstars,  the wwe and the wwe universe for all of their support over the last few years. This isn't goodbye because I will be back for what’s mine. It’s just that this time, I’m going to have a little mini me with me to tag along for the ride. I love you all and I’ll see you soon.”

I laid the title down on the ground before taking my signature bow and exiting the ring with “Thank You WIllow” as my symphony.

I got backstage and was greeted with tons of superstars with their congratulations.

“Oh my god!  We’re so happy for you.” Nikki Bella said pulling me into a hug.

“I can’t wait until Birdie has a new playmate.” Brie beamed while Daniel pulled me in for a hug.

“I got dibs on Uncle E.” Big E yelled bringing me into a light bear hug.

"My baby sister is having a baby." Roman said kissing me on top of the head.

Dean rubbed my back comfortably. I didn't miss the knowing smile he and Roman both gave me.

By the time I made it through the superstar parade of congratulations. I was promptly snatched off to the side and into a locker room.

“You weren't going to tell me?” he whispered heatedly.

I shrugged him off “Of course not. I figured I’d tell all the most important people first.”

“I get it. You’re still pissed at me and this is your way of getting back at me. But I had a right to know.”

My relationship with Seth ended six months ago. Long story short? He cheated on me.

Both brands were touring across South America together which hasnt happened in a long time but it was beneficial and profitable to the company. During the days we got to see our fans, put on amazing shows and do press but when we weren't doing that we were enjoying the nightlife, at least some of us were.

Since I was still the active Raw Women’s Champion that meant I spent most of my free time doing press. Which also meant Seth and I were not together as much as I either of us wanted too.

Although we both understood that this was our job. We were still in a relationship. When we were apart Seth was with Mandy. At first it wasn't by choice. We were all separated in groups to do press and after the first few days Seth made it a point to remind me of that whenever I saw her seek him out. Then them "working together" turned into whispers and casual touches but nothing to raise my suspicions. I was never the jealous type. That was until we got back to America and the rumors started. Fans would tell stories on blogs and social media about how they saw Seth and Mandy at a bar or a club together. Which wasn't uncommon since we all hung out at clubs and bars. So I didn't believe it. That was until I saw a picture of them kissing with his hand up her skirt on Instagram.

Oddly enough after we broke up I found out I was pregnant a month later.

Seth sighed running a frustrated hand through his hair taking a different approach “I hurt you and I’m sorry for that. You will never know how much I regret what I did to you, to us. But how do you expect us to fix things if you won't--.”

“There’s nothing to fix, Colby. You cheated on me.” I interrupted him “I mean do you have any idea how hard it is to look at you without seeing her and what you did.” tears started to fall and I wiped them away angrily hating that he still got to see this side of me “and I hate myself because I still love you so fucking much that its crippling and It hurts.”

Seth closed the short distance between them placing his large hands on both sides of my face “Baby, listen to me. I fucked up and I will do anything to take it all back. To be the man you deserve and I can be. Just let me -- Forgive me, please.” he whispered brokenly.

I cried “What did I do to make you hurt me--”

“Nothing, you did nothing wrong. It was me. It was all me and I was pissed off about the bookings lately and I just...I fucked up but I want to make it right, baby. I love you and our baby.” he said looking down at her slightly protruding stomach.

"How could I have not noticed?" Seth thought before dropping to his knees pressing his forehead gently against my stomach to get a better look at our baby “I love you.” he whispered and kissed my stomach causing me to squirm a little.

“My baby like's that.” he said looking up at me as he did it again causing me to moan at the odd sensation. This time instead of stopping he kissed his way back up my body. Paying close attention to my growing breast and my neck.

“Colby.” I moaned my small hands gripping the back of his hair.

Seth groaned “Do you have an idea how much I’ve missed you moaning my name?" He whispered against my lips.

I opened my eyes only to meet a smoldering gaze that instantly sent a signal to pussy to get wet.

He teased my lips with his tongue begging for entry, I happily obliged, I jerked at the first contact but he kept me firmly in place by placing his large hand on the back of my head.

It didn't take long for my legs to clear the ground as they were wrapped around his perfectly trimmed waste. We made our way over to the couch as he gently laid me down beneath him “Let, daddy take care of you.”

I said nothing. There was apart of me that knew that having sex with him wasnt going to solve anything. In fact, it would likely make things worse. But as of late my mind, body and soul has aching for him.

It was insane how they went for hating eachother, loving eachother, hurting eachother and now this. It was irrational and idiotic on my part but I guess that's kinda how I would describe love.

Within minutes we were fully naked with Seth thrusting madly into me.

“Ah.” I moaned as he pounded into me at the right speed “You’re so deep.”I moaned and arched my back as lips latched on to my nipple.

"So fucking wet" His tone was almost worshipful as he pounded into my gushiness "and so fucking tight."

I cried out once he angled his hips just right and his dick started tap dancing on my G Spot. My pussy clenched and I knew I wasnt going to last much longer "Shit, I'm finna cum."

"Don't hold back. Let me fill it. Cum all over this dick, little mama." He whispered in my ear as he continued to pound into me.

I dragged my fingernails down his back drawing blood as he fucked me just a little harder and a little deeper. The smell of sex and the sound of his dick rutting into me was almost too much. I knew I wasnt going to make it a minute longer and just as soon as I thought it I came so fucking hard I saw stars.

Seth continued to pound into me chasing his own release "FUCKKK, baby I'm coming." he groaned releasing a stream of cum inside of me.

Seth shivered still coming down from his orgasm. After a few more minutes he rested his forehead against mine as we both breathed heavily into eachother's mouths.

"Did I hurt you?" He whispered.

I merely nodded. Both of us knowing I wasnt talking about the sex.

A tear rolled down his cheek "I'm sorry." I love you

And against my better judgment I said "We're having a girl." I love you too.

[squirrel-moose-winchester]

Because You’re an Idiot

Title: Because You’re an Idiot

Dean x Reader AU

Word Count: 2168

Warnings: Nothing but pure FLUFF!!!, and some “inappropriate” words.

A/N: This story is my submission to Jordan’s (@queen-of-deans-booty) 2K Fluff Challenge! My prompt for this challenge was, “wearing his clothes.” Also, I just want to congratulate Jordan on her milestone achievement! And… I hope this is fluffy enough!

Dean Winchester. Your best friend since childhood, despite him being two years older. You two had managed to become closer than ever imaginable from the day you met. Like a gift from God, he had somehow showed up at the right place at the right time and now you couldn’t imagine a life without him. He was your superhero – always there when the neighborhood boys would pick on you just because you were the new girl.

Now, years later, you two were still inseparable. Relationships never got in the way, fights only made your friendship stronger, and the trust you put on each other would literally end worlds if it ever were broken.

Currently, it was both of your day off, and like you spent most days off, you were on your way to meet up with Dean at his place. Sometimes it was the other way around.

“Y/N, where are you? You should already be here,” Dean’s voice rushed out from the other end of the phone call.

“I’m on my way!” You shouted, trying to hear yourself over the crashing sound of the rain.

“Why are you yelling at me?” He whined.

“I’m not! The rain is just really loud.”

“Please tell me you’re not walking in this weather?” His voice was stern and full of worry.

“I thought I could make it,” you confessed. You lived only a few blocks away; in the house your parents had left you when they passed. “Don’t worry, I’m almost there!”

Before Dean could speak, he heard you yelp. You had tripped over a crack in the sidewalk, one you should have known was there considering you made it a routine to trip over it every single time. You’d think you’d already be conditioned to maneuver around it by now.

“Y/N?” Dean called, but your phone had fallen out of your hands and slid a good foot away from you.

“Dammit,” Dean heard you curse, but you sounded as if you were far away. He heard ruffling and scratching before your voice was loud and clear again. “Sorry, I tripped,” you hissed, seeing blood mixing with the rain water and washing away onto the pavement.

“Are you okay?” Dean asked, his voice panicked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little scratched up. I’m almost there,” you assured him. When he didn’t reply you called out his name, but there was still no answer. You pulled the phone away from your face to view the screen only to see that he was still connected. “Dean!” You yelled, worry building in your voice and stomach.

“Y/N!” Dean’s voice was heard once again.

“Dean?” You spoke into the phone.

“Hey, doofus!” He shouted again, this time, your head snapped upward seeing him standing in front of you, getting soaked in the downpour. His plain black shirt sticking to his broad chest and trim waist, enabling the lines of his body to be shown off to a lucky audience of one.

“Dean!” You called, as he examined your drenched figure. To him you looked like you had just gotten out of a tub filled with water. Your hair was matted to your face and neck, your knees and shin coated with streaks and blotches of blood. You were a hot mess. A beautiful one at that.

Dean chuckled walking over to you, taking your bag and threading it through his arm before taking your hand and running back to his apartment. Once under the shelter of the lobby, Dean took some tissues from the front desk to wipe up your knees.

“You sure are a major klutz, you know that?” He teased. “Always have been and always will be,” he laughed.

“Shut up,” you mumbled, your cheeks flaring in embarrassment. It really wasn’t your fault that the invisible, magical, fairies liked to pick on you.

“What did you do to piss off the fairies this time?” He humored, having been told many times that maybe fairies liked to play tricks and pranks on people. You had gotten the idea from one of your favorite books, and it really put things in perspective. What if? The world was filled with mystery after all.

“Hey man, you never know!” You pointed at him in all seriousness. Dean laughed just as the owner of the apartment building, who was currently managing the front desk, appeared from the back room. Her eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when she noticed your soaking wet forms. “Dean, Y/N! What on earth?” She questioned.

“Hey Mrs. Harvelle. It’s nothing to worry about, it’s just the result of one of Y/N’s bad decisions,” Dean laughed, causing you to whack him upside the head. “Ow,” he chuckled, taking your hand in his once again.

“Honey, you really need to work on that,” Mrs. Harvelle added as she watched on, smiling at the pair of you. She was sure that one day, the two of you will get together and live happily ever after. God knows the both of you deserve it. She knew love when she saw it. No matter how much you and Dean denied it, always trying to convince her that you were just best friends, she knew better. She was older and wiser, and had seen her fair shares of love stories.

“You know, some of the best relationships start off as friendships,” she announced.

You looked up at her, as Dean turned his head to peek over his shoulder. “Mrs. Harvelle, really, it’s not like that between Dean and me,” you smiled adoringly. Mrs. Harvelle was a sweet and overly generous woman, and happens to be the mother of your other best friend.

“That’s not what my little Joanna tells me,” she grinned.

“Really? Jo is really something,” you giggled.

“Sorry for tracking water in here, do you have a mop that I can clean it up with?” Dean asked, being the considerate man that he has always been.

“Honey, I got that. You kids, better get changed into some dry clothes before y’all get sick,” she ordered, waving her pointer finger at the both of you from head to toe.

“Yes ma’am.” You and Dean looked at each other giggling as you spoke the same words at the same time.

When you finally reached Dean’s floor, you were quivering. The building was air conditioned. The cool air and being out in the rain for so long was getting to you. “C’mon, I’ll get you something to wear,” Dean ushered you into his apartment, making a bee-line to his bedroom.

While Dean was gone, you walked into his bathroom, peeling off your flannel, shoes, and socks. You were sitting at the edge of the tub, using your flannel to wipe up the blood on your knees when Dean walked in. He had some spare clothes for you to wear and a towel.

“Why don’t you take the first shower?” He offered.

“Thanks,” you smiled, taking the clothes and towel out of his hands.

Dean left you to get cleaned up. When you were finished, you wiped yourself dry before putting on the clothes he had lent you. His scent swarmed your sense and you surprisingly felt completely relaxed. Everything felt safe, warm, and comfortable. You double checked your knees to see that they were no longer bleeding, which meant covering it up would be useless.

Exiting the bathroom, you headed into the kitchen to find a note scribbled with Dean’s handwriting. He had gone out to help Mrs. Harvelle with starting her car. Shrugging, you went into Dean’s bedroom, plucking his large fluffy blanket from his bed and brought it over to the couch, where he was once watching TV. Plopping yourself down, you noticed that an eerie movie with creepy music was playing.

Dean returned finding you snuggled up on the couch, extremely focused on the movie. He had called your name but you never acknowledged him. He smiled, before making his way to his bedroom for some clothes and then into the shower.

Once Dean was all cleaned up, he found you in the same spot, this time with the blanket draped over your head like a hood. He walked over silently, creeping closer from behind you. He had seen this movie before and knew that a scary part was coming. Waiting for the right moment, Dean lunged towards you, leaping over the back of the couch and tackling you. You shrieked bloody murder, flailing your arms around you.

Dean started to laugh at your reaction, his voice deep and loud. “Dean Winchester you fucking asshole!” You shouted, punching him on his arm, head, leg, side, back, anywhere you could. That only made Dean break into conniption!

“Holy shit! That was fucking amazing!” Dean roared, his words mixing in with his laughter. “OW!” He shouted, shooting up into a sitting position despite it being in an uncomfortable angle. “You bit me!”

“Because you almost gave me a heart attack, you jerk!” Your face was serious which brought Dean back into a chuckling mess.

You shoved the blanket over Dean’s head and jumped on top of him, continuously punching him again. He was mumbling something through the thick fabric and incessant laughing, but you couldn’t quite understand. Dean suddenly shot upwards causing you to topple backwards onto the couch, your legs bent on either side of his waist.

He looked down at you with his hair tousled in all sorts of directions. He looked incredibly adorable in the handsome sort of way. He had always been good looking, but for some odd reason, he looked peculiarly, much more, handsome than usual. The both of you were panting heavily from your friendly rough housing, Dean still smiling as his eyes raked over your form. You observed him carefully, your heart dropping when you noticed that his smile faded in a blink of an eye.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, pushing yourself into a seated position. When you looked at him, you noticed that his cheeks were red, making his freckles all the more prominent. Your first initial thought was that he had caught something from being out in the cold rain. “Are you okay?” You questioned, placing a hand on his forehead. When you couldn’t feel anything, and wanting to be sure, you instinctively pressed your forehead against his. His eyes went wide before he pushed you away, holding you at arms length.

“I-I’m fine,” he stuttered, which was weird. The only time he stuttered was when he was nervous about something.

“Then what’s wrong?”

“It’s just…”

“Just what?”

“You…”

“Spill it Winchester!” You demanded.

“You just look really hot in my clothes.” The words came out in a rush that you could barley comprehend him, but you did.

It was now your turn to flush cherry red. You were not expecting that to slip from his mouth. His eyes were casted sideways, unwilling to meet yours. In that moment, something about him just made your heart pound, then without thinking, you did it. You stretched your arms forward, placing his head between your hands and forcing him to meet your gaze. It was only for a second before you pulled him in and pressed your lips against his, molding them together.

There were no sparks or fireworks, but there was surely something there that was unexplainable. It was a warmth that swallowed you whole, it was the feeling of butterflies picking you up from the ground, there was this undeniable need to have this feeling forever.

When you both pulled away, Dean had his forehead leaning against yours, not willing to be too far from you. His breath danced on your lips, enticing you for more. “Dean,” you breathed.

“Hmm?”

“What’s happening?”

“I don’t know, but I’m not gonna lie, I like it.” His gorgeous emerald orbs met with your dark ones. “I really like it.”

Your vision fell back to his lips, wanting to taste them again. And as if he could read your mind, he leaned forwards, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you onto his lap. Naturally, your arms snaked their way around Dean’s neck, your fingers slithering through his short dirty blonde locks. When you tugged on the short strands, a deep groan escaped from deep within his throat, the vibrations reverberating through your lips and straight to your core.

“I don’t know why I never noticed before,” you panted as you broke the kiss.

“What?” Dean asked breathlessly.

“That it’s always been you?” You confessed.

“What?”

“I’ve always loved you,” your voice became timid at your confession. Dean smiled, kissing you again. This time with more passion and too short for your liking. “How did I not figure it out?” You questioned mostly to yourself.

“Because you’re an idiot,” he chuckled, pulling away.

“Excuse me?” You mocked offense.

“I’ve been in love with you for years,” he admitted, your cheeks staining red.

“You’re the idiot, idiot,” you smiled wide, dragging him into another breathtaking kiss.

Click here to leave feedback! Thanks!

[winchesterenthusiast]

Coming Down

A Dean x Reader / fluff

A/N: This was based on a request I received from @lovelyttom. I hope you like it, and I really hope this helps. Also, my requests are open. Please feel free to send me any you may have, as long as you haven’t sent it to anyone else. If it sparks the creativity, I may write it. Please let me know what you think of this, and check the warnings before you do. Any and all feedback is always appreciated! ♥

Word Count: 2,048

Warnings: - the reader is having an anxiety attack, but Dean is calming her down. - please do not read if this triggers any anxiety for you, as that is the last thing I want (however, I also hope this can help you, as it really helped me writing it)

Tags: (at the end)

*gif is not mine.

Dean can see it on your face the moment it begins to happen. Your eyes begin to stare through him, your hands start to tremble, and your body stiffens. Immediately, he moves into action, kneeling down next to you to assess the situation. It’s his tactical nature, and you could never fault him for it.

“Hey,” his gruff, velvety voice says, piercing through the veil of your impending anxiety attack. “Look at me, sweetheart. Are you okay?”

You try to look at him, really you do, but the impending doom sinks down upon you, and you’re already too far gone. Dean can see that you can’t make eye contact with him, and he takes your small hands in his. They’re rough around the edges, but smooth. He squeezes your hands and brushes the hair from your face.

“Can you breathe in and out of your mouth for me?” he questions, his body so close to yours on the couch, you can feel the heat from his skin radiating into you like a warm blanket. You want to do as he asks, but your brain is frozen. Trying to breathe, you inhale slowly and exhale even slower, trying to get oxygen to your brain. Your hands are shaking now, and Dean squeezes them again to keep you steady.

Dean is sitting next to you now, and your head is on his lap. You’re curled into the fetal position, willing this horrible pain to go away. You hate feeling this way but, most of all, you hate making Dean feel this way. You hate that he worries about you, and that he feels like the attacks are all his fault. But you are so grateful that he’s there. He’s petting your head now, rubbing the small of your back in neat, perfect circles. He knows you like patterns, something your mind can think about besides the darkness.

“Is this good?” his perfect voice pierces the veil again, and you manage to look up at him. You manage to nod, but he sees in your eyes the penetrating pain and fear, and immediately moves you into the sitting position.

This time, he takes your face in his hands and it makes you feel so small; like a tiny baby bird who’s fallen from its nest. You focus on his shining, emerald green eyes and try to think of all the good times together, but the weight of everything still tries to crash down all around you.

“Okay,” he says with finality, standing up. “Let’s go.”

Dean picks you up effortlessly, even though your brain wonders if you’re too big for him to carry. The insecurities that follow with being romantically involved with a man this good looking could take down even the most confident of women.

Your head nestles in the crook of Dean’s neck, your legs wrapped around his waist, as he holds you close. You try to remember to breath in and out, inhaling the scent of Dean that screams home and safe in your brain. As he walks you to the bathroom, he continues to trace the perfect patterns on the small of your back, making goosebumps rise on your skin.

“Everything’s okay, sweetheart. I’ll make it all better, okay? Just hang on for me.”

You try to speak, but nothing comes out, as you cling to him so tightly red welts appear on his neck, and the dark scruff that lines his cheeks digs into your own skin. You don’t mind because it keeps you here, in the present, in the now; at least for the time being.

When Dean reaches the bathroom he kicks it open with his boot, placing you softly on the bathroom floor. His arm is still around your waist, holding you tight and keeping you upright. You’re dizzy now, and he turns down the lights, knowing the brightness may trigger something more.

“Okay, can you stand up for me while I undress you?”

You nod, biting your bottom lip to stop yourself from crying. Despite everything, he smiles at you as if nothing is wrong; the beautiful crinkles by his eyes appearing. For a moment, you feel the butterflies flutter in your stomach that are reserved especially for Dean.

“This will only take a minute,” he whispers, slowly ridding you of your clothing. He takes care to kiss your shoulders lightly, as he rids you of your top. When he reaches around to undo your bra, he peppers kisses along your neck, as he kneels on the floor to unhook the button on your jeans, he places a soft kiss just above your navel, before pulling your jeans and panties down in one swift motion. He holds you still as you step out of them, and kicks them in the dirty clothes pile.

As you stand in front of him naked, your arms instinctively move to cover yourself. Your body was the worst part of you, in your eyes, and showing Dean your full self in the light just made your anxiety grow wider; so wide it could engulf the room.

Breathe in, breathe out...

Dean’s hands reach out and take hold of your arms lightly, putting them at your sides. His fingers crook under your chin to make you look at him, and there’s a fire in his eyes now.

“Don’t you ever cover yourself up in front of me,” he says, his eyes blinking slowly as he looks down to take you in. He’s so close now you can see every freckle that dusts his perfect face, and you have the sudden urge to kiss each one. “You are absolutely perfect. Every part of you.”

Dean’s hands rest on your waist as he pulls you close, and you nestle your head into his flannel clad chest. You can hear his heart beating, and your mind listens to its pattern.

1, 2, 3, 4… 1, 2, 3, 4...

“Do you wanna know what my favorite part is?” Dean asks, pulling you away slightly. He puts his finger to your heart and smiles; that smile that rips you apart and puts you back together, in the most poetic way. “It’s what’s in here, and everything else is just a bonus.”

You manage to smile, and wonder how you ended up here. The most gorgeous, selfless, intelligent, hilarious man had chosen you. Dean Winchester was the perfect one, and you would never deserve him.

“There’s that beautiful smile,” he said, letting go of you for a brief moment to undo the buttons on his flannel. He stripped naked in front of you and kicked his own clothes to the side. Dean walked over to the shower and turned it on, until the room filled with a blanket of inviting steam. “It’s not too hot, not too cold. Just how you like it. Will you join me?”

Dean reaches out for your hand and helps you into the shower. The deliciously warm water cascades over your skin and you gasp, your vision becoming less dark, emerging from the tunnel.

He steps in behind you and wraps his arms around your waist again, pulling you as close to him as possible. You lean your head back and feel his heart beating against your back, the water stinging your skin. And now you breathe. Except it’s not slow and steady, it’s fast and harsh.

Dean quick turns you around and hugs you to him, kissing your forehead and face with soft, quick kisses. He moves the wet hair from your eyes, and cups your face once more, as you begin to hysterically cry. You look up at him and he is even more gorgeous, if at all possible. The water clings to his lashes making them darker, his hair is matted wet to his head, and soft droplets cascade down his neck and chest. It is now that you finally find your voice again.

“I’m so s-sorry,” you whimper, unable to control the tears now. “I... h-hate this.”

“I know, I know,” Dean coos, wiping your tears away even though it does no good in the shower. “This is not your fault, sweetheart. Shhh, it’s okay.”

Dean reaches down and picks up your shampoo, squirting a dollop in his hand and rubbing it into your hair. He scrubs your scalp, making your eyes closed. You suddenly feel so tired. He then grabs your body wash and begins to wash your entire body, scrubbing every inch of you. There’s so much love behind his actions, every move he makes, that your heart breaks in your chest.

“Y-you don’t h-have to help me,” you manage to say, as you watch him wash himself; the soap from your hair and body starting to wash off. “I’m such a nuisance.”

“Of course I don’t have to help you, Y/N, but I want to. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. Do you even understand how much I love you?”

His jade eyes are fierce again, as every word that comes out of his mouth is with purpose. You shake your head, because you truly don’t, and you’ll never understand why.

“Well I do, okay, I---” he trails off, running his fingers through his wet hair and spiking it to the sky. This is something he does when he’s frustrated, and it’s entirely endearing. Dean takes your hands in his and squeezes. “Look, I’m not very good with words and I’m not sure about a lot of things. But you… you I am 100% sure of.”

“Why?” you blurt out, your heart desperate for validity of his love.

“Because I love waking up to your face every morning. I love being able to be around you, without even speaking. I love the feeling you give me when you kiss my nose during the night. I love that you cook me my favorite breakfast, without even knowing it’s my favorite. I love how smart that brain is of yours, and how you put me in my place better than anyone else can.”

You giggle and he smiles, with pearly white teeth this time, and the butterflies make their flutter on cue.

“And that smile,” he continues. “God, do I love that smile. There is not one single thing that I don’t like about you, Y/N. In my eyes, you’re perfect, and I love you with every fiber of my goddamn being.”

“Very poetic,” you joke, looking down at your feet. Even after all this time, it’s still hard to make eye contact with him sometimes. It’s like looking into the sun; the brightest star in the galaxy.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his brow furrowing with concern.

“Thanks to you,” you whisper, kissing him softly on the lips. Dean’s face softens.

“Good,” he says, shutting the water off. “Let’s go to bed.”

Dean helps you out of the shower and dries you off, softly and gently. He grabs his robe off the back of the door and gives it to you. You put it on, tying it around your waist, feeling the softness against your skin. He dries himself off and throws his boxer briefs back on, taking your hand and leading you to your bedroom.

Dean changes into loose, comfy pajama pants and grabs your favorite nightie. You change and get into bed, your bodies immediately coming together like magnets. He wraps his legs with yours and you are so close, you couldn’t fit a sheet of paper between you.

“I love you too, you know,” you whisper into the dark, as you reach out to touch his face. “I love you more than there are stars in the sky.”

You can feel him smile, and your fingers move to the crinkles by his eyes, tracing them.

“Everything is okay now, sweetheart,” he croons, laying his free arm across your hip. “Shut your eyes. I’m right here.”

As he speaks, your eyes flutter closed; his voice drifting you off into a deep sleep.

@lexicon411 @thegingerthatwaited @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @jayankles @starswirlblitz @jesspfly @headgirlana @winchesterlioness @noisilyyoungpuppy @kayteonline @keenondean @emoryhemsworth @goldenolaf25 @littlegirlsdontplaynice @sammiesamness @potterhead1265 @sandlee44 @cherrycokegirls1 @manawhaat @salvachester @pheonyxstorm @its-not-a-tulpa @andhiseyesweregreen @illtakeawinchesteranyday @LessonsOfRed @woodworthti666 @my—heroine @laurafloradora @bebravekeeponfighting

*tags with slashes through them would not work for me. sorry!

Want to be added to my tag list? Add yourself here.

[traditional-with-a-twist]

Splinter: Jacob’s Bella

Edward’s Bella || epilogue

I pulled away with a dull, dragging sense of loss, feeling the tearing separation as I left a part of me behind, there on the bed next to him. 

 - Eclipse, chapter 26

Jacob closed his eyes and tried to sleep. It drove him crazy, lying still and waiting for his bones to set - it was easier to sleep and not think, not think about her face when she left, and her eyes when she said goodbye, and her lips when she kissed his cheek. 

Even in the darkness, he could picture her so vividly that she seemed to sit beside him, watching him, a silent vigil through the long, long night. Jacob was not so grown-up that he could hold back the wetness from squeezing out from under his eyelids and spotting the pillow. 

He just tried not to think.

The morning was no better: He woke to the memory of her touching his face. Her soft fingers, cool against his blazing skin, and her voice: 

"Jake? Jake, are you hungry?"

He opened his eyes.

Bella sat gazing down at him, her eyes anxious above a forced smile. "Jake, you look like death warmed over. Do you want some breakfast?"

He stared stupidly back at her. She wore a flannel jacket over her gray t-shirt, violet smudges pinched her face under her eyes, and her mussed hair had stragglers escaping the ponytail. She didn't look much like the Bella he conjured when he was dreaming. She looked like everyday, ordinary, dropped-by-for-the-afternoon Bella. 

"You're ... still here?"

Her smile turned self-conscious. "Yeah, I guess--I thought you and Billy might appreciate some real cooking around here. You know, while you're laid up. Can't expect Sue Clearwater to move in with you guys."

"You're here to cook," Jacob repeated. "But what about--" His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. 

She looked so focused, so present -- so unconcerned about anything but the here and now, without that far-off echo in her eyes, as if she could hear someone calling her name from another room. Her eyes regarded him with rapt attention.

"Okay," he muttered. "Good idea. Just... make something I can eat one-handed, kay? Unless you're planning to feed me." He waggled his eyebrows, watching closely for her reaction.

Bella blushed. "If I have to feed you, we're docking five years off your age. No, seven!" She got up, stumbled over the rug, and caught herself on the dresser. Once she had proceeded cautiously to the threshold, Bella paused to give him a quick smile.

"Wait!" Jacob shook his head. This could not be real. "Wait, Bella, don't go. I'm not that hungry." His stomach grumbled its disagreement. "Talk to me for a sec," Jacob insisted. "Tell me what's going on here. Doesn't your vam--I mean... How long are you going to stay?"

"I told Charlie I'd be back in time for dinner," she admitted, lingering in the doorway. "Not that you and Billy don't have a nice couch and all... I guess Charlie doesn't think you deserve the royal treatment. You should know better than to ride death machines," she intoned, dropping her voice to imitate her father's bass tones.

Jacob grunted, watching her through narrowed eyes. Any moment now, she would vanish, like a rainbow in the heat.

Unable to hold his gaze, Bella busied herself with wrapping a loose strand of hair around her finger. She was chewing her lower lip, hesitating over whatever was in her mind. 

Even with his thoughts churning, Jacob couldn't ignore that expression. "What, Bells?" he sighed. "Spit it out."

She took a deep breath. "Okay, Jake, it's just that I feel bad. I mean, the truth is that I'm older, and I'm supposed to be the responsible one, and I got you that bike in the first place. It's my fault you're banged up like this. It'll be months before you're better, and you might have to miss school -- it's just awful, Jake!  I'm so sorry!" She bit down hard on her lip, the remnants of false cheer sloughing away from her face.

"Um, Bella?" Jacob took refuge in goading her. He forced as much acidity into his voice as possible, scrutinizing her expression for every microscopic shift as he spoke. "You're doing a great job maintaining cover, but it's really not fair to blame motorcycles for this. You and I both know that it's your bloodsucking friends we have to thank."

"Blood--blood-sucking?" Her nose wrinkled. "Gross, Jake. What are you talking about?"

He couldn't resist anymore. "You know--Edward." He grimaced at the name.

Nothing flickered in her brown eyes. "Edward who?"

Embry and Quil dropped by that afternoon to laugh at him. "Geez, Jake, you look like a mummy!"

"We're gonna graduate by the time you can walk again."

"No, we'll be grandparents!"

Jacob lobbed a half-empty soda can in their direction. Embry ducked out of the way, but Quil was slow to dodge it: A spray of orange slopped down his t-shirt.

"Oh, man! You asked for it now!" Quil balled up his fists, but he was grinning, relaxed behind the bravado. "Don't think I won't beat you up just 'cause you've only got one arm now."

"I only need one finger to take you!" Jacob shot back. He was grinning, too.

Quil faked a punch at his plastered foot, and Embry held him back. "See?" Quil waved a hand. "All bark and no bite."

"That's not what Paul said," Jacob warned them. "Just wait until the doc gives the green light, and I can--"

"Paul?" Embry interrupted, frowning. "Paul Lahote?"

Quil shook his head. "No wonder you're in splints, Jake--you're mixing it up with that guy?"

"Better that you stay in bed, man!"

After they had gone, Bella felt his forehead again. "Oh, good -- I think your fever's broken!" She smoothed his hair back from his face.

Jacob had promised to be good, but he wondered whether Bella was going to hold him to that. Before she moved away, he looped his fingers around her wrist and drew her hand down so that he could press his lips to her palm. 

Bella shivered. From the corner of his eye, Jacob noted that her charm bracelet was missing its unwelcome addition. 

Stretching the full length of his arm, he caught his fingers in the hair at the back of her neck and pulled her forward. Bella wobbled and fell against his chest.

Oops. Jacob's body seized in pain, and Bella jerked back. "Jake, you dummy, what are you doing?" she hissed.

"I'm trying," he gasped, red spots popping in his vision, "I'm trying to kiss you!"

She had to laugh at his petulant expression. "Oh, Jake."  Light as a butterfly, she pecked him on the lips. "There. Now will you behave?"

It took a surprisingly long time for his body to knit itself back together, and none of the others--not even Sam--came to see him, but Jacob wasn't complaining.  

Bella visited every day of his convalescence. She brought food, nagged him about doing homework, listened to him talk about cars, even helped open doors while he was getting used to his crutches.  

She never spoke of the Cullens, and Jacob didn't ask again.