#siampie writes

[siampie]

Get Off the Highway || Chapter 4

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus Size Reader

Word Count: 1.8k 

Warnings/tags: Enemies to lovers trope, angst, childhood trauma, eldest daughter syndrome

A/N: Short chapter to introduce Reader to the bunker and having more interactions between Reader and Dean.

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Tag list: @marytheweefrenchie, @lyarr24, @deans-baby-momma, @kr804573, @zepskies, @impalari,

@urinternetmom, @sushiumex

Dividers by @cafekitsune

You stumbled into your kitchen while your coffee was brewing. You had come back after a difficult hunt that had left you with a couple of stitches on your hip, and a few bruises on your face and body. You swallowed some painkillers with your coffee. This was going to be a slow day for you. No hunts. No visits from family. Just you and your cup of coffee, and probably some television. The perfect rest day. Your eyes drifted to your living room. On the wall facing you, there was a framed photo of your family. One of the rare ones that you still had.

Life at home wasn't always ideal when you were growing up. Your parents were not the bests example of loving and compassionate parents. They could be neglectful and somewhat abusive. You had taken their sides over your siblings more times than not, only to keep the peace. Trying to maintain chaos at bay. Of course, your siblings had resented you over the years because you weren’t doing enough for them. And they were right. You had not.

You tried to make up for it these days but it was hard to when your siblings were barely talking to you. Except maybe for your brother; Matt; the only one who still made sure you were taken care of. You were lucky to have him still. Still, you did not understand why he kept coming around.

A loud knock on your front door disturbed the quietness of your apartment. “I’m coming.” You secured the fresh bandage on your hip, before going to your front door. You grabbed your gun on your way there. You looked through the peephole. It was your brother.

“You look like shit.” Matt said, once you let him in.

“Thanks.” You answered dryly. “But you should see the other guy.” You said jokingly as you shut the door behind him.

He put down the bags he was holding on the kitchen table, and turned to you. He rested his hands on your shoulders and looked down at you. “You’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” You assured him. "I still know how to take a beating."

"Not funny." He berated you lightly.

"Sorry." His eyes roamed over your face. After, he was satisfied with his inspection, he pulled you into a hug. “Come here.”

You wrapped your arms around him, and just let yourself enjoy the simple hug. It was just a hug but it felt like everything you needed.

“No, no, no.” You heard from behind you. You excused yourself as you were being pulled aside by none other than Dean Winchester.

“Hey, Bucko!” You smiled at him, ripping your arm out of his grip. “Sam.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Dean asked you, already annoyed at your being here.

“Pleasure to see you too, Winchester.” You replied dryly, ripping you arm out of his grip.

He gave you a deadpan look, “that’s our hunt. And you’re not taking it from us.”

“Didn’t know there was an ongoing competition between us.” You said with a wry smile.

“Competition?” Dean repeated and looked you up and down. “Barely.”

You gasped. “You did not just give me the up and down look, did ya?”

“What are you gonna do about it, Princess?”

“Alright, you two,” Sam wore an amused smile on his face. “Maybe we can find a way to work together.”

“You’re right,” you nodded. “We wouldn’t want a repeat of last time fiasco. Right, Bucko?”

You walked past him, and patted his shoulder. Sam chuckled as he followed you inside. Months had passed since you last saw them. Only hearing of them in passing, although you'd rather have loved no mentions of them. Or more specifically of Dean. You felt bad for putting Sam in the same category as his brother but they were a package deal. And those two seemed to be attached to the hip.

You were still sporting a few bruises from your last hunt. Matt had wanted you to stay longer at your apartment, to take a longer rest. But you were starting to stir crazy, sitting in your couch all day. And you couldn’t sit still any longer. Although, he disagreed with your decision to go back on the road, he made you promise that you’d take it easy.

Or at least you promised you’d try.

“You really are the worse, you know that.” Dean glared down at you.

“And you’re an asshole but I’m not complaining about it, now, am I?” You shot back following him and his brother back to their car.

The hunt had gone pretty smoothly. Once you had figured out that it was a revenant, and once it was confirmed by the absence of a body in the grave. You all set out to get the monster back in its coffin, and used silver to make sure it remained there.

“It’s not that hard to follow simple instructions, now, is it?” Dean threw his shovel into the trunk of his car.

“No, it’s not. But it becomes stupid to follow them when one of you is in a bad situation. And it clearly looked like you needed help.” You retorted, your shovel joining his own.

“I was handling it, princess.”

“Didn’t look like you were, bucko.”

You both glared at each other, angrily. No matter what you did, Dean still saw you as a nuisance. A thorn in his side that he was trying to get rid of. And you couldn’t understand why. You had done nothing to provoke his blatant hostility. And you’d think that after saving his life, once again, he would just drop the attitude. But it seemed to only anger him even more.

The petty person within met him at his level. Fighting fire with fire. But the people pleaser within, just couldn’t stand the idea of him not liking you. You didn’t understand why and couldn’t figure it out. And you hated it.

You followed the Winchesters down the spiraling stairs that led you deeper into the bunker.  Sam, more than his brother, had invited you back to their new location. Sam had given you a quick tour. As quick as it could be in this huge place. There were many bedrooms, a kitchen, a war room, and many other places of the sort. But most importantly there was also a large library.

“That place is sweet.” You had beamed, walking into the kitchen behind Sam.

“Yeah, it’s pretty great.” Sam nodded, smiling.

“How did you find it?”

“None of your business, kid.”

You rolled your eyes at Dean as he walked past you, “alright, keep your secrets.” You turned to Sam. “If I ever need to research things, can I borrow some of those books?” You pointed towards the library.

“You’re welcome to it,” Sam grinned at you. “Anytime you need.”

“Yeah.” You squealed, Dean turned to you before rolling his eyes. “Sorry.”

Later, you found yourself in the library reading a book about some wiccan rituals. Nothing you really needed to know but you had picked it out of curiosity, you were intrigued by the title. Sam was sitting across from you working on his laptop, probably searching for another hunt, you thought. Dean was wherever the hell Dean was, you couldn’t care less.

“I’ve said it before and I’m saying it again. This place is amazing.” You suddenly said, shutting the book before pushing it away from you. Sam looked up from his laptop at you. “Can you imagine how much knowledge those people have gathered over the years?” You continued gushing. “I mean, it must be infinite.”

“I don’t think it’s infinite but huge, yeah.” Sam agreed. “It would probably make hunting easier.”

“Definitely.” You leaned back into your chair. “You guys are so lucky to have found this place.”

“You know if you ever need a place to lay low, you’re welcome to stop by.” Sam offered.

You smiled at him. “That’s really kind of you but I already have a place like that. I mean - not exactly like that. I have a place to lay low, between two hunts.” You spoke. “My brother is making sure that I stop by every once in a while, just to check if I’m still alive.”

“Older?”

“Younger.” You told him. “He likes taking care of me, so I let him do it.”

“Sounds like you two are very close.”

“Wasn’t always this way.” You pushed out a sigh. “It’s funny, you know ‘cause growing up, we hated each other. And nowadays, he is the only person I can count on.”

“But he’s not hunting with you.” Sam noted.

“That’s because he’s not a hunter.” You leaned your elbows on the table. “Unlike you, Winchesters, hunting is not exactly a family business.”

It wasn’t. Hunting had stumbled upon you one day. So, you told Sam everything about the night where it all began for you. You never were a big fan of camping. Naturally, when your best friend suggested you go on a camping trip, you refused at first. And with much insistence on her part, you finally agreed. But the camping trip had turned bloody and deadly pretty quickly. You and your group had found yourself on a Wendigo hunting ground.

This encounter had changed your entire world. It opened your eyes to the underground world of hunting. Silent warriors that kept evil at bay at the risks of their own lives. Receiving no rewards and no gratitude. Not exactly a career you would have chosen for yourself. But as said previously, you couldn’t go back to your life and continue your existence as though you knew nothing of this world. Not after you had a glimpse of it.

“Don’t talk to me.” You said before Dean could utter a word as he walked into the kitchen. The sight of him alone, in his grey robe, his messy bed hair, was enough to irritate you.

“Well, someone’s cranky today.” Dean walked to the coffee pot.

“Well, someone needs to shut up.”

“Guys, please—” Sam sighed, sitting down next to you.

“She started it.” Dean replied to his brother.

“What are you? 12?” You shot back at him.

“I’m 12? What does that make you then?” Dean argued back.

Sam got up with his coffee and breakfast and left the kitchen. “Look, what you did? You made Sam run away. I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

“Nah, that one’s not on me.” He sat across from you. “He ran away because of your ugly mug.”

“Is that the best you can come up with?” You said in a bored tone, taking another sip.

“Shut up.”

You hummed, nodding your head, “great come back.” You stood up, and moved to leave the room. “You look ridiculous in that robe, by the way.”

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[zepskies]

How do you think a romance between soldier boy and a woc would pan out?

Hey there! By "WOC" I'm thinking you mean "woman of color?"

Fun fact: I actually imagine most of my reader insert characters as women of color, since I'm a woman of color myself. 💁🏽‍♀️

I love this question, but I think the nitty gritty specifics would depend on her race/ethnicity. A “person of color” incorporates a broad swath of races and cultures, so it’s hard to generalize while being accurate and authentic to a POC’s experience. For example, I could write a headcanon fic like:

Headcanon: A romance between Soldier Boy (Ben) and a Hispanic/Latina woman of color would include...

Because that^ is my frame of reference, being that I'm Cuban, Puerto Rican, and Dominican. 🇨🇺🇵🇷🇩🇴 (Hence the Midnight Espresso-verse. And speaking of, Happy Hispanic Heritage Month!)

**Even “Hispanic/Latina” is generalizing, because there are many Hispanic/Latino ethnicities with unique aspects to their cultures that can make them very different from one another other, even if you keep the setting as America/New York within The Boys.

In general though, here are my thoughts:

Headcanon: Soldier Boy (Ben) romancing a woman of color:

She could be a good foil for him, not just helping him adapt to modern society, but broadening his horizons to her culture and her world, especially if she's a normal person (non-supe).

She would most certainly challenge him. If she's black or Latina, for example, I couldn't see either one putting up with Ben's misogynist bullshit. She doesn't have the time or the patience, no matter how damn attractive or charming he is.

If he's tenacious enough to pursue her (likely seeing her as a "challenge"), she would help open his eyes to what "a real man" actually is -- reliable, responsible, and a good man.

(Not just that BDE. 🙄)

She could help him see past his white privilege. Especially by showing him her culture, and how she navigates the world is much different to how he navigates the world, not just as a famous superhero, but as a white man who's gotten to be where he is because his daddy came from old money.

If she cooks (or if her mother, aunt, grandmother cooks, as in many black, Hispanic/Latino, Italian, Asian families), she could open up his horizons that way too with different kinds of cuisines that he probably hasn't encountered before. 👏🏽

This would also appeal to that more traditional aspect he'd probably enjoy, of having a woman cook for him lol. Though she would remind him that having someone cook for him is a privilege and a kindness and a way to show someone you love them, not a right that should be expected.

She could also help him see how food and family is pretty entwined in a lot of cultures for ethnic/racial minorities. It could give him a new outlook on what "family" actually means.

Gah! Now you're making me want to write an actual Soldier Boy story with a woman of color. 💕

(Disclaimer though: I'm very careful of not writing for voices that aren't "mine" when it comes to race/ethnicity/cultural minorities, unless I know enough about it through either personal experience or research.)

Soldier Boy Tag List

Because this actually became a genuine headcanon that I'm going to add to my SB masterlist.

@spnwoman @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @adoringanakin @rizlowwritessortof @chernayawidow

@midnightmadwoman @deans-spinster-witch @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78

@deansbbyx @sarahgracej @this-is-me19 @kazsrm67 @jacklesbrainworms

@foxyjwls007 @iamsapphine @roseblue373 @lacilou @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

@waynes-multiverse @my-stories-vault @syrma-sensei @alwaystiredandconfused @globetrotter28

@mrsjenniferwinchester @charmed-asylum @waywardxwords @k-slla @deanbrainrotwritings

@jackles010378 @deans-daydream @deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog @just-levyy

@leigh70 @kmc1989 @ghostslillady @siampie @jessjad

@beautyvaliant @mimaria420 @kaleldobrev @pieandmonsters @twinkleinadiamondsky

@stoneyggirl2 @sl33pylilbunny @spnfamily-j2 @mostlymarvelgirl @artemys-ackles

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[siampie]

Finding You||Chapter 4

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings/tags: pinning, childhood trauma, eldest daughter syndrome, mention of emotional abuse, mentions of SA

A/N: Enjoy this chapter, you guys. Comments and reblogs are always welcomed, greatly advised and strongly appreciate.

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Masterlist || join my taglist

Tag list: @marytheweefrenchie; @sunflowersandsapphires; @schneeflocky; @danzer8705; @ebathory997;

@shouldbestudying41; @lulukings92; @beezusvreeland

Dividers by @cafekitsune

“Hiya,” Bessie, your coworker, greeted you as you sat in her car. “How are ya today?”

“Better,” you smiled while buckling your seatbelt.

Your smile didn’t reach your eyes. It just couldn’t. And if Bessie noticed, she said nothing. Or maybe, she truly didn’t see the difference. It didn’t matter anyway. You just wanted to get through your day.

You had gone through your morning, getting ready for work, on autopilot. Trying to shake off that feeling of dread that had taken residence in the pit of your stomach. The nightmare had unsettled you, threw you off balance. It was just a terrifying dream. You let out a shaky breath before sipping your coffee. Your heart, beneath your ribcage, was thumping irregularly. It went from too fast to too slow. You were too much aware of your heart fluttering under your ribcage. And that feeling of impending doom was plaguing you, making it hard to breathe. Your chest felt tight, your lungs were struggling to expand as though there wasn’t enough room for them in your chest.

When you stepped out of your house, you made sure your door was locked at least twice. Ensuring that no one would walk into your home while you were gone for work. You pushed out a sigh. Your eyes moved to your next-door neighbor’s house. Somehow, you were slightly disappointed not to see him that morning. You didn’t know what good it would do to even catch a glimpse of him. It wasn’t as though you would spill all of your secrets, your fears, the story of your broken families. In some twisted ways, thinking about the criminal next door, had brought you comfort the night before. And seeing him that morning may have brought more. But he wasn’t there.

You let out a deep breath, reaching into your pockets. You pulled out fifty euros and handed them to Bessie. She jus looked at you confused.

“What’s that for?” She asked you.

“Petrol.” You replied.

“No, no, thanks but—ya don’t have to.” Bessie shook her head, refusing the money.

“Take it, Bessie.” You insisted. “You’ve been picking me up for months, the least I can do is to pay for petrol.”

Bessie took the money and shoved it in her pockets. It wasn’t the first time you had offered her money for the trouble. You didn’t have a car and she was driving you to work every day. You were aware that cars didn’t run for free. So, it was only natural and sensible to give her some money for petrol. And whether she liked or not, you would keep on doing it.

You moved through your day on autopilot, answering calls, filing up insurance claims. A deep sigh pushed past your lips.

“Hiya, love,” Bessie pulled a chair to sit next to you, in your cubicle.

“Hey,” You smiled at her. “Can I help you with anything?”

“No,” she shook her head. “I just wanted to check on ya.”

“Oh, that’s nice.” You smiled at her. You lifted one of your shoulders in a shrug. “I’m alright.”

“Are ya? Really?” Her eyes roamed your face.

You pushed out a sigh, and turned to face her. “I’m fine, I’m just—dealing with some family stuff. That’s all.”  

“Ah, family, yeah?” Bessie nodded. “There’s nothing more fucking complicated.”

You scoffed. “Tell me about it.”

“Wanna talk about it?” She asked you softly.

You exhaled deeply. “I don’t even want to think about it. So, no. Not really. But thanks.”

If you could forget about it all, you would.  Blocking their numbers may have stopped the calls, but it did not erase this plaguing feeling of dread, in the pit of your stomach. As though something terrible was about to happen. You just didn’t know what or when.

You dropped your keys on the kitchen counter. You pushed out a long breath. You dropped in your couch. Your stomach dropped at the sound of your ringtone. Your heart raced beneath your ribcage. You stood up on shaky legs to pick it up. It was silly to be afraid of your own phone. You had blocked their numbers, so it couldn’t be any of them calling you, right? You reached in your bag with shaky hands. By the time you fished out your phone, it had stopped ringing. It rang again. You gasped and flinched. Reading the caller ID, you let out an annoyed groaned. It was your brother Dave.

“What do you want?” You answered the call.  

“Well, hello to you too, sis.” His voice was dripping with sarcasm.

“What do you want?” You repeated, angrily.

“Well, your phone’s working. So, I was wondering why you weren't answering Mom.”

“Because I don’t want to talk to her.” You shot back. “It is as simple as that.”

“Look, you need to talk to mom.” He spoke.

“Why the fuck I would want that, now?” Your heart beating faster with anger.

“We only heard one side of the story, okay?” He argued with you. “You don’t know half of the things Dad put her through.”

“I don’t need to know.” You told him. “I don’t want to know. I don’t care.”

“You should care. Especially, after everything you put her through.”  He hissed at you, through the line.

“I put her through. I put her—” You exhaled through your nose, running a hand on your forehead. “Riddle me this, brother. How did you go from hating her to defending her? When she walked out on us, you told everyone that she was dead. And now, you want me to talk to her. Why?”

“She is our mother.” He said. “And I was a kid. You need to make amends for the lies you told Dad. For the things you put her through.”

“How dare you?” You snapped, slamming your free hand on the counter. “How dare you defend her of all people?”

“You knew better than to spread stories.”

“I was a child and he was being a creep.” You said through gritted teeth. “You don’t get to tell me that there were stories. You don’t get to make demands regarding our mother. You want her in your life, fine. But you don’t get to force me to make room in mine just because she’s mom.” Your veins were boiling with rage. “And don’t ever call me on her behalf, ever again.”

You hung up the phone before he could reply. You didn’t need this. You took a deep breath before grabbing a glass from your cabinet. You filled it with water in an attempt to slow your own heartrate, to calm yourself down. To let go of the anger, your brother just put you in. How dare he make demands? How dare he diminish what your mother had done to you? How dare he call what happened to you stories and lies? Your brother was clearly taking your mother’s side on things. You hated him for it because you knew you would never do that to him.

You roared and threw the glass. It smashed into the wall, breaking in tiny pieces, water spreading everywhere. Tears pressed against your eyes; “shit,” you cursed quietly. Your throat clogged up; frustration was clawing in your chest. You couldn’t believe that your own brother called you a liar. That he was ready to tarnish your father’s character, to defend her.

You crouched down to pick up the broken glass. Your heart was hurting. You loved your brother, you did. So, why couldn’t he just do this one thing for you? Why couldn’t he just respect that you didn’t want a relationship with your mother? You respected his choice of having one with her. The least he could do was to respect that you didn’t. A knock on the door snapped you out of your thoughts, startling, and causing you to cut your hand with a broken shard.

“Coming;” you yelled through the door; you threw the broken pieces you had already gathered before opening the door.

Michael had an appointment with a councilor that day. He had been hopeful before it. He knew that getting access to Anna would be a long and difficult process. He knew that. But it had not seemed impossible. At least, not in the way Donal Creehan had described it. If he stayed out of trouble, had a job, he would have a chance to see Anna. To have her back in his life. And he did all of that.

It all had been pointless.

His hopes had been snuffed out, like one would a candle. How could they think that him having access to Anna would harm her in any way? He would never let anything happen to her. She was his daughter. The only person that really mattered. All he ever wanted was to see her. They didn’t allow her to visit him in prison. And now they would use it against him, saying that he had not seen her in eight years. Of course, he had not, they didn’t allow it.

They were going to use this and his past, his family name, and his family’s business to keep Anna away from him. Getting a job, staying away from trouble had all been for nothing.  He was already condemned and punished for being a Kinsella. Leaving him no chance to prove that he could be a good father to his daughter. It was all hopeless.

What was the point of saying no to Jimmy? What was the point of it all? Whether he had a honest and proper job or he went back working with his family, it wouldn’t change anything. He would not be allowed to see her. He knew that. His councilor may had said that it wouldn’t be easy, implying that he might still have a chance. But he knew better. He had none. He would lose his daughter in the end. If only because he had been charged with the death of his wife; Alison.

So, when Jimmy came back and asked once again for his help. Michael had said yes. He would help his brother put things right. It wouldn’t change a thing regarding his chances of accessing Anna.

Michael wished he had seen you that day. Maybe, the sight of you would have made things slightly better. He would not tell you everything that was going wrong in his life. You already knew enough. You needn’t know about his appointment with the councilor or his agreeing to put things right. Even if it was for a brief moment, he would have offered him a little peace.

He stepped out of his house about to go on walk. He saw the light coming out of your large window, meaning you had come back home already. He paused, debating whether he should go knock on your door or not, when he heard it. You had screamed, startling him. He took one step towards your house, and rushed the rest of the way when he heard the glass shattering.

You had wrapped your hand in a kitchen towel before opening the door. Michael was standing on the other side, looking worried.

“Michael. Hi.” You smiled at him, although it didn’t reach your eyes.

“Are you alrigh’? I heard ya scream.” Michael asked you, his eyes searching your face.

“Yeah, I’m—I’m good. It’s nothing really.” You shook your head quickly.

“Didn’t sound like nothin’. Ya sure everythin’ alright, Pet?” He asked you again.

You smiled at him using the term of endearment. You were going to answer, when your phone rang. You sighed through your nose. It was probably your brother calling you back. You invited Michael in quickly before going to pick up your phone.

Michael stepped into your home, his eyes landed on the broken glass on the floor or what was left of it. The water that was spread on the wall and floor. His eyes landed on you in the kitchen. You looked agitated as you spoke angrily on the phone. Your eyes found his across the room. You looked away from quickly before you hung up.

You put down your phone, screen down on the counter. It rang again. You let it go through to voicemail. You no longer wanted to talk to your brother.

“Sorry about that.” You apologized moving to the closet in the corridor.

“No worries.” Michael waved it off. You pulled out a broom and a duster pan. “I’ll clean it up for ya.”

“What? No.” You pulled the broom away from him. “It’s my mess. I’ll—I’ll fix it.”

“Let me take care of it, yeah?” He reached out for the broom and duster pan.

You reluctantly let him take the items from you. “Coffee?” You offered.

“Ya should probably do something about yer hand first.” He said as he started sweeping.

“Yeah.”

You put down the cup of fresh coffee in front of Michael. You pulled the chair before sitting down, across from him. You pushed out a sigh before having a sip.

“Who was that on the phone?” Michael questioned you.

“My brother. Dave.” You replied, not looking up from your cup.

“Didn’t sound like a pleasant conversation.” He remarked.

“It wasn’t.” You looked down at your now freshly bandaged hand. The cut was pretty shallow but it had bled quite a bit.

“Hey, ya can talk to me.” Michael assured you.

You looked up at him. You let out another sigh. Could you really tell him what was going on? And how much should you tell him? You looked over his shoulder at the wall, against which you had smashed your glass in anger. Maybe you could tell him a few things.

“My brother wants me to get in contact with our mother.” You spoke. “I don’t want to because—well, she walked out on us. And I don’t like her new husband. He’s a creep. Always has been.”

“S’ that why you smashed a glass against your wall?”

You huffed out a laugh. You dropped your chin in the palm of your good hand, the clog in your throat was back. You did everything you could to keep the tears at bay.

“He told her where I was. Gave her all my information. Which means her husband knows too.” Your voice cracked; your lips turned down. “I’m scared they are going to show up.” The first tears fell. “I can’t believe my own brother would do this to me.”

Michael’s chair scraped on the floor, as he stood up. He pulled you into his arm. His hand rubbed soothing circles on your back. You fisted his shirt as you cried into his chest while Michael comforted you, whispering soft words of reassurance. Michael didn’t really know why you were scared of your stepfather and mother. And he didn’t need to know. Knowing you were scared was enough for him.

“I won’t let anyone hurt ya.” He said quietly in your ears. “I won’t let that happen.” He pulled away from you so he could look you in the eye. “Ya hear me? I will not let him hurt ya, yeah?”

You nodded. You believed him. He looked determined, almost angry on your behalf. He didn’t know anything and yet, he was ready to protect you. He didn’t have to say the words, you knew that was a promise on his part.

“Yeah.”

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[siampie]

Finding You||Chapter 6

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings/tags: pinning, childhood trauma, eldest daughter syndrome, mention of emotional abuse, mentions of SA

A/N: Enjoy this chapter, you guys. Comments and reblogs are always welcomed, greatly advised and strongly appreciate.

Previous Chapter || Chapter List || Next chapter

Masterlist || join my taglist

Tag list: @marytheweefrenchie; @sunflowersandsapphires; @schneeflocky; @danzer8705; @ebathory997;

@shouldbestudying41; @beezusvreeland; @lulukings92;

Dividers by @cafekitsune

“In the latest gangbang shooting, the young father of two was gunned down in this Dublin’s pub, last night.”

The news anchor was standing in front of the aforementioned pub. The guards surrounded the establishment, collecting evidences. You put down the remote on your coffee table, and moved in the kitchen.

“Caolan Moore was celebrating the birth of his daughter Leah, when the gunman entered the pub and shot him five times. Moore’s fiancée, Shannon Gogarty, said he was a loving father who enjoyed nothing more than spending time with his kids.”

You started a fresh pot of coffee before sitting down at the small kitchen table. It all had seemed surreal, last night. Everything all happening at once, your mother calling you, Michael being arrested. It all had seemed surreal and chaotic. Unfortunately, you were no stranger to chaos. You did grow up in a pretty unstable home, walking on eggshells around your father at times. The man was able to explode at the drop of a hat. Although, as he grew older, he became less violent and less controlling.

You stared out of your large kitchen window. The red and blue lights had flashed across your walls well into the night. The guards had swarmed the streets, coming in and out of Jimmy’s home, collecting evidences. The news of Caolan Moore’s death had hit the internet long before the news outlet got a hold of it. Words were that the Kinsella did it, specifically Michael Kinsella.

You knew those words to be true. You knew, deep down, that Michael had done it. You knew it was for revenge for Jamie’s death on behalf of his brother, Jimmy. It didn’t take a genius to know that. It also didn’t come as a surprise that it happened. After all, you had watched enough tv shows and movies to know that this was the next course of action for the Kinsella. It was bound to happen.

You let out a long breath. You weren’t all that thrilled to go to work on no sleep. You had been restless for most of the night, thoughts of your mother whirling around your mind.

“I’m in Dublin.”

Thoughts of her being in Dublin had you reeling. You didn’t know what to do, what to think. You had thought of calling your sister or your little brother but—you didn’t want to worry them. And now that Michael had been arrested, you didn’t think you should burden him with your own issues. He already had a lot to deal with. He didn’t need to deal with you on top of it all.

You were anxious, you could feel it in the pit of your stomach. You didn’t want to go out and take the risks of bumping into her, or bumping into him. And since they had your address, the chances of that happening were pretty high. But you couldn’t just stop living your life because they were in Dublin, because you might come face to face with them.

A black car pulled into your driveway. It was Birdy’s, you frowned up at the car through the window. Your breath hitched at the sight of Michael climbing out the car. He had been released. You stood up and moved to your front door, as the car pulled out of your driveway.

“Michael?” You called as soon as you opened your door. The man walked up to you. “Are you okay?” Your eyes roamed over him quickly.

“I’m alright, pet.” Michael answered, smiling softly at you. “Yer up early?”

“Well, I didn’t really sleep.” You shook your head quickly. “Do you want to come in? Have a cup of coffee and maybe some breakfast?”

“I’d love that, yeah.” He nodded before stepping in.

The night before had seemed surreal but was long forgotten. Michael had been released. You felt relieved to see him, sitting across from you, in your kitchen. Although, you had barely slept the night before, you somehow felt energized. And the coffee had nothing to do with it.

You felt like you could breathe again.

“So, not that I’m not glad to see you here,” you started, “but they released you early. I thought that they were supposed to keep you for—at least twenty-four hours.”

Michael let out a snort, amused by your question. “You know how the guards operate in Ireland already?”

You shrugged, “I couldn’t sleep last night. So, I did some research.” He hummed, taking a bite out of his toast. “Why did they release you so soon? Did something happen?”

Michael did not answer immediately. He looked down at the table, pondering whether he should tell you about his seizures or not. He didn’t want people to know. Somehow ashamed of his own weakness, reminder of what had happened the night Allison died. He would lie to his family without hesitation, they didn’t need to know. They had no business to know about his seizures. But to you—well, you were different. You left room for him to be vulnerable, you genuinely seemed like you cared.

Maybe he could tell you.

“You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to.” You said, pulling him out of his thoughts.

Michael put down his cup, “seizures,” he simply said. “Or at least, that’s what they’re thinkin’.” He looked up at you. “They can’t question me after havin’ one. So, they released me this mornin’.”

“Oh.” You nodded. “Have you seen a doctor yet?”

“Gonna need to see a GP to find out what’s happenin’ really.”

“I’m sure—I’m sure you’re gonna be alright.” You tried to reassure him; his lips tugged up at the corner. “My dad had epilepsy for a while, and he did okay. So, trust me when I say, it’s manageable. And you’re gonna be alright. I’m sure of it.”

Your phone rang in the living room and you froze. It couldn’t be your mother. Not that early in the morning. And your brother had been definitely blocked, couldn’t be him either. It was probably Bessie calling to make sure you were coming into work. It was logical. Yet, you couldn’t help the fear you felt at the sound of it.

“Your brother still bothering ya?” Michael questioned and you weakly shook your head.

“Not my brother.” You took a deep breath. “Last night—my mother called. She’s in Dublin and she wants to meet up.”

“Alone?” Michael stood up with his plate, going to the sink.

You shook your head as a snort of disbelief pushed past your lips. “Chances are that—my stepfather came with her.” Your eyes followed him, “I can do that later." you protested.

“’S alrigh’,” Michael assured you as you stood, moving closer to the kitchen island. “What happened between you and your stepda?” He questioned.

Could you burden him with this? After what he had been through the night before. Before he appeared in your driveway, you thought it’d be a bad idea. But now that he was standing in your kitchen, offering to hear you out, you found it difficult not to confide in him.

You took a deep breath, “nothing happened. Not really.” You offered him a kitchen towel so he could dry off his hands. He leaned against the sink. His eyes on you, waiting for you to continue. “Let’s just say that—after my mother abandoned us, we didn’t hear from her for almost a whole year. And when she came back in our lives, she didn’t come back alone.”

“Yer stepda,” he stated.

You nodded, “in the beginning, he was nice enough. I even liked him but after a while—he started to—get a little handsy with me. Trying to get me to sit on his lap, massages, that sort of things.”

Michael clenched his jaw at your words, gripping the sink, his knuckles turning white. A barely contained rage making itself known at your words.

“I didn’t say anything at first,” you continued. “All I wanted was to see my mother, you know. But—uhm, one night—he went too far,” you paused. “Nothing happened, but I woke up to him standing in my bedroom, in the middle of the night. He was just standing there staring at me. And then, he sat on my bed and started stroking my hair. I didn’t move—I couldn’t—I just—I just froze.”

Michael crossed the space between you, pulling you straight into him. Without realizing it, tears had sprung from your eyes, your voice cracked on the last words. Your arms wrapped around his middle, eagerly. His arms felt as strong as they had before. His scent wrapped around you, offering you the comfort that you needed more than anything in this moment.

“Did he—?” Michael started but you cut him off.

“Didn’t have time,” you shook your head. “First thing I did the day after was told my father. He pulled us out of there as quick as possible. Tried to tell my mom too but she didn’t believe me.” You sniffed. “In the end she chose him over us. Over me. And I’ll never forgive her for this.”

Michael’s hold on you tightened, his large hands splayed over your back, running up and down your spine. You felt his chin rest on top of your head.

“Like I told ya before, I won’t let anyone hurt ya.” He said quietly, “I won’t.”

“I know.” You buried your face deeper into his warm chest, “I know.”

In spite of the chaos that was your life at the moment, regardless of the fear that was gripping your guts, you felt safe in his arms. You felt oddly content and at peace in his arms. He was offering you much needed comfort. And there in his arms, you felt less alone.

“Ya know what I did last night?” He whispered in your hair.

“I do.” You pulled away slightly, so you could look up at him. A frown was pulling his lips downward, his guilt filled eyes were roaming over your face. “It’s all over the news, and the internet.”

He didn’t need to say the words. The question was admission enough on his part. Michael had gunned down Caolan Moore, you already knew. And yet, he was willing to share this part of him with you. The darkness and the danger that came with it.

“And yer not afraid of me?” His hand came up to cradle your face.

“No.” His palm pressed further into your cheek, and you leant into his touch.

You weren’t afraid of him. You had been in the beginning, and then you got to know him. And the more time you spent with him, the more you realized that Michael was no threat to you. He had been genuine in the way he spoke to you, quiet and yet, eager to know more of you.

Michael Kinsella was a threat only to those who wronged him. Caolan Moore was a blatant proof of that.

Hope was shining in his eyes. Your hand covered his, as you held his gaze. Along with hope, there was affection, and a softness in his eyes. His thumb brushing against the apple of your cheek. A small smile graced his lips, wrinkling the corner of his eyes.

The world around you faded away as you held each other’s gaze. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, your eyes falling on his. Your heart raced beneath your ribcage. The arm he had around your waist pulled you further into him as he leaned down. His nose brushed against yours, his lips inched closer to yours and he paused, leaving room for you to push him away. Hesitantly, you closed the distance, your lips meeting his. Making the final decision to kiss the man, putting yourself out of your own misery.

His hand left your cheek, to hold the back of your head as your kiss grew more passionate and heated. Your arms made their way around his broad shoulders, your fingers grazing the hair at the nape of his neck. Your chest pressed against his, heart pounding in your ears, panting and moaning, each time his lips briefly left yours.

Your hand had wounded up in his brown locks, soft and thick between your fingers. You gasped as he lifted you up, placing you on the kitchen island. His lips latching onto yours as he came to stand between your legs. Your legs locked behind his waist. His tongue slid into your mouth, warm against yours. His hands were on your thighs while your arms around his shoulders pulled him further into you.

You got lost into him, his scent, the touch of his hands, his lips. In everything that was him. You wanted him. You wanted to touch, and kiss every inch of his body, wanted his hands and his lips to roam every inch of yours. But as much as you wanted to see and feel more of him, you had to put a stop to it.

Not today, not like that.

You pulled away, bringing your forehead against his. Both of you breathless, shoulders heaving as you were trying to catch your breath.

“I have to go to work.” You regretfully told him. “I need to get ready,” you almost groaned letting your head fall back.

Michael pushed your hair away from your face, tucking a strand behind your ear. “''S alrigh'. I let ya get ready,” he grinned at you, “we can continue this on another time?”

“Yeah, you still owe me a date.” You bit down your bottom lip, a smile tugging at your lips.

“Is that so?” He snorted in amusement, his thumb tracing your bottom lip.

“It is so.” You huffed out a laugh. “Want me to walk you out?”

“That’d be grand, pet,” he helped you down the counter, his hand wrapping around yours.

You laced your fingers with his, he grabbed his jacket as you walked past the small table. Once you’ve reached the door, you turned to him, grinning up at him. Butterflies erupting in your belly, fluttering around in excitement.

“See ya later, yeah?” He asked.

“Yeah, see you later,” you nodded.

“How about I take ya out for a drink later tonight?” He suggested.

 “I’d love that very much.” He leaned down and rested a soft kiss on your lips.

Michael released your hand, and opened the front door, you followed him on your doorstep. You watched as he walked up to his own door, you waved at him. And a large smile split his face in two, he waved back at you before disappearing into his home.

With a deep sigh you walked back into your home, closing your door behind you. You couldn’t help the grin on your face, your heart skipping away in your chest. Energized in a new way, and with something to look forward to, you rushed up the stairs to get ready for work.

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[siampie]

Get Off the Highway || Chapter 5

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus Size Reader

Word Count: 1.6 k 

Warnings/tags: Enemies to lovers trope, angst, childhood trauma, eldest daughter syndrome

A/N: Let’s learn more about reader, shall we? No Winchesters in this chapter, sorry guys!

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@maackiimoo

Dividers by @cafekitsune

Life was running its course as usual. Well, as usual as it could when you were a hunter. Your family didn’t quite know about this new career of yours. Except for your brother. To the other members of your family, you were travelling the roads of the states, doing odd jobs. You never went into specifics; they didn’t need to know everything.

Your father thought you were wasting your time, seeing as you weren’t making a lot of money. And it was true, being a hunter wasn’t always rewarding—financially. But money didn’t really matter to you. Helping people was far more important than anything else in your eyes. Also, it was reward enough to finally do something you chose for yourself.

Graduating high school, going to college, had all been for your father. You were the eldest and the first one to go to college, your father was proud of that. He had told you that much. You were going to set an example for your younger siblings. A good example they were supposed to follow. But none of them had. And they were still successful, while you had been stuck doing something that had made you miserable.

You graduated, of course, you had put in the work. And you may have gone to a community college but your degree was worth the same as one you may have gained from Yale or Stanford. People tend to look down on people who went to community college. As though your education had less value because you didn’t pay 30k or more to get into college. Of course, Community college didn’t have the same facilities as a prestigious one but you were still getting a good education. One that had the same value that one could receive in those high paid colleges.

College had offered you some time away from the chaos that was your home life. But it had also further strained your relationship with your siblings. And from that point forward there were no going back to the way things were before that.

“Dad, I’m trying to help here.” You sighed, frustration slowly rising in your chest.

“Help? How am I supposed to pay for this?” Your father shot back. “I don’t have 300 bucks laying around.”

It was a lie. He had the money; he just didn’t want to use it. His door had broken due to poor maintenance on his part. It needed to be fixed. You had found the people to fix it. It was, in your opinion, for a good price. But for him it was too expensive. He wanted things done for him without having to pay for anything. He even looked at you, asking you if you had the money to pay for it.

“Then, leave it open.” You snapped.

“Mind your tone with me.” He said in a warning tone.

“Oh, I am, trust me.” You replied. “You don’t want to fix it, and you don’t want to leave it open. So, what do you want to do?”

“So, I should just pay the guy?”

“YES!” Your hand slammed on the counter in your outburst. You took a deep breath. You needed to get out of this house before it escalated into something far bigger. “It’s either you pay the guy and he fixes your door. Or you don’t and your door stays open for strangers to waltz in. Your choice.”

You left after that. You knew your father, he was going to fight you on this, grumbling for hours, fight some more and then simply agreed to it. Walking away was the best decision, it saved you from the unnecessary headaches.

Dealing with your parents was unpleasant to say the least. Your siblings had limited their contacts with them and you were the only one who still had a relationship with them. Although, at times like this, you still wondered why. One could say; “Well, it’s family.” However, family wasn’t everything. Family didn’t excuse everything. Not to you anyway. Not anymore

Thankfully, Garth needed your assistance on a hunt. You were more than happy to help him. Especially, if this hunt was taking you away from your infuriating ways. Unfortunately, you wouldn’t be working with Garth on this one. It was a fellow hunter that required assistance. A fellow hunter, you’d rather avoided. For as long as you could.

His name was Andy. Tall, freckled face, blonde hair, a really handsome fella. You two had met on a hunt and hit it off pretty quickly. It was nothing more than a fling. Or so, you thought. You weren’t looking for anything serious. But it had become so. He was a good guy and had treated you well. And yet, things between had ended in a somewhat sour note.  

“Hey, pretty girl.” He greeted you as you sat across the booth from him.

“Hey, Andy.” You greeted him back.

“You’re looking real good.” He smirked leaning across the table. “Are those new jeans?”

“Andy—” You sighed tiredly. “I’m not here for that. You said you needed help.”

He put his hands up, and he leaned back. “Business as usual.”

You scoffed. “So, what is this about?”

There was nothing the two of you couldn’t do together, Andy had told you, once upon a time. When the two of you were hunting together. Before there were feelings involved. Before it had gotten messy. You worked well together, you always had. But things between you had gotten complicated. And you decided to just walk away. It was easier this way.

The hunt had gone fairly quickly. Nothing any of you had not faced before. He was sitting in your motel room, shirtless while you patched him up. He let out a hiss as you pierced his skin with the needle.

“Sorry,” you quietly said. You worked in silence, piercing his skin with the needle and thread, sewing his skin back together. You were focused on making sure the stitches weren’t too tight.

“Where did you go?” Andy asked you suddenly.

You paused, glancing up at him. “What?”

“When you left, where did you go?”

You let out a deep breath, “as far away as I could.”

“Was I so bad you had to run away?” He scoffed.

“No. If anything you were—you are one of the good ones.” You reassured him. “I’m not.” You paused, resuming the stitching. “I thought it better to run away to save you from me. I would have hurt you.”

“Bullshit.” He snorted, you frowned.

“So, you know better than I do?”

“In fact, I do.” Andy reached for your hands, stopping their movements. “You got scared because of what you were feeling. And instead of trying to find out if I was feeling the same, you ran away. It was easier than rejection.”

Way to call you the fuck out? You remained quiet and pulled your hands away and finished stitching him up. Could he really blame you for this? He knew the kind of home you grew up in. He knew what sort of childhood you had. You told yourself you wouldn’t walk away from him. You liked him a lot, he made you feel good, put a smile on your face. He made you happy and that terrified you. So much so, you simply walked away from him.

“I’m sorry for hurting you by leaving.” You apologized softly, without looking at him. “You deserved better.”

“So did you.” He got up from his seat, he put his shirt back on and you turned to him. He had a soft and sad look on his face.

“I left you.” You reminded him.

“I know.” He stepped closer to you; his hand came to rest on your shoulder. He leaned in, his lips brushed against your temple. “Still, you deserved better too.” Andy grabbed his coat before going for the door. He turned to you, “see you around beautiful.”

“See you around handsome.” You smiled back and watched him leave.

Your throat clogged up; your eyes welled up with tears. Regrets clawing at your chest. Every single time, you let yourself have feelings for someone, you enjoyed the relationship and then—you get cold feet, you get scared and you ran away from them. Why couldn’t you just let yourself be happy? Why did you have to go and ruin everything?

And what you hated the most was the fact that he didn’t hate you. It would have been easier if he had been mad. If he had told you how horrible you made him feel. It would have felt better if he had told you he would never forgive you for hurting him the way you did. If he simply hated you as he should have. But none of that happened and it made you feel utterly horrible for the way you ended things.

Andy deserved better from you. Much better.

Your siblings were raised the same way you were and yet, they were happily married with kids. And you just couldn’t understand why it was not happening for you. Why were you so afraid and why were they not? Maybe there was something wrong with you. Maybe you were more broken than the rest of them. Maybe, you were broken in ways they were not.

Or maybe— maybe, you weren’t simply made for love. Or at least, there was no one in this world that you could love, or that could love you. In some toxic and twisted part of your brain, you had wanted for Andy to come after you, to fight you on this. You had expected a text or a call, for him to ask you what was going on. But none came, you left and he had accepted it. Even now, he did not fight you back on this. But he did not.

You weren’t good enough for your parents and you weren’t good enough for your siblings. Why would you be good enough for Andy? Why would he want to fight for someone like you? When even your parents did not care to do so.

You weren’t good enough.

You never had been.

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[siampie]

FIC IDEAS

The Detective and the Devil

Here I am trying to get into the groove to write a new chapter for one of my WIP on fanfiction.net, and Matt demands a new fic.

So, a while ago @djarinbabysnotes posted a fic idea for a Daredevil fic that involves a detective. A sorta enemies to lovers kinda story. Which did seduce me. And I read a story on FF.net written by cocotiks called Murdock and Knight, really good story by the way (had not been updated since 2019 sadly) which had ideas already brewing in my head.

Now, I have this idea stuck in my head of a detective getting involved in Daredevil's shenanigans but also dealing with Matt Murdock. Both parties don't really like each other, so enemies to lovers trope. Might be slowburn. And I think, it'll be OFC rather than reader. Not sure about that, yet.

I don't know when it'll be written but the idea had been turning in my head for a while. Just needed to talk about it.

I had already written something similar for Batman begins called the Detective and the Bat, not really good. I have gotten better overtime but still, I could have done better.

Anyway, just needed to do some thougts dumping on this one. The title is definitive though, this won't change.

PS: it won't be as good as Murdock and Knight

[siampie]

July Posting Schedule

[siampie]

June Upcoming Schedule

[zepskies]

✍🏽 Writing Update

Hi friends!

If you follow this regularly scheduled program, you'll probably already know that I'm gearing up to start posting the new Russell Shaw (Tracker) series that will continue A Line and a Half, called Every Second Counts (next week!).

I also have a three-part story coming up for the Midnight Espresso-verse! ☕

It's going to see the return of Carter, the reader's ex-douchebag boyfriend. This will also be part of the "fix it" to 15.20, and will take place in that episode. (Thank you @siampie for stoking the flames of this idea!)

I'm still debating on when to start posting this one, either alongside or after Every Second Counts, but we'll see! Just wanted to let you guys know that it's coming up. 😘

Dream With Me

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-sized!Reader (Latina)

Summary: When your ex-boyfriend calls for help on a case, you have a tough decision to make. But Dean isn’t going to let you do anything alone. (AKA: The last hunt you, Sam, and Dean will ever go on together.)

👀 Sneak Peek:

Part 1 - "On the Drop of a Dime"

“Look…I’m the Job, you know? What the hell would I even do if not this?” he says.

You reach for his hand and lay a kiss over his knuckles. You know he thinks being a hunter is all he’s good for—all he’s equipped to do. You also know that he’s so much more than the Job. 

“Dean, you’re one of the smartest, most resourceful people I know. You can…restore cars, build cars,” you suggest. Your excitement grows as you brainstorm for him. You tap on his thigh.

“Oh! You could open up a bar. Call it the Roadhouse, after the one your friends had. Or hey, we could open up a bakery. We’ll sell pies and flan and whatever the hell else you want me to make.”

You say that last bit with a giggle. It earns his smile, but you know, looking into his eyes, that he’s not convinced. You grab his hand again with both of yours.

“Come on, Dean. Dream with me for a second,” you implore. “I know we could do this. We could…we could have a different life. A peaceful life. We could have a family.”

Dean sighs, glancing down at his hands. They’re calloused and scarred, and he has the memories to match.

Coming on 6/30…