#what will a kiss or confession add that the series hasn’t already given us in a hundred different forms
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YES THEY ARE CANON YOU GUYS ARE JUST COWARDS
#nalu#nalu fairytail#Fairytail#they literally are#like what else do you need#what will a kiss or confession add that the series hasn’t already given us in a hundred different forms
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hi! i really love your writing, and was really hoping you could do another dean winchester x f! plus size reader. possibly were they are best friends and she is pining for someone else. so before she can make her move on someone else he stops her and confess his love for her. idk maybe some angst/fluff/smut?? you don’t have to if u don’t want to, it’s totally up to you. like no pressure at all! but seriously, i do really love all your writing and i wanted to say thank you for everything u write and do!! <3 once again no pressure at all with this ask, but overall thank you!!<3
Just one good reason
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus Size Female Reader
SPN mixed Bingo Square: Hurt/Comfort Square
Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester,
Setting: mid season 11
Rating: E (explicit), NSFW, 18+ only please
Warnings: angst, smut, yearning, grumpy and sweet Dean (yes they need a warning),
Word count: 12,805 (Truly Was suppose to be this long. I blame Dean for this.)
Summary: He’s given a million reasons, damaged goods, blood on his hands, nightmares, scared in so many ways. But most of all that he’s not good enough. Just when you’re ready to walk out that door he gives you one good reason to stay.
Notes: Thank you Anon for this request, I love writing for Dean so very much and to add a plus size gal in as well that just makes my day. I do hope you’ll enjoy this story. The song “Million Reasons” both version’s by Lady Gaga and Briana Buckmaster are inspiration for this story.
Tag list: Is open for all character’s and series I write for.
@spnmixedbingo
Dean Winchester list: @akshi8278
Just one good reason list: @chickensarentcheap
@impala1967dwinchester, @lilacprincessofrecovery, @superavengerpotterstar @jbbarnesgirl @sofreddie @slightlyobsessedwithissues
Ancient hinges creak wearily, firm hand pushing to hold open the heavy door letting you and Sam pass by. Fatigued sigh leaves slightly chapped lips, “It’s good to be home.” Taking the stairs down two at a time, tossing duffle bags towards the war table.
“Going soft on us old man?” Teasing quip tugging a smile from your lips as you drop down into the nearest chair. “Getting use to having that soft bed under your ass now huh?”
Scoffing, whiskey flecked green eyes settling on your plush frame, “Woman you forget we’re the same age first off.” Playfully stocking towards you, hands placed on the back of your chair to cage you in. “Second damn right that bed is magical, memory form baby, it remembers me,” poking your side, giggle leaving your lips body squirming in the seat.
“Stop,” pleading tone entering your voice, trying to evaded his questing hands trailing along your curvy sides. “Please,” puppy eyes begging for mercy, his hands aren’t willing to give. Though you can’t bring yourself to care seeing the weight, even for a moment, disappear from his countenance. Or the fact your sides aren’t the ticklish spot on your body, moving in the seat purely for show.
“Say your sorry for calling me old,” brow lifting watching you squirm under his hands. Wishing and not for the first time, he could have your soft body slotted against his harder frame. Knowing how well you fit just in a different way, one that hasn’t been enough for a long time.
Giggles burst from your lips, hands flat against the hard plains of his chest tugging on the dark blue t-shirt to distract from his plans. Pushing him away which had as much of an effect as a toy bulldozer did against a real brick wall. “Okay, okay I’m sorry, promise I’m sorry,” gasping for breath giving a hard tap to his shoulder.
“Now who’s giving up too soon?” Hands pause as his eyes catch yours for a long moment. Smiling face beaming up at him, heart beating triple time and not from assaulting you with his hands. Unable to resist the urge to touch your soft skin. Callused fingers come up to barely graze just under your left eye carefully capturing the eyelash on the tip of his forefinger from your cheek, “Make a wish.”
Leaning forward to place your lips close to the offered digit, eyes closed to blow a cold stream, eyelash fluttering away unseen. Keeping your libs lowered for a bit longer torn between what you truly desire and what’s within your grasp. Whiskey roughened voice breaking through your thoughts, sending a pleasurable shiver down your spine.
“What you wish for?” Swallowing hard, beloved eyes flutter open to ensnare his in there depths. Catching something simmering just below but disappears quicker than a jack rabbit running from a coyote.
Clearing yours throat, “Can’t tell ya Deano won’t come true if I do.” Giving a smile, pressing him backwards to raise and grab your duffle bag. Cell phone signaling an incoming text message making you pull the the black case wrapped piece of tech out of your front jeans pocket. Bright smile pulling your lips higher seeing just who’s messaged you. “Catch y’all later.”
“Someone good?” Sam speaks for the first time since coming home. Watching the scene between his brother and best friend. Wanting to strangle the both of you for not seeing what’s right in front of you.
Head snapping up from buried in your phone to stare wide eyed at Sam, “Yes, no I mean it’s nothing but could be something.”
“Will again?” Peripheral catching the dark scowl pass over Dean’s features before disappearing behind a mask of indifference.
Humming sweetly, sparkle lighting your eyes that go back to your phone for a moment. “He’s asking if we can meet up tomorrow for lunch, trying to choose where to eat.”
“What about,” clearing his throat to unclog the emotions choking off the air to breath. “That little diner in town? It’s your favorite and serves the best pie aside yours of course.”
Trapping and tugging your bottom lip between nibbling teeth, head shaking in the negative. “Nope he’s not fond of greasy foods.”
‘Plus that’s our spot,’ unbridled thought slides into your mind and you want to look over at Dean to remind him. But push those thoughts aside with a wave, heading towards the bedrooms carefully making sure not to bump into a wall while responding.
Green eyes follow till you round the corner, heart catching in his throat cursing himself for mentioning your diner. Knowing better yet wanting confirmation without asking if the spot is still special.
“You’re an idiot Dean,” shaggy brown head shaking as he to snaps up his duffle bag to head towards his room. “The foundation is already there start building before it cracks.”
“Thanks Riddler, just cause I’m Batman doesn’t mean you have to be so fucking vague.” Left with his thoughts and the growing feeling he’s loosing you to another man. Dean leaves his stuff lay where it landed glancing over the chair you vacated not five minutes ago then heading towards the kitchen. In need of something harder than beer but settling for the dark brew being the only alcohol in the bunker.
Opening the fridge door, grabbing a brew his fingers brush against the clear plastic container holding a single slice of pecan pie. Eyes unseeing, drifting back into memories when the Mark of Cain still burned into his skin.
2015
Charlie’s dead, beaten, murdered and left in a pool of her own blood. Every time his eyes close she’s there, expressionless sea green eyes staring blankly into his own. Never hearing her snarky retorts, sassy ways or those hugs she gave. Staring into cold brown sludge, hands gripping the mug a little too tightly. Not sure why he chose to come here of all places. When he could’ve started out on his hunt for the Styne’s. Deep down though he knows the reason right as the little bell signals someone’s entered the small family owned diner. Knowing exactly who and trying to ready himself for your present.
Never ready for how your soft fingers brush along his temple, settling on his shoulder for a moment while you slide into the worn pleather covered booth. Trailing those gentle fingers down his black and grey plaid covered arm. Tugging one hand from around the ceramic cup to intertwine your fingers. Head coming to rest on his shoulder, no words just comfort in a time when he needs it most.
“You shouldn’t be here,” dark with hints of gravel and kissed with pain in the tone. Whiskey flicked green obits focus, for the first time on something besides the cup in his hands, landing on the top of your head.
Shrugging, “Where else should I be Dean?” Looking up at him sorrowful eyes meeting right when your other palm comes up to brush moisture from his cheek. Unnoticed tears sliding down cool cheeks, “You’re my best friend there’s no place I’d rather be then right here helping you.”
“You could get killed,” the very through twists his heart till almost bursting. Brings bile to rise in the back of his throat, slithering through his system to settle unpleasantly in the pit of his stomach. It’s one thing to loose Charlie a heavy casualty. But you, Dean isn’t sure he’d come back from the dark path he’d follow for vengeance.
Soft sad smile turns your lips barely upward, “Not gonna happen I have my knight in shining Impala to keep me safe.”
“I couldn’t keep Charlie safe how can I…”
Shaking your head, finger placed over his kissable lips, “You’ve given me a million reasons already Dean Winchester and I don’t believe a single one of them.” Resting your foreheads together a moment, tenderness skating across your veins for the man beside you, “You might not believe it but your a good man.”
Pie filled plate slides across scared formica table top, metal fork clattering against the ceramic pushed in front. “More coffee,” sweet feminine voice floats from beside you.
Nodding, “Please, sugar and cream too.” Giving her a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes feeling Dean stir beside you.
“Black like my soul you know that sweetheart,” slightly chapped lips brush your cheek. A simple thank you for this act of kindness he feels undeserving of. If he hadn’t already been head over heels in love with you this sweet gesture would’ve sealed the deal.
Breathless gasp parts your lips as you turn finding Dean closer almost invading your space. Leather, motor oil and Irish Spring tickle your nose, eyes locking with those agony drenched obits, making another gasp exist your lungs. Heartache rocketing through your body, colliding with anger directed at the Styne’s.
“Eat your pie Winchester we’ll talk about that soul of yours later after dealing with the Styne’s.”
Heart freezing at the mention of the murdering family, “No,” rougher than intended, Dean grabs your chin twisting your face towards his. Rage hot and potent flaring through those beautiful greens. “No you will stay with Sam I’ll deal with them myself…”
“Dean you can’t be serious…” grabbing his wrist, pleading in your eyes for him to listen. Loosing Charlie splintered your heart, counting her as the sister you’ve never had. Her blood demanding revenge for the grievous act. But loosing Dean would kill you, knowing you never would come back from that agony.
“I am, deadly so. You try and sneak along I’ll toss that sexy ass outta Baby faster than you can pray to Castiel.”
Snorting, pulling your chin from his grasp, “You couldn’t lift me Winchester and you can’t stop me…” but the look he gives you does. Any farther flow of words halt in there bid to tumble out of your mouth.
“No I can’t,” callused palms cup your cheeks keeping you in place. Searching your eyes and making sure you understood, “I don’t want you to come with me Y/N. If there’s anytime to listen its now. I’ve lost one sister I didn’t want.” Bitting those words out to keep from speaking the others which threaten to pour from his being. “I can’t loose you,” resting your foreheads together again.
Nodding, trying to keep yourself from rubbing your cheek into his palm or worse press your lips against his. Lying to yourself isn’t something you normally do and you wouldn’t start now with the realization you were in love with your best friend and worried your going to loose him to the all consuming darkness.
You're giving me a million reasons to let you go
You're giving me a million reasons to quit the show
You're giving me a million reasons
Give me a million reasons
Giving me a million reasons
About a million reasons
Present
Downing the last of his long neck, drawing patterns over the hardwood table underneath with the condensation from the bottle. Eyes trained on that single slice of pie you’d bought him weeks ago.
“I wouldn’t eat that if I were you D,” mirth filled voice floats towards him before you reach his side in body.
Hand coming into view grabbing for the container to toss it out. But Dean’s quicker, “If you value your life, you’ll unhand my pie,” thick fingers circle your wrist pulling your plush body down beside him. “It’s not nice to steal a man’s pie woman,” keeping his tone light, playful and away from the looming fate he knows will visit upon his person once you figure out Will is the man you truly want. Deserving of your light, and laughter, the sweetness, of your beauty that Dean only hopes the other man will appreciate.
Gasping in mock outrage, “Who me?” Hand to heart trying to keep the laughter from your tone. “I would never deprive you of pie Deano. But I would that slice since I think it’s become a science experiment.”
Narrowing his eyes towards the offending sweet dessert, “It is not.” Poking twice before pulling the pie forward for a closer inspection. Musical laughter meeting his ears, smothering the smirk threatening to bloom over his lips. “Okay so maybe your right,” turning his pouting face towards you.
“Course I am,” giving him a wink then standing to toss the ruined sweets out. Pausing by the panty, you peek in unaware Dean’s watching you from his seat.
Teasing sway to your generous hips has his eyes tracking every movement. Bitting the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning at how temping you look. Thick thighs encased in blue denim jeans feet bare from wearing those steal toed Dr. Martins during hunts. Body stretching upwards, soft cotton baby blue tank top riding up to bare a silver of delicate skin to his eyes. Your fingers barely snag the sugar container’s edge, pulling it down to clasp against your ample chest.
Chastising himself for the erotic thoughts flipping through his mind on a single film reel. “What exactly are you doing sweetheart?” Carefully keeping his lower half away from your line of sight. Lest you find out the problem currently tenting his jeans, teeth gritting to stop himself from acting on all those thoughts.
“Never you mind Dean Winchester,” tossing over your shoulder, checking for vanilla extract, light syrup, and butter from the fridge. Last stop the freezer mentally trying to remember if you there's a pie shell left or would need to make one. Hoping for at least a single, since checking the flour stock and coming up almost empty. “Start a list for me please and put flour on it,” setting the three ingredients in your hands down. Turning back to open the metal door to peer into the freeze, swaying slighting to a song running through your head. A triumphant “Yes,” exists your lips, a little dance of excitement upon finding the last shell.
Damn near swallowing his tongue so entranced by your movements gulping different words back down to keep from making a total fool of himself. As he utters, “Not till I know exactly what your making over there Betty Crocker.”
“Resorting to blackmail now?” Brow arched, unconsciously licking your lips slowly. Unaware of Dean watching the path it takes across your pump bottom lip, tucking it between indenting teeth.
For distraction purposes, Dean pulls his phone from the front pocket of his jeans. Bringing up the list app a suggestion to simplify things you gave him months back. Forcing himself to focus on the small screen in his hands instead of the woman currently dancing around the kitchen. Pulling bowls, pots and pans out, one chance glance has an inaudible groan vibrating through his chest at the sight of your plush ass. Bent over shifting through sheet pans knowing which you look for as arousal flares to life so potent Dean turns quickly hiding his reacting. Planting his face in the palms of his hands, elbows bent to catch the weight. Fingers digging into eye sockets to use the pain and banish the thoughts from reappearing.
Frowning at his actions you come over after putting the pan on the counter. Fingers running through his hair, scraping the scalp with short nails. Pleased smile at the groan you pull from his lips as he rubs his head into your palm like a little puppy. “Something wrong Dean?” Worry dancing through the cadence of your voice other hand coming to rest on his shoulder.
“Fine,” head popping up, forcing your fingers to slide out of his hair. Taking a chance to glance up into your worried eyes. Underserving of your soft touch searing his skin. An itch to run from our presence skitters across his veins. “I’m fine sweetheart just tired.”
Searching his face, those whiskey flecked green eyes so unlike the blue-greens of Will’s, catching something hiding in those deep depths he’s trying to hide. Never fooled by words, always inspecting his actions and those little tells partially concealed though you know them all too well. “You’re covering something up Winchester I’ll get it out of you one way or another,” patting his cheek and stepping away.
‘I don’t want you to go on that date,’ on the tip of his tongue poised to leave his lips he keeps smashed together burying those feelings to not ruin this chance you have at an apple pie life. The very thought tears his heart, rendering another hole in the punched out organ. Though it’s his own fault for giving you a million reasons to keep that boundary line in place. Tip toeing almost across a few times, but always toeing the line keeping himself in check. Head snapping around when something hard hits the back of his head, scowl in place though it’s more playful than menacing. “Did you just…” glancing towards the floor to find a lone pecan on the ground behind him. Head tilted to the side, eyes narrowed on your face, which is the total opposite of his holding a sweetly innocent look concealing the trouble he knows you’ll cause. “Seriously a pecan? That could’ve done damage Babe Ruth.”
Eyes rolling, snort issuing from your up turned lips, “I don’t know what you speak of Dean I’m just here making a pie minding my own business. Can’t help it if a pecan has it out for you.”
“Possessed it must be,” voice pitched in a poor imitation of Master Yoda, getting a boo hiss from your general direction. “Though something tells me a certain someone threw the poor helpless nut.”
Shrugging, face neutral a picture of indifference with hands on your wide hips ingredients spread out over the counter. “Stop calling yourself names Dean it’s not nice.” Bottom lip trapped for a second to keep from giggling at the way he’s looking towards you.
Enjoying this moment of normalcy you’ve managed to capture in these dark and dangerous times. Thoughts skittering towards Will, if he’s able to put up with the hunters life style? Former Marine, Will knows so little of what truly goes bump in the night making you worry he wouldn’t feel at ease. It’s the reason you’ve hesitated each time he’s asked you out. Not wanting to drag someone else into a life of blood and death. Persistence and patience paid off when you finally agreed on a dinner date for tomorrow night. One your actually looking forward to.
But then you glance towards Dean, seeing the smile grace those soft looking lips, shinning in his whiskey flecked green orbs for the first time in months and you hesitate. Would you want to leave this life for a man who wouldn’t understand you not fully anyway? Or stay and remain the best friend till a hunt takes one of you out? Could you truly leave your home with the Winchesters, with Dean?
His voice breaks through the your thoughts, ruthful chuckle echoing through the room, “Haha sweetheart stop trying to be John Candy it ain’t workin for ya,” bending to scoop up the tossed nut a memory filters through his mind. Opening a wound he thought long since closed over soaked in whiskey and women who’s names he’s forgotten. Shaking the thought away to ask, “You gonna chunk a nut at your boyfriend tomorrow night too? Or is that reserved for me?”
Not sure why he’s even asking or teasing you about it or the fact there’s a bite to the tone. He shouldn’t care about a simple date, yet the thought twists his gut smile slipping from his lips as he looks down at the pecan in hand. Unwillingly letting those images fill and play before his eyes.
If I had a highway, I would run for the hills
If you could find a dry way, I'd forever be still
But you're giving me a million reasons
Give me a million reasons
Giving me a million reasons
About a million reasons
December 2011
Run down two room shack a nicer way of putting it truly, you think while pulling up outside next to Baby’s sleek black side. Hands gripping the steer wheel till knuckles hurt and you can focus again through the haze of tears spilling down your cold cheeks. Still trying to grasp the fact Bobby Singer legendary hunter, go to lore man, and surrogate father, dead by a bullet from Dick Roman’s gun. Itching for vengeance you try to quell for another time when you can let all the anger out. For right now you knew he needed you more than any strategy planning or revenge thought.
Remembering Sam’s voice shaking, laced with pain, peppered with rage but above all coated in sadness you could hear over the phone lines. Never hesitating to drop the case — for now — breaking speed limit in the need to reunite with your boys. You’d do anything for family even those who weren’t by blood. Learning a long time ago that family doesn’t end with the DNA flowing through your veins.
Shaking those thoughts from your mind and existing the car only to lean back in and grab the bags from the passenger side. Standing to full height to peer over the top locking eyes with those anger clouded greens. “No I didn’t bring you anything Winchester so don’t bother asking.” Trying to lighten the situation with poorly used humor.
Words fail to leave thinned lips as you pass by, hand holding the creaking barely held together door open for you. Following behind his voice scratchy from no use, “Sam call you?”
“Of course silly why wouldn’t he?” Placing the bags on what could pass for a pile of rubble instead of an island countertop. Turning to face him cataloging each feature, the stone set of his jaw, shoulders tight with tension, eyes those beautiful normally vibrate whiskey flecked greens mute with anguish he tries to hide.
Shrugging, shoulders dropping forward with no will to keep them up, “He shouldn’t have your needed else where Y/N.”
“Bullshit Winchester,” moving with purpose to stand in his personal space. “Bobby was just as much a father to me as to you. There’s no other place I’d rather be than here, for a different reason yes but I’m not leaving so suck it up buttercup.”
Catching the flash of anger tinging the deep greens whether directed at you or himself you’re not sure. “We already salted and burned his body, there’s no reason for you to stay.” Turning away from your softening eyes knowing your going to try and reason with him. Make him see he’s not responsible for what happened.
“I know,” two simple words make him pause and turn back. “I didn’t come to say goodbye to Bobby, I came for you.” Taking one step closer arms wrapping around his slumped shoulders bringing him into the shelter of your embrace. Steady hands running the length of his stiff back, imparting your warm, trying to give comfort knowing he’s unaccepting of such sympathies.
Brows furrowing, frown tipping his lips downward, fists clinching at his sides, Dean tries to keep himself from giving into the solace he so easily could find in your embrace. Warmth sinking into his skin through the layers of clothing he wears, tingling his skin, quickening his pulse.“Why?”
“You need me, your not listening to Sam or Castiel talking about going off to track Roman down yourself,” spitting the Leviathan’s name out like chewed to long gum. Head resting against his strong chest feeling the slightly erratic beat of his heart against your ear.
Back stiffening, “I don’t need you to tell me what to do Y/N I can make that decision on my own.” Low growl rattling through his chest as he pulls from your arms and steps from the warmth evaporating from his body. “You should leave.”
“And get yourself killed?” Hands slamming to your wide hips glaring daggers at your best friend. “What happened wasn’t your fault Dean. Any one of us could’ve taken that bullet, Bobby knew the risks of the mission, accepted them and died…” swallowing the tears threatening to slip from your eyes. “A hero,” ignoring his last words, reaching out to try and take his hand only to have him pull away like you’ve burned him.
“Don’t, don’t try to reason this with me I know better,” turning his back to head for the wall covered in papers trying to figure out just what Dick Roman’s up too.
Shaking your head knowing he’s hurting but not wanting to voice those feelings, to make him appear weak. With a sigh leaving your frowning lips you move silently beside him looking over the wall of weird trying to piece together how everything connects. Brushing your hand against his, pinkie trailing to catch what you think is his forefinger. Wrapping the little finger tightly around his you lean over, “I’m right here when you’re ready Dean, I’m not leaving nor letting go.”
“You should,” not bothering to turn and face you. Memories of Lisa and Ben filter through his thoughts along with Bobby, his father and what he can remember of his mother. “I’m poison and get everyone around me killed.” He doesn’t want to add you to the growing list. Rather wanting you to leave and find a different path for your life.
Tugging on his finger to wrap the middle and forefinger with your ring and pinkie fingers, “Then Sam and I are the antidote to your poison.” Giving a soft sad smile to his side profile, wrapping him up into your arms. Resting your head on his shoulder, voice a gentle whisper of breath upon his cheek and neck,“Those reasons keep tallying up Winchester we’ll hit a million before long.”
Reminding you both of a long ago discussion between the two of you in Bobby’s junk yard while still teenagers. Before angels and demons, vampires thought long dead and ancient Leviathan brought back from the pit of purgatory. When you made the packed to never fall for each other and always remain best friends. To never let go no matter how dire the situation, you’d have each other’s back.
Evaporating memories of long ago, you speak softly still resting your head on his shoulder. “You work on this mosaic of papers you have plastered over the walls. I have a pie to bake,” not giving it much thought you quickly press a kiss to his stubbled cheek then turn to head back towards the passable kitchen area.
Tingles dance over his skin for longer than he wishes, wanting to suppress those feelings bubbling up to try and consume him. Thinking he could bury them under the mounting pain and self hated. Yet, the warmth of your arms, soft press of your lips, your words register and sink into his brain Dean turns to watch you work unable stop a few of those feelings from dancing around his heart. Single thought shocking him in its stark contradiction to his current state of mind, Dean Winchester self proclaimed ladies man has fallen in love with his best friend. A sucker punch to the gut making him gasp and reel that silent declaration in. Stuffing it under the right full emotions of anger and pain. Letting them tap dance through his veins instead, something much safer for the both of them. Something he could understand and deal with.
I bow down to pray
I try to make the worst seem better
Lord, show me the way
To cut through all his worn out leather
I've got a hundred million reasons to walk away
But, baby, I just need one good one to stay
Head stuck in a cycle, I look off and I stare
It's like that I've stopped breathing, but completely aware
'Cause you're giving me a million reasons
Give me a million reasons
Giving me a million reasons
About a million reasons
Present
“He’s not my boyfriend yet Dean,” eyes rolling as you turn to melt the butter in a small sauce pan. Though there is a part of you wishing he could one day fill the role unless a single good reason can change your mind comes your way.
“But you want him too?” Words muttered through presses together teeth. Hating the fact he’s letting something so trivial effect him in such a way. You’ve had other boyfriends, one night stands he’s had to sit through yet this one feels different. As if he could truly loose you this time and those thoughts scare the shit outta him the most. Because yes you’re his best friend for longer than he can remember but above that you’re the woman who gets him, argues with him, sets his ass straight when he’s being stupid and above all or so he hopes, loves him warts and all.
Hands pause at his question looking into the melting golden liquid bubbling silently remembering to flick the tiny knob and turn the heat off. While your head screams to say yes but it’s a little small voice beating quickly beneath your ribcage making you pause. Clearing your throat to gather what thoughts you could from their scattered places. You’ve always spoke with honesty to Dean, unless circumstances dictated other wise, and you weren’t about to change now. Through you wouldn’t turn to face him when you did wanting to keep from seeing his eyes. Finding the reason for his questions in those green depths you’ve fallen for though never spoken the feelings. “Yes, he could…” swallowing to coat your dry throat to spit out the words rotting your stomach. “I could have a chance at happiness with Will, Dean. Why do you even ask?”
“I don’t want to loose you,” ‘Because I love you,’ on the tip of his tongue to tell you, give voice and life to his true feelings. Wanting you to stay and forget about those million other reasons he’s let slip between the cracks in your relationship.
Frozen in place, hands gripping the countertop beside the stove. “You wouldn’t loose me Dean I’d still go on hunts with you, I’d stick around,” lies tasting bitter on your tongue, heart beating triple time wondering if he’ll pick up on the dishonesty your speaking. Always feeling he’d never see you as anything other than his best friend. Never the type of woman to draw his attention, too soft and plush in places most men wouldn’t want and you didn’t pine for a man who’s given you a million reasons to walk away. So you shoved those feelings, the love you held back trying to make it work with other men. To find the one who’d surpass Dean destroying your feelings for the green eyed hunter, giving you the one reason to stay and belong. So why now did he have to put doubts in your mind? Why ask these questions when in years past he’d brush other men away as nothing more than a passing fancy?
Silently Dean stands slowly making his way towards you, taking in the ridged stance of your plush form. Hands itch to wrap around your thick waist and haul you against his chest. Pausing right beside you, brushing his fingers against yours too hook what he thinks is your forefinger with his pinkie. “You and I both know things wouldn’t stay the same between us sweetheart. He’d find a way to take you away from me,” praying you won’t pull away Dean turns to stare at your profile. Taking in the beauty he’s catalogued thousands of times, the curve of your lips when you smile, slope of your nose, eyes bright with laughter or spiting fire when angry usually at him. Softness of your cheeks under his palms the times he’s actually got to cup and caress the skin.
“We’ll remain best friends Dean that’ll never change,” gathering the courage to turn and look into his eyes. Catching the sadness coating those beloved greens making your heart ache. Tongue slipping out to tug back your bottom lip between your teeth indented them to keep from asking the question your heart demands.
Of its own accord Dean’s free hand comes up to brush over your cheek, cupping the soft skin, fingers spread from apple to jaw wanting so badly to draw you in and kiss those tempting lips. “I want you happy Y/N and if it’s possible out of this life, been wanting that for you since Bobby,” sliding his hand to your chin to pinch the end with his thumb and forefinger tipping your face up to press a lingering kiss to your forehead. “I’ll miss you sweetheart.”
Eyes lock with stormy greens after he pulls back, soft gasp parting your lips at the simple touch, words sounding like a goodbye instead of their usual see ya later. Grappling for words to say, questions to ask, trying to figure out what’s going on, and why now. But he’s gone before your brain can catch up with your mouth, and your turning to rush after, seeing his back disappear around the corner.
Feet finally responding to command as you quickly follow stopping at the doorway, “Give me one good reason.” Praying he’ll listen and stop, hoping it’s not too late. “Stop giving me all these reasons to leave.”
Back ridged but his mind a flurry of thoughts and answers, more questions than he could shake a stick at. Only one reason comes to mind, “Good reason to what?”
Traveling the short distance to take his hand intertwining your fingers with his, needing him to turn around and look at you. Needing the connection while stating, “Give me a good reason to stay Dean to not go tomorrow night.”
“I can’t,” partly wanting to flinch from your touch, to tug his hand free, and partly wanting to sink into your familiar embrace. Soak in the peace he always finds in your arms, to bath in your warmth and possibly bask in your love. But Dean wouldn’t be selfish he’d let you go even if it meant killing his own heart and soul.
The urge to punch him grows strong but your refrain from using violence, “Why not? Too scared? Or you just don’t care?”
The warmth of your hand disappears from searing into his palm, tingling those long nimble fingers, his eyes close knowing you’re walking away because of that millionth reason. Till the first brush of soft fingers tender in there touch upon his cheek. He gives in to the urge and rubs his slightly stubbled cheek into your palm. “If that’s you Sam, I’m gonna kick your ass dude,” ignoring your questions in favor of basking in your touch instead. Hearing the soft giggle from your lips brings a smile to his own. Eyes finally opening too stare into yours, almost doing a doubt take at what he sees in those beloved depths. “I don’t deserve you Y/N.”
“Stop giving me a million reasons Dean and give me the one that’ll make me stay,” imploring him with your touch, fingers tracing over his cheeks and jaw. Tracing his plush bottom lip with the pad of your thumb, “I just need one good reason.”
He’d find the situation funny if it’s anyone else standing in front asking the same question. Even Sam would get a chuckle from his lips, but you, his breath freezes, heart thumping wildly in equal measures of terror and excitement. The very thoughts running unrestrained in his mind scare the shit out of him, but only one truly feels right. Snaking an arm around your thick waist pulling you against his strong chest, fitting like missing puzzle pieces. His free hand coming up to cup your cheek, “I love you.”
Tears slip from their ducts barely held back till those three simple words spill from his mouth jump starting your heart and sending your emotions swirling. Warm palms cradle your wet cheeks, gun callused thumbs brush hot tears away, you spy the worry and fear your non response sparks. “Do you mean it?” Wanting clarification before handing your heart over to the very man who’s held it for so long.
Knowing what your asking Dean stops waiting and lowers his mouth to yours. That first touch of lips electricity shoots through you veins. Body responding quicker with arms going around his neck to pull him firmly against you not a wisp of space between your bodies. Fingers tangling in the short hairs at the back of his head while you slot your lips against his. Demanding and deep, a tangled dance of tongues. Clashing of teeth, a melding mouths and finding the right angles to draw those delicious moans from each of you. Till air becomes necessary and you break apart panting, “That answer your question sweetheart?”
“No,” smirking when his eyes narrow, “I wanna hear it again.”
No hesitation in speaking those three words, “I love you.” Groaning when your lips smash back to his. Stealing breath from his lungs and a moan from his chest, Dean walks you backward till your pressed against the cool tile wall. Lower pelvis holding your soft body in place so his hands can dance over your cotton covered plush form. Palm’s flat against your thick waist, slowly dragging them around and down to cup your generous ass. Squeezing firmly and making you gasp.
Using the opening as a way to work his tongue back into your mouth, delving in for another taste of your sweetness. Low groan existing when rearranging his mouth to fit differently and snag a gulp of air. Stubble abrading your chin in the most spectacular of ways. Pooling heat low in your belly and making your mind wander in other more salacious directions. Brought back from teetering on the deliciously desirable edge by a sharp bite, his teeth nabbing your bottom lip to tug, letting go with a wet pop. Breath fanning out over your heated cheeks. Eyes once closed now open and locked with yours a pleading undertone to the desire darkened greens.
Knowing what he wants to hear and unable to wait along, “I love you too Dean.” Heart bursting with unrestrained joy flooding your system and making you love drunk.
“Thank fucking God,” groaning, resting your foreheads together still trying to reign in the wild thumping of his heart. Your admission only serves to make the largest muscle spasm quicker. All his pent up emotions, desires and needs flowing to the surface, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from rushing into something too fast. Remembering it’s still fresh and new between the two of you a different path to the relationship already established in friendship.
Giggling softly, you cup both his cheeks, thumbs brushing along his skin, three days worth of stubble abrading your palms. “So,” teasing smirk pulling at your lips, “I better call Will huh?”
“For?” Trying to keep the bitter growl from escaping and giving away his feelings on the sore subject. Tugging your soft body back in place from your wiggles to side free, not ready to let you go just yet.
Sliding one hand down his chest to rest where you know his anti-possession tattoo resides. Tracing the edges with the tip of your finger over the black t-shirt he’s wearing, locking eyes with his, “Seems I’m a taken woman. Wouldn’t want to lead the poor guy on now would I?” Watching how those whiskey flecked greens darken, pushing his lower body deeper into your plush form. Barely heard as you try not to give away the whimper of need his body produces in your own, with his pressed so tightly. Cool concrete keeping you body temp from over heating for the moment.
“No,” clearing his throat leaning in to draw his nose over your jawline. Touring towards your ear, catching the lobe between his front teeth to tug. Low desire filled growl leaving his lips, followed by, “Tomorrow is another day sweetheart and right now you’ve got better things to do.”
Heading tipping over granting access to the parts of your neck he wants, trying to keep the shiver from rolling over your body. Heat flooding your veins sparking a need you’ve never felt with any of the other men you’d previously had relations with. “What,” licking your parched lips, “what better things Dean?” Praying it’s the same idea rolling around your head for the longest time.
Pausing in his mapping of your neck and shoulder with his lips, Dean raises his head to spear you with a heated look. “Me for starters sweetheart, that is of course…” uneasiness has him trailing off the first time in his life. The bitter taste of uncertainty coating his thoughts for a fraction of a second before your lips land back on his.
Teasingly soft presses, little ghost touches of your tongue, playfully dotting his cheeks, chin and forehead with your lips before brushing close to his ear. “Hey Dean,” smiling against his skin, tenderly pressing your lips just south of his ear. Nibbling the found patch of sensitive skin behind committing the spot to memory for later. Breath puffing out quicker feeling him shiver, knowing what the next words would invoke in Dean and his love for the movie. “You big stud. Take me to bed or lose me forever,” sultry tone added to the cadence.
His eyes close for a moment, heart swelling as you recite the words to one of his favorite movies. Marveling at the fact you’ve remembered the lines perfectly and Dean falls deeper in love with you if that’s possible.
The gentle caresses of your lips against his skin setting fire to his nerve endings, room in his jeans becoming a hot commodity as his shaft thickens and throbs. Finding the distraction almost too much while trying to recall the next line. Teasing giggles reach his ears that he replies to with a deep chuckle. Words coming back to him, “Show me the way home, honey.”
Reaching down to tug one hand from your ass, chuckling with a shake of your head when it doesn’t budge but squeezes the generous globe. Notching himself tighter into your body, smirk appearing as your eyes widen, gasp issuing from parted lips. Bitting the inside of your cheek to keep from giggling before the words can escape. “Is that a pickle in your pocket or you just happy to see me?”
“Oh sweetheart it’s a great big dill I can show ya,” flashing a smirk, both of you trying hard not to laugh.
“Preferably,” deep voice tinged with slight offense but liberally coated in amusement. “In your own room so the both of you aren’t bare ass naked in the hallway bumping like bunnies,” having rounded the corner towards the kitchen and catching the intimate embrace. “A vision I don’t want branded into my skull thank you very much,” Sam paused arms crossed in annoyance. Golden dotted green eyes dancing with mirth, catching the playfully scandalous expression cross your features. Glancing towards Dean who buries his face in your neck getting a deep chuckle from his brother.
Try as you might to keep from busting out laughing they just rolled out of your mouth as your eyes lock with Sam’s. Acting stoic but the smile tugging at his lips and the teasing flash through his eyes speak a different story. Only thing holding you up is Dean’s body still pressed heavily against your. The man in question glancing up first to look at you then over his shoulder towards Sam. “Don’t even start Sammy,” grumbling good-naturedly giving him a middle finger salute and the opening you need to slip from between his hard body and the wall. Teasing growl rumbling through his chest at the loss of your warmth. Dean reaches out to snag your arm but you manage to dance out of his reach, giggles echoing off the walls trailing behind your disappearing form.
“Wouldn’t dream of it Dean but Cas owes me fifty bucks,” patent Sam Winchester smirk sliding over his lips. Brow raised at his scoff, “Can’t believe I had a betting pot going?”
Watching you run off happy grin tipping his mouth upward, he looks back at Sam grin still in place. “Just can’t believe it’s with Cas. Rowena maybe, Jody, Claire, Alex and Donna fuck yes but Cas,” incredulous look stealing over his features for a few moments.
“Who say’s the bet’s not bigger than you think,” broad shoulders shrugging same smirk in place, Sam enters the kitchen on that note leaving Dean to stare wide eyed after his baby brother. “Matter of time, always just a matter of time,” laughter tinged voice exists the kitchen, unseen shake of his head at the mess left behind.
Stock still for a fraction of a second till soft giggles echo quietly down the hall, grin turning into full blown smile. Need rushing back through his veins in remembrance of your position just a few short moments ago. Low curse existing his mouth, Dean turns racing off to find which room you’re hiding in.
Nerves tingled through your body, worry interrupting thoughts/memories of short minutes ago. Hard press of his body against yours, warm moist breath fanning out over your skin sending tingles of a different kind to skitter across your veins. But now standing in Dean’s room trying to figure out where to lay or stand that would invoke images of sensuality. You look down at your bare feet toes wiggling against cold concrete. Up wards to thick jeans clad thighs, a baby blue tank top covering your torso, self consciousness went out the window decades ago. After the first serious injuries you suffered at the hands of a vengeful spirit had you damn near stripped naked in front of Dean. Confidence in face of adversity knowing he’s the only one for miles around to patch you up.
Now though is different, same confidence but wishing for sexier clothing something to entice and tease. Small snort issues from the depths of your body knowing damn well you had nothing of the sort in your possession. Flannels, tank tops, t-shirts and jeans hunter’s required staples along with the functional under garments you groan at remembering are mismatched at the present.
“Beautiful even in those rumpled clothing,” deep voice breaking through thoughts and making a squeak sound as you quickly turn to face the lazily leaning against the door jam hunter. Arms crossed over muscular chest, biceps straining the black t-shirt’s sleeves, “I meant what I said before Sammy interrupted us.”
Tugging your bottom lip back under indented top teeth turning to face him fully, “Which part?” Barely keeping the mirth from bubbling over, “That I should show you the way home or you have a big dill?” Easy going banter calming your nerves even the part about feeling ill-prepared clothing wise.
Tender infused whiskey fleck green eyes turn molten with each sweep of your body. “I love you,” words escape as eyes stay locked, Dean pushing away from the doorway. Booted foot catching the hardwood door and slamming it shut behind him. Stocking towards you as a lion would his prey, licking parched lips wanting to devour you. Hands fisting at his side though to keep from reaching out and doing just that incase it’s something your not ready for.
His breath froze upon seeing you walking around his room, something akin to relief floods his veins along with a sense of rightness. Sure you’ve come in hundreds of times to wake him from a nightmare or mornings, to barrow music and to talk. Yet, this time feels different giving your relationship changed moments ago. Catching the indecision clearly written in those beloved eyes that don’t focus on one place too long. For a moment Dean wishes he could read your thoughts but then having hunted and lived together for decades he picked up the situation and cues without having to know your thoughts.
Pleased hum breaks Dean from the wondering trail his thoughts took him on to spy the sweet smile gracing your lips. Hands positioned on your hips one cocked to the side as you stand there waiting expectedly. Restraining himself, Dean opens his palms to bring them up and cup your cheeks dragging you against him. Lips meeting in the tenderest of kisses that he keeps in place while speaking, “You want this, want me?”
Recognizing his vulnerability and what he’s asking with those simple words, arms wrap around his back fisting the shirt tightly to press the two of you together. Love saturated eyes burn into those greens you could drown in, “That’s my question Winchester stop stealing my lines.” Flattening one palm to slide up and into his hair. Pressing another kiss to his soft lips you’ve only imaged kissing till now. The reality so much better than any fantasy you ever came up with.
“Calling me a thief now sweetheart?” Using jokes to cover the fact he’s searching for the right words. Flustered and frustration slither through his veins in a combination Dean’s not accustom, words stammering of unintelligible nature tumble from his mouth. The feel of your blunt nails sending pleasurable shivers down his spine.
Nodding, craning your neck back a few inches but keeping your eyes locked, “You stole my lines and my heart Dean so yes that would make you a thief.” Hand sliding over his back now and settling into the back pocket of his jeans, “I also meant what I said back there.” Catching the cocked brow you elaborate, “Take me to bed Dean I’m tired of waiting, I want to know how it feels to have you inside me.”
Soft groan issues from parted lips. Wanting to act on your words so damn badly his body vibrates with barely contained desire. Forehead coming to rest against yours, strong hands sliding too loosely wrap around and caress your neck. “You know I’m not great at relationships. I could seriously fuck things up.”
“I know but then so could I,” any doubts or insecurities evaporating into the ether with every look.
Callused fingers brush over your bare shoulders sending sensual shivers cascading down your body. Rubbing your thighs together for added friction with the heated look Dean’s fixing you with. Boosting your confidence to step back his hands drop to the side as you own pinch at the hem of your tank top. Slowly pulling it from your body, letting it drop with a barely heard whisper.
“Fucking hell sweetheart,” resolve snapping, reaching for your hips and tugging you back against him harder than intended. Lips sealing quickly to swallow the gasp existed parted lips Dean takes advantage of and slips his tongue inside the warm cavern of your mouth.
There’s nothing gentle about this kiss, it’s all teeth and tongues, fighting desperately for dominance. Pulling groans from the depths of Dean’s soul as he pulls whimpers and moans from your own. Till air becomes needed though it doesn’t stop your mouth from trailing a hot path across his stubbled jaw. Nibbling towards that little patch behind his ear to flick the tip of your tongue against. Smirking at the shutter rolling through his body, fingers dancing a rhythm over his shirt covered torso. Hem reached you tug twice to which he nods reaching behind him grasping and pulling the garment off to join yours.
Hands, palms flat immediately going to ghost over his rippling tummy. Muscle covered soften causing all moisture to pool south, clit throbbing almost painfully. Sure you’ve seen him bare chested before this time it’s different. For pleasure instead of patching him up. Drawing desired groans rather than pain filled. “I know Sam would abject but I so wouldn’t mind seeing you walk around shirtless.”
Full belly chuckle leaves Dean’s lips, “Sweetheart don’t talk about other men right now especially not my brother.” Possessive hands landing on your naked plush waist, fingers spanning the distance and gripping the flesh in his palm. Dreams having nothing on the real woman in his palms.
“Just stating facts sir nothing more,” trailing your fingers over the slightly hair roughen skin. Brushing pebbled nipples from the cool air and your proximity. Reserving a gasp when you lean forward to lap with the tip of our tongue and nip at the peaked point. Glancing to lock eyes as you switch and give the same attention to its twin giving the same attention getting a hiss from your actions. Dragging you lips upward to trace his tattoo with kisses.
Molten green eyes drinking in the sight of your lips on his skin, shooting desire straight to his cock. Throbbing need demanding attention no matter how good your soft lips feel against his body. “Baby girl,” groaning at the nip you place, eyes close to compose himself. Flying open as air cool brushes his skin inside of the shared heat of both your bodies. Mesmerized by the way you reach back to unclasp your bra, pushing your lushes breasts out teasing his vision, salivating for a taste of your skin.
He steps forward crowding into your space backing you into the bed till the back of your calves hit the edge. Wrapping his arms around your plush form to brush hands away and do the task himself. Finger tips skimming the edges of both straps till reaching the top at your shoulders and drawing them down. Keeping his eyes locked with yours while pulling the garment from your pliant body tossing it behind him. Eyes flicking down on a groan, licking his dry lips at the beauty displayed for his ravenous gaze.
“Lay down for me sweetheart,” meeting your lust blown orbs with his own. “I wanna see you in my bed,” biting off a whimper when you drop onto the edge. Bountiful breasts bouncing teasingly as he watches you slide backwards towards the head board. Hands going to the button of your jeans, low growl pausing your nimble fingers. “That’s for me to do baby girl, just,” swallowing harshly as he looks you over. Partially naked spread out over his bed picture perfect memory for those times when the darkness tries to steal this happiness. “Give me a moment to drink you in.” Unable to decide where to look first, “So fucking gorgeous.” Toeing off his boots, hands going to his own jeans your shaking head pausing the movements.
“I get the same pleasure,” licking your lips slowly while raising up on your elbows. Beckoning him with two crooked fingers, hand resting with the palms up beside your plush body, “Get up here before I get impatience and take matters into my own hands.”
Declaration making him pause a moment low growl rumbling from deep with in his chest. As desire blown green meet yours, smirk gracing his handsome features. One knee comes to rest on the mattress Dean leans forward keeping eyes locked while pressing a kiss to your ankle. Grinning, feeling the quiver that runs through your body. “You wouldn’t dare sweetheart,” adding his other knee to spread your legs and slowly fit his body between.
“Shall we make a bet Winchester?” Using your free foot to brushing the nearest thigh with the flat. Sliding towards the very noticeable bulge busting the seams of his jeans, toes teasing the thick ridge before pressing the flat of your foot against him. Rubbing the length slowly pleased when a growl echos the room.
Grabbing that foot tickling the pad enjoying the way you squirm and giggle. Taking the opportunity to move fully between your legs. “About that bet hum,” fingertips drawing an invisible path of fire down the middle your body. Bracing then both arms on either side of your shoulders hovering over you, warm breath fanning out over your cheek he nuzzles with stubbled chin. Pulling a whimper from your gasping lips.
Of there own accord, your hands slide up the strength of his arms and biceps to clasping fingers together around the back of his neck. Left leg draped over his waist to pull him against your pelvis, breathless moan parting your lips at the contact of his hard length pressing into your dripping center. “I don’t want slow or gentle Dean,” head tipping back to give access to his questing lips that find your wildly thumping pulse, sucking a mark into the soft skin. “We have all night for that I just…” words caught upon seeing whiskey flecked green eyes dilated almost pitch with desire. Cheshire Cat grin tugging kiss swollen lips upward.
“Just what sweetheart?” Humming, brushing your lips together before returning to his last spot. One hand dragging over your soft body cupping the generous globe massaging gently feeling the nipple peak against his palm. Teasingly circling the stiff nub with the tip of his index finger before giving a sharp pinch and making you gasp out. Back arching at the pleasurable pain skittering across your veins.
Grasping what’s left of your mind to try and form coherent words, body responding instead pressing your chest into his large hand. Nails score down his back, one completing the journey to give his ass a tight squeeze. As the other detours to between your intimately pressed body. Happy to find enough space to slot your palm against his erection, cupping his throbbing length and giving short little strokes. Smile blooming with a breathless groan against your collarbone where Dean’s forehead currently rests. Nimble fingers pop the small metal disk, pulling the zipper tab down to slip the hand inside. Warmth enveloping palm feeling him twitch has you slowly licking your lips at the mire thought of getting to taste him.
“You’re killing me Y/N,” rutting his hips into your hand, mouth coming back to claim yours in a punishingly bruising kill. Tangling your tongues together, nipping a little harder on your bottom lip than meaning to but the accompanying moan flows straight to his cock. Making him twitch against your palm that has slowed with the distraction of the kiss.
Breaking for air, panting while trying to form and speak the right words, “We’re both a little over dressed Dean.” Pulling your hand from the tight confines of his jeans, using the one at his ass to help pull them and his boxers down only stopping when you couldn’t reach anything passed his knees. Sigh of relief exists his parted lips making you giggle and press a kiss to his chin. “Feel better?” Bottom lip trapped and nibbled on as your fingers brush his length. Finding your fingers barely wrap around the girth while to stroke, palm sliding over precum leaking head. Hips thrust forward at the sensations tingling down his back gathering low in his belly.
“Now who’s over dressed?” Mumbling the words against your skin. Dean regretfully brushes your hand aside grinning at the annoyed huff that leaves your lips. “Ah sweetheart put that sexy pout away you’ll get a chance to taste me soon enough. Cause if you keep using that soft hand on my cock I’ll cum faster than I want.”
His words presenting so many thoughts to run through your mind only cut off when wet warm heat engulfs your right nipple. Tongue flicking quickly over taut peak, blunt teeth nipping then soothing over with the tip of his tongue. Switching to the twin leaving both sloppy wet and tight, gleaming in the low light of his room. Worshipping at the temple of your body with kisses pressed into your tummy, running scared callused hands over your skin in silent reverence. Eyes taking in very inch Dean sits back on his knees between your parted legs. Tracing his knuckles along the seam of your jeans covered cunt, making you jolt against him.
Pausing to strip your jeans and panties from your body, tossing them and kicking his own off to land somewhere on the floor. Raising up on elbows to finally get a chance to look at him in all his naked glory. Tracing each divot of scars over a broad chest, passing over the middle to admire thick bowed legs spread wide. Lips licked slowly upon landing on his ridge cock, slightly curved and resting against his lower belly. Palm itching for a touch, mouth watering for that taste. “You’re beautiful Dean,” words whispered so low your unsure if he’s really heard them.
Heat blooms over his cheeks at your admission, looking your fill of his adonis body. Dean returns the admiration. Tracing the features of your beloved face, staring a little too long at your heaving breasts, soft tummy he wants to nibble on at some point. Thick thighs he can’t wait to have wrapped around his waist once he’s buried deep inside your wet heat. The very though has his eyes dropping between your parted legs, glistening folds beckoning him forward. Caught in that tempting trance, Dean slides back between your legs. Brushing his lips just above your mound and receiving a whimper from you. Locking eyes, “I think you got that backwards sweetheart, it’s you who’s beautiful.” Dipping to run the thick flat of his tongue through your folds, humming at the tangy sweetness exploding over his taste buds.
Hips cantering against his mouth, your own letting a deep moan free as one hand slides down to card through his short brown locks. Tugging the strands getting a groan to vibrate against your cunt while his talented tongue dances through your soaked folds. Torturing your clit with ghosted touches, one arm wraps around our thigh spreading you open. As the other slips a finger inside your wet channel, finding you squeezing and tight, garnering a deep groan of arousal from the man between your lips.
“Dean,” voice wrecked and he’s barely touched you. When he doesn’t answer or budge from his sensual assault on your cunt. Lips having formed a perfect O around your clit, tongue flicking kitten licks to the tiny nerve filled nub. Pleased with he whimpers and whines that filter through his desire filled mind.
Resulting in you tugging on his hair harder, back arching as a small shock rocks through your body, tingling your belly when he bites carefully on your clit. “Dean please,” eyes rolling back into your head at the added second finger. Crooked and pressing into the little spongy spot you’ve never had anyone touch. Ripping a half scream from the hidden depths of your soul.
Smug smirk tugging over slick wet lips, stubbled chin coming to rest just above your mound. Watching as you heave a breath, breasts catching his eyes for a moment till you tug again. Fingers anything but still as they thrust and scissor you open, working you carefully to fit his slightly above average length not wanting to hurt you. “Yes sweetheart?” Licking his lips from your slick.
Free hand coming up to cover your heated face, “Don’t sound so smug,” gasping the last word when his thumb brushes over your clit making you jump and wither. Heat spreading from that special spot in your belly, where the tight coil starts to wind higher. Thick thighs tremble with each sensation Dean draws out of you. “Need you, please, please.”
Caressing your quivering walls with the gun callused pads of his fingers, massaging your clit as you plead. Breath chocked out on another moan, chest heavy, heat coating your skin as you wither under him. “Ah but I can’t help myself sweetheart you don’t know what seeing you like this does to me.”
Gathering what little strength you have in your limbs to reach down and cup his cheeks, thumbs brushing over the skin under his eyes. “Why don’t you get up here and show me Dean?” Voice wreaked yet a tender undertone rides through the cadence.
Pressing a single kiss to the pulsing little clit, giving once last flick making your squirm and Dean to chuckle. Slowly pulling his fingers out, stroking twice more your hips chasing the indescribable ecstasy winding its way through your veins. Only to have the tingles dance slower, the coil start to unwind as frustrated huff leaving your gasping lips.
Taking advantage to plunder your mouth, greedy for a sample of the wet cavern and a tongue tango that draws out a sharp moan of need. Especially tasting your tangy sweetness from his lips, sucking the bottom between your teeth to nibble. While reaching blindly over to the nightstand, damn near yanking the whole draw on the ground in his haste. “Give me a sec woman,” huffing out he rolls slightly off you. The noise drawing a giggle out causing him too stiffen, glancing back with a playful glare to refocus on finding his prize.
Using the opportunity to nose the thick column of his neck, taking in the scent of whiskey, leather and motor oil, peppered now with sex and sweat. Addicting and unable to help yourself from sink your teeth into his skin gently but hard enough to leave a small soon to purple mark. Soothing over with the flat of your tongue catching sight of the pause your actions caused. The aroused moan that leaves his lips, head resting on the bed to try and gather himself from your onslaught.
“Something wrong Dean?” Nipping just below his jaw, tracing your fingers along his side. Index finger swirling through the spares, crisp hairs leading a path to what you’ve craved to have inside you for a long time. Nimble fingers surround the base forming a perfect circle that can’t close but tightens. Stroking his length teasingly slow. In return receiving a warning growl — the sound devastating your senses making you throb — from the man currently fishing for a condom and growing frustrated when his fingers come up empty. “Shall I stop my love? Am I distracting you?” Whispered words breathed into his ear, lips kissing the shell. Knowing damn well just how tormenting you are to his senes and body. If his twitching cock your hand currently wrapping around stroking and the shallow breaths are any indication.
“Ha,” triumphant shout of accomplishment, Dean rolls back over you pressing bodies together and into the mattress. “Now where were we?” Flashing that teasing smirk with a hard rutting of his hips against your dripping core and tight fisted hand.
“What to you so long stud?” Biting back the giggles when he fixes you with a scowl.
Breath hissing out through clinched teeth when taking your hand off his cock, bringing those wickedly wonderful fingers to his lips and sucking on each one with a short nibble. Placing the open condom pack in your palm, “Do the honors sweetheart.”
Curling your fingers around the little foil packet, pressing your other hand into the back of his neck drawing Dean in for a tender kiss. Slow meld of your lips, light sips of your warm mouths. Tenderly tugging his bottom lip, to slide your tongue over the bruised skin and into his mouth. Licking and touring the heated cavern, seeking out ways to make his moan and grunt. A moment of forgetfulness while mapping his tonsils and sucking on his tongue, till you break for air. Chasing his mouth for more kisses only to receive a chuckle instead.
Eyes open to spear him with a heated look, foil packet crinkling in your hand a remind of your mission. Slipping fingers from his soft hair, to trace over his body, joining its partner between the two of your heaving bodies. Unlocking your eyes to glance down, hand wrapping back around his thick shaft to stroke twice getting a needy moan from the man above you. Before teasingly rolling the condom on paying special attention to the thick pulsing vein on the underside, mouth watering at the thoughts of getting to taste it later.
Dean grasps one of your hips to bring the leg around his waist, opening you up and feeling your soft skin under his palm. Sliding between your bodies to entwine his fingers with your, pumping his cock together. Different sounds, a hiss from Dean and a moan from you exists on shuttering breaths. Eyes reattach both blown with desire and coated in need, you notch the head of his cock at your entrance pressing the heel of your foot into the small of his back to urge him forward.
Teeth clamping to draw blood from your bottom lip but also to keep from screaming out in pleasure as he slowly sinks inside your quivering depths. Reaching up with his other hand to free your bruised lip, brushing the pad of his thumb over the glistening skin. “I wanna hear you sweetheart don’t hold back.”
“What about Sam?” Breath hitching, mouth hanging open on a moan that’s trapped on the edge of a scream when he bottoms out against you. Bodies flush, joined hands now resting above your head where Dean’s placed them.
Leaning in to press open mouth kisses to your lips and neck letting you adjust to his size, the exquisite stretch thumps through your veins the slight sting only heightening the pleasure. “Never mention his name while we’re in bed sweetheart,” snagging the lobe of your ear with his teeth. Pleased when you nod speechless, though not enough, “Words baby girl I wanna hear that prefect voice of yours.”
Swallowing trying to form words to answer, scoring your nails down his back an impatience mewling whimper leaves instead. Using the leg not wrapped around Dean’s waist as leverage to plant and push your hips up against him. Squeezing your walls tightly around his shaft drawing out a grunt from his lips. “Dean…” going to say more but he chooses that moment to pull out till just the crown rested inside your pulsing channel. “Just you…” hips snapping forward to fill you quickly stealing those words into a loud scream of ecstasy.
Starting a hard punishing rhythm, repeatedly waiting till your fixing to speak and either pulling out or trusting home. Always taking away what your going to say. Knowing your trapped between frustration and pleasure, Dean captures your mouth in another deep kiss. While his hips snap against yours, wrapping the other leg around his waist to angle you differently. Pressing your intertwined hands into the pillow beside your head and breaking the bruising kiss to gulp a lung full of air into both your burning lungs.
Feeling your walls start to quiver around his hammering cock, knowing by the pinched look on your countenance, the quivering of your thick thighs clutching at his trim waist. Heels pressing into the small of his back drawing him forward with quickened strokes that he’s shortened from the long deep thrusts. Notching your legs higher on his waist to press forward, curling his pelvis into your core, determined to make you cum first. Wanting to feel you soak his cock, see the looks of pleasure dance across your features.
Sliding his fingers through your soaked folds to find your pearl pulsing, pressing the pad of his thumb circling to make a gasp fly from your lips. Back arching, tingles no longer gentle but tap dancing a rhythm through your veins. Dean’s name a chant from your dry, parched lips, panting to try and fill your starving lungs. Body vibrating on a higher frequency only Dean’s turned in on as with every snap of his hips, brush of his thumb sends your spiraling deeper into euphoria.
Reaching up to wrap your hand around his neck to bring him back down for another kiss. This one sloppy as the thrusts of Dean’s hips, brief touches of lips, wet slide of your tongues across the other. Eyes sliding closed only to snap back open with a pinch to your nipple soothed over my his teasing fingers.
“Keep those beautiful eyes open for me sweetheart and cum for me I know your close. You just gotta let go for me,” resting your foreheads together, gritting his teeth to starve off his own orgasm. The wet clinch almost too much for Dean to handle. Always wondering but never imagining how good this truly would feel.
“Dean,” breathing out his name, a series of moans and whimpers following. Trying to capture his mouth for another kiss that’s broken off when your orgasm slams into you soaking Dean’s cock in your slick. Eyes rolling back his name a screamed prayer from your lips.
Body convulsing in pleasurable all consuming fire, little sparks of light pin prick behind your tightly closed eyes. Moisture breath fans out over your neck where Dean buries his face, lips pressing into your skin. Chasing that high while working you through your orgasm the wet clinch of your walls prove too much to starve off any long. Giving in with a groan of your name rubbed into your skin as he fills the condom. Circling his hips a few more times to drag out the pleasurable spikes racking his frame.
Collapsing into your arms a welcome weight pressing you into the mattress as you both try to capture your breath. He brings your joined hands down starting to untwine them but the shake of your head stops the actions.
“For a few moments longer,” voice hoarse from screaming out your pleasure. Free hand coming up to card through his sweat drenched hair. Brushing the strands back from his forehead and sliding your lips over his. Brief touches, lingering into something deeper. Tender caresses of mouth’s, nibbling, and sucking softly on bruised skin. Dean starts to move getting a whimpered whine from your throat tightening your arms around him.
“Gotta clear you up sweetheart I’m not going anywhere,” reassuring you with another soft kiss while carefully pulling out of your tender depths. Mesmerized by the slick coating your tights and dripping from your convulsing walls. Brushing his fingers over the reddening swollen skin, gasp reaching his ears, eyes flying up to yours. Then flicking across your body seeing the beard burn on your neck and chest, hand prints blooming over your hips. “Did I hurt you?”
Sitting up to cup his cheeks, “No Dean you didn’t hurt me. If you had I would’ve told you.” Leaning in to kiss him tendering, “Better take care of that mess it’ll get awful sticky otherwise,” giving him a bright smile. Watching while he gingerly takes the spent condom off, tying it closed before tossing it into the waste bin by the night stand.
Raising to walk on shaky bowed legs to grab up the wash cloth from the sink. Wetting with warm water he turns back stunned to find you watching him with a grin on your lips. “Like what you see?”
“Hmm no,” seeing the frown you go to finish. “Love Dean, I see the man I love,” frown switching to teasing smirk as he nears the bed.
Nudging you to lay back and spread your legs, tenderly wiping you clean. Dragging the warm cloth over your folds and inner thighs. Tossing it behind him to crawl into bed gathering your pliant plush body against his hard chest. Back pressed into his front, arms wrapped tightly around your thick waist. Placing a kiss to your shoulder, “I love to you Y/N, get some rest I’m far from through with you.”
Soft giggles vibrate into his chest, “Careful you’re getting old baby you sure you’ll have the stamina?” Toying with the fingers tapping against your tummy sending shivers cross your body.
Low growl accompanies the drag of his teeth over your sensitive skin, drawing a moan from your lips. Pressing his hips into your generous ass, “Give me an hour sweetheart and I’ll show you just how much stamina your man has.”
#Request#SPN Mixed Bingo Square#Hurt/Comfort#Dean Winchester x Plus Size Female Reader#Dean Winchester x Plus Size Fem!Reader#Dean Winchester x Plus Size F!Reader#Supernatural fiction
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hello!!! im really sorry to bother you! im a huge fan of your powerless series and i was very excited to see you beginning to post the next instalment, but i just had a question!! od*zai makes me really uncomfortable for personal reasons and i was wondering if there would be any of it in the fic? again im really sorry for bothering you vnjdfklnb
I don’t know when this was asked, I rarely come here...but I’ll answer as best I can and hope it’s not too late. I really don’t want to spoil the story too much, but I can also understand that many fanfiction readers (myself included) don’t like too many surprises in their fics and, when it comes to a multi-chapter fic, they don’t want to invest too much time in a fic that might disappoint them in the end. I also understand that for many people (once again, myself included), ships can make or break a fic, and that many people have notps (I, personally, have *a lot* in BSD), so I’ll try to give you an indirect answer.
I’ll start by noting that I do tag most things appropriately -- including romantic relationships that will appear in the fic, so that’s always your best bet for determining if a particular ship will show up in one of my stories -- sometimes things come up as I’m writing that I didn’t anticipate, and I’ll always warn when the tags of a fic change. I also try to tag when a fic will have an ending that the readers might not be satisfied with.
However, I feel like you might be able to guess the answer to your question too if you read my notes throughout the series. I’ll reiterate a few things I’ve said in the past installments here:
- I’m not a huge fan of Oda. It’s not that I dislike him, I just don’t particularly like him either. I’m neutral about him, I guess. Apathetic is most appropriate. I just don’t feel that the character was well developed by Asagiri. He’s flat and bland. His personality traits read off like a character the author is desperately trying to make readers like by cramming arbitrary positive characteristics down our throats that feel as though they weren’t fully thought out or given much impetus: he rescues orphans, wanted to retire as a novelist, mafia grunt that never kills (though he doesn’t quite qualify as a ‘criminal with a heart of gold’ like Chuuya because we never see him do anything criminal...but then again, we never really see the Port Mafia doing a lot of criminal things beyond murder). He also knows nothing about fairytales and apparently that makes him interesting -- and not an idiot(?) -- to Dazai. In short, like his ability name, he’s basically Flawless. Unless you count his breakdown in Dark Era when his plot devices...er...I mean, orphans that he rescued, each of whom are indistinguishable from one another (except Sakura because, she’s *the girl*) were killed by Mimic, which spiraled him on a Saint’s Martyr journey.
OMG. He’s the Gary Stu of BSD. I never realized it before.
Er, I’m ranting. I didn’t mean to turn this ask into an Oda-Bash, and I mean no offense to his fans. We all connect to different parts of a character, and I just...didn’t connect to anything with him. That’s not to say I wouldn’t rise to the challenge as a writer of giving the character more depth than presented in cannon.
- I’m not so much a multishipper, as I don’t care about any other ships in BSD outside of DaChuu. Not much else to add to that one...
- I won’t be introducing any romantic pairings into the story that weren’t tagged in the first story of Release, because it would be wholly unfair to the readers who’ve stuck with me through to a fourth story to suddenly throw a curveball at them with potential notps. So, while there might be hints to other pairs (teasing, more like, similar to cannon), no new romantic pairs will be confirmed and the readers are free to interpret relationships between characters how ever they want...though I might note in comment replies my own preferences on those ships, that isn’t to say that the readers are wrong in reading into characters within my story their own shipping preferences since the characters are otherwise meant to be close to cannon, and there are no cannon ships...therefore, anything goes.
- I want to see Dazai and Chuuya move towards a healthier relationship in Release. As it stands, there are a lot of growing pains they would need to go through to get there. It’s not enough to “confess your feelings”, relationships are built on a lot more than that. They’ve got a lot of bad history, in cannon and as established throughout my story, that they need to work through. They have certain understandings that they relied on in the past to work with one another which no longer hold true, and so they have to figure out new ways to work together. There’s a lot made of the trust between them, also, in the story, they themselves and characters like Lady Murasaki have made mention of the solid trust between them. The problem there, however, is this trust predated their confession to one another, and is, therefore, built on a foundation that is regardless of love. So it isn’t really a great measure of the state of their romantic relationship -- a mistake, I might point out, Dazai may have already made.
- Not technically me that said this last one, but I would also refer you back to chapter 2 of Lock-Down, where Chuuya and Dazai briefly talk about Oda. Although Dazai is rather aloof about his feelings towards Oda there, he is very clear that he and Oda were never romantically involved while Oda was alive.
...
Something I haven’t really said, but I do want to create space for it here, is that there are many different kinds of love. When I set out writing Release, I wanted to keep as many things as possible close to cannon, I wanted the characters as close to cannon as I could get them, tweaking only what was necessary to make the story work. One of the things from cannon is that Dazai’s relationship with Oda had a powerful impact on it. I see a lot of soukoku writers deal with this by ignoring or downsizing the relationship between Oda and Dazai, or changing Dazai’s relationship with Chuuya to "elevate it” -- for lack of better phrasing -- to the same level. What can’t be denied about cannon is that Oda meant a lot to Dazai, his dying words inspired Dazai to leave the Port Mafia, and in the Beast AU, he changes *everything* and even, arguably, puts Atsushi and Kyouka through a kind of hell to create a world where Oda lives and finishes his novel. I would be a terrible fanfic writer if I didn’t at least acknowledge that it is made obvious in cannon Dazai does love Oda...however, it all depends on your perspective what kind of love that is. Odazai fans like to interpret it as romantic love, and that is their ship, nothing wrong with it, but romantic love isn’t the only kind of love with power, and it’s not the only kind of love that drives people to do whatever necessary for the life and happiness of that person.
Within the context of the Release series, Chuuya also interprets Dazai’s love for Oda as romantic love. This itself is a conflict, but it’s representative of a larger conflict in their relationship...that being Chuuya’s insecurity with regards to Dazai’s feelings for him, which is a theme I really want to explore. I don’t know that it’ll ever explicitly be discussed, but a lot of the trauma from Chuuya’s assault by Dante is actually closely tied with this insecurity too. It isn’t Dante’s actions that affected Chuuya so terribly, rather the newness of his romance with Dazai at that point in time, and how easy it felt for him in that moment, for Dante to brush aside “Dazai’s kisses and touches”. It really represented for Chuuya how fragile and vulnerable his feelings for Dazai are, and how afraid he is that he’ll lose whatever is developing between him and Dazai before he ever really gets to call it his own.
An element of the Release series that I use to drum up drama and suspense, and which I try to impress on readers is that, with few exceptions, we’re only getting Chuuya’s perspective. His information is limited, and his interpretations of events and the people around him are not always going to be reliable. But we’re on this journey with him and we learn most information at the same time that he does. In this case, the important thing isn’t whether Odazai is a thing, it’s that Chuuya *believes* it is a thing. This creates a nice conflict, because it’s very problematic, highlighting that, while Chuuya trusts Dazai with his life, he doesn’t (yet?) trust Dazai with his heart. A partner secure in their relationship would be understanding that they’re not the only important person in their lover’s life, and that their lover can have strong emotions of love for others without it changing their love for their partner. Thus far, it hasn’t come up as a major conflict in their relationship, because Oda is dead, but recent revelations in the fourth Release story (the reliability of the character who gave the reveal, notwithstanding) raises some interesting questions stemming from: what if Oda could be brought back to life. Most readers seemed to have accepted Chuuya’s logic built on his personal narrative that Dazai was in love with Oda and vice versa, that if Dazai is trying to bring Oda back, he’s using Chuuya to do it as some sacrifice, because he truly loves Oda and wants to be with Oda, and that his relationship with Chuuya is meaningless. So, if we stay within that perspective we’re left with the one question: is he really trying to bring Oda back? -- and the conclusion drawn from it being: if he is, he doesn’t love Chuuya, and if he isn’t, he does love Chuuya. But there are some other important questions I don’t see too many readers asking, such as: are these things truly mutually exclusive? Would Dazai being romantically in love with Oda represent the only explanation for why Dazai would want to bring Oda back to life? Would Dazai really see bringing Oda back as being in conflict with his and Chuuya’s developing romance?
Of course, this added potential motivation for Dazai aside, stopping the Grimm Brotherhood is paramount. This is a dangerous organization that is doing horrendous things, and their mysterious machinations are made more ominous by the fact our heroes don’t fully know their ultimate goals. Thus far, everything that’s happened involving Chuuya has been beneficial towards bringing down the Grimm Brotherhood. Regardless if Dazai is pursuing the Brotherhood for personal reasons, his actions still align with the motivations of the Agency and Chuuya.
I don’t know if this answered your question but I hope that you might trust me as a writer that has no intention of “pulling one over” on the readers and that you will continue to stick with the story. I don’t get my jollies from leaving stories with unsatisfactory endings. I believe that there should always be an appropriate payoff that the story built towards. Thank you for the question, thank you for reading and enjoying my other stories, and I hope that you take care!
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fic rec: Dante’s Stars by Pretani
fandom: A Series of Unfortunate Events
pairing: Violet Baudelaire/Klaus Baudelaire
word count: 94k, complete
Is it canon: Yes
Is it explicit: Yes
Is it endgame: Yes
Is it shippable: I’m fucking crying it’s so beautiful
Bottom line: The one and only Violet/Klaus epic, read it and bawl your eyes out (def read the warnings first tho)
It’s a canon-divergence AU where the Baudelaires stage their own deaths to escape Count Olaf. In canon the three Baudelaire orphans—inventor Violet, bookworm Klaus, and baby Sunny—are hounded from guardian to guardian by cartoonish villain Olaf, who will stop at nothing to get his hands on their fortune. Olaf murders or incapacitates every single adult who spares two seconds of sympathy for these kids, leaving a wide swathe of destruction in his wake. In this fic the Baudelaires have decided to wipe the slate clean and assume new identities.
I have mentioned in the past how salty I am about the Baudelaires’ characters being sidelined for Snicket the narrator, Olaf the villain, and/or sundry other bit-players (in the Netflix show the Henchperson of Indeterminate Gender p much steals every scene they’re in). In canon we’re not really privy to the kids’ inner lives. This fic avoids that pitfall by sticking with tightly focused third-person Violet and Klaus POVs.
The thing this fic does really well is instill a pervasive sense of dread/paranoia which is remarkable because for the first 25% absolutely nothing ominous happens. The orphans get taken in by a slightly addled, very nice old lady and they just … live in her house. For free. While she cooks for them. And every morning Violet and Klaus hook up in her barn.
Ok back up so the ship they’re passengers on goes down in a storm, all hands lost, the Baudelaires are presumed drowned with the rest. Which is positively providential. The first event of any import to occur is that Klaus swipes some cash from a dead man’s wallet. Violet has ethical qualms but Klaus quashes them by pointing out that Sunny’s starving:
”I’d do anything for her,” he said. “Even become a thief or a murderer.”
Then his dark eyes found Violet’s. “I’d do it for you, too.”
So on the one hand I think this is rather extra. I mean, what possible use could a dead man have had for that money? Money that could put actual food in Sunny’s stomach. The Baudelaires are keenly aware that justice does not equal unquestioning obedience to authority and I think their exposure to a raft of tyrannical and unjust authority figures has hammered that home. They’re down with bending the rules because they know the rules are never even-handedly applied anyway (ie. the show trial at Hotel Denouement, the farcical final exam at Prufrock Academy). On the other hand I remember how uneasy they felt about stealing Hal’s keys in Hostile Hospital, and that was barely a misdemeanor! A friend of mine astutely pointed out how Violet is always trying to behave in any given situation the way their parents would have wished, whereas Klaus takes a pragmatic approach: do whatever keeps his sisters safe. And that is a very interesting contrast and one I want to see explored further.
They get on a train. Things that happen: Klaus notices when Violet is down in the dumps or angry or upset or in this case, wistfully jealous of other people who lead “normal” lives, bustling all around them. He’s not in love with her yet but noticing is the first step. Violet atm is super focused on being the elder sister, the adult in the room, the One In Charge. They get off the train and as soon as they blow into town Violet gets catcalled and propositioned. One of the themes of this fic is the horrendous baseline level of violence against women, some of it normalized and casual like the catcalling. The Big Bad Villain of the piece is literally a guy who’s murdered multiple girlfriends on account of them fridging his ass, since he appears to think that women owe him sex. And this man’s driving ambition is to add Violet to his list of conquests.
So often, men treated her as little more than an object … Klaus was different. He saw her, the woman she was inside.
HOW COULD SHE NOT FALL FOR HIM?? Is there another man she could learn to trust enough to fall in love with? However I’m getting ahead of the story. Klaus is still in the phase where he’s awakening to his attraction to Violet:
She was mother and sister, soft skin and tender strength, and he hid his face in her neck. Like a child, she rocked him gently, cradling his head.
I have to protect her, even if it’s from myself.
He couldn’t take this, his brave, beautiful sister, so near … the knowledge of what those men wanted to do to her. I”ll kill them … And what he wanted …
God but it kills me, Klaus thinking that his attraction to Violet is as noxious as those vile men and their rapacious stares. Klaus himself otoh is president of the Violet Baudelaire Fan Club. The contrast could not be more marked. Look at him building her up when she’s about ready to to give up on picking a lock because she’s lost her hair ribbon:
”I’m done, Klaus. I don’t have anything else to give”. ”Vi … “ he was pleading, willing her to believe in herself again, because he did. “You’re a brilliant inventor,” he told her. “It’s who you are. Nothing can take that away. You don’t need your ribbon.”
The unwarranted parallel that he draws between himself and a bunch of sexual predators is the source of so much angst and pining:
Is that what I am? A pervert?
She’ll blame herself for this
Well, well, well, if it isn’t ye olde I’m-Leaving-Her-For-Her-Own-Good-Lest-My-Perverted-Attraction-To-Her-Despoil-Her-Innocence. I am absolute trash for it every time, film at 11.
”I love you, Vi … I’m in love with you.” He said it like he was confessing to a crime, and she wanted to scream, to laugh and cry all at once.
THEIR LOVE IS A CRIME!!! Could these babies be more pure??
They’d always had an extraordinary connection. It was the reason for their seamless partnership, their ability to support one another … But now, the bond that had kept them alive was killing him. How could anything ever be right again?
”Vi, I’m sorry … I want to be your brother, but I can’t … I want to be more than that … I don’t know what to do.” ”Kiss me,” she said, “and be both.”
THATS IT THATS A WRAP I CAN NOW DIE HAPPY. That “kiss me and be both” is PERFECTION.
And she knew she’d never willingly give herself to anyone but him.
she’d loved him even then. Who could tell when they had crossed the line? It was already too late.
cross the line what line??? they were made for each other.
”You know, we missed the sunrise,” he said, nose to nose with his sister.
Violet and Klaus carve an extra hour out of their morning to go make out in the barn. I shit you not these kids spend a whole month without progressing past first base because Klaus doesn’t want to “pressure” Violet into anything she’s not ready for. Violet, for her part, is beginning to suspect there’s something wrong with her person; why hasn’t he even tried to take her top off? Thank you #Patriarchy for teaching us that desirability is the measure of a woman’s worth. God they are so thirsty. This bitch almost fell over the first time he touched her tits:
“Vi,” he spoke into her hair, voice breaking. “Tell me you don’t want this. Tell me to —“ But she only titled her head, to meet his mouth in a feverish kiss.
So Klaus and Sunny are having a snow fight and Violet tugs her glove off to tousle his hair and it’s THE SEXIEST THING I’VE EVER SEEN BYE. True story after I read this fic I legitimately thought that “Vi” was a pet name Klaus called her by in canon, and when I finally finished the books much much later and realized that it wasn’t—well, it should have been.
There is a fairy tale about a princess who disguises herself in the skin of a donkey to escape the attentions of her lecherous father the king. Violet and Sunny discuss it. Violet points out that rape is wrong because rape is rape, because it is coercive, not because it’s incest. I love it when fic highlights the fairytale parallels to the Baudelaires’ situation, and I feel like Donkeyskin was such a spot-on choice because it’s all about surviving sexual assault and learning to make oneself vulnerable again afterwards? Klaus is the prince who sees through her disguise and falls head over heels in love with her CHANGE MY MIND. On the subject of happily ever after:
”Is that what you think I want? A fairytale? A walk down the aisle in a white dress?" He felt a lump forming in his throat. "Most girls think about those things, don't they?" "I don't," she told him. "I prefer not to. And as for children…well…I love them. That's why I don't want any of my own … how selfish would I be, to bring another little life into this? Another hostage they could use against us. Imagine how awful it would be if…" She shook her head. "No children… not ever. I couldn't protect them." And she turned to him with a soft look. "It's no sacrifice, Klaus. Not for me. I've already been through a… a wedding, you know." He felt her shudder, and she averted her eyes. "I won't be sorry if I never see another wedding dress again."
My dudes, when you have children each and every one of them is a hostage to fortune because of course they are. Also, Violet’s traumatized by the whole idea of being a bride, after going through the wringer of her fake wedding to Olaf. Olaf put Sunny in a cage to compel her compliance, and that’s what the Big Bad in this fic does too. He says things like “You’re a sick little bitch, aren’t you? Spreading your legs for your own brother” which turns their beautiful relationship into this ugly depraved thing to be ashamed of. I mean, this guy was literally a voyeur who would watch them from his hidey-hole while they were being intimate?? My god I would feel so unclean. And the worst part is, he overheard them calling each other by their real names not their aliases, so now he knows who they are and since the Baudelaires are still on the lamb this is bad. It gets pretty dark pretty fast.
“He won't want you anymore! No one's gonna want you when we're done!"
So he kidnaps and rapes Violet. Klaus and Sunny rescue her, dispatch the villain (Klaus’s earlier “I’d do anything” for his sisters, including becoming “a thief or a murderer,” acquires sudden resonance), and that’s when fucking Count Olaf shows up!!!! These kids just cannot catch a break. Turns out the Big Bad was actually working for Count Olaf all along. Olaf’s plan is still the same plan from The Bad Beginning where he plotted to steal the Baudelaire fortune by marrying Violet. Since Count Olaf has never in his life paid a henchman a salary, he was keeping the Big Bad sweet by promising to let him ravish Violet first. Let the full enormity of that sink in. Oh wait a minute Olaf isalso bent on knocking Violet up asap so the union can’t be dissolved on non-consummation grounds, or somesuch:
"You look at me as if I were a usurper, boy, about to steal something of yours. Tell me…" He gestured at Violet. "Is she yours?"
Why would you do this to me??????? This is so, so painful. Olaf uses an electric cattle prod on Klaus and makes Violet watch??? It’s ok though the Baudelaires prevail in the end, and emerge from the bloodstained ordeal as the family they are. My kink will forever be Violet and Klaus praising each other’s bravery and resourcefulness. They! Are! So! Proud! and! Supportive! Of! Each! Other! This line from earlier in the fic gets me every time:
I’ve failed them. This was his greatest fear, worse than death or any torment fate could devise. In his head, he imagined the struggle, saw his girls beaten and shot, felt each blow and bullet as if his own body were the target instead.
Klaus Baudelaire laying down his own body between the world and his sisters is really the only thing I care about:
And then her gaze fell to the marred canvas of his body.
I bet his back is a mess of burn marks ugh. Four weeks after Violet’s discharged from the hospital (practical Violet made sure to get the green light from the medical professionals) they finally have sex again, which is a relief—after the rape they were both hesitant to initiate sex because she thought she was damaged goods and he thought she wanted space? Silly kids. Oh and and here they are being mistaken by strangers for a pair of lovebirds:
One of the women sighed dreamily. "Did you ever see a more likely pair of turtledoves?" "Of course not," Mr. Poe sputtered, dabbing his brow with a handkerchief. "The very idea!" And he excused himself hurriedly, to make some phone calls. "Don't be silly," said the other. "They're siblings. Haven't you heard? … They're the Baudelaire orphans." "Well, I daresay," the first one went on, "anyone would've taken them for sweethearts."
I CANNOT WITH THESE TWO
The Baudelaires finally, finally come into their fortune free and clear. They put on their parents’ wedding rings and move to Canada. A cat (!!!) leaves baby Beatrice II in a basket outside their front door, and that completes their family. Nobody deserves good things more than these kids, and this fic ends exactly where it ought, describing “a rural life of moral simplicity.”
I read this fic years ago and it was w i l d rereading it again, thanks for coming along for the ride. If anyone wants to scream/cry about this fic in particular, or Violet and Klaus in general, feel free to send me an ask or message me ANYTIME
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Fare Thee Well - - 14
Summary: She hasn’t sene Gabriel since he died nine years ago, then a phone call changes everything.
Pairing: Gabriel x OFC
Series Warnings: ANGST, smut, swearing, PTSD Gabriel, Character Deaths, Canon Compliant
Beta’d by: @aquietuniverse
Words: 4.6k
“Gabe…. Gabriel.. Fuck,” Liv panted as she writhed on the mattress, two handfuls of honey blonde hair tightly wound between her fingers, “I can’t…”
“You can,” he urged, his mouth relenting from her overstimulated core just long enough to get the words out before his tongue returned to it’s task, “stop resisting, and let it happen.”
An exasperated groan broke free from her lips. The pressure was too much, but for some unknown reason it wouldn’t relent. Maybe she didn’t want it to end, or maybe it was because this felt different than all the other times. It almost felt too good. It was the kind of good that she feared would never be replicated, so she had to prolong it as long as she could. She also knew this wasn’t even the worst he could do. He was taking it easy on her, so why this was so mind-blowing was a mystery. Plus, it wasn’t like this exact scenario hadn’t taken place just two weeks prior. It had to be the slight hangover, or maybe the fact that they’d hadn’t really relented with each other for the past twenty four hours. She wasn’t about to tell him to stop though…
Finally, she felt relief impending. That bubble in her stomach began to inflate into her chest, her fingers and toes tightening as she yanked his head to exactly where she needed it. As she cried out a string of profanities littered with his name, she felt him hum in appreciation against her, adding just enough to send one more aftershock vibrating through her.
“You don’t play fair,” she panted as his lips finally released her and began kissing a trail up her stomach.
“Never claimed to,” he teased, “plus, you started it. Waking me up with that sinful, oh-so-talented mouth. It actually is only fair I return the favor. So…”
“Shut up.”
“I don’t know what you were expecting. When have I ever left you high and dry? Well, when I’m in my right mind anyway…”
“It was supposed to be just for you!”
“I don’t do ‘just for me’, sweetheart. You know this. Why are you complaining, by the way? I’d ask if it was good but I already felt the answer.”
“I’m not complaining…”
The little pout that settled on her lips was one of the most endearing things he’d ever seen. Her flushed face and still half sleep-lidded eyes was definitely the sight he wanted to wake up to for the rest of eternity. He flopped down onto his stomach beside her, arms burying under the pillow as he laid his head down onto it, face towards her. He knew it was time to get up, it was Luci day, but another five minutes wouldn’t kill anyone.
As her heart settled from one of what she hoped would be many more mornings with him, she rolled over on top of him. Her chest pressed into his back and she snaked her arms around his neck, giggling at the grunts and groans that sounded as he shifted to accommodate them.
“Oh, not mad anymore?” he teased, the corners of his lips pulling up into a smile.
“Guess not,” she retorted, squishing her nose against his cheek, “are you ready for today?”
“‘Course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Lucifer…”
“Eh, he’s nothing.”
Her stomach dropped at his words. Typical of him to not understand the gravity of a situation. She hadn’t seen the Devil since he’d “killed” Gabriel all those years ago, seeing him again was certainly going to kick up some long-repressed memories.
“Baby, he isn’t nothing. Please tell me you’re taking this seriously,” she pleaded, pushing herself off of him.
“I’m taking it seriously, don’t worry about me,” he replied, turning over to his back to watch her as she put her clothes back on, “Come on, I’ll make you breakfast. I sent Cassie out to get some food for this dump yesterday.”
The frown on her face remained as he tried to lighten the mood. He noticed, pursing his lips as his head swayed to the side. Why couldn’t he get one day without some kind of catastrophe needing his attention? He wasn’t going to admit to her face he was just as nervous as he was when they went after him nine years ago. He hadn’t told her then either, but this plan seemed at least slightly more geared for success and with better odds. Luci wasn’t jacked up on his ego and vengeful after eons in the cage. This time would be different.
“It’s gonna be fine!” Gabriel continued, getting out of bed and dressing before going to stand in front of her, “I promise.”
“You can’t promise that,” she warned, glaring at him through her brows, “That’s what you said last time.”
“Yeah, and last time it was fine too. Just what happened afterwards went a little south…”
“Gabriel. I can’t…”
“I’m not goin’ anywhere. Who dies when they have this much to live for, right?”
Gently, he pulled her into his arms, tucking his chin onto the top of her head. They stayed still, minds racing. All the contentment she’d thrived in yesterday had washed away, being replaced by the vision of his wings seared into the wooden floor of that old hotel, body laid out, still and bloody. Even with his arms around her that still felt like a reality, the piece of her that only he kept together shook in its place as she recalled the years of his absence. She still hadn’t given him an answer, whether or not she would stay behind, and the question was still buzzing in the back of his mind. His own chances of making it out of there in one piece were low enough, he didn’t need to add her into the mix. Michael would be gunning for her first.
“Just…” she stuttered, lifting her head to look at him.
“I know,” he answered, not needing to even hear the rest.
He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, feeling the tension she was holding in her neck and shoulders melt away at his gesture. Her pace picked up as the desperation set in, locking a hand into his hair as her eyebrows scrunched together. If life had taught her anything, it was that something standing right in front of you could be gone without a moment’s notice.
“Hey, hey,” he cooed, pulling his head away, “look at me.”
Regrettably, she opened her eyes, swallowing hard to repress tears she knew were coming. His face was soft yet strong as his hands came up to cup her face. He gave her that trademark smirk and she wished she could have said it helped ease her building anxiety, but it didn’t.
“Lucifer doesn’t know what’s about to hit him. I got him, okay?” he assured, kissing her forehead, “Now, kitchen. Go.”
Grabbing his hand, she led him from the bedroom. A piece of him was happy to be out of there, he had to make a point to scrub the walls clean before they slept in there again. She may not be able to read the words written there, but he could. He needed no more reminders than the ones already burned into his memory of his time down in the pit. When they popped out of the hall and into the main area, their attention was grabbed by a large, slumped figure in the library —Sam. He was still wearing the same clothes he had the day before, setting alarms off in both of their heads. Quickly, Liv changed direction and tugged Gabriel towards the hunter.
“Sam?” she asked quietly, “did you sleep?”
“Uh hey. No,” Sam admitted, his lips forming into a tight line, voice heavy.
“Do you want to?” Gabriel inquired, placing a hand on Liv’s lower back, “I got enough in the tank to knock you out for a few hours. Better than nothin’.”
“No. Thanks though.”
“You need to sleep, Sam,” Liv continued, “We have a big day.”
“Yeah. Trust me. I know.”
“What’s up buddy?” Gabriel chimed in, stepping a little closer to him.
“Lucifer.”
Gabriel nodded, tucking his lips into each other, “Can you give us a minute?” he whispered into Liv’s hair, kissing her temple afterwards.
With a small smile and a nod, she took off in the direction of the kitchen, hoping that Gabriel could fix whatever was plaguing Sam . As soon as Liv was out of view, Gabriel pulled out the chair next to Sam and sat down. Sam’s eyes were tired, black circles having formed underneath, his face even more conflicted than normal.
“What’d he do to you?” Gabriel finally spoke up.
“Everything. When I was stuck in the cage with him for… for a year,” Sam confessed, too tired to even care it was the Trickster he was pouring his heart out to.
“Yeah, I can sympathize with that first part. Never was stuck in the cage with him, heaven before he was cast out though… shit show.”
Sam’s eyes changed and filled with sympathy as he looked at the archangel. Gabriels’ face was set into a sad, lopsided smile, his eyes mirroring Sam’s. Gabriel remembered those years, before Earth had been created, before Lucifer had been kicked out, anarchy began and Dad disappeared. Before he ran.
“I was the youngest brother there for a little while, before pops made the seraphs. He’s always been a twisted dick, don’t know where that wiring went so wrong…” Gabriel continued.
“How’d you… deal with it?” Sam mumbled softly.
“I didn’t. Lot’a pent up issues in this handsome façade Sam, I’d give Dean a run for his money. Back then, I told myself I was helping my brother fight through his issues. I thought I was doing him a service, proving to him that I loved him. Letting him use me like that… But you know how this story ends.”
“Yeah. I’ve tried running too.”
“Luci always comes home.”
A silence settled between the two men, heavy and thick as they both traveled back into their nightmares. Gabriel recalled years and years of mutilation and abuse at the hands of his brother, one could even call it torture. Physical, mental, emotional, Lucifer knew no limit when it came to inflicting pain. He’d used Gabriel’s soft and gentle nature against him, using it to his advantage like it was a sport. When he finally fled heaven, it was the first time he had ever truly felt peace, even through the pain of missing his family.
“Are you… afraid to see him?” Sam questioned, his eyes falling to the table.
“Afraid? Nah. Nothing worse he can do to me than what he’s already done,” Gabriel answered, his voice void of the fear he felt, “I survived. Like to think I came out on top actually.”
That was a conviction he truly felt. Lucifer, he hadn’t changed. He was still bitter, jaded, cruel. He’d done nothing to remedy his flaws and downfalls over the years, whereas Gabriel felt he had. Well, at least he’d tried. He’d loved, lost, saved a few people, killed a couple of bad apples. All in all he didn’t think he’d done too badly for himself, considering. Then there was Liv, of course. No matter what powers Lucifer held over Gabriel, he’d never have something like her.
“Don’t… let him get to you,” Gabriel continued, “He feeds on it. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Sam was shocked by the sentiment in Gabriel’s tone. This was the same guy that killed Dean in front of him hundreds of times, and then made him live out six months of pure hell in some elaborate prank. Yet, here he was now, hunting down the devil and willing to put himself on the line to save the world, even if he was a little reluctant. Times certainly had changed.
“How long?” Sam inquired nervously, “how long have you and Liv been, whatever you are.”
“Long time,” Gabriel responded, “if you’re wondering if she was around for Mystery Spot, then yeah. Earned myself the dog house for that one. Ya hungry? I’m making the Liv Special. Eggs over easy and more bacon than any one human being ever needs to consume. You’ll be doing her arteries a favor by sharing.”
“Uh, yeah, sure. Thanks.”
As Gabriel took off in the direction of the kitchen, Sam knew he needed to linger a little bit longer. Dean was still passed out in his bed, his snores could faintly be heard from all the way in the library. Sam had heard him stumble in around 4 AM, his efforts with that little brunette were not in vain. While he knew Gabriel’s intentions were good, the angel had done nothing to ease his mind. If anything, it had only pissed him off further. Lucifer had been destroying lives since before the sun was even created, yet somehow God had let him continue to exist. He thought back to all the people they’d lost throughout the years and the fact that that devoid, petulant monster was still walking freely angered him to no limit. One day they’d get the upper-hand on him and end him once and for all or he was going to die trying.
When Gabriel turned into the kitchen, he stopped dead in his tracks in the doorway. Some things needed to be appreciated and revered for exactly what they were and this was one of them. Liv was seated on the counter, her legs hanging freely over the edge, swinging absentmindedly as she held a mug of coffee in one hand and her phone in the other. Her attention was still very much engaged with whatever she was doing on it, he was fairly certain it was that weird candy game he’d caught her playing a few times now. She was addicted to it. Her hair was cascading around her face and shoulders, his t-shirt hung loosely on her small frame and he couldn’t help but take in the rawness of the moment. This was her. Most would never see this side of her, they’d never be so lucky. To them, she’d always be that tough-as-nails hunter with the tongue to boot. To him, she’d always be that goofy, clumsy, giggling nerd who watched too much Harry Potter and could solve almost the entire Sunday Crossword singlehandedly.
He figured at some point when Dad was pulling everything together, turning atoms into molecules and molecules into trees, platypus’, angels and humans, a piece of her must have been thrown into him by mistake. One little molecule meant for her was whirring around wreaking chaos, rewiring his electrical currents. How could something so small and insignificant be so profound that it changed fate itself? He knew he wasn’t meant to love her, he was designed for a much greater purpose, but as he stood before her there was no grander task he could have been assigned. He was her lover, her best friend, her guardian and she the very thing that kept his grace pumping through his veins. Perhaps it was that little stolen piece of her that had kept him alive through the tortures of hell. Buzzing in his body on overdrive, jumpstarting his own wearied cells into functioning just enough to keep him going day after day, year after year. Remember what you’re fighting for. She was the beginning and the end, the very definition of purpose. There was no force that heaven, hell, or anything in between could muster that was strong enough to tear him from her now.
“Hey,” she greeted, finally catching sight of him leaning in the entryway, “what’re you doing?”
“Enjoying the view,” he beamed, pushing himself off the frame and towards her.
As he advanced she rolled her eyes, scoffing with a grin. She tossed her phone down onto the counter as he came to stand in front of her, nestling himself between her knees with his hands pressed into the cool countertop on each side of her. Her arms wrapped around his neck lazily, one hand toying with his messy hair.
“You know, your face is gonna get stuck that way if you keep rolling your eyes like that,” he teased.
His lips fell to her throat, her pulse thrumming beneath his lips reminding him again that she was real. She was here. She was with him.
“You don’t have to come today,” he whispered against her skin, lips feathering as he spoke.
“Don’t be dumb,” she insulted, “I’m going. Don’t even try to stop me. You’re making me sit out the grand finale, I’m at least helping in the opener.”
A sigh of relief exploded from his chest. He felt her breathe a small laugh through her nose, her arms wrapping a little tighter around him. His lips began to brush against her again, trailing up her neck and face until his forehead was pressed firmly against hers. She finally answered his request, and for once, she was giving in.
“Thank you,” he choked, the relief settling so many of his nerves and fears.
“You owe me,” she warned, keeping her eyes locked on his.
“Whatever you want, sweetheart. Swear to… you.”
Swearing to God held no meaning, not to him, but she did. She smiled with one side of her lips, bringing one hand between them and holding her pinky out straight. He mirrored her expression, linking his own smallest finger with hers and squeezing, pulling their hands into his chest. With not a second’s more hesitation he leaned in and kissed her, lightly at first, but his motions picking up speed and tempo as he grew more and more grateful for this break he’d been given. She’d be safe here, at home. She’d have the witch as backup, in a warded bunker loaded with more weapons than anyone knew what to do with. When he came home, he’d bury himself in her arms, finally ready to take on the future. A future filled with nothing but her and peace and quiet.
“Have you decided on where exactly we’ll be going when this is all said and done?” Gabriel’s anticipation bubbled over, he wanted specifics on where his life would be headed in just a few days time.
“Mexico? Maybe Belize again…” she mused, that coy little smirk still plastered on her face.
“Oh I always knew you were perfect.”
“I like the beach, and the food, and you like the tequila. Win win.”
“Uh, correction. I like you drunk on the tequila. Something about it makes you throw inhibitions to the wind and I have a deep appreciation for it.”
Sam rounded the corner and paused where Gabriel had moments before, the scene before him making him smile. Gabriel was hovered in towards Liv sitting on the countertop, her arms wrapped around his neck with the most serene expression on her face. It was a look he would have never thought possible for her. They were both smiling with their entire faces, completely enraptured by one another; a tornado could pass by and he didn’t think they’d even notice. He hadn’t seen a look like that on Gabriel’s face since before they’d outed him as an archangel, unbridled happiness tinged with a touch a mischief. He looked at her like she was made of a magic only he could see. They certainly did bring out the best in each other. Maybe the worst, too.
A pang of guilt hit him in the stomach. Clearly, they just wanted to run off into the sunset together, but here they were being drug off into his and his brother’s mess once again. He knew there was no other option, and Dean would never forgive either of them for walking away now, but it didn’t change the fact that Sam knew this wasn’t their problem. It never had been. He watched as Gabriel leaned in and kissed her, soft and slow. It was the way you kissed someone that you knew you had the power to break, but never would. It was reassuring and absolute. It was the kind of kiss he craved to give to someone, to receive in return, but that wasn’t his fate. It never was and it never would be.
“I’m hungry,” Sam heard Liv pout as Gabriel pulled away, and he figured it was time to make his presence known.
“Hey,” he greeted, walking into the kitchen like he hadn’t just been watching them.
“Sam,” she announced, her face losing some of the softness he’d just been witness to, “slacker here hasn’t even started yet if you’re looking for breakfast.”
Gabriel groaned in jest as he trudged over-dramatically to the fridge, pulling out the groceries he’d sent Castiel to collect the day before. Liv snickered to herself, hopping down to the floor and fetching two frying pans so they could begin their task. Sam sat back and watched as the pair worked seamlessly together. Gabriel did most of it, Liv passing eggs and utensils as needed and he wondered how, after so many years apart, two people could still be so in sync with one other. It was like not a second had passed. When he moved around her, he brushed a hand against her lower back, the little motion always eliciting at least a twitch of a smile from her lips and he swore they passed things back and forth without even so much as a look. Their motions were almost second nature, so deeply ingrained it was more habit than effort. The sight of an all powerful archangel in his kitchen frying bacon and eggs was certainly not something Sam ever expected to be sitting through. He thought he might actually be sad when they all went their separate ways.
“Never knew you could cook Gabriel,” Sam commented, the smell of bacon filling the room and he knew Dean would be roused by it soon.
“Oh yeah,” the angel bragged as he switched his attention from the bacon to the eggs, “You get bored after a while, Sammy.”
“He can play guitar, too,” Liv boasted further, turning and leaning her back against the counter, “and we moonlit as bartenders for a little while. Also good at that.”
“Oh yeah? Bartenders huh?” Sam wondered, “why?”
“Why not?” Gabriel noted, “We had fun.”
There was so much more to them than Sam could have ever guessed. He hoped they’d stick around for even a few days after they returned, to tell their stories. The bunker could use a little happy every once in awhile. Liv came over moments later, setting a plate down in front of Sam and herself, taking a seat across from him. Sam had to admit, this had to be one of the best looking breakfasts he’d seen in awhile.
“You gonna be all right?” She asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Me? Oh yeah. I’ll be fine,” Sam promised, and he watched as Liv looked to Gabriel for reassurance.
“Do I smell bacon?” a gravelly, sleep-heavy voice called from the hallway.
The three inhabitants of the kitchen all turned their attention to the doorway, the image of a bathrobe-clad, hungover Dean coming into view. Gabe’s chin tucked into his neck as his eyebrows furrowed, his reaction earning a stifled giggle from Liv.
“Wow,” Gabriel commented, “Mark this under things I had no interest in ever experiencing.”
Sam and Liv burst out into laughter as they watched Dean’s face wrinkle in confusion and offense, Gabriel standing true in his disgusted expression. Dean brushed past the angel, fumbling loudly as he poured himself a mug of coffee, pouring almost half of it out onto the counter.
“Do you have no self-awareness?” Gabriel chided as he watched Dean leave the mess, “Or are you just that disgusting?”
“Never took you as a neat freak, Gabe,” Dean teased, smirking as he sat down next to his brother, “send a plate of that over here, will ya?”
Gabriel’s nostrils flared as he glared at the hunter, his eyes full of contempt. He couldn’t wait to be out of here.
“Please?” Dean added sarcastically.
Liv shook her head, these two would never get along. Luckily, they wouldn’t have to for much longer. She watched as Gabriel prepared a plate, haphazardly tossing food onto it in a manner very much unlike him. Even with this simple task, he was all about presentation. As he tossed it onto the counter and turned to lean against the stove Liv laughed again, all about presentation and a little petty.
“I am not delivering it to you,” Gabriel stated matter-of-factly, “Not even in your wildest dreams.”
“You two are going to be the death of us all,” Liv retorted, bringing her empty plate over to the sink, “behave.”
Her hand skimmed over Gabriel’s chest as she whispered that last word just to him as she passed. She wound her way back to the bedroom, shutting the door behind her for one moment of privacy. She’d made up her mind, deciding to give Gabriel a reprieve from his anxiety and stay behind from the main mission. While everything was still screaming at her to not let him go over there alone, she knew she had to trust him. She had to trust the Winchesters and Castiel; they’d get him home safely. He’d get himself home to her, he said he would, and he wouldn’t break another promise.
Right now, the focus was on Lucifer. While she knew they’d be headed off to destruction land as soon as they got their hands on archangel grace, that time wasn’t here just yet. She dressed in more suitable attire for hunting the devil, but kept Gabriel’s old shirt on, it just seemed right having it on. Typically, she only ever slept in it, but it seemed appropriate even if she couldn’t quite put her finger on why. She was left alone for thirty minutes, her thoughts running rampant, before a soft knock startled her from her worries.
“Can I come in?” a familiar sweet voice sounded from the other side of the antiquated wood.
“Of course,” she replied softly, if he was anything but an angel he probably wouldn’t have even heard.
When he stepped into the room, he saw exactly what he was expecting. She was seated on the edge of the bed, head hung low, too far gone in her head to dig herself out alone.
“Look, I know you’re pissed,” he began.
“I’m not pissed, Gabe,” she cut off, snapping her eyes up to him, “I’m… panic-stricken.”
He sighed, “I know. Anything I can do? To… ease your suffering?”
Leave it to him to pull a smile in the most unlikely of times. Even if there was nothing except abandoning this fool’s plan once and for all.
“It’s time to go,” he confessed as she remained silent, “I’ll drive. You just sit co-captain and look cute, yeah?”
The pair made their way to the war room, meeting with the other four members of their unlikely team. Rowena and Castiel flanked the Winchester brothers, everyone trying their best to mask their concern and fears.
“Okay, we got the plan, right?” Dean barked, his militant tone taking over, “main players are Rowena and Gabe. Cas you’re back up one, Liv, Sam, we’re back up two. We juice him, cuff him, throw him in the trunk. That’s it, on to the next.”
Everyone nodded once, their stomachs collectively falling as they walked off towards the garage. Little did they know it was one step towards a path of total and complete destruction.
TAGS: @idabbleincrazy @analisespn @nodistressdamsel @morganas-pendragons
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so uh let’s list the evidence of john not actually loving 'mary' or at least not being that in love w/ her:
the empty hearse
- he doesn’t look happy at all on the train to baker street to tell mrs. hudson about him moving on from his old life
- when he does work up to telling her, she assumes, from his face, that what he wants to say is he’s dying…because he doesn’t look thrilled at all at the idea of having a new life w/ ‘mary’
- “i know it hasn’t been long. i mean, i know we haven’t known each other for a long time….as you know, these last couple of years haven’t been easy for me…” he’s settling, rushing into the marriage
- “meeting you has been the best thing that could’ve possibly happened.” possibly happened, as in since sherlock ‘died’, he’s been searching for things to make him happier and feel more complete…and he stumbled on his co-worker, ‘mary’. out of Anything, it was ‘mary’ who became the “possible best thing” after his best friends ‘death’
- “i agree.“ “what?” “i agree. i’m the best thing that could have happened to you.” she agrees with him, but he takes a lengthy pause after she says this because he doesn’t agree with her. him meeting her was just something that happened. also she doesn’t use the word possibly; she plays johns words back to him, but cuts that word out..wonder why…
- sherlock interrupts the proposal multiple times, and we see later in the episode, that john actually hadn’t proposed to her yet even though he had a long time after the restaurant fiasco to do so (“yeah. well, once we’ve actually got engaged.”)
- along with the proposal, we weren’t shown john and mary making vows or kissing one another. if we’re going along with the theory - not exactly a theory since it’s in the books & john is the first character we’re introduced to in the series - that john is the narrator, then him skipping the vows he makes w/ his wife, along w/ the kiss, shows that he isn’t exactly happy about the whole ordeal
the sign of three
- johns face journey while sherlock’s making his best man speech. he continuously looks up at sherlock w/ a soft, encouraging expression and is seen frowning multiple times and looking regretful as the speech goes on, almost as if realising something. seriously, his face during the majority of the speech is so damn interesting to watch
- we’re shown (in a flashback) mary and sherlock preparing the wedding reception while john sits in his armchair scrolling through his phone for a case for sherlock. he’s ignoring it completely, and is so focused on the phone, that he doesn’t even look up once when sherlock shows mary a list of people that hate her to defend her or look at the list himself
- the first chance he gets to go out on a case w/ sherlock (with help from mary i might add), his pleads almost sound sincere. he even adds in a ‘for me’ and sherlock promises right away to find a case for them
- ‘mary’ is revealed to be pregnant. but from how little chemistry they have and how john isn’t sleeping, it’s highly unlikely that they’re able to conceive a child together. a long time theory has been that the baby could be davids (i’m missing out the ‘fake baby’ theory for obvious reasons).
- john behaves pretty forcefully when him and ‘mary’ are making their way on the dancefloor w/ everyone else, like he’s pushing himself to do this. he even makes a joke about mrs. hudson finding him and sherlock dancing together…which again, his attitude about it just oozes discomfort, from how he speaks to 'mary’, to trying to move as far away from sherlock as he can
his last vow
- one month into the marriage, we see john getting extremely testy with ‘mary’ and even shouting at her. they’re already arguing so soon after the wedding that we can assume any ‘happy bliss’ we saw previous is practically non-existent now…or moreso since john married himself away to her
- it’s revealed later in the episode that 1. he bikes to work, despite him and ‘mary’ working at the same clinic, so they could easily carpool together; it’s the only time he can get away from her and 2. he has a bag of clothes, packed and folded, because he’s ready to leave her at anytime. there’re literally no other reasons for why he’s suddenly biking to the clinic and has a bag packed of clothes unless it’s to distance himself from ‘mary’ or when it gets too much, stay somewhere else to cool off (”must have dressed in a hurry this morning so all your shirts must be kept like that. but why? maybe ’cause you cycle to work every morning, shower when you get there an’ then dress in the clothes you brought with you. you keep your shirts folded, ready to pack.”)
the six thatchers
- john asks mary if it’s too late for a divorce after she insults him, comparing him to a dog. he Actually says this
- he misses over 50 calls from he. don’t really know if that says anything about love, but it’s still really strange
- while she’s panicking in the backseat, we’re shown that he’s the one driving and sherlock’s with her trying to calm her down. again, odd since john should be the one w/ his wife and his friend driving to the hospital
- when ‘mary’s’ dying in his arms, he makes no effort to call an ambulance, nor reacts in the same way he did when sherlock - his friend - 'died’. he doesn’t even say he loves her, or agrees with her when she says she was his whole world, just tries to comfort her as she gradually stops speaking. no tears, no shock, just frustration and anger over the situation
- we’re only shown marys coffin going up in flames, and no funeral being held for her; just john walking in the cemetery. the editing is so jerked and rushed. again, going with the ‘theory’ that john’s the narrator of the show, then it’s a little odd that we’re not given at least a glimpse into john at her grave
the lying detective
- we’re shown in a flashback, that john was so disappointed in his life w/ ‘mary’ that he felt compelled to cheat on her with a woman named ‘elisabeth’, only w/ texting
- he admits this to her later in the episode (well, a ghost version of her), and even confesses that he wanted more than just texting w/ someone
i’m not counting the abominable bride since it was all in sherlocks head. i only typed out moments that were ‘about’ john. also i had another thing to say about the baby, but i’ve forgotten it lmao
in short, mofftiss didn’t really give us anything to support this couple nor understand why they’d be good together
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