#colors go back to gray and blue and dean's like we got work to do

[wigglebox]

i surface from time to time waving the chuck won theory flag and i’m back again babeyyyyy

*the following is an utter denial of that heaven endgame and that cas is there so if you don’t agree with that then this post may not be for you! 

Let’s talk about this shot. 

This shot... makes me feral. Especially knowing 15x04 was the first episode they shot for the season. 

This shot is why I just cannot accept the fact that they are actually in Heaven, nor that Cas is there. 

Let’s start here. The fireplace mantle.

This mantle is like an adult toy shelf. We’ve already been in Becky’s space where she’s creating things that are like “toys”. They’re models, sets, other merch items. But here, it’s all decoration. You have funko pop stuff action figures — toys. It’s all toys up there. It’s a toy shelf. 

While they’re talking about Chuck getting his motivation and inspiration back, he takes the little Sam one down, fiddles with it, and puts it back in the opposite direction. 

There is also some Cas ones up there.

It’s a toy shelf. 

A lot of folks will say that the presence of Cas at that Road House means he’s in Heaven, but in my one on one with Misha he said that Jimmy was supposed to be dressed as Cas. 

To me, this plays into the theory that Chuck just cannot control Cas whatsoever and it’s only gotten worse as time goes on. He can’t even create a fake Cas. The only way to do so is to pull over his vessel who’s in Heaven and dress him like Cas. The last time we saw Jimmy he was not wearing the coat and tie. So putting him in this outfit would have really signaled to us that something is wrong. 

More on that in a bit. Stick a pin in that. It’s a big reason why I don’t believe Cas is with Dean by the end, nor do I want him to be. 

But going back to the toy shelf — look at this at the end. 

I always forget her family photo is on this toy shelf. 

In talking with friends about the Chuck Won theory, I use the metaphor of Chuck putting Dean and Sam up on the ‘toy shelf’ bc he’s done playing with them. Much like this toy shelf here. 

But that does not mean they’re dead. And this family portrait up there is why. 

Chuck by the end of the episode Thanos’ed Becky’s family and then her. But before he dusts her, they have this exchange:

BECKY: No! The kids.

CHUCK: Oh, don’t worry. They’re not dead. They’re just away.

Sam and Dean aren’t dead, they’re just away. They’re put back up on the shelf. Chuck is done with them.

The shelf itself? The Empty. 

My poor friends have had to listen to me ramble and rant about this theory that Chuck and The Empty were working together, and that’s how Chuck managed to get the plot going in his favor. 

This right here is why I think that. 

The Chess Board TM 

Right now the game is not in play. Everyone is set at their starting positions, where they know to be. The position that esablishes their role. Chuck at this point in the narrative doesn’t know where to go or how to start in that direction, so the game is not yet in motion. 

But there’s a chessboard regardless right in the foreground of the shot [thanks jackles] and that’s another metaphor I keep mumbling about to my poor friends. 

If the toy shelf is The Empty, then the chess board is Chuck’s plan; his game. 

In constantly thinking about the Chuck Won theory, I think about who’s left on the field — and no one is. 

Chuck managed to get rid of every threat against him by the end of the show. And, if he’s in cahoots with The Empty, then he knows about Cas’ deal. He knows he can’t tell Cas what to do, but he can put Cas in a situation that’d force him to act. 

So now we got:

Billie — who already didn’t like the brothers, Dean in particular all that much, antagonized against Dean after Dean hits her with the thingy thing she has idk I can’t spell it. Chuck starts dusting people, Dean thinks it’s her. They have a forced hostile relationship, thus putting Dean in a lot of danger. Chuck knows the only way to contain her is to get the Empty down there to get her but there’s no way to do that — unless —

Cas — Putting Dean in a situation where his life is in danger like that would automatically cause Cas to respond. Chuck may not be able to control him but ‘too much heart’ was always Cas’ problem, and while it’s a strength it’s also a weakness that can be exploited at times. So, put Dean in a position where he’s about to die, Cas is going to call The Empty down to get Billie and sacrifice himself in order to save Dean. 

So now Chuck got rid of two threats and they’re gonna be kept there by The Empty who’s working with him. 

Jack — The Empty, working with Chuck, is leading Billie on a little bit with this plan that Jack can be Thee Solution TM but here’s how to do it. However, the plan wasn’t actually to defeat Chuck, it was to prime a vessel for him. If you can’t beat Jack, join him — by... possessing him. In my opinion, this season was about preparing Jack to be a vessel, not to defeat Chuck. Why I think this is because Jack had a monolouge at the end of 1519, but the ‘villain’ in 15x20, Jenny, had 8 words. Jack to Chuck is the villain. But also, ironically, Chuck is the villain to OUR protagonists, and Chuck also knows that. So Jack-Chuck got the monologue, and said ‘Chuck [myself] wrote himself into the narrative, that was his mistake.’ So essentially, Chuck nabbed himself a new ride and is off to the races. 

Amara — Chuck appealed to her sense of love for humanity and this idea of love as a weakness in general and basically silver tongued his way into getting her to join up with him. How on earth did the boys defeat Chuck when he’s literally at full power now? But anyways. 

Michael — I don’t think Michael was AS big of a threat but likely Chuck knew that Michael could be talked into doing the right thing by Adam. But literally just in case as an insurance policy, he feeds Michael and pulls down Lucifer to feed to Jack so Jack can get strengthened up. Adam, his moral compass, is also gone, making it easier. 

Dean, Sam — Just... put them back on the toy shelf. They believe they defeated the bad guy, and just go back to life as normal. Almost way too normal. Like a deep regression. Get Dean out of the way first bc his death was always going to be tragic bc Chuck likes that shit. Sam can live his little life or whatever and then he can bite the big one and go join Dean and they have no idea that they aren’t, actually, in Heaven or reality at all. 

So that’s the chessboard cleared, and Chuck’s calling Check Mate. 

*another side tangent — a lot of folks write off 15x01 to 15x03 but if you take into consideration what was going on, in a broad sense, you get a bunch of souls, trapped in a bubble, trying to escape. And wouldn’t that just be fitting for a continuation? 

Some other things I wanted to note:

I don’t believe Cas is in heaven. For one thing, narrative wise, makes no sense. There’s no Empty rescue, there’s no reason to believe he got out on his own. The Empty CAN hold humans, they just don’t default to The Empty. But Billie threatened to throw them in there so — The Empty can hold humans so even Cas’ fading grace wouldn’t have had an impact. In all the times Cas has died we have had to wait a very long time to see him again. There’s just one time, the season 5 finale, where we didn’t. Otherwise: Season 4-5 hiatus, Season 7, Season 7-8 hiatus, season 12-13 hiatus and subsequent episodes etc etc. To me, bringing Cas back for 15x20 kind of dulls the impact of 1518 which was just one episode prior. There’s just 15x19 between them [and no even if there was a 22-23 episode season it’s still not enough time]. There’s no effort made to get him. Plot beat wise, it makes literally no sense for him to just magically appear like haha hey waddup it’s ya boi skinny penis 

But also, going along with the Chuck Won theory — Bobby had said that ‘Cas helped’ Jack fix up Heaven. How... in the fuck... did Jack get Cas out of The Empty? How. The Empty hates HATES both of them. ABSOLUTELY Hates them. 

Also, Jack said basically he was going to be hands off, and I’d imagine that includes plucking people down from The Empty. 

However, you know who does pluck people out of The Empty? Chuck. Though no, I don’t think Chuck took Cas out of The Empty either. 

But also, The Empty is loud! Everything is awake! We have no reason to believe it’s not because we weren’t given evidence that anything happened up there. Where we left off was: Cas and Billie taken ALIVE to The Empty which is awake and loud now. Nothing else. 

And Jack MADE it loud. The Empty hates Jack, The Empty hates that Cas keeps getting away — they’re not going to just walk in and walk out. 

So that made no sense to me. 

But also on another note: In 15x02 they managed to sneak in that VERY pointed and thematic line of “You asked what about this is real? We are” from Cas. 

Cas is the ONLY one who has escaped the narrative. It’s why Chuck hates him so much. Cas is the beacon of ‘real’. He’s the truth, he’s the antithesis of Chuck. He’s the Free Will guy and Chuck is the Puppet Strings Guy. 

The reason why, if the Chuck Won theory is correct, I don’t want Cas in “Heaven” is because I don’t want Dean to ever EVER EVER question if Cas is real or not. I don’t want him, if Cas is rescued and they all live happily ever after, to constantly be worried at night that he’s still locked up somewhere and whatever is happening isn’t actually happening. 

Cas has to remain this beacon of truth. Chuck can’t recreate him or make an imitation. Cas has to be able to exist as someone Dean can look at and go ‘Real’. So if Chuck Won is correct, and they’re really not in heaven and it’s all a mirage to placate the boys, then I don’t want Cas there. 

I don’t want Cas, The Truth, Reality, to ever be anything other than that. 

#other things to note: El Sol beer and Dean commenting on it for like the first time?? i think ever??? #The concert was for us not for dean #dean doesn't give any more of a shit about kansas than he does any other 70s band #that's not his favorite band #also in 15x04 chuck spikes the lense twice before he gets his inspiration #anyway this has been brought to you by vyvanse and caffiene #don't do drugs kiddos yayyyy #long post #spn meta #spn spec #all of this to say is that i think in the prequel dean is in this 'heaven' before sam gets there and is pulling on the thread #and wouldn't it just be great that leading into the continuation we get the shot from the bridge but as soon as the cameras are 'off' the #colors go back to gray and blue and dean's like we got work to do #bc he figured it all out WOO #okay i have to go burn this energy off #also like — i know people like the cas is in heaven thing and like the heaven thing #and this isn't to diminish that but to just kind put my thots on paper #or a blog post lol #i know it's sad to think that cas an dean may be apart. but i think maybe bc i'm such a continuation truther #i don't think it'd be like that forever anyway #idk #15x20 felt like dark night of the soul #and not a final thing

[ooey-gooey-angel]

Happy Cursed Event!

thank you @naughtystiel for hosting this and happy 28th birthday!!; I didn't write this with the intention for posting but it fits right in so I thought I'd share this wretched little thing @youmakemewishicoulddisappear and I wrote at 4 in the morning :) is this cursed enough for you?

1089 words, can be read below the cut or here on ao3

rating: Explicit

tags: Crack, a/b/o, non-traditional a/b/o, dom/sub undertones, dom!cas/sub!Dean, blow jobs, bad dirty talk, riding, shameless smut, crack filth, office au, office sex, overuse of ~ symbol, satire, not serious, daddy kink

absolute cringefest travel at your own risk but it's a fun cringefest I assure you

have fun! 🥰

The Boss’ Omega

Dean was the only omega at the office. Castiel was the most powerful alpha there was. He was the boss.

“I need to see you in my office.” Castiel said in a gruff voice.

Dean followed his sexy boss to his office, trembling at the scent of Castiel's pheromones. He had no choice, really, but to follow the orders. Castiel’s alpha nature was too overwhelming to ignore. So, with his tail between his legs, he walked through the door, looking at the ground.

His tail was the most sensitive part of him, and all the alphas in the building loved to tease him for it, coming up behind him to pull it, touch it. No matter how many times he snarled, “Don’t fucking touch my tail,” they ignored the whimpering omega.

Once in his office, Dean took a seat across from his boss’ desk, impatiently waiting for the other man to speak. He was shaking in his seat, his eyes, which change color depending on his mood, were a dull gray-blue, showing just how anxious he was for this talk. Though, the dark colors hid the pink around his irises. He was attracted to this alpha.

“Dean,” The alpha began, “Do you know why I called you in here?”

“N-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-no…” He stuttered out.

“Gah, you’re so pathetic. Just a whiny little omega who can’t even speak properly. You can’t speak or do your job well, can you?”

“N-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-no sir, I can’t. I can never do anything right. I’m not like the other guys. I’m not big or strong. You probably think I’m ugly, too.” He sighed and looked away. 

“You’re right. I called you in here because your performance has been lacking.”

“W-w-what d-d-do you m-mean?”

“I mean,” He started darkly, “I need you to change your performance. Do you think I need to punish you? I think I should…”

“A-a-a-a-a-alpha please…how are you going to punish me?”

“You can start by coming over here and kneeling before me.”

Dean trembled but obeyed the alpha’s orders, wobbling on his feet and stumbling over to where the alpha was sitting with his legs spread in his chair, thick cock already tenting his slacks. Dean licked his lips and knelt in front of him between his feet, looking up at his alpha with glossy, doe eyes.

“Take me out.” He ordered.

Dean gulped hard and went to work. He reached forward and unbuttoned the man’s pants, slowly tugging the zipper down to reveal his long, hard, thick. veiny cock. It sprung out and tapped Dean in the nose, earning a surprised gasp from the trembling omega. He let out a soft whine at the sheer size and girth of his cock. The alpha let out a rumbling groan at his cock finally being free and exposed to the cold air of the office. 

Dean gripped that cock tight and raised it from the perdition of not being touched. 

“Suck it.” The alpha snarled, gripping onto his omega’s hair, pulling harshly. 

Dean whimpered at the order before cautiously taking Castiel’s cock into his mouth, his eyes watering from the stretch of wrapping his lips around the entire girth of it. Castiel got impatient and shoved the omega’s head down, savoring how he gagged around the cock 

“A-a-a-alpha please i can’t take it that hard~ You need to be gentle…”

“You will either choke on my cock or you don’t get it at all and we can be done here. Your choice~.”

“Ngh alpha~”

“Do it or else, little omega.”

Dean moaned aloud and went back to sucking that huge cock. He lapped at the head, making his way down the shaft to where the alpha’s knot was steadily growing. The omega lapped happily at the swollen knot, appreciating the loud groan he earned from his alpha when he did.

“Oh, such a good little slutty omega for me, aren’t you. You’ve wanted to be in this position for a while, haven’t you? I could smell your slick a mile away, always so strong when i’m near. I know you have, little omega, always such a filthy whore for me, huh? Can smell it even now, wanna see how tight that little ass is for me.”

“Oh~ Alpha please~”

“Get up here.”

Dean knew what he wanted and quickly stood to shake his pants and boxers off, sitting himself in the alpha’s lap and slammed himself down to the alpha’s knot, both moaning in unison.

“Oh~ alpha, your cock feels so good.”

“So wet for me, little omega, so tight on my cock. You feel so good on my knot.”

Dean started slamming himself down frantically, riding his cock like his performance depended on it, which it did. 

“So good for me, gonna knot you, fill you with my alpha sperm.”

“Please, alpha, want your alpha sperm, only yours. Never wanted anyone else’s, oh–alpha im–”

“Good omega, cover me in your omega sperm~”

They climaxed in unison, Dean whining with a high voice and Castiel groaning lowly. Dean fell limp on his alpha, satisfied and taking in the smell of his alpha’s pheromones, the scent intoxicating.

“How’s that for work ethic improvement?” Dean asked coyly.

“Not bad.” Castiel grumbles, clearing his throat, embarrassed of how good that felt.

“Good enough.” Dean grunted in reply, slumping further against his alpha.

Then suddenly Gabriel busted in the room with a stack of papers in his hand, ready to throw them on his boss’ desk, planning to stay and chat for a moment. But, no. Instead, he was met with the sight of his boss and coworker, both covered obscenely in each other’s sperm.

“Oh cool I’ll leave you two to it, but lock the door next time.” He left as quickly as he had come in.

“That was your first lesson: no more doing stupid shit like forgetting to lock the door. Next time you do, I’m firing you for real. Dick or no dick.”

“N-next time?”

“Keep talking like that and there won’t be a next time”

“S-sorry.”

“Get out.”

“W-w-w-wha?”

“I said get out. What did I just say about talking like that to me?”

“No! Please! I’ll do anything! Daddy–”

“...What did you call me?”

“D-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-daddy?” He gulped nervously.

“Nevermind. Stay.”

“Yes, daddy alpha.”

“Good boy.” He placed a kiss on his omega’s head, Sighing happily. They relaxed in one another’s arms, enjoying the other’s company. Work could wait, they’re paid a salary anyway. 

Boss makes a dollar, worker makes a dime, that’s why they fucked on company time.

#cursed28event #i am so sorry for this #please be kind to me this was just a silly braindump #a horrific braindump but. yeah #heehoo #my writing #my fic #my ficlet #i hope you guys like the last sentence lmao its my fav of all and was a perfect way to end this nightmare #long post

[nocturnalghoul]

✨️Get to know me!✨️

Tagged by @anotherghoul666 I feel so popular lol :D

Share your wallpaper: okay my main lock screen is my girlfriend and I, which I am not sharing, so here is my home screen. It is in fact girldick Sunny because I saw Crow (I think?) post it and immediately went "yep I'm using that" (ignore my 8k emails o.o and the fact that its 2am, well 3 by the time I am posting this)

Last song you listened to: Secrets of the Stars by The Milk Carton Kids (working on a fic inspired by it rn)

Currently reading: I'm semi-rereading Dracula but that doesn't count in my opinion because I've read that book too many times. My at work book is Odd Apolocalypse by Dean Koontz (the fifth book in the Odd Thomas series). I had started that series years ago back in college and only recently realized I had stopped at book 4 so I decided to finish it out.

Last movie: Listen, I take zero pride in this but the answer is Goon (2011). I had a super bad week at work last week and it weirdly always makes me feel better. Sometimes you gotta watch a not great movie to make the brain happy.

Craving: I would commit a crime for one of those lemon Italian ices right now.

Currently wearing: Drag Talk tshirt, Astros shorts (I'm a big baseball fan), "Bigfoot is real and he tried to eat my ass" baseball cap to keep my hair out of my face.

How tall are you: a little above 5'7" although people always assume I am taller, I do not know why.

Piercings: I have a singular helix piercing on the right ear that I am still trying to heal but am open to more.

Tattoos: None currently. I love the idea of getting tattoos but also have a policy I have to like the idea for at least a year before I get it and nothing has made it past that waiting period. I'm just not good at permanence.

Glasses/contact lenses: Glasses wearer. They are big and green :). I cannot do contacts cause I got a whole thing about anything getting near my eyes so I can never put them in.

Last drink: strawberry lemonade flavored sparkling water. It's yummy!

Last show: currently working my way through The Expanse

Last thing you ate: Banana bread (I made it myself)

Favorite color: blues and greens which is very apparent when you look at me and that is the color of most stuff I own

Current obsession: I mean Ghost, but also Wild Child released a new album on Friday (they are like more of an indie folk vibe) and I am so excited.

Unrelated obsession: the games Hi-Fi Rush and Melatonin. I LOVE rhythm games so much.

Pets: I have a little gray cat named Pierre! He has a whole backstory my former roommate and I made up lol. He is a little french orphan boy and chimney sweep (hence why he is gray). He also has an overbite and his little fangs poke out of his mouth when he sleeps like little vampire fangs so he is a tiny vampire.

Do you have a crush on someone? Does my girlfriend count because she is the only person who has ever successfully convinced me to care enough to date them. I'm more of a large amount of friends kinda girlie.

Favorite fictional character: I am so bad at picking favorites in general but now my mind is void of every character I have loved ever.

Last place I traveled to: I went to Greece last August with my mother cause it was lifelong dream of hers. I'm sure I've traveled within the states since then but outside of Austin for a concert cannot for the life of me think where.

I feel so lame to once again break this chain but I'm historically late to the game and am fairly certain everyone I know has been tagged already so I'm gonna go for the cheap option of if you want to do this and haven't please consider this me tagging you, even if we haven't really interacted. Have fun <3

#tag games #nocturnal ramblings

[blitsking]

♡Chapter 2~In the Lion's dean♡

Enraged by this, Mr. Crowley asked "What did you just say?"

 I never thought I would see the day when a person with no magic would get into R.N.C. To tell the truth, I was pissed. I had worked my ass off to get here, and then this low life gets in WITHOUT MAGIC. At this point, too enraged to listen, I spaced out, until the weasel caused a commotion. The petite boy with red hair and the one with white hair and glasses went after him. Once the weasel was taken care of we still have the problem of the no-magic student. I would have just kicked the damned thing out. Though it's not my problem, as long as they stay out of my way it should be fine. With that out of the way. The ceremony has officially ended, and I am finally heading to my new life. A life away from royal expectations and politics. That's the life I want, and now I have an opportunity to have it.

♡o｡+..:*♡o｡+..:*♡o｡+..:*♡o｡+..:*♡o｡+..:*

As soon as we enter the dorm I see an oh-so-familiar face, Zyair. His signature smile is nowhere to be found. 'Is he angry? If so why? And who is the hyena with him?' All these questions running through my mind. The hyena had dirty blonde hair and gray eyes, nothing too noticeable. He seems to be just taller than 170cm. Wearing your average savanian outfit, oranges and browns left and right. Then it hits me 'That low-life laughing at Zyair! That little shit.' I was fuming walking straight towards them with no pause.

Passing the lion, who seemed very confused by my actions. "Is the hyena your security?" I question, he just glances at me, then responded with a simple no. "Good to know," I say calmly, and proceed to walk toward them. Once I was in front of them I smile as sweetly as I can. "Oh, hi!" The hyena exclaimed happily with a big smile. "What do you-" Smacking him, I hissed. "Don't make fun of my secretary." My sweet smile is long gone, replaced with a look of disgust.

Holding his cheek, he looks up at me. Anger boiled within his steel eyes. "WHAT THE HELL GIRLLY!?" He snaps even though I am paying him no mind. Turning on my heel to see if Zyair is okay. He's fine thankfully, but he's looking at me like I'm a hero or something.  "Thank you, Taya!" The smaller male cheered. "Stop that idiot," I say disgustedly. I shoud have left him to deal with the bully on his own, "But-" He started but I cut him off. "No," I state, turning around and leaving. Not bothering to listen to what else is going on behind me. 

Deciding it would be best to save my energy for tomorrow, I tuck myself away into my new room. It is much different from the one I know back home in Britannia. The room here does not have the lavish color palette of silver and blue, and instead is replaced with browns, greens and natural tones. I will truly have to get used to this. Curling myself up in the sheets I head to bed. Though not the most comfortable sleep I've had, I do believe I can get used to this.

♡o｡+..:*♡o｡+..:*♡o｡+..:*♡o｡+..:*♡o｡+..:*

The next day after classes, I'm walking in the halls with Zyair. "Zyair?" I asked the Jackal next to me. "Yes ma'am?" He wondered, sparring me a glance. "Go to the cafeteria and get me a coffee and sweet bread. Got it?" Making it sound more like an order than a request. "Yes ma'am" he replied calm but scared. "Where will you be?" He inquires. With a little thought, "The garden." is what slipped out of me. "I thought so." He chuckled as he walks off.

♡o｡+..:*♡o｡+..:*♡o｡+..:*♡o｡+..:*♡o｡+..:*

When arriving I was met with sites and sounds, and a beautiful atmosphere. I head past the small plants along the sides. Though I do not like the lavish life, I must have to ask Zyair to note ideas for use in the palace garden. As I'm walking, enchanted by everything around me, I step on something. Hearing a hiss to my side, I look down, and to my dismay, I see a lion's tale.

Quickly getting off the lion, I apologize. "I'm so sorry!" Bowing my head with my ice-like eyes closed. "Next time watch where you're going. I was in the middle of a good nap." He says less than kind. "Are you ok?" I questioned kindly, knowing how much it hurts to get your tale stepped on.

The male got up, looking at me with eyes of venom. "Well, how would you feel if someone not only ruined your nap, but also stepped on your tail." He remarked staring me down as if I was his prey. Which I do not appreciate.

Before responding I took in the site of the man. He has long brown hair with two signature braids and of course his piercing green eyes. Which drew me to the man. I've always liked green eyes. He is wearing Savannah claw uniform, though I must note is not in the best condition. He definitely stands a good foot or so taller than me, maybe about 185cm? His body looks toned, though not too muscular probably an athlete. Of course, being the she-snow leopard I am, draws me a little closer and more- 'No I will not fall for his lion charms.'

Crossing my arms over my chest finally deciding to respond to the man, "I said I'm sorry already, it was but an accident. No need to be so crude about it." I growled back at him quickly. Deciding to be the bigger cat in the situation, and to get away from the dashing man. I turned on my heel and walked away. 'HOW RUDE! I was only trying to be polite and see if he was alright idiotic lion.' I thought not looking where I was going, and someone had to bump into me. I look down to find the f*cking hyena that was laughing at Zyair yesterday, the audacity! "Watch where you are going hyena." I snarled at the male.

"ME!? You were the one not paying attention!" He hollers, pointing at me. "Now look, you made me drop Leona's food." "It's not ma lady's fault you dropped Leona's food," Zyair says walking towards me and the hyena. Not paying any mind to the sloppy hyena, I question my little subordinate. "Did you get the sweet bread?" "Of course." He hummed, giving me his signature smirk, "It was the last one too."

♡o｡+..:*♡o｡+..:*♡o｡+..:*♡o｡+..:*♡o｡+..:*

Aug 11 2023

Master list

#booklr #leona kingscholar #leona x oc #original character

[windsource]

Christmas, Early Mornings, and How to be Free

destiel december 2020 prompt: decorating | wc: ~1.3k

[READ ON AO3]

Dean often forgets that angels don’t sleep.

The soft knock at his door at—he checks his clock—four in the morning, however, serves as a gentle reminder.

He sits up, brushing off popcorn crumbs from his shirt, and blearily rubs his eyes. Dean hadn’t been sleeping, per se, but he was drunk and dog tired, eyes burning from staring at his TV for what must have been hours on end.

His door opens and light from the hallway streams in, bright like the white-hot burn of an angel being killed. Dean blinks once, twice, and there stands his own angel, a hand on the door knob.

“Sorry to wake you,” Cas mutters. “Ah, Jack and I were wondering if you were—if you wanted to help us with something.”

Dean looks at the clock again, more for show than to actually read the time, before redirecting his gaze back to Cas.

“It’s four in the morning, Cas.”

Cas shifts his weight. “I don’t—”

“You don’t sleep,” Dean finishes for him, already throwing the blanket off of himself. The wave of cool air over his calves where his sweats ride up make him shiver. He pulls the fabric down back over them and stands.

“Yeah, I know. And lucky for you, I barely do.” Dean comes to a stop in front of Cas. “What’s up?”

Cas pushes the door open and turns, leading the way for Dean to follow.

“Jack and I—we were discussing the bible,” Cas starts.

“As you do.”

“—And Jack was curious about how humans celebrate the birth of Christ.”

“Uh-huh.” They step through the kitchen and Dean eyes a half-eaten snack on the table. He quickly nicks it, gives it a once-over, and takes a bite. The taste of chocolate caramel nougat makes him let out a low groan of satisfaction.

Cas shoots him a glare over his shoulder. Dean shrugs.

“He told me you all celebrated it once,” Cas continues, “Along with some other holidays, though I can’t imagine how I managed to miss that. Anyway, he has friends in town that celebrate the christian Christmas, and now he’s got…um, ideas.”

Dean frowns. “What ideas?”

They round the corner into the library, where Dean’s confronted with several large boxes that are set on the nearest table. Scattered around them are various decorations like ornaments, tinsel, and what look to be Santa hats in a few different colors and patterns. Dean’s gaze pulls away from the mess to look at Jack, who has his arms elbow-deep into the box nearest to him. He smiles wide at Dean.

“You’re awake! Hey—is-is that…my candy bar?”

Dean looks down at the bar and stuffs what’s left of it in his mouth. He holds a finger up when Jack pouts, chewing until he can form words.

“Finders keepers, kid,” he swallows, “It’s a lesson you gotta learn while you’re still young. What are you doin’, anyway? What’s all this crap you’ve got out?”

Jack’s smile is back as he pulls out an ornament. “Christmas! I thought we’d decorate.”

Dean blinks at him. “Dude. Four in the morning.”

He hears Cas sigh and turns his attention to him instead. “I’m serious! You couldn’t have waited a couple more hours? And hey, wait a second—how come I’m up and Sam’s nowhere to be seen? This is, like, his usual wake up time.”

“It is,” Cas says, “He’s actually out on a jog right now, he said he’d be back to help with the baking.”

“The—” Dean runs a hand over his face, pressing briefly over his eyes to wake himself better. They’d already done Christmas this year, and all the other holidays, for that matter. Of course…

He opens his eyes.

Not with Cas.

Dean lets his arm drop back to his side and strides the few steps over to Jack, picking his favorite ornaments out of the box from when Mrs. Butters had first showed them to him. He hands a blue one over to Jack.

“Besides,” Jack studies the bulb, “We’re starting late. Christmas is only a week away, and I know people who start decorating in November!”

“We don’t even have the tree up yet,” Dean grumbles in feigned annoyance. “Hell, we don’t even have a tree.”

“Sure we do,” Jack says. He turns and points over at the table behind them. A small tree no more than 16 inches tall stands bare in the middle of the table.

Dean stares at it, eyes wandering over to Cas after a beat for an explanation. He’s standing on the other side of Jack, now, and catches Dean’s gaze.

“It’s fake,” Cas says, “We found it with the decorations. It’s…a substitute—at most—for now.”

Dean nods slowly. “Okay,” he accepts.

After that he finds the smallest bulbs that won’t take up too much space on the little thing, passing them to Cas who hands them to Jack to put on the tree. Working like clockwork, the tree is decorated sooner rather than later, and Dean straightens up in time to hear the front door open with a metal squeal.

Sam steps inside, closing the door behind him, and looks down at the three of them with a smile. He pulls an earbud out.

“Nice tree,” he says, clamoring down the stairs.

Dean, feeling strangely defensive, mutters, “Up yours,” and rifles through the box for something to fling at him. He comes up short, but Jack rids them of Sam as he bounds off to meet him in the kitchen, giddy to start on their baking as soon as possible.

Dean pulls out a Santa hat in the wake of it just being him and Cas in the room and, holding his breath, turns to place it on Cas’ head.

Cas stares as Dean slips it on, adjusting it here and there so it sits right, pulling away lest it becomes too...

Cas catches his arm before Dean can withdraw it.

“How...How come I get to wear the hat and you don’t?”

Dean chuckles, pulling lightly in an attempt to get out of Cas’ grip. Cas tightens his hold by a fraction.

“’Cause you look better in hats? I dunno,” Dean mumbles. He feels his heart racing, chances a glance over to the kitchen where he can hear Sam and Jack clanging baking supplies around while they set up to make the cookies. 

His eyes meet Cas’ again, dropping momentarily to look at his lips before Dean forces them to stay on Cas’ baby blues. 

“That’s not true,” Cas frowns, “You are very attractive for someone of your gender and age.”

Dean swallows hard, face warm. “Yeah?” His voice comes out higher than intended, so he clears his throat before speaking again. “Thanks.”

Cas lets go of his wrist, backing away a little. “You are welcome.”

They stare at each other, transfixed, and Dean thinks Cas looks more innocent with this hat on, more so than, say, that cowboy hat Dean had made him wear once. Almost silly enough for Dean to let his guard down, to lean forward, and—

Cas' breath ghosts over his cheek and chin in their newfound proximity, faces just a few inches apart.

Dean licks his lips, once, and closes the space between them. He presses his lips softly to Cas', trembling a little due to the action. It's chaste, and feels simultaneously like it lasts an eternity and only a few seconds—something Dean thinks only Cas is capable of doing.

And he knows, dazedly, that it's likely the latter, even if a lifetime was lived in this moment alone. Dean pulls back to stare at Cas like he just hung the stars rather than some simple plastic ornaments on a dingy fake Christmas tree, holding his breath as he gages Cas' reaction.

This close, Dean can see Cas' pupils blown wide. The angel has that look about him that Dean remembers seeing a long time ago, like a soldier with newfound freedom—unsure where to go or how to use it.

Dean licks his lips again, and though his hands are still shaking when he lifts them to cup Cas' face, he feels his mouth smooth into a smile.

He ducks his head to kiss Cas again. And again. And again, until they hear the shout that the cookies are ready, and Dean takes Cas' hand in his.

Freedom isn’t a length of rope, Dean thinks, but rather a red string, tying them together and guiding them home every time without fail. Maybe they could teach each other, this time—about Christmas, early mornings, and how to be free.

tag list (ask to be added/removed):

@castiels-a-lamp @jellydeans @writtenmemxries @cestladean @randomblabbling @fluffiestlou @dreamnovak @weird-dorky-little-d @depressivedemonnightmaredean @jackleslongcon @friedchickenangelwings @galaxycastiel @destielle @dickspeightjrs @on-a-bender @organicpurplepants @casbelieves @samuelswinchester @spacegirlstuff @seffersonjtarship @winchester-novak @professorerudite @squintingg @holmesemrys @imnotrevealingmyname @festivemish @good-things-do-happen-dean@angxlsgrxce @casandeans @castielscrookedtrenchcoat @destiel-in-its-natural-habitat @gracelesschoice @superduckbatrebel @iheardyourprayer @top13zepptraxx @that-one-fandom-chick @scoobydean @destiels-canonahhhhhhhhhh @maxguevra @cursed-or-not @i-think-im-humanbut-cant-besure @fitinmypoems @madilineskingdom @awolfnamedaliac @castee-yel @tearsofgrace @credentiast @fivefeetfangirl @my-favourite-hellatus @gray-is-neutral @sunflower-vol-28 @ensignabby @ar-bi-trary

#destiel december 2020 #another day another sucky ficlet sdhfsjdf soRRY #its hard for me to write fluff tbh bc i never know where im goin with it #destiel #rambleoncas writing #spn #supernatural #destiel fic #deancas #roc original #my post

[athena-is-a-chaotic-lil-shit]

Getting back at writing, is, well, hard. My grammar and vocabulary and basically everything is messed up so I apologize in advance for that. It's been, almost a year ever since my last written fic. That time I was still crazy with Kimetsu no Yaiba and the KyoTan ship. I'll post it some other time ^^.

Anyways, I present to you my attempt in making a plotted work from a random thought that came over me this morning.

Pairing: Tai'chi Kashharzol (Orc) x Pearl Blackbell (Human OC/Reader)

Warnings: Basically none. Except for some curse words.

UD 01/10/21: Cleaned and revised some parts! Tried my best, hope it was enough.

•

Of Ice and Blood

Part 1

Quick backstory and some details I left out in the main work.

It was in summer, 28th of July, when Pearl Blackbell turned 19. She left her home and moved closer to the university she’ll be going to. She rented an apartment about five blocks from the school. Albeit small, it was cozy and proper, having what she needed: a kitchen, a decent-sized bedroom, a small living area with a worn but comfy couch, and a bathroom.

When she was younger, her parents started training her in martial arts and the use self-defense weapons. They needed to make sure she knew how to protect herself against assaulters and dangerous people, she was after all, their only child and baby girl . They want their daughter to be strong, both inside and outside, by the time she sets out on her own and leaves home.

Her favorite self-defense weapon was brass knuckles, despite her parents’ protests. She enjoys punching nasty people and feel the crunch of their bones beneath her fists, especially racists, sexists, bullies, and the lot. The main reason why she got into detention multiple times.

Painting it with a ruddy color, she keeps it in her person, no matter where she goes. She has two, one is for extreme situations, while the other has only two knuckles. It stills maximizes the damage dealt but it is relatively less dangerous than the full dusters. The second one is usually a spare, though she rarely uses it.

She also occasionally carries a pair of retractable nunchucks, which she designed to be hidden within her regular baggy clothes. Her father had trained her vigorously with them and she even bested him in a match before she left for the city.

Selkoth, the city of marvels.

Distant sounds of buzzing cars reached my ears as I opened my eyes and blinked away the sleepiness, the light shining from the spaces in my curtains rather helping, together with the warmth it brought to my chilled tawny skin.

[Start of the actual work]

I fully woke up as I registered the sound of my phone alarm, shortly getting up to prepare when I realized what day it was.

Monday, the first day of my college life.

I stepped into the bathroom and took a quick shower, knowing I bathed thoroughly last night to save some time today.

Time management is key.

I dried myself down, turned to my closet and started putting on the outfit I picked out the night before.

Prioritizing comfortability over appearance, I wore my favorite orange cotton shirt, my blackish-blue hoodie (that had been stained with blood some time ago, but don’t worry, I know how to clean out blood. Mama raised no fool.) over it, together with a pair of black skinny jeans. And of course, tight black sports bra and boxers, even mentioning my underwear yes?

I looked over to my mirror and it was—

Simple. And I loved it. The more simple it is the better.

'“Keep a low profile over there, sweetie. Don’t get into fights when you can help it okay??? We already taught you and prepared you to the best of our abilities. Promise to us that you’ll stay safe, and healthy. Okay? And don’t forget to call sometime.”' I sighed, remembering my mother’s words.

"Yes mama, I will.”

With a smile, I did my hair and went for a tight Dutch braid, it going down between my shoulder blades and ending a little above my waist. I ran to my kitchen to eat breakfast, satisfied with my look.

I eat fast okay

Backpack, check. White sneakers, check. Phone and keys, check. Airpods on, playlist shuffled, I bolted out of my apartment and jogged all 50 blocks to school.

Exercise is always important, and what other way to utilize time for exercising than to do it while heading to your destination, right?

I snickered.

As I made my way to the university, I saw bizarre creatures and monsters of different sizes, coexisting, and interacting with humans. Even so, I noticed other people’s disdain and bitterness towards them when I passed by. My nose is awfully sensitive to scents that sometimes the ones their body releases tells me what they feel at the moment. It’s all science, I guess. I was made extra susceptible to these, so I wear a mask everywhere and every time I go out just to partly block most of the smells.

My first day at a university open to everyone across the country gets my blood pumping with excitement. To think that I’m going to study at Ernestine State University, the Ernestine State University!

I first heard about the uni back when I was a child. News broke out about Victor Ernestine, committing suicide by driving his car off a cliff because he couldn’t accept that his daughter was one of the major leaders who made the unity of all people, of all races, possible.

Dramatic.

Months after Mr. Ernestine died, all his properties and riches were passed down to her daughter, who took over as the new founder of the university and rebuilt it to accommodate everyone, no matter the size and shape.

The strictly all-human school, renovated, reshaped, and repurposed, was now the first university to open its gates to everyone in the country of Yundomia.

I’ve always yearned to get to know other species in this world. I didn’t get the chance previously because my parents sent me to an all-human, local high school. Which sucks. I hated how everyone had a certain hatred for the other races, especially orcs. They keep talking about how they are wild beasts and savages that aren’t meant to be in society.

They treated them like animals that are void of emotions and intelligence.

Come to think of it, I mostly fought with humans who were either racist, bullies, bastards trying to hit on me, or a mix of all of them together.

I chuckled, remembering how many times I got counseled on not punching people in the face.

High school was pure torture, being a human-exclusive campus making it worse, considering how everybody smells so horrible and the principal was an egoistic dumbass I was a hair away from gutting him. My poor nose.

But now I’m done with that! I’m starting anew in this school, in this city. Perhaps make some friends along the way.

Which is kinda problematic.

I’m not the social type. I tend to keep things to myself and hardly open up to anybody. I wanna make at least one friend that isn’t human! Or just, one good friend. I didn’t have or made any friends in the past since people tend to shun me out just because I can tell how they are feeling and find it creepy.

Or they’re afraid to get punched in the face.

Entering the campus gates was like stepping into another world. I was met with the sight of humans and monsters walking together and conversing! It was nice, and I don’t get to see this much often.

I walked around and took in the landscape of the campus. It was huge! And beautifully designed to have a great number of trees and plants, while also having space more than enough to accommodate every student going to their respective classrooms.

I was minding my own business and it was all serene, until some bastards pushed past through me and knocking me to the side. I stumbled but didn’t fall. I was gonna say something, but I shut my mouth. I didn’t want to cause any trouble on the first day for goodness’ sake. So I brushed it off and went straight to the gym for the orientation.

*************************************

The orientation was, intriguing. The dean seems nice, though I couldn't smell him from where I sat. There's also a student council made up of both humans and monsters which is a good sign. The student council president was a Minotaur with a dark brown coat and horns curving front and pointing up. The vice-president was a male student who looked decent enough. The secretary was an elf. The treasurer, a dwarf. And the rest were humans. I couldn't scent any of them to tell me what they were feeling at the moment, but the Minotaur looked uncomfortable, his hands behind his back, body going stiff when they were introduced to the freshmen. There was a larger numbr of humans than monsters, which was expected. I also noticed how both were grouped, a white line in the middle of the gym separating us from them.

Maybe to avoid any misunderstandings?

We were informed that today will be for introductions to your classmates and subject teachers so there will be no lessons at all. Hooray!

I was walking to my first classroom when a damned familiar smell attacked my nose. I stopped to stand for a moment and adjusted my mask. I looked around to spot the one emitting it and of course, saw a human. He looked, well, the typical playboy cool boy who used too much body spray on himself.

Not wanting to stand there like an idiot and prolong my suffering, I speed walk to my classroom and planned to sit at the back hoping no one would notice or ask why I’m wearing a mask.

That's always what they ask first. Not my name or how I was doing.

I expected to find no one inside since it was still early, but I was startled to see a massive orc sitting at the back looking out at the window. He was wearing a dark gray knitted sweater that was hugging his hulking frame very…well. Along with what looked like thick cargo pants and black boots.

He turned to look at me when I let out a small yelp, greeting me with his piercing, blue eyes.

Beautiful.

The orc had long, braided, jet-black locks. Two of them had distinct beads that trailed down from the side of his face and down to his chest, the rest of his hair behind him braided with intricacy and tied and ended halfway down his back.

I was pushed out of my trance when a person entered and crashed into me, swearing under my breath that it was intentional, nearly making me plant face-first on the trash bins if I hadn’t changed my footing at the last moment.

“Watch it, bitch, you’re gonna ruin my make-up,” she snapped.

Wow. She dared to call me that and not apologize like I’m the one who shoved her. Just wow. Usually at this point, I would have planted her face on the floor, but I stopped myself.

Low profile! Low profile Pearl! You’re in college now! You definitely don’t want to get suspended on the first fucking day of class now do you?? Keep it together.

Straightening up, I walked towards the back and sat beside the orc. Whose gaze fell on me, curious, when I wasn’t looking.

I made myself settled in my seat before the professor came in.

There were other races in my class. A blue tiefling sat three rows in front, wearing a casual outfit. A black-haired elf who looked and dressed clever, a row away. A cute pink pixie on my far right. A satyr wearing glasses, two seats in front of me, and a female lizardfolk a seat from of the pixie.

"Are you...alright?"

I almost jumped from my seat when the orc beside me spoke. I couldn’t help but admire how deep his voice was. I tried not to appear flustered, my mask helped with that.

“Uh…yes?”

The orc regarded me for a second before continuing.

“You were pushed earlier.”

Oh. He saw that?

“Oh, yeah, I’m okay.” I smiled at him. Then I remembered he can’t see my face. But I hoped the crinkling of my eyes gave it away.

“I’m Pearl, by the way.” I reached out my hand to him, socializing not my best suit but at least I tried.

He paused for a second before taking it into his bigger one, engulfing mine and shook it slowly. I was again, surprised by how gentle he was.

“Tai'chi.”

Interesting.

“Nice to meet you, Tai'chi.”

He lets go of my hand when the professor started talking up front.

“Nice to meet you too, Pearl."

***************************************

Thoughts? I am wide open for constructive criticism :D

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Check pinned post for latest chapter updates💕

#orc x reader #orc #orc x human #orc lover #my writing #monster lover #monster x reader #fem!reader #monster x human #minotaur #elf #pixie #dwarf #lizardfolk #fantasy #bamf!fem reader #bamf!human #fiction writing #I'm so cranky and rusty #knuckle dusters or brass knuckles? #nunchucks #hoodies are the best #exophilia #monster boyfriend #original work #terato #orc boyfriend #art

[jeongyunhoed]

Past-Present-Future Black Dahlia

Two major tragedies bring Lee Mirae closer to the edge as she goes through the stages of grief in a more violent manner that would affect not only her relationships with her boyfriend Jeong Yunho and her half-brother Choi San, but also has her becoming closer with the immortal mutant Kang Yeosang. Fueled by rage, grief, and pain, along with a very rude awakening that has Mirae spiraling out of control and questioning everything she holds dear.

Group: ATEEZ Member: Yunho Pairing: Jeong Yunho / OC Genre: Action, adventure, angst, fantasy

Watch Out! : Violence, blood, death, grief and loss, major character deaths, use of weapons, some jealousy (but no cheating ofc), implied smut (not sure if there is any but i’m putting it out there nonetheless), mental illness (probably?), gambling and alcohol

Anything else? : Mentions of other idols of course as well as other characters. SuperM, Dean, Chanyeol, Zelo, soloist Park Jihoon to name a few.

Author’s Note: SuperM hello. Also, sexc car chase scene with Yeosang driving. This hasn’t been proofread much, so sorry for the errors you might see.

Listen to: Dark - Hans Zimmer 

Masterlist

Chapter 4

Yeosang glanced over at Mirae, who was still blankly staring out the window. She had been that way in the first few hours of the drive. He wouldn’t admit it, at least right away, but with the silence coming from her, Yeosang was even more convinced that she was that sad. Dare he say it, he was beginning to feel a little concerned yet knew that sometimes the polite thing to do was not to say anything about it. The music playing on the radio acted as white noise between them, and Yeosang was hardly even listening to the songs. 

Mirae looked down at her hands, feeling the deck of playing cards in her jean pocket. She barely had time to think about how expensive the clothes she was wearing were - Yeosang’s excuse was that the Dior boutique was the nearest. Mirae wanted to scoff right then and there, but she was impressed at how he got her clothes that fit her. 

Her thoughts were going back to how she left Yunho. How she left him unconscious in Yeosang’s apartment while hoping San got to him, or anyone at least. A feeling of guilt was setting inside even in the midst of the overwhelming feelings of sadness and rage. Was it even possible to feel like this? She wasn’t sure. “How did you meet them?” She suddenly asked. 

“Who, my dear?” 

“The one you’re taking me to.” 

“It’s not just one person. They’re a small group of people, people like us,” Yeosang replied, glancing at her from time to time as they entered a flyover, cars intersecting above and below them. “They felt they were above the place we lived in, so they uh, how should I say it? Created their own little world.” 

“So how did you meet them?” 

“I met them through another immortal. His name is Mark Lee. I’ve known him for centuries. We were rivals for the affections of Emperor Octavian’s daughter, Julia. Amazing woman in every way possible,” A smirk crept up on Yeosang’s lips as he remembered. “I nearly became an emperor if Mark hadn’t intruded that one night.” 

“To this day, I still don’t know how old you actually are.” 

Yeosang chuckled. “My dear Mirae, age is not important, especially my age. When I met Mark again, in recent… shall we day, decades? Or at least some few years ago, he introduced me to a group of mutants he was friends with. Some of them are quite powerful, one of them, I think, is an omega-level mutant like you.” 

“I guessed as much, if they thought they were so superior,” Mirae looked out the window. 

“We’ll see about that. Sometimes, mutants only intimidate others just by mentioning their powers, empty threats even though they could deliver on it, lessens the dirty work but it gets into their heads,” Yeosang said. Glancing at the rearview mirrors, he noticed three black cars in a formation behind them. “My dear, if you could assist me a little bit, I think we are being followed.” 

Mirae looked over her seat at the three cars that seemed to move closer while Yeosang kept his foot on the gas to drive faster. “I wonder who they could be,” She watched for any signs of movement from the driver’s seats. Mirae saw a set of small rockets come out from the lights on the bumper. “They plan to kill us. Do you know them?” 

“No I don’t, I promise you,” Yeosang swerved a few times past several cars only for the three black sedans to be able to keep up. 

Mirae shook her head at the sight of the sedans keeping up, one of which was already across from them. There were spikes that extended from the rims of the wheels. The car bumped into them, Mirae clutching the armrest. “They plan on destroying your car while they’re at it,” She said, her eyes glowing red as she stared at the car next to them. The tires exploded, sending the car skidding, the rear hitting their vehicle. 

“Damn,” Yeosang kept the car in its lane. “Very good, my dear Mirae. Perhaps you can do something about the other two?” He said, swerving several times so as not to bump into the cars surrounding them to get ahead. 

Mirae took out one card from her pocket and threw it as hard as she could at the other sedan that caught up to them. The sedan exploded, the impact of the explosion moving them forward. “If they’re your friend’s bodyguards, then I think they don’t want us coming,” She said, her eyes still glowing. “Not that I care.” 

She eyed the remaining black sedan that was following them that launched a rocket. Mirae looked at both the rocket and the car, both exploding in the middle of the road. The remaining cars began to cluster towards them. “Apparently, they were everywhere all along. The way must be heavily guarded, or that they don’t want us going,” Yeosang glanced at the rearview mirrors. 

Mirae stayed still, staring at all the cars in front of them. Her eyes were glowing brighter than ever as she kept her gaze on them, the vehicles exploding one by one. She glanced at the rearview mirror on her side, the cars behind them exploding one by one as well, the smoke from the explosions blocking their view of the road. 

“Thank you, my dear,” Yeosang drove on through the thick smoke in the air. “All this smoke means we’re getting close.” 

The color of the smoke changed from the usual gray and black to white as he moved forward. The glow in Mirae’s eyes faded just as the smoke began to fade, only to see that their surroundings had changed. 

Past the wide roads of the highway, they were at the entrance of a dreary lakeside village. “This is where they live?” Mirae glanced at him. 

Yeosang chuckled. “No, they live up there,” He pointed to the nearby cliff. There was a white mansion molded in the usual 1930s art deco style that Mirae noticed in the immortal mutant’s apartment. 

Mirae noticed that the residents in the village seemed to dress differently, as if wearing different variations of the hanbok. The anger seeped in again, knowing that they were approaching the home of who may have been behind the explosion of the Danger Room, behind the deaths of Chanyeol and Hyuk. Yeosang drove on, down the route of the mansion’s driveway, the sight of the house growing bigger and bigger until they finally approached the gate. 

Two guards were standing by and stopped them. “Name?” They asked. 

“Kang Yeosang and Lee Mirae. One of them is expecting me by now,” Yeosang replied. 

The gates opened on its own and the guards stood by for their vehicle to enter the grounds. As soon as they pulled up, they saw someone standing by the front doors, dressed undoubtedly like he owned the place, but also that he was strikingly handsome. One half of his coiffed hair was blonde, the other side was red. His eye on the blonde side was also blue, the other a dark brown. He was smiling as they pulled up, opening Mirae’s door. 

“Hello,” He said as she got out, taking her hand and kissing it. 

“Taeyong, quite a greeting you’ve got there,” Yeosang pointed out, tossing the key to the valet. 

The male with the name turned to Mirae again. “Forgive my manners, or lack of. I’m Lee Taeyong and I own this house. It’s nice to meet you at last.” 

Lee Taeyong was an omega-level mutant like Mirae. Taeyong was an omega-level psychic that could not only read minds, but could also control a person’s mind and manipulate their memories. Taeyong also had the extraordinary gift of turning into organic diamond, making him almost invulnerable to harm and giving him added strength and a psychic shield. However, Taeyong’s limitation was the fact that he could not use his telepathy while he was in his diamond form.

Mirae glanced at Yeosang and before she could speak, he shook his head. “It’s not him you’re going to see,” He advised. 

Taeyong smirked. “You must be jumping for joy now that you’re on a drive with the apple of your eye,” He glanced at Yeosang. Turning back to Mirae, he let go of her hand. “That’s what he was thinking. He thinks very loudly.” 

“My thoughts are not for you to read, Taeyongie, as I’m sure your brother has taught you that much. Taemin, where is he?” Yeosang asked. 

“He’s attending a business meeting. He won’t be here until tonight. But Mark is here, I guess you haven’t seen him in a while,” Taeyong replied. “Come in, come in, I can’t read your thoughts but I can read his and I know who you plan on seeing. Don’t bother taking off your shoes in the main area.” 

He turned around to lead them inside. The interiors were decorated in shades of black, gold, and white on marble similar to Yeosang’s home. Mirae and Yeosang followed him further down the hall and they stopped in front of two mahogany doors. “At least one of us couldn’t be read,” She muttered to him. 

Taeyong opened the doors, leading into what looked like a parlor, with red velvet couches and chintz chairs, mahogany chests of drawers in the same art deco style, and a crystal chandelier in the ceiling. They saw two people by the fireplace drinking champagne in crystal flutes, watching a drama on a tv that was placed above the mantle. Mirae felt her heart drop as the two figures, whose backs were turned, looked familiar.

“They’re here,” Taeyong announced, making the two people turn around. 

Mirae’s eyes widened, looking like a deer caught in the headlights upon seeing their faces. “...Baekhyun? … Jongin?” 

The shorter and paler of the two, Baekhyun, smiled. “Mirae, Mirae, Mirae, long time no see,” He said.

Byun Baekhyun was skilled in manipulating and creating light and light energy. Baekhyun was also skilled in hand-to-hand combat, specializing in hapkido. Kim Jongin had the ability to teleport, leaving a wisp of black smoke in his wake.

“It’s been years, hasn’t it?” Jongin spoke this time, approaching her. “You look like you’ve been through a lot.” 

Mirae still couldn’t speak. She was too stunned to utter a word. All this time, Baekhyun and Jongin survived the Seoul attack but had never made themselves known. “Hello to you too, Yeosang,” He glanced at the vampiric-looking mutant, who nodded. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” He said to Mirae. 

“I couldn’t blame her, we haven’t exactly seen her since that day,” Jongin patted her shoulder. “Do you like our new place? It’s not underground like the Center, but it’s here in this little village, it’s cozy,” He gestured for her to sit down while they did the same. “Mark’s here too, by the way, he’s probably off playing tennis or something.” 

“So, what brings both of you here? I doubt it’s because the weather’s nice in this place,” Baekhyun poured her a glass of champagne. Mirae quietly accepted the drink, staring at the bubbles. 

“Don’t act clueless, you know why they’re here,” Taeyong chimed in, giving the elder a look.

“Taeyong, it’s rude to read other people’s minds without their permission,” Baekhyun chided. “Even if I already know, it doesn’t hurt to ask to make sure. They might be misleading you, even in that respect.” 

“I don’t have the capability to be paranoid when I can read everything like an open book,” Taeyong rolled his eyes. “Dinner is already prepared, by the way, I’ll call Mark-” 

He stepped back when out of thin air appeared Mark himself. Unlike Baekhyun, Jongin, and Taeyong, Mark was dressed in a pinstripe suit. Yeosang’s expression stiffened upon seeing him. Mark Lee was, like Yeosang, an immortal mutant whose fortune over the centuries led him to own a business empire that had bases in both South Korea and Canada. Mark had the ability to teleport anywhere and everywhere he chose while also possessing a strong telepathic ability. Mark was also considered a doctor among his peers who studied Languages though he barely put that knowledge of his to the test as he usually tackled his businesses. 

“No need,” Mark said, stopping at the sight of Mirae and Yeosang. “Brought her here to meet them, ‘Sang?” He asked. 

“As a matter of fact, I did. Ruined anyone’s pursuits lately, Mark?” Yeosang shot at him, watching him take Mirae’s hand and gently kiss the back of it in greeting. 

“As long as it’s your pursuits, which I can tell is this lovely woman in front of me,” Mark said. 

“I’m taken,” Mirae pointed out.

Mark glanced at Yeosang. “Oh? You have pursued her? This is going to be fun.” 

Mirae pulled her hand back, seeing Baekhyun and Jongin’s amused expressions. “I’m guessing you’ve been living your lives here all this time,” She said. 

“Well, yeah, since the Seoul attack,” Baekhyun nodded. “Before you two arrived, we were all discussing a business venture we were looking to carry out in the capital. Maybe you could help us out, Yeosang?”

“Me?” 

“Yeah, Mark and Taeyong have the capital to build it on, maybe some added manpower would help make the project solid. Let’s talk about this over dinner,” Baekhyun said, gesturing to the doors. Mark disappeared in an instant. 

~ 

The dining room of the mansion had a view of what was outside. Yeosang and Mirae noticed that it had gotten much darker, realizing how late it was getting. Mirae still couldn’t believe that Baekhyun and Jongin were alive all this time, that they actually survived the explosion from the Seoul attack, the impact caused by her own powers. She was still trying to process this new situation. 

Could they have been the ones who tampered with the Danger Room? The question reminded her of why she was there, having dinner with them, with other mutants who were also quite powerful, especially psychics as powerful as them. Mirae could only hope that Yunho would be able to read her mind at the moment, so he would know where they were. 

“So, as I was saying earlier, Jongin, Taeyong, Mark, and I are looking into setting up a new business venture and Yeosang may be able to give it the added credibility it needs,” Baekhyun broke the momentary lull when everyone else tucked into the food. Mirae poked around the courses on her plate as she listened. 

“Is that what you’ve been up to since the Seoul attack?” Mirae asked, glancing at him from time to time. 

“Yeah, killing monsters and aliens wasn’t fun for me anymore, I’m sure you understand that,” Baekhyun smiled. “Knowing that Taeyong, his brother Taemin, and Mark are businessmen, when Jongin and I found each other and in turn found them, the business world seemed a little more interesting.” 

“What kind of venture is it?” Yeosang asked. “I’d like to know what it is before I make any deal.” 

“It’s called Project Apocalypse,” Baekhyun said with a grin on his face. “Project Apocalypse is going to be the next big thing among mutants and non-mutants.”

“It’s more of a think-tank. People come to us for answers, we give them the answers,” Jongin added. 

“What kind of answers would those be?” Yeosang asked in between a sip of wine. 

“Political answers, mostly, economic answers, diplomatic answers, you name it,” Mark replied. “You and I both have the experience for that. Didn’t you meet the adviser to Chun Doohwan during the uprising?” 

“I have. I killed her,” Yeosang replied, both Baekhyun and Jongin looking surprised at how nonchalant he was about it. 

“She could’ve been useful to us, you know,” Mark said. “Oh right, I see. You killed her because she was trying to get to Mirae over here,” He added, having read his thoughts. 

Mirae sighed and ate a forkful of her salad instead. “You know, Mark and I can read everyone’s minds here, except for her. Why is that?” Taeyong raised a brow. 

“Psychic shield, Taeyongie. I remember Junhong telling us about it when we first started training,” Baekhyun chuckled, glancing at her. “If you can’t read her mind, her psychic shield must be that strong.” 

“We can’t read everyone after all, it would be too easy if we could,” Mark chimed in. 

“How is Junhong, by the way? Has he been well? He’s alive, isn’t he?” Jongin asked her. 

“Very well. Fixed my staff the first time we met again. He’s fixed a lot of other things, sometimes without me knowing,” Mirae replied. 

“The three of you go a long while back and yet you’re acting like you don’t know each other,” Taeyong chuckled in his place. 

“It has been a while since we last saw each other. We did, however, spend a few years together in the Center for Paranormal Research,” Baekhyun nodded, finishing the food on his plate. “I remember it was me, you, Minseok hyung, and Tao that were put forward because of our fighting skills.” 

“Do you have any idea what happened to them?” Mirae asked. 

“No idea. I thought I was the only one left, until I saw Jongin from the corner of the street, teleporting out of that place in time,” Baekhyun glanced at her. “I guess the same could be said of you.” 

“Yeah, and Hyuk, and Chanyeol. Remember them?” 

He smiled. “Why don’t we go take a walk? Just us, you can play catch up with Jongin after,” Baekhyun suggested. 

“Yeah, I’ll tell you more about Project Apocalypse after we pitch the idea to Yeosang over here,” Jongin nodded eagerly, exchanging knowing looks with the older male. 

Baekhyun and Mirae got up from their seats. Mirae eyed Yeosang, who had a look of concern all over his face at the suggestion. She followed him towards the patio doors and out into the well-manicured backyard of the mansion that had a swimming pool with a diving board and several patio chairs. The question was still nagging at Mirae as a silence came between them while they walked along the cemented areas of the estate. “To answer your question, I do remember them. Vividly, actually,” He said. “The tall dope and the guy I remember you used to like but is also your best friend.” 

“Years have gone by since the Seoul attack,” Mirae said. 

“I know. It changed everything. It changed everyone. You with that streak in your hair, still playing with the same stick you always used to lug around. It’s almost like a part of you, isn’t it? That staff of yours?” Baekhyun said. 

“I never leave without it. Even when I go to work, it’s with me,” She pointed out. 

Baekhyun nodded. “I see. No matter how much has changed, you still seem to be the same person. It didn’t help that when Professor Jang died, Ino took charge and started to play favorites.” 

“You were one of them, Baek,” She said carefully, remembering the nickname he would often go by. 

“That I am, Tao too. Minseok hyung too. We were like, how should I say it? Like the four horsemen of the apocalypse. We led the fighting for the rest of them,” Baekhyun grinned as he remembered. “Too bad things went the way it did, otherwise we’d all still be there, cooped up underground with all of those simulations.” 

“That’s a memorial now. A lot of things happened since then, at least to me,” Mirae recalled everything, feeling her heart sink further upon remembering Jihoon, then Hyuk and Chanyeol. 

They stopped in front of a ceramic bust perched on top of a small pillar. Baekhyun looked up. “What brings you here, then? You didn’t know I was alive, much less Jongin.” 

“I came here because Yeosang told me I’d find answers here,” Mirae replied. “Chanyeol and Hyuk are dead now, and I find out that the Danger Room was tampered with leading to them dying. I’m trying to find out who did it and why.” 

Baekhyun smiled. “I knew you were going to say that. Actually, Taeyong knew just by reading Yeosang’s thoughts over there. He was thinking of what you were going to find out upon coming here. I can hear him telling me now. Yeosang’s looking out for you, he’s kind of worried about what you will know, and how you’ll react when it’s all revealed.” 

“You know who did it, didn’t you?” Mirae stared at him. “All this time, you were alive and you never meant to make contact? Not even with Junhong? You didn’t even bother to look for us in the places you figured we’d be?”

The male chuckled. “For a trained assassin like yourself, you’re getting pretty bad at stealth, aren’t you? I’ve come across you quite a few times since then, but you never saw me, much less took notice of me.” 

She raised a brow. “Well I never got any message from you. Not even a hi or a hello.” 

Baekhyun shook his head. He leaned closer with a satisfied look on his face. “No, no, no. My way of making contact with you was through the tragedies you have experienced. Jihoon, and now Chanyeol and Hyuk. To be honest, I was surprised at how I managed to hit two birds with one stone with both of them. The tall dope and the music producer.” 

“What do you mean?” Mirae had a feeling she knew what he was about to say. 

“It was all me, Mirae. Jihoon’s death, Chanyeol’s death, and Hyuk’s death? It was all me,” Baekhyun revealed calmly. “I am the author of all your pain, of all the grieving you were and still are doing.”

Mirae stared at him, feeling a chill down her spine at the revelation. “Jihoon was killed by those Utopian cult thugs.” 

He shook his head. “I had a little help. I met Mark around that time, and when I told him what I wanted to do, he gladly possessed the body of the man who pulled the trigger on your dear friend, the friend you thought of as a brother,” He explained. 

Mirae was still staring at him, as if prompting him to continue explaining. “Jongin, you know, of course, teleported me there once Taeyong found out the location of the so-called safehouse you put up, saw that Junhong was creating a simulation room like the one we used to have. With his help as well, I was able to make a few adjustments like rerouting some circuits to overload,” 

“I was actually thinking of getting Chanyeol first, out of sentimental reasons. I knew him longer than Hyuk, so naturally I thought he should get the first strike. Little did I know,” Baekhyun smirked. “It would get Hyuk too. I doubt Junhong had a clue that the systems were hacked. Taeyong and his brother run a tech empire.” 

She could feel her eyes well with tears at the explanations, the tension she was feeling slowly getting replaced by sadness and rage. “It was you all this time. Why? Why are you doing it?” She asked. 

“Because I wanted you to know the pain and grief I felt after that attack happened,” Baekhyun replied, looking her in the eye. “My family thought I was dead when that came in. I was thrown into the ocean from the explosion you caused. They had given up on searching for me, in turn, they gave my brother all the money that was meant for me. Knowing you made the final blow to those goblins, all of the trouble I experienced, I knew I had to make you pay.” 

Mirae looked away, fighting back the urge to break down the more Baekhyun talked. He sounded so satisfied. “And now you’re all alone, Lee Mirae. And you know the best part?” He tilted his head as he looked at her. “Ino knew all this time. Ino knew it was me. Yet he allowed it to happen anyway.”

#kdiner #ficscafe #ateez #ateez angst #ateez scenarios #ateez timestamps #seonghwa #park seonghwa #ateez seonghwa #hongjoong #kim hongjoong #ateez hongjoong #yunho #jeong yunho #ateez yunho #yeosang #kang yeosang #ateez yeosang #san #choi san #ateez san #mingi #song mingi #ateez mingi #wooyoung #jung wooyoung #ateez wooyoung #jongho #choi jongho #ateez jongho

[idreamofplaid]

Finding Christmas

Summary: The reader gives Dean the greatest gift of all.

Characters: Sam x Reader; Destiel; Macie (OFC)

Word Count: 3303

Warnings: This fic deals with the subjects of childlessness and surrogacy.

A/N: I wrote this fic for Christmas two or three years ago. That year, “Where Are You Christmas?” by Faith Hill was stuck in my head, and this fic was the result. I’m posting it again for Day 9 of Half Christmas.

TWO WEEKS BEFORE CHRISTMAS

Where Are You Christmas?

You closed the book and kissed the top of your daughter’s head. The train had taken its magical trip to the North Pole again. Macie looked up at you with innocent blue eyes. Tomorrow they might be green or gray; they changed color just like Sam’s. “Mommy, do you think Daddy’s lucky?”

You brushed Macie’s hair back off her forehead and smiled at her wondering where this was going. “I guess. When I think of your daddy, I think he’s kind and brave. He helps people whenever he can, and he loves us very much.” 

Macie was quiet for a second or two playing with the ears of her plush bunny. Then she turned her eyes back up to you. “Uncle Dean said Daddy’s lucky.”

Now you were definitely curious. “He did?” 

Macie continued in her sweet, sincere voice. “Yeah. He said Daddy was lucky because he has me. He seemed sad, Mommy.” You inhaled deeply and slowly released your breath. You understood what Dean was feeling, the longing for a child of your own. “Can we ask Santa to bring Uncle Dean a little girl?”

You put the book down on the bed, and Macie settled her head against her pillow. “It doesn’t work that way, sweetie. Santa doesn’t bring people.”

“How do you get people, Mommy?” 

You opened your mouth to answer, then closed it again. “That’s complicated, honey bee.” You kissed Macie’s forehead. “Leave that to the grown ups to think about, and you think about the things you want for Christmas.”

As you reached to flip the light switch on your way out of the room, you turned back to look at your daughter. She lifted her head, “Does Santa bring puppies?” 

You smiled and with a little laugh blew her a kiss. “I love you, Macie. Go to sleep now.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Why Have You Gone Away?

The cookies still needed to be frosted, so you made your way to the kitchen. Dean was sitting at the kitchen table with his hands wrapped around a mug of coffee, Irish coffee from the smell of it. You sized up his posture and the look on his face. Yep, something was on his mind. Time to do some artful digging. You took the frosting you’d mixed earlier from one of the shelves and lifted the plastic wrap from it. “Did Sam say how long this shopping trip with Cas was going to last?”

Dean took a sip from his cup and swallowed. “Nope. Could be awhile. Cas knows nothing about Christmas shopping.”

You took a wooden spoon from the ceramic container on the counter and began to stir the frosting. It was thick, creamy, and smelled like home. It brought back pleasant childhood memories. You looked up from the bowl squarely at Dean. “You ever decorated Christmas cookies?”

His eyes crinkled when he smiled and shook his head. “Decorate cookies? The only cookies we ever had came out of a bag.”

Your eyes had an intent gleam in them. “Then it’s time. Get up and come over here.”

Dean got up and walked toward you, coffee still in hand. He looked like Christmas a good bit of the time, the way he did tonight in his red plaid shirt. He looked down at what you were doing. “So, what do you want me to do with this frosting?”

You tapped the spoon on the side of the bowl loosening the excess frosting and pointed toward a drawer. “You’re gonna need a spreader.” When Dean didn’t move, you turned your head toward him. He raised his eyebrows. Without missing a beat, you pointed to the drawer again. “They’re in there, the things with candy canes on the end.”  He opened the drawer and sifted through the utensils. In the meantime, you located the plastic container filled with red and green sprinkles. You popped the top off and set it on the counter next to the bowl of frosting.

Dean had finally located the spreaders. He lifted one in triumph then placed it on the counter for you and reached back in the drawer to get one for himself. The cookies were waiting on a cooling rack. You brought them to your work surface, picked up a cookie, and handed it to Dean. “Every kid should decorate Christmas cookies, and it’s never too late.”

You demonstrated what to do by picking up a cookie, smoothing frosting over it, and dropping some festive sprinkles on top. Dean had talent in the kitchen, and he picked up on the cookie thing quickly, distributing sprinkles evenly across the tops of the cookies. “You’ve got it. I’d say you’re ready to pass the skill along to the next generation.” You watched carefully for his reaction, and sure enough a shadow crossed his face.

Dean focused intently on the cookie in his hand as he put it down. “I think it’s up to you and Sam to teach Macie how to do this.”

“Do you ever think about having kids, Dean?” You stopped what you were doing, all your attention was directed toward waiting for his answer. 

His eyes got a far away look in them. “All the time, but that’s never been in the cards for me.” He picked up a kitchen towel, wiped his hands, and tossed it down. He leaned over and kissed your cheek. “Thanks for filling in one of the gaps in my Christmas experience.” He walked out leaving you alone in the kitchen with the knowledge that your baby was right. Dean wanted a child of his own.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My Life Is Changing. It’s Rearranging.

Over the next few days, a plan began to form in your mind. You needed to sit with it and think about it, be sure, before you said anything to Sam. It was when you decorated the tree together as a family that you made up your mind. Dean had helped Macie string popcorn to go on the tree, and now he was holding her up so she could put it on the high branches. You smiled watching them together, and you weren’t the only one who was watching. Cas didn’t take his eyes off Dean; his love for your brother-in-law evident in his expression. 

Dean handed Macie to her daddy, and she explained to him how Santa’s reindeer could eat the popcorn if they were hungry. You saw Sam’s wordless exchange with Dean, his look said “we’re going to be eating some stale popcorn.” Then Sam’s eyes caught yours. He smiled, dimples aimed directly at you. Then he mouthed, “I love you.” You felt a tear in the corner of your eye. This incredible man you married had given you this family, this beautiful life. The tear slipped down your cheek.

Sam saw. He put Macie down and nodded at his brother. Dean took her hand and directed her attention to one of the ornaments on the tree. Sam came over and wrapped his arms around your waist. “You okay, beautiful?”

You brushed the tear from your cheek. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine. There’s just something I want to talk to you about.” You glanced again at Dean with your daughter. “Something good.” Sam leaned down and placed a soft kiss on your lips.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later that night, you lay in bed with Sam. The two of you were resting on an ample number of pillows, lying on your sides facing each other snuggled under the quilt you had added to the standard Men of Letters linens to make it cozier. Sam was holding both your hands in his. His eyes were a dark honeyed hazel, almost brown, and filled with a wonder you had only seen in them twice before. The first time Sam had looked like that was when you told him you loved him, the second was when you told him you were pregnant. 

He had started to say something twice and stopped, choosing instead to keep looking in your eyes. You let yourself get lost in the moment, caught up in feeling his touch when he brushed the pad of his thumb across your cheek. Sam finally spoke, and his voice was soft and steady. “You are more amazing than anything I ever could have imagined. You really want to do this. You’re willing to do it.”

“Are you okay with it?” Your heart was pounding in your chest. “Are you okay with me being a surrogate for Dean and Cas?”

Sam gave you a soft smile and kissed you gently. “Yes, I want to do it too.”

Your breathing got shallow, and you could feel tears pricking the backs of your eyes overwhelmed by what the two of you had just agreed to do. “Sam?”

“Yes, sweetheart.” You could feel his hand sunk deep in your hair, fingers tangling through your locks. 

“Make love to me. You may not want to when I’m pregnant.” 

Sam left a trail of kisses starting at your temple down the side of your face, his lips moving against your skin. “You might be carrying Dean’s baby, but you’ll still be my wife.” He reached for the hem of your sleep shirt and pulled it up over your head and off. His kisses were tender and passionate, reassuring you that wouldn’t change.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHRISTMAS EVE

I’m not the same one, look what the time’s done.

You put the chocolate pie down in the center of the kitchen table. Dean reached for it, pulling it closer to him. He started to cut a piece and looked with questioning eyes at you and his brother. “What’s up with you two? We’ve never had pie on Christmas Eve before, but I’m not arguing with pie.” You sat down across from Dean and passed him a plate for his slice of pie. Dean popped a bite of chocolate and whipped cream in his mouth, closing his eyes in appreciation. 

In the middle of his second bite, Dean noticed no one was saying anything. Sam took your hand and held it in silent support of what you were about to say. “Dean, I’ve been thinking about what you said before about having kids.” 

Dean put his fork down and lowered his head. He gave Cas a quick sideways glance. “What about it?”

You looked at Sam. He smiled, and you turned your attention back to Dean. “I know you think you can’t have children of your own, but what if you could?” Dean raised his head and squinted his eyes slightly trying to work out what you’d just said. “What if I carried the baby for you?” Cas’s eyes widened, his lips parted, and he focused completely on Dean waiting for his reaction. 

You took a deep breath and continued. “Your sperm. It would be your baby.”

Dean tilted his head, and his eyes moved down to the table and then back up to you. “Mine...and yours?”

You let go of Sam’s hand and reached across the table to cover Dean’s. “The baby would belong to you and Cas. We would all raise her or him together, just like with Macie.” 

You watched the tears fill Dean’s eyes as he comprehended just what you meant. He got up and walked around the table; you stood to meet him. He hugged you tightly resting his cheek on the top of your head. “Thank you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

MID JANUARY 

Christmas is here, everywhere.

Cas walked around the bedroom lighting candles until a warm glow and the scent of evergreen, vanilla, and cinnamon filled the room. Dean was sitting on the bed, his legs stretched out with his back against the headboard. Cas took his place beside him and adopted a similar posture. Dean was chewing on his bottom lip, lost in thought. Cas reached for him barely brushing beneath Dean’s chin with his finger. “You ready for this?”

It was so quiet both men could hear the flicker of the candle flames. Dean nodded. “Uh, Huh. I’m ready. It just feels kinda weird, you know? I mean...how important this is.”

Cas’s eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. “I do know. This is something you’ve wanted very much for a long time.” He moved closer to Dean and slid his hand up beneath his t-shirt letting it rest on Dean’s still firm but with a hint of softness abdominal muscles. When he felt Dean relax beneath his touch, Cas lifted the black shirt up and over his head. He ran his hands over Dean’s shoulders, down his arms, and across his chest letting his touch calm Dean’s nervousness. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Christmas is here, if you care.

The knock at the door was light. It wasn’t the kind of knock that announced the presence of the person on the other side, but the kind that was truly asking for entrance and waiting for a reply. You leaned back into Sam’s chest and nuzzled into him. He kissed your cheek and slipped from behind you to go answer the door. You could hear Cas’s voice from the doorway. You couldn’t make out what he was saying, but the tone was clear. This was no ordinary moment at all. He was grateful, almost reverent.

 When Sam came back, he was holding the cup. He put it down on the bedside table and sat down by you, taking you in his arms again. 

Sam was able to make the most awkward thing you’d ever done feel natural. He managed to make you feel beautiful and whispered words of adoration in your ear, the way he always did when you made love. All the while, he was using a mail order home insemination kit to fill you with Dean’s sperm. Sam made you forget just how strange this entire process really was. 

Several minutes later, you were lying on your back with a pile of pillows under your knees to keep your legs elevated; your upper body was turned toward Sam, and you were holding onto him. He sprinkled little kisses over the top of your head then tilted your chin up with his finger. His lips sought yours. It was a kiss full of purpose and intent. You let yourself get lost in it for a few seconds before your mind started to work again, and you found your voice. “Sam, we can’t.”

He closed his fingers in your hair. “I wasn’t going to. Just let me kiss you. Babies should be conceived in love.” You closed your eyes and let yourself float back into his kiss.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

FEBRUARY 

If there is love in your heart and your mind, you will feel like Christmas all the time.

You brought the little white stick into your bedroom and sat down on the bed. Sam, always beside you, took your hand in his and brought it up to his mouth for a kiss. A few minutes later, the two lines verified it. There was going to be another Winchester. 

What followed was a whirlwind of happiness that swept through the bunker. Your life was defined by smiles, laughter, a mountain of baby things, and three men who felt their sole mission in life was to pamper you totally and fulfill your every wish. They made morning sickness bearable; and later when the crazy cravings kicked in, it was almost a competition to see who would get to go out and bring back the pistachio ice cream and gummy bears.

All the new baby stuff was a result of you taking Dean shopping to educate him on the things babies need and how to use those things. You were explaining the necessity of burp cloths when a helpful sales associate approached you. Her smile danced all the way up to her eyes. “Is this your first?”

Dean shifted uncomfortably, his eyes searching yours for guidance. You smiled at him and answered her. “Yes, it is. And Daddy’s very excited.” 

The best part of that trip had been choosing a mobile to go over the baby’s crib. Dean had batted them around insisting the way they moved was important. He picked one with safari animals, and you assured him it would work just fine for a boy or a girl. The sweet looking animals were now hanging over the crib that Dean had put together in record time without ever looking at a single page of directions. 

You were sitting in the vintage rocker in the corner of the room sipping on the herbal tea Dean had brought you. “It looks good,” you told him as you surveyed the nursery. 

Dean’s hands were on the railing of the crib, and he was staring at the plushies inside. He reached in, picked one of them up, and turned it over in his hands. “It’s amazing what you’re doing. I don’t even know how to tell you what it means to me. To Cas. I know it bothered him because it was something he couldn’t give me, something he wanted me to have.” Dean put the toy down. “I’m not good with words. Just...thank you. Thank you.”

“You practically raised Sam.” A smile spread across your face. “I like what you did there.This is my way of thanking you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

NOVEMBER

I feel you Christmas. I know I’ve found you.

Sam held one of your hands and Dean the other while Cas hovered near Dean’s shoulder. You were taking slow even breaths and blowing them out through your mouth. You heard Sam tell his brother, “She’s good at this.” You opened your eyes to see your husband nodding reassuringly at Dean, then he leaned down and kissed the corner or your mouth. “You are good at this.”

When it was time to push, Sam told Dean to hold your back while telling you, “Look at me, sweetheart.” He covered your hand with both of his. “You’re doing great, beautiful. We’re close, really close. This little miracle is going to be here with us soon.”

Tears streamed down your face when you heard the baby’s first cry. The nurse brought the precious bundle to you, and you gestured to Dean. “Give her to him.” 

Dean took his little girl in his arms and smiled at her, completely mesmerized. “Hi there, angel. You’re perfect. So beautiful.” 

While you watched, Sam kissed your forehead and brushed your damp hair off your face. “She’s not the only one who’s perfect. I love you, Y/N.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHRISTMAS EVE

The joy of Christmas stays here inside us, fills each and every heart with love.

The popcorn garlands were strung on the tree along with some paper stars Macie had covered with glitter. Among the shiny balls and reindeer ornaments, you’d hung some of those tiny frames filled with pictures of your family. There was one of Sam reading Macie a bedtime story and another of Dean and Cas taken on Dean’s birthday. That was during the time you were trying to get pregnant. And there was one of baby Julia. 

You looked around the library and marveled at the richness of your life. Macie was sitting on Sam’s lap at one of the library tables holding up a reindeer shaped cookie so he could take a bite. She giggled, giddy with the excitement of the season. “It’s okay, Daddy. Santa doesn’t mind sharing.” 

Cas was putting more gifts beneath the tree. His newest accomplishment was mastering Christmas wrapping. Across the room, Dean held Julia humming to her softly. Maybe later, you’d look through the telescope at the stars with Sam after playing Santa was done and everything was ready for tomorrow morning. With a final touch to the Christmas tree, you walked over and sat down in the chair beside Sam and Macie. You reached for a cookie and bopped your little girl on the nose resulting in another fit of giggles. Yes, life really was sweet.

Everything Forever: @gambitwinchester @princessmisery666 @onethirstyunicorn @logical-princey @emilyshurley @fangirlxwritesx67 @waywardbaby @atc74 @ledzeppelinsbonzo @shaniquacynthia @mariekoukie6661 @tumbler-tidbits @67-chevy-baby @fandom-princess-forevermore @terrarium-jpeg @emoryhemsworth @crashdevlin @heycasbutt @jules-1999 @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @cosicas-cuquis @sammyimpala-67 @queenoftheunderdark @dean-winchesters-bacon @mrs-meghan-winchester @timelordy-fangirl2 @sweetness47 @hobby27 @awesomesusiebstuff @kickingitwithkirk @gh0stgurl @becs-bunker @sandlee44 @supernaturalgrandma @lonewolf471 @sea040561 @dawnie1988 @maddiepants @volleyballer519​ @outcastedangel​ @iknowwheremytowelis​ @kdfrqqg​ @lizette50​ @daisymoder72​ @sorenmarie87​ @oldfreakything​

Ships: @adoptdontshoppets​

#happyhalfchristmas #sam x reader #daddy!sam #wife!reader #sam fluff #destiel #dean fluff #reader insert #spn christmas

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

Walk Me Home - Ch 5

Summary: Twenty-four years ago, Kimberly Harper met a boy who changed the course of her entire life before up and leaving one night. She spent years moving past the memories, building a stable, satisfying career as professor of folklore and mythology at the local university. Then the accidents start, and she’s forced to seek help among her hunter contacts. All it takes is a knock on her office door to send Kimber’s carefully built emotional walls crumbling to the ground.

Featuring: Teen Winchesters, high school romance, reunions, misunderstandings, high intensity emotional turmoil, Dean’s love of pie, Dean being adorable, Sam being adorable and maybe a bit nosy eventually, much group adorkable-ness, show-style investigation, mention of our favorite werewolf, gratuitous and obvious love of fall, DID I MENTION ROMANCE, fluff, smut, tension. 

Warnings: Show level violence, show level parental neglect (let’s not John bash, I’m just saying), show-style witchcraft, show-level mental manipulation, stalking, bit of angst, sexual content (higher than show level),swearing, general yearning

Word Count: 3777

Author’s Note: Eternal thanks to @mskathywriteswords​ , @fangirlxwritesx67​, and @cracksinthewalls​ for editing, revision, flailing, and generally knocking sense into me when I’m being stubborn. Decided to give Wednesday posting a try and also get a chapter up a little earlier to make up for lack of posting. Be prepared to brush your teeth after this one. The fluff morphed into cotton candy when I wasn’t looking. Also, be prepared, the next chapter is short, but...intense? Yes. Let’s say intense. 

Keep in Mind: There are a lot of flashbacks. I tried to write current events in present tense and flashbacks in past tense. Here’s hoping I got everything right!

Please read/heed the warnings. 18+ ONLY. 

In Case You Missed It: Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

Chapter 5

Kimber drifts gradually back to consciousness, feeling warmer and safer than she has in decades. She draws in a deep breath, stretching luxuriously, and then stilling suddenly. This bed is not her bed. This blanket is not her blanket. She has a brief moment of panic before she opens her eyes to find Dean’s face inches from hers, smooth and relaxed with sleep.

She’d only been able to let him go last night long enough for him to grab his own quick shower and change into sleep clothes. Then, in wordless agreement, they’d settled under the covers of her bed. They’d woven limbs together, pressed close without a word of discussion or thought of awkwardness. 

Just as she was falling asleep, she felt his cheek press against the top of her head, and he’d murmured a single question. She nodded her consent, and his lips met her forehead, just as soft and warm as she remembered. Then sleep asserted its claim.

Kimber lies still in Dean’s arms now, afraid to move and wake him. She’s never seen him this peaceful and relaxed, even back before life took more of a toll on him. With his guard down, she can finally see all the fine lines etched by a hard life spread over his features, adding depth and detail to his face. 

In the early morning light filtering through the threadbare curtains, she can just make out a sparse sprinkling of gray in his hair, and she smiles. Time may be catching up with Dean Winchester, but he is definitely not worse for wear. 

She shifts a little, freeing a hand, and he grumbles in his sleep, his arms tightening for a second before relaxing again. She strokes his hair back gently, combing her nails lightly across his scalp, and he shivers against her. 

She’s never seen him this vulnerable, this soft, even when they were younger. She has to strangle down the urge to trace his facial features with her fingertips. Whatever this is between them is strained by absence and misunderstanding but has somehow managed to survive the years. Touching him so intimately without his knowledge or consent…

No, she thinks. I want to ask him, I want him to hear him say yes. I want him to ask me to touch him.

Instead, she snuggles closer, closing her eyes and resting her face on his chest again, basking in the safety and warmth of his embrace for as long as she can. She is mortified when, five minutes later, her stomach lets out a growl so loud that it actually rouses Dean from his sleep. His arms tense as he stretches and frowns, eyebrows lowering with concern.

“You hungry or just really happy to see me?” he rumbles, his eyes closing again. She giggles, embarrassment abated. Then she becomes acutely aware of the rat’s nest that is her hair and what tastes like a truly horrific case of morning breath. She disentagles herself from his legs and rolls from his grasp, smiling to herself at his muttered protests. Snatching her previous day’s clothes, Kimber slips into the bathroom to perform whatever damage control she can manage under the circumstances. 

Thirty minutes later finds them at the diner across the parking lot, downing coffee with mutual, silent appreciation. Dean’s brother Sam is expected imminently, and Kimber has no classes or office hours today, so they are mostly ready to begin the investigation.

“We need to sweep your office and house for hex bags,” Dean says, between sips of his second cup of coffee. “Your house will take a while, so why don’t we start with your office to get it out of the way?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Kimber agrees, frowning. “I’ll know if anything is missing, out of place, or new. Maybe you and Sam could check out the spots of the other accidents?”

Dean opens his mouth to answer, then his eyes focus on something over her shoulder, and he nods a greeting. She turns to see a ridiculously tall man in a suit headed in their direction. It takes her longer than she’s proud to admit to reconcile this giant stranger with the slumped, defeated boy she last saw in the backseat of the Winchester’s car.

“Sam?”

His smile is warm, if a little hesitant, and she stands. They fumble between a hug and a handshake, finally settling on the former before seating themselves. A waitress drops off another mug for Sam, along with coffee refills all around, and they waste no time filling Sam in on the little they know and what they have planned.

“Actually, Sam,” Dean adds, glancing askance at the egg white omelette the waitress places in front of his brother, “I was thinking you could interview the victims at the hospital, see if they noticed anyone out of the ordinary or had contact with anyone that sounds like our stalker.” 

Sam nods, his mouth full, and turns questioning eyes on Kimber. She closes her eyes, pushing as much distraction from her mind as possible.

“He was...on the shorter side. I’d say I probably have an inch or so on him. Younger than me, but I don’t know by how much. I’m really bad at judging age, I’m sorry. Unshaven but not a full beard, kind of rough-looking. Really pale. He never looked me in the eyes, so I didn’t see his eye color. Dark, shaggy hair.”

She shrugs, spreading her hands in apology. “I don’t remember much else. Dark blue windbreaker? It’s been a few weeks, and I didn’t think I’d have to point him out in a line-up or anything.”

Sam shakes his head quickly, swallowing. “No, Kimber, it’s fine. That’s more to go on than we usually have. I’ll talk to the victims, see if anyone stands out in their minds. You two have a solid plan. I’ll give you a call after I visit the hospital, see what I can find out.”

He hesitates, his eyebrows knitted together. “Kimber, I know you’re under a lot of strain, but could you go over the incidents one more time so I have the basics before I go talk to them? I wouldn’t ask, but I need to know what to expect.”

She can’t repress the shudder than runs through her stomach, but she shakes it off and rolls her shoulders. This is just an information exchange. She can handle that. She may need a drink or two afterwards, but she can get through it one more time.

Sam listens attentively, his forehead wrinkled, mouth set in a thin-lipped frown as she recounts the series of accidents plaguing her department. He exchanges some sort of troubled, wordless communication with Dean before glancing down at his folded hands. After considering for a long moment, he speaks, his words measured and careful.

“It definitely sounds like someone has a grudge against your department, at least, if not you specifically. All the victims are friends or work closely with you. We don’t know if any of the other victims got a doll like yours. That’s something for my list. You sure you can’t think of any reason, anything at all, that might make someone target all of you?”

She shoves down her mounting frustration, feeling impotent and slow. If she could think of anything at all helpful, she would have shared it by now. 

“I really can’t, I’m sorry. I just don’t interact with that many people outside of the department, and we all get along fine, as far as I know. No special treatment, no recent honors anyone could be jealous of. I checked in with my hunter contacts that I’d helped out with witch cases in the last few years, even a few non-witch cases that were still open, and I got nowhere with that. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

Sam sighs, nodding before finishing the last of his coffee. “Figured it was worth asking. Okay, I’m heading out. Dean, I’ll give you a call in a few hours.”

Dean nods to Sam, and the younger Winchester excuses himself, crossing the crowded restaurant with a few long strides before disappearing out the door.

Kimber turns back to Dean, her eyes wide with shock she’s barely managed to suppress until just now. He frowns, taking in her expression, looks down to inspect his shirt, then back up, his face comically confused.

“What? Do I have food on my face?”

“What did you feed him after you left town?!” Kimber keeps her volume low but can’t keep the wonder from her voice. “Growth hormones? Steroids? Jesus, he’s over a foot taller than the last time I saw you both, and he was already thirteen then!”

Dean barks out a loud, sharp laugh that earns him a reproving glance from a passing waitress. He bites his lip, covering his mouth with his hand, only partially successful at smothering his snort. She can’t help but smile, a little embarrassed at her outburst, but still…

“No, just lots of fast food. Good, healthy, all-American diet. Almost had to get a full-time job, just keepin’ him fed and clothed. Kid grew out of shoes and jeans like nothin’ I’ve ever seen.”

There’s no mistaking the fondness in Dean’s voice, almost more paternal than brotherly. And the off-hand comment about keeping Sam clothed and fed...Kimber’s heart twinges, but she carefully keeps her face as relaxed and amused as she can.

“Ready to go?” she asks. He nods and stands, lifting the check from the table to take up to the register. He offers her a hand, an inviting smile curling one corner of his mouth, and she does her best to smother the butterflies in her stomach as her fingers slide into his.

…

“I promised Sam I’d go to opening night,” Dean said, something like an apology in his voice. “He’s only working tech, but he’s really excited. It’s been a while since we’ve stayed anywhere long enough that he could get involved like this.”

Kimber squeezed his fingers, pulling her coat closed with her other hand. The temperature had dropped over the last few days, and the evening was brisk as they walked hand-in-hand to the high school.

“Dean, are you kidding? You’re taking me to a play, dinner, and meeting your family all at once. Three birds with one date!” She skipped a little, swinging his hand with hers, flashing him her most exaggerated grin as she let her eyes go wide and kooky. He snorted, glancing away to hide his smile.

He stopped suddenly, tugging gently until she stepped closer, her expression relaxing. His knuckles slid gently down her cheekbone and under her jaw, lifting her chin. He kissed her, a sweet, chaste brush of his lips over hers that sent her pulse dancing. Her cheeks warmed under his attention, and he pressed his lips a fraction more firmly against hers before straightening.

His eyes sparkled in the light from the streetlamp overhead. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?” 

She popped up on her tiptoes to kiss him again, marveling at her own bravery as her hands clasped the sides of his face, locking him in place. Before he could recover, she grabbed his hand, tugging him into a run down the sidewalk, and they arrived at the school, breathless and laughing. 

The performance of Oklahoma! was pretty standard for high school. Simple dance sequences, fair to decent singing (for the most part), and about forty minutes longer than Kimber preferred. They waited afterwards for Sam to make his way from the lighting board, and he shyly offered his hand to Kimber, who accepted, smiling and squeezing his fingers just a little.

The three of them arrived at the diner, relieved to see most families were celebrating at the more expensive restaurants across town. Sam looked over the menu, his eyes as hungry as the growl that escaped his stomach. Kimber didn’t miss the sad look he shot Dean before closing the menu and setting it down. 

When he ordered an ice water and peanut butter sandwich, Kimber’s heart cracked. 

“Sam, it’s my treat tonight. You did a great job; Mrs. Hasker never lets eighth graders work the soundboard, so go nuts. Order whatever you want. It’s your night.” 

Sam, eyes wide with hope, glanced at Dean, who looked torn between shame and relief. Dean cleared his throat, shot a grateful smile at Kimber, then nodded at Sam. 

“You did good, kid. Go for it.”

Sam’s face brightened, and Kimber couldn’t help but mirror his expression as he ordered a strawberry milkshake, double cheeseburger, and cheese fries. Kimber discreetly jabbed Dean in his ribs, and he side-glared at her, suppressing what was very definitely not a manly squeak of surprise. 

“You, too, big brother,” she said, her eyes narrowing pointedly. His lips thinned, his expression pinched. She knew she was hitting a nerve for him; it was fine to accept dinner invitations at home, and fine for her to treat his little brother, but paying for him on a date was an entirely different matter. He visibly wrestled with the simple decision, frustration and pride warring with want.

She softened her expression, placing her hand over his clenched fist. “Please?” She mouthed. “It’s okay.” He glanced at Sam, who was happily chatting with the smiling waitress about the performance, and a reluctant smile tugged at the corners of Dean’s face. 

“Double-bacon cheeseburger, and chili fries, please.”

Dinner with the Winchester boys was a delight that Kimber never forgot. Though Dean teased his younger brother mercilessly, liberally sprinkling descriptors like “geek” and “nerd” in his comments, she saw the way his eyes would linger on Sam as the younger boy inhaled his meal between answering questions about his classes and the performance.

“Are you going to take AP classes, Sam?” Kimber asked. He seemed so keen and motivated, she couldn’t imagine he wouldn’t want to.

“I want to, but we move so much, I don’t think I could keep up with the curriculum,” he admitted, his expression falling. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” Kimber lowered her voice conspiratorially. Sam leaned a little closer, intrigued, and she smiled at his eagerness. It was like looking at a mirror of herself just a few years ago.

“Most AP classes follow the same guidelines across the country, almost week by week. Mr. Schaeffer is the AP coordinator at our school, and he’s pretty cool for a teacher. If you talk to him, explain your situation, I’ll bet he could get you copies of most of the AP curriculum, maybe even some spare textbooks, so you could keep up with it as you guys move around.”

Sam’s eyes widened, and he glanced at Dean for confirmation. Dean shrugged, affecting disinterest as he leaned back to drape an arm around Kimber’s shoulder. 

“I dunno, Sammy,” Dean drawled, “but Kimber’s the top of our class, so she’s probably got some idea what she’s talking about.” He let out an exaggerated huff of air as Kimber’s elbow connected with his side, doubling over as he pretended to fall out of the booth. 

Sam peppered Kimber and Dean with questions about their classes for the rest of the night and didn’t even have to be convinced to have an extra large slice of celebratory pie to finish the meal off.

The three of them stayed late enough at the diner that Kimber was obliged to call her parents on the pay phone in the corner to assure them that she had not, in fact, been kidnapped and left in a ditch on the side of the road. The temperature had dropped considerably, so when Kimber’s mother offered to give all three of them a ride home, Kimber accepted without thinking.

“My mom will be here in about ten minutes,” she announced as she slid back into the booth. “She’s going to give you two a lift back to the motel on our way home.”

Dean’s expression fell sharply, and Kimber’s heart sank. 

“You didn’t-”

“Thanks!” Sam said, unintentionally speaking over Dean. “It got so cold out all of a sudden. Say, do you think I should talk to Mr. Schaeffer tomorrow?”

“The sooner the better,” she said, shrugging on her coat. Sam nodded, slurping down the last of his drink and loping off to the bathroom. She glanced over at Dean, who was sitting stone-faced, a muscle twinging above his jaw.

“I didn’t mean to...I mean, I should have asked, Dean. I’m sorry.”

Dean’s eyes closed, his jaw clenching as his lips pinched tight. Kimber waited, feeling the sting of tears prick at the back of her eyes. She’d crossed some unspoken line between them, and she didn’t know what to do to fix the moment. It had been such a good night, up til then.

“I...I’m not mad...at you,” Dean finally ground out. “Just...just gimme a second.”

He scrubbed his face with both hands, then glanced back towards the bathroom before speaking. He kept his eyes on the table-top, his hands clenching and unclenching on the cheap formica.

“I’m not...used to accepting hand-outs. I can take care of Sam, Kimber, I don’t need...you didn’t...you didn’t have to.”

She opened her mouth, fully ready to defend herself, but he held up a hand. 

“I know. I know what you’re going to say. I get that it’s not a hand-out. I know you don’t...I know you aren’t lookin’ down at us. I’m not used to…”

He cleared his throat, then reached out to her, his eyes still firmly on the table-top. When he spoke, his voice was low and thick, his words measured. 

“I promise, I’m not mad at you. Can we leave it at that for now?” He turned pleading eyes in her direction, his hand palm-up on the table. Her fingers were in his before she realized she’d moved. Mouth too dry to speak, she nodded and allowed herself to be pulled up from the booth.

Sam came barreling back from the restroom then, saving them from further awkward conversation, and they bundled up against the chill. By the time Kimber’s mother arrived, Dean had relaxed enough to greet Mrs. Harper pleasantly, and when they reached the motel, he leaned up to kiss Kimber’s cheek before climbing out of the backseat with Sam in tow.

The next day at school, Dean was a little distracted, almost distant. He walked her home that afternoon in almost complete silence. They were a block from her house when she couldn’t take the tension anymore. She stopped short, biting her lip as tears stung her eyes. To her shame, her throat started to clench, choking any attempt at words. 

Dean looked back at her, concern and confusion clear on his face at her sudden stop. 

She swiped the heel of her hand across her cheeks, avoiding his gaze. “I’m sorry about last night,” she managed, less coherently than she would have liked. “I didn’t mean to...I didn’t...I’m sorry I ruined the evening.”

Dean was in front of her in an instant, thumbs wiping the tears from her face, lips pressed fiercely against her forehead. 

“No, sweetheart.” His tone was rough and resolute. “I told you I’m not mad at you. Last night was...Last night was wonderful. I haven't seen Sam that happy in a long time. It’s been a rough few months. Sam and Dad have started fighting. Dad expects a lot from him, but not the usual good grades kind of ‘a lot.’ And when Dad pushes, Sam pushes back, and I…”

He dropped his forehead to hers, and Kimber pulled in a shaking breath.

“I didn’t want to drag you into our mess. You are perfect, and Sam and I both had a great time last night. Thank you. For dinner. For making Sam so happy. For everything.” He pulled back a few inches, catching her gaze. “Please don’t apologize again.”

She nodded, unable to answer aloud. He searched her eyes until he was satisfied, then nodded.

“ ‘M gonna kiss you now, so Imma need you to hold back on the tears for a minute. People will think I’m a terrible kisser if you cry through the whole thing.”

She laughed, and he caught her off guard, pressing his lips to hers before deepening the kiss. His fingers slid into her hair, tilting her head until he found an angle to please them both. His tongue swept, feather-light, across her lower lip, and she melted.

They came back to Earth a few moments later, jolted from their universe by enthusiastic honking and shouting from a passing car full of guys from one of their classes. Kimber hid her blazing face against Dean’s neck as he nodded, grinning and waving at the other boys.

Instead of pulling away, Kimber linked her arms around his neck, shivering against a biting breeze that swept past. Dean’s arms constricted, pulling her close enough that she felt his heartbeat against her chest.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Dean whispered, his words nearly lost in the breeze. Then he pulled away, linked his fingers through hers, and walked her home. He kissed her once more on her doorstep, holding her face between his warm, calloused palms, eyes closed. 

He rested his forehead against hers briefly before stepping back. He tried to deliver that smooth, carefree grin from their first study session and failed miserably.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he said. Then he turned, flipping up the collar of his jacket, and stuffed his hands into his pockets as he headed down the walkway. She watched him go, wanting nothing more than to run after him. The set of his shoulders, the tense bend of his neck, told her to hold her ground, though. 

Something else was eating at Dean, and she knew him well enough to know that needling him wouldn’t get him to open up. He needed space and understanding, and she would just have to sit on her frustration. He asked for so very little, the least she could do was give him some time to work through whatever was going on. She just hoped it wouldn’t take too much time for him to open up. She hated seeing him so distant and miserable. 

When Dean finally turned up that evening, he was thirty minutes late for dinner. His father glowered at the pair of them from the driver’s seat of a sleek, black muscle car, while Sam slumped, miserable, in the back. Kimber realized with cold, painful clarity that they had, in fact, no time left at all.

…

Chapter 6

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #Supernatural fanfic #supernatural fic #SPN #spn fic #spn fanfic #spn fanfiction #dean winchester #Sam Winchester #original character #original female character #teen dean #teen sam #teen winchesters #witchcraft #angst #romance #drama #high school romance #high school sweethearts #fluff #sugary sugary fluff #one of my favorite chapters #Next chapter we'll get some more plot I promise #like #stuff will actually happen to further the plot #i am still going with the word intense #i might even add trippy #mua ha

[suckmysupernatural]

Sunshine - Chapter 5

Series Masterlist

Word Count: 1810

Pairing: Sam x OC Sunny

Series Summary: The Winchesters meet a cheerful hunter named Sunny, who quickly captures Sam’s attention. Little do any of them know what lies in store when Sunny gets invited to join the brothers. Who can say how Sam, Dean, and Sunny will be some training days, a handful of hunts, romantic dates, a kidnapping, and one vengeful demon later.

Chapter Summary: Sunny and the Winchesters find a case.

Warnings: language

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

“Hey, Sunny. We found a case. You want to come?” Sam offered as he walked into the library. Sunny had been immersed in a book of zombie lore but hearing the word ‘case’ caught her attention. 

“Yes! Yeah, yes yes!” Sunny answered excitedly. Sam laughed, nodding.

“Okay, we leave in 10. Pack for a few days,” Sam said. He left to go to the kitchen, leaving Sunny to hustle to her room. She grabbed her empty duffel bag from under the bed, shoving some clothes into the bag. She made sure to put a mix of hunting clothes and a couple of nicer outfits in case they went undercover. Sunny walked up to her nightstand, looking fondly at the photos that sat there. 

“I’ll see you guys later,” she smiled, kissing two of her fingers before touching each photo. This was a ritual that Sunny had set in place soon after her family had died. While she knew that her family was gone for good, she couldn’t help but talk to them sometimes. There were times when she would just talk to her sister about the hot guy at the bar or telling her dad a joke. It brought Sunny comfort. 

Reaching the Impala, she saw Dean on the driver’s side, waiting for her and Sam. Sunny looked around for Sam, but he must still be packing. Laughing to herself, she hopped into the passenger seat for the first time. Dean looked over and laughed.

“Sammy won’t be happy about this,” Dean pointed out. 

“Well, now he gets the pleasure of staring at me the whole trip,” Sunny winked. It was then that Sam walked into the garage. He approached the passenger side and stopped, surprised to see his seat taken. Sunny rolled the window down, looking up at him. “Hello, can I help you?” 

“Wow,” Sam said in mock offense, “how dare you.” Sunny giggled as Sam made his way into the backseat. Dean turned to face his brother, one arm resting on the back of the bench seat. 

“Www-chhhhh,” Dean mimicked the motion of a whip. Sunny gave Dean a small shove, trying to hide a laugh. Sam simply rolled his eyes at his brother’s teasing. He was used to it. Dean turned to face forward, reversing the car out of the garage. Sunny bent down to pick up the Impala’s cassette collection. She looked through the titles, smiling when she found one that had been shoved to the bottom. She slid it into the player and turned up the volume.

It didn’t take long for the familiar upbeat electric guitar to flow through the car’s speakers. Dean was already speeding down the road but the music broke his focus. He whipped his head to look at Sunny as the lyrics started.

What I want, you've got 

But it might be hard to handle

Like the flame that burns the -

Before the first verse could even finish, Dean pressed the eject button. He kept eye contact with Sunny as he rolled down the window, grabbed the cassette, and chucked it out of the car. 

“Dean -” Sunny started to complain but was quickly interrupted.

“NO HALL & OATES IN BABY,” Dean yelled. He reached into the box of tapes, pulling one out at random. Soon the tunes of AC/DC filled the car. Sam and Sunny sat in shock at first before bursting into laughter. Dean quickly joined them, chuckling as he continued onto the highway. 

“Okay, so what is the case boys?” Sunny asked, her eyes shifting between the brothers. 

“Blair, Nebraska. We already have six bodies waiting for us in the city’s morgue. They have all been brutally murdered, some were stabbed while others had their neck snapped.” Sam explained.

“Couldn’t this just be a serial killer?” Sunny asked. 

“At first, it looked that way. But for a couple of the victims, their families have described a rotten egg smell in the home. One had even been visited by an electrician that morning after complaining that the lights in her home had been flickering even after replacing the light bulbs,” Sam gave a knowing look at Sunny.

“So we’ve got ourselves a demon,” Sunny said.

“Yep, one with an anger management problem it seems.” 

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

The drive to Blair, Nebraska was relatively short. Within four hours they had arrived at the city’s only motel. It was small, with only about a dozen rooms. The three checked in, only getting one room. Sam and Sunny had discussed it and decided to share a bed on hunting trips. They weren’t sharing one back at the bunker, but Sam felt better knowing that Sunny was in the same room when there was a dangerous monster roaming about. He knew that she was an incredible hunter, maybe even better than him, but didn’t want to take the risk. That was fine by Sunny as she liked knowing that Sam was safe as well. 

Going into the room, they all quickly changed into their FBI gear. They were all wearing suits by the time they had climbed back into the Impala. Sunny wasn’t a big fan of her gray pantsuit, wishing she could wear something brighter instead; she knew that neutral colors were best if she wanted to be taken seriously. 

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

“Please tell me that you guys got some info on this demon,” Dean groaned as he flopped onto the motel bed. They had decided early on to split up, each covering two of the victim’s families. Each hunter got barely any information that could lead to the motive behind these murders. None of them had any major successes within the last ten years, so a demon deal was quickly eliminated from the list. 

“So I have a pediatric surgeon who recently gave a pro bono surgery to a child with cancer and a high school football coach with a nicotine addiction and a tendency to sleep with cheerleaders,” Sunny told the boys. 

“The older woman, Marge, volunteered at her church and had a book club. I also met the very distraught mother of the dead teenager. He was constantly in trouble and his browsing history was filled with porn,” Sam stated. Dean raised his eyebrows in approval at the mention of the teen’s pornography habits.

“I got the woman that ran the non-profit and knit caps for newborn babies and a man who had a bad gambling debt. Like 100,000 dollars worth of debt,” Dean said dully. There wasn’t much to go on and the boys thought that they had hit a roadblock. That was until Sunny spoke up.

“Wait guys, I think I found a pattern. We have three women who were giving and kind, amazing people. Then we have three guys that are on the bad side of things,” Sunny said. The boys’ faces lit up in understanding. 

“So, sinners and saints?” Sam asked, looking at the other two. 

“It’s weird but we’ve seen weirder,” Dean pointed out. Sam nodded in agreement.

“So tomorrow, we just research what? Awesome women and shitty men?” Sam asked.

“Sounds hard to narrow down,” Sunny laughed. Both of the brothers looked at her as if they were deeply offended. It didn’t last long, with both guys agreeing. The three of them got ready for bed, deciding to call it a night. They had been working all day and tomorrow would likely be the same.

Dean fell asleep quickly, his snores filling the motel room. The sound was like a white noise machine was playing so Sunny and Sam weren’t bothered by it. It wasn’t long until they were also in deep sleep, their cuddling keeping them warm throughout the night.

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

“Rise and Shine, lovers!” Dean yelled out from the foot of the bed that Sam and Sunny were sharing. They both groaned at the older brother, Sam throwing a pillow at him. “Hey, Woah. Is that any way to treat the man who got you coffee?”

Sam shot out of bed, quickly grabbing the cup from Dean’s hand. The brothers both shared a slight caffeine addiction, using coffee to get through the day. Sunny, on the other hand, often preferred tea. Dean had remembered that fact and handed her a cup of Earl Grey.

“Thanks, Dean,” Sunny inhaled the enticing aroma. Dean sat down on his bed, looking at the other two hunters.

“So, how do we find the next victims?” Dean asked. It was a question that none of them truly knew the answer to. 

“Um… maybe we can just ask around town? See what the gossip is?” Sunny offered. She wished that there was something more concrete, but this was all they had at the moment. 

“Yeah, I guess. I’ll check out the police station, see if they have any repeat offenders,” Dean said. 

“Okay, Sunny and I will look for some do-gooders,” Sam shrugged. Dean nodded, going to the bathroom to get ready. It didn’t take long, putting on the fed suit once again because he was going to the police station. Sunny and Sam, on the other hand, got to dress casually. Sunny was glad to leave behind the pantsuit, trading it in for a light blue, knee-length sundress with buttons down the front and pockets. 

“Wow, you are beautiful,” Sam said at the sight of her. She could feel a blush crawling up her cheeks as she gave him a large grin.

“Why, thank you,” Sunny gave a small curtsy. Sam laughed, offering his hand for her to take. The two, now hand-in-hand, left the motel room to walk towards the town’s center. The city was small so they would be fine without a car. In fact, Sunny found it rather enjoyable. The sun was shining down on them, the slight breeze keeping them from overheating. 

It was difficult to focus on the case at hand as both were distracted by one another. Sam couldn’t think of a time that he was this happy. Looking down at her, he couldn’t believe his luck. Her eyes were closed, letting the sun wash over her face and trusting Sam to guide her. He was in awe of Sunny, how she takes something as small as the sun on her face and lets it fill her with joy. Her eyes fluttered open to meet Sam’s.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing, I was just thinking about how I am the luckiest man alive,” Sam said matter-of-factly. Sunny let out a giggle that made his heart skip a beat.

“Okay, Mr. Luck. We gotta focus up, finish this case and I’ll show you just how lucky you are,” Sunny winked and gave his hand a squeeze. Sam’s eyebrows raised, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. 

“Let’s get to work then,” Sam said with determination as he increased his pace. Sunny laughed as she attempted to catch up with him and his long legs.

Chapter 6 ->

#sam #sam winchester #sam series #sam fic #sam fanfic #sam fanfiction #sam wincheseter fic #sam winchester fanfic #sam winchester series #sam winchester x ofc #sam winchester x oc #spn #spn fic #spn series #spn fanfic #supernatural #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfic #supernatural series #sunny series #sunshine series #suckmysupernatural

[angrypixie-sarisa]

Of Death and a Baby

Piedras Rodantes Pt. 23

Sam xMexican!Witch!fem!readerx Dean (polyamorous)

Author’s note: There’s the use of indigenous language, Nahuatl, casually but magically as well. Nahuatl is the language used by the Aztecs. It doesn’t mean they were magical, but Día de muertos was celebrated long before the Spanish conquista. Because of the focus of death in this chapter I personally think that the connection between the tradition and language is quite beautiful and I wanted to use it in a way with respect. I personally am learning Nahuatl and felt the enthusiasm of incoporating it to the story. If someone finds it offensive or has notes about it I will gladly take them and even erase the chapter if necessary.

Warnings: kinda long, swearing.

(no gifs bc my wifi sucks)

“Okay, so, are you sure he had no aura? Like, not even a spark of red? Yellow? Heck, not even blue?” Diego was sitting criss cross in front of you. You shook your head as you finished drawing on your floor.

“Nothing, and when I say nothing, believe me, it was nothing. You remember that spooky book at school? The one with the weird gray lump?”

“Wha-the weird one?”

“It reminded me so much of that.”

“Word?”

“Word. Hence this.” You signaled towards the things drawn on your floor, all surrounded by the respected color, tarot cards, crystals and herbs. Diego sighed as he helped you light up all the candles. 

“You know, if they find out about this, they’ll get mad.” He said as he placed his hands on his knees, palms hugging them lazily. 

“¿Quién?” You asked as you did the same thing. He gave you a look as if you were supposed to know who he was talking about. 

“Sam and Dean?”

“Oh, pft, who cares if they get mad? Esto es justo y necesario. Además sus sentimientos no tienen nada que ver en si hago magia o no. Screw them.” he dedicated you a proud look, before clearing his throat. “Ready?” 

“On three?”

He nodded. “One.”

“Two.”

“Three. Nihuinti, nichoca, nicnotlamati, nicmati, nic-itoa, nic-elnamiqui: ¡Maca aic nimiqui, maca aic nipolihui! Incan ahmicohua, incan ontepetihua, in ma oncan niauh: ¡maca aic nimiqui, maca aic nipolihui! Estoy ebrio, lloro, me duelo, digo, me acuerdo: ¡ojalá no muera yo, ojalá nunca perezca! Donde no se muere, donde se encumbra, allá vaya yo- Ojalá.” You both chanted in unison. The circle started to illuminate with variety of colors, though the ones that repeated the most were red, purple, orange, green and blue. You kept chanting the same words over and over until in the center of it all, you got an answer. 

Slowly, you both opened your eyes and moved your hands from your knees as you looked at the center on the circle. 

You sighed. In temporal burnt letters it was written “Tetlapopolhuiliztli. Atlenkauitl.” Which meant sorry, no time or bussy.

“Well, there’s another way.” 

“I know, but it’s the longest way of invoking death.” 

“But it’ll be worth it. You’ll have your answers.” 

You sighed while passing a hand through your hair. 

“Es la muerte. Tiene sentido que esté ocupada.”

“Ni modo.” Your phone vibrated in your backpocket. You took it out and checked it only to find a text from Lisa. She managed to convince Dean to get on board with the gun lesson and the knife throwing. Verga. You forgot about it or rather you were utterly convinced that he wouldn’t give in that you decided to focus all your energy and thoughts to summoning Death. But well, she was busy and now you were stuck multitasking. 

“It’s not fair. I wanted to learn how to throw it.”

“I know champ. But for now your mom gets this privilege.” You caressed his hair slightly. Though Lisa didn’t feel it like a privilege. She would rather not have to know how to fire a gun and throw a knife, but her situation demanded it so here she was. 

“Okay, once you master the movement of your throwing hand and you don’t fear to hit your foot instead of the wood your standing on-” 

She looked at you with a mock on her eyes at your teasing. 

“Then you’ll move from throwing at the floor to throwing at a wall. For now, stick to the other method, the precautions and keep practising. Salt in the windows and doors, the whole shebang.” 

She nodded as she and Ben helped you get the set up you brought for her practicing. Next thing you were at the door, already saying your goodbyes and as you walked a block away your phone vibrated again. Since you wanted to summon her, you kept thinking everything could be a signal that death actually made some time to pay you a quick visit. But sending a text wasn’t her style and when you saw your screen it was Dean’s name that appear. It was a text, however, you didn’t get the chance to read as a call came to replace it. 

“Hey. I was just with Lisa and Ben, made sure the house’s properly safe and all. What’s-”

“Y/N, we need your help.” He sounded desperate, his voice was rushed and it sounded as if it came from different places, kind of like up and down, for some reason. 

“Wha-Why? With what?” Just after you asked your ears were filled with the sound of whales, very noisy and demanding whales with a tiny sob here and there. 

“Is that a baby?!” 

“Yeah! I told you we need you! Quick, I don’t know for how much longer we can handle this!” 

“Okay, but-”

“Perfect. See you here.” And then he hung up.

+++++

There was a knock on the other side of the door, a very loud knock. "No, no please don't…" Dean muttered as he heard the baby starting to cry again. Sam passed a frustrated hand over his face as he saw his brother open the door only to be met by another catastrophe. Your eyes were flames and he could swear you could kill anybody with that glare. 

"What. The. Hell? At least if you ask me to come over give me the fucking place where you're at! I had to open five different doors to come here! There's a Swedish family you owe an apology to!" You practically helped yourself in. Taking deep breaths to calm yourself as you walk through all the room. Your eyes landed on the whaling baby. "Hi. I'm sorry, did I scare you, darling?" You went to pick him up and to the brothers surprise the baby lifted his arms at you. "Yeah, come here buddy. Hi! Are these evil men not attending to your needs? They're pretty awful aren't they?" 

"Excuse me?" Dean glared at you and the baby as he settled his head on your chest, on top of your heart. You passed a soothing hand through his back and rocked him gently. 

"Sorry I woke you up. They were awful to me as well." You whispered to him.

"Oh, come on!" Dean, once again, complained.

"That's a lie." You heard Sam say at the table.

"Don't believe them. They would say anything to save their necks. A bet they don't even hold you. Tsk. Muy mal." With every word you felt him relax and you looked down to confirm that his eyes were droopy. 

"Hey, about your spanish." Started the older Winchester and measured his words as he was met up by a murderous gaze. 

"What about my Spanish?"

"I'm tired of wondering whatever you're saying all the time. Could you just cast that spell that Diego did for Tyler?" 

"Me too." 

You turned to look at Sam and you couldn't see anything other than mere curiosity. You rolled your eyes as you whispered the spell and a light orange smoke appeared at your feet before dispersing quickly, as though something scared it. 

"Did it-did it work?"

"Pues claro que funcionó. ¿Verdad que sí mi niño?" And as you spoke words started appearing as if they were watching a movie with subtitles. 

"Wow! That's awesome! Say something more." 

You thought for a while as if suddenly you didn't know any Spanish. Funny enough, the next words you spoke weren't Spanish. 

"Ma cochi, pitentzin. Maconexteca pitelontzin. Ma cochi cochi noxocoyotl. Maconexteca noxocoyotzin. Maconexteca pitelontzin. Ma cochi cochi pitelontzin. Maconexteca noxocoyotzin. Maconexteca pitelontzin. Ma cochi cochi pitentzin." But it worked, the spell translated the Nahuatl words, the song to them. But of course, the sound of it wasn't familiar to the brothers. 

The baby in your arms cooed lazily at the sound of the song. Instead of bothering to answer the brother's questions you kept singing to the babe until he fell asleep. Only then did you stop singing and placed him in the crib. 

"What was that?" Sam asked. He had stood up from his place on the table to lean nearby on a wall. 

"Nahuatl." You said nonchalantly. But of course that wasn't a satisfying answer. 

"I studied Nahuatl so it makes sense that I know how to speak the language." You looked at their dumbfounded faces and sighed. 

"Do you need a quick class of Mexico's history?" Seeming that there was no response you continued. "As in the United States, México was also populated by indigenous cultures. The dominant, and I'm not proud about this, culture was the Aztec/Mexica. They dominated great part of the country so it's the most spoken indigenous language, although there's still a small number of people that speak it. I personally fell in love with it and so wanted to learn it and did." You shrugged when no response came from them. "What can I say? I'm a woman of many surprises." 

“I see that.” Sam said, patting your head gently as he went to head outside. 

“Where are you going? I hope you didn’t just drag me around here to babysit.”

“I just have to cover something I missed. Brb.” He winked at you before disappearing behind the shut door. 

You sighed and passed a hand through your hair, then turned to look at Dean, who was resting in one of the beds. “Well at least you’re here to keep me company.” 

You sat beside him, looking at the wooden bars of the crib whilst biting your lip, deep in thought. He never used to pat your head, he only did it once before you told him to stop because you felt like a dog. 

You felt heavy fingers tapping at your back lazily. You turned around to face the tired look on his face. “What ‘cha thinking?” 

You released your lip and turned your attention back to the crib.

“Nothing.” It would’ve convinced him if it wasn’t for the fact  that your voice sounded low and dark, causing him to sat up. 

“That’s the worst lie you’ve ever told.” When you didn’t answer, he pressed. “Is it Sam?” 

At that he caught your attention, seeing as your head quickly spun around to face him with a puzzled look painted in it. 

“You feel it too?”

“Feel what?” He thought the distance between you and his brother was bothering you and he didn’t know why it was there in the first place. You two should be like newly weds or something, after all, you were reunited again. 

“Nothing, nothing.” You panicked and closed your mouth before you could say something else. 

“Y/N.” He warned. Well now he needed answers. He wanted to know what was happening. 

“Dean, you don’t wanna know, okay?”

“Except I do, you’ve just called me Dean.” 

Finally, you met him in the eye again. “What?”

“You only call me Dean when you’re serious.”

“That’s not true.”

“Mhm, sure.”

You laid back on your forearms, still looking forward. “Don’t know what you talkin’ ‘bout win- I mean, De-”

“See, I told you!” He slapped your thigh playfully as he chuckled, earning a few silent laughs from you. 

“Okay, alright, you’re right. I do call you Winchester frequently.” His hand wrapped above your knee and squeezed gently. He gave you some time in silence before he planned to press again. He didn’t want to give the impression that he wouldn’t ask again but also he didn’t want to annoy you with his insistence. 

“What is it? What about Sam?”

You groaned. “You never give up, do you?”

He shrugged as his thumb made tiny circles on your jean wrapped knee. 

You sighed. “Fine. Si te vas a poner en ese plan, pues ya que.” You huffed as you sat up again. 

He smiled softly. “ I love this spell.”

“Yeah, except now I can’t talk shit with you in the room anymore.” 

He bumped his shoulder with yours. “Don’t change the subject.”

“Wha- you were the one who did.”

“Y/N.”

“Ay, sí, ya sé.” You rolled your eyes, took a deep breath and let go. “Do you think Sam is… You know, our Sammy?” There was a pause as his hand stopped moving abruptly. You started playing with one of your beaded bracelets nervously as you waited for his answer. “What do you mean?”

You sighed before answer. “He’s not Sammy, Dean. He’s… Different and not in a good way.”

“What- How is he different?”

“Well he doesn't fight with you.”

“Oh, so you prefer it that we fight?”

“No, i don’t mean it like that. I mean it’s not natural. You guys fight and now he rises from the depths of hell and suddenly your brotherhood is just paradise?”

“How do you even know that we fight normally?”

“He told me before going back to hunting, before going to hell. Dean he’s not Sam. There’s something wrong with him, he-he has no aura. He’s way to poised and calm all the time. He patted my head.” You started listing all the things, carefully toning down your voice so you wouldn’t wake up the baby again. 

“Wow, what? Your basing all this on him patting your head?”

“It’s not just that, didn’t you hear what I said? He had literally no AURA. And him patting my head? I asked him not to once and he never did it again through the time we were together.”

“So he’s awkward, he’s remembering how it was having you around it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Well, how do you explain the aura then?” You crossed your arms. 

At that, he remained silent, clenching his jaw as he thought. “Maybe you’re still tired, from the djinn thing.”

You took a deep breath and clenched your fists. You knew he wouldn’t understand.

“Just forget I told you this.”

“No, Y/N, I-” But whatever he was about to say got muffled by the sound of something splattering, followed by baby cries. You both looked up to see skin and blood on the wall. 

You both hurried to aid him, you beating Dean to it as he answered a call from Sam. 

“Dean.” You called as you picked the baby covered in green goo. He hanged up the phone and took the baby from you. But neither of you knew what to do except for panicking and do a funny dance where you stood. 

“Shapeshifter.” 

“I know.”

“The baby, he’s…”

“I know.” 

“What do we do, Y/N?!” 

“Um, okay, well…” You stammered. “No need panicking.” But what could you do? Was there anything to do, really? All you could do was take care of him until you could figure out something better. “Um, we- we can’t have a dirty baby. Let’s clean him and for once stop him from crying.” 

The Winchester nodded rapidly. “Yeah, yeah that sounds like a plan.” He took the baby to the bathroom, living you staring at the mess left behind. 

“I guess I’ll deal with this.”

+++

You finally got everything clean except that the baby kept crying. You tried cooing at him and playing with him but nothing worked. It would’ve been easier if you had a baby toy but, the brothers didn’t buy any. 

“Y/N, come on. You were supposed to be the baby whisperer.”

“Oye! Just because I’m a woman it doesn’t mean I’m the baby whisperer.” 

Then, there were knocks on the door before a voice came through. “Manager. Everything okay in there?” You frowned as you both shared a look before glaring at the door. 

“Yeah, no, we’re fine. Thank you. Good night.”

“There’s been complaints. Mind opening the door, sir?”

“Ay, pinche wey, pues que le valga a la verga.” You whispered. The older Winchester pressed a hand on your mouth despite your complaints. “You cannot curse in front of a baby.” He scolded. 

You shrugged his hand away. “Oh, grow up, everybody does.”

“Sir?”

“Uh, it’s not a good time. J-Just got out of the shower.” 

The doorknob started moving impatiently. You shared a look with the hunter. In your eyes he found an ice cold blue that wasn’t supposed to be there. He saw you move to hide on one side of the door, leaving the baby to him as he placed the him in the crib, before mimicking your actions. 

The door opened up to reveal a police man with a knife. Manager, mis huevos. Dean heard your voice in his head, not affording to look at the translation.  The intruder just needed to advance a couple of steps before he grabbed his arm and you got the knife out his hand. 

Struggling, the man pushed you two away from him, making the stupidest thing and pushing you two in between the baby and him.

“Get the hell out of the way.”

“No that’s not gonna happen.”

“A child should be with his father.” 

“Prove he’s your son, then we’ll consider it.” You said. 

“I’m not just talking about me, I’m talking about our father.” 

You masked your confusion well enough but the hunter looked as if he took the bait. You mentally facepalmed.  And as the guy went to make his move you quickly dodged his kick before you kneeled and kicked his other leg. 

“Y/N, look out!” 

He grabbed you by your hair and pulled. But just as sudden as it was it stopped. Dean had jumped into action and wrestled with the man. 

“The knife!” 

You felt it beneath you and you grabbed it as you went and pressed it on the shapeshifter’s throat. He groaned, placing his hands around the hunter’s throat. 

“Try me, I’ll choke him before you could slice my throat.”

“You talk to much.” As you went to move your hand he slammed his head with yours, freeing himself from your threat. 

You placed a hand on your forehead and saw him towering over you. But before he could do anything else a gunshot was heard and his body met the floor with a thump. 

“Well, there goes our deposit.” You heard Dean say towards the door. You needn’t see it to know that it was Sam.

+++

You were driving to meet up with Samuel and the cousins. The boys had discussed about the events and Sam had suggested to go to Samuel. You weren't happy about it, your gut kept telling you that something was wrong. Still, there you were, sitting at the back of the car, keeping an eye on the sleeping baby. 

You looked out your window, not really knowing where to look at, but you certainly didn’t want to face forw, when something caught your eye. As if the world had slowed down, you perfectly saw a lost soul watching dumbfounded at the cars as if they didn't know how they got into the road. 

Your fingertips started tingling and you glanced down at them to find them colored a coal black tone. 

Verga. You glanced around shoving everything trying to find anything that could help you; there had to be something you could use to hide them. 

"Hey, what's up?" Dean asked watching you through the rear mirror. 

"Uh. Sammy…" you cleared your throat. "Sam, do you happen to have the other day's gloves?" 

"Uh, I think so. I think there somewhere back there." 

You sighed and mumbled a thank you. You were sure to move carefully, trying not to flash them your fingertips. 

Just as you thought you had no exit to your problem you saw crushed leather fingers beneath the baby's car chair.

"Ay Dios mío, gracias!" You quickly retrieved them, shoving your hands swiftly into the soft fabric from the inside. 

"So, what's with you and the gloves?" The older brother asked. 

"I- I well, you know, I tend to wear them when I get too overwhelmed."

"Overwhelmed, 'bout what?"

"Er, um, pues, 'bout the energy of people or a place, sometimes certain hours of the day. It depends but the feeling's rare."

While it was a true statement, it had more to do with the fact that death started surrounding you and it would only intensify once the summoning was complete. But, the fingers usually happened if the spell for summoning death worked a little too well.

+++

It was night time when you arrived and the chills down your spine intensified. There was no way you were leaving the baby’s side now. 

You felt your phone vibrate in your pocket. Soon all of this mess would be over. 

You held the baby close to you, careful not to crush him, and the cousins gave you weird looks about it that you decided to take care of by giving them the finger. Every time you did, Dean shook his head. 

“Oh, relax he’s asleep. He can’t see me.” 

Gwen approached you with her eyes fixed on the baby. She went to caress his head softly as she said. “Well, aren’t you the best disguise a monster ever wore?”

You looked away from her, sure that if you stared at her for too long her head would explode. Instead you locked eyes with Dean and you both rolled eyes in unison at his cousin’s words.

However, she noticed. “I’m kidding, guys. Relax.” She said before going away. 

You lifted the baby softly so he could hear your words. “Cura, cura, cura. Sana todo lo que llevas. Que tus abuelos están contigo y sus espíritus te protegen.” It was an incantation to wash away the energy of the brother’s cousin, you didn’t want it sticking around where it didn’t belong. No one heard, but they did see you and questioned you. When asked what the hell you were doing, you shrugged. 

“Que te valga madre, ¿no?” 

When you fully lifted your gaze, the Sams were already heading towards you and the older brother had already stood besides you. 

“Hey, let me see the little guy.”

“That’s alright I got it.” You said firmly. 

Samuel smiled. “What do you think I’m gonna do?”

There it was, your ice cold eyes again. “I don’t know. What do you think you’re gonna do?”

“You don’t want an answer to that question.” Dean backed you up. 

“Well, I’m curious. Who exactly do you think we are?” Christian asked from his chair. 

“Hunters.” You both answered. But that didn’t matter because his response was only directed to the one on your right side. 

“Funny. Here i thought we were family.”

“Hey, let’s not get worked up.” Sam started. 

“Yeah, let’s not.” His cousin finished before directing his attention to something else. 

“Here, Y/N, it’s fine.” He neared you and looked at you. “Let me take him. It’s okay.”

“Heh, well you’ll have to rip him off of my arms.” You didn’t move. You stood your ground because stepping back would’ve ment intimidation and you weren’t intimidated you were furious. 

“Y/N.” Sam said quietly.

“No, don’t talk that bullshit to me. What do you want him for? Hm? Tell me, give me a good reason why you want me to hand him and I will.”

The room fell silent, more than it already was. You scoffed. “What you can’t think of a good one? He’s fine, he’s healthy, he isn’t injured. You want to take a look at him? Hear your words. Look. You can do that shit with your eyes, I don’t need to hand him over for that.”

Samuel, sighed, raising a hand to scratch the back of his neck. 

He’s nervous. The older brother heard your words in his head. His back shuddered, but when he turned to look at you he saw that your attention wasn’t directed at him. He didn’t even think you actually intended to talk to him. What did you said once? You tended to think loudly. 

“What are you gonna do with him?” The attention of the good ol’ Campbell shifted from you to his grandson. 

“Raise him.”

You scoffed. “Simón, wey. Esa ni tu te la crees.” 

“Raise him?”

“You got another suggestion?” 

“But-”

“It’s dangerous out there for him.”

“What about in here? What are we gonna study him? Poke at ‘im?”

“Your mind goes right to torture, Dean. Don’t assume that for everyone.” 

“What exactly you’re tryna say?” Great, now you got two angry people. Good luck fighting us.

“Sorry, I heard what you majored in. Down in the pit.” Christian retorted.

“Ay, pinche puñetas! Que te valga madre, pinche cabron de mierda!”

“Sorry, I don’t speak mexican.” 

You gritted your teeth. “And I don’t speak bozo, yet here we are.” 

“The hell is your problem, man?”

His cousin stood up and walked directly towards you. “You’re starting to become a pain in my ass.” 

“Take it easy. They’re my family.” Sam stepped in. 

Christian took a look at you. “I’m not scared of fighting a girl.”

“Funny, I was going to say the same thing about you.” 

Dean gulped and looked at your eyes, they were no longer icy blue, they were pure red, as fire and blood. As if you could burst something into flames by just looking at it. 

“We’re done bristling up here or what? Nobody’s doing anything to him, guys. When he’s old enough we throw it to him.” Samuel spoke. “He wants to volunteer to help out, that’s fine.” 

“Could be great.” Mark added. 

“How?” You asked lowly. 

“Think of the kind of hunter he’ll grow up to be.” 

“Hm. See I didn’t see it before but now I do. Thank you for that, you’ve opened my eyes.” You said sarcastically. 

“You have to be joking! I mean, come on. You can’t Angelina Jolie a shapeshifter.”

“Why can’t you give me an inch of trust, Dean?”

“Y/N, give him the baby.” Mark commanded. 

“Uy, sí, mamón. Lo que usted ordene. Se me olvidaba que le tengo que hacer caso a cualquier pendejo que abra la boca.” 

“Maybe because you two are back from the dead and I seem to be the only one who wants to know how.”

“You’re not the only who wants to know.” Sam said softly. That took you off guard, it sounded so genuine yet only in that moment he felt honest. 

“Well, there’s too much of mystery in this family for me to get comfy.”

“Then don’t. But don’t put it on us. All we’re trying to do is invite you in. You too, young lady. You think we are some merciless hunters but we’ve been nothing but open to you. Christian, you’ve always wanted a baby, haven’t you?”

“I mean, yeah.” 

“Try to take him away from me and see what happens.”

Samuel scoffed. “What you think you can do better?”

“At raising him? Yeah, I do.”

“But didn’t you tell Sam that you didn’t want kids?” Gwen stepped in. 

“Well I changed my mind, sue me. One thing is for certain, I have a better chance. You guys are always on the run, always hopping from one town to another. You don’t have a steady income. I do. And I have a savings account with money enough to start a college fund. If you can’t say the same thing, leave the baby the fuck alone.” Your phone kept buzzing like crazy. Just a little bit more, he’s almost here. 

Everyone fell silent again. This was new to Dean. He had never seen you liked this but he always knew that you had a good way of shutting people the hell up with solid facts. 

Just when Samuel opened his mouth to respond, distant barks were heard and panic overflowed the room. 

You looked at Sam, only to find nothing but confusion. Then you turned to Dean, but he only dedicated you a panic look as well. You felt paralyzed, your body tensed and for the first time in years, you didn’t know what to do. Well, you did, but it was easier for you to think tit than to move your body. You had to blame it on the spell, it was making you slow and frightful, like an old person that had their foot more on the afterlife than on the material world

“Safe room.” Samuel said. He placed a hand on your shoulder and guided you towards a door. “It’s downstairs. The baby’s gonna be safe there, go! We got it, go!”

+++

Loud clanks and footsteps echoed in the safe room where the four of you where at. 

“Come on, Bobby John, you’ve got to be quiet.” Dean cooed at him above of you. You still didn’t feel like handing him to someone else. 

“I’m gonna go check, you guys stay here.” Sam said, but as he looked through the window his image was mirrored and the shapeshifter yanked the door of it’s hinges. He took Sam by the collar, blocking his attack and threw him out of the room, knocking him out. He spotted you and began to walk towards your direction, getting rid of Dean in the process, making him blackout as well. . He then saw you and took your form. 

“Give me the baby.” 

“Took you long enough.” You whispered before handing them the babe. The shapeshifter gave you a thankful look as they carried the baby in his arms. They took a deep breath as they relaxed knowing that his keen was finally with them.  

“Thank you for calling us. And trusting us, Y/N. Thank you for taking care of him, we are in debt with you. It did making the tracking easier”

“There’s no need for that.” You sighed. “I’m only glad he’s safe. I was the only one who thought he was better with his kind.”

Your mirrored self gave you one last nod before walking away. Just as they were about to round the corner, they turned to you. 

“But you didn’t trust one of us before. What changed?” 

“Like I told him. All I needed was proof that he was the father. Now it doesn’t matter anymore. He has no one close to him left. I’m sorry for all the trouble, it wasn’t supposed to go like this.” 

They shrugged and as they walked away they said: “Make sure to make your injuries believable.” 

Yeah. You thought and sighed. That was going to hurt.

The rest of it went like you expected, lots of clean up and confusion. Dean asked about the shapeshifter alpha (which was the one tracking the baby) and his grandparent and Sam answered patiently. 

Now you where at the walk to the car, tending to your black eye, that you funnily gave yourself, while the brothers talked. 

“You know what’s funny.”

“What?”

“Back there, the fight in the motel. That guy said that they had to be with their father. So maybe, he was talking about the alpha.”

“Uh, I guess so.” Sam said nonchalantly. 

“So you heard that?” 

“I don’t know, it was kind of a hot moment? Why?” He looked at his brother and then at you, but whatever he was searching for he didn’t find it.

“Because if you did know the alpha was out there and you knew they were looking for the baby, then that means you took the baby as bait.”

Sam fell silent but looked at his brother as he waited for the question. “So did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Took the baby as bait?”

“Of course not, Dean. I honestly thought Samuel was the best shot we got.”

The older Winchester looked at you for backup and his brother mimicked his action. 

“Ah no, a mí ni me miren, yo tengo mis propios problemas ahorita.” You pointed at your black eye and thankfully that made them take their eyes off of you. And the rest of the ride was silent as a tomb.

+++

When you got back to your house, a tiny shadow was waiting for you, meowing. 

You sighed, relieved. “Schrödinger, hola gato guapo.”

“You have a message. It’s on the altar.” He walked you towards your coffee table, where you had mantled death’s altar. In the center, on top of the tarot death card, there was an envelope with a black wax seal, death’s seal. 

You sighed. “Always so fancy and proper, huesuda.” You opened the enveloped and unfolded the letter that was inside. It was a personal letter to basically tell you to be patient, she had a lot of work but as soon as she felt a space between her schedule she would gladly have a cup of coffee with you. 

“Great. I’ll have to make café de olla de aquí hasta que aparezca.” You clicked your tongue.

“At least she communicated with you.” Schrödinger said as he rubbed his body against your leg. You smiled and picked him up. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.”

+++

@anathewierdo

#piedras rodantes #supernaturqal #supernatural fanfiction #Supernatural fanfic #supernatural imagines #supernatural #supernatural imagine #Sam Winchester #sam x reader #sam x reader x dean #dean winchester #dean x reader #angsty #angst #kindaangsty #notreallythatangsty

[athingthatwantsvirginia]

A Patti Smith Envelope

PART THIRTY-FOUR OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: anxiety about future, plentiful pop culture references

Word Count: 4.1K

Summary: Ella and Jess move into their new apartment.

A newspaper ad circled in red ink had led them to the cozy one-bedroom four blocks over from Truncheon and six blocks from campus. It was only late April, earlier than Ella was expecting for them to find something. But she had finished finals, had booked gigs working at the art camps at the college over the summer. She had a few weeks off to make art, and hopefully help out in Truncheon. After touring the place, it felt right. An excited tightness in her stomach. Jess, too, had squeezed her hand in elation as soon as they walked through the door. The place had built-in bookshelves on the far wall, the bedroom on the other side. Ella didn’t believe in signs, but even she could agree it was as close to perfect as they were going to get.

Luke had offered to help without even being asked. Chris, Matthew, Leo, and Mabel were all participants to different degrees of willingness, and they hardly needed any more bodies. But Luke insisted the minute Jess had told him the moving date over the phone. It was likely he needed some sort of distraction since April had moved to New Mexico anyway. She wasn’t going to be back until the summer. And it seemed neither Luke nor Lorelai had come to their senses about each other yet.

He rolled up to Philadelphia in his truck two hours before they expected him. He claimed moving wasn’t moving if there wasn’t a truck to help out. Packing up all the stuff in the apartment was easier than Ella expected, just as it had been when she moved out of her childhood home. Jess could be cluttered sometimes, but nowhere near the level of Chris, and most of Jess’s belongings consisted of old band t-shirts and marked up books anyway. Ella, likewise, had most of her records stuffed in the back of her car. The dresser fit in Chris’s SUV after a fair amount of squeezing stuff in. The bed was the real challenge. It turned out Luke’s truck wasn’t such a frivolous vehicle, after all.

A drizzle was just beginning to fall from the gray, cloudy sky as they finished moving all the boxes inside. The apartment, on the second floor of some ancient building, was not exactly up to twenty-first century standards. The pipes were old and cobwebs gathered in the corners. A splinter or two jutted out from the worn down wood floors, golden brown under the dim lights. But the bohemian rug and many lamps they’d scouted out from the thrift shop a week earlier were already proving helpful. Boxes, labeled with mostly Jess’s scrawled, cramped handwriting, were stacked high in the corner of the living room, others gathered on the cracked tile of the kitchen counter.

Ella blew the stray hairs away from her eyes, otherwise pulled back in her black bandana. Her bangs were growing longer, and she was just becoming able to fully tuck them behind her ears. Roses of flushed color bloomed on her cheeks, her skin hot and sticky. Chris had already sprawled out on the dark gray couch, Leo on the arm. The couch, too, was secondhand, bought for ten bucks at the ReStore off the interstate.

“You really should be paying us,” Chris huffed, throwing his arm across his eyes.

Ella scoffed from where she was helping Matthew and Mabel unpack the kitchen. There was actually not much to be done, as Jess and Ella were planning on getting most of their supplies in the following days. There were a few mugs, bowls, spoons. “Consider it payback for the amount of times I’ve made you pie.”

“I was under the impression those were ‘no strings attached’ pies,” Matthew chimed in.

“Or, at most, ‘friends with benefits’ pies,” Mabel added.

Ella rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’m taking advantage of all of you. I’m eternally in your debt. But I think we got everything, if you guys wanna get outta here.”

The four of them exchanged glances, eventually coming to a consensus they were exhausted enough to leave and retire to the cold pizza in the fridge at Truncheon. Ella suspected they were excited to have their own rooms for the first night in forever, as Chris had already made work of moving his stuff into Jess and Ella’s old room, before they had even finished moving out. She gave them sweaty hugs and salutes goodbye, finishing with unloading the meager contents of the new fridge.

“Hey, Jess, we’re outta here!” Leo called.

Jess’s head appeared from the doorway to the bedroom. “Good. Better to save yourselves now before World War III breaks out in here.”

From beyond the bedroom door, Luke could be heard grumbling obscenities and fighting with the new bed frame he was struggling to put together.

“See you on the other side, then,” Matthew said, smiling. “Also known as Monday.”

“We’ll see if I make it until then,” Jess shrugged, offering them a small wave. “Thanks, guys.”

“You are not welcome,” Chris grunted, trudging out the door.

Mabel gave Ella one last hug before exiting the apartment, shutting the door softly behind her. A grin broke out on Ella’s face. She and Mabel had gone on more than one lunch together, had even gone shopping once. It was new and Ella was still a bit worried the timid woman would be scared away from a friendship with her, but they were slowly getting to know each other.

As Jess continued grappling with Luke, who went on grappling with the bed frame, Ella finished with their groceries. The kitchenware was more or less unpacked to a decent level. The books were next on her list, followed by the records. Rounding the corner of the counter into the living room, she stopped short of the book boxes.

She put her hands to the hips of her jeans. There were a few water spots on the popcorn ceiling, reminding her of Truncheon. The air smelled cozy, but more of lemon Pledge than anything else. Someone had dusted the built-in bookshelves in the initial flurry of unpacking. During the walk-through of the place, Jess had pointed out the corner next to the couch as the perfect spot for an easel. Looking over it, with familiar furniture moved in, the place seemed more real. Less like a dream for the two of them. The terrace past the small sliding glass door was empty, but she thought maybe they could fit a few chairs. It wasn’t as though the view was spectacular, just a vision of the city street below and the other apartment building opposite. But it was more than enough for two people who had both lived out of their cars for extended periods of time.

An odd sense came over her, one of total novelty. Never before had she had a real say in her home. Her parents lived in the blue house in Stars Hollow before she was born, Lane had moved into her house with Zach and Bryan long before Ella started sleeping on the couch, the apartment above Truncheon had been a simple convenience to everyone involved. But she and Jess had chosen the apartment together. They had admired the cheap price, the proximity to work, the odd seashell tiles in the bathroom. The place seemed to have been built before the contemporary requirements of architectural uniformity. It had a mind of its own inside: a leaky sink and a brick exterior and shag carpet in the bedroom. Not altogether a surprise, considering it was in the artsy housing district near the campus.

“Dammit!” she heard once more from the bedroom.

Heaving a tired but cheerful sigh, she crossed her arms over her Clash t-shirt (borrowed from Jess) and entered the bedroom, to the left of the living room and kitchen, opposite from the tiny bathroom. Luke and Jess were both hunched over the metal frame, trying to hold both the headboard and the footboard up and attach the middle section. Their faces were angry and red, frustration radiating off of them.

“Hey, so, it’s past seven,” she announced, eyebrows raised at their trouble.

Jess jumped slightly, his back to her, at the sound of his voice. The footboard slipped out of his grip.

“Oh, for the love of-” Luke began.

“It’s fine,” Ella interjected calmly, going over and placing a hand on Jess’s upper back. He panted but said nothing as his uncle continued fussing.

“Where did you even get this? There’s no damn instructions!” Luke said, readjusting the hat on his head.

“The discount store,” Jess answered, glaring down at the frame and over at the mattress, which stood leaning against the wall near the dresser. “Not all of us have diner money to fall back on.”

“Anyway,” Ella continued, “I bet we could all use some food. Jess, maybe you could drive Luke down to that place on Birch and get some sandwiches? I can finish with the bed.”

Luke shook his head. “Ella, I don’t think-”

“She probably can,” Jess interrupted dejectedly. “I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s those sculpture classes. But she can fix anything. Not just showerheads and cash registers.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Luke said, raising his hands in surrender and leaving the room. He went to grab his coat from the messy pile by the front door.

Ella stifled a laugh. “My god, he’ll never change.”

“Why is he coming with me to get the food?” Jess asked under his breath.

“Because I think he’ll have a stroke if he doesn’t stop with this bed. And he doesn’t know where the place on Birch is. You do,” she explained, giving him a peck on the cheek before going to try her hand at the bed.

Shoulders sagging with fatigue, Jess gave a begrudging nod, then glanced back over his shoulder. “Fine. Hopefully he’ll be less Vesuvius and more Mauna Loa by the time we get back.”

“Not everyday you hear a good volcano metaphor,” she quipped, assessing the middle section of the bedframe and deciding to take it apart altogether.

“I know. Imagine how dull your life would be without me,” Jess shot back, a small smirk tugging at his lips despite his frazzled state. “Turkey?”

She nodded. “You know me too well, James Dean.”

“Agreed,” he said with a teasing laugh.

“Fuck off,” she replied through a chuckle.

Jess’s smirk grew as he turned on his heel to leave. “Love you back, Stevens.”

.   .   .

The windshield wipers of Jess’s rust bucket screeched against the glass as he rolled down Birch Street, away from the sandwich shop. A white paper bag full of subs sat in the passenger seat atop Luke’s lap. In one hand, Luke held a bouquet of deep red tulips. Jess hadn’t remembered the florist shop where Ella had worked the previous summer was right down the road from the sandwich place. He’d stopped in for the bunch of blooms as they waited for their order to be filled. The plastic wrapper around the bouquet crinkled in Luke’s fist as he braced himself, Jess rounding a damp corner.

“I told you we should’ve taken my truck,” Luke grumbled.

Sighing, Jess fought to keep his jaw untensed. “My car’s fine. It’s driven us across the country more than once.”

“Before or after it broke down on the highway and Coop had to have it towed back to Stars Hollow?” Luke asked, his voice tired and strained.

“Not sure. I know for a fact it was after you stole my car, though,” Jess retorted, eyes on the slick roads. He wished the radio was on, but the memories of Luke whining about his album choices were still too recent in his mind.

Heaving a large sigh, Luke gave a shake of his head. “Fine. I give up.”

“Thank you,” Jess muttered.

“You’re welcome,” Luke shot back irritably.

But then he looked over at Jess. His hair was no longer greased, his clothes fit better, his eyes were clearer. Most of the time, his brow was no longer drawn in anger or his face a scowl. Even his posture was different; straighter, brighter, more self-assured. And then he thought of Ella. She looked much the same as she had during her last few weeks at work, with her wide smile and loud laugh. The smiles were more frequent, though, and she seemed so relaxed around her friends. Even around Rory she had sometimes seemed a bit nervous to Luke, as though she were worried over a misstep.

Luke couldn’t contain the small grin on his grizzled face. “I’m really proud of you, Jess.”

Snorting a laugh, Jess spared Luke a quick glance before turning back to the road. They were only a few minutes away from the new home, but Philly traffic was never reliable, even on a Saturday. “Let’s put away the pom-poms for now.”

“I’m just sayin,’” Luke began with a shrug, “got your own company, your own apartment with Ella. You really seem to be doin’ great.”

Jess gave a short, humble nod, but took a long pause before he spoke another word. “Lorelai proposed to you, right?”

Luke’s brow crinkled. “Yeah?”

“But you proposed to Nicole?”

“Yeah.”

Humming under his breath, Jess gave another nod. Red brake lights glowed in the rainy evening darkness. “When did you know...how you wanted to propose?”

“Jess, are you gonna propose to Ella?” Luke asked, eyes going wide and smile growing.

“Never said that,” Jess answered nonchalantly, shaking his head. “Just never really delved into that part of your personal history. Figured I’d ask. Maybe I wanna get to know you better, uncle dearest.”

Rolling his eyes at Jess’s old patterns of behavior, Luke didn’t let his smile waver. He looked down at the bouquet in his hand. “Well, considering it was an impulse cruise ship marriage, not a lot of thought went into it. It just sort of happened. If you’re asking me how to propose to Ella-”

“Which I’m not.”

“-then I’d say she loves you and she’ll say ‘yes’ no matter what. And I’d say that you know her better than anyone in the world, and you shouldn’t...second-guess yourself. Do what feels right.”

“And did an Elvis impersonator marry you two on that cruise?” Jess continued.

Luke bit back another sigh. “No, wiseass. It was a regular minister.”

“Huh,” Jess chirped wryly. “You learn something new everyday.”

.   .   .

Patti Smith spun on the record player as the rain grew stronger outside. Though it was a pain in the ass to unpack the record player, Ella decided it just wouldn’t truly be home without the grace of music on the first night. Luke had left about an hour earlier, though they insisted he could stay over. He said he was nervous enough leaving Lane and Caesar in charge of the diner for one day, and he didn’t want to be late for the morning shift the next day. It made Ella roll her eyes, but eventually she gave up trying to convince him. It wasn’t as though she expected Luke to change his ways. The tulips sat in a mug of water on the kitchen counter, to be placed in something fancier and on something fancier once they actually had a makeshift dining area. For the moment, only the big pieces from the old place and the bed were filling up the small apartment. Ella had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at Luke’s face when he saw she had put the bed together all by herself, finished before they got back with the sandwiches. An expression of extreme frustration had slowly melted into pride. Both were memorable.

Between Jess and Ella, who sat cross-legged on the floor on either side of the coffee table in the living room, was a half-eaten pie. One of the few leftovers from Truncheon they had lugged over to put in the fridge before an actual grocery run. The apple crust was a bit soggy, but the filling was surprisingly good cold. She found herself so wholly content as they sat together: eating pie, listening to records, in the dim lamplight of the first place which was solely theirs. It all struck her with a force she wasn’t expecting. She chuckled to herself as she grabbed another forkful, eating away at the half they had not even bothered to cut but just dug into instead.

“What?” Jess asked through a sweet mouthful, furrowing his brows at her.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Doesn’t this all seem a little...surreal to you?”

“Does what seem surreal?”

“Just...we have an apartment together. And you own a business. And I only have a year left of grad school. I just...sometimes I can’t believe it’s happening. I can’t believe it turned out the way it did. You don’t feel that?” she asked, lowering her eyes sheepishly.

He cracked a small, crooked smirk. “I don’t know. I always just sort of thought I’d end up where I’d end up. And here I am. With you. Not a bad place to be.”

She rolled her eyes, a blush coloring her cheeks. “I know about your Kerouac philosophy. But just...when you first met me, did you ever think in a million years this is where we’d be now?”

“I didn’t know exactly where we’d be. But, I knew I’d land somewhere. I didn’t know if I’d land with you, but I wanted to. Maybe it’s a little surreal, but it doesn’t surprise me,” he explained, leaning his elbows onto the scratched wooden surface of the table with arms crossed.

Snorting a laugh at his insouciance, Ella finally locked eyes with him again. “It just feels a little too good to be true, I guess. I mean, you go to school your whole life, you work towards something your whole life. Once it happens, once you’re near the end...I just never thought it would actually happen. I don’t know what’s next.”

She tugged at her earring with her right hand. Jess noticed the chipped blue polish on her nails, though they weren’t bitten down. He couldn’t quite decipher her mood. Not that she seemed sad or distant, but he could tell she was having a hard time articulating herself. And he could tell she was letting an old worry creep up on her; she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He allowed his smirk to grow into a full smile and dropped his fork into the pie tin. “C’mon, you’re gonna figure it out. You know you are. I’m the directionless one. You’ve always been able to do anything. You’re plan girl.”

Ella gave a mirthful scoff. “You’re not directionless, Jess. And I’m not plan girl. Rory was always plan girl. I was try-to-make-it-to-the-finish-line-without-tripping girl.”

Jess hummed thoughtfully, about to reply. But she spoke again before he had a chance to.

“I thought you had a thing for her, y’know,” she said, taking another bite of pie.

“Who?”

“Rory.”

“Really?” Jess asked, and he couldn’t hide the bewildered amusement in his tone. “When was this?”

She shrugged and narrowed her eyes for a moment in memory. “Just when you first got to Stars Hollow. I mean, you hated Dean, and you like a lot of the same things, and you seemed to get along with her.”

“No. It was pretty much always just you,” Jess said, shaking his head slightly. “Maybe we liked a lot of the same stuff, but...I didn’t ever feel like she...got me like you do.”

“Oh, she didn’t, Kurt Cobain?” she teased, raising her eyebrows. She put her fork down in the tin next to his, her stomach full. Her eyes were beginning to get tired, her body starting to ache from the day of moving. She was glad the bed was put together.

He raised his hands in joking defense. “Hey, I know it sounds cheesy, but it’s true. Remember that night she was tutoring me?”

“The night you crashed her car? Yeah, it rings a bell,” she replied.

“Yes, that one,” Jess continued, smiling sardonically at her. “We were talking about the future. And she kept getting on me about how I had to do better and I had to go to college, just like she did, or else I would have no life.”

The smile which tugged at Ella’s lips was slightly bitter but mostly fond. “Sounds like Rory.”

“Everyone in Stars Hollow thought I was the antichrist. Maybe Rory didn’t, and maybe we were friends, but she definitely wasn’t okay with who I was then. Maybe she thought, with enough Schoolhouse Rock videos, she could get me to shape up,” Jess continued, taking small glances out the sliding glass door as he spoke. He could see a sliver of the city lights past another building on the right side. It was better than the bland brick wall and the dumpster which served as his view from the room in Truncheon.

“Hey, she is an amazing tutor. If there was anyone who could’ve converted you to the Ivy League conveyor belt, it was her,” Ella said.

“Yeah, but you and I both know school was never the way I was supposed to go. It was the way you were supposed to go, but you didn’t try to get me to be anything other than what I was,” he told her, voice light but eyes sincere.

Ella felt her heart skip a beat, but shrugged again. “I don’t know. I definitely tried to get you to ditch those CDs.”

“The exception that proves the rule,” he replied.

“Speaking of, I figured out how I’m gonna organize the books,” she said, tossing a look past his shoulder at the empty shelves.

“How is that a ‘speaking of’?” he asked, a confused smirk coming over his face.

“I’m doing genre, then alphabetical order by author. The way you used to do your CDs when we were in high school,” she explained.

“Oh.” Jess had his eyes trained on her, watching as she undid her bandana and ran her fingers through her mess of blonde hair. He chewed on his bottom lip. Then, after a pause filled only with Patti Smith’s poetry, he blurted out: “Y’know, you were the first person I ever said ‘I love you’ to. The only person.”

Her gaze softened and she nodded. “Me too.”

“No, Stevens, I mean anyone. Not just Nora Ephron kind of love. Not family either,” he said, most insistent, though he did his best to keep his tone nonchalant. As though it were just a run-of-the-mill fact about his past.

She stopped for a moment, brow crinkling. “Your mom never said it to you? Not even hippie dippie Liz?”

“No. We weren’t that kind of family. She wasn’t that kind of mom.”

A crease of concern deepened between her brows. Every time it had come up before, she assumed both of them meant romantic love. Familial was a different beast. But she had to remind herself never to assume with Liz, no matter how she seemed. Jess had arrived when Liz was a binge-drinking nineteen-year-old.

Before her brief interlude in the ‘love doesn’t exist’ frame of mind, before her mother’s death, Ella’s world had been filled with ‘I love you’s. Mostly from her mother, in her soft voice, with her delicate perfume. Some from her grandmother, and even from her father. And after, Lorelai had sometimes said them in passing. Rory, too. The three words, no matter how commonplace they could sound, were important, she knew. Especially when they weren’t uttered, or stopped being uttered.

She opened her mouth to say something, then bit the inside of her cheek and hesitated. Rising from her place, she rounded the corner of the coffee table and went over to him. Jess tilted his head at her in askance, but she only answered him by sitting down in his lap, straddling him as their noses drew only inches apart. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and simply hugged him. For a moment, he sat motionless, his muscles tense. It wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting, if he’d been expecting one at all. But then, he circled his own arms around her waist. They sat there, breathing slow and clinging to each other, for a long time. Patti Smith droned on around them, enveloping them.

Eventually, she pulled away and ran her fingers affectionately through his hair. He looked up at her, unsure of what to say. Fortunately, she took the lead, gaze unwavering as she spoke in her quiet, husky voice.

“Jess, you’re the fucking best. You’re my favorite person. And you’re gonna be hearing ‘I love you’ every day for the rest of our life,” she assured him, matter-of-fact. “So, I suggest you get used to it.”

“Right back at ya,” he replied after an awestruck pause, just before their lips met.

In spite of the fuss over the bed frame, Jess and Ella ended up spending the night on the worn rug in the living room, nearly naked underneath the first throw blanket they could find in the boxes around them.

#jess mariano #jess #mariano #jess mariano fanfiction #jess mariano x oc fanfiction #jess mariano x original character fanfiction #jess mariano imagine #jess mariano imagines #jess mariano au #gilmore girls fanfiction #gilmore girls oc fanfiction #gilmore girls au #gilmore girls imagines #gilmore girls imagine #luke danes

[amillionsmiles]

vieni a vivere (Steve/Natasha)

Title: vieni a vivere Summary: Sometimes Steve would choose to sit in the corner of a piazza and people-watch, sketching. Natasha would venture off on her own, ducking into colorful leather shops, chasing the dribble of her melting gelato with her tongue.  Once, she stopped on the street for a caricature artist.  It amused her, to be studied and then so deliberately exaggerated. / Natasha, Steve, and a whirlwind tour of Italy. A/N: This is an AU in which Clint sacrifices himself at Vormir instead and Steve doesn’t time jump at the end. It’s been languishing in my drafts for the better part of the past 8 months but here it is!

{Read and review here} or continue under the cut.

*

“Natasha,” said Clint, every syllable another twitch of his fingers, his hand working itself free from her grip. “I’m not saving you from dying. I’m asking you to live.”

.

.

.

There was no safehouse in which to disappear from grief.

So Natasha went to Missouri, where Laura Barton took one look at her and knew. A flock of birds carved through the clear blue sky. The tall, dry stalks of wheat stood at attention.  Cooper, Lila, and Nate came running in from the fields to find their mother and their Auntie Nat collapsed on the porch, holding each other, rocking.

“I had a hunch,” Laura admitted later, after they had done their best to tuck the children into bed. “When he didn’t call.”

“I’m sorry,” Natasha tried for the third, fourth, fifth time, the bile rising in her throat again.  “We tried so hard.  I wanted—”

“Five years.” Laura rest her head against the wall.  She looked as young as the day Natasha had met her, except for her eyes.  They fixated just over Natasha’s shoulder, on the family photo framed above the dresser.  “It didn’t feel like that.  You know I wouldn’t believe it, if not for… he finished the shed while we were gone.” 

“Never could keep himself still,” said Natasha, thinking of Tokyo and the rain and the erratic dot she’d followed on the holo-map at her desk.  The gentler things, too: bandaging her wounds that first time, when she’d been nothing but startled and feral.  Rushing to hold a three-year-old Cooper as he climbed Clint like a tree.  Dragging the couch one way, then another, then back again.

“Will you stay?”  Laura’s voice broke her from the memory.  

Every part of the house creaked with his presence.  The bookshelves, the floorboards, the bottom drawer he’d stubbornly cleared out the very first time he’d brought her by because it’s you, Natasha, damnit, now hand me your things.  It hurt, but it was a hurt she owed him gladly, and Natasha closed her eyes and let it seep into her bones.

“Yes.”

*

Lila had Clint’s steady hands, the same way of looking down her nose and tilting her chin back.  Cooper had his squint and his hair.  Nate had his smile.

For a time it was enough, being their aunt.  Reading picture books.  Cutting the crusts off sandwiches.  Sometimes Nate woke up in the middle of the night crying for his dad and Natasha would lay there, listening as Laura tried to comfort him.  It got better.  It got worse. 

“Nobody in this house blames you for what happened,” Laura said from the doorway, watching Natasha fold a shirt and tuck it away in her duffel.

“I know.” The arrow necklace at her throat burned.

“Will you come back?” Lila asked as they bid their goodbyes.  She was getting tall, the top of her head nearly at Natasha’s collarbone.  Natasha ran a hand down the braid she’d tied for Lila that morning and closed her eyes, squeezing the girl closer.

“Promise,” she said, because she’d helped bring this world back and she’d be damned if she let it do anything to stop her.   

On the way to the airport, she called Sam.

*

“Journaling helps.”

They sat in Sam’s office.  The oak furniture gleamed warm and familiar.  He had a bruise on his right cheek, but other than that he looked healthy.  Fulfilled, even.  Natasha glanced at the shield propped behind his desk; Sam followed her gaze toward it and nodded, leaning forward.

“You know what he said when he gave it to me?” 

“What?”

“‘We got the world back, but it’s a new one.  Maybe I need something new, too.’” He tilted his head.  

“I have a list,” Natasha said quietly. “Not of targets. Places.”

Sam smiled. “There you go.  That’s a start.”

*

She found Steve at a sunny gym studio in Brooklyn teaching a class of 30-year-old women how to punch.

“Be honest, now,” she said as they entered the juice and salad bar right next door, “how many dates have you been asked on?”

“None,” Steve said, making it a point to study the menu even though Natasha’s reconnaissance had shown her that he came here every day after work.  “I keep things strictly professional.”

They found a table by one of the windows.  Natasha took a sip of her smoothie and wrinkled her nose—a bit heavy on the carrots, but it tasted healthy, at least.

“Does this new job of yours come with vacation?”

Steve set down his fork, lettuce and chicken drizzled with peanut sauce still stuck on its tines.  The gray instructor’s V-neck looked good on him, the studio’s logo printed neatly in black.    

“What’s this about, Nat?”

“I’m thinking of traveling for a while.”  She focused on the straw in front of her, rolling it between index finger and thumb.  “I’m trying to figure out who to be without… all of it.”  

Steve leaned back in his chair.  His finger tapped against the table once, twice.  

He had a right to say no, Natasha told herself.  When they’d told each other to get lives, neither had stipulated what that had to look like.  Soul-searching was probably more effective when done alone, anyways.

But that didn’t stop the surge of relief when he said, “I’m in.”

*

The park swing squeaked under her weight.

“Sorry to take him from you.”

Bucky half-squinted at her, then swept his gaze farther out.  They had come a long way since Soviet slugs and the freeway, Sam’s car.

“Nah, he needs this as much as you do.  Just do me a favor and bring him back in one piece, will you?”

Natasha nudged him with her shoe.  Bucky scuffed the gravel right back.

“Take care of yourself,” he added, a little softer.  “Don’t let it chase you down.”

*

Natasha hadn’t flown internationally in a good, old-fashioned commercial airline for years, and she planned on enjoying every minute of the eight-hour journey.  For the first hour and a half she busied herself finishing Ancillary Justice on her kindle, Dean Martin crooning Mambo Italiano in her ear through the in-flight music selection.

She’d chosen Italy because she liked the way the language burst free of your mouth.  That, and she appreciated the scrappiness of the country: a patchwork history of kingdoms, duchies, and republics expanding and contracting, managing to unify; the fierce sense of local identity married with proud celebration of a Roman past.  Natasha cared little for regimes, but she admired the people who lived through them.

“Last time I was in Italy was 1943,” Steve said on hour 3, peeling back the plastic wrap on the salmon and penne they’d be given for dinner.  “I only really got to see the military camps, though.”

“Well, I promise not to make you deliver any rousing speeches,” said Natasha.  “This trip is strictly pleasure.  No business.”

“Not gonna argue with that.”  He caught her reading the captions off his screen and took the earbud from his left ear, offering it to her.  “You know you’ve got your own monitor, right?”

“Shut up, Rogers, I’m trying to watch this movie.”

*

Cinque Terre looked like someone had taken a grandmother’s box of buttons and threads and sent it tumbling into the sea.  The houses sprawled on top of each other in an assortment of confectionary colors—pale blues and pinks, lemon yellow, deep red. 

On the trail down from Vernazza to Corniglia, Natasha stopped to admire Monterossa in the distance, the sun beating down between her shoulder blades.  Steve stood beside her, hands on his hips as he surveyed the landscape.  He cut a striking figure with his CamelBak; more than one group of hikers passing them by craned their necks to spare a second glance.  It wasn’t because of the Cap aura, though.  He just looked—handsome.  Nice.  The kind of guy you’d stop at the side of the road for if he held his thumb out as a hitchhiker.  

A mosquito landed on his bicep and Natasha reached over to smack it, flicking its remains off the palm of her hand.

“Can’t have any of these guys flying around with your super serum in their bodies,” she teased.  “What do you think would happen?”

Steve cracked a grin.  “They’d probably be even more stubborn and harder to kill.”

Loose gravel crunched on the path beside them.  A group of elderly—Natasha guessed they must be in their early 80s—walked by.  The man in the front wore a navy baseball cap and held a rust orange walking stick.  He was telling a story about his trek along the Camino de Santiago but paused to appraise them.

“Stopped already?” 

“We’re pacing ourselves,” Natasha said cheerfully.

“Don’t let us old geezers beat you!” he called over his shoulder, continuing on; one of the women in the group joked, “If I sat down to rest I think I’d throw out my hip getting back up,” and the rest of them laughed, the sound swallowed by the green trees and cliffside terraces as they rounded the bend.  Natasha wondered, not for the first time, if this was what having parents and grandparents would have felt like.

“Should we catch up to them and tell them your actual age?” 

In response, Steve hopped off the rock.  “Come on, Romanoff,” he said, and for a moment they were the newly minted leaders of a ragtag team of superheroes again—the clipboard’s weight in her hand, their footsteps in sync as they went out to meet Wanda and Vision and the rest—then let’s whip them into shape.  Who else could she have stood by all these years? 

“I’m not getting any younger!” called Steve, already at the bottom of the hill, the asshole—rolling her eyes, Natasha followed.       

*

The dream always started in the water.

The purple dunes around her brought her splashing to her feet.  Above her, the eclipsed sun winked, and she was back on Vormir’s unforgiving peak, shoulder screaming in pain as she tried to reel Clint’s dead weight up.

Natasha—

No, no, no—you bastard, don’t let go, don’t you dare let go—

Like a fish, Clint’s hand wriggled out of hers.  The cry tore free of her throat and she clawed at the air, fingernails digging into—

“Nat.  Nat.”

An arm wrapped around her waist, holding her up.  The rocking motion brought her to her senses and she turned, burrowing her nose into Steve’s shoulder, needing to be anywhere else.  He smelled like cotton and lavender, courtesy of their Airbnb host’s shower gel, the fabric of his tank top well-worn and familiar, more gray than white in the darkness.

“Hey,” he murmured.  

The last time he’d held her this close they’d been in a bunker in New Jersey, hoping to survive a missile.  Somehow, it seemed like a simpler time.

Deep breaths, Natasha.  Count to ten. She did it in Russian, then twice more in French and Italian.  When it no longer felt as if her heart were plummeting through her stomach, she pulled back.  

“You good?” Steve pushed a lock of hair away from her forehead, eyes searching hers.

“Yeah.” It came out strained—a sound that wanted to be a laugh but couldn’t.  “It’s just—” She raised her hand and made a twisting motion with her fingers.  “You know.”

Steve leaned back against the headboard to give her space.  A small strip of carpet and a bedside table separated their beds, and Natasha noted the disarray of his sheets, the evidence of haste.  None of it betrayed by his face, which adopted a careful expression as he studied her now.

“I have a question.  You don’t have to answer it right this moment.”

“What is it.”

“This trip, Nat… is it for yourself? Or is it for Clint?”

I’m not saving you from dying, Natasha.  I’m asking you to live.

Trick question, Rogers, Natasha wanted to say.  There is no me—the way I am now—without Clint.

“I just need to know. We promised we’d always be honest with each other.”

He was hurting, too.  When they’d first been partnered together all those long years ago, Natasha had been drawn to his loneliness; it had fascinated her, the idea of America’s golden boy left behind by everyone he’d known.  Now she knew better, of course.  The dry humor and the rule-breaking, the furrow between those blue eyes, the black and white photograph tucked away in a pocket watch, kept close to the heart. 

“What about you?” she asked. “Who are you traveling to leave behind?”

Steve considered, looking to the side.  She tried to follow his gaze but couldn’t make out what he was looking at in the dark, if maybe he was just admiring the paisley wallpaper instead. 

“My old self,” he said, finally.  “He’s a stubborn bastard, though.  Keeps running to catch up.”

Natasha cracked a smile.  “Mine likes waiting in the shadows.”

“Let’s make a deal, then,” said Steve, extending a hand. “Whichever of us gets to the other side of this first, we pull the other one along, okay?”

She took it and squeezed and thought: don’t let go.

*

“It’s not very high up,” Steve said, frowning at the balcony.

Natasha adjusted the braid over her left shoulder.  “People were shorter back then.  What, does the lack of height kill the romance for you?”

“Not exactly.”

He was right, though: Juliet’s balcony was little more than a pink stone box jutting out into the courtyard, ivy crawling up the wall next to it.  They’d passed through a graffiti-covered and gum-strewn wall to get to it, a little tunnel off the wider, smoother street of Via Capello.  Natasha liked that about Verona: the streets were clean and broad, yet the city was still small enough that you felt cradled by it.  Charming.

In the interest of being less conspicuous, Steve had worn a baseball cap, but that didn’t stop a few people from sneaking photos.  Sunnily, he overlooked them, choosing to focus on the bronze statue in the corner, polished golden by the touch of thousands of hands.

“So let me get this straight,” he said, reading the informational plaque nearby, “touching Juliet’s right breast is supposed to bring good luck?”

“In love, specifically,” Natasha clarified.  “You should do it.  When’s the last time you went on a date?”

“Not this again, Nat.” 

“I’m just saying, we brought the other half of Earth’s population back.  Your odds are no longer as shitty. Not that they were that bad to begin with.”

“Oh, yeah?” The smile he leveled at her was disarming.  It took her by surprise—ten years by his side, yet the supersoldier still had a few new tricks.  

Deflecting, Natasha said: “Speaking of breasts, you know you grab your left boob when you’re laughing.”

Steve looked scandalized.  “I do not.”

She reached over and twisted.

“Natasha.”

“For good luck,” she cackled, merciless, and darted away.

*

After fighting aliens, traveling to other galaxies, and resurrecting half of existence, these were the things Natasha believed in: warm pelmeni, a good dye job, and the quiet grandeur of churches, even if she wasn’t so sure about God.  Florence’s church to capita ratio kept her plenty busy.  It wasn’t that she was chasing salvation or forgiveness, necessarily.  Just that stained glass and measured arches gave her a certain peace of mind, one she still struggled to reclaim at night.

She hadn’t realized how deeply it had infiltrated her routine until she and Steve checked into their Airbnb.

“There’s a couch in the main room,” said Steve as they eyed the sole bed.

It had become a sort of symbiosis.  Steve got in his head during the day, so Natasha planned itineraries to keep them busy.  Natasha mourned at night, so Steve comforted her.  It happened frequently and without much discussion.  Sometimes he went back to his own mattress, but more often, they drifted back to sleep alongside each other—so often, apparently, that her subconscious had stopped looking for two separate beds when she made reservations.

“We can share,” Natasha decided, tossing her duffel at the base of the bed and moving to check out the bathroom. “We’re adults.” 

The old Natasha would have thought things over a little more, perhaps.  Weighed the merits and drawbacks of this arrangement, what it meant to sleep beside but not sleep with.  Especially Steve, who had a funny way of looking at her sometimes as she argued with street vendors or pulled them into random courtyards—a weighted pause, filled with equal parts exasperation, amusement, and an affection that Natasha hesitated to name.  The new Natasha went to bed with her hair wet and a towel on her pillow and woke up with her cheek pressed against his bicep, Steve already alert and scrolling through his phone with his free hand.  Upon sensing her stir, he glanced over, eyebrows slightly raised.  If she weren’t so good at feigning nonchalance, she’d have blushed.  

Instead, she probed: “What are you thinking, Rogers?”

“I’m thinking,” he said, setting his phone down and shifting to prop himself up on an elbow, “that we should talk about this thing between us.”

She wrinkled her nose. “‘Thing?’”

“Unless you’ve got a better name for it.”

“Here in the 21st century, we don’t care much for labels.”

“So I’ve been reading.  The Atlantic paints a kind of grim landscape for love.  Did you know that we’re in the middle of a sex recession?”

Natasha rolled over so that she was on her stomach, cheek pillowed on the backs of her hands.  “Are you propositioning me right now, Steve?” 

“No, but.” He shrugged, considering. “I hear friends with benefits is all the rage.”

Natasha laughed. “The ‘benefits’ part of that isn’t talking about retirement.”

Slowly, Steve blinked at her, the picture of feigned innocence.  “Isn’t it?”

*

Natasha wasn’t stupid.  The five years post-Snap had wrung it out of her, but she remembered flirting. For her, it had been a game.  When needed, a weapon or a wall.

Steve, though.  He meant what he gave.  Subtle but honest: an invitation, there for the taking, if she wanted it.

Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. When Natasha had been younger, her list of wants was small: bread, water, the light of another day. Then they’d grown loftier: acceptance, redemption.

Steve smiled, and she thought that perhaps there was room for something in between.

*

They didn’t spend all their time together.  Sometimes Steve would choose to sit in the corner of a piazza and people-watch, sketching. Natasha would venture off on her own, ducking into colorful leather shops, chasing the dribble of her melting gelato with her tongue.  Once, she stopped on the street for a caricature artist.  It amused her, to be studied and then so deliberately exaggerated.

“Hmph,” Steve grumbled later, examining the picture.  “I could have drawn you for free.”

The light through the curtains created a glare on his tablet, which was open to the day’s crossword.  Steve had started them as part of his cultural catch-up.  Natasha often helped due to her arsenal of disparate factoids and interests, courtesy of all the covers she’d shuffled through over the years.  

“Work in Italy,” Steve read. “Five letters.”

“Opera,” Natasha said, not missing a beat as she stirred some honey into her tea.  The under-the-breath hm of satisfaction told her that she’d guessed correctly.

“We should see one.”

“Not a bad plan,” said Natasha, finally joining him at the small, tiled table near the window. “Are you feeling more Puccini or Verdi?”

“Nobody likes a know-it-all,” Steve said, though the smile playing on his lips told her otherwise.

“Funny,” Natasha quipped. “I thought that was why you kept me around.”

*

She went in a floor-length black gown.  The old training said it was because black hid most stains, and knife and gun were easily stowed in a garter. But the truth was that Natasha had chosen it because she liked the way Steve’s eyes lingered on her just a bit longer, and the low-cut back meant she felt every callus on his palm when he put a hand to support her as they climbed up the stairs to their seats.

“You know I’ve done this before.”

“It crossed my mind once or twice.” Gallantly, Steve offered an arm. “Do you object?” 

Somewhere, there was a movie like this—a swell of string music, a camera rolling. Steve’s bowtie sat as a dark knot at the base of his neck. You clean up well, Natasha had said earlier that evening, but what she’d meant was: I’m glad it’s you.

They settled in, the stage gilded and opulent. When in Rome, Natasha thought, the velvet seats plush against her back. She tapped her heels against the floor once, testing the acoustics of what she could hear. Two rows over, a French couple murmured to each other.

Natasha had attended operas before, as covers. And so, when the first deep note was sung, she looked to Steve. Saw the way he straightened and leaned forward slightly, as if someone had extended a hook into his chest and tugged him forward. An intensity overtook her, because in that moment he wasn’t supersoldier or teammate or partner, just achingly unguarded, human in a way that hurt. Human in a way that she could have. 

When intermission came, she excused herself to the balcony to get some air. Happiness winded her. For so long, all her contentment had been inextricable from relief—at having been accepted, at having survived. To have it stand on its own felt impossible; a gauntlet not meant for her to wear, a feeling she couldn’t possibly hold in this way.

“Nat.” Steve’s voice sounded from behind her. “Are you okay?”

Blinking through watery eyes, she turned. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to go all Pretty Woman on you.” 

The corner of Steve’s mouth tightened and he took a step forward. He wore disappointment well. She could appreciate it even if she hated that it was being directed toward her.

“Don’t do that, Nat,” he said, quiet.

“Do what?” 

“Play pretend. Wasn’t that the point of this trip? To find out who you were underneath it all? To just let yourself be?” And oh, hadn’t he said the same thing to Tony, when they were younger and snapping at each other’s throats, and how did she balance that against a world in which Tony was dead. What did it mean to want something for herself, after everything? To want this?

“What are you when you aren’t planning, or fighting?” pressed Steve, and he was too much bright and too much close but Natasha wanted, just once, to step into a blaze of her own making; not because her back was against a wall or because there were regimes to topple, but because she felt deserving of the life she’d live on the other side.

“I’m terrified,” she confessed.

“Me, too,” he said, and held her. And didn’t let go. 

*

When the alarm went off, Steve mumbled against her shoulder: “I’m gonna be honest with you—I’m getting kinda sick of all these churches.”

The old adage was that in Italy, the farther south one traveled, the slower life became. Bright-colored Sicily coated Natasha’s edges like a candy drop, crystallizing her in its sparkling waters, the lush gooeyness of cheese spilling from fresh arancini. 

Sated, still, from last night’s wine and seafood, Natasha turned in the circle of Steve’s arms, conjuring her most doe-eyed expression.  “That’s not very schoolboy of you.”

An arched eyebrow.  The ghost of a kiss on her collarbone.  The stroke of his thumb over her forearm set the hairs there standing on end.  “Maybe there’s something else I’d like to worship.”

The laugh pealed free from her chest before she could stop it.  “Oh, no.  How long have you been sitting on that one?”

“Since Florence, at least.”  Steve grinned, unrepentant, and she could write paeans to those particular shades of blue, the sweet softness of a good night’s sleep hiding in the crinkles by his eyes. The clock by their bedside read 9:00 AM.

“Maybe we could sleep in,” Natasha agreed. If it meant more time with Steve’s bedhead, and this particular warmth. Natasha was finding that, given full license, she was a greedy person: about food, about hot water, about touch. And time. Time wasn’t something she’d given herself permission to hoard, before. So, too, with Steve. Selfishness—maybe that was part of living, too. They could both do with a little more of it.

“Right answer,” said Steve, tucking his face against her neck happily. He fell back asleep easily; Natasha followed soon after.

.

.

.

At night, jasmine in the garden. The moon, full and forgiving. Natasha, alone, on the balcony, listening to the waves lapping—proof of a planet in motion, orbiting around a burning star. Clint, adjusting the aid in his ear, cocking his head in the wind. 

Hear that, Natasha?

A song for the living.

A song for you.

#romanogers #natasha romanoff #steve rogers #natasha romanov #avengers endgame #my writing #ff: mcu #fanfiction #otp: how about a friend

[voidcat]

– Hostile, Thoughtful

Summary: It is the last gig Micah gets to play with the band, before he returns back to America. Simon has never made it to one of their gigs and promises Penny to be there tonight. – punk band au; Penny on drums, Baz as vocalist and bassist, Micah as the guitarist

Word Count: 1.5k

Characters: Simon Snow / Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, Penelope Bunce, Micah Cordero

A/N: The punk band idea came to mind with CSH songs mostly and I wrote this with Deadlines (Hostile) in mind. The lyrics are in bold and italic.

Dedicating this to B. (just like any CSH related work I do) This AU wouldn’t be a thing without you <3 – ao3

It all starts with the drums and the moment he opens his mouth.

Here is Simon Snow, at a little pub on a Friday night. Finally accepting one of the many invitations Penny actually took the time to write down on paper to attend one of her band's gigs. He knew before she could play the drums and knowing Penny, it was a guarantee she was amazing at it. But he never had the time to see them live until tonight.

“Come on Simon! This is Micah’s last gig with us before he returns back to America. You owe us at least this one visit!” Penny said one day in the middle of their study date and who was he to deny and tell her no. And frankly, he had been wanting to see them live for quite some time, the never ending tales of their rehearsals and gig mishaps…

So he finds a way to escape Dean Mage’s grasp and attention tonight and finds himself at the crowded pub, waiting for his friends to get on stage.

He can see Penny and Micah going up first, setting up their instruments and doing some sound check. As he watches them discuss amongst themselves, it occurs to him that he never met the third member of the band. Was that the vocalist? Or the bassist?

I think Penny had told me the bloke was both of these things, he thinks. Sure, maybe he isn’t that into the whole music act but even he knows that’s quite unusual and sounds a bit stuck up.

Most people in the pub are there to enjoy their Friday evening with friends over a few drinks but he can see the people checking the stage with their eyes every few minute, they must’ve gathered an audience for themselves after all that playing. Didn’t Penny say they usually do song covers though?

He is interrupted from his thoughts he hears the heavy “thud” of a boot stepping onto the stage suddenly. Long stylish hair, dark clothes to surround his figure and fit him perfectly as if they were tailored just for him. Dark paint around the eyes and upper half of his face, what was it that Penny said about that disguise? He cannot remember. The nonchalant walk up to Penny to exchange a few words and then putting on his bas and tapping on the mic to check if it’s on. Yep, that must be the vocalist/bassist. He seems a bit too posh to be in a heavily punk themed band.  But Simon cannot deny the fact that he seems to be fit and good looking. The black paint seems to highlight his sharp features under the dim lighting. The purple glitter spread over his cheekbones, adding a pinch of not-so-needed charisma and doing his face wonders.

They begin without a word or a warning. Only Penny hitting her drumsticks in rhythm, an unsaid “and two-three-four!” hanging in the air.

I never see the threat too soon

The moment he starts singing, Simon feels something shift in the air surrounding him.

The blood on the bandage, the ghost in the room

His throat runs dry, as if he is the one on stage, performing in front of hundreds of eyes.

Got a canvas as white as the moon / But when I see it at night, it's a sickening blue

The vocalist’s voice is low so far and it feels a fuzzy feeling on his skin. Leaves Simon aching, searching for something he cannot name.

I was thinking people never change / But there's a new taste of dread that I cannot explain And the thoughts that make up my life  / Get reflected in others from time to time

The guitar enters, the voice a bit louder, but it sounds to be lacking something still. Looking for something, searching through the room like a bat echo locating.

Now I've got another question / And if we run out of time, can we make an exception?

A new element enters his singing. Starting to sound more like he means as he signs, as if he was the writer of the lyrics and is the one asking.

Got a piece that needs completion

Every other words seems to trail off, leaving Simon alone with the aching emptiness of his heart, a place waiting to be filled, stinging a little as he sees Penny and Micah share knowing looks and hidden smiles, secret promises and silent words of love.

Oh, temptation / I could be a part of you

Simon finds himself drawn towards the vocalist as the words leave his lips. “Yes!” he wants to shout, raise his hands, make a scene, make a move, to be seen and to be held. “Yes!” he wants whisper to the brooding figure, wrapping his hands around him, taking in his scent. “Yes.” He wants to say to someone he does not even know, does not recognize, someone hiding behind a mask of paint. His ears fell deaf to voice of Penny’s back vocals.

And the next thing he knows, Simon’s eyes are locked with his.

Am I, am I, am I, am I on your mind?

He can hear the mild wonder in his tone, the small hint of amusement too. Almost as if he is directly asking Simon himself. He wonders if they’ve met at the campus before.

The world seems to stop from that moment on.

Everything around him is a blur of colors and voices. Eyes focused on him and only him, ears perking up at his voice, he cannot divert his gaze. Feeling a tug at his soul, he wants to walk towards to stage, to him. To reach out, get lost in his raspy voice, stay wrapped by this bubbly feeling surrounding him forever. In that moment, he feels himself floating in space, with him by his side, eyes never leaving one another, following each move.

The vocalist’s voice tones down a bit, just as the music. They begin the new verse.

Simon remembers Penny complaining about him and his performances. How he can be one with the music they make or sing it so soulless, if it doesn’t speak to him. He figures this song must.

The excitement in his voice is as clear as day, as blue as the sky, as warm as the scones Simon likes to have and as real as the never dying ambition to keep learning Penny seems to have.

He feels more real than anything else Simon has ever laid eyes on; vibrant, beaming with passion and emotion, ethereal, capturing everyone’s attention, making everyone long for him. Yet his eyes are set on one person only and that is Simon.

His voice keeps raising, building up with the song itself. With each word, he raises his head. With each word that leaves his lips, there’s a gleam in his eyes. Burning through Simon, looking into his soul with such care and understanding no one could possibly offer him before.

He is offering him the world, everything he has and does not have. His belongings,  titles, his love and his sorrow, his feelings and future. He is offering everything Simon could have wished for and will wish for, every small thing he longed for, every major thing he prayed for. He is ready to give it all up, leave everything behind, to start a revolution overnight. He is ready to risk it all. And all his eyes ask in return is Simon.

He seems to tilt his head in a weird manner as he says the word “hallway”. Does this mean they’ve seen each other before? Have they met in the hallway? Is it possible Simon read his movements wrong and overthinking something that never occurred? The way he looks at Simon says he knows exactly what he is thinking and the questions he is asking.

And when the chanting of “I feel it”s and “You’ll feel it”s start, Simon is enchanted all over. Getting lost in the movement of his lips, his fingers, the piercing looks in his eyes; Simon finds himself drawn to him like a sailor is to a siren.

The chorus begins again, with Penny’s contribution, his voice still dominating the room and Simon’s thoughts. The song, and the rest of the night, passes by without a notice.

A hand hitting his back, Simon is pulled out of his trance. He looks around to see their little gig has come to an end and trails the room for him with little hope, remembering the time Penny had said he leaves as soon as they finish.

“So, what do you think? Pretty good for an amateur band?” Penny asks with a smile on his face, sweat dropping from her forehead.

Simon just nods with a smile, not trusting himself to speak or make any coherent sound. They stay there for a while, having a drink, Micah and Penny packing up their things from the backstage as well as their guitar and drum stick. The bartender waves hurriedly at them, showing them the photos taken from the gig, their last gig together. After that, they leave the pub, returning to their welcoming beds.

Simon cannot stop thinking about long slick hair, gray captivating eyes.

#writing #carry on #simon snow #baz pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #i hate his full name #penelope bunce #penny bunce #micah #snowbaz #song inspired #snowbaz fanfiction #carry on fanfiction #simon snow fanfiction #baz pitch fanfiction #punk au #band au #normal au #college au #carry on fanfic #snowbaz oneshot #one shot #crossposted on ao3

[deans-baby-momma]

Rebel Without A Cause-Ch 3

A/N: This is a day late because I was so busy at work yesterday I let it slip my mind. But, hey now you don’t have to wait so long. LOL Next update will be Friday as previously scheduled. For now enjoy……and don’t forget to leave feedback. :)

“Shopping!” Jo announces, answering Maggie’s question of how she was going to be transformed into a rock music groupie. “New clothes, new make-up, whole new hairstyle,” she continued, counting off things on her fingers. “Give me 3 days and I’ll have you looking the part!”

“I-I don’t know,” the shy girl stammers. "I've…”

“Margaret,” Jo interrupts, placing a hand on her new friend’s shoulder. “You gotta just have faith.”

“Please call me Maggie,” she tells her coworker. “Margaret is such an old woman’s name.”

“Well Maggie, then we need to get you to quit dressing like a Margaret and start dressing more like a Maggie. ‘Tis a cool name though. I like it.” Jo says with a smile.

“You really think you can make me look like I belong in the crowd at a rock concert?”

“Sure I do!” Jo exclaims. “Let me ask you this, how against dying your hair are you?”

In the end, Jo convinces her to meet up at the mall first thing the next morning, a Saturday. “The earlier the better, since the families who usually crowd the mall will still be at home”, Jo declares. Maggie is still hesitant about the change of hair color but agrees to at least get a trim. Her rust-colored hair falls halfway down her back when she loosens the clip holding it up. 

'Wow! You’ve got to tell me your secret. Other than some dead ends, your hair is beautiful!“

"Good morning!” Jo chirps as she passes a styrofoam cup toward Maggie the next morning. She had been standing just outside the entrance to the mall when Maggie walked up. “Ready to be revamped?”

Maggie smiles at the blonde as she takes a sip of the steaming liquid. The coffee is sweet nectar to Maggie since she hadn’t had a chance to brew any herself in the rush to meet Jo at the appointed time. Somehow, Jo had known that and had provided exactly what she needed. Maggie wondered if this was a sign that the woman in front of her would actually be able to help her get what she needed; a behind the scenes look into the nuances of the Winchester Sex Bombs.

After work the evening before, Maggie had spent hours scouring the web and all articles related to the band. The group was made up of five childhood friends, two of them brothers. The lead singer, Dean, was the older brother to the bass player, Sam; the keyboardist (Seriously? A keyboardist in a rock band?) Meg Novak was married to the guitarist Clarence, or Cas as most know him as; the loner was Benny, the drummer. He was an unattached drifter that probably saw quite a lot  from his view on stage; Maggie speculated if that could be an angle she could use for her piece? She wanted to keep a low profile with the band, not wanting to draw the lead singer’s attention at all.

The five of them hailed from a small town in Kansas, Lawrence. They all went to high school together, forming the band in the senior year of four of them. Sam was a few years younger than the others, the baby of the group. He had joined when the original bassist had moved away to go to college. Maggie briefly wondered if that was a good thing or a bad thing. The band he left behind was finally making a name for themselves, traveling the continental US to play in a different city every couple of days, but was also leaving behind carnage and unflattering reports in their wake.

After finishing off their beverages, Jo and Maggie head into the mall. 

“Okay, first things first. The outfit!” Jo announces as she claps her hand together. “New shirts, new pants, shoes….oh, you definitely need boots, at least. The higher the better!”

“Jo, I can’t walk in heels,” Maggie informs. “I’ll break my ankle and neck. Aren’t I supposed to be able to dance and….mosh?”

“Look at you!” Jo chuckles, putting an arm around Maggie’s shoulders. “You’re already learning the lingo. But no, these boots have flat to minuscule heels. I meant they have to at least be knee-high and zip up. Easier to get off when you want to get busy, ya know”

Maggie couldn’t help but blush. The only kind of 'getting busy’ she was doing was typing up her story at the end of this assignment. The last thing on her mind was getting laid…but after some thought, it had been a while. It’s been six months since her ex-boyfriend Luke left her for Sabrina and probably twice that long since she and he had been intimate. 'Has it really been almost a year since I’ve had sex?’ Maggie ponders as they head for the Shoe Plaza. 

“Here. Go try these on,” Jo demands, shoving a pair of jeans in Maggie’s direction. “And I wanna see, so come out here and model for me.”

In the dressing room, Maggie removes her slacks and holds up the garment Jo had given her. The material is a dark blue with a few places looking worn, the fabric frayed. The left knee has a patched hole on it. As she studies them, she realizes she is going to have to practically pour herself into them. She glances at the tag, thinking Jo had picked up the wrong size but unfortunately that wasn’t the case.

Pulling the material over her hips, Maggie is astonished at how comfortable the jeans were. They aren’t as hard to button as she assumed either. Turning left then right, she eyes herself in the mirror. Maggie hadn’t worn anything this form-fitting in years, if ever. The fabric hugs her curves perfectly. Taking a breath, she opens the door and steps out.

“Oh my god!” Jo exclaims. “I was right. Look at you! Look at that ass! Those jeans make it pop,” she announces, making sure to snap her lips on the 'p’ “I swear if I wasn’t confident in my sexuality, I’d turn lesbian for you. Girl, you are hot!”

After leaving J.C. Penney’s with a few pairs of jeans, the two women head to what Jo calls the 'ideal rockstar outlet’, Hot Topic. Maggie balks at the site of the store. The lights inside are dimmed, making the place look ominous. There are floor-to-ceiling displays of numerous different styles of band t-shirts and apparel. In the back, there is a glass counter with glowing jewelry and ornaments. The place is empty as they enter, Maggie looking back and forth taking it all in. Some of the outfits she wouldn’t be caught dead in! Like the leather full bodysuit with zippered pockets throughout or leggings that were so thin, they were practically see-through. “Do people actually wear this stuff?” she whispers to Jo. A chuckle from behind causes both of them to turn to see a younger woman standing there.  She has the goth look down. Thick black winged eyeliner, a nose piercing, and her hair is jet black and lays in waves down over her shoulders. “Nah, those are mostly for aesthetic. Although, those-” she says pointing toward the transparent leggings, “-they really work if you’re trying to turn your man on. They come crotchless too,’ she continues with a wink.

"Oh my god! Why would anyone…”

“Easy access”, both Jo and the girl, Francesca by her nametag, declare with a laugh.  

“How can I help you two today?” Francesca asks.

“My friend here is going to her first rock concert next week. She needs to look the part,” Jo explains with a nudge to Maggie’s side. 

“Oooo, which band?”

“Um, Win-Winchester Sex Bombs,” Maggie stutters out.

“Ah, yes. They’re coming to the River, aren’t they? Music’s pretty good but I don’t think that’s what’s making them such a hot commodity. It’s that lead singer, Dean. He and his dreamy green eyes. And those thighs! Damn, the things I could do on those.” Francesca proclaims, Jo nodding her agreement. “Could you imagine the power of his thrusts!”

Maggie blushes at the girl’s lack of a filter. She and Jo keep talking about their fantasies if they were ever to get a night with the man as Maggie steps away, not wanting to have those images in her head as she interviewed the band. As she perused the array of clothing she picks out a couple of shirts with sayings on them that were funny and one with a picture of her parent’s favorite group, The Beatles.

Jo eventually joins her, with an armful of clothes. “Here, this is what you’re wearing with those jeans and the gray suede boots.”

Hanging on a hanger is an ivory-colored lace top with sheer fabric underneath. Maggie knows that the top would definitely show her underclothes and shakes her head. She couldn’t wear that! No way. 

@pink1031​ @spnbaby-67​ @winecatsandpizza​ @joseyrw​ @kricketc28​ @tftumblin​ @markofdean79​

#dean winchester #SUPERNATURAL AU #dean winchester au #rockstar!dean #reporter!reader #rockstar!dean x reporter!reader #Dean x OFC #lil bit of angst #lil bit of fluff #whole lotta smut #smutapalooza #e'erybody be fucking