#supernatural christmas fic

[zepskies]

Get Stuffed

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-sized Latina!Reader

Summary: Dean enjoys the way you cook Christmas dinner with a Latin flair, even if Sam likes to tease him about his insatiable appetite. You remind Sam about the true reason behind one of Dean’s biggest quirks.

AN: This was requested by my lovely friend @iprobablyshipit91: Sam making the usual digs at Dean about his diet, and how much he eats, and the reader pulling him aside and telling him to back off as he doesn’t realize how much Dean went hungry as a kid to make sure Sam was fed.

Word Count: 1,800 Tags/Warnings: Fluff, innuendo, tinge of angst

**This story can be read as stand-alone, but you can also check out the full masterlist of one-shots below. ⤵️

☕ Midnight Espresso Masterlist

“Aw, hell yeah,” Dean mutters. He rubs his hands together and surveys the immovable feast that’s about to get shoveled into his mouth.

This Christmas marks roughly your first year living with the brothers Winchester in the bunker, and a few months after your first anniversary with Dean.

He’s made it very clear that he enjoys your cooking, especially of Cuban food. So you’ve gone all out for Christmas: white rice and your grandmother’s recipe for black beans, boiled yuca with plenty of garlic, bread drizzled with more garlic and olive oil, and Dean’s favorite…

“What’s this part of the pig called again?” he asks. And he uses a large fork to spear into the mountain of roasted meat that you’ve already cut and piled onto a platter.

You come in from the kitchen with the bread in hand, placing it on the dinner table. You sidle up behind him, where he's seated.

“The shoulder,” you say, squeezing both of Dean’s. He hums in interest as you press a kiss to the side of his head. “It’s called pernil. Marinated with garlic, mojo, bunch of good stuff.”

He predictably steals a juicy piece of meat, plopping it into his mouth. He grins while he chews and makes a happy sound.

“Ohoho, yeah.”

You share an amused look with Sam, who sits beside his brother. By the time you’ve found your seat on Dean’s other side, he’s already serving you and Sam the same hefty portions he serves himself.

You know for a fact you’re only going to eat about half of your plate. Sam manages to polish his off. Dean does as well…and serves himself twice more before you break out the dessert.

“Please tell me that’s a flan,” Dean says, drumming his fingers on the table.

“How the hell are you still hungry?” Sam asks.

The look on his face says he’s half entertained, half disgusted. Dean is still sucking on the crispy skin on a piece of pork. He licks the juices off his fingers.

“Have I taught you nothing?” he says. “There’s always room for dessert.”

He tosses you a wink, followed closely by a suggestive smirk. You glance at him with a smile as you set down the metal pan.

“It is a flan,” you affirm. “I tried my hand at coconut this time.”

“Ooh, tropical,” Dean says, waggling greasy fingers. He wipes them on a napkin before he reaches for the pie cutter, which is usually reserved for his favorite dessert. Although, flan is rapidly becoming his second go-to. The rich custardy goodness is calling to him like a siren song.

“How can I get you to make this more often?” Dean mutters while carving out a generous slice.

Your lips curve. You rest your chin on your hand and lean towards him, earning his gaze. “If I made it all the time, you wouldn’t savor it, now would you?”

Dean smirks. His gaze lowers to your lips, like he’s contemplating some persuasive maneuvers.

“You’d also be 300 pounds,” Sam remarks, taking a sip of his beer.

You eye Sam with a frown. But Dean just laughs it off and cuts his little brother a slice.

By the end of the meal, all three of you are stuffed. Dean groans and leans back in his seat. A gurgle mounts audibly from his stomach.

“Jesus. Are you erupting?” Sam says.

Dean holds up a finger. “Wait for it.”

You give your boyfriend a bemused look. You know exactly what’s about to happen. As does Sam, who’s grimacing.

A few seconds later, Dean does erupt, with a truly legendary belch.

“Nice,” you say wryly. Dean squeezes your soft, thick thigh and backs his chair away from the table.

“Well, since I roasted the pig and you did the rest, I’d say it’s Sammy’s turn on cleaning duty,” he says.

“Thanks,” Sam says, with a wan smile. Yours is more jovial, even as Dean’s hand toys with a curl of your hair after he stands.

“I’m gonna shower off the meat sweats,” he says.

You giggle, but you nod. “You do that. I’ll help Sam a bit, put away the food at least.”

Your smile becomes more genuine when Dean drops a kiss on your forehead from above.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says. His voice is a quiet, deep rumble washing over you. You know what he’s thanking you for: good food, and a small, but warm Christmas.

You reach up and give his cheek a tender touch, before he withdraws and makes his way to the bedroom he shares with you. It leaves you and Sam to collect what’s on the table and bring it all into the kitchen. While Sam does the dishes, you start to put away the leftovers.

Something has been nagging at you all night, though you’ve tried to stamp it down time and time again. You don’t know if it's your place to say something. Especially if Dean doesn’t seem bothered…but it bothers you. And you’ve never been one to hold your tongue.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” you begin, even as a small bit of trepidation niggles inside you.

Sam looks over at you. He’s quick to catch the serious note in your demeanor.

“Yeah, what’s up?” he replies. You okay? his eyes also ask.

“Why do you get on Dean so much for enjoying his food?” you ask.

Sam blinks. Then he scoffs a little. “There’s enjoying, and then there’s gluttony.”

“He’s not that bad,” you argue.

“He ate half his weight in pig,” Sam says. You can’t exactly deny that, but you cross your arms and turn to him, leaning your hip against the counter.

“So? It’s Christmas. Let him be happy,” you retort.

Sam levels you with pinched brows. “He’s not in his 20s anymore. All that crap he eats is going to catch up to him someday.”

“What, you expect him to down some kale smoothies?” you reply, giving a pointed brow raise and a teasing smile. “Get up at the crack of dawn for a bare-chested run?”

Sam shoots you a dry look.  

“My point is, I’m not gonna survive hundreds of monster attacks just to get taken down by cholesterol,” he says.

You sigh a raise a placating hand. “All right. I get what you’re saying. I’m just saying…have you ever thought about why he loves food so much? Why he overindulges sometimes?”

Sam's brow quirks. It’s a question you know you need to tread lightly in order to answer. You uncross your arms to lay a hand on Sam’s wrist. He stops washing dishes and turns off the sink to give you his full attention, sensing your shift.

You look up at him, and you steel yourself.

“He might’ve mentioned once…that you two sometimes had a hard time growing up. With John taking you guys from motel to motel while he was working a job, and every now and then, leaving you guys alone longer than he meant to.”

Dean had been more than a bit drunk when you’d gotten this out of him. Hearing about that aspect of his upbringing had upset you, not just as someone who cared about him, but the caretaker in you smarted.

“Even though you guys didn’t have enough money at times, your brother always made sure you were fed,” you explain. You meet Sam’s gaze, squeezing his arm. “Sometimes he went without.”

Sam’s expression slowly slackens, contemplative and dismayed at what you’re implying. He dries his hands on a kitchen towel and rubs at his mouth, like he’s reeling back the years of evidence in his mind and trying to confirm if you were right.

“You don’t remember?” you gently ask.

Sam shakes his head. “I mean, I knew things were tight. I remember him taking care of me, obviously. But…”

He doesn’t remember his brother going hungry.

It carves a hole of remorse in his chest.

This isn’t the first time he’s had to reexamine Dean’s role in his life, and not the first time he’s felt this flavor of guilt. But he sighs and really doesn’t know what to say.

You seem to realize that, and you squeeze his arm one last time.

“Just keep that in mind,” you implore.

You soon leave him to venture upstairs, but there in the kitchen, Sam makes a resolution before the new year. One that includes having a conversation with his brother.

You find Dean in your bedroom. Now in his most threadbare sweatpants and an old black shirt, he lays over the covers on the bed. His eyes are closed and his arms are folded behind his head, but he hears you when you come in.

You slide into bed next to him and lay your head on his chest. He groans deep and slowly lowers his arms. One of them wraps around your frame.

“Think I overdid it a bit,” he admits, cracking his eyes open. You smile and gently pat his stomach. 

“Wanna go for a walk tomorrow?” you ask. “We can go down to the park.”

Dean raises a brow at you. “You hate walking.”

“Not true,” you shake your head, before you rest more comfortably against him. He tucks you in beside him and begins to run his fingers down your arm. It’s a bit distracting.

“Could be nice, with the right view,” you add, though you shiver a little at his touch.

Dean makes a sound of mild interest in the idea. “I guess, if you like stringy trees and frozen lakes.”

It’s winter in Lebanon. Not much to look at.

You smirk and press a kiss to his chest. “I mean, that, and you in some little Richard Simmons shorts.”

Dean gives you a look, and you giggle so hard it shakes your whole body against him.

“Honestly, I think that’ll really do it for me,” you tease. You walk two fingers across his thigh, where a cute pair of ‘80s-style exercise shorts would cut off.

Dean grabs your hand and rolls you over, pinning you underneath him on the bed. His thigh slips between both of yours, causing friction against your jeans. And he smirks down at you.

“Sweetheart, I don’t do shorts.”

AN: 😂 A little callback to S1 at the end there. I hope you guys liked this! Just in time to prepare for my Christmas cooking! ❤️💚

Keep Reading:

Next up in this series is "A Wish to Build a Dream On":

Summary: Dean has been harboring the archangel Michael in his mind for weeks now, putting a strain on your relationship as you struggle to help him. When Dean makes a wish that accidentally brings his father back from the dead, you get to meet the (in)famous John Winchester. But as always with magic, your boyfriend’s wish has unintended consequences.

▶️ Next Story: A Wish to Build a Dream On

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[soaringeag1e]

Time

Jensen x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Language, Sadness, Heartache, injuries, Blood, Sweet Caring Jensen {I know, doesn't seem really Christmasy haha, sorry, not sorry.}

Words: 2,252

Main Masterlist - Patreon

She spent the day putting up her tree and decorating her apartment, keeping busy and trying to keep her mind off other things. She desperately wanted to feel the spirit of Christmas, feel excited and cheerful, but those moments didn’t last long unfortunately. Even with lights hanging throughout the space, her tree bright green and sparkling with twinkling white bulbs, she just wasn’t feeling it.

She was sucked in by the lights on the tree as they took turns lighting up, a few knocks going unnoticed as she was spacing out, lost in her thoughts. It takes a few more attempts from her visitor before she finally gets pulled out of her trance and hears the thuds against her door.

Glancing down at the glass in her hand, the melted ice tells her that she’s been spacing out for a lot longer than she thought, but that doesn’t surprise her honestly. Setting her holiday drink on the table, she moves towards her door where a few more knocks come through. Peeking through the peephole, she grows a bit confused when she sees who it is and quickly pulls on the locks to reveal her friend on the other side. He gets startled after the long dragged out silence but smiles when they lock eyes nonetheless.

“Hey! I was beginning to think you weren’t home.”

“No, I just um…” she pauses, looking back into her apartment to where she was glued just seconds ago. “I’m sorry.” she apologizes in a quiet breath, hesitating to look her visitor in the eye before changing the subject. “What are you doing here? I thought that you were in New Mexico working on…” When she can’t continue her sentence he raises his brow, a smartass smirk growing on his face.

“Big Sky?”

“Yes! That.” She looked embarrassed as she couldn’t remember the name of the show he was currently involved with.

“Well, it’s nice to know that you’re so into it.” he tells her, the sarcasm not going unnoticed. 

“Hey, I’ve been busy.” she counters, letting him in the apartment. “And I’m halfway through season two now, so…”

“So…you haven’t even made it to my episode. Good to know.”

“Did you just come here to give me a hard time? Because I’ve had enough of that this year.” Her tone changes as she closes the door. “Best friend or not, I’m just not in the mood.” As she roughly rubs at her eyes, his heart sinks. The relationship he has with her has always been playful. It was his job to mess with her and it always made her smile, but sadly he has underestimated the pain she has taken on in the last year and hasn’t adjusted his teasing accordingly.

Her body flinches just a tad when he slides his arms around her, but she quickly melts into him, dropping her arms into his chest and letting him squeeze her tight.

“I’m sorry.” he whispers faintly, kissing her temple sweetly but never loosens his grip. He feels her relax more in his arms, the tension he could feel in her entire body slowly slipping away the longer he holds her. Minutes pass and he doesn’t know how many, but honestly doesn’t care. But what she says next fills his heart with pride.

“I needed one of your hugs today.” He can hear the emotion in her voice but knowing that he was able to bring something good to her keeps his happiness up. “How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“You always seem to know when I need you the most and I don’t get it.” Jensen smirks, his pride only being fueled more.

“Magic.” he tells her as he pulls away, locking eyes with her. “If I told you my secret, I’d have to kill you.”

“Please, do.” She comes back with a not so sarcastic response and Jensen just has to remind himself that pain and anger makes people say that kind of stuff. It wasn’t long ago that he felt the same way.

“Can’t do that. Sorry.”

“Why?” she whines, dropping her head to his chest.

“Because you mean too much to me.” he says simply, but the feelings behind it are anything but. Which in turn makes the next few moments painful even for him.

She scoffs and pulls away from him, moving towards the table where her drink waits, the ice practically gone now.

“With the group of friends you have? Trust me, you won’t be missing me long.” He swallows back his initial reaction, pushing the sting his heart took way down and attempts to forget about it.

“You’re wrong.” There’s no joking in his gaze now, not that she expected it. But she doesn’t see that look often and it was definitely one that hit her hard. “Listen,” he starts before taking a few steps closer to her. “I know what you’re going through is hard and I know you’re hurting, but I promise that it will get better.” Honestly, he expected an eye roll or something, but it seemed that she understood he was being serious. “He may not know what he lost but we do, and we won’t make that same mistake.” Her eyes dropped to her drink, emotions coming to the surface again. He’s not sure what to say now because he’s finally let go of some of the things he’s been holding in. At least the more appropriate things. But as he scans the apartment and sees the tree all dressed up in the corner, he smiles, grateful that you were able to at least decorate for the holiday.

“It looks great.” he points out, stepping around her to get closer to the holiday staple. “I was afraid you weren’t going to decorate at all.” he admits, not taking his eyes off the twinkling lights.

“I almost didn’t.” she confesses, not moving from her spot. “But, I was hoping that it would help pull me out of this a little bit.”

“I think it will.” he nods softly as he turns back to face her.

“I don’t know about that.” she tells him, emotion heavy in her voice. “It hasn’t done anything so far.”

“Just give it time.”

“Ugh.” she grunts heavily, spinning around to make her way into the kitchen. “Time. It’s always about time, right!?” She raises her voice a bit as she makes it to the counter and pours more alcohol into her glass. “After being torn away from your family as a kid, give it time. You lose someone you love, give it time. Your husband cheats on you and throws away sixteen years of your life, give it time!” she cries, tears slipping from her eyes as Jensen makes his way towards her. Her body trembles from anger but she tosses back the liquid she just added to the glass, not really bothered by the strength of the drink. “You know what they all have in common, Jay!? No matter how much time you give them, they never go away! Ever!” she screams, slamming her glass down onto the counter as the anger she was feeling made her lose all control over her actions. Seeing this, Jensen surges forward but it all happens way too fast.

The second the glass touches the counter top, it shatters. Chunks of the glistening pieces fly across the counter in all directions, falling to the floor and sliding with their momentum. But it was the painful cry that Jensen was focused on. Glass crunched under his boots as he rushed to her side, blood dripping onto the counter and the fallen shards of glass as she raised her hand to see what she just did to herself.

“Let me see.” Fully concerned, he reaches for her hand, gentle so as not to hurt her more than she already was. She quietly huffs and moans in pain as he inspects it. It takes him a moment to see how bad it is and he becomes grateful when it doesn’t look like she needs stitches, but he does see a piece of glass sticking out from her wound. He glances up briefly, seeing that she’s only focusing on the cut. “Hold still.” he tells her before carefully removing the shard from her hand. She hisses in pain but it needed to be done. “Here, come here.” Keeping her hand elevated, he swipes the towel from the counter and then escorts her into the living room, helping her onto the couch. “Keep it up, I’ll be right back.”

Careful not to slip on the glass near the kitchen, Jensen rushes down the hall and into her room. He’s gone maybe thirty seconds, if that. He’s been in her house before, he knows where everything is. Especially the first aid kit. This wasn’t the first time he had to patch her up after hurting herself, but this definitely was the worst injury he’s had to help her with.

“Alright, let me see.” he says as he re-enters the room. Grabbing onto your coffee table, he pulls it closer to the couch and then takes a seat, situating himself so that he could fix you up without having you stretch your arm out too far.

“I’m sorry.” you whimper softly and he glances up through his lashes before focusing back on your hand.

“You don’t have to be sorry.” It falls silent after that for a bit. She flinches a few times as he cleans up the wound and checks to see if any more glass was hiding inside, but otherwise he gets it as clean as he can and then starts to bandage it up.

“You’re right.” he finally breaks the silence, not looking up from his task as he continues. “It never does go away.” he admits and then falls quiet again. But only for a minute or two. “But, eventually you will get to a place where you won’t think about it as much. And if you do, it won’t hurt as bad as it does now.” Silent sobs shake her body a bit as she listens to him, the pain of what she’s been through tearing through her more than that glass did to her hand. “Listen,” he says as he tapes off the bandage, making sure it’s secure and then he looks up at her. “Your scumbag husband lost his fucking mind.” The anger is visible in his gaze, but she knows it’s not meant for her. “To have one of the most amazing women on this planet choose him and love him and do anything for him just to turn around and…” his jaw locks as he reminds himself to keep calm. But that’s just something he can’t do fully.

“Fuck him. Okay? You deserve a million times better than him. You deserve someone who cares about you and takes care of you just as much as you do for them. No more of this eighty, twenty shit, you hear me?” Tears continue to slip from her eyes and though he knows they won’t stop, he reaches up and wipes a few away anyway. “So, yeah, it’s going to take time and it’s going to hurt like hell, but I swear to you, somewhere down the road you are going to look back at this and see how much of a blessing this was. You’re going to be able to wake up every morning and not feel like death when you roll out of bed. You’ll be able to drive home, take showers and fall asleep without crying every time. Right now, it doesn’t seem possible, I know, but it will happen. I promise you.” 

Silence fills the apartment after that. The two of them soaking in the speech and just letting the moment be for a minute. Then Jensen reaches up and wipes away her tears again, this time clearing her face as no more were falling at the moment.

“Ready to get some sleep?” Unable to speak, she just nods softly. “Alright.” pushing himself up from the table, he helps her up and escorts her to the edge of the kitchen. “Why don’t you go and climb in bed, I’m gonna…” he pauses, looking over all the glass everywhere. “I’m gonna clean this up.” When he looks back at her, he gives her his best grin. She takes it and slowly turns and starts walking down the hall, but she stops a few feet away, looking back at the man in the kitchen, setting the dustpan on the counter and beginning to sweep the floor.

“Jensen?” Hearing his name, he stops. “Thank you.” A smile grows on his face and he sends her a nod. But when she doesn’t move, he pushes her a bit. 

“Go on. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” This time, he watches her walk down the hall and disappear into her room.

The feelings he’s harbored for her for so long now have a chance to come out, but he has to hold them back for a while longer. Yes, she may be single now, but with the healing that she has to go through, he can’t be jumping in the deep end right away. The last thing he wants is to become the rebound or end up hurting her even more because he gave into his desires too soon.

He loves that woman, more than he realizes to be honest. So the only way to keep her is to wait. To give it time. 

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

“(Don’t) Hurry Down The Chimney Tonight” - Dean x Reader

Rating Explicit

Dean x Reader

Tags: Christmas (Holiday) Smut, Red Ribbons, Candy Canes, Peppermint Sensations, Sleigh Bells, Sexy Santa References, Dean is Tied Up, Edging, Oral Sex, 69, Vaginal Sex, Reader is a Naughty Little Vixen, Dean deserves a proper (sexy) Christmas.

Word Count: 2700

Summary: Dean saved Reader from the supernatural on Christmas Eve years ago. Every Christmas since, she has always found a way to show her unending appreciation.

Notes: This smutty little fic is a holiday gift for @jessjad for the 2023 SPNFanFicPond Secret Santa Fic Exchange. I hope you enjoy the reader’s sexy times with Dean.

Big thanks to @sam-is-my-safeword and runawaydr3amer (AO3) for reading the first draft and helping with a great many awesome smut ideas. Additional thanks to runawaydr3amer, who also beta’d this fic and packaged it up nice and shiny. 

Merry holidays!

I'm participating in @jacklesversebingo, and this part will fill my "Edging" square.

Resources:

Collage created in Canva

Pic found on Google (Fanpop)

Song Reference: Santa Baby by Joan Javits and Philip Springer (listen/watch this version sung by Eartha Kitt)

Dean sinks those pearly whites into the flesh of his bottom lip. His top lip pulls up and back into a painful sneer. The usual rosy, pillowy fullness of that mouth is instead taut, whitening under the capture. You laser focus onto the pointy canine denting into the mouth you have debated sitting on since you began this teasing challenge.

jingle

You finish fashioning a sweet little bow with the ribbon. It’s ruby red and velvety soft.

“Well, I think that’s about the prettiest package I ever did wrap.”

jingle

“What do you think, Mr. Claus?” you ask, your voice as innocent and demure as you can manage.

Dean opens his mouth and expels a slow gasp. jingle “Fuck, sweetheart. You aren’t playin’ fair.”

“That’s the whole point.”

You rise from the edge of the bed and take in the entire scene. It’s magnificent. 

He’s magnificent.

Dean is lying atop the forest green comforter of your bed. Naked. Well, not totally naked. A red ribbon - adorned with one single sleigh bell - binds his wrists together and anchors him to the headboard. His arms, jutting out and bent to create a diamond-shaped frame around his face, give you a prime ticket to the gun show. Biceps flex and tendons raise under the skin as he tries to remain as motionless as possible.

jingle

You aren’t a complete heathen. He’s got a fluffy pillow, the same deep green color as the comforter, to rest his head atop. Dean is anything but sleepy. He’s wound up. He stares back at you, the green of his irises electric and flaming with intensity.

You anticipate how sublime it will feel to strum the cords of his neck. Tickle your fingertips down that chest. You imagine Dean ring-a-ding-dinging and cursing himself if you take the time to trace the outline of his tattoo. Circle those perky nipples. Dip into his belly button and follow his treasure trail of baby-fine hair.

You marvel again at the other ribbon that you tied. You’d purchased a couple yards of red velvet at the craft store weeks ago with this in mind. With him in mind. You were ecstatic it had been enough to criss-cross around the crease below that fine ass. It wraps over a slight vee along his waist. The makeshift holiday jockstrap has Dean’s beautiful, now fully erect, cock sporting a bow.

Dean sighs. “Are you done decking my balls?” jingle

You giggle and fiddle with the belt of your robe. It’s red as well, but made of silk. “As we discussed, the end result of all of this is all up to you. Santa.” You flip a switch to turn off the ceiling light. The sconces stay on above the headboard. Two halos figure eight over Dean’s beautiful body, awash in a warm amber glow.

He’s a full print ad of holiday cheer and sinful debauchery.

“You’re being very naughty, (jingle) Mrs. Claus.” Dean licks his top lip—your core clenches at the deep timbre of his scolding. 

You’ve been wet since you both finished Christmas dinner. Since you told him you had one more gift for him waiting upstairs. Since you left him in the bedroom with orders to strip while you changed in the bathroom. Since you pulled out the ribbons. Since you explained that if he was good and could keep his jingling down to a minimum through what you had planned, you’d fuck him into the New Year.

You inhale and shrug, then begrudgingly turn your back to the sight. It takes a few taps on your phone for you to get to the song. You stifle another giggle at the little jingles Dean can’t help as he waits. 

Once you tap the play button, the festive and recognizable melody begins. A barbershop quartet bah-bums a bit before the sultry and smooth vocals of Eartha Kitt take the lead.

You look back over your shoulder at Dean and whisper along with Eartha.

You peel the silky robe off one shoulder then the other. Dean groans when the layer slips down to the floor. jingle

“Shit.” He moans and you grin in satisfaction at the hoped for reaction.

You turn back to face him, adding a dramatic hair flip. You're wearing a sexy little Mrs. Claus outfit. It’s a red velvet dress with a scandalously high skirt and a low-cut halter. White fur lines both the top and bottom. It’s all cinched nice and tight around your waist with a black belt and a gold buckle.

You bend at the knees and lean forward, shoulders folding in and hands resting on your thighs. It gives Dean the perfect vantage to ogle your cleavage. You purr along with the next line and modify the lyrics a smidge.

“Man, I must have been a really good boy this year.” Dean stares in awe, not even caring how much he’s jingling with his squirms atop the bed.

You let it slide for the time being, thrilled at the kid in a candy store grin plastered on his face and the way the bow sways with every twitch of his cock.  

Dean tilts his head to the side. His gaze begins at your red-glitter heels and canvases every inch of skin from ankles to thighs. He pauses, stopping to stare at the hint of flesh under the skirt hem. jin-jingle jingle jin-jingle He pants out, “Mrs. Claus forgot her panties, huh?”

You lift a finger and wiggle it back and forth in the air. “Uh-uh-uh. Remember, really good boys stay still if they want their present.”

The bell jangles no matter how carefully he attempts to reposition himself. “Son of a bitch,” he mumbles and you laugh. “Sorry, sweetheart. I’ll be good,” he whispers soft and sweet.

The heels tap across the hardwood as you walk over to settle beside Dean. You adjust your skirt to let the scant amount of fabric fan over your naughty bits. Being so close to him makes you forget the lyrics to sing along with Eartha.

You rest a hand on his chest. Through clenched teeth, Dean inhales at the touch, the rest of him frozen in place. The bell is silent. Your other hand grabs one of the candy canes you had left on the bedside table. For reasons.

Watching him fight every urge he has to reach out and touch you is fascinating. And the power you have over him gives you a head rush. You continue the tease, twirling the candy between your fingers, then laving the cane’s hook with your mouth and tongue. Dean garners some pity from you as he whines, brows downturned, eyes attentive to your every swirl and suck. You swing the cane close to his mouth. “Wanna taste?”

He swallows. “Wanna taste you,” he states, the hint of hope escaping around the edges of a soft moan.

The thrill of his need quickens your pulse. No other man has loved and adored you as thoroughly and exuberantly as Dean Winchester. You nod. “You will. But, first,” you rub the wet-slick candy cane over his bottom lip, “show me what that mouth wants to do.”

“You know what this mouth can do,” he reminds with a little sass, letting the candy cane tap against his bottom teeth. 

But soon enough, he indulges you. He slips the hook between his lips. His tongue slides out under the curve of peppermint, lapping at the sticky sweet. Again and again. Your breath hitches into your open mouth as you watch, enthralled at the ministrations of that thick and powerful muscle. He sucks the confection in a little farther, pursing his lips. The sounds he’s making, enjoying the treat, are downright pornographic and send any extraneous bell ringing to the back of your hearing queue. The red food coloring coats them like lip gloss by the time you break from the spell of his show. You guess it’s been minutes since Eartha finished her rendition of ‘Santa, Baby.’ The rest of the playlist you created has soft and dreamy instrumentals.

“My turn,” you cajole. You tug on the cane. He relinquishes, but not without some resistance. A little pop escapes his mouth once the hook is freed. You marvel at the progress he made. The hook end is substantially shorter and thinner than when he began.

He sniffs and tilts his chin up in pride. jingle “Your turn with that, or my turn with you?”

The cane slips back into your mouth, your fingers sticky from all the handling. You stand, kick off your heels, and climb back onto the bed on your knees. You grin as you suck on the candy.

His eyes soften. “Be careful, baby. Don’t want you to choke. Well, at least not on that.” He smirks.

He’s right. Safety first. You toss the candy onto the bedside table.

“You are so (jingle) fucking hot in that (jingle) outfit.” He grins and waggles eyebrows in anticipation. “Gonna let me down your chimney, Mrs. Claus?” jingle jingle jingle

The actions in the next few seconds are a blur. You wonder if Dean has some sort of Jedi mind control ability. Because even though you are supposed to be the one making decisions this evening, his seductively god-awful puns find you sitting on his face, reverse cowgirl. 

“You might get the golden ticket to all my secret places if you’re lucky.” Your fingers tip-toe down his chest like a grinch about to steal someone else’s presents. 

jingle jingle jingle

“Fuckin’ hell,” Dean murmurs under your skirt. Hot breath bathes your inner thighs and other areas you hope will soon be explored.

Your hands rest in the little divots created by his pelvic bones while you take his body in and plan your method of attack. You pull on the ribbon and release his cock of the bow. Then, you’re deep throating him like he’s your last meal.

Not one to be outdone at an all-you-can-eat buffet, Dean’s entire face gets in on the feast as well. Nerves respond to the tingling sensation of the residual peppermint on Dean’s lips and tongue. You shiver at the gloriously heightened sensitivity when he pulls back to blow on your pussy. “This is so much better than milk and cookies.” He moans and groans and jingles all the way. 

As much as you’re loving the taste of his precome, the velvet texture against your tongue, and the way the tip triggers a tiny gag reflex at the base of your throat, it’s time to remind him of the consequences of all that noise he’s making. You release the hard length from your mouth and try to concentrate on your own breathing during the absolute virtuoso way he’s eating you out. As much as you’d love his fingers to get in on the action, you know you’d have no control over the situation. You sigh in relief that he’s trying to adhere to some parts of the game. The pitiful, half-hearted ribbon shackling of his hands to the headboard is no match for Dean Winchester.

You steady yourself on wobbly knees and one shaky elbow. A firm grip around the base of his cock makes Dean gasp. He stills after that. In your mind’s eye, you picture the beauty of that mouth and how his luscious pink lips were slick with peppermint. You imagine how slick they are with you now. “Sorry, baby,” he murmurs and you feel him settle back onto the pillow. “I’ll be as quiet as I can. Can you blame me, though? Here I am, under your sweet little skirt, in the dark (jingle)... shit, sorry. But, you can’t drop a five-course meal in front of a starving (jingle) man and not expect him to wanna little taste.”

You squeeze his cock. “That’s part of the challenge.”

“I’m always up for a challenge. You always make me feel so good.”

You groan at the praise he bestows. Without releasing your hold, you shimmy off his chest. Channeling the prim and delicate sensibilities of Mrs. Claus, you crawl along the comforter and settle between nutcracker bow legs. With knees tucked under you and sat atop bare feet you accept him in your mouth again and get to work. 

You take in the sight of Dean inventorying your every action. He’s gripping the top of the headboard with both hands to steady his upper body. You clock that the little stinker has also managed to palm the sleigh ball in an effort to silence or, at the very least, muffle it. You consider that move cheating. But he feels so sublime that you can’t bear to part with him to voice your irritation. He’s also whispering the sweetest filth to you while he watches.

“Damn. Yeah. Those lips of yours feel so good around my cock. You take it so good, baby. Wish I could fuck that pretty little mouth of yours, but I’d definitely jingle-jangle way too much.” A tongue swipe over his top lip accentuates the glossy look of his ruby-tinted mouth in the warm light. “You really are too good to me. You give the best Christmas presents.” He stiffens further with each downstroke. “Aw, yeah. Suck it.” Your rhythm increases. “So pretty. Wanna touch you so bad.” He gasps. “Fuck, I’m gettin’ close.” jingle jingle   

You clamp around the base again and squeeze, freeze mid-swallow - your lips around the tip - as soon as he rings.

Dean squirms and grumbles.

You continue to bring him to the edge of orgasm, then halt. Your jaw is aching along with the rest of your body as time passes.

You’ve fucked Dean up in the best way possible. He’s blissed out, wound up tighter than a spring. You’ve got him begging. But his words grow into admonishments with each successive denial. “You can’t keep doing this, baby. There’s gonna be consequences. Santa’s gonna for real put you on his naughty list. Nothing but coal in your stocking,” he huffs.

You give your mouth a reprieve and stroke him. “Is that all that happens to naughty girls?”

He gnaws at his bottom lip before offering, “You really wanna find out?”

You nod.

The ribbon binding Dean to the headboard shreds with one mighty tug. He pitches the sleigh bell in the air. It jingles as it pinballs around the room. 

You gasp as he cinches those hands under your armpits and drags you up his body. He crushes his lips into yours, tastes you with his tongue. The mixture of your arousal and a hint of peppermint melts you in his arms. Then, a sudden and swift rollover pins you beneath him.

He hovers, tosses your skirt up to your chest, and wedges between your legs. His hard, heavy cock slips into your folds and glides through your wetness. “I could drag this out. Or.” It’s his turn to tease. He notches snug against your entrance. You’re surprised your muscles haven’t pulled him into you of their own accord the way your entire body spasms with need. He whispers in your ear, “Let me be your Santa, baby.”

You gasp, “And hurry down the chimney tonight.”

He groans in victory and slides in, balls deep. He thrusts. One massive hand gathers your wrists together on the pillow above your head to anchor you in place. Fingers of his other hand grip the top of the headboard. Every sway in and out of you gets more frenetic. You’re screaming his name and he’s cursing yours. 

“Good girls do what they’re told,” he states, out of breath, face reddening. His gaze locks with yours. He slows down. Releases your hands. Finds your clit amid the white fur and red velvet. Strums. Angles and hits your sweet spot deep within you with a harsh abandon. “Come.”

Minutes later, after you’ve both orgasmed, you’re curled into his chest. “That was…” you manage between heavy exhales.

“Yeah, that was awesome.” He kisses your forehead. “Every year, since I saved you from that ghost on Christmas Eve, you find a way to outdo yourself with the holiday cheer.”

“Well, you deserve it. I’m glad you can get away for a little while and get a special treat.”

He sighs. “You know, you don’t have to feel obligated to…”

You rest a finger atop his lips. “How I see it. Guy saves your life one time, you owe him the rest of yours.”

He smiles and pulls you in. “How about we just focus on tonight, yeah?”

You nod. “Merry Christmas, Dean.”

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

[girls-alias]

Christmas Wish - Dean Winchester

Title: Christmas Wish - Dean Winchester Words: 2,959 Relations: Dean Winchester X reader. TW: Christmas chapter.

I walked with my friend in the mall. We were doing last-minute shopping for Christmas when we stumbled upon the mall fountain. She chuckled bringing my attention to it. It had been decorated for Christmas with a big sign explaining that throwing a coin into the fountain and making a wish would come true on Christmas day. She's superstitious so she pulled two coins from her pocket, a wide smile on her face. I accepted one of the coins reluctantly with a sad smile. I know exactly what I'm going to wish for, it's the same thing I always wish for.

I held the coin tightly, putting my heart and soul into the wish. Mentally begging it to come true. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath.

"I wish Dean would find me," I thought to myself before throwing the coin and watching as it sunk to the bottom of the fountain floor. I sighed knowing that this wish was no different from all the other times I had wished. Just like always I knew I was going to be let down. Dean Winchester was the one who got away.

It was a classic case of the right person but the wrong time. Dean and I had been hunting together when Sam was in college, we were somewhat young and irresponsible but we were a team. After 2 years we finally started dating, it was perfect, it was natural and amazing. We only experienced it for a month before his dad disappeared and Dean had to ask Sam for help. We tried long distance for a little while but with both of us constantly hunting and Dean's new mission of finding the yellow-eyed demon, we didn't work out.

We agreed mutually that it was a bad time and it only hurt more knowing we were separate. We both cried, we told stories and all I needed was his arms around me, reassuring me but unfortunately, we had to do it over the phone as we were on opposite sides of the country.

I know I should forget about him and should have fully moved on in the 11 years since I've seen him but no man ever compares to him. He's ruined my views on relationships because I haven't had a single boyfriend as good as Dean. There was a time I stayed adamant to keep my phone number so he could always reach me but when I was fighting a small gang of vampires, my phone and SIM card were destroyed. It ruined me but it had been years since I had heard from him and so I should have let it go by that point.

My best friend woke up early to wave me off as I left. She doesn't know that I hunt monsters, she thinks I'm a pilot so it explains why I'm gone for weeks and sometimes months. It also gives me an excuse to not have a fixed address as I explained I would rather stay in hotels so that I don't have to pay for electricity in a house I won't be in. She's not the smartest person I know so it makes it a little easier lying to her. She'll believe anything.

My friend tried insisting that I stay for Christmas but monsters don't rest, I don't have time. It was the day before Christmas Eve when I left, much to her dismay. We'd already exchanged gifts and she's amazing. She knows I never buy new clothes so any holiday for exchanging gifts she gets me a new wardrobe. It comes in handy as I often get clothes ruined when I'm hunting but sometimes she gets me things I wouldn't be able to fight in.

I stopped in a motel in East Iowa, I had seen suspicious activity on the news which made me think it was a possible shapeshifter. They're a pain in the ass but someone's got to do it. I tried checking in, and getting a room for the night but they explained they were booked full for the next couple of days. Not ideal but I'll just have to live in my car for a little while.

The hunt was tedious, but it was quick as the shifter was sloppy and I killed the shifter in the early hours of Christmas morning. After living in my car, it soon became apparent I had an issue with my car. I had stopped in a diner car park, opening the bonnet to take a look. I soon came to the realisation I either had a leak in the coolant tank or a clogged heater core and so needed replacements. I asked in the diner if there were any mechanics open or somewhere I could get car parts on Christmas day. I was given the address and directions to a salvage yard that never seemed to close.

*********

I pulled up to the salvage yard, finding it was a house on the property. I stopped the car, assessing the house as I wondered if I should leave since they were probably celebrating Christmas and didn't want to disturb the owner. I sighed knowing I couldn't keep sleeping in my cold car. I climbed out of the car and approached the front door. I knocked lightly and checked the time on my watch making sure it wasn't too early to be knocking. The door opened to an older gentleman looking at me a little confused, I smiled politely.

"Hi, I just need some car parts. If it's not a good time, I can just go," I explained but he chuckled, shaking his head.

"Don't worry, you need a hand?" He asked but I shook my head.

"I'll be okay, I'm just having an issue with either my coolant tank or I have a clogged heating core so I'll just look for replacements," I explained but he nodded with a smile.

"I'll help, it might be easier finding it together," He explained, stepping inside to grab a jacket.

"Oh, you don't have to. I realise it's Christmas and you're probably celebrating with family," I explained but he chuckled.

"Nah, my two boys are out of state, we're not big on Christmas," He explained making me a little sad he was alone and I smiled sadly as I nodded.

"I totally get it, I don't have family so Christmas is just another day to me," I explained as he stepped out, leading me to the scrap cars.

“So you’re doing nothing today?” He asked as he popped the hood of a close by car. I chuckled as I did the same with another car.

“Yeah, I’ll be on the road again.” I shrugged. Happily getting my hands dirty as I checked the car.

“Well, why don’t you stay here? We may be strangers but I’ll cook you a warm meal.” He explained and I was touched by his sentiment.

“Maybe I will. I’m Y/N,” I explained, holding my hand out for him to shake. We didn’t care about the oil on our hands and shook them with a smile.

“Bobby,” he explained.

*******

Bobby and I had found the parts. He helped me install the parts and after letting the car run a while it was perfect. I tried paying Bobby but he refused. His argument was that I was making his Christmas more bearable.

We went inside, Bobby was wondering what to make for Christmas dinner as he hadn't prepared anything special. I walked into his lounge following him as he explained he would have a microwave meal.

"I don't mind having a microwave meal with you, I quite like them and I can always-" I stopped as I looked to the ceiling surprised. Bobby seemed to notice my silence as he turned around to look at me confused before following my line of sight. He seemed stunned silent as if he couldn't think of a lie. "You're a hunter too?" I asked, pointing to the devil trap painted onto the ceiling. He smiled happily.

"Thank God, I had no excuse ready." He chuckled, relaxing as he took a seat at his desk.

"Wait, You're a hunter and your name is Bobby. You don't know Dean Winchester, do you?" I asked it's a long shot but -

"Yeah, I practically raised him. Sam too. They're my boys I mentioned earlier." He explained a little confused before his eyes widened. "Y/N Y/L/N?" He asked. I was shocked he knew of me. Either Dean has talked about me in the past and he had a great memory or he's heard of me from someone else. Weird coincidence though. I nodded softly. His lips curled into a wide grin. "I've been looking for you for years!" He exclaimed excitedly shocking me as he jumped up to grab his phone.

"Looking for me why?" I asked, worry filling me as I wondered if this whole thing might be a trap.

"Sam asked me to track you down so you and Dean can meet again, he's never shut up about you. He thought you died," He explained as he started dialling the phone before freezing. "Do you want to see him?" He asked. I grinned at the news. Dean never stopped talking about me, he was looking for me. Oh my God. This can't be real. What are the odds?

"Yeah, I always wondered what happened to him," I replied playing it cool but inside I was doing cartwheels, dancing, hell, I was even doing back flips. Am I really going to see Dean again after all these years?

Bobby called Sam and explained that he found me and to bring Dean, we would get some food for making Christmas dinner. He excitedly explained he wanted to make it a real Christmas. Sam said it would be a few hours before they could get here, around 7PM but was more than happy to make the trip.

Bobby put me in charge of decorating as I helped him get everything from the attack and he was quick to leave to see what food he could get. I felt a mixture of anxiety and excitement as I remembered the Christmas wish I had made in the fountain, never believing it would actually come true. But here I am, decorating a stranger's house, food soon coming, Dean, the love of my life on his way. I worried about how he might react to seeing me. I worried I wouldn't be the same or maybe he wouldn't but I always knew he was the right person, wrong time but now might be the right time.

*******

Bobby was back after a few hours. Nowhere was open but picked up a menu from a restaurant that was open and happy to deliver. He helped me finish putting up the decorations before he shooed me off to dress nicer. I laughed as I went back to my car, deciding to move it to the back of the house so he wouldn't see it. He hasn't seen this car but I don't want him suspicious someone else is here. It might ruin the surprise. I changed into a nice dress my best friend had got me and mentally thanked her for getting it for me. I figured it would be good somewhere along the way if I had to work undercover but those kinds of jobs hardly ever come up.

*******

Bobby was more excited than me. He had given me a glass of whiskey for liquid luck but he soon tipped the bottom of my glass as I was taking a drink, the car was pulling in and he wanted me out of sight but for me to have finished my drink. He grabbed the glass from me and guided me to the dining room before closing the double doors with a wide smile.

I listened as Bobby greeted them at the door, my stomach doing flips as I heard Dean's voice. I took a deep breath, stabilising myself as I felt like I was dreaming.

"Hey, Bobby. Merry Christmas," Dean commented as he entered the room behind the double doors. I waited anxiously as I knew only the wooden doors were the only things separating us.

"Merry Christmas boys," I heard Bobby add with some shuffling sounds as if they were exchanging hugs. "I've got you some gifts under the tree but Dean, yours is in the dining room," Bobby explained.

"Thanks, Bobby. You didn't have to," Another voice explained happily and I knew it must be Sam. "We've got you a small bag of presents in the car," He added making Bobby chuckle.

"Thank you, I think Dean should get his first and then we can have a drink," Bobby explained, my cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

"We'll drink first," Dean seemed to shrug.

"Drinks after," Bobby insisted. There seemed to be a little silence before I heard footsteps approach the door. I took a deep breath, instantly worried and unsure how to stand. I decided to clasp my hands together and let them fall in front of me. The doors opened.

Standing in all his glory was Dean Winchester. The love of my life, the man I pined over for 11 years. He looked confused but as his eyes found mine he broke into a wide smile. He hurried to me. Engulfing me in a tight hug as he rocked us side to side slightly. I giggled as I hugged him back. My arms wrapped over his shoulders as he squeezed me tightly. I forgot how tall he actually was until he straightened up and lifted me off the floor for a second.

He buried his face into the crook of my neck, his smiling cheeks noticeable against my skin. He pulled away, his hands still on me as he didn't want to be far. "What are you doing here? You're alive, I can't believe you're alive. How did this happen?" He asked excitedly. I chuckled as I admired him. He hasn't changed for the worst, he's even more handsome than I remember, he's more rugged and definitely still the epitome of my type.

"I had car troubles, it was a complete coincidence," I explained as his smile never faded. He pulled me back into a hug making me chuckle. I hugged him back, squealing as he lifted me from the ground again and kept me up. He's still strong. God, if only he knew what he was doing to me. I noticed Bobby and a tall guy smiling as they watched us. "Hi, Sam. It's nice to meet you," I chuckled as Dean's grip didn't waver. He chuckled.

"Nice to meet you too," He added. Dean spun around so I was facing the other way. I heard the doors closing as he took one hand from around me to close the doors. I chuckled a little nervous as to why he wanted to be alone with me but it also made butterflies flutter in my stomach. He held me up with one arm, he didn't struggle and didn't seem to even consider putting me down.

Once the doors were closed, he put me down. His hands cupped my face as he admired my eyes. "I've been waiting for you," He explained, my insides turning to mush. I smiled.

"Me too," I added, he grinned at my words.

"Good," He swooped down, connecting our lips in a passionate kiss. I swooned as his lips graced mine. The kiss I had dreamed of for years. The kiss I had imagined so many times. The kiss no other compared to. He smiled against my lips as my hands move to the back of his neck to hold him close to me. One of his hands moved to my hip, pulling my body against his. I pulled away slowly when I heard Bobby and Sam snickering to themselves probably talking about us. Dean seemed reluctant to pull away.

"We can't just ignore them," I explained but he looked disappointed. I chuckled as I shook my head. "It's Christmas," I added so he playfully rolled his eyes but his smile never left his lips. He pulled me back into a sweet kiss before pulling away again.

"Be my girlfriend again and I'll stop ignoring them," He hinted, his smile turning to a smirk. I blushed at his words knowing I had never wanted anything more in my life. I nodded a little too excitedly. He chuckled as he connected our lips, celebrating the rekindling of our relationship after 11 years. I should have made the wish in the fountain years ago.

*****

It was the best Christmas I ever had. We ordered Chinese food they opened presents, we exchanged hunting stories and acted like a real family. As the night was winding down, Sam took one of the spare rooms while Dean and I took the other. I worried he would want to make up for all the nights we had missed but as soon as we were in the room alone his arms never let go of me. We cuddled all night and it was the best sleep I remember ever having.

We stayed at Bobby's a few days before Sam and Dean had to go back on the road. Dean rode in my car, kissing me when I stopped but holding my thigh the whole time I was driving. He still looks at me the same way he used to, the love in his eyes only seemed to grow as we spent more time together. He had only changed for the better but he was still the same and loving man I had fallen for. He's still perfect for me.

Masterlist

[imagineteamfreewill]

Gentle and Kind

Title: Gentle and Kind

Pairing: Prince!Sam Winchester x Queen!Reader

Word Count: 14k

Warnings: Arranged marriage, Christmas, threats, angst, fluff, and mentions of death, wounds, war, violence, and sex (nothing happens)

Summary: Y/N’s kingdom has been at war for a long time, and when King John offers her respite in his castle for Christmas, she eagerly agrees.

A/N: This fulfills trope #21 on my 25 Days of Tropes list! It was honestly going to be a short one shot, but it got away from me and now I think it’s the longest thing I’ve written all year. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy and that you had a safe and happy holiday season!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Your muscles ache from weeks of fighting with the knights in your first garrison, and the dried blood in your hair is not likely to come out on its own, but for the first time in a long time, you’re relaxed. The carriage is driving through safe territory—the safest you’ve been in since Crowley invaded your kingdom and declared war on you and your people. There’s no fear of being ambushed here.

When King John sent a messenger to your war camp, you had been surprised. He isn’t known for reaching out, and to send a personal, royal messenger straight into war territory is a dangerous move. Nonetheless, the King of Ashela had invited you for a short respite in his castle, just in time for Christmas. You’d accepted after much consultation with your closest advisor, Sir Robert.

You begin traveling east to Ashela four days before Christmas Eve. Your armies travel west, back to Athos. Newer, freshly trained knights had arrived a few hours before your departure to relieve your weary soldiers and allow them rest of their own, though Sir Robert had carefully selected four of them to travel with you as your personal guard for the journey. They ride horseback outside the carriage, and Sir Robert is in the second carriage with the gifts you’ve brought for the royal family.

Charlie is resting across the carriage from you. She’s abandoned the formal dress that you know King John will expect of her as your lady-in-waiting, but you don’t blame her, nor do you correct her. Wearing trousers is easier nowadays, and you’ve done the same. You’ve gotten into the habit of wearing the traditional captain’s uniform, or even a soldier’s armor, rather than the gowns you used to wear before the war. Even as the horses carry you down the tidy forest road that leads to Ashela, you’ve donned your armor. It's a habit to put it on each morning, and you wanted to display your strength and empathy for your men even as you left them behind on the battlefield. 

You let out a restless sigh and shift in your seat, and your armor clanks as you move. You wince when something bumps into a bruise on your back. A small part of you wishes you’d chosen to wear something else, but there’s no point in stopping to take the armor off when you’re already so far into the journey.

“Do you think I’ve made the right choice?” you ask when Charlie looks over at you, no doubt checking if there’s something she can do to ease your discomfort. She’s a good friend, and you’re often grateful that you chose her to be your closest lady-in-waiting. “Do you think that leaving my men during this time is the right thing to do?”

In response, Charlie offers you a tired smile. She’d journeyed overnight to your castle—Eryas Court—then back to the war camp, in order to collect the gifts for John Winchester and his two sons. Even if they were inviting you for respite during a war, you didn’t dare show up empty-handed.

“My lady, you can only do so much. You may be a queen, but you are also just a woman,” she replies.

You sigh again and look out the window at the stars as you mull over the most recent battle plans your captains had shown you before you’d left the camp. The Elciums have been encroaching slowly upon the village that surrounds Eryas Court, but you’ve been able to keep them at bay since winter began. You’ve even managed to take back some of the territory they’d taken over the hot summer months.

The carriage falls back into silence, except for the clatter of the wheels and the constant rhythm of the horses’ hooves against the packed dirt. After a while, you find yourself nodding off with your head against the sturdy carriage wall. You don’t fight it, and you let yourself be lulled to sleep for the remainder of the journey.

Charlie’s hand over yours wakes you. You startle, and she sits back in her seat as the carriage rocks with your movement. Your hand immediately flies to where your sword would be, but you’ve unstrapped it from your side for the journey. Sir Robert had said it wouldn’t be proper for you to show up dressed for battle, so you’d met him halfway. He would keep hold of your sword, at least for the trip to Ashela. Once you arrive, he’s to return it directly to you for safekeeping. It was your father’s sword before it became yours, and you don’t trust many with it.

“It’s okay,” Charlie soothes, and you stare wide-eyed at her, gasping slightly for air. “We’ve arrived in Ashela. You slept all night, and for most of the morning.”

Nodding, you close your eyes. It’s shocking that you weren’t plagued with nightmares. The last time you left the war camp, you struggled to sleep, even in the chambers where you’d spent every night since birth, at least until the Elciums invaded.

Your mouth is dry and you swallow a few times to try and get the sandy feeling to abate. You wish you had some water, or at least something to drink. There’s a knock on the carriage window and you flinch away, sliding toward the center of the bench.

You sense Charlie shifting in her seat. “It’s one of the guards,” she says a moment later. “Are you ready to meet King John?” 

You’ve never been to Ashela before, nor have you met John and his sons. They’ve been fine neighbors, however, and you have no complaints. You hear what others say about them—the Winchester sons are strong soldiers and scholars, and King John is exacting in everything he does. They’d be formidable foes, and you’re here to make sure that your kingdoms are allied, if only informally.

You nod again, and you open your eyes as Charlie pushes open the carriage door. You lift your chin as the sun immediately floods in through the opening.

Charlie exits first, and she helps clear a path for your exit. A strong hand is offered and you use it to climb from the carriage. Your legs are stiff from sitting so long, especially after months of fighting, and you have to bite back a groan as your muscles stretch.

“Your Majesty,” a deep voice greets.

The winter sun is practically blinding and it takes you a second to get your wits about you. Tall, lush evergreens stand in clusters around the castle, reaching toward the bright blue sky. They’re interspersed by dark green bushes and several boulders. A forest continues behind the clearing you stand in, and the trees grow so closely that light can’t reach through their branches. The darkness this creates is both intriguing and a bit terrifying.

Snow covers the grounds and all the trees surrounding it, except for a gray stone path that has been cleared for you. King John and his entourage stand on a larger patch of gray stone a few feet away, and you bow politely in his direction. He returns the gesture.

“King John,” you say. “Thank you for your kind invitation.”

“You’re very welcome, Queen Y/N. I expect your journey was a pleasant one?”

“As pleasant as can be expected.”

You can feel everyone’s eyes on you as Charlie adjusts the chainmail hood you’ve let fall from your head, revealing the blood caked in your hair and the healing cut that follows your hairline. There’s a sizable bruise on your temple as well, from when an Elcium knight hit you with his shield.

The man to John’s right clears his throat and steps forward with a small bow. “Your Majesty, I’m Prince Dean, head of Ashela’s royal guard. Please allow me to provide you with new armor while we repair yours, and your knights’,” he adds, gesturing to the four men standing near you.

Each man stands with one hand at his side and the other resting on the hilt of his sword, and though they hold their heads high, you recognize the weariness in their stance and in their taut expressions.

“That’s very generous, Prince Dean. Thank you.” You answer with a bow of your own, and he smiles kindly before you turn your eyes to the man on the other side of the king.

He’s tall, taller than any of the men in the King’s entourage and in your guard, and his hair just barely brushes over the collar of his jacket. It’s almost chestnut in the light. When he smiles at you, the urge to smile back is so strong that you can’t fight it. You meet his eyes, and you smile for the first time in a while.

“Prince Samuel, Your Majesty,” he says. He bows, short and sweet. “If you’re ready, I can show you and your lady to your chambers. I’m sure you’re eager to rest.”

You bow back, still smiling. “Thank you, Your Highness.” You nod politely to the King and to Prince Dean, then follow Prince Samuel toward the stone castle at the end of the cleared path. Two of your men travel with you, and Charlie is close behind you to the right, but the other two knights stay with Sir Robert. You realize only as you enter the castle that you’ve left your sword behind.

Samuel leads you through the halls of his home, explaining the history of various paintings and rooms, but you only catch bits and pieces. He walks quickly, and while your armor is protective, it’s made to help you fight on horseback, not take extensive walking tours through beautiful castles.

“Here are your chambers,” Samuel finally says, and you clatter to a stop.

Charlie bumps into you, and she grabs your arm for stability. You catch Samuel’s eyes flickering down to her hands on your arm before he collects himself. Your time on the battlefield has caused your decorum to slip just enough that you know you’re being much too informal for the occasion. Suddenly very conscious of your mistakes, you clear your throat and straighten your posture, fixing him with the most composed, diplomatic look you can muster.

“Thank you, Your Highness.” You allow one of the guards to enter after Samuel opens the door, leaving you feeling a little more exposed. You’ve grown used to being surrounded by people fighting for your kingdom—fighting for you. “Your father was very kind to invite me here. We’ve brought gifts for him, and for you and Prince Dean.” You gesture back the way you’d come. “I’m sure that Sir Robert, my advisor, has already passed them along.”

Samuel dips his head in thanks, smiling. “We’re happy to have you. We’ve been trying to show more diplomacy than in the past.”

You raise an eyebrow. Most kingdoms are not so open about their goals, at least in your experience.

The guard exits and nods his approval of the chambers you’ve been given, and Charlie takes that as a sign to enter and make sure the room is prepared to her standards as well. You don’t move.

“Ashela has always been diplomatic,” you carefully reply. You’re not sure what to make of his disclosure. 

“But not always welcoming. I’m trying to change that.”

“You? Not your father?”

Samuel lifts his chin slightly at the question. There’s a hint of pride in his expression, but none in his voice as he answers, “My father has put me in charge of our relationships with neighboring kingdoms. This is one of many steps I’m— we’re taking,” he corrects, “to strengthen those bonds.”

“I see.”

You glance through the open doorway, where Charlie is instructing a chambermaid how warm you like your rooms and how often to tend to the fire. Mentally, you file away the information that Sam has just given you, then turn your focus on more concrete matters.

“I suppose there are festivities I should like to attend?”

He nods, and you can feel his gaze still on your face, even as you watch your friend peek out the windows to see the view from your chambers. “Indeed. There’s a feast tonight, shortly after sundown. I can instruct someone to fetch you.”

“I would like that very much, Prince Samuel,” you say.

You turn back to him, and he takes that as a cue to take your hand and kiss the back of your knuckles, where the skin is rough and scarred from so much fighting. The gesture is simple, but it surprises you nonetheless. Prince Samuel is gentle and chivalrous. It’s been a long time since you’ve been treated that way. Your hand seems to tremble as you pull away, and your breath catches over a lump in your throat.

“Very well. I will see you tonight, Ma’am,” Samuel says. He bows low. It’s a sign of respect he’s not obligated to, and it makes you want to cry. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep over the past few weeks or maybe it’s something else, but to be treated like a queen—not just a captain—is something you didn’t know you’d missed.

“No need for titles,” you find yourself saying, your voice thick with sudden emotion. “You may call me Y/N, if you wish.”

If Sir Robert were here, he’d be interrupting and excusing away your brash actions, but you’re practically alone and the only remaining guard won’t speak up, even if he wanted to. It’s up to Sam to respond, and he only stops and stares at you for a long moment. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest as you wait, desperately hoping he won’t be cruel.

“Sam,” he finally replies. He offers you a small smile. “You may call me Sam.”

You nod and smile wide, glossy-eyed as Sam turns and heads further down the hallway, opposite the direction he’d first brought you. Once he’s around the corner, you step into the warmly lit chambers, where Charlie has moved onto the wardrobe of clothes that has been prepared for you. Clearly, they hadn’t expected you to show up with all of your finery, and you’re thankful that they had the forethought to provide something for you.

The other guard exits and closes the door behind him, allowing you privacy as the two knights take their places in the hallway. You stay close to the door, where you can see the whole space.

“The Prince seems very polite,” Charlie says after a few moments. Her back is to you as she sorts through the dresses.

“Very.” You don’t say anything more.

“And handsome, too,” she prods.

“Charlie,” you warn. “I have other, more important matters than a polite and handsome prince.”

She sighs and you can picture her rolling her eyes at you. Finally, she pulls a plain dress in your favorite color from the wardrobe, then turns and holds it up for you.

“This will do for now,” she decides. “But I’ll have to find you something else for the feast.”

You glance at her, not bothering to ask how she already knows about the feast, before turning in a circle to take in the enormous room that has been given to you for your respite. It’s bigger than the counsel tent at the war camp. The bed itself could fit the entire map table, and the size of the fireplace reminds you of the enormous bonfire that the men use to cook their meals. The walls and floor are made of the same tan stone as the rest of the castle, but the stone is so smooth that it reflects the light from the flickering flames. There’s a dark wood door in the corner, which you guess leads to a room for Charlie, if Ashelan castles are built like your own.

Everywhere you look, there are lavish curtains, tapestries, and paintings framed in gold. There’s a mound of pillows to lounge on by the fire, and several dark wood chairs standing behind them in a semicircle. Their carvings are so elaborate that you hesitate to sit in them. The bed is draped with soft, plush fabrics in deep greens, reds, and a creamy white that reminds you of the milk your nursemaid brought for you as a young girl. Evergreen boughs are wound around the posts of the bed, though they’re partially hidden by the fabric curtains that have been fastened against the wood. The whole room has been decorated with more sweet-smelling pine branches, as well as clumps of red berries that glisten in the light from the fire and the candles in the window. It’s amazing to you that the candles are already lit, given that it’s only midday, but Ashela has many customs that you’ve always found strange. For instance, Prince Dean was married several years ago in an arranged marriage. Your father had explained the ancient custom to you, explaining the benefits to each kingdom. You still remember that conversation so clearly, and even though your father has long since passed, his words are forever imprinted in your memory.

“Sometimes doing what’s best for your people isn’t immediately what’s best for you, Y/N, but if you’re lucky enough, the two will align.”

“It’s too much,” you murmur, and you escape back out into the hallway, leaving the door to your chambers wide open as you flee. Your heart is racing again and it feels like the walls are starting to close in around you. The panic is irrational. You know it is, but you can’t stop it as it pushes you forward down the hallway.

The guards give you worried looks, but you ignore them as you hurry around the corner where Sam had disappeared. You walk quickly, following the sound of loud voices until you reach an open-air chamber where Sam and his brother are lounging at a table. Two gold goblets sit in front of them, and a candlelit tree has been placed in the corner of the room. An enormous dark fur blankets the floor. The fireplace here is as big as the one in your guest chambers, if not bigger.

Both men stand as soon as they see you.

“Your Majesty,” Dean greets, and he frowns slightly when he looks at you properly. “Is everything alright?”

You clear your throat in an attempt to compose yourself. “I desire a moment alone,” and then you add, “With Sam.”

Dean raises an eyebrow and glances at his brother, who nods slightly but doesn’t say a word.

“Very well,” Dean says. He picks up his goblet and drinks the last of its contents, tilting his head back to get the last drops. “I’ll be in my study.” He nods politely at you before leaving through a passageway just to the right of the tree.

Sam waits until the sound of his brother’s footsteps has disappeared completely before he speaks up.

“Is everything alright?” he asks, and you shake your head.

“I apologize, but I must ask for new chambers.” Sam’s face twists in confusion and, predictably, he opens his mouth to ask why. You continue before he has the chance. “I have been fighting with my men for many moons, and the rooms you have given me are much too lavish. I’m afraid I simply won’t be comfortable in something so big, as foolish as it sounds.”

Though your words are composed and formal, you wring your hands in front of you, hoping Sam will ignore the way you can’t stop fidgeting. You feel so flighty that it makes you irritated even with yourself.

His expression turns sympathetic. “I see. There must be something I can do to convince you to stay, Y/N. Those chambers have been carefully prepared for you by some of our most trusted servants. If I were to request the change, I’m afraid they might take offense.”

“You care deeply for them,” you say, quieter now. Something about him and the sound of his voice calms you, and the anxiety you’d felt only moments before has started to diminish.

“I do,” he answers. “They work hard, and they deserve to be treated with respect.”

“I agree.” You nod and fall silent, looking down at your hands. Suddenly, you feel very foolish to have searched him out to ask for something so trivial. You’re a queen, after all. You should be used to nicer things than this. You shouldn’t be so overwhelmed by a room so similar to the ones from your childhood.

“It wouldn’t be offensive, however,” Sam begins, and you look up at him, holding your breath, “to only have one Ashelan maid to assist you.”

You exhale a small sigh of relief, as small as you can manage without being completely obvious. “I suppose one would be sufficient. She could help Charlie. Lady Charlie, I mean.”

He smiles. “I’m sure Lady Charlie will grow accustomed to our castle soon enough. She seems very intelligent.”

“Oh?” You can’t help but ask what he means. Charlie is smart, there’s no denying it, but many men have mistaken her for a frail, unassuming creature before. Sam would be one of the first to correctly identify her.

“She has the same look in her eyes as you. You are not one to be underestimated. I’ve heard about the way you fight on the battlefield.”

Before you can respond, there’s a noise in the hallway and you look over your shoulder to see what it is. One of your guards in the entrance. Your stomach sinks, knowing that he’s most likely been sent to retrieve you.

“I should allow you to get settled,” Sam says. He nods politely at the guard before looking back at you. “Though I hope you will tell us about your traditions in Athos at the feast. I am eager to learn more.”

You watch him for a moment, judging if he’s earnest in his request, and then you nod. Offering him a small smile, you follow the guard back to your guest chambers, where Charlie is waiting patiently for you, a warm bath already drawn.

The night is hard. After your bath and a meal brought up by the Ashelan maid, you try to rest before the feast, but the nightmares come quickly this time. You toss and turn, and you wake up screaming. The guards burst into your room as Charlie rushes to you from where she’s been inspecting your armor for what needs the most care and attention. 

Once it’s determined that you aren’t in any danger, she convinces the guards to withdraw. She holds you then, letting you cry in her arms as you tremble, remembering the horrors of the dream and the reality that shapes them. You cry yourself to sleep, and you’re certain that you only stay asleep because Charlie decides to stay with you. She tucks you back under the heavy blankets and drags one of the carved chairs over to your bedside. There, she curls up with one hand holding yours and the other propping her head up so she can rest as well. You have minimal nightmares after that, though her presence beside you is reassuring enough that the few times you do wake, you aren’t too afraid to fall back asleep.

You sleep through the feast, much to your dismay. John, Sam, and Dean are waiting for you when you enter the Great Hall to break your fast with them the next morning, however.

“I trust you slept well,” Dean says to you once you’re settled in the seat across from him. Charlie sits beside you, and Sir Robert is on your right, across from Prince Sam. John is at the head of the table. There’s another man across the table, opposite Charlie, and another on her left. You don’t recognize them, but you suspect that they’re friends of Sam and Dean, or that they’re the lords-in-waiting. John doesn’t seem to have an advisor with him, but there’s an empty seat at the far end of the table.

“As well as can be expected,” you reply. Your smile is strained, but you offer it anyway, then move your hands out of the way of the servant who comes to bring you your meal. “I apologize for missing the feast. I so badly wanted to come, but it was best that I stayed in my chambers last night.”

“We understand completely,” John tells you. “We are not strangers to war.”

You nod, and everyone goes back to eating. The Great Hall is silent. It’s a complete change from your meals in your tent at the war camp. Though you always dined with just Charlie and Sir Robert, you’d always been able to hear what was happening outside the tent walls. There’d be shouting and laughter, songs and teasing. Sometimes there was crying and men groaning through their injuries, but you ate those meals quickly.

As you eat, you look around the room. The Great Hall is decorated similarly to your chambers, with evergreen boughs, red berries, and candles that burn even in daylight, but there’s also an enormous tree at the far end of the hall. It’s lit with candles, just like the one you’d seen when you’d searched out Sam the day before. The tree stretches dozens of feet up, and you wonder how old it must be to have grown so tall. 

“We do not decorate like this in Athos,” you say, and all three Winchesters look at you in mild surprise. A bit embarrassed by their eyes on you, you falter slightly, but the interest on Sam’s face when you don’t continue spurs you on.

“You use plants here.” You gesture to the tree. “But we decorate with wooden carvings of our ancestors, and woven tapestries that we hang beside every door and window.”

“What are the tapestries?” Sam asks. His father and brother have gone back to eating, even though they still watch and listen, but he’s set down his fork and is now giving you his full attention.

“They’re different for each family. My family has tapestries that show the beginnings of our kingdom and the first king of Athos, and over the years, I have created many simple ones as gifts.”

“I’m sure they were wonderful,” Sam says. He holds your gaze for a moment before he smiles, and you smile back.

There’s a fluttering in your stomach. The clinking of John’s fork on the table makes you look away. There’s heat in your cheeks, much to your chagrin, and you exhale shakily. It’s strange to be so rattled. You’re not even sure why the conversation is affecting you so much. You’ve talked about Athoan traditions countless times before today with countless royals and monarchs. Something about Sam simply shakes you to your core.

John sips from his goblet, then gestures at Sam with the cup before he sets it back on the long table. “Samuel will show you the grounds today. I’m sure he can answer any questions you have about Ashela.”

Somewhat surprised that the King doesn’t plan to meet with you himself, you nod. It’s not atypical for kings to pass you off to one of their advisors, but you don’t mind it in this instance. You’re still weary from battle, and Sam is excellent company.

“Very well,” you reply, dipping your head just a little. You pick up your own goblet to take a sip. The drink is warm, thick, and rich, and you frown a little before peering inside the cup.

“Is everything alright?” Dean asks.

You nod and glance over at Lady Charlie. She picks up her own goblet and takes a sip as you set down yours. She pauses for a moment, her cup paused in midair, then smiles.

“Hot chocolate,” she murmurs. “It’s a traditional drink here.”

Raising an eyebrow at her, you whisper, “How do you know that?”

She gives you a sly smile and shakes her head. You know the look—she’ll tell you later.

You sit back in your seat and turn your attention to Dean, who’s still watching you. His father and Sam are both watching you now too, and Sam is frowning with obvious concern.

“Everything is fine,” you reassure them. “I’ve never had hot chocolate before. It’s delicious, John. You have fine cooks here in Ashela.”

He nods in response and stands. You stand as well, as does the rest of the table, and you watch as the King leaves through a door on one side of the Great Hall. 

Dean clears his throat. “I have duties to attend to, brother.” He claps a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Remember that Father said—”

Sam cuts him off. “I remember. Thank you, Dean.”

A moment later, Dean excuses himself, and you watch him leave, too. Sir Robert mumbles some excuse and bows to Sam before leaving as well, no doubt to study policies and look over ledgers in his own guest chambers. He’s always been a bit of a recluse, and there’s little privacy at the war camp. You suspect he’ll spend most of his time hidden away while you’re on respite.

You turn to Charlie. “You should rest,” you quietly tell her. “I know that you did not sleep much last night—”

“I’m fine,” she replies.

Shaking your head, you grab her hands and squeeze. “Please. I’ll feel better, even if you just relax by the fire. I feel awful that I’ve kept you up.”

Charlie nods, though you can tell she’s reluctant to leave you by the way her eyes cut to Sam. He’s pointedly staring at the candlelit evergreen and sipping his hot chocolate, giving you the semblance of privacy even though he’s mere feet away.

You squeeze her hands again and offer her an earnest smile. “I’m okay. I don’t mind being with him,” you say, soft enough that you’re certain Sam can’t hear from across the table. “He’s… nice.”

This makes her smile wide, and you can practically see all the possibilities she’s conjuring up in her head.

“Nice?” Charlie teases.

You playfully scoff and drop her hands, smoothing your skirt. Turning to Sam, you say, “I’m finished eating, if you’re ready to begin.”

Sam hums and sets his goblet down. “Will Lady Charlie be joining us?”

She takes that as her cue to shake her head and curtsy. After years of practice, the action is smooth, despite the fact that she hasn’t worn a formal gown in almost a year. She’d complained in private to you that morning that she wished the two of you could continue wearing trousers, and you’d agreed. The dresses that have been provided for you in Ashela are all too big, and you’d spent part of your morning being poked and prodded by the castle seamstress as she frantically altered the bodice to fit you. They might’ve fit before the war, but the fighting has given you more lean muscle than anything. Your own dresses back at Eryas Court will likely need altering when you finally return home.

“I have other things that require my attention, my Queen,” Charlie says, and she gracefully exits the Great Hall, though not before throwing you a meaningful look before the doors close behind her.

“Shall we?” Sam asks.

You jump, surprised to find that he’s come around to your side of the table and stopped alongside you while you watched your friend depart. He offers his arm and after a very brief moment of hesitation, you take it.

You and Sam traverse the grounds on foot, and he shows you the snow-covered gardens, the stables, the knights’ training field, and the arboretum where his mother is buried. Finally, he leads you to a frozen lake set far back from the castle. It’s surrounded by the same pine trees that seem to be everywhere in Ashela, and there’s a small wooden hut sheltered by the two largest. From inside, Sam pulls out sharpened blades with leather straps. It takes you a moment to realize that they’re for skating on the ice.

“Would you like to skate?” he asks.

“I’ve never been skating before,” you admit, and you look at the lake. It’s smooth and glossy, with few imperfections on its icy surface. You can’t help but wonder if it’s actually safe. Though ice skating has grown popular in Athos since the start of your reign, you’ve never allowed your court to participate. You’ve heard too many tales of the ice breaking under the skater’s weight. A small girl in the village had drowned just last winter.

“I’ll keep you safe, Y/N. You have my word.”

Scanning Sam’s face, you try to determine whether or not you can trust him, not just to lead you around and show you the castle grounds, but with your life. 

You place your hand in his after a long moment of deliberation. “You’ll have to show me how.”

He smiles, and it’s almost as bright as the sun on the snow. You let him lead you by the hand to the edge of the lake, where a downed tree has been positioned lengthwise. Sam helps you to sit, and then he very carefully kneels in the fresh, powdery snow to help attach the blades to your boots. The knees of his trousers are soaked with snow when he stands, but he doesn’t seem to care as he sits beside you and attaches the blades to his own boots. He helps you up with both hands, encouraging you as you wobble and sway in his grip.

“Move slowly,” he advises as he steps onto the lake, leading you onto the ice as he skates backwards.

It takes all your effort and concentration to stay upright at first, but with Sam’s encouragement and gentle guidance, you quickly get your bearings. You’re able to skate around the lake on your own after only an hour’s practice.

“You’re a natural!” Sam says as he skates beside you. His pace is surely slower than it would be on his own, and you smile over at him.

“Your assistance was a great help,” you tell him. “Thank you.”

He shakes his head a little. “I have the feeling that you would have been fine on your own.”

You fall into silence as you skate side by side, but a quarter hour later, you carefully stop a few feet away from the fallen tree. Sam stops as well and he holds his hands out to help you just in case something is wrong.

“Y/N?” he asks.

“You’ve been skating for a long time, haven’t you? For several years, at least?”

Though he seems confused by your sudden question, Sam nods. “Since I was a young boy.”

Smiling, you gesture with one hand toward the open expanse of the lake. “Show me what you can do, then. You must be very skilled.”

“I don’t know if “skilled” is the correct term…” He rubs the back of his neck with his dark green mittens, and you chuckle. His nose is pink, as are his ears from where they peek out from his furry hat.

“I’m not your queen, so I can’t command you, but I am your guest. Please show me?” you ask.

He’s smiling again. “Very well. Do you want to sit?” He gestures towards the tree, the other hand already reaching for your elbow.

You shake your head. “I will stand, thank you. Now go!” You shove at him, not enough to put him off-balance, but enough that he laughs and ducks his head before he skates away.

Sam is skilled. It only takes you a minute to figure out that he had been telling the truth—he’d been skating a long, long time. He moves with great ease over the ice, and you marvel at his speed. He flies by you three times before he slows, then stops sharply. A shower of ice flies up into the air before it rains down again. His breath comes out in heavy white puffs of fog and his chest heaves with exertion, but you’re smiling wide, giddy from the show.

You clap for him. “You underestimate yourself! You’re very fast!”

He laughs as he catches his breath. “Dean and I would race as children.” He points toward the far edge of the lake, where there’s a large gap between two trees. “There’s a river there, and we’d race from here to where it meets the forest road.” He pants for a second before looking back at you. “We should return. We’ve been out in the cold for a long time.”

Nodding in agreement, you let Sam lead you off the ice and back to the log, where you clumsily unstrap your skates. He takes them and puts them away while you fix your skirts, hat, and boots. When he returns, you stand and take his arm, and the two of you head back to the castle.

You eat a small meal when you return—mostly bread, cheese, and sausage—and it’s while you’re eating that you ask Sam for a second tour of the castle. He’s more than happy to oblige.

“All of these paintings,” you say as he escorts you down a long, decorated hallway, “They have similar styles, but the others you’ve shown me do not. Who painted these?”

“I did,” Sam replies.

You stop to stare at him. “You did?” You can’t hide your surprise, though you know it’s rude. “You painted them? All of them?” There must be at least two dozen in the hall.

He nods, and his cheeks are a little pink, though the castle is much too warm for it to be from the cold. “Yes, all of them.”

Turning back to the landscape he’d just named, you marvel at it. The colors are vibrant, matching the rest of the castle, and the gold details glimmer in the candlelight. Though the sun is going down outside and there’s little light coming in from the windows, you can still see everything clearly.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Would you like to see where I paint them?” he asks.

You look away from the painting to nod. “I would like that very much, yes.”

Sam smiles and offers you his arm again, and he begins to lead you down a narrow hallway that you hadn’t noticed before. You would have labeled it a servant’s passage had the lush carpet not continued down its length. There are wooden doors every few feet, but Sam ignores them and keeps walking.

After several minutes of walking, you come to the end of the hall and the last door, which is slightly higher than the rest. There are two steps leading up to it, but Sam needs neither to step into the room. You opt to take them, and he places a hand over your head so you don’t hit it against the wooden beams that border the opening.

Though the door is smaller than normal, the room is not. The ceiling stretches high up into one of the castle’s towers, and windows let light in even from high above. The wooden floor is swept clean, and an easel is set up near the largest of three windows at eye level. It’s big enough that you could sit in it and let your legs dangle outside of the tower. The window faces the arboretum, and if you squint, you can see the frozen lake in the distance.

A table with paints and brushes is set up beside the easel. Sam approaches it so naturally that you’re sure he must spend a lot of time in this room. 

“It reminds me of my study back home,” you quietly say, and Sam looks over at you as he picks up a brush and dips it into one of the pots of pigment.

“Do you like to paint?”

You shake your head with a small smile. “It’s not one of my talents. But I like to look at art. My castle is full of paintings, tapestries, and carvings.” You pause and watch as he adds brushstrokes to the painting on the easel, easily picking up where he’d left off. “You must paint something for my castle before I leave.”

“What would you like?” he asks.

You pause and look around the room as you think. There are several paintings leaning up against the rounded walls, along with piles of supplies that look like they might topple over any second.

“Could you paint the lake? In winter?” you finally request.

The room is quiet for a moment as Sam paints. When he doesn’t reply, you look over at him. He’s staring at the canvas in front of him with his brush in mid-air, but then he turns and meets your eyes, as if he can feel you watching him.

“Why not in summer, when the grass is green and the sunlight makes the water glow? Or in spring, when the wildflowers are blooming? Or in autumn, when the wind blows clouds through the sky?”

He describes the seasons so well that you can picture the paintings in your mind, but you shake your head, not looking away.

“No. I want the lake in winter, so I can remember skating for the first time,” you explain.

He stares at you, and you stare back. Your heart feels like it’s out of control and you have to force yourself to break eye contact. All the while, your thoughts are scattered and though you know in your head that you should be more composed and that you shouldn’t be alone with him in such a remote part of the castle where there are no guards, Sam makes you feel safe.

“We should prepare for dinner,” he finally murmurs, breaking the spell that had fallen over the room.

You glance up at the windows to find that the sun has disappeared from the horizon. Darkness is creeping in, and shadows are stretching across the floor of Sam’s tower. Have you truly been so distracted that the time flew by that quickly?

Nodding in agreement, you step back out into the hallway and make your way down the narrow passage. Once in the main hall, Sam escorts you to your room in silence. Charlie is waiting for you there, and she helps you change into a more formal gown for dinner. She doesn’t utter a single word about the strange expression on your face, nor does she mention the fact that you’ve been without a guard all day.

The dinner is less formal than you were anticipating, and you fall into comfortable conversation with the King. He knew your father before you were born, though the last time they’d met was when you were a young girl. He tells you story after story of their times together, and you’re learning about their last visit when one of the Ashelan guards posted outside the Great Hall bursts in.

“Your Majesty,” he greets, hurriedly bowing to the King. “A messenger has just arrived for Queen Y/N. It’s an urgent matter.”

“Send them in,” John replies. He gestures toward the door and you stand as a haggard soldier in your colors staggers through. He’s supported on one side by another Ashelan guard, and your blood runs cold at the frantic look in your soldier’s eyes.

“Your Majesty.” He starts to bow but loses his balance. He only remains upright thanks to the guard beside him. He’s gasping for air.

“Peace, soldier,” you tell him, though you feel anything but. Your heart is pounding in your chest again and your hand trembles as you place it on the back of your chair. You can feel everyone’s eyes on you. “What news do you bring me?”

“A m— message from King Crowley, Ma’am. He says that if you do not surrender by Christmas, he will take Eryas Court.”

You stare at him for a moment, then scoff. “He cannot so boldly assume I will surrender! Have our armies held the camp?” you ask.

“No, Ma’am,” the soldier replies, and it feels like the floor has fallen out from underneath you. Your stomach twists as the soldier continues, “His men slaughtered our armies, and they have infiltrated the village. They have surrounded Eryas. The men returning to their families are at the keep, and are holding it as best as they are able, but they are tired, Ma’am.”

Lady Charlie gasps beside you, and you lift your chin, silently sending up a prayer. Crowley has caught you off guard, but you can’t show it.

You turn to look at John. “Is there a room I can use to speak with Sir Robert and send word to my captains?”

John nods and stands, directing his attention to the first guard. “Prepare my study for Queen Y/N and Sir Robert. Escort them there once it is ready, and have one of the servants available to fulfill any requests she might have,” he orders.

The guard nods and bows before hurrying back out into the hallway.

“And you,” John continues, looking at the guard supporting your weary soldier. “Take him to see the doctor. Get him a meal and fresh clothes, and prepare him a place to sleep.”

The soldier still has his eyes on you, and you quickly cross to him before the Ashelan guard can take him away. His entire body is covered with blood, sweat, and grime, and he smells like the worst parts of the battlefield. His legs shake when he struggles to stand straighter as you approach.

“You can trust the people here,” you gently tell the man. “Thank you for what you have done. You have brought your people great honor. Now, rest.”

The man salutes you and you bow your head, then watch in silence as the guard leads him out of the Great Hall and towards the servant’s door you’d passed earlier that day on your tour. Once he’s out of sight, you turn and face Sir Robert, who has moved to stand at the end of the table closest to you.

“I apologize for cutting our dinner short, John,” you say. He nods once. “Can I ask that Lady Charlie be escorted back to my chambers once she is finished dining?”

Charlie stands from her seat. “I’m already finished, my Queen, and if it pleases you, I shall stay to assist you.”

You could cry at the loyalty and care from your friend, and you almost do. You catch yourself, however, and you swallow the lump that forms in your throat. John and Dean are talking in hushed tones, but Sam is watching you. His eyes are sad and you have to look away as soon as you notice. You’re barely holding it together as is, and you’re sure that he can tell.

The guard assigned by King John to escort you to his study appears in the doorway, and you quickly follow after him. He leads you down the main hallway and up a set of stairs to a dark wooden door that you’d glimpsed earlier. He opens it in silence, then closes it once you, Sir Robert, and Charlie are inside. 

Almost immediately, you brace your hands on the large table in the center of the room and hang your head. A sob escapes you and Charlie places a comforting hand on your back as you let out a few more. The tears run across your cheeks to the bridge of your nose, then drip onto the table beneath you as you cry.

Sir Robert stands in silence until you’re able to compose yourself a few minutes later. He’s watching the flames flicker in the fireplace with his back to you.

“How many men have we lost today?” you ask, dabbing at your face with the handkerchief Charlie has somehow produced.

“ There were 6,000 in the garrison when we left,” he answers. There’s no emotion in his voice and a small part of you feels ashamed for crying, but you push that thought away before it can fester.

“And how many do you think are defending the keep right now?”

Sir Robert turns. His expression is grave and the light and shadows from the fire deepen the wrinkles on his face. 

“Less than 5,000, if I had to guess.”

You sigh heavily and look back down at the table, then straighten until you’re standing tall again. You cross the room to stare out the window. From the King’s study, you can see the gardens, which means you’re on the opposite side of the castle from the tower where Sam paints. Silently, you start to pace the length of the large fur covering the floor between two shelves of ancient books. Lady Charlie sits at the table while Sir Robert remains by the fireplace, and both of them watch as you walk back and forth.

Nobody speaks until you stop, but there’s a knock at the door right before you can admit that you have no solution that won’t end in a sorrowful amount of bloodshed. You turn to look as the door opens, revealing King John.

“Y/N,” he greets. “I may have something that will assist you.”

You turn to face him fully. “What is it?”

He walks to an elaborately carved chest on the mantle and carefully removes a rolled parchment. It’s sealed with wax, but there are two seals. Curious, you meet John at the table. Charlie stands to make room for the two of you. It only takes a second for you to recognize the crests imprinted into the seals.

“What is this? Why does this hold my family’s crest?” you question.

“And mine,” he adds. “This decree was created and signed by your father and I during our last visit together. I promised to keep it safe until the right time had come.”

“The right time had come? For what, John? How come I’ve never heard of this?”

He glances at you, then breaks the seals and unrolls the parchment. It’s yellowed with time, but the words are written in black ink and they’re as clear as day.

“Let it be known that on this day, Y/N Y/L/N of Athos and Samuel Winchester of Ashela are betrothed in marriage. Upon agreement from both parties or in time of need, they shall be wed and the marriage shall be consummated within a fortnight,” John reads, and you feel yourself falter. Charlie places a hand on your back to help keep you upright.

“Athos shall be ruled by Y/N as the heir apparent, and any heirs produced by Y/N and Samuel shall become the next heirs. An alliance shall be formed between Athos and Ashela at the time of marriage. This betrothal can only be broken by death or upon act of God.”

At the bottom of the parchment, there are two signatures. Only one is familiar to you, and the world tilts around you for a moment when you see it.

“I beg your pardon,” you say, your mouth suddenly very dry. “But this cannot be true. I would know if I were already betrothed.”

John places the parchment on the table and it rolls up again. “Nonetheless, your father has signed it and stamped it with his royal seal. You are betrothed to my son, and in agreement with the decree, our kingdoms will be allied after your marriage is consummated.”

A dark shadow in the doorway makes you look up. Sam ducks into the room, his eyes immediately scanning the people in the study. When he sees the distress on your face, he frowns, but he answers to his father first.

“You called for me, Father?” he asks.

“I did.”

John picks up the parchment again and hands it to Sam, who unrolls it and reads it over. You watch his eyes scan the words once, twice, then three times before he looks up. He glances at you for a split-second.

“This must be false,” Sam finally says. “I would know if I was betrothed! You would have told me a long time ago!”

“Why do you think I never pressured you to marry, as I did your brother?” John asks.

Sam clearly doesn’t have an answer because he turns his attention to where you’re standing behind his father. “Did you know about this?” he asks.

You shake your head, hands clasped in front of you. “I did not. I’m just as shocked as you are.”

“I can’t believe that you are treating Y/N like this! She is in the middle of trying to save her people and you’re scheming!” Sam accuses. He’s glowering down at his father, even though he’s only a few inches taller.

John scoffs. “Samuel—”

“You say that this was created when we were children? And yet it has remained hidden from us until now? Why wouldn’t my father have told me about my own betrothal?” you ask, relieved that Sam is just as angry and surprised as you. It stings a little that he seems disinterested in marrying you, but you have more important problems than your feelings.

Sir Robert speaks up from where he still stands by the fireplace, and you whirl to face him when he says, “The betrothal is real. I witnessed the decree when it was written.” His expression softens when you meet his eyes, shocked at his revelation. “I had just been appointed as your father’s advisor. It was the first decree I helped him create.”

You can’t help but feel betrayed. “You helped him? All this time, you knew about this, and yet you never said a word?”

He nods, and there seems to be genuine regret in his eyes. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Why now?” Sam questions. “Of all the times, Father, why would you tell us now?”

John gestures to the parchment in Sam’s hands. “You’re to marry whenever you agree there’s an opportune time, or if there’s ever a time of great need. If you marry, an alliance will be formed between our kingdoms. I can send our armies to help defeat Elcium and save Y/N’s people. Your people, once the marriage is consummated. Your enemies will become my enemies.”

Torn between a mix of anger and humiliation, you turn your back on the men, taking a few steps away from the table to stare out the window. Has it really come to this? Will you really have to marry to save your people?

There’s a shuffling of papers behind you, and the crackle of the fire, but nobody dares to speak. You know that they’re all waiting for you to make the decision. Though you’ve only known him for a few days, you’re certain that Sam would never force you to marry him and follow through with the decree. 

“Would you form an alliance without marriage?” you finally ask, without turning around.

A beat passes, and then John answers, “Think over what I’ve said, Y/N. I will be in the Great Hall, awaiting news.”

He leaves after that, and you hear Sir Robert and Charlie excuse themselves as well, which leaves you alone with Sam. He keeps his distance from you as you continue to stare out the window with your arms wrapped around yourself. Despite the fire, you’re cold all the way down to your bones, and you shiver.

“What are you thinking?” Sam finally asks. His voice is gentle, hesitant even, in the silence of the study.

“I don’t know.” You shake your head. “This isn’t…”

“Did you dream of marrying someday?”

Surprised at the question, you have to stay quiet and mull it over. Then, after a few moments, you nod. “Yes,” you tell him, quieter than before. “Someday. I knew it was probably expected of me too, but then Crowley invaded…”

“And you had to put the needs of your people before your own desires,” Sam guesses.

“It’s my duty as queen.”

Your father’s words return to your head, ringing loud and clear as a bell.

“Sometimes doing what’s best for your people isn’t immediately what’s best for you, Y/N, but if you’re lucky enough, the two will align.”

Turning around, you smooth your skirt and meet Sam’s gaze. “As is marrying you,” you say.

“You’re not going to oppose the decree?” he asks. Sam sounds genuinely surprised, and he steps closer. He’s still in his dinner clothes, though you know he had time to change. 

“I don’t have a choice,” you admit. “If I don’t marry you, your father won’t aid my men, and my people will die. My kingdom will be taken and I’ll spend the rest of my life in prison or as a servant to Crowley, unless he decides to kill me, which is unlikely. Crowley is a ruthless king, and he tortures for sport.”

Something hardens in Sam’s eyes, and his jaw clenches. “You can stay here indefinitely as my guest. I wouldn’t let him do that to you.”

“And I wouldn’t live in hiding while my people suffer,” you counter. Closing the distance between you, you reach out and grasp Sam’s hands in yours. “I will understand if you choose not to marry me. It is your choice, and I will live with whatever decision is made.”

“Why wouldn’t I marry you?” he asks. 

“I don’t wish to force you—”

“You wouldn’t be,” Sam says, cutting you off. “Though I haven’t known you long, Y/N, I find you wonderful company. You’re kind, intelligent, brave, and you care deeply for your people. I could not ask for more in a wife, though I hope we can become friends first.”

You duck your head, caught off guard by his praise. Sam crooks one finger underneath your chin and lifts it until your eyes meet his again.

“You’re beautiful, too,” he murmurs. “Far more so than any woman I’ve ever met.”

“I… Don’t know what to say,” you admit. After months of fighting and living in the war camp, the tenderness in Sam’s voice and his touch is foreign to you.

“Say that you’ll marry me. Say that we’ll save your people before any more harm can be done.”

Silently, you nod. You don’t look away as Sam smiles wide, his eyes full of a joy so complete that it makes your chest ache just from witnessing it. He pulls you close, crushing you against him as he hugs you tightly, and you gasp in surprise.

“I’ll tell my father to make the necessary arrangements,” Sam says as he pulls away. “The sooner we are married, the sooner we can rescue your men.”

You nod again, a bit numb as Sam kisses you on the forehead, narrowly missing the bruise, and hurries out into the hallway. His footsteps are quick and the sound fades before you can even recognize that he’s truly left you alone in the study.

“Y/N?”

Charlie appears in the doorway and you turn to her, trembling hands clasped in front of you.

“Are you well?” she asks. She steps into the room and you can immediately tell that she’d heard the whole conversation between you and Sam. The walls and doors are thick here, but Charlie is an expert at eavesdropping.

“I— I’m getting married,” is all you can reply.

She gives you a knowing look and then carefully guides you to sit in one of the high-backed chairs near the fire. The warmth helps to soothe the shock from finding out your kingdom was most certainly doomed, then from finding out it would be safe once you were married. Your world is changing so quickly that you can hardly keep up.

“He’s a good man,” she tells you.

“I know he is,” you reply, staring at the fire. It makes your eyes water but you can’t look away. If you do, you might cry for real for the second time today. Your emotions have been twisted by so many things and people today that you’re unsure of how to feel.

“It’s okay to be scared.”

You turn your head just enough to show that you’re listening, but you don’t look away from the fire.

“You’ve been through so much, Y/N, and I know you believe that queens should not show their weakness, but you forget that you are also just a woman,” Charlie continues.

This time, you turn to look at her. “But I am not just a woman, Charlie.”

She gives you a gentle smile, then reaches out with one hand to squeeze yours. “When you’re with Prince Samuel, you are.”

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you admit, your voice breaking. You clutch her hand with both of yours when she moves to pull away, turning in your seat so you can better face her. “What if he expects me to spend more time being a wife than being a queen? I cannot afford to give up who I am because of a man.”

Charlie considers your question for several long moments before she sighs and collects your hands completely in hers. She holds your gaze as she says, “You are brave for doing this. I cannot tell you what to expect, but I can tell you that I have heard many things from the ladies and the servants here in Ashela. All of them, every single one, has told me that Prince Samuel is as wonderful as he seems. I do not think that you have very much to fear, but I will be by your side no matter what you face.”

You inhale deeply, closing your eyes, and then breathe out. Charlie waits patiently as you try to collect yourself, and her presence is enough reassurance that it doesn’t take you very long.

Finally, you nod and stand.

She does the same, dropping your hands. “Now, I need to get you ready!”

“Ready?” you ask, and Charlie laughs. She guides you out of the study and into the hallway.

“For your wedding! I can’t give you the prettiest dress, but I’ve asked around and we’ve come up with something that I think will work.”

A spark of excitement grows inside of you as she chatters on about her plans for the impromptu wedding. It’s amazing to you that she’s managed to work so quickly, but you don’t question it. Charlie has many ways of doing many things, some of which are better left unsaid.

Soon, you find yourself back in your guest chambers. Charlie helps you into a plain ivory dress, then fixes your hair. You sit quietly as she works, and when a handful of Ashelan maids and ladies start to swarm around you, you simply close your eyes. It’s been a long day, and exhaustion is starting to creep in.

“The Queen needs to rest before the ceremony,” Charlie announces, and you open your eyes just enough to see the women leaving. She starts to blow out the extra candles, until there’s only one remaining beside your bed.

“You only have an hour,” she murmurs as you carefully climb under the covers. She helps you arrange your dress so that it won’t become wrinkled.

Nodding tiredly, you rest your head back against the pillow she props up for you. “Thank you, Charlie. For everything.”

She smooths a hand over your hair and sits in the chair beside you, closing her eyes as well. She doesn’t have to say anything for you to know that she’s staying close to help you sleep. 

The ceremony is simple. You don’t expect much, but John rouses enough servants for there to be an arch of evergreen placed at the end of the Great Hall, and there’s a bouquet of branches and berries for you, as well. Sam dons his royal robes and a thin crown with vibrant gemstones that sparkle in the candlelight from the nearby tree. John and Dean change clothes too, and somehow Charlie finds a new dress just in the nick of time. Only you aren’t wearing something elaborate. It stings a little—you’d once imagined your wedding day as an occasion to remember, but now you could simply melt away into the background and it’s quite possible that nobody would even notice. It gives you a miserable feeling in the pit of your stomach, and when you pass by a mirror on the way to the Great Hall, you have to look away. Tears prick at your eyes before you can stop them. 

A priest marries you with little grandeur, and in only a few words, you find yourself bound to Sam in marriage. It’s not even dawn on Christmas Eve when he leads you by the arm back out of the Great Hall. Charlie stays behind with Sir Robert to help prepare the carriages for travel while he advises John on where to send his armies, and when you arrive at Sam's chambers, they’re empty. You’re alone with him for the first time as husband and wife.

“We should leave for Athos immediately,” Sam says, and you nod in silence. He lets go of your arm once the door shuts behind you, then hurries into a separate, adjoining room. You set your bouquet down on a nearby table.

Through the curtained archway, you can see a bed similar to the one in your guest chambers, as well as a writing desk and another easel. Sam’s sword is propped up against the wall near the fireplace, and a bow and arrow are laid haphazardly on a nearby dining table. The room is decorated for Christmas, just like the rest of the castle, though the greenery here is minimal. Where you would expect to see much of his personal belongings, there are empty spaces that leave you feeling strangely out of place. His chambers are practically bare except the furniture and the decorations.

Sam goes behind a dressing screen and you look away, heat in your cheeks at the thought of being alone with him while he undresses. It’s not the first time you’ve been alone with a man in a similar state of dress—you’ve lived in a camp full of soldiers, many of whom are careless—but it’s the first time where something could be expected of you.

“Sam?” you call out, staring at the candle on the window ledge nearest to you. Outside, the sun is just barely beginning to rise. Its rays are slowly stretching over the snowy landscape, revealing the hundreds of pine trees and the lake whose frozen surface glitters in the light.

“Yes?” You hear him pause and the room falls silent. When you don’t immediately answer, you hear some quick shuffling, and then he’s coming out from behind the screen and approaching you.

“Y/N?” he asks.

You turn, and Sam is standing before you in plain clothes. There’s no trace of the robes or the crown. The only thing that would give away his royal status is the signet ring on his left pinky. There’s a plain gold ring on the finger beside it, which matches the one he’d given you during the ceremony.

“Your father said our kingdoms would only be allied once our marriage was… consummated,” you say, deciding to use the same language as John, though you know there are easier ways to say what you mean.

“I do not expect anything of you,” Sam gently replies.

“But your father—”

Sam shakes his head. “He does not need to know what’s between you and I.”

You’re holding your breath; you can’t breathe a sigh of relief until you’re absolutely sure Sam will go along with the ruse. “You will lie to your own father? Your king?”

He’s quiet for only a moment before he answers, “He is not my king any longer. I am married to you. I am your husband, and you are my queen. I will tell him whatever I must to ensure that your people are safe.”

You gingerly take his hand and allow yourself to breathe again. “Our people, Sam.” You pause to look up at him, offering him a small, grateful smile. “Thank you.”

He nods and leans in to kiss you on the cheek. “We should leave. I am ready, if you are.”

“Don’t you want your things?” you ask, glancing around his chambers. 

Sam lets go of your hand, then walks around his room. He gathers his sword, a book from beside the bed, and a small wooden case from near the easel before he returns to your side. You take the book and the case from him so he can strap the sword around his waist, then hand them back to him.

“The servants have already brought many of my things to the carriage. The rest can be brought another time.”

Nodding, you take Sam’s arm and let him lead you out of his chambers, through the castle, and to the waiting carriages. There are three of them, two of which belong to you, and another that is clearly Ashelan. It rocks as the occupants move around.

John, Dean, and two of your guards are waiting at the open door of the middle carriage when you arrive. As you walk the gray stone path leading away from the castle, you catch a glimpse of Sir Robert as he climbs into the carriage at the front of the line.

“Y/N,” John greets. He nods politely to you, then to Sam. “My men are already on the way to Athos. Sir Robert has been helpful in ensuring they will be of sufficient help to you. I have also sent word to Crowley to inform him of our newly formed alliance. I suppose everything went well after you retired to Sam’s chambers?”

He raises an eyebrow at his son, who nods once. The implications of his words weigh heavily in the winter air, and you shift your weight from one foot to the other, trying not to look nervous or uncomfortable. You cannot give away the lie.

“All is well,” Sam replies. He smiles a little and places a hand over where yours rests on his arm. “She is ready to travel now.”

Dean hugs his brother goodbye, then leads you toward the carriage. He stops a few feet away and holds his hand out to one of your guards, who produces a familiar sword.

“I believe this is yours?” Dean asks.

You smile, relieved that you’re once reunited with your father’s blade. “Yes, thank you.”

Taking the sword, you fasten it around your waist. The weight is comfortable, and it bumps against your thigh as Dean helps you into the carriage.

Meanwhile, Sam talks quietly with John. You’re too anxious to eavesdrop once you’re alone, so you sit back on the seat and try to keep your breathing even as Sam finally climbs into the carriage and the door shuts behind him. He sits opposite you, where Charlie would normally sit. It feels strange to not travel with her by your side, but you remind yourself that she’s in the next carriage, and that you’ll see her again when you arrive in Athos.

Moments later, the horses lurch forward. You sway with the movement, and Sam reaches out to place a steadying hand on your arm. You offer him a small smile before you sit back once more.

The sun rises as you journey to Athos, just like it does every day, and you cling to that normalcy. Even as you wring your hands, your mind whirling with every possible outcome of the coming battle, the sun continues on its path. You find yourself glancing out the window at it more often than usual. The snow outside is beginning to melt and drip from the tree branches as the temperature warms from the light, and as the horses carry you closer to home, the snow starts to disappear entirely, replaced with mud and trampled grass left in the wake of tired soldiers and weary knights.

Suddenly, Sam shifts to sit beside you, and he takes your hand without a word. You stare at him, baffled by his strange actions, but he doesn’t say anything, nor does he look at you. Finally, you look back out the window. His thumb rubs over the dry, scarred skin of your hand, and though it’s foreign to hold hands with a man you barely know, there’s something comforting about his presence. It’s soothing enough that you doze off for a while, grasping at what little rest you’re allowed during the journey. He holds your hand the entire time.

After the half-day ride, the carriages arrive in the village that surrounds Eryas Court. You release Sam’s hand and sit forward on the bench to give yourself a better view through the window. 

The houses and shops that you’ve grown up around have been burnt and destroyed, and there’s rubble lining the cobblestone paths. Wooden stalls and stables have been smashed into splinters, and stone buildings have begun to cave in on themselves. Your breath hitches when you see blood staining a wall.

“Where are the people?” you ask, your voice cracking. “Where are my people?” The question is desperate, meant for nobody but the world, and you feel Sam pulling you away from the window a few seconds later.

“Let me go!” you bark at him.

He pulls you back a second time, and you twist in your seat, angry and aching with grief, but you stop when you see him.

Sam’s expression is grave. “We don’t know who’s out there. You are not dressed in your armor, and you are giving Crowley’s archers an easy shot. Until we know what’s happening, you need to stay hidden,” he advises.

You stare at him for a moment, then nod mutely. All the anger drains out of you, because he’s right, and you’re no use to your people if you’re dead.

While leaning back against the wall of the carriage, you can still see enough through the window to tell that the destruction starts to lessen as you near the keep. The pressure in your chest starts to ease when the noise of villagers and soldiers talking reaches you, and you exhale shakily when you hear someone call out,

“Make way! The Queen is here!”

There’s a commotion outside the carriage. Cheering erupts as soon as the first person spies you through the windows. Sam’s hand finds yours again. He squeezes, and you squeeze back even harder, clutching his hand as the carriage moves through the crowd and into the guarded castle.

When the carriage stops, you and Sam wait until the door is opened by guard. They help Sam out first, then you. You don’t know what to expect as you exit, but you’re relieved to find that most of your castle is still intact.

“Eryas Court lives on, Your Majesty,” someone says, and you turn to find Sir Robert walking from his own carriage. Charlie is close behind, and you start to smile.

“Indeed, Sir Robert,” you tell him. “It seems the battle was over before we even arrived.”

After a moment, you laugh and pull him into a hug. It’s improper, but you find tears brimming in your eyes when he murmurs in your ear, reminding you that your father would be proud of how you’d handled the invasion.

“Welcome to Athos, Your Majesty,” Charlie says.

You release Sir Robert and turn to where Sam and Charlie stand off to one side. He gives her a short bow as she dips into a curtsy. An Ashelan man is standing on the other side of Sam. You recognize him as one of the men from your breakfast the day before. There are several Ashelan servants helping yours unload the carriages, as well.

“It’s a beautiful kingdom,” Sam says to you. “How long has Eryas Court been standing?”

“Four generations,” you proudly reply. “Would you like a tour?”

He opens his mouth to answer, but the conversation is put to a halt when the captain of the guard approaches and bows in your direction. 

“Your Majesty,” he greets. He does the same for Sam before turning back to you. “I bring word from the fields.”

“How are my men?” you ask. Your expression grows serious as you focus on the matter at hand. Sam stays silent, allowing you to do your job without interference.

“We have lost many, but we have made it through the darkest nights. Elcium has retreated, and they have dropped their banners. They stand with white flags now.”

You raise your eyebrows, unable to keep your expression neutral. “They have surrendered?”

He nods. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“That’s very good news, Captain,” you tell him, smiling. “Tell them that we will negotiate terms after Christmas. I will expect a full report then, but I have other matters to attend to tonight. I will also expect to see your wounded, and I would like a full list of the dead. Please ensure that any news about the Ashelan soldiers is sent to King John, and also reported to King Sam.” You gesture to Sam without looking his way.

Your captain bows to both of you, then heads back the way he had come. Satisfied with the news, you turn back to Sam with a wide smile.

“Let me show you my home.”

Sam smiles back at you, then offers you his arm. Before you leave with him, you instruct Charlie to make sure everything is in order after the maids unpack your and Sam’s belongings in your chambers. She agrees with a smile brighter than you’d seen on her in a long time.

You and Sam walk the castle grounds most of the afternoon, stopping only to have tea. You show him your favorite spots, tell him stories of your childhood, and you show him the study you’d abandoned after inheriting your father’s. The windows there overlook the wildflower fields, and the river beyond. Though there’s no flowers in bloom now, he assures you that the frozen river is subject enough for his paintings.

As the sun begins to set, you and Sam retire to your chambers. They’re smaller than you remember, and it feels cramped as the two of you prepare for sleep. You’d never opted to take on your father’s chambers when he passed, instead choosing to stay in the rooms you’d had your whole life.

Charlie helps you change into a sleeping gown, and behind an opposite dressing screen, you hear Sam and the Ashelan lord—Castiel—talking quietly. When the two of you emerge, you share nervous smiles as Castiel and Charlie leave to go to their own quarters.

“I’m not quite ready to sleep,” you say after the door finally closes behind them. You keep your distance, unsure of how to act now that you’re alone.

Sam nods. “I’ll try to keep to myself, so there’s room when you are ready to retire.”

You glance at the bed, then back at him. “Perhaps I will go to bed early then.”

He frowns a little and searches your face for something, clearly trying to figure out why you’ve changed your plans. Truthfully, you don’t want him to have to try and make himself small. You’re already feeling too many emotions; you don’t want to add guilt into the mix. 

You smile as if you don’t know what he’s thinking, then head to the bed and climb under the covers on one side. Charlie has warmed the heavy blankets with irons, and the furs from last year’s hunts still provide you with plenty of warmth. 

Sam watches, still standing in place, until finally you let out a sigh.

“I’m perfectly okay sharing a bed with you,” you tell him. “We are husband and wife. If we don’t lie together, it will raise suspicions.”

“And I am prepared to face them.”

“Do you really not want to share a bed with me?” you ask, a little hurt by his resistance.

His eyes widen slightly and he shakes his head. “I do not want you to be afraid of me, nor of expectation that I might—”

“I am not afraid of you.” You sit up in the bed, suddenly aware of the nighttime chill in your chambers as the blankets fall from your chest. “I have fought in many battles, and I have seen many horrible things. Sharing a bed with a kind, gentle man who is now my husband is not a fear that I possess, Sam Winchester. Even so, I am capable of much more than you may realize, and I am not afraid of anything you could possibly do to me.”

He stares at you for a moment, and then a small smile appears on his face. “Very well.”

You lay back as Sam crosses the room and climbs into bed beside you. Both of you lay on your backs, staring up at the fabric canopy. You want to talk—you feel like you should, anyway—but the events of the past few days start to catch up with you, and you find your thoughts beginning to wander as Sam’s breathing grows slower on the other side of the bed. He falls asleep before you, but not by much.

When you wake, there’s a heavy weight over your waist and hot breath against the back of your neck. Your legs are intertwined with Sam’s and your back is pressed up against his chest. It’s not uncomfortable, but you lie and stare at the wall, trying to figure out how you and Sam have become so entangled. Surely, you would have kicked him during your nightmares.

“Are you awake?”

His question is barely a whisper, but then Sam shifts and you feel him raise himself up on his elbow to look down at you. He’s checking to see if you’re asleep, you realize.

You turn your head to meet his eyes in the darkness. “Yes,” you answer. “I’m awake.”

He sighs softly and lays back down, resuming the close contact from before. You wonder if you should push away. Is it improper to sleep like this if you don’t know each other, even if you’re married? Does it matter?

“Can I ask…” You finally begin, breaking the silence that had fallen over the room again. “When we went to sleep, we were not touching.”

“No,” Sam answers. His breath tickles the hairs at the nape of your neck and you fidget under the covers, but you don’t pull away. “You were dreaming. It was a nightmare.”

“Oh.”

You can imagine why he’s pulled you close now. Without Charlie sitting by your bedside, there had been some anxiety over if you’d sleep through the night, but Sam’s comforting touch seems to have soothed you. For the first time in weeks, you feel well-rested.

“It’s Christmas,” you say after another minute has passed.

Sam yawns and his thumb strokes against your stomach. His voice is drowsy in your ear.

“So it is,” he replies.

“Merry Christmas, Sam.”

“Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

You turn in his arms until you’re facing him, and you carefully place one hand on his chest. It feels natural to be this close and to lean against him, and Sam watches you with half-mast eyes as you get comfortable. When you do, however, you don’t know what to say. You stare at each other, listening to the castle stir awake. Finally, you lay your head down on him. He helps you get comfortable, and then you close your eyes. You can hear Sam’s heartbeat.

“We’re married,” you murmur.

He hums. “So we are.”

“What do we do now?”

“Celebrate Christmas, I suppose.”

You move your hand, unconsciously fidgeting with the tie on Sam’s sleep shirt. “Can we stay here for a while first?”

Sam presses a kiss to the top of your head and you smile to yourself, even though you know he could probably see.

“Yes, Y/N. We certainly can,” he answers.

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Sam: @fandomoniumflurry

[smellingofpoetry]

Unexpected

Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader, Sam Winchester x Reader

Summary: That wasn’t what he was expecting.

Square/s Filled: “Hickies” (@anyfandomkinkbingo), Dean Winchester Custom Card "Free Space" (@anyfandomgoesbingo)

Warnings: smut, 18+, pegging, sex, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk

Rating: +18

Words count: 4524

Beta: @endlesstwanted ❤ (thank you again)

A/N: Hello there! I've been writing this story for the lovely @little-diable and her 12K challenge. I'm so late with this that it's actually embarrassing, but this story had a life on its own. It took me a long time to finally finish it, but I wanted you to have it and for everyone else to read it. So here we are. I hope you guys gonna love it because I'm quite proud of this one. Thank you for your patience, enjoy. ❤

That wasn’t what he was expecting.

Well, he didn’t know what to expect, to be honest, but it sure as hell wasn’t that. And he knew he should have just thrown a “sorry” out there, close the damn door and go hide somewhere, but he could only stare at the scene in front of him.

Sam was laying on the bed with his legs spread wide open, and Y/N in the middle of them: her breasts bouncing with every thrust of her hips. Her hand was closed tightly around Sam’s cock, pumping him in sync with every push.

Dean knew he should have been grossed out by the scene, but he would have been lying if he said that it didn’t affect him.

She was so goddamn beautiful naked like that.

“Oh, fuck – Dean, close – the – door!”

Sam’s voice made him snap out of it, and he quickly closed the door, forgetting to apologize. Dean stared at the door before glancing left and right, not knowing what to do with himself.

He was still trying to process what was happening when Sam’s deep, long moan reached his ears. Dean turned to the left at that, almost running to his room.

Y/N slipped inside Dean’s room, finding him sprawled on his stomach and watching a movie while eating a slice of pizza. Without saying a word, she got rid of her shoes before laying on the free space next to him. Dean waited for her to make herself comfortable and then he offered her a slice of pizza, which she gladly took. They ate in silence, watching the movie, even though she was too distracted by Dean’s presence to understand what was happening on the screen. It didn’t matter how much she tried to not look in his direction, she still glanced at him now and then while munching away on her pizza.

Dean could feel her eyes on him and tried not to squirm too much under her gaze, but it wasn’t easy, especially not after what had happened a few days ago. He had tried to avoid the subject as long as he could because he didn’t know what to say, or how to act after what he saw. So he just acted like he always did, or something closer to that. He had to admit that he might have avoided her more than he should have, but he was trying and her eyes on him didn’t help.

Dean finished eating the last bit of his pizza, wiping his fingers on one of the paper napkins using that time to figure out what to tell her. He should have probably started by apologizing, since he never really did that.

“I’m sorry –” she whispered, making Dean turn around to look at her. Confusion was all over his face.

“For what?”

“Making you uncomfortable? We thought you were out for the night, so…” she trailed off. “Not that it’s an excuse.”

“Y/N, you have nothing to apologize for.” He turned on his side to have a better look at her. “I’m the one who should apologize. I didn’t mean to – you know…” he trailed off, concentrating on some nonexistent stain on his sheets. “And I should have said something right then, but I kinda froze. So, I’m the one who’s sorry for intruding in one of your private moments.”

“So, we’re good?”

Dean raised his eyes, furrowing his brow in confusion. “You thought we weren’t?”

At that, she simply shrugged, lowering her gaze on her intertwined fingers. The thought that they might not be good anymore had, in fact, crossed her mind once or twice in the last few days. She had been friends with the Winchester brothers for some time, and the thought of losing their friendship scared her. She was closer to Dean than to Sam, if she had to be honest, which made fooling around easier for them.

They also had rules to help them out in a situation like that, and one of those was to keep what was happening between them a secret. That meant not telling Dean, which was something she wasn’t entirely comfortable with since they were used to not having secrets between them. Ultimately, she decided to agree nonetheless because Sam was right when he said they weren’t doing anything wrong, which was true. And yet, deep down, she knew that the only reason she agreed to that was that if Dean didn’t know, then he couldn’t judge her or think badly of her. Y/N wasn’t even sure why she cared so much about Dean’s opinion, but she did.

So, when he found out what was happening between her and Sam in the worst possible way, she started to question herself and her decision, and only when Dean started to avoid her, did she let the panic take over. She had tried to play it cool until she couldn’t anymore, and that was why she went to his room that night after gathering enough courage to do so.

“I have to admit that I was starting to worry a bit.” She tried to smile, but it didn’t really reach her eyes and suddenly Dean felt guilty for not saying anything sooner. “It felt like you were avoiding me, which I understood somehow, with me going behind your back like that.”

“It wasn’t… it wasn’t like that, not really.” He said, biting down on his lower lip a bit ashamed of his behavior. “I mean, I’ll admit that I was kinda avoiding you, but not because you guys went behind my back. I never really thought about that, to be honest.”

“You didn’t?”

“No, it never really crossed my mind. What you do in your private time is yours, even if that means you having sex with my brother. I sure as hell didn’t expect that, I’m not gonna lie, but I’ll never judge you for that.”

“So, you’re not mad or anything?” She asked him, hopefully.

“No, Y/N, I’ll never be mad at you for something like that and I’m sorry if I made you think otherwise.”

She sighed in relief, realizing just then that she had been holding her breath since the moment she came into his room. She bit down on her lip, trying to hide her relieved smile when she remembered something that made her frown. She turned on her side then, looking at him with curious eyes.

“So, if you weren’t mad, then why were you avoiding me?”

The moment the question was out there, Dean’s cheeks became warmer, getting a cute shade of red. Y/N watched him with a raised brow, intrigued by his reaction. Dean just shrugged, busying himself with a new slice of pizza. He tried to play it cool as long as he could, watching stubbornly at the plain wall in front of him while chewing on his pizza, but the feeling of her eyes on him made him cave. He rolled his eyes in annoyance before sharing with her his half-eaten slice, that she took without saying a word. Y/N knew him well enough to know that he would talk when he felt comfortable about it, so she simply waited while eating the pizza he gave her.

“Promise me not to laugh?”

“I would never”, she told him with a serious expression on her face. One look at her and Dean knew she was being sincere; not that he would doubt her words, but he was feeling a bit unsure.

“I kinda felt embarrassed.” He admitted, feeling his cheeks starting to get a bit warmer.

“For walking on us? That should have embarrassed us, not you.”

“No, not for that. It was more because –” he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. She inspected his face, not failing to notice the redness creeping more and more on his neck.

“D–, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want…”

“It turned me on, all right?” He cut her off, raising his voice without even realizing it. He looked down at his crossed fingers, licking his lips and shaking his head. Y/N’s hand rested midair while her mouth opened and closed a few times.

Of all the things he could have told her, that one was the last expected, not that she didn’t understand why. She did, and she also understood why it made him react the way it did. She sighed, leaning towards him to leave what was left of the slice of pizza in the box on the other side of the bed. She cleaned her fingers on the napkin before bumping against his shoulder, making him glance at her.

“It’s normal to get turned on by a sex scene, you don’t have to feel embarrassed for that.”

“My little brother was in that sex scene.”

“Right, yeah.” She sighed, turning on her side again to study him carefully. She bit down on her bottom lip, narrowing her eyes on him. They both fell silent for a while until she broke the spell they had fallen into.

“You weren’t avoiding him, though.” She dared to whisper, looking at him through her lashes, a bit afraid of what was about to come out of that weird conversation. Dean licked his lips, nodding while avoiding her eyes.

Of course she would have picked on that detail, he thought.

“No, I wasn’t.” He admitted while stubbornly avoiding her gaze. She nodded, turning again on her belly just to give him some time to make him feel more comfortable. Y/N bit down on her lower lip, glancing in his direction while a lot more questions popped up in her head. There were so many of them that she didn’t know what to ask him first, until her mouth decided for her.

“What turned you on?” She blurted out, feeling her cheeks getting very warm all of a sudden. She felt him suck in a breath while fidgeting in the bed next to her. Dean cleared his throat, trying to understand how in hell he managed to find himself in the same position all over again. He glanced in her direction, catching her doing the same. He knew he should have averted his gaze, but somehow, he couldn’t do it.

“You did.”

“Oh…” She whispered, not expecting a so straightforward answer. Y/N could feel her cheeks reddening while she tried to metabolize what he had just told her. Did he just say…? No, that couldn’t be right.

Right?

Y/N peeked in his direction ever so subtly with her cheeks on fire, and her heart beating so fast that she was afraid to watch it leave her chest at any given moment. She shouldn’t have asked, not because there was something wrong with her question, but because she simply wasn’t ready for his answer.

What should she have done with that now?

She swallowed, wetting her dry lips while trying to make order among the thoughts in her head. It wasn’t easy because her brain was telling her to just leave and forget their conversation, while her body – oh, her body – was whispering an entirely different story. So Y/N took a deep breath and hoped she had enough courage left in her, even though his eyes on her were making everything so damn difficult.

“What… what about me turned you on?” She asked, lifting her gaze enough to be able to look at his covered chest and avoid his green eyes.

Dean felt his breath hitch in his throat at that question, feeling like an idiot to have brought it up in the first place. Not that there was something wrong about it, but he felt vulnerable with her knowing the effect she had on him. He had been able to keep that secret hidden from prying eyes for so long, not even Sammy knew anything about it. It was his mission to not let anyone know how he felt about her because of multiple reasons, like them being friends and living and working together. Dean did a pretty awesome job, in his humble opinion, until a few days ago when he had caught his little brother and her in bed together. And after the first shock, he realized how stupid he had been for keeping his mouth shut like that. So, he decided to open up a bit, because what was there to lose anymore? Also, she did ask him, and it would have been rude not to give her an answer. He leaned closer, then; his left shoulder brushing against hers, while with his nose he could almost touch her temple.

“There wasn’t just a thing, you know?” He whispered, focusing his gaze on her, too afraid to miss even the smallest expression.

“No?”

“No. It was the way you were moving; beads of sweat sliding down your arched back; your breasts bouncing with every push of your hips…” he said, grazing her warm skin with his fingertips before putting a strand of hair behind her ear. Dean could feel her shiver under his touch, while she stubbornly kept avoiding his eyes.

“What else?” She whimpered, feeling his hot breath against her skin and her heart beating so fast she was sure he could hear it.

“The way you looked at me when you realized I was there.” He said, traveling with his fingers down her ear and under her jaw, making her raise her eyes to meet his. “You were so goddamn beautiful, and I can’t stop thinking what would have been like to have you between my legs, with your hand on my cock just like that.” 

Dean got closer then, rubbing his nose against hers while glancing in her direction just to test her reaction. Y/N wrapped her fingers against his wrist, not sure if she did that to free herself from his grip or just because she needed to hold on to something. Her chest rose and fell too fast, while her eyes couldn’t stop darting from Dean’s eyes and his lips.

Oh, those lips – she could have died on those lips, and she wouldn’t even mind it.

She didn’t even have the time to wonder how they would taste when his mouth crushed on hers, with such urgency and neediness that she felt dizzy for a minute. That didn’t stop her from kissing him back, though.

Y/N kissed him, matching his same hunger. She disclosed her lips, just enough for his tongue to slide right in, moving against hers. All of a sudden, Dean was everywhere, and she could finally taste him. He tasted like whiskey, pizza, and something else she couldn’t put her finger on, but it was just him and she was getting addicted.

She could already feel in her bones, the need for more of him. She could feel it in the way her body was tingling all over for just a kiss. Y/N always wondered what it was like to be kissed by Dean, to be wanted by him, loved, owned. Now, that she had a taste of it, she wasn’t sure she could get enough.

Dean let his tongue swirl against hers, before slowly pulling away, dragging her bottom lip with him. “Fuck!” He whispered, resting his forehead against hers and taking a deep breath. His heart was beating faster than he could remember. He was pretty sure that not even a hunt could make it beat like that, but her… oh, her.

Dean always wondered, in the privacy of his room, while the rest of the world was sleeping, how she would feel under his fingers. He tried to push away the thoughts of her friend from his mind, but it became impossible after he found out about her and Sam.

Damn, Sam.

“Fuck, Y/N. I’m sorry…” He whispered, moving away enough to look her in the face and, damn if that wasn’t a mistake. She was looking at him with her impossible big eyes, lips parted and cheeks flushed, and all he could think of was kissing her again, harder than he did before.

“No, no… I’m…” She tried to put some words together, not even sure of what she was supposed to say. One damn kiss and her brain was already fried.

“I shouldn’t have… I mean… Sam…” He tried to apologize the best he could, but she was so distracting with her fingers on her swollen lips and furrowed brow.

“Uhm… Sam?” She echoed him, while still caressing her lip. She just had the most amazing, mind-blowing kiss and they had just stopped to talk about Sam? Why on earth were they talking about Sam, and why was he looking like she had just said the most stupid thing?

“Look Y/N, that kiss was…” He started, but she cut him off before he could even have the chance to find the right adjective to describe it.

“…It was…” She said, mimicking an explosion with her hands. Dean nodded his head in approval, smirking because yeah, it did feel like an explosion for him too.

“And as much as I want to repeat that…” He continued, but again he was being cut off by her and her eagerness.

“Oh, you can repeat that as much as you want, not complaining.” She whispered, making his smirk grow even bigger. Dean shook his head, licking his lips and faintly tasting her again.

“I want to, trust me, but I can’t do that to Sam.”

“Do what?”

“I can’t go behind his back like that. It was a mistake on my part, and it won’t happen again…”

“Dean, I think you got it wrong.”

“No, wait, let me finish this.”

“Me and Sam are not together-together.”

“I was just too… wait, what?” He asked, confusion written all over his face, and it was quite funny to see him like that if you asked Y/N.

“I’m not with Sam.”

“You’re not? But I saw you two…” He said, tilting his head to the side like that could have helped him to understand what was happening.

“We sleep together sometimes, yes, but we don’t have a relationship.”

“You don’t?” He was starting to sound like a broken record, and he was well aware of that, but he couldn’t help it.

“No, we don’t.” Y/N whispered while getting on her knees and slowly shifting towards him. Dean watched her move and he started to match her movements. He sat up and without breaking eye contact he slid backward, stopping only when his back hit the headboard. He bit down on his lip while she reached for him and sat on his lap. Dean welcomed her by putting his hands on her hips and tilting his head up just to get a better look at her.

“Sometimes, it is easy for us to rely on each other to scratch that hitch. But that’s what all that is, a hitch.” Y/N explained, putting her hands on his shoulders to steady herself before she slowly started to move her hips back and forth.

“A hitch, hm?”

“Yeah. Your brother likes to be pegged sometimes, and that’s not something you can do with a stranger.”

Dean tightened his grip on her hips, helping her move against him and creating more friction between their two bodies. Y/N followed his movements, leaning a bit closer to him. She let her fingers travel along his shoulders and to his neck, scratching his skin right where his hairline started.

“What about you, Y/N?”

“What about me?” She whimpered against his lips, her eyes darting to his eyes while her hips moved faster against him, and she could already feel him hardening underneath her.

“What do you like?” He asked her, darting to the side and slowly tracing the skin of her neck with the tip of his tongue. Y/N moaned, her moves faltering for a moment while she tilted her head to the side, giving him better access, which he gladly took, lacing his lips around her pulse point right under her jaw.

“F-fuck… Dean…”

Hearing her moan his name like that made him swell in his pants, and damn if that wasn’t the most erotic thing he ever heard. He sucked at her skin long and hard, making her squirm on his lap before letting her go. Dean let his hands wander through her body, stopping only when he reached her face. He cupped her cheeks in his palms, pushing away the few strands of hair that were hiding her from him.

“You didn’t answer me, sweetheart. What do you like?”

“I… I don’t… I don’t know.” She whimpered, biting down on her lips while still moving her hips against his crotch. Dean leaned closer then, pressing their chest together. His lips grazed at her swollen one, while one of his arms sneaked behind her, stilling her movements.

“What did you like for Sam to do to you?”

“It wasn’t… it wasn’t like that.”

“How was it, then?” He asked, desperately searching her eyes. Y/N’s cheeks were on fire just like the rest of her body, and Dean’s gaze on her made everything much worse. She could feel her panties sticking to her wetness and the only thing she wanted was to move again, hard and fast until she could come against him, and she didn’t care if she looked too desperate.

“It was mostly about Sam.”

“Did he even let you come?” Dean asked her, never leaving her eyes while his free hands closed around one of her breasts. Y/N closed her eyes, arching her back and making Dean’s life way easier. As soon as she was closer to him, he latched his lips around her other covered nipple, sucking at it through the fabric.

“Som-sometimes… fuck.” She whimpered, unable to do anything while trapped like she was between Dean's arms. She scratched with her fingers on his scalp before closing them around his locks to push him closer to her breast. Dean moaned around her nipple, letting it go with a pop.

“Why don’t we find out what makes your toes curl, hm?”

Y/N had lost count of how many times he made her toes curl.

She was laying on the bed with her hands fisting the sheets beneath her and her leg closed. Dean was hovering over her, pushing inside her with slow, languid movements. In that position, she could feel every inch of his cock reaching places she didn’t even know could be reached before.

Dean leaned forward, letting his chest graze the sweaty skin of her back. He moved some of her hair, uncovering her neck and tracing it with his tongue. Y/N turned her head to the side to give him better access. In that weird position, she could get a glimpse of him all sweaty. She reached for him, blindly grabbing the nape of his neck, and guiding him towards her mouth. Dean indulged her, kissing her deep and slow without stopping his movements. He could feel her walls flutter around his cock, and he knew that if she kept doing that he would have come soon.

Dean broke the kiss, breathing her in. A bid of saliva kept them still connected while he took hold of one of her hands, still closed around his sheets, and the other sneaked beneath her body in search of her breast.

“I want to feel you come around my cock, sweetheart. Can you do that for me?” He whispered, nuzzling his nose right under her jaw.

Y/N whimpered, shaking her head at his question while she could feel his lips against her warm skin.

“No? Are you sure? ‘Cause I can feel you tightening around me with every push, babe.” He groaned, thrusting himself deeper and letting her clit brush a bit more against the mattress. “Let go, Y/N. C’mon, babe. Be a good girl for me and I’ll fill you up so good.” She moaned shamelessly, and at that moment she knew.

It was his voice that made her toes curl.

It wasn’t simply about the words he spoke to her, which were a turn-on. Other people had said the same thing to her, though, and none of them managed to turn her on that much. No, it was the way he said it with his voice deepening at the right moment. It was about the way he whispered it in her ear or let it slide on her warm skin. It was the way he groaned after the right push, the way he moaned in her mouth when she met him halfway.

“F-fuck, Y/N… ‘m close…” he panted, hiding his face on the crock of her neck. That was all it took for her to come undone. Dean felt her walls spasming around him, and after one more push he was following her, moaning out loud while emptying himself inside her.

They stayed still for a few minutes, trying to take long breaths after it felt like they had been without air for so long. Slowly, Dean fell on his right side, bringing her with him: her back against his chest, and his cock still nestled between the warmth of her legs. He covered the both of them with a blanket before sneaking his arm around her middle, while his nose nestled behind the nape of her neck. Y/N closed her eyes, snuggling against Dean’s chest a bit more while trying to regain control of her breathing.

“That was…” She whispered, too impatient to fill the silence around them, which was something new for her. silence with Dean had always been somehow comforting, but tonight things had shifted, and now that her high was coming down, she was starting to get aware of what had just happened.

“…unexpected.” He finished for her, all of a sudden too unsure of everything. He couldn’t stop thinking that he might as well just ruined the friendship they had because he couldn’t keep it in his pants.

“Yeah… yeah.” She agreed with him before falling silent over again, simply enjoying a bit more of their closeness. Dean felt her moving a little between his arms, so he reluctantly loosened his grip on her. As soon as she was a bit freer to move, Y/N started to slowly dislocate from him, making both of them moan the moment his cock slipped out of her. Dean was ready to see her get up and walk away from his room when she turned around in his arms, facing him.

“Did you mean what you said?” She dared to ask, making him frown in confusion. “Did you think about how it would be to have me between your legs like that?”

“Oh…” Dean whispered, swallowing down hard without being able to form a more coherent thought. He cleared his throat, all of a sudden too dry. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Have you ever tried something like that?” She asked, watching him blush at her words.

“Uhm… I…” He stammered a little, searching for the right words other than the obvious ones just to impress her somehow; even though he knew it was a stupid thing to do, somehow she seemed not to mind.

“Would you like to try?”

[moondancer71]

The Spirit of Christmas | a Jonerys Christmas one-shot

Summary: With a promotion at stake, Dany must secure an appraisal for a historical inn before the New Year. The only problem is the ghost who occupies the inn during the twelve days before Christmas won’t let that happen.

“The door was open,” Dany explained, even though she lacked the need for an invitation as this was a business and not a residential property. 

“It wasn't,” the man countered, lips pressed in a thin line. “I’m actually in the middle of closing the inn down for the holidays.” 

Dany furrowed her brow. “Closing? Isn’t this the high season?” She looked around and saw that the inn lacked Christmas decorations. 

“Tradition.” He took the picture from her hands and returned it to its spot on the mantel. “I’m Davos Seaworth, the innkeeper.” He extended his hand to her. “You must be Ms. Targaryen from Manderly and Hornwood Law Firm.” 

Dany returned Davos’s handshake. “Please call me Dany. Yes, I’m here for the property appraisal.” 

Davos scrubbed a hand across his beard. “Yes, Mr. Tarly arrived early and…he left early.” 

“Yes, I saw him leave. Did something happen?” 

Davos shrugged. “It’s probably the ghost. Jon has never harmed anyone, but every once in a while he does like to assert himself.” 

“Jon.” Dany snorted. “You’re on a first name basis with the ghost?”

Read the complete fic on AO3. Thank you @arielchelby for beta reading and the encouragement! Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! 🎁🎄

Ice and Fire Jonerys Discord

[certain-blue-eyes]

I'll Be Home For Christmas

Originally written for the Holiday Card Exchange (from one of our Facebook groups), this story is now up for everyone.

Story AND art are both created by myself this time. 🙈

May your holiday season be peaceful, filled with laughter and joy, and may you receive lots of presents. Material or non-material. 😊

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!!! 🎅🏼🎄🎁🎆

[whalewolvesinlondon]

I loooove the time travel trope in fanfiction and even just normal fiction. Not only is it fun when one or two characters know literally everything that is going to happen, so they have to race to try to prevent or perpetuate it, it's also fun to see what brand of time travel is occurring. I have never seen one fandom that I am a member of that doesn't have at least one time travel fic of some sort. Time travel via magic, super advanced technology, because the character died and a higher power likes them, Groundhog Day scenario, for some fucking reason tea cups, etc. I just love it

[yourmomxx]

Those Christmas Lights (light up the street)

Dean Winchester x child!reader

Summary: It’s Jack’s first Christmas, you want to get Dean a special present, and Cas makes terrible eggnog

Warnings: 13+, slight kidnapping, slight throwing up, not edited yet

Word Count: 8,5k

A/N: this is my way of wishing you all a very merry Christmas! whether you’re celebrating today, tomorrow, or in January (or any other day) - merry christmas and also a happy new year!

It was on a Sunday when you decided that you wanted to celebrate Christmas this year. You were looking through some old boxes, when you came across an ornament you made with Ellen and Jo back when you lived at the Roadhouse.

It was a colorful star folded out of red and yellow colored paper. It spun back and forth on a golden thread as you held it up.

When you were still celebrating, before you moved into the bunker with Sam and Dean, and all the holidays kind of faded into the background. You looked at the slightly crumpled star. Maybe it was time to revive some traditions.

As you entered the kitchen, you were greeted by the smell of fried bacon and eggs and the sight of the Winchester brothers, who seemed to have been awake a little longer. Or hadn't slept at all.

As you entered the kitchen, you were greeted by the smell of fried bacon and eggs and the sight of the Winchester brothers, who seemed to have been awake a little longer. Or hadn't slept at all.

The equivalent of blooming life as Dean, seated on the table, stared into his half-filled cup as if the black coffee in it would give him back his lost sleep. Sam was standing by the sink, scrubbing a clean plate in circular motions - and had been for several minutes.

It seemed like yesterday's hunt had demanded a lot from both of them. You cautiously entered the kitchen and waited for them to notice you. But both seemed caught up in their own tired thoughts, which is why you cleared your throat to draw attention to yourself. Sam's head shot up while Dean only slowly turned his in the bare minimum to signal that he knew you were here.

"I was thinking," you began, and Dean snorted into his cup as he lifted it to his lips. "That doesn't sound good."

You ignored him and continued talking undeterred. "I think we should celebrate Christmas this year."

Sam stopped in his bid to wash the plate and eyed you. "Christmas?" he asked and you nodded. "Yes, exactly."

"What makes you think of that now?" Dean's sleepy-sluggish voice came from the kitchen table.

"First of all, I think we need a break," you explained as you sat down across from Dean at the kitchen table. "And second, that would be Jack's first Christmas. He would experience something other than the torment that the world has to bring, but more - joy and warmth. I think we owe him that.”

Dean frowned. "First of all," he said, sort of mocking you, and raising his index finger, "we don't need a break. We're fine.”

You shot him a look. "If Sam keeps scrubbing that plate over there, it's going to have a hole in it eventually."

The dishes rattled as Sam put his plate on the pile next to the sink.

"And second, Jack has it great with us," Dean continued, ignoring your comment.

"Mm-hm, sure," you said in a sarcastic tone. "I'm sure the end of the world and the inheritance of Lucifer was nothing short of a dream from a first year of life."

Dean just shrugged and took another sip from his cup.

"I'm not even talking about a big Christmas," you tried to argue further, "It doesn't have to involve gifts, or Elf on the Shelf, or anything like that. Just some decorations, and a tree, and maybe some nice food. That's it."

You gave both of them pleading looks, but a little more to Sam because he was always a bit easier to convince for such things than your father.

Sam cleared his throat and reached for the next plate to clean it. "I mean, the idea doesn't sound that bad," he said, and a smile spread across your lips.

But Dean's head was spinning so fast you thought he was going to snap his neck.

“That’s coming from you?”, he asked incredulously, "what happened to your whole 'I hate holidays of any kind' attitude?"

Sam shrugged and looked down at his dishes like it was the most interesting thing in the world. "Y/N is right. We could probably use a break. And treat Jack to something that doesn't put him in danger or involve hunting something? Doesn't sound so bad."

Dean looked at his brother like he just told him he fucked an archangel. He narrowed his eyes hard once, then slowly turned back to you and took another sip of his coffee. "Then the verdict was well passed," he murmured dramatically.

You smiled and banged your flat hands on the table in excitement. "Thank you!" you said happily and jumped up. "I'll tell Jack." And with that you were out of the kitchen again.

Dean waited until he was sure you were out of earshot, then turned to Sam. "Not a bad idea? What happened to you?”

Sam ignored his brother and began to put the plates back in the shelves. In the process, he had to move some misplaced cups and bowls out of the way. Apparently Castiel had cleared out the dishwasher again.

"We've got two kids here now, Dean," Sam said. "Although one of them looks more like a twenty-two year-old, but still." He closed the cabinet doors and made his way out of the kitchen.

"Don't ruin the Christmas spirit, Dean!" he called out.

"The Christmas spi- Since when are you interested in Christmas?" Dean was outraged, but Sam couldn't - or didn't want to - hear him anymore.

—

Dean Winchester was a complicated man about a lot of things. Feelings, interpersonal relationships, trust, feelings. But he was definitely simple in one thing: his interests.

In your opinion, Dean Winchester could be described as a nerd, even if you would never tell him that to his face. That was a realization you made to yourself at one point and one that you would keep to yourself.

But this realization made it easy for you to choose a gift for him. Yes, you said no presents this Christmas, but that wasn't a rule, more a persuasion tactic to get Sam and Dean to celebrate it with you.

But secretly you knew exactly what you would get Dean. And you knew where to get it, too, but you'd have to sneak away from the watchful eyes of your family first. Under a good pretext, of course. And you actually already had it.

With a small cloth bag on your shoulder, for money and later the gift you would come back with, you entered the Crows Nest, where Dean and Cas sat bent over a piece of paper - actually, Cas stood - and were discussing something.

Dean looked up when he saw you coming and eyed the bag with suspicion. "Where are you going?"

You stopped just short of the stairs up. "Buy a Christmas tree," you lied, "I figured better late than never."

A few days had passed since you had had the conversation with Sam and Dean in the kitchen, and the subject of Christmas hadn't been explicitly brought up since.

The bunker still had its old, undecorated glory (if you could call it that) and from the looks of it, Dean was already keeping his eyes out for a new hunt.

You could tell from the brief, confused look that flitted across his face when you said the words "Christmas" and "tree" to him, but he skilfully covered it up with a clearing of his throat.

"That's right, there was something," he said and you raised your eyebrows. Just as you were about to go up the stairs, you heard Dean's voice say, "Take Jack with you."

You stopped abruptly and slowly turned in the direction of your father, who was looking up at you together with the angel.

"Jack?" you repeated questioningly. "Why that?"

Not that you had a problem with that, no, no. But the thing is, you wanted to buy a secret gift for Dean, and Jack, well. He wasn't very good with secrets. Not even on purpose. But the ability to distinguish relevant information to be released from information that should be kept private was sometimes difficult for him.

Dean leaned back in his chair. "Well, you said that one of the reasons that you suddenly went all Whoville was because you wanted to show Jack the good side of life. So take him with you. Buy a Christmas tree.”

Cas next to him nodded. "I think that sounds like a very good idea too."

Dean pointed to Cas behind him and made a face that clearly said ‘See?’.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes and protest as you reluctantly tramped back down the stairs and set off in search of the Nephilim.

When the heavy door of the bunker closed again a few minutes later behind the two of you, Cas turned a little critically to Dean and asked: "What did you mean when you talked about Christmas?"

"Huh?" Dean only looked up briefly from the spell they had been eyeing before he understood Cas' question and gave his attention back to the piece of paper.

“Ah yes, Y/N got it in their head that we really need to celebrate Christmas this year. Something about we need a break and Jack needs to get to know the good things in life. That whole crap.” He waved it off and read an ingredient out loud. "Lamprocapnos spectabilis. What's that supposed to mean? If witches write stuff like that, then please do it in a way that I don't need a doctor's degree to understand all of it!"

"But if today is Christmas Eve," Cas continued, without paying much attention to Dean's tantrum, "Why do you not see that anywhere here?" He looked around. "Excuse my bluntness, but I think it looks as barren as ever."

Dean put his head in his hands and stifled a groan. "That's because nobody has hung anything up yet, Cas," he growled to the angel.

Ca's frown deepened. "But why? If Y/N wishes-"

"I don't know if you've noticed, Cas, but we've been a little busy kicking the devil's ass back to hell lately, so sorry if I don't put myself in white and red dress-up and hop around shouting Ho-Ho-Ho!”

Castiel rolled his shoulders back and cocked his chin. His eyes sparkled angrily. "Dean,” he said, “Your child has never asked for anything before. Only ever did what you wanted to keep you satisfied. I think you can grant them this one wish.”

Dean wanted to say something, but Cas had already turned away and headed for the library. "Now if you'll excuse me, I will go find Sam and look for something to decorate with him. So we can celebrate Christmas.”

And with that he was gone, leaving Dean alone in the Crows Nest, parchment still on the table and head thrown back in annoyance.

—

While the adults stayed back in the bunker, you and Jack had taken it upon yourselves to pick a fitting Christmas tree. You had taken the Impala to a nearby village, which’s advertisement told you that you would find some here.

Now you were following the written signs, Jack trailing slightly behind you.

“What are we even looking for in a Christmas tree?” Jack suddenly asked and you shrugged.

“Well, nothing specific, really. Just a tall pine tree, which we will put in the bunker and then we’ll decorate it with some ornaments, tinsel, and maybe candy canes.”

“What are those?”

“What are what?”

“Candy canes. What are those?”

You stopped dead in your tracks and turned to Jack with a look of disbelief on your face. “You don’t- you don’t know what candy canes are?” You asked.

Jack frowned. “No,” he said.

“But you know about punch, right?” You asked. “And candied apples? And roasted almonds?”

Jack’s frown deepened and turned into a thinking pout. “No, I don’t.”

You couldn’t believe it. Jack Kline, the nephilim, the most powerful being in this universe, was standing in front of you and telling you he didn’t know the most important elements of a successful Christmas time.

Then again, his multi-dimensional knowledge maybe didn’t apply to the nostalgic beings of life.

Curtly, you took Jack’s hand and began pulling him after you. “Well then it’s about time I introduce you.”

“And what about the Christmas tree?” Jack asked. “I think they’ll survive if it reaches the bunker a few hours later,” you calmed him down. And with that, you took course towards a constellation of small huts, with crowds of people standing around and chattering, an excited Jack Kline in tow.

—

Annoyed and yet willing - as you know him - Dean Winchester stood on a long ladder and tied a few loose fir branches to the banister with some wool, which Sam hung with small bells.

It had taken a few hours, and yet they had made it.

“Wow Sam, the decoration we found in your room was indeed enough,” Castiel praised as he admired a wreath hanging from the archway.

Sam smiled and tied one last bell in a pine branch. Then he handed it to Dean.

"I still think we should hang up mistletoe," Sam said conspiratorially and Dean almost fell off the ladder.

"No," the older one decided firmly when he'd recovered. "Absolutely not."

When he wasn't looking, Sam mocked him with grimaces. "Alright, Grinch," he murmured under his breath and got an "I heard that!" thrown at him by his older brother.

Sam shook his head nonchalantly, preferring to step back to survey the work they'd done. Glittering garlands with bows hung over the individual exits from the crows nest, and small wreaths could be seen here and there on the doors. The dancing branches that Dean was hanging up were made from found branches and some loose decorations that they had found in Sam's box.

All in all it didn't look too bad. Dean himself was surprised what his little brother had hidden in his room.

“So” The older one finally climbed down from the ladder and looked at his work on the banister. "Not too bad," he stated, and Sam also knew that this would be the highest level of enthusiasm for the decoration that Dean would show them.

"When we're done here," Castiel said, a slight smile curling his lips, "then I would retire to the kitchen for a little while. I still have work to do there." Before either brother could react, he was gone again.

"Hate it when he does that," Dean gruntled, but proceeded to quietly put the ladder away.

—

Some time and many market stalls later, Jack and you were standing around a small, round table, steaming cups of punch set on the wooden surface in front of you.

Children's punch, of course - non-alcoholic. After all, 50% of those present here were not even two years old.

You cautiously took a sip from your mug, Jack was still eyeing his drink suspiciously after burning his tongue from the hot liquid just a moment earlier.

Seeing how effortlessly you drank, he finally dared to take a small sip, and noticing that the punch had cooled further, he took a larger one. You smiled at him as he put the cup down again and licked his lips with relish. His had a little angel printed on it - which you personally thought was very fitting.

"So," you asked, "Did you enjoy the little Christmas tour?" Jack grinned and nodded enthusiastically.

"And these are all Christmas traditions?" he asked and you nodded. "Yep. That and Santa Claus putting presents under the tree for the good kids on Christmas Eve.” you sighed. “But that's just a tale parents tell their little kids. And as you get older, you realize that it was the adults all along and a bit of the magic is gone."

Jack frowned. "So you know that Santa Claus doesn't exist?"

You nodded "Yes."

“Then, why do you want to celebrate Christmas so badly?” Jack asked, curious.

You lowered your gaze and ran your finger along the side of the mug. Suddenly the little reindeer drawn on it seemed incredibly interesting.

“I don’t know,” you said. But that was a lie. And Jack wasn’t stupid, he knew that. But he didn’t say anything, he just tilted his head slightly.

There was a moment of silence between you two.

“It’s just,” you said, “when I was still living at the Roadhouse, Dean would always visit somewhere around Christmas.” You smiled at the memory.

“When Jo first taught me how to fold stars out of paper, I did it all the time, for everyone. And a second time. And when Dad came by, I made him the most stars out of all. I knew he was always on the road, so I wanted to give him as many things as possible to remember me by. So he wouldn’t forget about me.”

You did your best to swallow the lump that had formed in your throat. “I made him the stars every year. Even if he stopped to come by at some point."

There was that silence again, only this time Jack clearly noticed your dejection and did what he had always seen Cas do when Dean wasn't feeling well.

He reached forward and gently placed his hand on yours. You gave him a grateful smile and he returned it.

Then suddenly, you sniffled once and brushed some loose hair away from your face. "But whatever. Christmas is just my favorite holiday in general.” You took a deep breath, making your shoulders rise and fall, and closed your eyes. “Just the warmth of a nicely decorated house or a nice punch when it's cold outside. There’s something about it."

Jack simply agreed with you on that. He couldn't confirm it himself, so he just trusted you on that point.

You quickly downed the last of your punch and encouraged Jack to do the same. "Come on, drink up. We still have to go somewhere."

Jack did as ordered and you brought back the two cups and received the deposit.

"Let's get a Christmas tree now?" Jack asked excitedly, but you shook your head. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I have to get something else first."

"What then?" He asked.

"My present for my Dad."

"But you said no gifts?"

"It wasn't a rule, it was a necessary evil. But-” You pulled out your phone to double-check the exact address of the store. "I found something really great for him."

"What is it?" Jack sounded almost as excited as you felt, and that excitement was the reason you told him. "You know how much Dean loves Batman, right? And cars?" Jack nodded.

"Well, I scoured my friend, the good old internet, and found someone selling a miniature Batmobile!" You told him giddily.

Jack looked confused and it only struck you now that he probably didn't even know what the Batmobile was.

"It’s the car Batman drives." You explained. "Aaah," Jack went, and you could practically see the realization forming on his face as his eyes widened and his mouth opened in amazement.

“And why only a mini version?” he asked further. "Is that a toy car?"

Ouch. Would Dean have heard that now. "No Jack, it's not a toy car" you told him clearly. "It's a collector's item."

“Why would you want to collect small cars?”

You sighed loudly. "I don't know Jack, ask any man over thirty-five."

Jack was about to ask something else, but to your rescue, the small alarm sounded on your cell phone, signaling that you had reached your destination. You stopped and eyed the shop.

It was relatively small, and surrounded by other bright shops, decorated all around with Christmas decorations, it also looked a bit deserted. Miller's Antiques was written in large letters on a sign above the front door. You exchanged a look with Jack. He seemed just as skeptical.

"Well, it won't be that bad," you said, not sure if you were trying to encourage Jack or yourself.

A small bell rang as you opened the door inward.

Jack always stayed behind you, as you entered the small building. It was actually a bit gloomy in here, the shelves, some filled to the ceiling with objects, seemed to keep all the sunlight from falling in. The only source of unnatural light was a shadeless lightbulb suspended in the middle of the room.

"Hello?" You asked into the silence, but there was no answer.

That's how every horror movie starts, you thought, and an uneasy feeling crept in. But no, now you had come so far, you would still manage these last few meters. Just give him the money, take the car, done. And then get out of here as soon as possible.

At the other end of the room was a counter. You and Jack approached it and you tentatively rang the little bell that stood there.

A moment passed, then another, until a slightly older man appeared from behind a curtain that apparently led to the warehouse, and stood at the counter.

"Can I help?" he asked, in a high yet raspy voice. Maybe a smoker, you thought. Or a Broadway singer with severely strained vocal cords.

"My name is Winchester, Y/N," you replied. "We emailed?" He seemed to think for a moment. "Ah yes, of course, Winchester," he finally recalled. "About the car, right?"

"Yes, exactly."

The lanky man leaned to the side a little and eyed Jack up and down with suspicion. "And who is this?"

Before you could reply, Jack had taken a step forward and raised his hand in greeting. "Hello," he said, "my name is Jack Kline. It's nice to meet you."

"He's a family friend," you added as the shop owner raised his eyebrow. "I see," he then murmured, turning back to you.

"You have the money with you?" You rummaged in your bag and held the wallet in front of his eyes.

"Good, good," he said, taking the curtain in his hand. "Then come with me. I put that somewhere back here."

Absolutely not. "Actually that's okay, we'll just wait here until you come back."

The man grinned. “Don't worry. I do not bite." You couldn't see Jack smiling behind you, and just as you were about to protest further, the boy squeezed past you with a "You're right" and followed the man behind the curtain.

You clenched your jaw. You really needed to give this guy some kidnapping avoidance tutoring. Nevertheless, especially because you no longer had a choice, you also stepped forward into the darkened room.

"Jack?" you asked. "Mr Miller?"

But no answer came.

Worried, you went to search the room when you felt something hurt terribly on the back of your head, and at the same moment everything went black.

—

In the meantime in the Bunker, there was a festive Christmas smell coming from the kitchen. Dean dismissed the smell somewhat suspiciously, because "After all, it's Cas," he had told Sam. "He doesn’t eat, how is he supposed to cook something?"

Also, the fact that he had been in there for a while made Dean a little uncomfortable. Not that he broke anything. Or would char. Not in his kitchen.

Hopefully he didn't misclassify the knives. As much as Dean loved him, he wouldn't forgive that.

When Cas then finally entered the library, he carried a wooden tray in front of him. On it were several glasses with a yellow-creamy liquid in them.

Sam and Dean raised their gazes and looked surprised first to the drinks, and then to Cas. "What do you have there, Cas?" Sam asked, trying to peer into the glasses.

"Glad you asked," Castiel said. "This is Egg Nog. I've heard it's a Christmas tradition among humans, so I thought I'd up the ante on the Christmas cheer."

He held out the tray to the two of them. "Try it."

The brothers each grabbed a glass from the tray and took a long gulp of the Christmas drink. Dean's eyes clenched and widened again and Sam's eyebrows shot up. As they put the glasses back down, Castiel asked, "How is it?"

"Mm-hm," Dean said, mouth still full, thumbs up. Sam did the same.

Castiel smiled contentedly. "Well then. I'll put the rest aside so we have enough supplies. And also for Y/N and Jack when they come back.” With that, he turned around and disappeared from the library again towards the kitchen with his tray in hand.

The moment he was out of sight, Dean pulled the closest plant to him and spat the contents out of his mouth into the pot, Sam did the same with his glass.

Dean wiped his mouth. "I have the feeling that Cas read a bottle and a half instead of a cup and a half of rum," he said in disgust.

Sam looked over at him. "Isn't that like a normal dose for you?"

Dean looked at the glass as if it had just bitten his finger. "Not all at once, no," he replied. "But we don't have to tell Cas that." With that, he poured the remaining contents of the glass into the plant pot and turned back to his laptop and the show he was watching.

Zoe was about to break up with Wade and Cas' performance had interrupted the dramatic moment. That was also something he wouldn't tell him.

He had just resumed the series, when Sam felt like he had to interrupt him.

"Tell me, did you get Y/N's gift yet?" he asked. Annoyed, Dean pressed the pause button again and pulled his headphones out of his ears.

"What now?"

"Y/N's present," Sam repeated. "You know, wrapped in colored paper, with a bow-"

"I know what a present is," Dean interrupted abruptly. "But why should I have gotten one for Y/N? They specifically said no gifts.”

Sam sighed. "Dean," he began. Sometimes he thought his brother was a lost cause in this area. "Y/N is your child. And regardless of whether they have a no-gift rule or not, it would be right to give them something anyway. Especially after what has happened the last few years.”

"What's happened in the last few years," Dean grumbled lowly. "I don't even know what to get them!" he followed behind, already a little desperate. Sam had made him nervous.

But the younger one just shrugged. "Neither do I. You probably know them best of all of us.”

That ended the conversation for Sam. And he left behind, sitting opposite him, a thinking Dean Winchester, who still had to find a Christmas present from somewhere. And at best, before you came back, which, unfortunately for him, wouldn't be a very long time. After all, how much time would buying a Christmas tree take?

—

When you woke up, at first you thought you were still unconscious. It took your eyes a while to adjust to the darkness around you and to work with what little light came through a dirty little window.

Slowly but surely, individual silhouettes stood out from the darkness and you recognized furniture, walls, pillars. Now that you thought about it, this looked like a basement. The pillars to support a house and all the junk that was just dumped here because it wasn't needed anymore.

With the realization, a throbbing pain in the back of your head set in. You wanted to raise your hand to grab the spot, but you couldn't. With a groan of frustration, you realized that your hands were tied with ropes around one of the pillars, and it felt pretty tight. Great. At least you were tied so you could sit down.

"Jack?" you asked into the silence, having an odd déjà-vu. Then it popped into your head. The antique shop. Your dad's gift. And the shady man that Jack had so willingly followed behind the curtain.

"Y/N?" came a hesitant voice, and your heart lifted. "Thank the gods you're fine," you sighed.

You still didn't know who this man was or what he wanted exactly. But if he tied you and Jack here together, then maybe he didn't even know he was a Nephilim.

Was it your last name? Did he have a grudge against the Winchesters? Or thought he could lure Sam and Dean out by capturing you? Or Cas with Jack?

Wouldn't be the first time.

The pounding in the back of your head slowly diminished. The blow didn't seem to have been too hard. Which meant you probably hadn't been unconscious for very long either. And yet you thought about it.

"Well, hello!" suddenly sounded a voice. A high, yet scratchy one. Either a smoker or a former Broadway star. The voice of the man who locked you in here.

"Miller," you spat. He stopped in front of you and grinned down at you. Only now did you notice that he held a pistol in his right hand. Swell.

"Good morning sunshine!" he chirped. "Sleep well?" He didn't wait for an answer from you, just kept talking. "I apologize for the inconvenience, please understand, we are not a star hotel here, but I made the best of it."

You clenched your jaw and gave him murderous looks.

"Who are you? Why are you doing all this?” Jack called from behind you and you tried to put your hand on his to signal 'shut up'. But it was too late. Miller's attention shifted to Jack until he was standing in front of him as well.

"Why am I doing this?" he repeated, still grinning. "Why, for the money of course!" That's when he licked his lips and looked back at you angrily.

“And most people are so totally fine with getting their pieces delivered. By post. You tell them you have something that they want, one of Britney Spears’ gel nails, the scarf that Niki Lauda wore at his first race …” He trailed off. You made a face. “And the bottom line is: I get the money, but these people never get their product. That's the way it works."

He lazily pointed his gun towards you.

"But no, not you," he continued scornfully. "You wanted to come by personally. Get a Batmobile collectible.” He cracked a dirty laugh. “So I had to improvise! That is why, both of you, are sitting here, tied up." He shrugged his shoulders. "It wasn't my first option, but I had to think fast."

You were confused. What the guy said made some sense, but only if one piece of the puzzle in your story was wrong.

"The money? internet fraud? What-" you cut yourself off as you came to a realization. “Wait, are you- human?”

Now it was Miller's turn to be confused. "Uh yeah? And newsflash, you are too?”

"So, you're no demon?" You continued to ask. "Shapeshifter, vampire, anything?"

"No, I- what the hell are you even talking about?" He looked at Jack as if he had all the answers ready for him.

"Ugh," you groaned, banging your head against the pillar behind you. Which in hindsight probably wasn't such a smart idea, because now it was hurting again.

"You're telling me we got overrun by some common white guy?" Embarrassing. If your dad found out! Holy hell.

But Miller seemed duly indignant at your report. "Well, I beg you pardon," he said. "I think I did pretty well for a beginner." He shrugged.

"Now that I think about it, it's actually kind of a shame. I've grown fond of you two. Especially you, cowboy.” He pointed the pistol at Jack.

"You seem so easy."

"And now?" Jack asked, with as much contempt in his voice as he could muster. "Are you going to kill us?"

Miller's eyes widened in mock horror. "Kill you?" he asked. "Oh no, no, no. I'm not a murderer. And it's Christmas.” He smiled, and you didn't like it at all.

"No, you just stay here. For a while. A couple of days. Nobody ever comes down into this cellar. And if you starve to death, well.” He sighed in faked wistfulness. "Then I call that a very tragic end to two young lives."

"That's a lot worse than just shooting us," you pointed out and the man rolled his eyes. "Teens and their smartasses," he murmured.

"Well then," he said, stamping his foot briefly. "I'm getting back to work. You two, have a good time down here. And don't even try yelling, the doors are pretty thick.” He waved goodbye before turning and heading up the stairs. "Until then!"

You wriggled indignantly in your bonds. "Good, then leave us here!" You yelled after him. "But if the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future come to take you, I will not save you, Mr Scrooge!"

The thunder of the heavy steel door signaled his absence and you slumped back into your still position.

"Mr Scrooge?" You grimaced. "That was the best I could do?"

"Y/N," Jack's voice came from across the pillar. "How do we get out of here?"

You thought.The adults didn't have a clue where you were, and due to the defensive sigils on your ribs and Jack's powers, Castiel couldn't track you.

Jack's Powers!

"Jack, you have to break these bonds!" you begged him.

It was quiet for a moment. "I- I don't know how." Jack's voice sounded small and scared from the other side, and you felt almost bad for pressuring him like that.

"I know it scares you, Jack," you coaxed him. “But we won't get out of here otherwise. I didn't take any of my knives, I wasn't prepared for that. Our dads don't know where we are. You're the only one who can save us and get us home, Jack. Please."

He still hesitated. "I believe in you," you continued to encourage him. “You can do this. Call it a Christmas miracle. It will work and you won't hurt me."

You felt your hands getting warmer. But it wasn't warmth, like from a flame or a fireplace, no, it was pure energy. Pure and pulsating, it emanated from Jack's hands and in the next instant, the bonds were loose.

You jumped up to help Jack up too, only to feel the consequences as your head started pounding again.

"See?" you smiled at him. "Christmas Miracle." A small, proud smile played on Jack's lips as well as he looked at his hands.

A loud bang sounded moments later as the heavy door was thrown off its hinges. You clambered over it, and followed a few more spiraling stairs up to the back room where Miller knocked you down earlier.

Carefully, you and Jack crept between the stuffed shelves until you reached the black curtain again and slowly pushed it a bit aside.

Almost immediately in front of you, Miller was standing, with his back to you, engrossed in his laptop. Jack took a quick step forward and placed his palm on the back of the man's head, and the next moment he fell unconscious to the ground.

"He's just-" "Unconscious," Jack assured you, taking your hand. "Come on, we have to get out of here."

"One moment." You bent down and grabbed Miller's ankles. "We have to do something first. Help me."

Jack grabbed the man under his arms and you both carried him out of the small shop. The bell jingled as the door opened and closed again.

—

In the meantime. several hours had passed. Which was more hours than Dean would have liked. The sun was already low in the sky, and even if they couldn't see it from the bunker, Dean could guess it. He was about a vanishing ray of sunshine away from jerking open the door and personally looking for Jack and Y/N.

"They’ve been gone too long," he said, for what must have been the thirteenth time, as he paced around the Crows Nest. Sam looked up from his book and to his brother.

"Dean, they're both almost adults. And Jack is the most powerful entity in this universe. I think they’ll manage.”

"Mm-hm," Dean went, and Sam knew he hadn't convinced him. Just like the other twelve times.

Then, as if called upon, they heard the squeak of the heavy front door and a slightly disheveled Jack Kline entered, with an exhausted Y/N Winchester in tow.

Dean was already waiting for you both at the foot of the stairs. "What the hell took you so long? And why didn't either of you answer your phone? We didn't know where you were, something could have happened to you!"

You and Jack ducked your heads and Jack was about to say something when you cut him off. "I'm sorry, Dad," you apologized. "Will not happen again."

Dean's anger seemed to subside a little because his voice sounded calmer and softer when he said it. "I hope so. I was worried."

And even if it was probably a little inappropriate in this situation, you felt a bit warm at his words.

"Uhm guys", Sam asked. "Where is the Christmas tree?"

You and Jack looked at each other in alarm and then back at the adults. Now Dean's eyebrows were raised expectantly, too.

“The Christmas tree?”, you asked, slowly. Sam nodded.

"We got kidnapped," Jack blurted out.

"Excuse me what now?" Dean's eyebrows shot up.

"Yes, Jack," you slowly dragged, turning to the Nephilim. "What?"

"But we took care of it," he added and in his eyes shone pride. “I used my powers. Without hurting anyone."

Cas nodded in appreciation. “That is a very success. I'm proud of you."

Jack's smile almost went in circles if his ears weren't between them, he smiled so hard.

Dean, however, still seemed a little worried. "Are you alright? Did they hurt you?” He reached for your head, but you dodged him. "It's fine, Dad, I promise. Like Jack said. We took care of it."

—

One by one, the lights went out in the sheriff's department. Sheriff Dowers, a slightly stocky woman, was turning off the last of the lights as she prepared to leave her office.

Christmas Eve with the whole family, well that would be something - again. With her mother-in-law, who always complained about how seldom she was at home, or her great-aunt, who had something to criticize about her appearance every time they saw each other.

She shuddered just at the thought. It would take her nerves of steel again to get through this. And lots of mulled wine.

Dowers rubbed her eyes tiredly and was about to lock the door, when she suddenly saw a crouched figure in the darkness. As she got closer, she realized it was a man, probably in his forties, hands tied behind his back on the lantern that stood in front of the police station.

Through the dim light she saw a folded Christmas card tied to the man's bonds. It featured a decorated Christmas tree with gifts and the words "Merry Christmas to you!".

The sheriff opened the card in surprise and hesitated, as she read it: My name is Aaron Miller, owner of Miller's Antiques. I have scammed countless people out of their money online. You can find all of this on my laptop. Best wishes and a Merry Christmas! was written in it.

Sheriff Dowers looked at the man tied up. She had never experienced such a strange arrest. But that was just fine with her. Maybe her Christmas Eve wasn't going to be as torturous as expected after all.

—

After another lecture on safety and self-defense from Dean, you'd retreated to the warmth of your room to get out of your wet, cold, dirty clothes.

You were now dressed in an oversized hoodie and red plaid pajama bottoms. While you were stuffing the dirty things into the laundry basket, there was a soft knock on the door. "Yes?" you answered, and your Dad walked in through the open door.

"Hey," he said. "Hey," you said back.

For a moment neither of you said anything, you just stood there and looked at each other. Then Dean broke the silence.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked. Again.

"Yes I'm fine," you assured him. Again. "I fight monsters on a weekly basis, I think I'll be able to deal with a human kidnapping."

Dean's facial expression changed. "Wait. Are you saying - that was no monster?” he asked.

You shook your head. "Nope."

"You got jumped by a regular guy?"

You threw your arms in the air and Dean chuckled.

"Oh, now all of a sudden you're not worried anymore?"

He put an arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer to him. "I know there's nothing to worry about because I know you kicked ass."

You grinned up at him. "Indeed we did."

Dean cleared his throat and let go of you. Then he sat on the edge of your bed and patted the seat next to him.

"So," he began when you sat down next to him, "I know you said we don't need any presents this Christmas. But, I figured, after all you've accomplished since you've been with us-' He pulled out a small package, wrapped in brown parchment paper and sealed neatly, and for a moment it occurred to you that probably Sam was the one who had wrapped it.

"Well, I figured you deserved it," Dean finished, handing you the present.

Incredulous, you opened the taped ends to avoid tearing the paper and pulled out what was in it.

"Stockings?" You gave your dad a questioning look.

Dean shrugged. "Yes, so you can hang them over the fireplace next year," he explained. "You know, how you do it at Christmas. I think."

"Next year?" you asked hopefully.

Now he avoided your gaze. "Well, I mean yeah, Christmas is stressful and pretty much unnecessary when you think about it, and we don't have time for-" He stopped himself and took a deep breath. "But maybe if we prepare a little better next time, it could be quite nice. And maybe then with official gifts.”

He smiled at you. You couldn't believe it. and without further ado you threw the stockings on the bed and pulled your dad into a tight hug.

"Thank you," you mumbled in his ear.

“You earned it, kiddo,” he said back. “I’m proud of you.”

You smiled into his flannel shirt. "Your heart has tripled in size. Like the Grinch.”

"Okay, thanks, Merry Christmas to you too," Dean replied in a sarcastic tone and broke the hug.

You were looking at the stockings next to you when you suddenly remembered what had become of your gift, and felt slightly depressed.

"I, um-" You lowered your gaze and fumbled with your fingers. “I actually had the plan to give you something, too. But then there was this thing with-"

At that moment the door was yanked open and both Dean's and your head shot in that direction. But only Jack stood in the doorway, hand raised in greeting. "Hello," he said, taking a step further into your room. The door that had opened so loud rested quietly against the wall. He must have used his powers to open it.

"Y/N, I am bringing you the gift for Dean," he continued, and only now did you register the small package in his hands.

"Wh-" You gaped at Jack in confusion.

He just smiled his innocent smile at you and nodded his head.

"Yes, you almost forgot it in the kitchen."

He placed the object in your hands. 'Thank you', you mouthed in his direction. Jack simply smiled and then courtly left the room again, but not before raising his hand to say goodbye, of course.

You turned to Dean again and, a little awkwardly, put the present in his hands.

You wondered what it could be. It definitely wasn't the car, the package wasn't the right shape for that. It was circular, yet a little flat. It was wrapped with colorful Christmas wrapping paper, and sealed with much, much tape. You smiled to yourself at the thought of Jack, highly focused, doing his best to cover up whatever was in there.

On top of it was a white bow, that Dean sort of brutally ripped off, just as he did the rest of the paper – a total opposite to your careful hand.

As he pulled the item out of the paper, you could almost see his eyes light up as he read the label.

"Howard Coleman's limited-edition Christmas pie—with cinnamon and apples straight from the North Pole!" And now you got it, too. It was the pie that Dean had been eyeing in stores for the past few days, whenever they passed it. All you knew about it was that it seemed to only come out once a year — around Christmas time — and it was supposed to taste like Santa baked it himself with his elves.

You smiled to yourself. How pure Jack was that he remembered it and allowed you to pass it off as your gift.

Dean was still grinning from ear to ear. "Ha-ha! I gotta show this to Sam, we gotta cut him straight!”

With that, he jumped up and planted a loving kiss on your hairline. "Thank you," he said and then he was already out the door.

—

Everyone was gathered in the crows nest. The garlands glittered and the whole building was filled with the smell of cinnamon. Little conversations ensued and everyone held a mug full of hot chocolate that Sam had specially conjured up.

A better option than Cas' failed egg-nog.

When the angel had gone around, offering you and Jack one of the glasses, all you could see was Sam hastily making a ‘Don’t do it’-gesture, and that was enough for you to politely say No.

"Have a good Christmas," you said, sprinkling sprinkles onto the whipped cream in your cocoa.

But Jack just looked at the empty space under the stairs.

"Now we don't even have a Christmas tree," he remarked, disappointment evident in his voice. Sam and you gave the young boy pitying looks.

Suddenly the signature woosh of Cas' wings could be heard and the angel was gone. Dean looked puzzled next to himself, where he had just been standing, and whirled around when he heard the wings again - accompanied by a rustling and clanking.

There, under the stairs, stood Castiel, with a huge green fir tree beside him, adorned with blue, white, and silver decorations. Jack's eyes almost popped out of his head and your mouth dropped open.

"Cas, where- where did you get that tree?" Sam asked incredulously. Cas looked at him with an almost reproachful look. "I'm an angel, remember?" he said, and that settled the matter.

Then Dean re-entered the room, having only recently left it unnoticed by anyone, holding an old CD-player in his hand.

He placed it on the big table and pushed a few buttons, and a slow Christmas carol started playing out of the speakers.

Everyone raised their mugs of hot chocolate and Dean poured some cherry liqueur into everyone's cups. You pressed yours close to Sam's, but Dean, always the psychic, noticed and pushed it away with his pinky finger.

You gave him a grim look, but he ignored you.

"Merry Christmas," Cas wished, and the rest joined in the chorus. "Merry Christmas!"

Mugs were clattering against each other, and Jack could be heard silently humming along to the music’s tune.

While everyone was busy chatting and laughing with one another, nobody noticed how Dean and Cas stole away. Together they stood a little apart, under the archway that led to the library. Dean leaned casually against the stonewall and looked at the scene that was playing out in front of them.

A slight smile graced his lips, and he didn't notice how Cas looked at him from the side, wearing just the same fond smile on his face.

"Considering that a few years ago I wouldn't have even dreamed of this happening - Christmas, hot chocolate, decorations-" Dean stopped himself. "A child. That doesn't come from murderous female warriors and wants to kill me.” He laughed lightly and took a sip of the hot chocolate.

"It's fascinating to see how despite all the suffering we've been through, good moments like this can still happen," Castiel agreed.

Dean turned his attention back to his angel and pushed himself slightly off the wall. "It's even better when everyone you care about is there."

Cas avoided Dean's look in flushed embarrassment. Suddenly the angel felt something trickling down onto his shoulder. It was an oblong shaped, small leaf with smooth edges.

He looked up in surprise. There by the archway above them, hung a bush full of those leaves, and round white berries within.

Dean groaned softly as he followed Cas' gaze and also discovered the plant. "I told Sam not to," he murmured.

Castiel looked at him questioningly. "What is it?"

Dean suddenly got very flustered and started stuttering. "It's, um- it's mistletoe. A Christmas tradition where you—”

"I do, in fact, know this tradition," Cas interrupted him in a low voice.

Dean only now noticed how close the angel actually was to him. And unperturbed, his heart began to beat faster until it pounded in his throat.

He was afraid that Cas could hear it.

But like the conversations around them, this fear faded into the background when Dean leaned forward the last centimeter to Castiel and put his own lips on those of the black-haired angel.

It wasn't a long kiss if measured in time, minutes, seconds. But for Dean it felt infinite. And not the infinity that stretches forever, no. The infinity in which you let yourself fall into a sky full of happiness and love. He let himself fall into the feel of Cas' warm lips on his, which still tasted a little of the hot chocolate and cherry liqueur.

When they broke apart, Dean felt the need to kiss him again at the same moment.

Cas' blue eyes looked deep into his green ones.

"Merry Christmas, Dean," he whispered.

"Merry Christmas, Cas."

And for that one moment, everything was perfect. And everything was warm.

Maybe Y/N was right. Maybe his heart had tripled in size.

Then, Sam's voice rang from the the table. “Cas, is that the Walmart Logo on our Christmas tree?”

[zepskies]

If You Want It To Be - Part 3

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: When your car breaks down after a hunt, Sam and Dean tow you back to the bunker for Christmas. This time of year gives you and Dean a little courage to be honest about what you both want. And what you want, is for him to see you. (18+)

AN: And here’s Part 3! This fic is an entry for @deanwinchesterswitch's TGWRC: Christmas in July event. 🩵❄️

Themes: Mistletoe (a classic), eggnog, Christmas dinner

Word Count: 3,600 Tags/Warnings: 18+! Smuttish, fluff and feels.

Part 3: Christmas Day

The next day, Christmas morning comes. You’re up early after a night of somewhat restful sleep (anticipation of today kept you up for a while). 

And so are the guys, though their enthusiasm isn’t as bright as yours. 

Everyone is still in their pajamas, the humans with their mugs of coffee as you corral your friends into the living room by the sparkling, multicolored tree.

During your trip to Walmart on your first night in, you managed to squeeze in some shopping for actual presents. Your wallet now hates you, and likely will until February. 

But it’s worth it to see the guys’ faces when they find their names on gift-wrapped boxes under the tree. Jack in particular wears an expression of wonder, almost like a little kid. It makes you smile. 

Everyone has a small gift from you, though they clearly weren’t expecting it. Sam accepts his parcel from you with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, I don’t think any of us remembered about this part,” he says.

“No worries,” you wave him off. “It’s just a ‘thank you’ for letting me crash here for the holidays.”

You have a new book for Sam, an old-school Gameboy for Jack, a new set of ties for Castiel. You hold your breath when Dean sits down on the couch to open his. 

He considers the small box with slightly furrowed brows. He glances up at you. 

“What’d you do?” he asks. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Just open it, Dean,” you reply with a laugh. A smile twitches at his face, and he finally obliges you. 

Inside the black velvet box is a nice silver watch with a leather strap. 

Dean blinks in surprise. He glances over at his empty wrist where his father’s watch used to rest, but he hasn’t replaced it since it broke after the witch hunt in Indiana.  

You come over to sit beside him and point out the new watch’s features.

“This part is adjustable,” you explain. “I figured you could take it off and use the strap for your dad’s watch.”

A slow smile spreads across Dean’s face, warm and somewhat disbelieving. You bought him a whole new watch, just so he could use the leather strap for his old one. 

Something in his heart tightens, and also eases when he looks up at you. You’re smiling, a little nervous. 

And Dean can’t help himself. He cups a hand behind your head and kisses your cheek, wishing he could do more, but not wanting to invite curiosity. Already he can feel Sam’s gaze on both of you.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Dean says. “This is…it’s real nice. Thank you.” 

But Sam notices the warmth in his brother’s voice, and the way he looks at you. And the way you’re looking at him, like he hung the damn moon. 

It brings a suspicious smile to Sam’s face. 

When you offer to pick up breakfast, Dean intervenes and says you’ve done enough. Sam will get breakfast going, he insists. (And Sam, rolling his eyes, agrees with him.)

“I’m gonna step out for a sec, but I’ll be back,” Dean then says. 

“See ya later,” you reply with a little wave before you go to help Jack set up his Gameboy. Castiel is already sorting through his new ties, arranging them by color, then by pattern on the sofa. 

You glance over your shoulder though, and manage to catch the way Sam pulls his brother aside. You don’t hear what they’re saying, but it sparks your curiosity. 

“What?” Dean asks. Sam raises a brow at him, with a knowing smile. 

“Get her something good,” Sam tells him. 

“Dude, shut up,” Dean holds a finger over his lips and glances over at you. Thankfully, you seem invested in helping Jack. 

“I’m just saying. Put some effort in,” Sam persists. His eyes hold a teasing glint. “Nothing from the gas station.”

“All right, I got it,” Dean snipes back. It’s none of Sam’s business, really, but he already has an idea growing in his mind as he heads down to the garage.

Dean has all but disappeared since this morning. You thought the two of you were going to talk at some point, but you haven’t seen him all day. 

Maybe it’s stupid, but you start to wonder if he’s avoiding you. If the gift was too much…

Sam happens to catch you lost in thought while you’re glazing a large ham in the kitchen.

“Can I help you with anything?” he asks. 

“Sure,” you reply. “Want to peel the potatoes?”

You glance at the bag on the counter. Sam agrees and joins you to wash and start peeling for you. 

“Have you seen Dean?” you ask him, hopefully subtle. 

Sam’s lips start to form a knowing smile, but he dims it down. “He’s probably in the garage.”

“…Oh, right. God forbid I bother him while he’s working on his car,” you joke. Sam glances at you.

“Or yours, most likely,” he says. “He did promise to get it done by today. Didn’t you guys have a little bet going?” 

He knew about that? you think with a blush. 

“That was silly,” you admit. “It’s Christmas. He should just relax.” 

“When my brother says he’s gonna do something, he commits,” Sam says. “He deals with people the same way.”

You raise a brow at him. “What do you mean?”

Sam just smiles, like he knows something you don’t. He finishes peeling the last potato and sets it down on the counter with the rest.

“All right, what’s next?” he asks.

Once the ham is in the oven and the other side dishes you and Sam prepared are set off to cook, you return to your room to shower and get ready for dinner later. 

You decide to wear the dress you found while you were shopping, before you even knew your relationship with Dean would change. 

You almost went with a red lacy one, but there was something about this dress—green velvet, off the shoulder sleeves and flaring at the waist. It’s simple, but pretty. You pair it with some comfortable black flats. 

You spend longer getting ready, only having to redo your eyeliner once this time. Then you steel yourself, gaining some confidence, and you go downstairs. 

Jack is in the kitchen, sneaking a finger in the cranberry sauce.

“I saw that,” you tease. He stiffens like you’ve caught him red-handed. He quickly tucks his hands behind his back. He notices how you’ve cleaned yourself up with a polite nod.

“You look very nice,” he says. 

“Thanks!” you chirp, blushing lightly. “Want to help me set the table?”

Jack obliges you like the nice kid he is. You two set up the long dining table that the guys usually use for research, first with the new red tablecloth, then the plates and silverware and glasses. 

And finally, while Jack checks on the ham in the oven, you place the (fake) gold candleholders on each side of the table. 

Dean comes out of wherever he’s been hiding, right as you’re leaning far over the table to light a candle. You don’t realize how your dress rides up your thighs in the back, but Dean is captivated by the sight for a moment…until he clears his throat. 

“Need some help there, sweetheart?” 

His unexpected voice startles a yelp out of you. You flail as you lose your balance, but he hooks an arm around your waist and prevents you from catching your hand on fire. He brings you flush against him, smirking down at you.

“Nice reflexes,” he teases. “When’s your audition for the Karate Kid?”

“Oh, shut up,” you gripe back. 

You shoot him a playful glare as you rest your palms against his chest. But it loses its effect when you melt into his subsequent kiss. You reach up to twine your arms around his neck, letting your nails graze up the back of his neck and through his hair. 

He shudders a little, with a pleasant hum, making you smile against his lips.

He breaks from you with a customary Dean grin, which is equal parts flirtatious, amused, and a hint cocky.

“Miss me?” he asks. You smile through your blush, but you have to taper down your inclination to say yes. His gaze drags down your body with interest. 

“I like this dress too,” he says, and his voice fairly rumbles. Along with his scrutiny, it makes your face flare with heat. Your fingers play with a button on his shirt, red flannel this time. He rubs the soft velvet along your hip.

You tilt your face up to him, despite your lingering blush. 

“Where’ve you been all day?” you ask. He quirks a smile. 

“I’ll show you,” Dean says. 

Dean takes your hand and leads you downstairs to the garage. 

There you find the remains of your car, which has rusted out parts strewn haphazardly all over the ground. You raise a brow. This is how he fixes your car? 

“You are so not winning the bet.”

Dean snorts. “It’s an old rust bucket. Needs a complete fucking overhaul, or the scrap heap. If you really want, I’ll get the new parts, fix it up top to bottom…or, you could just take a stroll through my garage.”

He gestures around, where classic cars are lined up on either side of you. A wide grin spreads across your face. 

“Oh my God, you’ll let me drive one of these?” you say in excitement. 

“You can pick one out and take it home,” Dean replies. Though he doesn’t want to think about you leaving…maybe you two can talk that over later.

Your smile falters. “What? Dean, no. This is your collection.”

He pulls you in by your waist and gently bucks his hand beneath your chin. 

“Call it my gift to you,” he says. You notice his father’s watch once again rests on his wrist, with the help of the new leather strap you bought for him.  

“You’d really give me a whole freakin’ car?” you ask, tearing up and beaming bright at the same time. 

Dean brushes your cheek tenderly with curled fingers; his answer is in his eyes. You try your best to blink away your would-be tears. He catches the one that falls from the corner of your eye with his thumb.

“Why don’t you go pick one out?” he suggests, nodding behind you. 

Biting your lip, you reach up and kiss him sweetly before you get started. You miss the way Dean blushes a bit. Because you’re already meandering down the line of beautiful old classics. 

Soon enough you stop at an interesting red one.

“Ooh, this one’s nice,” you say. Dean is unimpressed. 

“No,” he shakes his head, crossing his arms. 

“What, why?”

“I ain’t puttin’ you in a Volvo. Come on, you can do better than that.”

“But it’s cute.”

“Remember, you’re gonna be driving across state lines,” he reminds you. “You want something reliable, strong.”

You huff and decide to keep looking, but you lay a gentle hand on the side mirror. 

“I might be back for you. Don’t go anywhere.”

A smile threatens Dean’s lips as he watches you. He knows for sure he’s losing the bet. But it’s worth it for this moment right here.

You flit between the rows of cars. Finally, you stop at a funky mint green one. It reminds you of a car your grandfather had when you were a kid, when he’d take you out for ice cream on a Sunday.

“You like that one?” Dean asks. He walks over and joins you at the car, soothing a hand over its hood.

“I think I do. What is it?” you ask.

“A Ford Thunderbird, 1960.” Dean’s gaze meets yours, and he smiles. “Good choice. 5.8-liter V8 engine. 300 horsepower. This gal was powerful in her time.”

“Let’s see if she still is,” you say with a grin. 

So you and Dean break out the Thunderbird into the open roads of Lebanon, Kansas. 

Dean gives you pointers on driving stick, as it’s been a while for you. But after a few minutes, you regain the hang of it and test the car’s powerful sounding engine. It almost rumbles as loud as Baby. 

“Oh, crap. What about dinner?” you realize. “The guys must be waiting on us.”

“Eh, they’ll live,” Dean says with a grin. “Keep going. There’s a park right around the corner here.”

Sure enough, you’re about to turn into a park that borders on a small, but beautiful lake. You probably should’ve brought a coat; the car’s old heater isn’t doing you much good in your little dress. 

But right now, you don’t care. Because this is a perfect moment, and you don’t think you could be much happier. 

You park the car in view of the sparkling lake. Before Dean can turn to you and ask what you think of the car, you’ve started climbing over the upholstery over to his side. 

“Whoa. Easy tiger,” he chuckles as you grunt and struggle. 

“Here’s my Karate Kid audition,” you joke, earning an even deeper laugh from Dean.

But he helps guide you into his lap, where you straddle his hips and reach down to anchor his seat back. The two of you laugh when it momentarily gets stuck, but Dean is able to fix it. With a turn of his wrist, his seat jerks back and gives you more room to maneuver. 

His warm hands smooth up the back of your thighs while you find purchase on his shoulders. 

“Hmm. You’re cold, babe,” he remarks with a frown, and he rubs your legs more to generate some warmth on your skin. “Should’ve brought your jacket.”

Your legs might be cold, but your face heats up at the way he calls you babe. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like you’re really his.

Your answering smile is both warm and playful.

“Who needs clothes when I’ve got a big, strong, flannel-wearing man to warm me up,” you tease, soothing your hands along his toned arms. 

It lifts his frown into an amused grin, even as he shakes his head and grips your thighs more firmly.

“Oh, so I’m a portable heater now?” he remarks. 

“Yup,” you nod with a grin as you lean down. “Do your job, heater.”

Swiping your hair over your shoulder, you lean down for a sweet kiss. But it quickly gains in passion as his tongue slips past the seam of your lips. His hands move to take a healthy grip of your ass, grinding you down into his lap. 

A pleased sound gets trapped in your throat when you feel his length pressing against your core through his jeans. You slip a hand into his hair, deepening the kiss and nipping at his lower lip.  

You feel like a teenager making out with your boyfriend in some backwoods clearing. But it’s an exhilarating feeling.

You never thought you’d be able to do this. Not with Dean. 

You cup his face in your hands and pull back a bit.   

“I love this car,” you say. “You really gonna give it to me?”

Dean smirks. Once again, your lipstick (though lighter this time) is smudged all over his mouth and chin. You wipe some of it off with your thumb.

“Maybe I won’t,” he says. “Maybe I’ll take my sweet time fixing that rusted out piece of shit sitting in my garage.”

You giggle against him, and his hands smooth up your thighs, rucking up the skirt of your dress.

“Is that your plan?” you reply. “Strand me at the bunker, make sure I can never go home?”

“Something like that,” he says. “Gotta keep my girl close.”

You huff. “Your girl? That’s presumptuous.”

“Oh, really?” Dean gives a deep chuckle. “Weren’t you the one who said this wasn’t a one-time deal?”

“No, you said that. I’m just along for the ride,” you quip.

But you think you’ve teased him too much when his amusement starts to fade. His green eyes dim to embers as he tilts his head.

“Is that right?” he asks. 

You soften, gazing down at him with a more genuine smile. You press your hand to the side of his face, letting your thumb sooth over the apple of his cheek. 

“Dean, of course not,” you say patiently. “It’s you. It’s always been you.”  

That admission is thick in your throat. It comes out at nearly a whisper. 

But then, the shadows begin to clear from Dean’s eyes. His lips curve into a more familiar smile.

He kisses you, and the two of you continue exploring one another. Not to mention, testing the limitations of a reclined car seat.

By the time you two get back to the bunker, the dinner table is a mess. The guys have clearly eaten without you, and now Sam is trying to explain the finer points of football to Cas and Jack in the living room. He pauses when he notices you and his brother walk in.

“Where’ve you guys been?” he asks. But he spies Dean’s hand resting on the small of your back with a smile. “The food is in the kitchen. All you need to do is heat it up.”

“Thanks!” you call to him on your way to the kitchen. 

Dean means to follow you, but he stops short when he sees a framed picture of Mary Winchester hanging on the wall in the living room. He draws closer to it, not realizing that the others are watching him. Most of them with curiosity, and one with hopeful wariness. 

His mouth curves with a slight smile. Someone caught her by surprise. He can tell by the way she’s looking over her shoulder in the 8” by 10” frame. She wears her favorite green jacket—one that Sam bought for her last year. Her hair brushes past her shoulders in a haphazard mix of blonde curls and waves. But her smile. That smile’s even more golden.

“Who put this here?” Dean asks. When he doesn’t get an answer, he glances back and finds his brother’s gaze first. He just smiles, but doesn’t look like the culprit. Dean moves on to Cas, who subtly shakes his head.

Jack, on the other hand, looks both guilty and hopeful, before his eyes fall to the folded hands in his lap. 

Instinctively, Dean wants to tighten up. But when he looks back at his mom’s smile, a little more of the edge in his heart crumbles. 

“She looks good there,” he says. He turns back to Jack and gives him a nod…and a reserved smile. The nephilim hesitates to return it, but when he does, it’s a genuine one. 

Dean moves on to the kitchen, where he pretends not to catch the way you’d been surreptitiously watching the scene from the kitchen. You duck your head and continue cutting some ham for the two plates you’ve set out on the counter.     

Dean’s face lights up when he finds the pies: pecan and apple. 

“Okay, you want mashed potatoes or macaroni with the ham?” you ask him. Dean raises a brow at you. You smile in amusement.

“What am I thinking? Both, obviously,” you say. 

“Obviously,” Dean quips with a nod. 

“Ah, well that’s interesting,” says Castiel. It stops both hunters in the kitchen with curious looks. 

“It seems you’re caught again,” the angel tells you, nodding up to the mistletoe poised above you and Dean. 

You roll your eyes, while Dean just smirks. You glance up at him with a question in your eyes. 

Should we tell them? you ask.

Dean’s smile grows. Hell, yeah.

He leans in to cup your cheek, and he kisses you soundly—something that shocks both angels…but not Sam. You close your eyes with a sound of contentment. You grab onto Dean’s shirt, holding him close.

“She didn’t kiss Sam that way,” Jack comments. 

Castiel recovers first, realizing what’s happened by Sam’s knowing look. 

“No,” Cas says in amusement. “I don’t believe she did.”

While Sam turns up the volume on the TV, giving you and Dean some privacy, Dean finally parts from you and tugs a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. 

“You know, I promised you a car by Christmas,” he says with a grin. “Technically speaking, I did come through on that deal.”

You raise a brow, though a smile tugs at your lips. “Hmm. I suppose you did.”

“And if I remember right, I get a…what was it?” He pretends to recall with a raised finger. “Oh, that’s right. A consequence-free request.” 

“Here we go.” You roll your eyes, but amusement and warmth still gleam them. “All right, Dean Winchester. What can I do for you?”

He hums and seems to consider it. He makes a show of it, really, tilting his head, looking down at you with a deepening smirk. You fight not to blush under his scrutiny, even as your smile grows. Your hands rest against his chest, while his slide around your waist and pull you in closer. 

“How about you don’t go running off so soon,” he says, thumbing at your cheek. “Stay through New Year’s, at least.”

You’d be lying if you said you aren’t shocked. You raise a brow. 

“That’s your request?”

Dean shrugs, but his quirking smile can’t hide the fondness in his eyes. It warms you in a way you also don’t expect.  

Taking your chin with gentle fingers, he presses a lingering kiss to your lips. Your eyes close as you once again take in this heady feeling. Being with him still doesn’t quite feel real, but you’re holding on for as long as you can. 

When he eventually pulls away, he smiles at your slightly hazy face.  

“I already got what I wanted,” Dean says. “Now we just…keep this good thing going.” 

You really do blush this time.

“Got what you wanted, huh?” you tease. He gives you a wry look.

“Not what I meant.” Then he smirks, squeezing your hips. “But actually yeah, that too.”

You laugh and swat at his shoulder. 

“Well, since I’m honor bound. I suppose I can stay a few more days,” you reply. “And I mean, your birthday’s not long after that.”

Dean hums in agreement. “We talkin’ early birthday present?”

You flash him a cheeky smile and slowly slide your hands down his arms. 

“Then Valentine’s Day’s is just around the corner,” you add. Dean nods sagely, trying to temper his smile.

“Might as well stay through February,” he says.

You grin. “Ooh! St. Patrick’s Day!” 

Dean laughs genuinely then, throwing his head back. You hold onto the edges of his button-down shirt and tug him back to you. 

“What I mean to say is, I could consider staying longer,” you say. However long you want me, your tone suggests. “…I’ll just need to tie up a few things.”  

You know your father will be just fine if you decide to move to Lebanon someday soon. He now has his new wife to keep him company, and there isn’t much else tying you to your hometown besides nostalgia, and bittersweet memories of your mom.  

“Is that a serious offer?” Dean asks.

You grin up at him playfully. “If you want it to be.”

He smiles and kisses you again. The way he holds you, looks at you, it’s tender enough to make your throat tighten with emotion. 

“I do,” Dean says. He stares down into your eyes. “It’s you, sweetheart. For me too. Just you.”

 Your smile is tremulous, but oh, so bright.

“Good.” 

AN: And that's it, folks! 🥹 Let me know what you thought of Part 3. I truly hope you enjoyed it!

Coming Up Next:

I have one other Christmas in July fic in store, over in The Boys fandom. Look out for "Love Actually" (Soldier Boy x Reader) next week!

It's set in the "Break Me Down" story-verse, but can be read as standalone. I will tag everyone who follows that ongoing story (which is almost finished!!).

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Comment below or send me an ask if you'd like to be tagged in this series!

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[soaringeag1e]

Christmas Boredom

Dean x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Language?, A Mix of Sadness and Fluffiness

Words: 782

Main Masterlist - Patreon

A light dusting of snow was leftover from a bit of snowfall earlier in the week, but nothing that jeopardized the roads too much. Christmas was right around the corner and honestly, it felt different this year. In a good way though. A really good way.

Needing some things for dinner and just a few things to stock up the cabinets at home, you had run out to the store along with a trip to the post office and stopping for gas plus a few other things that came to mind while you were out. Needless to say, instead of spending just a couple hours out and about, you were gone for more than five hours. But you felt accomplished, your to-do list was now crossed off.

Once you pulled down your street, you admired all the decorations that your neighbors have been putting up over the past few weeks, loving how creative a lot of them were. It’s only when your eyes catch a certain batch of new decor that you become a bit shocked.

Pulling into your driveway, you can’t take your eyes off the roof as you put your car in park. Leaving the groceries for the moment, you climb out, your eyes glued to the top of your house as you walk a little closer. Your smile slowly comes back along with an excitement within you as you look over the string of lights that somehow just decided to blanket your house for the season.

“I can’t tell if you’re in the Christmas spirit or if you’re just bored!” Those gorgeous green eyes you love so much eventually pop out from behind a large snowflake decoration that’s standing tall on the shingles and then something else you love joins them. That damn smirk of his.

“Uh…both!” The man admits before securing the snowflake for good and then he turns to climb off the roof. You know he’s perfectly capable of doing such a task, but the thought of him falling still makes you nervous.

When his boots land on solid ground, he turns, his smile growing as he leans down and kisses you sweetly, melting your heart and probably even the snow around you.

“Hi.” his gruff voice sends shivers down your spine and always has. You love it just as much as you love him.

“Hi.” When your eyes go to scan his handy work, his green orbs drop to the snow at your feet before he lets out a heavy sigh.

“Do you know how hard it’s been to not look up weird things or to check the news for suspicious activity?” Your expression softens. “I mean…I am trying so hard but it’s just…” he huffs, slapping a hand to his thigh as he scans the neighborhood.

Feeling his struggle, you step forward and place your hands on his cheeks. He seems too ashamed to look you in the eye at first, but eventually he does. But you can see how bad he’s beating himself up for all this.

“I want this.” he admits, his voice coming off crackly. “I really do. I want you to know that.”

“I do know that.” you tell him, your voice as soft as your touch. But he still hates himself for struggling with the normal life.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” you tell him, a little more firmly. Your hands press a little tighter on his face as you force him to look at you once again. “It’s hard. I know it is and I am so proud of you.” he scoffs, not because he doesn’t believe you but because you know that he doesn’t think there’s anything for you to be proud of. “Hey. You’re doing better than you think.” He tries to hide his eye roll, but you know him too well. “One day at a time.”

“I just don’t want to let you down.” Hearing that hits you hard. Your chest starts to hurt and tears instantly fill your eyes.

“You’re not.” you tell him as strongly as you can, but your voice is weaker than you want it to be. “I swear to you that you’re not.” With tears in both your eyes, Dean leans in again, kissing you like he hasn’t seen you in years. “Now…” you get out when he takes a second to breathe, getting him to hold off on another kiss. “If you end up going on a hunt and lie to me about it? That’s a different story.” That’s what brings his grin back.

“I won’t. I promise.”

“Damn straight you won’t. Because you’ll be taking me with you.” Dean’s smile grows before he captures your lips again.

“That’s my girl.”

[silent-stories]

𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐄

Summary: On Christmas Eve, you convince Dean to watch a Christmas movie with you.

Pairing: Dean × F!Reader

Warnings: just fluff

Word count: 721

"Wait, why does that guy go to that store to buy cookies every day if he doesn't even like them?" Dean asked frowning, without taking his eyes off the old TV you found in the motel room where you were spending the night.

After you had insisted for days, you had finally convinced Dean and you were watching one of the many romantic Christmas comedies that they played over and over again on TV during holidays.

"Because he likes the girl who works there, pay attention!" You exclaimed pointing to the young woman appearing on the screen while snuggling better on the bed next to Dean's body.

"I'm paying attention." Dean muttered before you went back to watching the movie in silence.

Even though it was night, the room was well lit by the lights from the Christmas tree located just outside the motel and filtering through the windows, reflecting off the floor and walls.

"But why doesn't he just tell her that he's in love with her?" Dean asked again after a few moments.

"Because otherwise the movie would end now and people like slow-burn." You explained as Dean let you rest your head on his chest, bringing his hand to lazily run up and down your back.

"Slow-what?" He asked.

You rolled your eyes for the second time in a matter of minutes. "Put it this way, if I worked in a bakery and you didn't know me, would you come and buy the pie I make every day just because you like me?"

"It depends, would you make a good pie?" He asked teasing you.

"Dean!" You laughed nudging him by his side.

"Okay, okay, I get the point." He said as a smile formed on his lips. "And yes, I would come see you every day, even if your pie would probably suck."

"Correct answer Winchester." You mumbled as you buried your face in his chest as your eyes began to close even though you seemed intent on not falling asleep.

"Hey, do you want me to turn off the tv? We can sleep." He asked brushing a strand of hair from your face as you opened your eyes.

"No, I want to stay awake." You muttered.

"For the movie? I'm pretty sure the two will end up together." He said.

"Dean, it's a Christmas movie. Of course they're going to end up together." You laughed but your voice was quite sleepy. "And no, I want to stay up until midnight so I can say Merry Christmas to you."

"Well, you can tell me tomorrow morning" He said. wrapping the blanket around your shoulders "I'll be here when you wake up."

You nodded slowly as your eyes closed again. "Mh, okay. Promise?"

"Promise."

Maybe Dean's life wasn't like the one of characters in the movie you were watching, he would never have had a love story like that, with a first date where he would bring you flowers and you would go for a walk while it started to snow, but that was okay.

He had met you on a hunt and not in a bakery, you had shared your first kiss while you were stitching him up and you were both covered in blood and not as he walked you back to your door and you had never even had a real first date but Dean still had everything he needed. You were all he needed.

He saw the clock radio on his bedside table as the time clicked and midnight rolled in, ushering in Christmas Day.

He smiled watching you sleep peacefully with your head resting on his chest.

"Merry Christmas sweetheart." He whispered even though you couldn't hear him and left a kiss on your forehead.

He grabbed the remote and turned off the TV, then settled back being careful not to wake you up, still snuggled up against him and he wrapped the blanket around both of you.

The last thought he had before falling asleep was that that night seemed a bit like he was in a Christmas movie, without monsters, death, weapons and battles but with lights, a warm room while it was starting to snow outside and someone he loved next to him.

Maybe, thought Dean, that kind of movie wasn't so bad.

Tags: @eevvvaa @spn730015 @supernatural111222 @youcancallmelily @clairenovakanddeanwinchester @dads-on-a-hunting-trip @3amstillawake @supernaturalmess @marvelandsupernatural @agirlwatchingalotoftvshows @candy-coated-misery0731 @impalaslytherin @rudy-the-winged-wolf @dean-winchester-6767 @samanddeansannoyingsis @roseblue373 @waynes-multiverse @random-spn-fan

[miss-madness67]

Advent Calendar 2022: Day 18

A story of 25 christmases with the love of your life, Dean Winchester.

Day 17

“How are they behaving?” Your tired voice carries to the other side of the line. It's been a long hunt, and the only thing you want to do is go back to your baby.

“They have been a true angel, you don't need to worry about it. Still, you should come back soon because they clearly miss you.” Bobby’s answer calms you, but doesn't decrease the anxiousness you feel.

Despite your marriage, the new house, and having a baby, you haven't abandoned hunting life whatsoever. It’s who you are, and you believe you can manage a balance between normality and getting rid of monsters. So far you've done a good job. It has taken to reach a compromise of not taking jobs too far away or that last too long. You've also managed to get breaks in between hunts. And obviously, the most important rule of not bringing your child on any of the jobs. It's usually Bobby or John who have to take care of the little devil. And most of the time, you're not this nervous about leaving them, but this time around the hunt had been more urgent and further away. On top of that, it had been nearly a month since your last one, you were aching to go back out.

“You coming back yet? Before the little devil wakes up for Christmas?”

You look outside the Impala, at Dean, who is filling the tank for the long drive home. “Yeah, we’ll be there before morning.” You're not the only one who's eager to see your baby again.

Day 19

Tags: @sweetwerewolfqueen @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @perpetualabsurdity @deanswaywardgirl @seppys-return-to-madness @desimarie12 @hobby27 @mrspeacem1nusone @fluff-lover @melannie77

[aomasade]

Art for Morpad Christmas in the Mountains

WinterNatural Challenge 2023

Artpost on AO3 (More pictures)

Summary: Jensen's sister has married the brother of mafia boss Jared, who has had his eye on him since their engagement. Jensen was and is against it. Unfortunately, he is now somehow part of the mafia family and the family celebrates all the parties together. It sometimes happens that Jensen is pushed into a car and taken by helicopter to the secluded estate in the mountains. As the only non-Mafiosi, he feels like a sheep among wolves. And Jared is the biggest wolf of them all, hungrily circling and teasing his prey.

[smellingofpoetry]

The right ones

Characters: Dean Winchester, Reader, Mary Winchester (mentioned)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: People always leave him.

Square/s Filled: Whiskey (@spnchristmasbingo), heartbreak (TMAS Bingo - @supernatural-jackles)

Warnings: angst, fluff, Mary isn’t the mother of the year

Words count: 1018

Beta: @akshi8278 🖤

A/N:  Hi!!! I’ve been quite busy lately, and I didn’t always have the time to sit and write. So, I’m learning how to take some time just for myself and write. I guess it’s working because here I’m. The idea for this fic came out of nowhere. I was actually thinking about Bones, this other old show I loved so much. I remembered this sweet scene with Booth and Brennan, where she asked him if he needed time and space. I always loved that scene, so I decided to take that quote and see how it sounded with Supernatural. The result is not that bad if you asked me but let me know what you think. Oh, and stay tuned because a lot of new things are coming your way soon. Enjoy! 🖤

She left him, again.

She did it right before Christmas, of all time. Who does that? His mom, apparently. He sighed while letting himself slip down the floor, his back resting against the bed. His mind was still too busy reliving the argument with his mom when a soft knock at the door caught his attention. Dean looked up just in time to see Y/N's head peeking inside the room. Shit, he thought when he saw her. He had totally forgotten they had plans that night.

"Hi..." She whispered, unsure.

"Oh sorry, I forgot about the movie."

"It's alright, don't worry about it," Y/N reassured him whit one of her gentle smiles. She slipped inside the room a bit more without entering properly, leaning to the door half opened. Dean watched her lingering at the entrance of his room, moving from one foot to the other. He never saw her so unsure, not around him at least.

"Did Sam tell you what happened?" He asked her, tilting his head to the side. Y/N sighed, resting her temple against the wooden door. She thought she wasn't being that obvious, but, apparently, she was wrong.

"Yeah. He also said you might need some time..." She whispered, gnawing at her lip. She glanced down, suddenly very interested in her shoes. "Do you? Need time, I mean." She asked him, peeking in his direction and catching him staring at her.

"Yeah, I think so."

"Okay."

"Okay."

Still biting her lip, Y/N glanced behind her ready to leave him alone. She was about to turn away and close the door when she stopped. Before she could even register what was happening her mouth was moving on her own accord.

"Do you need time and space?"

Dean's eyes never really left her. He saw her hesitation and when he was sure she would have left him too, she turned around catching him off guard.

"Just time..." he answered, giving her a barely there smile.

"Good, 'cause I brought the good stuff."

Y/N smiled at that, slipping inside the room, and showing him the whiskey bottle she was holding. She walked towards the bed, slid down next to him, and offered him the bottle. Dean took it and, without saying a word, took a long swig. He cleaned his mouth with the back of his hand before passing the bottle to her. Y/N took a sip of it, tasting the strong flavor of the liquor before passing it to him again. He took the bottle again without drinking this time. He leaned forward on his knees, trying to avoid her eyes, and ducking his head down she heard him sigh.

"People always leave me."

It was just a whisper and yet those few words managed to break her heart.

"Is it me?"

"Dean..."

"Am I doing something wrong?"

The moment she heard his voice quivering at the end her eyes filled with tears. Y/N leaned against him, laying her head on his shoulder while one of her arms sneaked between his in search of his hand. Against his better judgment, Dean opened his hand welcoming hers. His fingers closed around her warm skin almost afraid to see her go away too.

"Nothing's wrong with you."

"Then, why?" He whispered, leaning against her, letting his cheek rest on her forehead.

"It's not you, Dean. People leave all the time for multiple reasons."

He kept quiet, trying to process what she had just said to him. Maybe she was right; maybe it wasn't his fault. Not really anyway, even though it felt like it.

"How do I make people stay?"

Y/N swore her heart cracked a bit more for him and at that moment she knew: the world didn't deserve Dean Winchester. She let him go for a minute, turning towards him to get a better look at his face. She let her fingers travel along his stubble cheek, smiling at him.

"You don't, but that's okay. The right ones will stay by your side without you needing to ask them," she assured him, watching him leaning against her touch.

Dean swallowed hard, following the warmth of her fingers. She was about to let him go when he took hold of her hand, squeezing it between his warm ones. He leaned against the bed frame; his head turned to the side to have a better look at her features with their hands on his lap. His brow furrowed while her words echoed in his head.

The right ones will stay by your side without you needing to ask them.

"What about you?" he asked her, searching her eyes.

"What about me?"

"Do I have... I mean, are you...?" he stumbled, unsure of how to ask her.

To be honest, he wasn't even sure of what he was trying to ask her. He was just worried to see her walk away from him too. He knew that, in the worst case, he still had Sam. So, he wouldn't be completely alone, but he knew that losing Y/N too would definitely break his heart. He had already said goodbye to his mom, and he had to do it for a second time. He couldn't even say if it had hurt more now or when he was a kid, not that it mattered. And yet, if he really thought about it, he had to admit that he was somehow used to his mother's absence. The only difference was that this time was her choice to leave, which had hurt the most if he was being honest.

But with Y/N?

He wasn't used to not having her around, not speaking to her, not watching a movie with her, or simply enjoying a car ride together. And some part of him didn't even want to think how miserable his life without her in it could be.

"You're stuck with me, Winchester." she winked at him with a smile on her lips.

Dean's lips curved upward at that. He looked away, feeling his cheeks getting warmer under her gaze.

"I like the sound of that," he whispered, and his heart felt less heavy.