#so less drooling over him than Dean | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

puggemon · 2 years

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* How you met various SPN characters *

༺🔪༻

DEAN. . .

Your chin rested down against the palm of your hand, as you examined over a diner, in which you sat. The moment you took to gaze up from your research, you could immediately tell that the normal bustle of customers was thinning. The place's business was, clearly, running slow. There was you, and one elderly gentleman. He sat, beating the end of a glass ketchup bottle, which made you silently chuckle.. The only person, other than him, was the waitress stood behind the counters; wiping them clean for the night.

This was never a bad thing from your perspective. The less people, meant you took more comfort in the restaurant. When one was vacant, and quiet of chatter, it was easy to dine in peace & find your next marked mission. There would be no distractions of customers causing a fret over the waitress misunderstanding an order. Instead, you were given time of silence, exceptions for the slight buzz of the open sign.

With a laptop sat on the table in front of you, your eyes were skimming through the articles of several slaughterings that had happened as of recently. Local, and across the map. Though, most of them appeared to be the typical human-on-human crime that happened daily. Purely for the fact that no hearts, or internal organs had disappeared from the remains. It screamed the work of a serial killer, and far from supernatural.

Lately leading the life of a hunter had been quite dull. The hunting business had grown booming, meaning that many cases had already been taken care of, by the hands of another hunter. It was nearing impossible to find a case. And the ones you did get lucky with, always ended up being debunked the minute you traveled to the town it was taking place in.

To say the least, it all frustrated you. Saving lives was your only way at being productive in the world, and it was slowly but surely becoming hard for you to do. The lack of doing anything was even beginning to affect your self esteem. You'd often times find yourself asking a question such as: what kind of hunter can't find any paranormal to kill?

Sighing your way out of your thoughts, you went back into the search of several police databases and news articles. You'd scrolled for so long, your index finger was growing numb..

That was when something caught your attention.

A title withholding a bold statement.

THREE MEN KILLED IN CABIN, HEARTS RIPPED OUT OF CHESTS.

This was it. Every word in the header screamed unnatural, a case that beckoned for you.

Quick to finish off your [F/F], you closed the lid of your laptop and left a five dollar tip for the waitress. You were more than ready to get on the road, and find out what was going on behind the local mystery. Once you stuck your laptop in your bag, you were out of the door, and making a beeline to your parked 1970 Black Plymouth Sport Fury GT. You were most definitely a sucker for the classics. Classic movies, cars, and most of all; music.

Tossing your bag into the passenger's seat, you walked around to the trunk, popping it open. Underneath the fake floor, idea curtesy of Bobby, was an array of different weaponry. Ranging from knives to salt-contained shotguns, they were all used in your line of work.

Considering the case seemed to be the perfect story for a Werewolf, you took hold of your silver bullets, dropping them into the denim of your jean pockets. Always in tact with your waistband was a pistol, considering you were one to be precautious.

When you made your way back around to the driver's seat of the car, you noticed a man staring down the contents of your Plymouth. He branded a large grin, looking on the brink of drooling.

"This is a nice car," His voice came out prior to himself whistling. The tip of his fingers lightly brushed over the silver decorative lining, running along the side, admiring the smoothness of it's surface.

"You like?" You popped up, out of no where, and caught them off guard. Considering the pair looked up at you with shocked expressions. However, the shorter one was quick to change it back to a smile. Only this time, it was cheeky.

"Is this car your's?"

"All mine. Isn't she a beauty?" With your back leant up against the driver's seat door, you raised your left eyebrow towards the man; making small conversation over your vehicle. Sam, however, stuck to the side; watching the two of you. He was quite impressed to see a carbon copy of Dean Winchester, himself.

The sight of a gorgeous girl, standing in front of a classic car was Dean's very weakness. He was awed at the sight of you, every hair on his arm; standing at it's end. Was this love?

His thoughts were stopped abruptly by the pointedness of Sam's elbow lodging into his side, hoping to snap him back into reality. The younger Winchester sibling was just trying to keep Dean from making a fool of himself, in front of a woman he clearly liked.

Clearing the nervousness from his throat, he picked up his pace of talking once more.. "The name's Dean, Winchester. This right here is my brother, Sammy."

"[F/N] [L/N]. I never thought I'd meet the infamous Winchester brothers. You're all the talk, anywhere."

Eyes widening, they put the mental puzzle pieces together, realization hitting them that you were a hunter just like them. No one who lived in the normality of a town would even begin to know about them or how they're talked about quite often, but a monster killer would.

"Well, it was nice talking to you boys, but I've got a case to solve." Fishing a piece of ripped up napkin from your back pocket, you sloppily jot down the numbers that they could use to contact you. "Just in case you ever need another hunter,"

At this very moment, once you handed him the phone number, Dean could feel himself getting overly excited. He almost felt the power to bounce from wall-to-wall. A girl, whom wasn't intoxicated and fresh from the bar, just gave him her number.

And as you drove away in your car, Sam laughed at how star struck Dean was; over the scenario that just took place.

"Sammy, I think I just fell in love."

༺🔪༻

SAM. . .

With eyes glinted over in fear, you watched as the ghostly figure crept over in your direction, the axe he held; swinging from side-to-side. In this life or death situation, you could see your life flashing before your eyes like a mental Powerpoint. Every laugh, shed tear, and shared kiss was starting to come back to you. Your waterline brimmed with tears, fingernails digging into the rotted wood below you. "No.. LEAVE ME ALONE!"

Pulling whatever you could find from behind your back, you started chunking it in the direction of the spirit. Though, it did no justice, going straight through it's torso. Your attempts at defending yourself from the monster made him laugh, loudly. It was clear he got a thrill from this, and you were only giving him justice by having a reaction.

Part of you knew there was no escape, and the only choice that could be made.. was one to end up where you'd no longer be breathing. But you tried, hard, to get away. And to no avail, you remained trapped like a prey to it's predator.

You started to accept that no concocted plan was going to get you out. That you were doomed for death.

Having those beliefs etched into your brain, you stopped making challenge for him, wanting the traumatic experience to be over. This made it far too easy for the ghost to perform a homicide. Considering, he was inching closer to you, each step edging you more into nausea. Fear could be felt radiating from your shaking body, making his lips curl up into an malicious grin.

Seeing the sharp end of his axe coming towards your face, you flinched back into the wall..

However, you didn't feel contact with the steel, as you'd suspected. Instead, you suddenly heard a fwoosh and your vision fixated on the creature as it was being engulfed into a huddle of tall flames. The laughter that once echoed, was instead a blood curdling scream. Amidst evaporating into thin air, he dropped behind the axe he was going to use, in order to kill you.

There was no trace of what had just taken place, other than the weapon, and the reasoning behind that was.. Dean Winchester, whom stood overhead the man's gravestone, whistling out a classic rock melody over the sound of a salt & burn's sizzling.

The anxiety that had been bubbling inside your chest, disappeared, leaving you instantaneously feeling better. Your shakes grew less violent, and tears stopped rolling down your cheeks. Atmospheric change had taken place, and the frightening feeling that once creeped over your shoulder had faded.

That was, until you realized you weren't alone.

The sight of a tall silhouette running along the walls, sent your shoulders tense. "Not again.." You silently prayed that it belonged to something other than the face of another blood thirsty monster.

Luckily, your prayers were answered to, when you realized that it was only a rather attractive man. His large hand reached out for you, offering you assistance from down on the floor. "Are you okay? Did it get you anywhere?" Surprisingly, his voice was velvet. Soft on the ears.

Branded on his chiseled face, was a look of concern. Which was clearly for your well being.

Every aspect of him, you were stunned by. From his shoulder-length hair, to the furrow of his eyebrows. It took you a hot minute to recoup from all of this happening in a matter of minutes, and once you did, you were immediately snapped back into reality. The reality where a stranger held his assistance out to you, without even beginning to know you. After what just happened, you would stick to being skeptical.

"Who are you?"

He pursed his lips once you slowly hoisted yourself up, with assistance of the wall. Initially, rejecting his offer at helping you. It was unlike any of the other people he'd come to the rescue of, considering they'd dive way into his arms as soon as he was in their line of vision. As if some sort of protection beam.. "Uhm.. My name's Sam, Winchester."

The tall man watched with amusement as you wiped the dust off the backside of your jeans, making a face of disgust. You went from throwing things frantically, to entirely calm in a short span of time. It was baffling. "I hunt monsters like the one you just saw. With my brother, Dean."

"If you would have said that to me four hours ago, I would have called you crazy.. but.. I'm starting to think I'm the crazy one," You sighed, connecting eyes with him once more. The moment you did it, he got awkward, and made it obvious.

He let out a laugh, and led his hand up to scratch at the back of his neck. Sam, out of all people, knew exactly what place you're in. Except, when he endured it, he was the age of ten. Although he could remember being introduced into the world of monsters, as if it was written out in script. "Huh, yeah, it's not something a lot of people w-"

Before Sam could even begin to finish his sentence, he was short by another male whom popped up out of nowhere, a shotgun laid in both of his arms. "Did we get the son of a bitch?" He was looking around for any sign of the dead, but instead; his green eyes met with the appearance of you. Whom clearly wasn't dead.

After a moment, he looked you up and down, making it entirely obvious to both Sam and you that he was checking you out from head-to-toe. Even whilst being grimy from falling in dirt, he found you attractive. "Actually, we did."

"Well, all I know is, after that.. I need a few beers and a very greasy burger." He let the shotgun hang low, wrapping his shoulder around Sam's shoulders, shaking him around in a brotherly way. To which, Sam sent him an unamused expression. Though, the elder Winchester ignored it. The sibling relationship they shared made you quietly chuckle. Being around the two saviors of your ass, had undoubtedly lightened your mood.

"I'm definitely in," You chimed, quick to walk ahead of the two males, taking them by a full-on surprise. Neither would have expected the words to come out of the mouth of a female stranger, especially just after meeting, and from the most unfortunate scenario possible. Others would have looked to them as if they were off their rocker, not invited themselves to a bar alongside them.

"If you don't get her number, Sammy, I will."

༺🔪༻

CHARLIE. . .

As soon as you received the VIP set through mail, you could feel yourself geeking out. It was officially your first time at making it to a Comic Con! Something you'd wanted to partake in, since a youthful age. Meeting all of the people whom shared the same interests as you, was a daydream come true. At the convention, you'd find yourself in a place of comfort! Surrounded by things you adore.

Only, you hadn't expected that it would also be the place where you'd meet someone whom you'd come to spend the rest of your days with..

All you could see as you stumbled towards the ground, ass first, was a flash of red hair. The [FOOD] you'd had in tray, spilled down against your torso, completely ruining the special outfit you'd put together for the event. You could already feel frustration creeping it's hand onto your shoulder. Seeing as, the clothing had taken hard work to create, that of which you'd endured for an endless amount of hours.

Only for it all to be tossed away, in a matter of seconds.

"I'm so sorry! Let me help you up." A soft voice spoke up from above, coming off nearly angelic. Charlie would admit to anyone who asked, that she was clumsy, but this was far more than that. The girl was enduring pure embarrassment. Especially considering the person she'd managed to knock down, was a beautiful woman, whom had already caught her eye earlier on in the evening. You were clad in a costume of her favorite TV show, which is how she first noticed you. And even though the redhead wished to talk to you, she didn't expect the circumstances would be this..

Her face began to fade bright red of blush, a few awkward laughs slipping from her 'o' formed mouth. "Well this is, slightly embarrassing? I wanted to talk to you, but I didn't want the conversation to be about how I spilled food on you."

As soon as your gaze met with her own, all of the frustration you were smacked with; floated away instantly. The girl whom bumped into you was beautiful, dressed in the cosplay of an elven woman. For a moment, the two of you stayed in trance with one another's eyes, ignoring the odd looks you were gaining from the people around you. She was far too breathtaking to care. "No, no, it's okay. Don't worry about it! I can always make a new one." You reassured, hoping she knew that you were taking the incident lightly.

Her slim fingers intertwined with your own, helping you up from the position you'd managed to fall into. "At least let me make it up to you in some way. Otherwise I'll walk out of here feeling like a total loser." She replied, a smile widening across her features. Even her expression managed to be flawless.

"You know what, I'll take you up on that."

"Well, in that case.. M'lady." She dorkily held out her arm, for you to take in your own, to which you did.

After she'd dragged you away from the scene she caused, the pair of you went to grab a few space-themed milkshakes from one of the convention's booths. Where you sat and talked for hours on end, eating [snack], and bouncing random topics back and forth. To say the least, that was the day Charlie and you had hit it off fairly quickly. She was the gift you'd taken home from Comic Con. A sweet souvenir.

༺🔪༻

CROWLEY. . .

After a midnight meal at the local hot diner in a town you were hunting Vampires in, you found yourself walking down the parking lot, towards your vehicle to exit the scene. That was until you were aggressively yanked by the arm, and dragged into the darkness of an alleyway. You fought back with all your might, kicking and slapping, but nothing was good enough. It took the perpetrator seconds to knock you out clean, to avoid any screaming or commotion.

*•*•*•*

With a groggy state of mind, your eyes fluttered open to be met with even more darkness than your closed eyelids. You couldn't make out a feature in the area you were in, let alone see the fact that you were neatly tied up to a chair. But you could feel the rope rubbing the skin of your wrists quite raw...

You make attempts to look around the room, squinting your eyes to hopefully see something. That was before you heard a click, and suddenly everything was too bright. Considering you had a headache from hell.

"Ah, ah, ah. You're finally awake darling!" Without even looking at the character in question, you could immediately tell who your kidnapper was by the accent. Crowley. What business did he have yanking you from your hunt, and into a dark room? Especially tied up to a chair.

Now, you'd never actually met Crowley, but you'd definitely heard his distinct voice before. It could be spotted out of a thousand others, really easily.

"Oh, Crowley. I should've known," You sighed, upset that you were in such a predicament with the demon. "When will you realize kidnapping me won't get you anywhere?"

He chuckles, making a chill run up your backside. His laugh was malicious. As was his whole demeanor. Everything about him was evil, and you hated being around him, especially with the tales you'd heard straight from the mouths of the Winchester Brothers.

"I'm not worth the hassle. But I know you're not here for me. You want the Winchesters. You'll know they'll come after me, and that's when you'll be able to get at them. Smart move. But what you don't know is that you're completely wrong. I'm sure they suspect what you're up to. So I wouldn't get your hopes up too high." You snapped towards the demon, glaring daggers over at him. If looks could kill, he'd be six feet under.

Crowley would admit, he liked how feisty you were. This was his first time meeting you, the Winchester's prized possession of a friend, and he was not disappointed. Truthfully, he expected a scared little hunter. But you were way more than that. "You think I want those two? I just like the idea of watching the Winchesters squirm trying to find you safe. It entertains me." He let out an actual laugh this time, which irked you to the core. You could feel your blood boiling as you struggled in the restraints he had you in. But if you were out of them, you would damn sure be injuring him by now.

"Just wait until I find my way out of here. You'll be sorry that you even laid your filthy hands on me!" You threatened, angrier than you had ever been. It hadn't been fifteen minutes and he was already getting under your skin. Something he was quite known for doing.

"I have a feeling we are going to get along," He flirts in reply to your anger, flashing a smug smile at you. And he truthfully did like how you were acting, for not a lot of people talked to him so boldly, or threatened him when tied up in his chair. You were special, weren't you? Maybe that's why the Winchesters held onto you for so long. But now, you were with him, for now. Until the two siblings had pinpointed your location. And he was determined to get to know you.

༺🔪༻

CASTIEL. . .

After a long and uneventful day of work, you finally found yourself in the comfort of your own home once more. Every ounce of stress that the workplace puts on your shoulders, was lifted the moment you stepped into the familiar entryway. What you really needed at this particular time was a shower, and a little bit of relaxation. Every piece of negativity would go away the moment warm water trickled it's way down your backside. The shower was your escape for many reasons. One being that you were alone, and had time for yourself.

After dropping your keys into the weaved basket sat on your entry side table, you walk up the flight of stairs to the second layer of your apartment. Where you sluggishly peeled off your clothes, allowing the water to take it's time warming up. Once it was the right temperature to your liking, you slipped underneath the heat of the shower head, shivering at the feel of it against your skin.

Beyond grabbing a bar of body soap into the palm of your hand, you hunch over to clean your legs. You were humming in the silence until, it wasn't silent. You'd heard a thud, right outside the shower curtain. The sound made you jump, in shock, before you peaked your head out in the crack of the drapery.

There stood a man, dressed in a trench coat, clad with a blue colored tie.

Before you could process what was happening, you freaked out without thinking logically and threw your bar of soap at the intruder standing in your bathroom. "What the hell are you doing in my apartment?!" You yelled, the fear making your voice tremble. This man jumped at the sudden movement, looking down to the soap that had hit the ground with a thud, and then back up to you.

It took him a moment to process the situation and who you were, or why you were here in the house he was investigating, before his eyes went wide and he disappeared. Into thin air. You were so dumbfounded by what just happened, you stood there for a moment just letting the water hit your body.

Until you snapped out of your trance, turned the knob, and left the comfort you were once in to now be enveloped in the cold air. It didn't take you long to get up into a towel, so you could examine the rest of your house for any other possible disappearing robbers. Or to see if you were just simply losing your mind.

But before you decided to go face-to-face with whoever was in your normally quaint apartment, you armed up, with the small handgun you were gifted by [ someone ] not too shortly after you moved in alone.

Holding onto the towel with one hand, and a gun in the other, you made sure to tiptoe your way downstairs so you didn't create any noise to alarm the people. And your suspicions were answered when you heard whispering inside of your kitchen, that you were indeed not alone.

Without them seeing you, you snuck a look into the cook-room to see exactly what you were facing against. The man in the trench coat was accompanied by a taller figure with shaggy brown hair, and a shorter one with attractive features and bright green eyes. You couldn't help but wonder why three men were in your kitchen, but you only assumed the worse. This why you stepped out from the shadows, pointing a gun towards the three of them, cocking it.

"Who are you three and what business do you have being here?" You questioned, demanding an answer from any one of the trio.

"Great going, Sam, she's home.." The shorter one whisper yells, hitting the taller one, or 'Sam' in the chest causing him to scoff and glare at him.

Their eyes are all directed towards you as you wear a poker face at them all, a front to the fear that you were definitely experiencing right this very moment.

"Listen, put the gun down. We're not here to harm you." 'Sam' says, gesturing her to drop the gun onto the floor below them all.

"And the towel," Says the green-eyed one, smirking at the sight of you in a towel. This causes you to break your poker face with a look of disgust.

'Sam' looks at him in a scolding way, frustrated that he couldn't take any moment seriously. Even ones where they were held at gun point.

"Why should I?" You questioned, grip tightening around the handle of the pistol. In hopes to intimidate them, more than they were intimidating you.

"We came in here, because we thought your house was being robbed. There has been multiple on this street so we were keeping watch," 'Sam' explained, smiling nervously at you, hoping to ease your trigger finger.

The shorter one sent him a questioning look, not sure that this excuse would even work with you. You seemed quite feisty, and people being in your apartment was setting you off.

"Are you the police then?"

The two of them get the bright idea to whip out their fake badges, that you clearly didn't know were fake, but the man in the trench coat didn't make any movement whatsoever.

"What about him?" You asked, gesturing the him over to him, unsure of his presence and why he disappeared into thin air. Maybe you were making that part up in your imagination, but you weren't so sure, it seemed very real.

"I'm an Ang-" He started to speak up, but was cut off by both of them trying to speak over him. "Assistant,"

After a moment of contemplating it, you decide they are telling the truth, "well I'm just going to go put this up," you nod towards the gun "and get dressed, in something other than a towel."

"We don't mind towels," Retorts the shorter one again, making you shoot them a questioning look and shake your head. You were quick to walk away from the conversation.

It didn't take you long to hide your gun back in the cubbyhole it belongs, and get dressed in a set of pajamas. You didn't think you were going anywhere tonight anyways, so better to get comfy with your choice of clothing.

To your surprise when you entered the kitchen again, the three men were still there, but this time sat at your dining table, awaiting your arrival. "Not to be a total dick or anything, but why are you three still here?" You ask, going to make yourself a cup of coffee to extinguish the exhaustion in your body.

"We don't want you to get harmed in anyway by the suspect, so we might have to stay here for a while, if that's alright with you?" The questionable one with the trench coat speaks up. To be honest, you didn't want to die, and having two police officers when there was a robber in the area, was not a bad idea. So you slowly nodded, accepted their offer of babysitting you for the moment.

You grab the now finished coffee, before offering some to the once-suspected fugitives. "Any takers?"

"Please,"

All four of you enjoyed the coffee you made in a moment of silence before you realized you didn't know the names of the two who sat with 'Sam'.. "But if you're going to stay here, I'm seriously going to have to figure out the names of you two." You pointed between the nameless men, in hopes they'd cooperate and soothe the curiosity in your mind.

"I'm Dean, and this is Castiel."

Your eyebrows quirked up at the second name Dean spoke up, intrigued by it. Seeing how it wasn't a common name at all. In fact, you'd never once even heard of it. It was quite, fitting for the character though, seeing as he was out there. But not necessarily in a bad way.

You smile, "Interesting", before taking a sip out of the hot coffee that cooled down.

He smiles back at you smiling, and you feel goosebumps appear on your skin at the visual. Something that had hardly ever happened to you. Maybe when listening to a good song, or when you were extremely chilly.

It was weird, to feel, nonetheless. But you brushed it off, not sure of what it could mean at the moment.

"What about you?" Castiel asks, tilting his head, almost in a similar manner to a puppy dog. It was cute.

"[Y/N], I'm [Y/N]."

༺🔪༻

GABRIEL. . .

You were working your late shift at the bar, minding your own business as you bussed the tables. It wasn't unusual for men to hit on you, but it usually ended up with you rejected them and them storming away, as a typical man. But this man that approached you, just wouldn't stop. He kept attempting to lay hands on you, and woo you in anyway possible. But you were truthfully just disgusted. You really didn't appreciate the disrespect he was putting out to you.

"Come on, you know you want to get some of this." He slurred, alcohol hot on his breath, as he attempted to touch you once more. You aggressively slapped his hand away, getting more afraid of his actions by the minute. You weren't sure of what he could and couldn't do. That was one of the downfalls of this job.

You finally got so fed up with him you let out a yell, "Stop touching me, you drunk!"

Most of the people in the bar ignored it, besides one man who was quick to make his way over in defense of you. He had longer dirty blonde hair, and a piercing stare.

"Is there a problem here?" He asked, looking between the two of you. You were quick to nod, as was the man who was committing the tomfoolery.

"Yeah, you're in our business, and shouldn't be." He spoke with a menacing tone, hoping that would drive the man away and give him the hint that he should stay in his own bubble.

You scoffed at his supposed "threat" and looked over to the man who came to fight for you. "He won't stop touching me, when I have asked him multiple times to."

"I think it's time for you to take your leave." He demanded, hoping that the man wouldn't take his suggestion, so he could rock him across the face. Gabriel was most definitely into catching a fight with a mortal, especially one of such low grade. It was one of his favorite forms of entertainment.

"Or what?" The perverted drunk questioned, clearly mocking him and his threats. It was already digging under his skin, and this, just made it even worse. He loathed the humans that acted like this. Made him really question his Father's creations.

"Or this," With no second to spare, he threw an upright hook at the man's nose, knocking him down to the ground instantaneously.

Frankly, it took you aback. You didn't expect anyone to stand up for you, considering this bar was normally full of the scum of the Earth, let alone did you think that they would get into a fight for you. The drunk now laid in fetus position on the floor, clutching his broken nose.

"Sorry about that," Gabriel said pointing down at the man who was now going to have to be dragged out by the bouncer.

"Don't be." You laughed, finding the situation kind of humorous, now that you had nothing to worry about with the drunken man.

"I'm Gabriel, and you are?" He said with a charming tone of voice, holding out his non-bloodied hand for you to shake. Which you gladly took into your own to shake, wooed by his actions of standing up for you. He made you feel safe, Although you'd met him no more than fifteen minutes earlier.

"I'm (Y/N), I work here, unfortunately."

He liked your attitude, and definitely thought you were more than attractive. He offered to sit down with you at the bar and keep throwing punches at inappropriate men, which you accepted, and the two of you got to talk the rest of your shift. It was nice getting to know someone at the bar, who wasn't a total waste of space.

༺🔪༻

JACK. . .

Everything that could go wrong has been going wrong, you're not sure whether it's your luck or just life itself. But it's dragging you down more than you want it to. You have a hard time getting out of bed anymore, and you feel tired doing the simplest things.

Now, you've never once prayed. You're not even sure what you are, religiously. But at this very moment, whilst you were having a break down at work, it didn't matter, because if there was something higher up out there that could hear your cries for help and give you a boost, you were desperate for it.

"Please, if anything out there can hear this, I'm struggling really bad right now and I could use something. Anything."

You'd never actually heard of prayers working before. And you weren't sure where they ended up. But it was your last shot.

Jack normally tuned out the prayers that paraded through his head, annoyed that there was so many. But yours he heard louder than the rest, it caught his attention the second you said 'please'. He could hear the distress in your tone, and it made him feel your hurt. The boy was clearly an empath.

The good thing about Jack's powers is that he could immediately teleport himself nearby the person that was praying. So to you, he teleported, and he ended up outside of a coffee house. He wasn't sure exactly what the place was or why you were here, but he was definitely down to investigate. A trait he got from being around the Winchester brothers for so long.

Once he walked in, the bell dinged above his head, catching your attention from your flood of thoughts. He immediately smelt the most pleasant scent ever. An aroma of baked goods, and coffee was in the air. He found it quite comforting, and exciting at the same time, considering the light-haired boy enjoyed his fair share of sweet goodies.

"Hey, welcome in." You spoke up, forcing a smile on your face at the new visitor you'd never seen before. It was unusual, considering most of the people who came into a local coffee shop weren't young and happened to be regulars. Nobody wanted anything local, if they had a Starbucks on every corner. But here he was, a young man, visiting in.

Jack picked up the sound of your voice and recognized it from the prayer. As he looked over your features, he realized you were very attractive and it made him intimated by you, but he also registered that you seemed deeply upset.

"Hi, you seem upset." He replied, sitting down in front of you. He wasn't very good at this interacting with people scenario, considering he was not mortal, and it was something mortals did.

You let out a sad chuckle, breaking the smile that you faked across your face. Most people weren't as blunt as him, but you appreciated the honesty. You honestly thought you had perfected the fake smile at this point, but you were apparently wrong.

"Aren't we all?"

"I'm not." He replied, falling into silence afterwards. You gave him an awkward look, which made him realize that he isn't helping the situation very well. Internally, he scolded himself, upset that he struggled to help, when it's all he wanted to do. "But you also shouldn't be,"

"Thanks, I guess." You sighed, wiping down the counter as you made conversation with the awkward boy. It was definitely an odd talk, but not the worst one that you've had. It was quite comforting to talk to someone your age, especially about how internally sad you were. Considering you didn't talk much about it, at all. Maybe, he's the answer to my prayer. You jokingly thought to yourself.

"How may I help?" He asked, cupping his hand down against yours, stopping you from vigorously wiping. You were shocked, and almost uncomfortable by the gesture, but inside, you felt like fireworks were going off within your chest. Which paralyzed you, to which you didn't move a muscle, let alone your hand. The feeling was almost addicting, considering it's the first one you felt in a while, replacing the sadness.

"I.. uh.." You started going red in the face, at the touch. Which made Jack realize you were embarrassed, to which he took his hand away, with an apology, and you could finally move once more.

You regained yourself before actually speaking up a sentence in reply to his question. "Just stay here with me and keep me company."

Jack smiled, "Do I get a muffin?" He, of course, would stay whether he did or not. But they just seemed delicious, sitting in the casing. And he wanted to try it more than anything.

"Sure, why not," You laughed, for the first time in a while, with genuineness. Something about this weird character l, who was your age, made you feel a lot better than you had been feeling for a long while.

With a smile, you gave the boy his muffin in question, on the house. And the two of you continued conversation about multiple different topics. Some of which consisted of you teaching him things, he'd never heard Dean or Sam talk about, things that people your age knew about all too much. He was enjoying this, just as much as you were.. and towards the end of the day, everyone in the bunker would have heard about his new crush on you.

༺🔪༻

#x reader #fluff #imagine #supernatural #SPN #dean wichester #sam winchester #crowley #castiel #jack kline #jack kline x reader #reader insert

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dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 2 years

Text

So Close Chapter 1

Series Summary: Jensen Ackles is thousands of miles away from McKayla’s normal life, both figuratively and literally. Jensen is sure they can work things out, but McKayla is less sure that they can get through things and keep her heart intact.

Chapter Summary: When Jensen Ackles walks into McKayla Brandon’s coffee shop, she does everything she can to stay sane and normal, but she’s fighting a losing batte.

Series Warnings/Explicit 18+: There will be eventual smut, likely much angst, and because it’s me, there will be fluff throughout as well. There is also awkwardness. More detailed warnings in individual chapters.

Chapter Warnings: None really, awkwardness and general drooling over Jensen.

Pairings: Jensen x OFC (McKayla - Requester)

Word Count: 2,224

A/N: This was a request from @jensensgirl not for me specifically, but for anyone willing to write it. So, I adopted it for my 1K Follower Celebration. She’s asked that the character be given her name, McKayla, and I’ve added the last name “Brandon” just so the character has one.

This will be the first chapter in a short series. Not 100% sure how long it will be, but I felt I needed more WIPs. 🤦🏼‍♀️ It shouldn’t be more than four or five parts. I hope this is what you were looking for McKayla. 💓 Expect other aspects of your request (such as certain kinks) to show up in future chapters.😊

The beautiful divider below and at the bottom were created by @firefly-graphics (Pic above was provided by requester, from Pinterest - the tag ‘Somer’ is in the corner of the pic, so thank you to that talented photographer.

Masterlist || Tag Lists

McKayla was almost definitely certain that love was beyond her.

For almost a decade she’d been on endless first date disasters, had two short term dating relationships and one, two-year-long partnership, that she’d been sure was the Real Thing - capital R, capital T. They’d even lived together.

But inevitably, every guy she was with wanted to try and change her, mold her into what THEY wanted her to be. But she wouldn’t be changed, she wouldn’t be molded, her life was her own. And she was tired of having to justify that to childish men who just wanted a mommy to take care of them.

She wasn’t sure if she wanted children one day, but she sure as hell didn’t wanna marry one.

She wanted a partner in life, a real one, an equal. She wanted someone that she could laugh with and play with, but who could also take life seriously sometimes, who wasn’t just an immature asshole. They had to be someone who took care of her as much as she took care of him.

Plus, she was a thick girl and proud of her curves, and she wanted someone who appreciated them too. If he didn’t get hot and bothered at the prospect of grabbing a handful, then he could just keep walking. She didn’t need another jackass trying to turn her into his version of beautiful.

She knew what she wanted and she was just pretty sure that it didn’t exist. So, she’d begun to accept the fact that she might stay single for life, or at least for a long time. She just accepted the reality that she’d simply have to seek out sex when she wanted it, and fill her life with found family and good, healthy, platonic relationships. She was mostly okay with that; she had a lot of people to love in her life, and a lot of people who loved her back, and she was grateful.

And if she closed the blinds and watched horror movies on Valentine’s Day, well, that was only to protect her sanity.

So, when the most beautiful man in the world, Jensen Ackles, walked into the coffee shop where she worked, she may have hyperventilated a little, but she had no designs on him whatsoever, never thinking for a minute that he’d be interested.

She knew who he was, of course…Dean Winchester and Soldier Boy. She’d seen a lot of his work and thought he was immensely talented, and of course devastatingly gorgeous. But he was miles away from the reality of her life and it felt completely surreal to see him casually walk through the door with a baseball cap and sunglasses on. She did a double take as he took off the glasses and covered her mouth, trying too late to muffle the very loud gasp that fell from her mouth.

Jensen smiled sweetly as he approached the counter, making no mention of her star struck response. He must be used to it by now, McKayla thought to herself.

She tried to form her face into a pleasant smile, but she wasn’t sure if she was achieving her goal, she worried she still looked like a deer in the headlights.

“Hi there.” Jensen said, and those two simple words, spoken in his deep baritone voice, made butterflies zoom around McKayla’s stomach.

Dear God. I’ve gotta get it together.

She nodded at him. “Hi. What,” she cleared her throat and tried again. “What can I get for you?”

He looked up at the menu on the chalkboard and bit his bottom lip, thinking. A little moan escaped McKayla’s throat, and she turned it into a cough, convincingly she hoped.

“I’ll just take a large Americano. Black please.” He said, and she nodded, and then proceeded to stare stupidly at the cash register for a good thirty seconds before remembering what buttons she was supposed to press. Finally, she entered his order and looked up at him.

His green eyes were somehow even greener in person, the soft crinkles around his eyes when he smiled were even sexier, and McKayla was exceedingly proud when she pushed words out of her throat.

“$4.65.” She said, remembering her manners and adding, “Please.”

He nodded. “Sure.” He pulled a ten out and passed it to her. “Keep the change, honey.” He said with another bright smile as he moved out of the line to let the next customer approach the counter. McKayla took their order, trying not to be completely obvious as she stared at Jensen. Her co-worker, an 18 year old frat bro, made the drink and passed it to Jensen, without comment, clearly having no idea who he was serving.

Jensen took the drink and then looked back at her as he was leaving, raising his cup in a salute and tossing her a wink. She giggled and waved, and immediately wished she could take back the juvenile response. But Jensen’s smile just widened and he slipped his sunglasses back on as he went outside.

When McKayla went home that night she texted everyone she knew and told them all about her brush with the stunning actor. She went into great detail about what he looked like, and sounded like. They all squealed through emojis and gifs and she was so grateful that they got it.

They chastised her for not getting a selfie with him, but it had been busy and she didn’t want to draw undue attention to him, when he was just trying to get a coffee. But even without evidence, it was a very cool encounter and she rode on the high of it for nearly a week, very sure that it would be her favorite anecdote forever, and nothing more.

But then, just five days later, he walked back in.

It was a Tuesday afternoon, and the shop was pretty dead, it wouldn’t pick up again for another hour, so when she recognized him walking in again, no baseball cap this time and wearing a leather jacket, she screamed internally and vowed she’d ask for a quick selfie this time.

He approached the counter with the same warm smile. “Well, hello again.” He said and the fact that he remembered her from last time made her want to run around screaming like a fangirl, but instead she tried to keep herself under control and act like a human.

“Hi.” She said, her voice was an octave higher than normal and unusually breathy. “What can I get you today?”

He pushed out his lips as he thought. “I’ll take another large Americano, black. And something to eat too, this time. Something sweet. What’s good?”

McKayla’s brain was instantly mush and she couldn’t remember a single thing they served. Luckily, she could just walk over to the display counter and look. She swallowed down her excitement and trepidation and tried to pretend this man at the counter was the same as any other customer.

But of course he wasn’t and her voice was still a little weak as she suggested, “Well, the lemon square is really nice, but it might be a bit tart with the Americano. Maybe the blondie?”

He nodded. “I’ll take it.” She wrapped up the dessert and went to start brewing his coffee. She worked on her own on Tuesday afternoons, since they were so slow.

Jensen walked up to the end of the counter to wait. As the coffee was brewing, she decided to take her chance. There were only two other people in the shop, one looked like a college student on their laptop with headphones in and the other was an elderly lady sipping tea and reading, so she didn’t think she’d be drawing too much attention to him if she asked to take a picture.

She smiled shyly, knowing that her cheeks were turning beet red. She pulled her phone out and held it up a little. “Do you think, could I get a selfie with you?” She asked. “I love Supernatural and The Boys so much, I’m a big fan.”

His smile widened and he waved her over. “Of course, no problem.”

She walked around the counter and went to stand beside him. “I can take it if you want.” He said. “I’ve got longer arms.” He held them out by way of demonstration.

McKayla giggled again and wished she’d stop it. She inwardly cringed. Jesus, she hadn’t giggled since she was about six years old. But she was just a giddy mess as she came to stand close beside him to fit in the shot.

Dear god, all the stories were true, he really did smell like heaven.

“Say, Deeeaaan.” He said with a laugh and she laughed along with him, resulting in a fabulous picture.

She thanked him profusely and then went to get his coffee. She passed him the blondie and his cup, slightly sad that he was headed out the door. She’d give anything just to keep talking to him, keep the words flowing out of him in that deep voice and soft drawl.

“Thanks.” He said as he took his order. He walked away a few steps and turned back. “And thanks for the food recommendation. Can’t wait to try it.”

She nodded. “Hope I steered you right.”

He nodded again and then left with a wave. She sighed deeply, already planning her text messages in her head. She couldn’t believe she’d gotten to meet him twice, and now she had photographic evidence. She pulled her phone out and looked at the picture, barely glancing up when the door chime sounded.

She did a double take when she realized Jensen was back. “Hi.” She said, in complete surprise.

Jensen held up his food and drink. “Uh…I didn’t pay you.”

McKayla frowned for a second before she realized he was right, she’d completely forgotten to charge him.

She shook her head. “Well, don’t worry about it, I got it. It’s payback for an amazing selfie and a fantastic story to tell!”

But he just laughed and passed a twenty across the counter. “No way. If it gets out that I’m charging for selfies, my manager’s gonna be pissed.”

McKayla reluctantly took the bill and went to get him change, but he waved it away. “Don’t worry about it. Keep the change.”

She shook her head. “No, that’s like a sixty five percent tip!”

He just grinned and shrugged. “Consider it late fees.”

McKayla laughed. “Fine, but I’m buying your coffee next time.” She realized how presumptuous that sounded and she felt her cheeks burn. “I mean, if you ever come back, the…the coffee’s on me.”

He stepped up to the counter and spoke softly. “Are you working tomorrow afternoon?” McKayla shook her head, never so sorry to have the day off.

“No, sorry, not again til Thursday.”

“Perfect,” Jensen said, and she would have sworn the smile he gave her was flirtatious and teasing. “Then are you free for dinner tomorrow? Say, seven o’clock? I can pick you up here. That way you don’t have to give some random dude your home address.”

McKayla stood staring at him, speechless and stunned, saying nothing. Eventually Jensen squinted at her. “Is that a no? Got a boyfriend? Girlfriend? Don’t wanna go to dinner with the creepy old dude from TV?” He smiled shyly now. “Any of those answers will get me to leave you alone.”

Finally, McKayla sputtered like an engine that couldn’t turn over. “No, no, no, no boyfriend, girlfriend, and um…yes.” She was nodding as though her sentence made sense.

When Jensen was clearly still confused she waved her hands. “Sorry, shit! This is the least cool, I could possibly be in this moment.”

Jensen just chuckled and McKayla took a deep breath and tried to get all her thoughts in a row, so words would form into phrases. “Yes.” She spoke slowly, the better to keep logical thoughts flowing. “I would absolutely love to have dinner with you tomorrow. And picking me up here is just great. Although,” she said by way of clarification, “I’d be fine giving you my address. But it’s a little confusing to find my place, so this works.”

Jensen’s smile was blinding as he picked up his purchases again and nodded. “Fantastic, then I’ll see you here at seven tomorrow.”

McKayla just nodded like a bobble head doll and Jensen walked backwards to the door and then gave her a wink and nod and walked out as though he hadn’t completely blown apart her world.

She checked on her two oblivious customers and then ran into the back to call her best friend. Olivia answered quickly and sounded slightly concerned. After all, who called nowadays with anything less than an emergency or terrible news?

“Is something wrong?” She asked. At which point McKayla began screeching quietly into the phone, further worrying her friend until she practically shouted, “I’m going on a fucking date with Jensen Ackles! Olivia! Do you hear me?”

“What?” Olivia screamed back into her ear and McKayla chastised her.

“Olivia, you can’t freak out – I’m freaking out! I need you to be the calm voice of reason and tell me that this isn’t going to be the disaster of a lifetime! And also you have to tell me what to wear!”

Olivia took deep breaths to get a hold of herself. “Okay, tell me everything and wear something red!”

Keep Reading Ch. 2

1 - Jensen RPF + Any/All characters Jensen plays.

@lyarr24 @siospins2 @impalaslytherin @maggiegirl17 @akshi8278 @candy-coated-misery0731 @nt-multi-fandom @deanswaywardgirl @slytherinlyn314 @globetrotter28 @jensensgirl

2 - Dean Winchester Fics Only. @saikosheadcanons @lgranger67 @carryonwaywardgirl

3 - Any/All Fics (regardless of fandom/character.) @sunshineandwings86 @kazsrm67 @sexyvixen7

4 - Everything (includes fan vid/DOOL edits as well) @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @awkward-and-indecisive @maliburenee @supernatural4life2022 @spn730015 @b3autyfuldisast3r @kickingitwithkirk @waywardbaby @foxyjwls007 @deanwanddamons @deandreamernp @deanwithscissors @myloversgone @snowlovespie @leigh70 @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @fangirlxwritesx67 @charred-angelwings @hopefuldreamers-world @mysherlock221b @jensensgotyoudean @stixnstripesworld @thoughts-and-funnies @magssteenkamp @norman1967 @princessmisery666 @eevvvaa @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @deepsketchsupernaturalcowboy @b-i-t-c-h-i-e @twirpbunwarrior @mysweetlittledesire @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @bernasaurus @jensenslady79

#jensen ackles rpf #jensen x ofc #jensen ackles #jensen ackles fan fic series

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ladylilithprime · 1 year

Text

Every Time A Bell Rings

Summary: Wherein there is an angel in the kitchen, but the bell is about dogs.

Pairing: (Platonic) Destiel

Notes: Quasi-sequel to "Wer Zu Liebzeit gut auf Erden". Happy (belated) birthday, @jupiterjames !

(Read on AO3)

IT WAS THE smell that caught Dean's attention first. One hand still on the door knob and his foot barely over the threshold, the smell of warm caramelized sugar and vanilla hit him square in the face, and like Pavlov's fucking dog Dean's mouth immediately began to water. He stepped into the cabin the rest of the way and closed his eyes, breathing in deeply to savor the scent and caught notes of bourbon and cinnamon and clove under the vanilla and caramel. He knew that smell, knew it like he knew few others, deeply and with a fierce love that spanned years and times long gone by and memories he could never fully forget no matter how faded they became, and if this was somehow a dream he might actually cry.

"Sam--" he croaked, then stopped and cleared his throat, raising his voice. "Sammy? Cas?"

"Dean," Castiel answered him from the direction of the kitchen. Dean opened his eyes and looked to see the angel standing in the doorway with an apron over the top of his borrowed jeans and t-shirt. To Dean's complete lack of surprise, the apron was still near pristine, while Castiel himself appeared to have gotten flour in his hair and a smudge of something brown on his cheek. "Welcome home. You were successful?"

"Easy peasy," Dean answered with a shrug. "Honestly, this could'a been done faster with a trip to the post office, but you know Bobby."

"It is not paranoia if they are in fact out to get you," Castiel intoned solemnly, though a moment later his lips quirked up in a small smile. "Bobby is lucky to have such a trusted and efficient son for his choice of courier."

"Not like I didn't appreciate the chance to get out on the road a bit myself," Dean mumbled, discomfited by the praise but not feeling comfortable denying the truth of it outright. Certainly Bobby had often felt more like a father to him than his actual Dad, though the ornery older hunter would never have actually tried to take John's place. To cover his own tenuous grip on his emotions, he asked, "So, uh... what smells so good? Someone decide to open a bakery in here while I was gone?"

"Nothing so ambitious," Castiel shrugged, but stepped back and beckoned Dean into the kitchen. "I wished to learn how to make the dishes in the recipe book Mrs MacAvery gifted to me on our trip to Scotland, particularly the pastries I noticed you enjoyed. Sam and I spent the time you were gone practicing so that I would not burn anything."

"Where is Sam, anyway?" Dean asked as he followed Castiel into the kitchen, shrugging out of his jacket as he went and trying to stop drooling so obviously as the smell of pie got even stronger.

"Sam is in his meditation shed," Castiel answered him. Before Dean's concern could ratchet up, he hurried to add, "Nothing happened, this is simply a deeper check of his internal defenses while he has the uninterrupted time to do so."

"Fair enough," Dean conceded. He knew Sam tried to meditate for ten minutes every morning before he got up and ten minutes every night before he went to sleep, but that was more about grounding and centering himself, the spiritual equivalent of filling up the gas tank and checking the fluid levels rather than doing a full tune-up. It was why they had built the warded meditation circle in the little shed behind the cabin in the first place. They'd originally set one up in the open woods in the clearing where they'd found they liked to go out and have mini cookouts to keep the camping skills from getting rusty and, notably, where they had introduced Castiel to S'mores for the first time. As the weather got colder, though, it had become less than ideal for Sam to sit his ass in a circle on the ground in the open air and go all zen for an hour or two, but there wasn't really space inside the cabin to dedicate to a properly warded and attuned "spiritually neutral" area, hence the small shed to protect Sam from the cold (which he tried to pretend not to know Dean knew bothered him) and the more direct wind or rain or snow or random disruptive squirrel or deer or crow.

Not that Sam had seen anything weird about coming out of meditation to find himself surrounded by a small herd of deer with a crow on one shoulder and a squirrel on the other like a damn Disney princess, but it had freaked Dean out to see them all just sitting there and staring at him even when he took a photograph of them. He should probably finish out the roll of film soon so he could develop that shot and see what Sam's aura-soul-halo-thing looked like when he was going so zen the animals adopted him. Sam couldn't really describe it from the outside, and Dean had no luck trying to do it himself.

His thoughts were interrupted by the scraping of the legs of one of the kitchen chairs against the floor as Castiel pulled it out from the table. Seeing that he now had Dean's attention, he held out a fork. "Sit."

"Dude, I'm not a dog," Dean protested. The look that Castiel shot him, like he very much wanted to say several different things in response and was only hesitating because he couldn't decide which to go with, made him take the prepared seat anyway.

"Good boy," Castiel deadpanned as he stepped away from the table towards the oven, leaving Dean scowling at his back and trying not to squirm in his seat.

"Starting to think you really are spending a little too much time with us," he grumbled, crossing and uncrossing his legs as he tried to deal with his unexpected... problem.

"You would not be the first to say so," Castiel hummed, sounding wholly unbothered by that, which just sort of went to prove Dean's point. "Gabriel has had no complaints, however, and so here I am, learning how to knit socks and bake pies."

And like the dog he just claimed not to be to that damned ringing bell, there went Dean's mouth a-watering. "You baked pie?"

"Did you expect me to bake anything else with which to welcome you home?" Castiel asked, turning around to reveal the pie pan in his bare--

Right, angel, Dean reminded himself, and forced himself to focus on the beautifully glossy golden crust as it came nearer and nearer until Castiel set it down in front of him. "I didn't expect you to bake anything at all," he mumbled, a little inanely, as he visually traced the carefully scalloped edges and the bits of pie pastry cut and cooked crisp to look like a mix of autumn leaves. "Looks amazing, man."

"Welcome home, Dean," Castiel said, and Dean could hear the smile hovering under the words. "And by all means, ah, 'dig in'."

Dean didn't need to be told twice.

-End-

#supernatural fic #dean winchester #castiel #pie #no literal bells

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scoutdoesstuff · 2 years

Text

today's teafic! this one did NOT go where i was expecting at all, but we are back at the mechanic's shop with dean and cas. today's prompt is watermelon cooler

(i'm doing a month long writing thing where every day i write a short fic based on the name of a flavor of tea i've received as part of a month long tea sampler package)

There is a man watching Dean work. Dean knows this because he has a mirror installed in a discrete corner on his workstation. He’s had … experiences that make him the sort of person who likes to know if someone’s behind him or not. It has the added bonus of letting him know when he’s got a nosy customer.

Normally, Dean finds lookie-loos annoying at best and deeply offensive at worst. He’s pretty, which seems to make people doubt that he knows his stuff, but Dean knows what the fuck he’s doing behind an engine. Or worse, they think he’s pretty and they want to get to know him better, maybe over a nice cold one after work.

Dean’s not proud to admit that he’s said yes to some of the handsomer fellas and prettier ladies who have hit on him on the job. It’s nice to be touched though, sometimes, and Dean’s always found that beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Which brings Dean back to the guy watching him today. He’s surprisingly scruffy, considering the car that he brought in. The sedan’s a tasteful black, likely bought (or leased) within the last year, and fucking expensive. Dean wouldn’t be sorry to have a go around with her, though no one could ever replace Baby in his heart. Still. You get this gal on the flat road and Dean’s sure that he can get her to purr real nice.

Dean makes himself focus. He glances back again at the reflection of the guy standing behind him. He’s cute, despite his scruffiness. He’s tall, with a runner’s build and the amazing thighs that go along with it. His hair’s a mess and he’s lost his suit jacket and the Columbo trench coat that he came in with, but he holds himself well, at ease but still somehow alert and present at all times. His eyes are a bright, piercing blue. Dean wouldn’t mind getting lost in them for a little while.

He’s also staring at Dean like he’d kind of like to eat Dean up with a spoon.

Well. The guy doesn’t seem to have noticed Dean’s little mirror trick, yet, and Dean’s not above a little fun.

It’s stupid fucking hot today, so Dean didn’t even bother putting on his coveralls, so it’s just jeans and a t-shirt on him, sticking to him like a second skin. That was annoying about two seconds ago, but now it makes what Dean’s about to do next much, much easier to pull off. Dean tests his theory by bending over the sedan’s engine block. The guy drinks in the view, so Dean keeps going, first leaning a little further over the open hood of the car and then pulling his shirt up just enough so he can show a smidge of his naked back to the guy.

If the man was a little less in control of himself, Dean thinks there’s a good chance that he’d be drooling.

Dean goes in for the kill and leans fully over, showing off his (frankly great) ass. The other man’s eyes rake down Dean’s back, coming to rest on Dean’s ass after a torturously slow journey down Dean’s overall backside first. Those blue eyes go dark. Suddenly, Dean feels less like he’s messing with an annoying customer and more like he’s caught something he knows he can’t have, but desperately doesn’t want to let go.

He lets the moment linger, watches the way the other man watches him. For a few seconds, he lets the moment spin out in his mind, imagines this man taking him home. Thinks about what it would feel like to have old blue eyes press him against a wall, undress him, mark him up with those pretty, pretty lips, maybe even go three fingers deep in Dean, curling them until all Dean can do is beg and writhe and pray to be filled. Dean lets himself go one step too far and wish for other things, things he should know better than to think about, things that would involve the good kind of morning after bruises and that blue eyed stranger calling Dean “mine”.

That snaps him back to reality. Dean has one night stands and backseat hookups. Those other things aren’t for him.

The guy behind him still hasn’t clocked that Dean is watching him watch Dean. Dean needs to fix this guy’s car and then never fucking think about him again and he needs to it stat.

The other guy finally looks away. He takes a deep drink of the godawful coffee that Sam serves upfront and then stares at the cup in horror.

Dean takes his chance to move. When the guy next looks back over to Dean, Dean’s planted his ass on the front bumper of the guy’s car and plastered a shit eating, but still customer friendly, smile on his face.

“See something you like, hot stuff?” Dean says, means to pour all of his devil may care, fuck you Rich Boy attitude into it, but it comes out flirty as hell. Son of a bitch.

The guy looks mortified at being found out.

And then he surprises Dean.

“Yes,” he says, blue eyes never leaving Dean’s face and voice a low smoky rasp that sets Dean’s blood on fire.

The man seems surprised that he admitted that out loud. Dean waits for him to backtrack, either apologize or demand that Dean back off, maybe go full closet case and try to get Dean fired for being creepy or something.

Instead, he shocks Dean again, and commits. “Yes, you’re incredibly good looking. Forgive me for ogling, though. That was rude of me.” He clears his throat awkwardly, looks around the auto shop, not like he’s planning an escape but more like he’s looking for help. The silence is agonizingly long, but Dean’s brain has turned to static and all he can do is stare at the other man.

“I’m very bad at … socializing,” the other man says at last, sort of looking like he wants to hurl. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable —“

“Ask me out,” Dean’s mouth says before his brain can stop it.

The other man stops short and stares, squinting his eyes and tilting his head to the side. He’s almost bird-like, Dean thinks slightly hysterically, but if a bird were a puppy.

“You’re making fun of me.”

“No,” Dean’s mouth again says without his permission. “Ask me out.”

The man stares again at Dean. Nods once, twice, then squares his shoulders like he’s getting his bearings and getting ready for the firing squad, all at the same time.

“I know a good burger joint not far from here. Would you like to get dinner with me tonight?” The man asks, voice somehow impossibly raspier. It’d been a long time since someone was hot enough for Dean that just their voice could make him weak in the knees.

“Yes,” Dean’s traitor mouth whispers.

The guy’s responding smile is blinding.

(The burger joint, a hipster place that Dean had been too chicken shit to try, is good. Castiel is even better, even if he does insist on ordering a drink called a Watermelon Cooler).

#spn #my fic #tea prompts #massive apologies for any typos or weird spelling errors #it's stupid late here because this one REALLY got away from me #like went over the word count by a bit got away from me lolol

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musings-of-a-lovesick-fool · 2 years

Text

Shiptober Day 1

Prompt: Wearing Eachothers Clothes

Ship: Wade Wilson x Dean Sinclaire

Warning(s): Canon-typical violence, explicit language, suggestive themes

Words: 1, 251

Smelling smoke the moment you wake up would worry most people, reasonably so, but living with Wade had made Dean immune to panicking over things like that. It was always either blood on the carpet or another ruined pan, a toss of the coin on whether the brunette would be laughing or scolding the blue eyed mercenary when he made it to the living room.

Groaning Dean rolled out of his queen sized bed, keeping the comforter around his shoulders as he shuffled into the hall. He yawns as he passes the bathroom, pausing for only a moment as his eyes catch on the devastating amount of red covering the white tiles. Wade's suit was hanging haphazardly from the bathtub and blood covered almost every other surface, he winced and continued down the hall—he wasn't cleaning that.

The living room is suspiciously tidy and looking across the room Dean spots Wade in the kitchen, wearing nothing but a pair of Dean's boxers and the baby pink apron he'd bought on valentine's day last year. Dean tries to fight the smile off his face as Wade bounces and sways his hips to the pop song on the radio but it's impossible. Smoke plumes from the sink and Dean watches as Wade fills two plates with pieces of overdone bacon.

He chuckles and shakes his head, moving forward quietly and sneaking up behind his fiancé. Up close he can't see any wounds, probably all healed by now, and after a small inspection he wraps his arms around Wade's waist. Wade jumps at the contact but quickly melts as Dean nuzzles into his shoulder blades, pressing a gentle kiss to his scarred skin.

"Good morning," Dean murmurs, peeking around Wade's bicep to eye the plates warily. It didn't look inedible but the bacon looked so much more like charcoal Dean thought he could break a piece off and use it to draw if he really wanted.

"Good morning my beautiful boy, I was going to wake you up but you were drooling all over your pillow and I had to take pictures—then I thought i'd wake you up with breakfast," Wade twists to look down at Dean as he chatters on, big blue eyes shining with delight and it almost distracts Dean from his comment on him drooling.

"Delete them,"

"Never," Wade swivels around to kiss the tip of Dean's nose and grabs his shoulders, "now sit your cute lil booty down it's time to eat," he grins, turning Dean around and giving him a gentle push in the direction of the small kitchen table. Dean rolls his eyes but compiles, tucking the comforter under him as he sits and sneaking his arms out of his makeshift cocoon. Wade places a plate in front of him and his own a bit away, pulling the chair to his right next to Dean's and sitting down.

Dean watches as Wade picks up a bit of less burnt omelette with his fork, stuffing it into his mouth. Dean smiles again, watching the muscles in Wade's jaw move as he chews—trailing his eyes down to his thighs. Wade's thighs were thicker than his and he could see the seams on his poor boxers holding on for dear life as the material stretched across Wade's muscles. There goes another pair.

A worthy sacrifice, he muses, knowing after breakfast he would be taking them off for him.

Dean picks up a piece of bacon, scooping up some of the omelette with it and popping it into his mouth. The seasoned egg did nothing to hide the charcoal taste as Dean's teeth bit down but it still wasn't awful. Wade's speciality was in baking but Dean would never refuse anything he cooked, he wasn't picky naturally and he'd put a lot of much worse things in his mouth.

Wade drops his fork and copies Dean, the comically loud crunch of the bacon in his mouth making the both of them burst into stifled giggles.

"I may have overcooked the bacon,"

"Better than undercooked bacon," Dean shrugs and Wade nods in agreement, smiling as Dean shovels another mouthful of the semi failed breakfast into his mouth.

"I should also mention we're out of paper towel," Wade mentions, biting into another piece of bacon and watching it snap and crumble back onto his plate.

"Son of a bitch," Dean mutters, glaring at the grease covering his fingers. It was his own fault for not using the cutlery but still.

"I can lick your fingers clean fret not lover," Wade sings and Dean knows he's only half joking.

"You're so nasty," He snorts, nudging Wade's knee with his own.

"Oh so I can lick 'em if there's cum on them but not bacon grease?" Wade shoots back with a shameless grin and Dean bows his head, his ears turning red as he tries to stop himself from laughing.

"Shut the fuck up,"

"Fine, use the whore sink but my mouth could do it better and you know it," Wade huffs playfully, leaning back in his seat as Dean shakes his head.

"Don't call my sink a whore, whore," He grins and Wade laughs, eyes crinkling in that mesmerising way as his strong shoulders shake gently.

"Fine fine… Slut sink,"

"No!"

"Sink slut, slutty sink, sinky slutterson," Wade lists off names with a cheeky grin, waving his hands side to side as he does.

"Stop!" Dean laughs, leaning over and shoving Wade's shoulder with his forearms. He gasps as Wade grabs hold of his wrist, squirming and trying to get away as Wade licks his index finger. Dean squeals, pushing himself out of his chair in his attempts to get away. Wade yelps as Dean falls, pulling him with him onto the cold kitchen floor.

Dean whines, tangled in his comforter and trapped against the floor by Wade's full weight bearing down on him. His whine melts into laughter as Wade's own laughter gets lost against his skin, his forehead resting against Dean's shoulder. Dean lets his head fall against the tiles and inhales deeply, his view of the ceiling soon being taken up by Wade's face as he pops up.

"Are you okay pumpkin?" He giggles and Dean purses his lips, jabbing him in the sides and smiling as Wade yelps gently. Dean pushes himself up and steals a short kiss, tasting their breakfast and a hint of coffee on his lips as he does. Wade follows Dean as he lowers his head, not letting him get away so easily as he deepens the kiss and licks his bottom lip.

Dean smacks his chest gently, prompting him to back off and he does so obediently but he pouts as he gazes down at him. Dean feels something hard poking into his thigh and he refrains from scoffing at the predictability of his fiancé.

"The bathroom is a mess right now," Dean says, hands trailing down Wade's chest and stopping to play with the ruffles on his apron.

"Is that your way of saying no sex until it's clean?"

"Bingo baby,"

"I'll be right back," Wade swoops down to steal another kiss before pushing himself up effortlessly, climbing off Dean and disappearing down the hall. Dean chuckles, pushing himself up into a sitting position and detangling himself from his comforter. He guessed he could assess the state of his frying pan while Wade cleaned the bathroom, hopefully he wouldn't have to buy a new one. Again.

#Marvel oc #Deadpool x oc #Wade Wilson x oc #Dean Tag #Oneshot Tag #Shiptober2022

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missyflufffics · 3 years

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Harry Potter Universe Recommendation List

Last Updated: 12/21/2020

Marauders Era

James Potter

One Shots:

The best prankster by @deathlyhogwarts Summary: When a lowkey Gryffindor who values her education is disrupted during class by a roudy group of boys she decides to retilate, and she is determined to win.

Falling For You by @theweasleysredhair Summary: Soulmate AU. After suffering thorugh the pain of your soulmate, whom was not particulary careful about injuries, their identity is revealed during a Quidditch game.

What’s Happening To Me by @harrytpotter Summary: James Potter was starting to feel more and more overprotective towards his friend Y/N and considerably annoyed at the blatant flirting she and one of his best friends were displaying publicly and at the thought she might be falling for Sirius. What was happening to him?

Sirius Black

One Shots:

Drooling like a dog by @deathlyhogwarts Summary: Dogs are great pets, and it´s annoying how all kind of pets are allowed at school but dogs. So when you realize a group of friends frequents one you can´t help but shower it with affection.

Cardigan by @gcdric Summary: You love everything Sirius’s family hates about him.

Remus Lupin

One Shots:

Scared by @thoseofgreatambition Summary: y/n’s mother has left their family, and because of this the reader is quite scared to form romantic relationships. Remus does his best to build her strength and trust up. in doing so they fall in love.

Peter Pettigrew

Lily Evans

Regulous Black

One Shots:

Mon Soleil by @poppin-potter Summary: Lupin!reader; no-Voldemort AU. Regulus Black helps you with your lycanthropy symptoms

Narcissa Black

Golden Trio Era

Harry Potter

One Shots:

One step from happiness by @weasleydream Summary: After the war is over, there is one person he needs to see, a muggle that made Privet Drive seem less gloomy.

Dumbledore’s army by @poppin-potter Summary: Lupin!reader. When you help your boyfriend, Harry Potter, you start to notice a few things in his teaching style.

The Girl I Once Knew by @lunalovegxxd Summary: Malfoy!reader. When you receive the Dark Mark the best you can do to keep those you love safe is to play perfect pureblood daughter, sadly, that includes making Harry hate you so he’ll stay away.

Hermione Granger

Ron Weasley

One Shots:

Coffee Shop by @lunalovegxxd Summary: Coffee shop AU; Soulmates AU. In which you meet your soulmate in a coffee shop.

Only For You by @iliveiloveiwrite Summary: Ron Weasley is a family guy and a sap.

Draco Malfoy

One Shots:

Sneaking out and Shooting Stars by @stupxfy Summary: Draco wakes you up in the middle of the night to go watch the meteor shower

two sworn enemies Part 2 by @wondernimbus Summary: there is only one thing worse than being hated by draco malfoy; it’s being fancied by him.

A Beautiful Dream by @angelinathebook Summary: You meet up with Draco during the night and discover the boy buried underneath the pain.

Play Dumb by @willowbleedsonpaper Summary: Ravenclaw!reader. One day visiting your friend Myrtle, you found that she already had company. Learning some things you shouldn’t about Draco Malfoy you become really nervous around him and see yourself in the need to face him.

Carrot Cake by @willowbleedsonpaper Summary: Soulmate AU. You decide to put your own café after the war and you find yourself with some unexpected clients.

Seamus Finnigan

Dean Thomas

Fred Weasley

One Shots:

The Smell Of Love by @leahstypewriter Summary: You remain unranked by the Weasley twins catching one of the readhead’s attention.

Act Like a Gryffindor by @hp-imagines-07 Summary: Gryffindor!reader. The 4 times that Fred Weasley made you blush and the one time that it was the other way around…

Nervous by @hufflepuffgirly Summary: Fred’s nervous about meeting your family, but he really has nothing to worry about.

Blue by @hufflepuffgirly Prompts: “You’re so agitated, what’s wrong?” “You know exactly what’s wrong.”; “Come here.”; “Your hair smells nice.”

Surprises by @acciotwinz Summary: All the times Fred never manages to catch Y/N off guard and the one time he does.

George Weasley

One Shots:

Lifelines by @diary-of-an-onliner Summary: Gryffindor!reader. Your happy line responds to George as you flirt incessantly.

Gryffindor bravery by @heloisedaphnebrightmore Summary: Your shy and quite personality never matched the infamous bravery of Gryffindor. However the little bet George initiates might just help you find your inner Gryffindor, the bravery you have been looking for.

5th December by @george-fabian-weasley Summary: You read him a poem as he laid on your chest, loving the sound of your voice.

Ginny Weasley

Neville Longbottom

One Shots:

Childhood crush by @angelinathebook Summary: professor!Neville x professor!reader. You lost contact with your best friend after the war but neither is planning on passing up your chance when you find yourselves back in the castle you grew up in.

Oliver Wood

One Shots:

Little brother by @poppin-potter Summary: Hufflepuff!reader. Your boyfriend comes to meet your family and everything seems to be going swell, except for the fact that your little brother doesn’t seems to like him much.

Charlie Weasley

Bill Weasley

Theodore Nott

One Shots:

Terrible Tuesdays by @gcdric Summary: You get paired up with Theo in potions who defies all your preconceived notions on what a Slytherin is. Needless to say, Theodore Nott was not at all what you were expecting.

Lonely Heart by @willowbleedsonpaper Summary: After years of frienship you realize that although you might not be alone you’re lonely. You’re not part of the Golden Trio and they don’t seem to care when you drift away from them. You learn to be by yourself when certain Slytherin enters your life and change it for the better.

They don’t know about us by @willowbleedsonpaper Summary: Hufflepuff!reader. You are open and unapologetic about your relationship, even with its particular critics.

Blaise Zabini

One Shots:

Chess is for chumps by @peeves-a-legend Summary: Chess is all about sophistication and strategy; everything that Blaise prides himself on. Monopoly is about frugality and… also strategy?

Cedric Diggory

One Shots:

Ceasseless Interruptions by @imaginexmeintheuniverse Summary: Five times you almost kissed + when you finally did

4 AM by @random-imagines-blog Summary: You’re a transfer student at Hogwarts, and all of these changes are feeling restless. You develop a late-night hobby, but a handsome Hufflepuff catches on.

Yule Ball from the Sidelines by @imaginexmeintheuniverse Summary: In your attempt to avoid the elephant in the room you tell your best friend to go with someone else to the ball, and he does. Don’t worry, he has saved a dance just for you.

Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them

Newt Scamander

One Shots:

The Dress by @poppin-potter Summary: platonic!reader. You and your best friend, Newt Scamander, try to find the perfect dress for your wedding.

Theseus Scamander

One Shots:

Care For a Treat? by @poppin-potter Summary: Theseus never cared for sweets until his little brother’s best friend walked into his life.

Tina Goldenstein

Jacob Kowalski

Queenie Goldenstein

4K notes · View notes

startanewdream · 3 years

Text

Do you know when there is something you are really happy of how it turned out but you also know that you'll never finish it? So a while ago I tried to write a fic about Harry realizing a little bit sooner that he fancied Ginny and Ginny not dating Dean at the beginning of HBP. All because, really, I wanted to give them more time together and allow Harry to be more of a teenager in love.

Well, I won't finish this, but it's too long to sit unread on my desktop, so I hope you enjoy those little moments of Hinny that could have been, with a strangely romantic Harry.

The moment that Ginny walks away from him, after telling she promised to meet her friends on the Hogwarts Express, Harry feels a strange twinge of annoyance. He watches her go, her long hair dancing behind her in a way that seems to reflect all the sunlight and he thinks he has become so used to her presence over the summer that he hadn’t stopped to think she usually did not hang out with him while at school.

He wishes he’d asked her sooner to sit with him.

It’s only when he is walking along the train with Neville and Luna, and he sees Cho Chang darting hurriedly into her compartment to avoid him, that he realizes this is not the first time he has wished he’d invited someone sooner. A shiver goes through his spine as he realizes the implications.

It’s not as if he feels for Ginny as he felt for Cho, he reasons silently. When he was near Cho, he was always nervous, like if there was a hole in his chest that was threatening to engulf him.

When he thinks of Ginny, he doesn’t feel nervous, he doesn’t feel like he is missing anything. If he thinks of Ginny in those last weeks of the summer, he remembers her being brighter than the summer sun. She is lively and fiery, and Harry had enjoyed her company, had shared her jokes, had made her laugh as much as she had made him laugh. After everything that happened – after Sirius – it had been nice to feel light and Ginny had helped him.

He feels peaceful and complete around her, which Harry tells himself it is perfectly reasonable. She is his friend after all, and if he considers Ron as his brother, then she would be like his sister, like Hermione.

Except now that Harry’s mind is grasping the effects of Ginny Weasley on his life, he realizes he doesn’t really think of her as his sister, no way. He remembers watching her imitating Fleur, her long red hair dancing around her in a way that seemed more entrancing than any veela power Harry ever met; he remembers when they got caught in the summer rain and the way her clothes were glued to her body and he had hastily looked away, feeling so embarrassed at how his stupid teenage body was reacting to that vision.

But now Harry doesn’t think it was just a normal teenage reaction. He thinks about how it would be if he were in the same situation with Hermione and the thought is unappealing just because he doesn’t really see her as anything but his friend.

It’s not the same with Ginny.

He thinks about her smile, about her long red hair, about the curves of her body he’d noticed even though he tried not to and about the freckles on her face that he was once strangely attempted to count.

He feels attracted to her.

That realization comes at the same moment that Ron enters their compartment and Harry feels suddenly guilty; Ron trusts him. He remembers hearing to Fred and George teasing her about her previous boyfriend and how her brothers are so protective of her; Ron would hate him if he knew Harry was –

What? Harry doesn’t know what he is feeling. Somehow this makes him feel less guilty. So he thinks Ginny is pretty. That’s reasonable, anyone with eyes could see she’s beautiful. So he misses her presence; that’s also fair, considering how much time they spent together over the summer.

That doesn’t mean anything, he tells himself when he attends the invitation of Slughorn and his heart skips when he sees that Ginny is already there.

It’s just a silly attraction, he insists, when his fists close after hearing Blaise Zabini commenting on how good-looking she is.

Oh, I'm screwed, he admits when Hermione is explaining how Amortentia works and Harry knows exactly whose perfume he is smelling in the potion.

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

So he has a crush on Ginny Weasley.

That’s okay, Harry tells himself, I can manage it.

Except he is really horrible at pretending he doesn’t care for her. Harry knows this is stupid; it’s not like those feelings developed overnight, he probably was falling for her during the summer, but somehow realizing these feelings exist have made him flustered around her.

He nearly drools during trials when she flies perfectly and outflows all the competition, thinking that her flying is better than any dance he’d ever seen.

He sighs watching her play with her pigmy puff, and he looks around hoping that no one saw it.

Still, he can’t help but keep stealing glances at her in the Common Room, careful only to avoid Hermione’s increasingly knowing looks, and he realizes that maybe he should stop pretending he doesn’t have feelings for Ginny when he sees her talking to a boy from her year.

They could be just friends, for all Harry knows, but that’s when he understands that if he doesn’t do anything, someone will ask her out and eventually she will say yes.

He remembers how she teased a while ago that she was going out with Dean Thomas just to pest Ron and he feels suddenly happy that Dean is not on the Quidditch Team, that he doesn’t spend much time with her. He’d heard Dean and Seamus talking in low voices about her in their dormitory when Ron is not around, and he knows Dean still fancies her.

Sometimes Harry looks at Ginny and wonders what she would say if he asks her out. He remembers Hermione telling them that Ginny used to like him but she gave up on him ages ago. Indeed, now she treats him with so much friendship that Harry wonders if she will just be offended with his invitation. That fear burns inside him, but he cannot help himself from walking back with her from training – even if Ron’s there most of the time – and he doesn’t really think when he volunteers to help her with some spells for extra points in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Harry soon finds out it was a terrible wonderful idea to spend a few hours with her on Friday night, just the two of them, in a closed classroom. His heart is beating faster as he watches her dodge his spells and he knows it’s not adrenaline from the duel. It’s her, it’s always her.

She is strong, he realizes, when Ginny looks fiercely as she fights him, her eyes blazing with determination and she deflects spell after spell he throws in her direction. She is gorgeous, he notices shamelessly, when her face is red and sweaty from their duel, and she is beaming at him at the end of their duel.

‘You are amazing’, he says and if his eyes are shining he thinks it could be explained by the fact that she really was very good.

But what he can’t explain is how much the energy he was spending on their duel is still running through his vein, filling him with heat and desire for her, desire to do something, anything. He wonders what she would say if he suddenly acted in his urges and just kissed her – he wonders if she would hex him if he pushed her against the wall, and his lips captured hers, his body pressed against hers, feeling her curves, their hands desperate, hearing her moan into his kiss –

‘Thanks’, she says, breaking his imagination. Harry nods, avoiding looking at her. The images are still very clear in his head and he’s glad he’s wearing a cloak. It’s much easier to hide the effects of his imagination this way. ‘I thought you were going easy on me at first’.

It’s the teasing in her voice that makes Harry turns towards her and he almost regrets it. She is still breathing hard, sweat shining on her neck, and Harry’s eyes are drawn to her neckline and then lower seeing her chest going up and down and suddenly the room becomes even hotter.

It takes real effort to look her in the eyes.

‘I would never’, he promises. ‘You’d hex me if I did’.

She giggles and Harry pretends that innocent sound doesn’t fill his chest with longing.

‘Let’s go? I need a bath after this’, she says and Harry considers seriously that she has to know the effect her comment makes on him. His imagination has been working overtime lately.

‘I need too’, he whispers more to himself than her. He doubts she needs a cold shower as much as he does.

‘So’, she begins, as they walk back to the Gryffindor Tower. ‘Excited for tomorrow?’

‘What?’

‘Don’t tell me you forgot the first trip to Hogsmeade. I’ve been waiting for ages for a day-off’.

The thing is Harry hadn’t forgotten Hogsmeade. He couldn’t, not when ideas of taking a stroll with Ginny through the village were constant on his mind; he’d thought about it ever since they announced the date of the trip, but his – that one that always got him into trouble – had faltered him for once.

‘I just lost track of time’, he says, hoping to sound distracted. ‘Got any plans?’

‘None so far’, she replies, her voice sounding as distant as his.

Harry takes a deep breath and urges himself to be brave. If he can face a basilisk, he can do this.

‘You could come with me’, he says, and when she turns to look at him, Harry discovers that looking her directly in the eyes would probably be as mortal as a basilisk eye. ‘Us, I mean, me and Ron and Hermione’. Harry forces himself to smile calmly, even though his heart is beating painfully fast now. ‘You know, if you want our company’.

He glances briefly at her. Ginny is frowning slightly.

‘I don’t want to intrude’, she says finally. Harry is glad she is not rejecting the idea.

‘You wouldn’t’. He smiled as charmingly as he can. ‘Come on, it will be like summer over again, we can tease Ron and Hermione’.

She laughs. ‘I would never miss an opportunity to tease them’, she agrees, and Harry tries not to beam as she accepts joining him – them – for Hogsmeade.

But he beams later that night when he hears Dean grumbling to Seamus that he’d asked Ginny out for Hogsmeade and she answered that she already had other plans.

Plans. They have plans together.

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

The trip to Hogsmeade is an utterly disappointment, with the bad weather and finding Mundungus Fletcher nicking Sirius’s stuff and the curse of Katie Bell. Not even Ginny’s presence is enough to save the day and Harry is left feeling miserable the whole weekend.

The meeting with Dumbledore helps to ease his tension – never mind that they are discussing Voldemort’s past – but it’s in the next morning that Harry feels hopeful again.

First, Hermione tells him of Slughorn’s Christmas party and Harry’s mind, already exceptionally good at creating scenarios involving him and Ginny (he’s been so creative lately that he thinks he could provide ideas for Fred and George’s Patented Daydream Charm), immediately wants this opportunity to ask Ginny out. And second, Hermione invites Ron to go with her, and Ron’s subsequently bliss is enough for Harry to feel that his best friend wouldn’t mind if he asks Ginny out.

Harry tries to say to himself that it’s still early – they’ve just entered November and the party is a month away, but an unforeseen complication arrives the moment that Harry asks Dean to join the team.

He’d thought that Dean would have given up on Ginny already, but from what he collects – and Harry is becoming really good at overhearing conversations -, Dean considered that Ginny denying his invitation was not because she already had a date, just because she was going with her brother. He sees Dean is more invested than ever, and when he gives her a very nice drawing of her face, Harry feels suddenly useless.

Dean can draw. What can Harry do? Sure, he flies well, but it’s not like he could impress Ginny with that when she probably flies better than him. And it’s not like being the Chosen One is a talent – it’s more of a burden, really, and Ginny already knows him enough to see he is not a hero.

He’s feeling really dismayed after the training and for once, when he realizes he and Ginny are alone in the changing room, he doesn’t feel excited.

‘Spit it out’, she says, standing in front of him with her arms crossed, as soon as the door closes after Ron.

‘What?’

‘What’s been bothering you’. She frows at him. ‘You’ve been quiet all training. You didn’t say anything when I called Ron a prat. You didn’t say anything when Ron punched Demelza and he really deserved a call. So tell me, what’s wrong?’

‘Do you ever feel like a failure?’

She blinks, clearly not expecting that question.

‘Hum. Yeah. I once opened a secret chamber, you know’.

‘That was Voldemort, not you’.

‘Well -’, she takes a step back, but she relaxes her arms. ‘But before it was his fault, it was mine. I only let him get to me because I was feeling so insecure’.

‘You were eleven’.

‘When you were eleven you were stopping You-Know-Who’, notes Ginny, rolling her eyes. ‘But what I meant is that I still question myself sometimes. And when I do, I remember that the last time I really doubted myself, I let someone control me’. Her gaze burns into his eyes and Harry thinks she never looked so fierce than now. ‘No fear will ever control me again’.

Oh, God, he feels so smitten by her.

‘Thanks’, he says instead of pulling her closer to him, which is everything his body screams for him to do. She smiles.

‘No problem, Captain. And you are not a failure. How could you be when you have me in the team?’

He laughs easily.

As they walk the grounds, Harry asks her in the most meaningless voice he can manage: ‘I saw Dean giving you a present early. You and him –‘

She sighs and Harry tries to understand if it’s a happy or sad sigh.

‘Yeah, he is – and that’s his words, not mine – courting me’.

She doesn’t sound pleased and Harry’s heart nearly bursts then, satisfied.

‘It was a nice drawing’, he says nonchalantly. She just nods. ‘What’s the problem?’

‘Really? We wouldn’t work out together’.

‘How do you know?’, asks Harry, but he is not really thinking about Dean.

‘Well, for starters, he uses the term courting’, she says, making Harry chuckle without meaning to. ‘It’s just – well, I had one relationship so I’m not an expert but – he is the kind of guy who runs to open doors and I am the kind of girl who likes to open doors for herself. We just wouldn’t click’.

‘Oh!’, Harry bits his lips but the question is his mind slips through his mouth anyway. ‘And what kind of guy am I?’

She stops to look at him. They are a few steps away from the Entrance Hall and Harry almost lost his track when he sees her illuminated by the light of the castle. It feels like a vision from the heavens.

‘The kind who would let a girl open the door if she were closer’, she says warmly, but before Harry can answer, she turns away from him, entering the castle.

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

The minute the door closes on the changing room, Harry lets out a dismayed sigh. His plan was supposed to help Ron get his confidence again, to let himself back into that bliss that had accompanied him in the days after Hermione asked him out for Slughorn’s party. Now, he doesn’t even know if Ron and Hermione will remain friends.

When he leaves the changing room, there is a crowd, many of whom are congratulating him. He just nods without really listening and when someone pulls him away from the crowd, he reacts until he realizes it’s Ginny.

‘Come on’, she says and instead of taking the shortcut that every other Gryffindor is using, they use the normal stairs to go up. ‘What happened?’, Ginny asks, when the sound of the crowd vanishes behind them.

He tells the story in a low voice, not wanting to look at her as he recalls his plan, wondering now how he didn’t think Hermione would assume the worst –

‘It was a good plan’, Ginny mumbleswhen he finishes the story. They are in the seventh-floor corridor now, and she stops by a window, crossing her arms as she lays her back against the wall. The wind makes her hair flow like flames around her; this distracts Harry for a few seconds until he sighs.

‘It backfired completely’.

‘Well, yes, but only after the game’. She bits her lips, thoroughly. ‘But for your plan of helping Ron, it worked. He is a good keeper when he can keep his head in the right place’.

‘Yeah’. He sighs again, taking a step closer to her and looking at the window, trying to ignore how her scent of flowers threatens to overwhelm him. ‘Except now he is mad at Hermione and she is feeling hurt and –‘

‘They are bickering, Harry’, she notes. ‘That’s what they do’.

‘Yeah, but –‘, he remembers that day in the greenhouses. ‘- but for once they were closer to be over that phase, you know? They were going together to Slughorn’s party’.

‘They still will’, Ginny says calmly. ‘It’s just another fight for them. You could call it foreplay even’.

‘Ew, thanks for the image’, he complains, but there is a smile on his face that reveals his amusement. It’s easy to let her quiet words wash over him, drawing away the apprehension.

That’s Ginny’s power over him, he thinks. There is a lightness in her, something that makes him feel as if he had just eaten a chocolate after encountering a dementor, or as if he is as protected as if he just casted the Patronus Charm.

‘You know, I can’t still believe Hermione invited Ron’, she says almost absently.

When Harry thinks about it, he considers that maybe Hermione just lost the patience that Ron would ever ask her out; but right now, he feels envy for her courage, for her stepping over any fear and asking out someone who is one of her closest friends. If Hermione could do it, then he can too.

‘I take you are nervous about it?’, she asks, and Harry turns to her, confused to what she means. ‘About Ron and Hermione, you know, dating’.

Harry shrugs, trying to look nonchalant.

‘As long as I don’t have to see it’, he says. She raises her eyebrows, not believing his indifference. ‘Okay, I worry a bit. If they split up, I don’t know how things would be’.

‘No one knows. But that’s their problem, Harry, not yours’.

‘Our friendship –‘

‘- will survive’, she finishes for him.

‘How do you know?’

‘With the things you’ve faced together, you just can’t stop being friends’. She stares at him for a few seconds, then adds gently: ‘And they won’t ever leave you’.

He blinks, losing himself in the warm brown of her eyes, marvelous at how she always seems to read his mind. He wonders if there is more she can see through him.

If she knows how he feels for her.

‘And if they do split up, at least they will know. Not knowing is the worst sometimes’.

Harry agrees. Sometimes at night when he wonders how it would be Ginny’s reaction to him asking her out, he thinks that the agony of unknowing is worse than any rejection he could face.

‘So it’s good they have a date’, Ginny is saying, seeming to not notice any of Harry’s internal discussion. ‘Slughorn’s party looks nice’, she glances at him rather amusedly. ‘You would know if you had gone into any of his dinners’.

‘I wish I’d gone’, Harry says rather fervidly, thinking he’d enjoy that extra time with Ginny. Then he takes a deep breath. It doesn’t make sense to wish for more time and do nothing about it. ‘Are you going with someone?’

She blinks slowly.

‘Dean’s been giving me some hints he’d like to go with me, but, you know –‘

‘- you are not interested in being courted’, he remembers, with a smile that is calmer than he really feels. His heart is beating so loud in his chest that he wonders if she can hear it. ‘So if you don’t have any plans, would you like to come with me?’

The words are said so naturally that something inside him is almost applauding him, elated that he could really ask her without tumbling the words; he can still remember that Wangoballwime fiasco. But now, as time seems to stop as he waits for her answer, he thinks it’s obvious he would be better asking Ginny out.

Whatever he felt for Cho is in no way comparable to what he feels now.

Ginny is still looking at him, without blinking, and he thinks it’s the first time in a long time he sees her so quiet.

‘Just to be clear –‘, she begins, then she shakes her head. He sees her taking a short breath. ‘We could go together, yes’. There is a smile on her lips that doesn’t reach her eyes. ‘I imagine this way Romilda Vane and all those other girls will stop pestering you about’.

He could just nod. He could accept her perfect reasonable explanation for them going together to the party and that way there will be no chance of things being weird between them.

But for her, he is willing to take a chance.

‘They would, but that’s not because I am asking you’, he says, his voice low. 'I really -'

There is a high shriek on the end of the corridor. They turn around together to see the portrait of the Fat Lady opening and Hermione is leaving the Common Room. There is a cloud of birds around her head and as they watch, the birds suddenly fly directly to the Common Room; there is a scream of pain.

Harry and Ginny look at each other.

'I'll see Hermione', she says, just as Harry nods.

'I'll go check Ron', and they split.

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

There are many things Harry could've foreseen, but Ron dating Lavender Brown is not one of them.

Things between Ron and Hermione are rocky, and as he plays the middle man between them, he finds out there is not much room for telling either of them that he has invited Ginny to go with him to Slughorn's party.

He supposes Ron wouldn't be mad at him, but he only supposes because his friend is always occupied with Lavender these days - or rather their mouths are. At least Harry feels any protectiveness of Ron would be rather hypocrite considering how much Harry has unfortunately seen his best friend snogging.

And Hermione looks so heartbroken and furious these days that he doesn't have the heart to tell her about his plans with Ginny.

He couldn't stop beaming if he told her and that's not very tactful.

Sometimes he feels like the worst friend – his best friends aren't talking to each other, Ron has lost himself in a relationship and Hermione is so upset – but the truth is that the idea of going on a date with Ginny fills his heart with glee and makes him want to sing.

And if Ginny mentioned to anyone that they will go together, Harry wouldn't know. He thinks not, because he doesn't hear anyone talking about it – and between Dean Thomas and Romilda Vane, he would've heard; even Ron would return to the surface to say something, he thinks.

It's just one of these things that somehow feels weird to announce after not announcing it immediately, so he considers that people will just notice when they go together.

And it's not like there is anything different between him and Ginny. She treats him as normal as before he'd asked her out, and if their eyes meet randomly through the day – and she smiles at him – it's still normal.

But he waits more anxiously than before to Slughorn's party, imagining candle lights and romantic songs, maybe a slow dance.

He can’t dance for his life, but for Ginny he thinks he could learn ballet.

Romilda Vane keeps hinting that she’d like to go to the party with him and Hermione advices that he should ask someone else so people can stop pestering him.

‘I have’, he says finally, and the smile is already in the corner of his mouth, as much as he wants to pretend it's no big deal. ‘I’m going with Ginny’.

His attempt at apathy is pathetic and even though Hermione has not been herself lately, she is still smart enough to see right past him.

‘Oh. Finally, then’.

Harry pretends to not understand.

‘Why are you keeping it a secret?’

They aren’t, not really, so Harry just shrugs. He has dealt with the effects that being related to him have caused before, and he doesn’t want for it to happen again - not so soon, not before he and Ginny even… What?

He doesn’t know what he is waiting to happen first, but, still, it seems important to wait.

‘You better tell…’, Hermione is suddenly quiet. ‘Well, you don’t want people to know second-hand’.

Harry sighs, but he nods in agreement. Hermione is probably right, as always.

‘For what matters, Harry, I’m happy for you. I hope things go well’. They exchange a short smile, before Hermione is serious again. ‘Now, I really think you need to be careful with love potions...’

Hermione’s advice - both about love potions and telling Ron – stays in Harry’s mind. He doesn’t get the chance to tell Ron that night – Ron’s too much occupied with Lavender to notice Harry – and he promises that he will tell Ron the next day, hoping his friend won’t notice that he is telling just hours before the party.

The next morning, he waits until Ron finishes his breakfast – his humour is always better when his stomach is full – before telling him bluntly just outside the Transfiguration classroom.

‘There’s something I need to tell you. Slughorn’s party tonight. I’m going with Ginny’.

The fact that Ron doesn’t immediately draw his wand encourages Harry.

‘Ginny? As in my sister Ginny?’

Harry nods in silence, careful not to give any provocative answer. Sarcasm has always been his best defence, but he doesn't think Ron would appreciate it right now.

‘As friends?’

‘Hmmm, not exactly, we - we will see’.

‘Oh’.

And then Ron stays silent, but Harry sees him throwing glances at Hermione for the first time in weeks and when Lavender approaches him, he looks less thrilled than before.

‘Don’t mess this up’, is all Ron says quietly to him, just before the class begins, and Harry wonders if Ron is sorry for all the things he has messed up with his own love life.

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

The thing is Harry doesn’t get many moments in his life where he can feel like something has changed; well, at least not many good moments. When he found out he was a wizard is one. The first time he flew on a broomstick. When he and Ron saved Hermione and they became friends.

But he likes to think he’s in one of these moments now, as he watches Ginny coming down the stairs.

He knows she is beautiful and he knows he has been smitten with her for a while now, but still his heart skips a beat as he takes in her figure: the shining red hair, which instead of being in the usual practical ponytail is falling in delicate curls; the way her eyes are glinting, with a soft make-up that he rarely sees her wearing; and the dark green robes she wears, hightlighting her figure and showing her curves much more than the school robes.

'Hi', she says brightly, and Harry appreciates the fact that she doesn't comment on how he is blushing (he must be, his face seems to be on flames) or how he's staring open-mouthed at her. 'You look nice'.

Harry couldn't describe for his life the clothes he is wearing. He could be naked and he wouldn't notice it.

'You look amazing', he insists, and there is so much sincerity in her voice that a light pinkness arises in her face.

But all she says is: 'Shall we go?'

He nods quietly, and then he wonders if he should offer his hand - or his arm? His arm would be the respectable option, but if he took her hand, then -

Ginny decides it for him. As they walk through the portrait, in a gesture that seems more natural than breathing, she takes his hand.

Her hand is soft and warm and as their fingers interlace, it takes all of Harry's effort not to kiss her now and then, even before their date really begins.

'Who do you think Slughorn invited?', she asks, her voice casual.

Harry smiles to himself. Of course Ginny wouldn't let things get strange between them.

They talk normally as they descend the stairs to Slughorn's office, and Harry is feeling silly for all the times he has feared that something could go wrong this night. It's Ginny whom he is with.

So he talks with Slughorn and accepts being presented to anyone because with Ginny by his side, he thinks he can face anything. She makes funny comments – and Harry chokes more than once when she passes ironic comments with the most innocent face he's ever seen – and after a while he notes that even when the people they are talking to were originally interested in Harry, it's Ginny that draws the attention. She is so lively that he can't blame others for noticing it.

They talk and they laugh and they save Hermione from Cormac McLaggen.

''She'll come back in a minute, Cormac', Ginny says with a straight face when McLaggen asks them if they saw Hermione. 'Why don't you try these custard creams while you wait?, and she apparently takes a biscuit from the nearest tray, offering him one. 'Let's get some air, Harry?'

Harry nods with a smile, already awaiting. He and Ginny are already on the other side of the room when there is a sudden pop and they turn to watch a canary appearing in the middle of Slughorn's office, in the place McLaggen was.

They laugh together, but as his eyes meet hers, Harry feels the reason for his amusement changing.

Or maybe not. In any case it is Ginny that makes him happy.

But now instead of feeling joy for a prank, he feels a quiet warmth spreading through his body and when their laugh dies, the silence that fills them is not heavy; it's a silence that questions Harry and it's a silence that there is only one answer he could give.

His eyes drift to her lips for a brief second – they are pink and shiny and they look so soft – and when he looks at her again, there is a blazing look in her face that Harry wants to see forever.

Her hand is still connected with his – he realizes now that they never once broke apart during the party – so it's the easiest thing to pull her through a curtain, to a nice desert balcony and take a step closer to her.

For a moment, they stand together, looking at each other, then Harry presses his lips softly to hers.

The softness lasts two seconds as if neither believes the kiss is really happening. Then Ginny places her free hand on his neck and Harry holds her by the waist and then suddenly they are closer, their bodies together and their lips urgently. Her lips part and he can taste her - really feel the taste of the butterbeer she drank and the other flavor that is spicy and sweet and intoxicating that screams of Ginny. Her hand playing in his hair causes shivers that have nothing to do with the cold air of December.

A part of Harry wonders if maybe there are fireworks in the party, because he can hear them exploding, he can see all the colours even though his eyes are closed. He doesn't know where he is, what day it is,how long they've been kissing each other on that balcony; all he knows is that she is the only real thing in the world and he promises he won't ever stop kissing her –

Unfortunately Harry breaks this promise a second later. There is a distraction back in the room and the loud noise is enough to break them apart. Still, Harry doesn't really move, breathing hard – they hadn't stopped for something as silly as breathing –, his heart pumping fast in his chest, all his senses still concentrated on Ginny, until he recognises the voices.

Snape. Malfoy. Their voices break through his bubble of happiness and blissfulness.

His distress must be evident on his face, because Ginny takes a step back, with a knowing smile, and pulls him back to Slughorn's office.

He watches the discussion and when Snape and Malfoy are leaving, he hesitates, looking back at Ginny.

For one second his eyes drift to her lips – their lipstick is gone and he remembers his promise, wants to taste her again, wants to be lost in the feeling of having her in his arms –, but when their eyes meet, she unclasps their hands.

'Go', she says in a quiet voice. 'I'll come up with something'. When he still doesn't move, she smiles slightly. 'We'll have all winter holiday, Harry'.

It's that promise – and the ideas of being together with her for two weeks – that makes him leave her side for the night.

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

He doesn't meet Ginny again until the next morning, when he arrives to get the Floo for the Burrow.

Ginny smiles brightly at him. His body reacts as always – warmth spreads through every part, a grin comes to his face and his heart beats faster –, but it's a welcome feeling after all the worry he had been with Unbreakable Vows or whatever.

He will worry about it later; now his only concern is being with Ginny and –

His eyes fall on Ron, at her side. His best friend has his eyebrows raised, and he looks to Harry rather questioningly, but he stays strangely quiet. Then Lavender is there, kissing him as if Ron's going to war, rather than being away from her for two weeks, and Ginny rolls her eyes in disgust, but doesn't say anything.

'Happy Holidays, Harry, Ginny', he hears Hermione saying by his side, her eyes suddenly red and she enters the fireplace hurriedly.

Ginny scowls at this and throws an annoyed look at Ron – Harry sees her hand twitching to brag ger wand –, but she presses her lips firmly.

Harry feels like he's missing something.

'Hi', he begins tentatively, and Ginny turns to him with a softer expression.

'Hi. Ready to go?'

'Always. Ah - about the end of the party –'

Her smile falters for a short second.

'No harm done. I got back in time to save Hermione one last time from McLaggen, so everything worked out perfectly'.

Harry sighs.

'That is not how I imagined the night ending'.

'So you were imagining things?', she asks teasingly and Harry feels his cheek burning, but he nods, taking a careful step closer to her.

'I've been imagining them for a while now', he whispers, for once happy with all the kissing noise of Ron and Lavender behind them. There is a sparkle in Ginny's eyes now.

'Perhaps we can turn those imaginations into reality'.

He raises his hand, putting a lost strand of her hair behind her ear, and he thinks her smile is warmer than the fireplace in the room. He wonders if he'd dare kiss her now – there is certainly a challenge in her eyes – but before he can move, McGonagall is calling them for taking the Floo.

'Later then', whispers Ginny, winking at him, and Harry's heart beats faster.

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

The Christmas Holiday is anything but frosty for Harry, even though he has his fair share of stressful moments - werewolves, discussing Unbreakable Vows, unexpected visits from the Minister of Magic.

Still, if Harry had to summarize those two weeks in one word, he would say Ginny.

Not that anyone asks him about. There is some mutual agreement between Ron and Ginny, so no one knows they went out together to Slughorn's party just as Fred and George are left without knowing about Ron's new girlfriend and their activities.

That means no one – except Ron but he is turning a blind eye, albeit a slight judgemental blind eye – really understand why Harry is grinning through the holidays, why he always wakes up smiling, why he offers to help Ginny set the decorations, why he and Ginny tries to cook apple pie closed together in the kitchen (the pie ends up quite tasty if a little bit burnt).

Sometimes Harry thinks people should know – they can't be really keeping a secret from Fred and George, and Mrs. Weasley always seemed to know things –, but most of the time his thoughts are occupied somewhere else.

Or rather in someone else.

Harry is patient on the first day of the holidays. He lets Mrs. Weasley take care of him – complaining that he is still too thin, asking how things are in school – until he drops his things on Ron's bedroom and says something about needing to take some air. Ron is not convinced, but Harry can't really care right now. Thirty seconds after leaving Ron he is already out of the house; ten seconds later, Ginny is in his arms, her body pressed against his as they kiss under an apple tree in the garden.

It's hidden there, with only the moonlight as witness, and Harry loses himself gladly in the feeling of her lips, her hands in his neck, the softness of her skin as he finds an opening in her jumper and touches her back, marvelling at the fact that she trembles upon his touch.

It's a routine they will share for the next few days. Hidden stolen moments in the garden, in the attic (ignoring the sleeping ghoul there), their lips exploring each other, discovering the best angle to kiss, until they are both left gasping for air, their lips swollen from the kisses and with that smile that Harry feels like an outdoor for ‘hey, I’ve been snogging’.

Still, no one asks him anything and for once Harry prefers it that way. They will tell people later, it’s just that for now it’s good to keep a secret that has nothing to do with Dark Arts or Voldemort, and it’s good to avoid any teasing or older brother-talking or – as Ginny says with a shudder – Mrs. Weasley’s delightful approval.

Maybe people think they are just good friends. In fact, every time he can’t be alone with Ginny without arousing suspicion, they are together, talking and discussing anything. It’s not much different from what they did during summer holidays, but Harry now thoroughly appreciates how Ginny is a good company, how he can talk to her about any subject.

Well, almost any subject. She doesn’t ask what he found out following Malfoy and Snape on the night of Slughorn’s party, and Harry doesn’t want to share with her – not because he doesn’t trust her, but because telling her it would somehow involve in that mystery and it would be too close to the fact that he is the Chosen One, and when he is with her, he just wants to forget it and be a normal teenager.

She seems to understand it. That's the thing he most likes about her, more even than the physical things he feels when he is with her; she never presses him for anything.

They kiss under the mistletoe she has left on the porch (and Harry can't help but think it's really an improvement from his first kiss), they kiss in the kitchen when they happen to meet late in the night for a hot chocolate (that he can taste in her lips).

It's the best holiday Harry ever had.

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

The night before they return to Hogwarts, Ron asks Harry nervously:

'What's going on between you and Ginny? Are you going out?'

Harry hesitates for a second.

'I don't know', he answers truthfully, but now that Ron has asked, this uncertainty bothers him. Ron frowns, his disapproval evident, and Harry hurries to add: 'I'm not messing her around. I really like her'.

At this, Ron seems to relax a little.

'Just - just talk to her, ok? I don't want people saying that my sister - well - just decide what's going on with you two'.

Harry nods in silence.

He lays in his bed for a while, hearing Ron’s soft snores in the bed next to his, before he quietly slips out of the bed. He’s careful to avoid any of the steps that always seems to resonate in the house, and before he can lose his courage, he knocks on her door.

After five seconds that seem to last longer, she opens her door.

‘Harry?’, she asks, blinking and confused. Harry doesn’t think she was asleep, but she was obviously preparing to; she’s wearing a robe, her hair wet, and he sees her holding a towel that she was using to dry her hair. When she sees him staring, a faint blush comes to her face. ‘I take a shower when I can’t sleep’, she admits.

That’s not where Harry’s mind was. He must have kissed her a hundred times by now, must have seen her blushing and teasingly and confident and daring, but seeing her fresh from a shower, with her floral scent heavier in the air, the only thing he was considering is how much he wants her, how much he is falling for her.

‘Do you want to go out with me?’, asks Harry. She blinks, surprised, and looks around quickly.

‘Come on’, she says, pushing him inside her bedroom and closing the door.

Harry had never ever seen her room before, so he is distracted for a moment, taking in the small bedroom, her decoration. Then his eyes fall on the bed and he feels suddenly very hot.

He tries to ignore the flush creeping over his neck as he turns back to her, but he can’t really meet her eyes – Ginny always seemed to read him very well…

‘Why are you asking me out, Harry?’

That stops his creative mind that was still fixed on her bed.

‘Well - because I want to go out with you?’

‘I figured that out, you know, considering how much we’ve been snogging’, Ginny points out. ‘But that doesn’t answer my question’.

‘It’s just – Ron said -’, at this, Ginny furrows her brows and Harry considers that maybe Ron is in danger. ‘I just don’t want to seem like I’m taking advantage of you or –’

‘I believe I was having as much “advantage” as you’, she says with a grin that Harry can’t help but share too. Then he shakes his head.

‘I want to do things right’, he says firmly.

‘You mostly definitive are’, Ginny assures him, winking. ‘I just don’t know if you really want to date me’.

‘Of course I –’

‘I mean, we sort of never told anyone we were going together for Slughorn’s party and I thought you wanted to keep things private’. Harry bits his lips. She takes a step closer to him, grabbing his hand gently. ‘I know you don’t like getting attention and if we’ve dated, people would talk about. I can handle people – that’s why I learnt the Bat-Bogey Hex, but I thought you’d be stressed’.

Harry raises his free hand, touching her face, the wet locks of her copper hair.

‘I don’t like people talking about my life’, he whispers. ‘But for once people would talk about something that’s making me happier than I remember being in a while, so that would be a change. Still – if we could keep just between us – I just don’t want to seem like I’m ashamed of you or that I want to keep you a secret -’

She smiles.

‘Keeping this low was my idea as much as yours’, she remembers. ‘And we don’t need to keep it a secret forever, just, you know, until people find out. Until then –’, she approaches him, raising on her tiptoes to press her lips softly in this neck. The goosebumps erupt all over Harry. ‘– we can have some fun’.

#hinny #wip without progress #just sharing some nice moments #i like the words there #Harry feels really romantic when he is pining #and hinny is my otp #just words lots of words and feelings #for curiosity this would go until the end of the book #lots of snogging happy moments for them #some fights because now there would be time to discuss everything they don't discuss #but still they would be happy together

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destieltropecollection · 3 years

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Destiel Trope Collection 2021 | Day 20: Sam Ships It

And I would walk 500 miles | @chaoticdean

Rating: General Word Count: 1,311 Main Tags/Warnings: POV Sam Winchester, Secret Relationship, Sam Winchester is So Done, Castiel and Dean Winchester are Saps, Dean and Cas aren't SMOOTH, Innocent Jack Kline Summary: The one where they think they’re being subtle, but they’re actually being really loud (and Sam happens to have functioning eyes, too.)

Smith & Smith | @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1,370 Main Tags/Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, It's a Wonderful Life AU, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Misunderstandings Summary: Smith is obvious enough. Obvious, with his packed lunches and secretive screensavers. Obvious, in the way he unfailingly redoes his hair before leaving, cause he’s “picking Cas up first” - and with his bright smile on Mondays, because “Cas only has Sundays off”. He grins non-stop, the half hour before lunch, and then spends it holed up in his office entirely - and if Sam returns early from his own break, he can’t not catch the unicorn laughs emerging from there, glass walls be damned. Once, in fact, a package got misdelivered, and Sam returned from lunch to a bouquet on his desk, labelled on a recycled paper card with a pickup line so ridiculous - wordplay on ‘honey’, in fact - that it almost verified the domesticity singlehandedly. Dean Smith is married. There can be absolutely no other explanation.

Angry, Angry, Angry, Pie | @a-mandala-rose

Rating: General Word Count: 1,474 Main Tags/Warnings: Canon Compliant, Bunker Fic, Pre-Slash, POV Sam Summary: “So… you’re saying that Dean’s four emotional states are angry, angry, angry… and pie?” “Pretty much, yeah.” After overhearing a conversation between Cas and Sam, Dean decides to clarify his feelings to the angel... sort of.

Dr. McHandsy and the curious case of the white lab coat | @chaoticdean

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1,500 Main Tags/Warnings: Canon Universe, Background Case, Doctor Castiel (Supernatural), Jealous Dean Winchester, Sam Ships It Summary: They’re on a case and undercover, and that’s reason #1 why Dean shouldn’t be sitting here drooling over his partner. But really, who thought putting Castiel in a doctor outfit would be a brilliant idea?! He’s gonna kill Sam.

AL THAT MATTERS | @cooloddball

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 2,714 Main Tags/Warnings: Domestic fluff, Implied smut, Sam knows, Established Relationship Summary: Dean is happy and glowing, Sam is suspicious.

All you need is love | @notfunnydean

Rating: General Word Count: 2,758 Main Tags/Warnings: domestic fluff, first dates, valentine's day, shy!Dean, Sam pov Summary: It’s nearly valentine’s day and Dean declines every attempt of Sam’s to set him up on a date. Only for Sam to find out that he had a date all along.

Penpals | @vampamber

Rating: General Word Count: 3,346 Main Tags/Warnings: ABO, omega Dean, alpha Cas, true mates, childhood friends, everybody knew but them, scents, long distant relationship Summary: Some people go their entire lives without meeting that perfect person for them. Some meet them really early on. Dean Winchester and Castiel Shurley were part of the latter group. Pointless fluff with oblivious idiots in love.

5 times Cas had to heal Dean + 1 time Dean had to heal Cas | @fellshish

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 4,288 Main Tags/Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, 5 + 1 things, mutual pining, POV sam winchester, touch-starved dean winchester, american sign language Summary: Dean keeps getting himself hurt just so Cas would touch him, to heal him. It drives Sam and Eileen pretty much crazy.

Shut Up and Dance, Dean Winchester | @ailuromatron

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 8,370 Main Tags/Warnings: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester is so very done, Sam POV, Dean POV, fluff, mild angst, dancing, internalized homophobia mentioned Summary: He’s currently with a blonde woman who would be tall even without the heels she’s wearing, and she just said something to make him laugh. He grins and replies as they match up their steps again, his attitude mildly flirty, but Sam can easily tell that there’s no real intent in it. It looks like Dean’s partner can tell that, too, as she’s engaging him just as lightly, and not leaning into him more than necessary or anything like that. Sam wonders if Castiel can tell all of this or not. He’s still zeroed in on Dean like before, but now there’s a pensive tilt to his head, his body less tense but no less focused. It almost looks like he’s waiting for something.

#destiel trope collection 2021 #day 20 #Sam ships it #destiel #supernatural #fanfic

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laikuh · 2 years

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so what about this?

but the parent/child aspect of it all is the most important part there, the thing everything’s built on.

john looking at dean sometimes and seeing his little kid, his baby.

thinking: “he’s mine, i love him and i’d die for him”

soooo this is really more pre-slash, as i suspect i will not be able to finish this in full today. but i wanted to share what i have, and i hope it scratches the itch? cw: dean is fifteen when things start to go a little pear-shaped, but nothing suuuper explicit.

John would never say it out loud–would feel too self-conscious, like he’s giving too much away–but one of his favorite feelings in the whole wide world is holding his boys close to him. He’s loved it since they were just babies, the warmth of them in his arms. John’s always dreamed of being a father, and once he’s holding his own child, his own son, for the very first time, he feels like the world has righted itself in the most profound way.

He loves fatherhood from the jump. He loves the good, the bad, and the ugly of it. Late nights, early mornings, and everything in between. He loves doing this with Mary. Nestling Dean between them on their bed, and then baby Sammy four years later. He feels impossibly whole with his family around him, his boys beside him. Fatherhood suits him well.

When it all goes bad, John clings to fatherhood like a lifeboat. His boys become the only thing that keeps him afloat. Dean, especially. Dean who goes silent after the loss of his mother, but who slips into her role with Sam without a second thought, even at four years old. John knows Dean shouldn’t have to, but he’s grateful all the same.

Holding his boys becomes paramount in a whole new way after Mary dies. Taking them in his arms becomes not just an expression of love, but an anchor to sanity and a ritual for protection. I’ve got you, John tells them. You’re safe. I’ll keep you safe.

As time passes and Dean and Sam grow older, John doesn’t stop. Dean craves the contact, seeks it out when he first wakes up in the morning and right before bed at night. Runs into John’s arms the moment he comes home from school. Sam is less inclined, at least when it comes to John, and John tries hard not to take it personally. It doesn’t mean Sam doesn’t love him. While Sam clings to Dean still, plastered to his back when they sleep, John tells himself it makes sense. Dean was available to his baby brother in a way that John was not right after the accident. The murder. It makes sense Sam would take more comfort in his brother than his father.

At least, he tells himself, he still has Dean.

At night, Dean falls asleep with Sam, leaving John to his own devices in whatever motel room he’s dragged them off to. But inevitably, sometime in the middle of the night, Dean will wake and groggily push himself under John’s covers.

“Hey, buddy,” John always whispers.

“Hey, Daddy,” Dean always whispers back, snuggling into John’s arms. And then they fall asleep.

It’s like this for years. Sometimes John wakes up to both his boys in his bed, Sam having joined at some point, but if nothing else, he has Dean, drooling into his pillow and babbling in his dreams. John wouldn’t have it any other way. That’s his boy beside him, hogging the blankets despite his tinier frame. John can’t afford Dean much tenderness in their waking hours, but this he can make room for.

Even when Dean’s older, reaching into his teenage years, the routine doesn’t stop. Dean still craves the physical contact. Despite its unconventionality, there is no shame or hesitance. Dean never thinks twice about sharing the bed with John, and John never thinks twice about letting him. This has always been his most treasured experience.

The first time Dean wakes up hard, morning wood pressed insistently against John’s thigh, John tries to extricate himself from his son smoothly. He’s woken up hard himself over the years, his body doing what it wants regardless of who’s beside him, and always managed to keep it from Dean. He knows it doesn’t mean anything, but also that it’s uncomfortable, especially after Dean goes through puberty. At fifteen, his oldest son is becoming a man–has already held many of a man’s responsibilities–and this was always going to be part of it.

But John’s attempt at sparing them both the awkwardness of Dean’s first waking erection is for naught. As it often is, Dean’s first reaction to John’s stirring is to pull in closer and keep him from leaving. The action presses Dean in harder, and John has to huff at his predicament.

“Dean,” he says, pulling back. “You have to wake up.”

Dean groans, cuddling closer. He’s too old for it, almost sixteen, but John still melts a little. This isn’t appropriate, but this is his boy.

“Up, Dean, come on,” he tries again.

He can tell the moment Dean comes to fully and realizes their situation. He catches the small hitch in Dean’s breath, the stillness of his body against John’s.

“Yeah,” John says with a small laugh. “You need to get moving.”

Dean does then, shuffling quickly away from John and out of the bed. His erection tents his boxers as he hurries to the bathroom, and John shakes his head as Dean shuffles away. He lays back against the mattress with a snort. He remembers what it was like at Dean’s age.

“Better?” he can’t help himself from asking as Dean comes out of the bathroom with reddened cheeks.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” Dean says.

John waves a hand. “Cut it out. It’s normal. I’m not mad.”

Dean looks away but forces a jerky nod. They get on with their day without mentioning it again.

It happens more frequently after the first time, and both John and Dean ease up about how weird it is. John figures it doesn’t have to be a big deal if they don’t want it to be. Neither one wants to give up the otherwise innocent contact–and why should they have to? They aren’t doing anything wrong.

When John wakes up hard beside Dean, they still don’t think too much of it.

“Thought you were too old for morning wood,” Dean says with a snicker as John slips a hand under the covers to adjust himself before getting out of bed.

“I’m not that old,” John mutters, hissing a little at the drag of the fabric over his slit.

He’s not sure why he looks at Dean right after, or why the slight part of Dean’s lips gives him pause.

“Sensitive?” Dean says, a little breathless.

The inappropriateness of the situation slams into John like a freight train. He tears his eyes away from Dean and quickly moves out of bed.

“I’m taking a shower,” he grunts as he pivots to move his straining briefs out of Dean’s line of sight. He thinks somehow they’ve gone a little too far.

That night, Dean stands between the two motel beds in silence. Sam gives him an annoyed look. “Just pick, dude.”

He’s used to Dean hopping between the pair of them. John knows that Sam doesn’t really get why Dean still sleeps with John, but then John also knows that Sam loves when Dean spends the whole night with him, so doesn’t have much room to judge. It’s the only reason that of all the things Sam finds reason to fight with John about, the way he bedshares with his son isn’t one of them.

“Fuck off,” Dean snaps back, pulling off his tee shirt and roughly getting into the bed with Sam.

John sighs, and figures this is the start of the end of his treasured time with Dean. He knew he was pressing his luck that it had lasted this long. So he’s surprised when only a few hours later, he feels the weight of Dean slipping in beside him.

“Hey, buddy,” John says.

“Hey, Daddy,” Dean says back. Then, “This okay?”

John pulls him close. Wyoming is cold in November, and the motel they’re at doesn’t have much in the way of heating.

“Always,” John whispers, and means it.

Dean presses up against him.

“Fuck,” John hisses. “Your feet are freezing.”

Dean presses a lightning-quick and butterfly-soft kiss to John’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

John swallows. “What was that for?”

“I–” Dean starts. “I don’t know.”

It happens sometimes with Dean, where he falls back a few years. John guesses it’s because of how fast Dean grew up, assumes it’s normal that there will be times when he seems younger than his years, instead of older. It’s happening now, he can tell. Dean seems fragile and uncertain, scared of getting in trouble for a problem he has no power to fix.

Something about the dark gives John license to comfort Dean like the child he is. There is no urgency in the dark. No pressure. It’s just John and Dean in a bed, like it’s always been. Sam breathes deeply in the bed beside them, and if John closes his eyes, it’s almost like how he remembers it with Mary. His family around him, the warmth of his baby beside him. Fatherhood as he always intended it to be.

“I don’t care about this morning,” he murmurs. “We’re men. It happens. There’s nothing wrong with being aroused, and there’s nothing wrong for enjoying it.”

The morning feels far enough away that John can rationalize how intimately wrong it had felt easily. John’s hiss of pleasure in front of his son hadn’t meant anything, nor had Dean’s gaze as it had happened. It was a blip in a long and forgettable day. Dean was fifteen. John was his father.

Nothing had happened. He loved Dean, and Dean loved him. That was all. That was everything.

#deanjohn #daddycest #my fic

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dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 2 years

Text

Dear Fucking Diary: Entry the 6th - The Date - Wtf Am I Going to Wear?

Pairings: Dean x Fem!OFC (Daisy)

Explicit 18 +/Warnings: None really. Daisy feeling insecure. Dean murdering everyone with his hotness. 😁

Word Count: 2,326

DFD: Series Masterlist

Series Summary: I’ve been tasked with writing in this fucking diary like a some teenage girl. It sucks, but who else am I going to talk to about the incredible hottie who lives next door?

Chapter Summary: 6th Entry: I agreed to this? To a date with Dean Winchester? I might be masochistic.

A/N: This series has popped into my head from out of nowhere. It was supposed to be a whole other thing, but then it just morphed into this. (Cause I needed more series to work on! 🙄😄) Hope you like it, I should be releasing a new entry every few days, and I think there will be about 7 or 8 entries. The first entry is short and sweet, but most of the others will range between 1000 and 3000 words. Thanks everyone!! 🥰

The awesome divider at the bottom is created by @talesmaniac89

So, I broke the rule.

That third date rule.

The thing that TV shows decided was a thing and that we collectively agreed to. No sex before the third date otherwise the guy will think you're a slut. But also don't wait past the third date otherwise the guy will think you're frigid.

I know the rule and even if I tend to think it's kind of arbitrary and weird, I've generally abided by it. But I've never been on a date with Dean Winchester.

Until last night.

So, after I wrote my last entry I spent about an hour trying on and discarding outfits. Suddenly every article of clothing I owned was complete crap and made me look even shorter than I am and even more squat. Everything was the wrong color and washed me out or made me look jaundiced. I hated my entire closet.

In the end I wore a pair of high-waisted black jeans that I felt fit me the best, and a crop top sweater that reached my waist band, but fell off my shoulder.

Weirdly, I like my shoulders and I needed to feel good about something regarding my looks before I stepped out with the hottest man in the world.

The sweater was also sapphire blue to match my eyes, another little boost to my ego, since I generally liked the color of my eyes. I needed every little bit of help I could get to feel less anxious about going out into public with an Adonis.

I still had Lois' words and look of absolute disdain in my head and I couldn't shake it out no matter what I tried. What if everybody else looked at me like that too? What if they all thought the way Lois did, that the pairing of me and Dean was completely absurd?

I was on the verge of texting Dean to tell him that I couldn't make it when the spark of Old Me spoke up and told me that if I turned down the chance to go out and hopefully make out with that ridiculously fine man she would never forgive me.

I sucked up all my anxieties and fears and put on a dab of vanilla bean perfume.

Then there was a knock on my door and it was too late anyway.

I took a deep breath and pulled open my door. The breath whooshed out of me like I'd been kicked in the gut.

"Oh, holy shit." I said quietly without thinking as I took in the man standing on the other side of my doorway.

He grinned and shook his head as he looked me over. "Right back atcha."

I could barely register what he was saying though because he was wearing a leather jacket.

A. Fucking. Leather. Jacket.

It fit him perfectly across his broad back and thick, round shoulders. It was open and I could see an olive green button down shirt underneath. Well worn, dark wash jeans and heavy boots completed the look that had me actively trying not to drool.

The thing was that what he was wearing wasn't designer made or flashy or anything that I hadn't seen on a thousand guys before. It shouldn't be anything special. Except maybe the leather jacket, because fuck me - hot guys in leather - umph!

But really, it was the body under the clothes that elevated them; so broad and long, he was just so thick, so sturdy. Honestly, it made me wanna wrap my legs around him and ride.

Even more than his body though, Dean seemed to exude some kind of magic pheromones that immediately drove me insane, made me feral and desperate to rip all his clothes off and put my mouth on every square inch of his skin.

All of these thoughts (and more!) rushed through my mushy brain while I stared stupidly at him for a solid thirty seconds without saying anything.

He was doing a fair amount of staring himself, I realized, and the thought that he liked what he saw had me blushing.

But my brain immediately started countering that thought with negative ones, like maybe he was staring at me because he was mortified to be leaving the apartment with me, maybe he was completely regretting having asked me out. Maybe he'd only done it out of gratitude for helping him with Lois.

But Old Me was yelling back, "Look at his face, you idiot! That's desire, that's pleasure you see there! Don't you remember what that looks like?!"

Mostly I didn't. But his next words helped prove Old Me right.

He smiled again. "Good god, you're beautiful." He said, his voice deep and awestruck.

He bit into his bottom lip and I felt my stomach swoop. I wonder if he's aware of that little affectation of his and whether he knows it kills me every time.

I felt my face burning and I immediately looked away and scoffed at the compliment. "Yeah, okay." I said with an eyeroll.

He caught my chin and forced my gaze back to his. He frowned and his eyes bore into mine. "Yeah." He said, his voice firm, countering my skepticism.

I couldn't keep hold of his piercing green gaze and let my eyelashes flutter down over my cheeks, as I tried to shield myself from his certainty and from the heat I could read easily there.

"Well, thank you." I said quietly.

Dean let go of my chin, letting his fingers trail across my jaw and then down the side of my neck. After a moment of awkward silence on my part I grabbed my jacket from the peg beside the door and walked out of my apartment, pulling the door closed behind me.

As I was locking the deadbolt, I waved my hand toward myself. "I hope what I'm wearing is okay, I forgot to ask you where we were going."

He grinned and as I tossed my keys into my purse, he stuck his elbow out toward me, offering me his arm like we were in an old-timey movie. "Well first, dinner."

I smiled at his silly chivalrous gesture and slipped my hand into the crook of his elbow, wrapping my hand as far as it would go around his bicep, and enjoying the feel of his hard muscles moving under the leather.

"And second?" I asked.

He threw me a wink. "Second is a surprise!"

"I don't really like surprises." I chuckled. "Give me a hint."

"This surprise will be lots of fun - and...physical." He wiggled his eyebrows at me and I laughed breathlessly.

With a vague and suggestive description like that a million dirty thoughts immediately leapt to mind and I was quiet and distracted until we got to the parking lot and walked over to where his big black car sat in his spot.

I walked up to the passenger door and Dean opened it for me. I ran my hand along the sleek line of the roof and whistled.

"Gorgeous." I said with reverence.

"Yeah, she is." Dean said with a proud smile. "Do you know a lot about cars?"

I shook my head. "I know nothing about cars." I grinned wide. "But I know she's pretty."

Dean chuckled. "Well, she likes you now."

I laughed again as I slid into the worn but incredibly comfortable leather seats and Dean closed the heavy door after me. As he walked around to the driver's side, I took a deep breath and let the feeling of happy anticipation settle over me. I'm often so full of anxieties and worries that I don't let myself enjoy the good moments.

I didn't want to do that with Dean.

We drove to a restaurant about ten minutes away, it looked vaguely expensive, a steakhouse by the looks of it.

"I've come here a couple times." Dean said as he opened the restaurant door and allowed me to proceed him inside. "Their food is from the gods!"

The hostess greeted him, smiling broadly when she saw him. Her smile faltered slightly when she saw me, but she led us to our table, offering polite pleasantries before telling us our waitress would be right along. Then she ran a hand down Dean's arm as she left.

Dean didn't seem to notice, picking up his menu and scanning the options. I wondered how often that happened to him, women he didn't know finding ways to touch him, and I also wondered whether he ever even noticed.

Our waitress came to the table and pulled out her order pad before looking up at Dean and immediately blushing.

"Hi. I'm Melissa, I'll be your server." she said in a breathy voice.

She didn't look at me.

Dean looked up from his menu and smiled at her and I thought the poor girl was going to pass out.

"Hi, Melissa, I'll have a beer, dark, whatever you've got on tap is fine."

"Okay." Melissa said without writing anything down, just staring.

Dean looked at me. "What are you having?"

Melissa followed his gaze and seemed surprised to see me. But not in the condescending, rude way Lois had. She just looked genuinely shocked to see someone else there, and I realized the world had narrowed to a pinpoint, with only Dean in view as soon as she'd seen him.

I felt immediate sympathy and kinship with this girl, who couldn't have been a day over eighteen.

She smiled at me, embarrassed to be caught ogling my date and I just smiled back reassuringly.

I feel ya sister.

"I'll have the same thanks."

She nodded and quickly ran off.

I looked at Dean and shook my head. "Do you ever get used to that? You're like a rock star!"

Dean looked at me, genuine puzzlement on his face. "What do you mean?"

I let out a small laugh at his ignorance.

"I mean, our hostess and her wandering hands," I leaned across the table and ran my hand down his arm in imitation. I was thrilled to see that he sure noticed my caress.

He watched my hand move down his bicep and then caught my gaze. His jewel green eyes were full of warmth and his lips parted on a soft inhale. As I pulled my hand back I could still feel his hardness under my fingers.

I squeezed my fingers into a fist to stop the tingling and shrugged, continuing. "And our poor waitress."

He looked in the direction the young woman had gone and frowned in confusion. "What do you mean?"

I rolled my eyes and laughed. "She was shell-shocked by you, she could barely speak as soon as she looked at you."

He scrunched up his face in an expression that said I was crazy. But then Melissa came bouncing back to the table.

"I'm so sorry. I...I forgot to write down your order." she said, her face beet red as she waved her order pad in the air. "I don't remember what you said."

Dean smiled at her again and I swear I could hear her heart stop beating.

"Two Dark Beers, whatever is on tap."

Melissa stayed staring at him a moment before she shook herself back to reality. "Two...beers? What...sorry, what kind?" she questioned and I took pity on her.

I knew only too well about that rushing sound that often took over your brain if you looked at Dean for too long.

I leaned forward and laid my fingertips on her forearm finally drawing her attention to me again. "Two dark beers, sweetie, just whatever's on tap." I said again, hoping it would stick in her memory this time and spare her more embarrassment.

She smiled at me in relief and wrote something on her notepad. "Okay, great, thanks!" she said and left quickly without looking back at Dean.

When I looked back at Dean with a raised eyebrow, the tips of his ears turned pink and there was a flush across his cheeks, making his freckles stand out more prominently.

He shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck, an adorable trait of his that I'd noticed came out when he was shy or embarrassed. "She's probably just new."

I was surprised again by his complete lack of game and/or an understanding of just how powerful his appeal was. I smiled at the realization that looking the way he did, he probably didn't need a whole lot of game to get women to come home with him. Likely, they were the ones hitting on him.

It's probably a good thing that he isn't fully aware of just how much power he holds over us mere mortals. It might make him very dangerous.

"Don't worry," I reached across the table and patted his hand. "tell me what you want to order and I'll do all the talking when she comes back. The poor thing won't even need to look at you."

He just gave an adorably shy smile and stared down at the table. But when I tried to pull my hand away, he grabbed hold of it, engulfing it in his and rubbing his callused thumb over the backs of my knuckles. I could feel the simple gesture in the tightening of my lower belly muscles and in the way electric sparks seemed to shoot up my arm.

Crap!

Sorry, I gotta stop writing here. I have an appointment with Dr. Hailey and I'm running late now. I don't know if I'm gonna tell her about breaking the 3rd date rule. I think she'll think it was a bad idea.

Maybe it was...was it? Fuck, it sure didn't feel like it at the time!

Maybe I'll soften her up by telling her she was right about you, Dear Diary. I kind of love you now. And I'll tell you all about the best sex of my life (like by a lot, a lot, a lot, a lot!) in my next entry.

See ya, DD!

Continue

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#dean winchester #dean x ofc #dean winchester fan fic #spn fan fic series #dfd: entry the 6th wtf am i going to wear?

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featherthiefdean · 3 years

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Bruiser and the Yellow Bee Bin

Inspired by this hilarious video where a bulldog tackles garabge cans. Also, check it out on AO3 here.

It had been Sam's idea to adopt a dog.

"You'll need someone to come home to when I move in with Eileen," Sam said.

"I found a cute bulldog that would be perfect for you. Bulldogs are low energy and need like one walk daily max. I’ll even come over and walk him on your Saturday shift," Sam said.

"Dean, he has already been returned to the shelter twice. It can't hurt to go meet him," Sam said.

Sam talks a lot.

And that was how Dean found himself at the local animal shelter four months ago, face-to-face with Bruiser the Bulldog.

Bruiser was 60lbs of low-to-the-ground mass. A white stripe went down the left side of his face which offset the snaggle tooth poking out from his underbite on the opposite side. He breathed loudly, snorted often, and waddled like a pregnant penguin. About 2 minutes into meeting Bruiser, he flopped on Dean's feet with a big huff. Drool trickled out of his mouth onto Dean's shoe. Bruiser wagged his stumpy tail as both Sam and Dean bent down to give him belly rubs.

Dean hadn't been sure what to think of Bruiser but Bruiser clearly liked him.

When Sam asked why he had been returned twice, the adoption counselor grimaced.

"He has a lot of... quirks," she had said.

She was right. Bruiser had a LOT of quirks. The first night Bruiser huffed, snorted, and barked until Dean lifted him onto his bed. Satisfied, Bruiser plopped his basketball-sized head on to the pillow next to Dean's, smearing drool across the pillow cover. Bruiser apparently liked comfort.

On the second day, Dean found out that Bruiser would take a mouthful of food out of his bowl, spit it out two feet away, eat the pieces one-by-one, and then go back to the bowl to repeat the cycle.

Bruiser wouldn't eat treats that were green Dean found out on the fourth day.

Sam discovered when he came to visit on the fifth day that Bruiser had stolen Dean's used work socks and hid them under the couch. Unfortunately, the way he found out was when he went to retrieve the ball they had been playing with from under said couch and pulled out one of Dean's crusty socks instead. Dean thought Sam's face and screech of despair was hilarious at the time until he discovered the other 9 socks hidden under the couch.

All these quirks were manageable and, frankly, a little cute if Dean were being honest. Sam and Dean had discussed them each at length and they couldn't believe Bruiser was as much trouble as the shelter seemed to think he was. Dean didn't understand how two families had returned Bruiser after less than two weeks in each home.

Until Day 6: Trash Day. Then, Dean understood.

"Dude, you need to come over after work. It's Bruiser. I don't know how to explain it."

"Is he hurt?"

"No, he seems fine now."

"What happened?"

"This is gonna sound crazy."

"Just tell me, Dean."

"He attacks trash cans."

"He attacks trash cans?"

"Yes dude! We were walking on the sidewalk and then out of nowhere he hurls himself at a trash can and knocked it over. Like a full body slam. I pick it up and put it back just thinking that was weird and a one time thing but he did it three more times before I dragged him back home."

When Sam came over three hours later, Dean was waiting onside on his front step absent-mindedly scratching Bruiser's head with one hand and holding his leash with his other. Dean silently handed Sam the leash when he approached and held up 1 finger as a signal to wait. Dean dragged his large green recycle bin from it's location in the garage near the Impala to the middle of the driveway.

"Try to walk past it."

Sam thought his brother had been exaggerating but when Bruiser went to pass the recycle bin by something shifted. Bruiser rushed forward, tugging at the end of his leash, and launched himself at the container in what could only be described as an All-American football tackle. The bin toppled over a few feet from where it sat originally and Bruiser continued on like nothing had happened.

That "quirk" was the reason Bruiser had been turned into the shelter the first time and returned both times the receptionist told Dean when he phoned the following morning. His first owner thought it was hilarious when Bruiser did it as a puppy and encouraged it for a long time. When Bruiser reached 60lbs, it apparently lost its charm and took him the shelter when he wouldn't stop. Both of Bruiser's adopters thought that this quirk was just too much on a list of weird quirks and brought him back after short stays. The shelter receptionist said they didn't know how they were going to get him adopted at this point with his track record.

When the receptionist asked Dean when he would like to return Bruiser, Dean said he wasn’t planning on it. That was the truth. He never planned to return Bruiser to begin with but he had called the shelter looking for answers. After hearing more about Bruiser’s life, Dean knew he couldn’t abandon the poor guy like all the people did before.

Dean enjoyed snuggling on the couch with Bruiser after a long day at the fire station. Bruiser didn't destroy the house or have accidents when he went to work. Bruiser waited by the bathroom door for him every night while Dean showered before stretching out beside him on the bed. Sam adored him and Eileen loved his slobbery kisses. They loved coming over Saturdays to walk him while Dean worked his longest shift of the week. Sue him, he grew attached to the big lug and his quirks.

And wouldn't you know it, the neighborhood grew attached to Bruiser and his quirks too.

Every Wednesday, neighbors would move their trash cans and recycle bins to the curb for trash day. Every Wednesday evening Bruiser would tackle every trash can and recycle bin he would come across on his evening walk. Dean would hastily collect anything that fell out (trash and recyclables were collected in the morning thankfully but sometimes one or two were accidentally skipped) and right the trash can. Well, as much he could anyway. Bruiser would tackle it immediately once it was upright again.

Three weeks after adopting Bruiser, the neighborhood kids would gather to watch Bruiser demolish trash cans. Some would even walk and chat with Dean to witness the destruction up close.

Two months in and it was practically a weekly neighborhood event with Bruiser and an embarassed Dean serving as entertainment. Neighbors would come out to their front steps to watch Dean and Bruiser on their path of destruction. It was unusual but most people seemed to enjoy watching the bulldog in his element.

One of his neighbors even painted a bullseye on the side of his trash can.

Dean did try to avoid the bins at first but both sides of the street were lined with cans and bins. He tried every trick and tip he found online but Bruiser could not be swayed, bribed, or persuaded not to tackle. Dean even tried walking down the middle of the street which caused him to have to pull/drag his slow-moving bulldog out of the way every time a car came and Bruiser would tackle the closest bin anyway.

Only once did Dean not take Bruiser on his evening walk on trash day and it was then that he discovered another one of Bruiser’s “quirks”. When the bulldog had figured out he wasn’t getting a walk that evening, he started screaming bloody murder and did not stop until Dean picked up the leash.

Four months after adopting him, Bruiser found his sworn enemy at a newly purchased house just four doors down from Dean. The flimsy, yellow recycle bin with yellow bees and the quote "Bee Friendly!" painted on the side deserved the wrath of God Bruiser had decided. Bruiser didn't just want to tackle this bin. He sought to destroy it.

The first week, Bruiser tried to drag the recycle bin from the curb after tackling it. Dean fought to extract it from Bruiser's mouth and had to carry Bruiser away much to the delight of everyone watching.

The second week, Bruiser did the same but this time he tried to run away with it and Dean had to trap Bruiser between his legs to free the poor bin.

The third week, Dean walked on the other side of the street but Bruiser still growled as they passed.

The fourth week Bruiser succeeded in his mission. Which is how Dean found himself in his current predicament.

Dean would never let Bruiser destroy someone else’s property on purpose and steered clear of neighbor's trash cans and recycle bins who didn't enjoy Bruiser's antics as much as the rest of the neighborhood. But today had been a practically long day at the station. He had been called in for an emergency hours before his shift was scheduled to start. He is more tired than usual on their evening walk and isn't paying attention as Bruiser plows through the first neighbor’s plastic trash bin with glee. He didn't even change out of his station t-shirt because he had made plans with Sam and didn’t want to miss Bruiser’s evening walk.

It was only after Bruiser launches himself at the yellow bee bin and manages to crush it with a single, well-placed tackle that Dean remembers Bruiser’s hatred for the thing. Bruiser, satisfied his foe had been vanquished, picks up a large piece with his mouth and starts walking away like he had just successfully hunted a gazelle on the Serengeti.

Dean knew that something like this would happen eventually but did it have to be with a neighbor he hadn’t even met yet? He feels his pocket for his wallet and prepares mentally to write a check to replace the bin while apologizing profusely.

Dean checks his watch and realizes that he was going to be late to meet Sam back at the house. Sam had arranged a blind date/double date with Eileen, Dean, and a mysterious stranger. According to Sam, he doesn’t get out and date enough. Spurred by the success of getting Dean to adopt a dog, Sam had decided the next thing he would fix is Dean’s love life. Sam talks a lot so it didn’t take him long to secure him a date. Dean shoots off a quick text telling Sam what happened and promises to be home soon.

He stalls for a few more minutes while he thinks about what he wants to say. It’s probably going to be something along the lines of Please don’t call the cops on my asshole dog. He likes to tackle trash cans because his first owners were idiots. Here’s a check for 100 bucks.

Finally, Dean can’t avoid it anymore. He gathers the remains of the yellow bee recycle bin and walks Bruiser up the pathway of the two-story family home. After knocking on the front door, Dean is greeted by a pair of bright blue eyes and messy hair.

Dean stands there staring at the man in front of him. The man had obviously just gotten home from work because he is wearing a tan trenchcoat and suit. His tie is backwards and pulled down away from his neck. The man glances down at Bruiser and seems to notice what the dog was carrying in his mouth. He then smiles at Dean and Dean feels his brain short circuit.

"Hello, Dean. I take it you’re here because your dog was finally able to destroy my recycle bin?"

Dean is shocked. He has never met his new neighbor so how did he already know his name? Dean would have remembered meeting someone that looked- well like that.

"Yeah," Dean starts, clearing his throat, “Sorry, about that. I-um- well Bruiser- wait no- I’m sorry that my jerk of a dog-”

The man continues to smile as Dean fumbles through his apology. He steps onto the front steps and closes his door behind him with a soft click. He is only a few inches away from Dean as he bends down to say hello to Bruiser.

For as much as Bruiser hates the man’s yellow bee recycle bin, he sure seems to like this guy. Bruiser sits immediately within the man’s reach and happily leans against his leg to get attention.

“My name’s Castiel by the way but you can call me Cas. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you from Sam.”

“You know Sam?”

“Yes, he and Eileen stop by with Bruiser to chat on Saturdays when I am working in my front garden. I’ve heard all about Bruiser’s escapades including his hatred of my recycle bin.”

Sam never mentioned meeting his new neighbor but then again sometimes Dean didn’t always listen the best after his double shift. Usually, Sam would drone on and on about how great Bruiser is, the boring cases at his law office, and that Dean needed to get out more. Most of the time Dean would try to listen before zoning out and nodding occasionally.

“Cas, I really am sorry about all of this. Please let me pay for the replacement.”

“I have a better idea,” Cas says as he stops petting Bruiser and straightens up. He meets Dean’s eyes with an intense stare before continuing.

“You can buy me dinner tonight instead.”

Yep, Dean’s brain is well and truly fried.

“Yeah sure, I can totally buy you dinner. Wait not tonight. I kinda agreed to this thing with Sam... So raincheck maybe?” That was as smooth as crunchy peanut butter, Dean thinks to himself.

Cas smiles even wider, “Good to know you weren’t going to skip out our date tonight. Sam warned me that you were unsure if you wanted to go at all but now that you owe me dinner, I’m almost positive that you’ll show up.”

“You’re my date tonight?”

“Yes. When I mentioned I was single last weekend, Sam asked if I would be interested in joining him and Eileen on a double date with his ‘single, firefighter brother who has a cute dog.’ You can, of course, back out if you are uninterested now that we’ve met.”

Dean had only recently come out as bisexual but trust his little brother to ally-up right away and secure him a date with the first single, attractive man he stumbled upon. Not that Dean is complaining.

“Cas, I would love to buy you dinner tonight and not just because of Sam- or Bruiser.”

Cas accompanies Dean and Bruiser for the rest of their walk after disposing of the remains of the murdered recycle bin. Bruiser carries his stolen piece of the yellow bee recycle bin with great pride and only knocks the occasional trash can over as they make their way back to Dean’s house. Conversation flows easier the more they talk and they seem to hit it off. Cas laughs as Dean works to straighten up the bulldog’s path of destruction and Dean laughs when Cas recounts Sam’s first loud conservation in his garden.

Sure, Sam talks a lot but Dean doesn’t think it’s quite so bad now that it got him a dog and a date.

#destiel fanfiction #destiel drabble #destiel ficlet #deancas #destiel #supportive sam #dean winchester #castiel #sam winchester #eileen leahy #alternative universe #my ramblings #my fics #featherthief writes

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michaelmilligan · 3 years

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Destiel fix-it fic (post 15x19)

Okay so this is 1,8k of fix-it for that horrible shit we call an 'ending'. Yes, I am still not over the finale. No, I will not take criticism at this time. (I meant to work on a genderfluid Dean(na) fic which will likely have several parts, but this wouldn't leave my brain so here you go. No beta, just pure rage against the machine that churned out the finale.) (Also my first time adding a cut so if it doesn't work please tell me.)

Dean hadn't taken it well. Not that Sam could blame him. He himself was still struggling with everything that had happened. Chuck snapping everyone away, the fear and the desperation... But they won, and everyone was back. Well, everyone except Cas.

Dean had said “just us” and Sam had said the same and they had driven for a while and it had been good to be on the road, to finally be free. But at the end of the day, it wasn't just them, and that was good too. Great even. There were Jody and the girls. Eileen. Donna. Charlie and Stevie. Garth and his family. All these people they knew and loved, everyone they cared about. Everyone was safe. Everything was good.

Except for Cas.

It had taken a few days for it to really sink in for Sam that he was gone. After all, he hadn't been there when it had happened. Hell, Dean had never even really told him how it went down. But Dean's grief was undeniable, the way he drunk himself into oblivion, much like the last time they had lost Cas, when they had also lost their mom. Both losses had been temporary, but they hadn't known that at the time.

Now their mom was gone for good, up in Heaven and apparently happy. And Cas was gone too, probably in the Empty if he was dead. Sam missed him, of course he did. He was their best friend, the other father in their trio, however weird that sounded. Also Sam also missed Jack, not knowing if they would ever see him again, now that he was almighty and all that. But Sam handled it, he always handled it, and he had Eileen to keep him company, to hold him when he needed to cry.

Dean had noone, hadn't had anyone in years. Maybe he had never had anyone who would do that for him, and Sam was starting to worry about Dean's liver as well as his mental health. Not that any of them could be great in that department, but so far they had always been able to keep it together. Now Sam wasn't so sure.

As he walked into the kitchen, he half expected to find Dean slumped over, drooling onto the kitchen table with a half-full bottle of whiskey in his hand. Instead, the room was empty, no empty bottles in sight. Huh.

Sam set out in search for his brother, trying his room first but finding it just as empty. It took him several minutes before he ducked his head into the library, and finally saw Dean sitting at a table, several books open in front of him.

“Dean? What are you doing?”

Dean's shoulders tensed for a moment, but he didn't turn around.

“Research,” he said gruffly, sounding like he had woken up less than an hour ago.

“On what? You got a case?” Sam came into the room, looking over the books. He saw Enochian, an angel summoning spell, a dictionary... “What's this for?”

Dean pressed his lips into a thin line. “Cas,” he croaked out. “We've got to... there has to be a way.”

“Dean. I thought you said he was dead. You know we can't... There's no way to get him from the Empty.”

Dean gritted his teeth, looking like he was about to snap. “That dude almost got Lucifer out, but we can't get Cas back?” He sprang up, walking towards the nearest shelf just to stare at it.

“Dean. What even happened? How did... you never told me what happened,” Sam tried, hoping against hope that his brother wouldn't just clam up like every other goddamn time he tried to talk about something difficult.

“He... he just. Goddamnit, he said- He- he made a deal with the Empty and then-”

“Wait, what? The Empty was there? Why the hell would he make a-”

“No, I mean. Before. He made the deal to save Jack, back when... It agreed to take him instead of Jack, but only... only if... and he said...” Dean's shoulders were shaking as he leaned his forehead against the shelf. “He... he summoned it. The Empty. To take him away so it would take Billie too. And I... I couldn't do anything. There was... we had no weapons, nothing to fight the Empty, nothing to fight Billie and he...” Sam couldn't see his face, but he could hear the tears in his voice.

“Okay. Okay.” Sam let out a deep breath. It wasn't the first time one of them had sacrificed himself for the others. And like any other time, Dean couldn't let it go. Well, not that Sam had always been able to. “So you want to get him back. You think that's wise?”

Dean whirled to him, his eyes hard and full of tears. “What?”

“I'm just saying... Cas sacrificed himself to save you. And now you're going to endanger yourself to get him back, do you think that's really what he wants? And even if we had a way of getting to the Empty, who says that we're gonna be able to get Cas out, or that the Empty won't just snatch him again as soon as we're back on Earth?”

But Dean's face had completely shuttered closed. This was one of the times were no logical arguments would get through to him.

“I'll find a way,” he said, turning back to the shelf to sort through the books.

Sam sighed, and after watching his brother for a while, he left him to it, deciding to let him grieve in his own way.

It was about three days later when Sam heard a noise from the entrance. Frowning, he walked towards it, wondering if Dean had invited anyone. Eileen wasn't scheduled to come over, but maybe she had wanted to surprise him? He had told her not to come, didn't want her to see Dean like that, but then again when did she ever listen to him?

When he saw who was coming down the stairs from the entrance, Sam felt his eyes widen.

“Jack!”

The boy – God, whatever – smiled and raised his hand.

“Dean! Dean, Jack is here,” Sam called in the direction of the corrdor, then hurried over to him. He hesitated, not sure if you were supposed to hug the newly appointed God. But Jack was his son and he had missed him, so in the end he pulled him into a tight hug. Jack returned it, squeezing him and still smiling when they pulled apart.

Which was when Sam noticed the other figure coming down the stairs and he gasped. “Cas?” He looked at Jack, who just kept smiling, and Sam laughed and pulled Cas into a hug, too. Cas returned it, though a little more carefully than Jack, and his smile wasn't as bright. Maybe a little... shy? Embarrassed?

“Dean? Dean! It's- Dean, get your ass over here!” Sam called again, hardly believing their luck.

Dean jerked awake to a stiff neck and an aching back, hunched over on the library table, drool on a three-hundred year old book. He thought he'd heard Sam, calling for him, and he got up to walk out of the library in spite of his protesting body. “Sam?” he called as walked along the corridor, anxiety forming in his gut. What if something was wrong? What if they were under attack? What if the next big villain – whoever that might be after thee actual God – was here to get them? Or maybe just some regular monster, ready to tear them apart, taking them by surprise?

Dean pulled his gun and tread carefully, peering around each corner before rounding it. He heard voices from the entrance, and by the time he was almost at the door, he heard a laugh. It sounded like Sam... He still peeked around the door frame before getting in and saw Jack, just standing there, looking comfortable.

“Jack?” Dean made his way over to him quickly, not believing his eyes. “What are you- I thought you-”

“Dean!” Jack beamed at him and Dean couldn't not pull him into a hug.

“Hey, kiddo.”

“Hi.” Jack squeezed him tight.

When Dean looked towards Sam, he also saw... no. This wasn't possible, was it? Dean pulled back, eyes wide, just staring for a moment before he turned towards Jack. “You- how-”

“I know I said I'd be hands-off, but...” Jack shrugged, looking apologetic. “I didn't want to be.”

Dean let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding, his eyes going back to Cas. His eyes were prickling, and he suddenly noticed how Cas evaded his eyes, peering up at him from beneath his eyelashes almost shyly.

“Thank you,” Dean said to Jack, aware of the tremor in his voice, and then he rushed towards Cas.

“You goddamn- fucking moron,” he hissed as he wrapped him in the tightest hug he might have ever given anyone. “Stupid fucking dumbass.”

“Uh,” Cas made, sounding insecure. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean gripped him the shoulders when he pulled back, then put his hands on Cas' face. “You fucking- what does that even mean, huh? 'It's in the just saying it'. What the fuck. What the actual fuck!”

Cas squinted at him, opened his mouth, closed it again.

“You-” Dean cut himself off, running out of words, so he kissed Cas instead. It was a rough kiss, and long, and Cas seemed to have trouble keeping up, his hands coming up to claw at the flannel on Dean's back.

Dean was vaguely aware of a gasp behind him, but he was still laser-focused on Cas, glaring daggers at him.

“You maybe wanna re-think that?” He shoved him.

“Uh, I- I do?” Cas said, still looking terribly confused, and Dean couldn't help but kiss him again, just as roughly at first but getting softer over time until they were just breathing each other's air.

“You fucking asshole. You could have said something sooner! Before you got your ass dragged to the-” Dean stopped, feeling his face going through several emotions at once.

Cas squinted at him. “So could you.”

Dean stared at him, hearing Jack say “What's wrong, Sam?”, and yet he still couldn't have cared less.

“Goddamnit, you're right, we're both dumbasses.” When Cas opened his mouth, he added: “No, Cas, 'trusting' really doesn't cut it here.”

Cas huffed out a laugh – and wasn't that a sight for sore eyes. Dean kissed him again, hearing Jack in the background: “Wait, is this something new? I always thought they were just not very public about it.”

Dean grinned against Cas' lips, and Cas smiled back as Dean pulled him into another hug.

Meanwhile, Jack was still talking: “You know what, I think they need a minute. And I want to eat Crunch Cookie Crunch. Do you still have any?”

#Destiel #Supernatural fanfiction #Destiel fanfic #How do you even tag #Deancas #deancas fanfiction #Finale fix-it #After this Jack tells them that he doesn't want to be God #'I'm three Dean. Three! I'm not even legally allowed to drive yet'#And Dean goes 'You're also not allowed to drive because you legally don't exist... but yeah okay I get it'#They find a way for Jack to give up his God mojo to power Heaven directly #And Jack comes back home #They live happily ever after #Noone dies or fucks off into the sunset #The End #Except of course it's not an end it's just the beginning of the rest of their lives #Quiet domestic lives #Occasional hunts or helping younger/less experienced hunters #But all in all just two guys being gay married raising a son together with their brother and his wife #Eileen is awesome and teaches Jack all manner of dangerous shit #Claire and Eileen hang out and she becomes a cool aunt #Jack and Claire are siblings (TM)#Anyway this is already too many tags you get the gist

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