Latest Posts by bbarneslut - Page 6

and i just have to say: if your best friend of 12 years confesses his love to you and afterward your first reaction is "I should have said I loved him back and hugged him" that speaks volumes

I've said this before but the thing about how destiel played out is that pre- and during 15x18 you can buy that Dean believes that him and Cas are best friends, that he just wants to be platonic best-friends-forever with this guy, and spend all sorts of time together and share all his favourite things with him and know that Cas is never very far away. As friends do.

But after 15x18. Dean processes what Cas said to him. That Cas loves him. Is in love with him. And he makes that part of who he is. He decides to be the man that Cas was in love with. That's what his parting line to Chuck was all about. And maybe he still doesn't think in terms of romance, because why would he, why would he torture himself with hypotheticals, Cas died and Cas loved him. And Dean can be that guy. He holds on to Cas' love. It's his. He makes it part of himself.

So then when he sees Cas again. And he’s confronted with what Cas loving him and wanting him means practically. What can he do? What else can he do besides love Cas back? When Cas' love is already part of him? How could he be anything else but in love with the guy?

‘only a bloody handprint on Dean’s clothes remains’  😭

"their son"

I would love it if Dean's monologue ends like "My big destiny wasn't to die in a blaze of glory, or be stuck in an endless hunting loop with Sam... what I've always been driving towards, even when I didn't know it, was you."

And then it pans to Cas.

When you've already read all the good fanfics

they're going to reunite this year. don't ask me how I know.

when destiel goes canon this thursday then you’ll all see

Before You Go

Dean Winchester x Reader

WC: 2.4K

Summary: Dean came to say goodbye. He can't continue the situationship you two have shared for a couple years. Its getting to hard. Will he listen to your plea or let you walk away?

A/N: I need some angst, I needed to get some personal things out. Thankfully Dean Winchester was able to oblige me and help me work these things out with this short fic. Was listening to "Before You Go" by Lewis Capaldi alot with this fic.

“You don’t get it, Dean.” 

“Try me.”

“Why? What good could it do? You show up into my life like a goddamn tornado. I got so swept up in you. Then you’d leave. I understood why. Hell, I still do. But can’t you understand what it does to me every time you leave? How it breaks me… Not just my heart, Dean. It breaks ME!”

“I told you what my life was…”

“I know that! I accept that! I accept you… every part of you. I love you for YOU. I don’t care that you drink too much, drive too fast. I don’t care that you risk your life just by being alive and walking around. I accept that you battle demons.”

“I don’t want one of those demons tearing you apart!”

“No… not the black eyed demons. I know they are always after you. I am talking about your demons. Your insecurities and doubts about the kind of man you are. That you don’t deserve the good things. That you don’t deserve someone to love you, unconditionally and forever. Those are the demons that break me, Dean. The other ones, they can’t do half the damage that you do to yourself.”

Dean was quiet. He hated how she could always make him feel, something. Whether it was belief in himself, or how she was able to take any sort of pain away from him; she just made him feel. He asked himself a dozen times in the last couple of years if he was wrong for not staying and trying to find a way to make it work. If there could be a balance of his life’s work and having a life with someone, she would be that someone. 

He hated how her bottom lip quivered with all the pain that was shaking from her heart. He hated how her eyes were wide and full of tears ready to fall. “Dean…” He hated how small her voice sounded when she said his name.

“I want to give you everything.” He wasn’t even sure if the words were audible. His throat had gone completely dry. “I think about you every damn day. Wonder if I am being a stubborn ass by not getting in my car and going a thousand miles in whatever direction you are.”

“So, what stops you then?”

“I stop me! I have too! I tell myself you’re better off without me around–”

“I’m not! I’m not better without you! That’s what I am trying to get through that thick head of yours. I would rather have you for whatever time fate allows, then none at all. And I see it in the way you look at me, you want that too!”

Dean hung his head to his chest. Goddamn her and how she could see through all the layers of defense he attempted to hide behind. “And I would rather know you’re alive and without me, then to be a selfish dick and have you, but know that some ugly ass thing is going to kill you because I’m around!”

“And I don’t see what kind of life I have unless I have you,” she whispered. 

He could see she was angry, but it went far beyond that. She was being raw. She was bearing her truth and the deepest feelings to him, allowing herself a moment of vulnerability that was held completely in his hands. 

“I need you, Dean. You–you make things better. You make ME better.”

Her words pierced his armor and somehow found their way in. “You do that for me, too.”

She took a few tentative steps closer to him, and his initial reaction was to step back. If he let her get too close, he would buckle completely. His resolve wasn’t that strong especially where she was involved. Dean had been at his happiest any of the time he had spent with her. She was easy going, and fit into his life in a way that he never thought would be possible. She was fierce and full of fire, but when the lights were out and it was just the two of them whispering in the dark, she had a softness and delicate nature that he craved. She was the perfect balance of sugar and spice to his mostly bitter life.

“I don’t know what to do here, (Y/N). I have this weight on my shoulders, one I never asked for, never agreed to take on. And even when it's fixed or resolved, there’s another–something–to take its place. Sometimes I don’t even get a chance to breathe. How is that fair to you? You deserve so much better.”

“What if I accept all that, and still want what I want? I want to be that breath for you. That safe place you can hide when everything gets too heavy. Forget what you think I deserve. When does what I want matter? I want you. End of story.”

She was so close; the closest he had been to her in months. He could easily reach out and touch her just like he dreamt he had so many nights before. Part of him longed for it, the other part, the rational thinking part, condemned him for it. Stumbling into (Y/N)’s life was a complete accident. It wasn’t a job, it wasn’t an end-of-the-world type of crisis. It was a simple twist of fate that they had met. She was in the wrong place at the right time and their paths crossed. He figured she would just be another one-night good time, then he and Sam would move on just like it had gone for all his adult life. She wasn’t. After that first night together, he was stuck with her essence and it clung to him for months. The second time they met was also by chance. He had to do a double take and make sure he was really seeing her, hundreds of miles from where they first met. 

(Y/N) had seen him and had the same kind of reaction. She didn’t have many regrets in life, but letting Dean leave the morning after with no way to contact each other, was a big one. Sure, best sex of her life, but there was something about the man himself she couldn’t shake. That second meeting, she approached him and threw her arms up around his neck. Dean didn’t take more than a second to return the hug and instantly feel okay again. All the pain of the work in the weeks leading up to that moment had washed away, and all there was, was her. 

Two nights together that time. They righted some wrongs and exchanged numbers that time. From that night on, every couple months for the next two years they would spend stolen weekends meeting somewhere. They would talk and touch and laugh and hold each other. When he finally told her the truth about his life, she listened without judgment and seemed to accept it all. She understood why he was always leaving. Never once gave him a hard time about it, yet always accepted him with open arms when he was able to see her again. 

The flash of memories they shared cycled through his thoughts in a matter of moments. He was close enough to lean his head down and press his forehead to hers. His hands rested gently on the top of her shoulders and he took in a deep breath through his nose, catching a whiff of her sandalwood shampoo. The lump in his throat prevented him from speaking, but he wanted to. He wanted to say so many things to her, but he couldn’t. He was desperate to tell her that he was falling in love with her; that he wanted to stay when every fiber of his being urged him to leave. He wanted to rebel, and stay. For once, Dean wanted to get what he wanted, too. It was there, standing right in front of him. 

“Dean…” The way she said his name reverberated through him even though it was barely a whisper. “Please stay. Even if it’s just for tonight.”

He caved. He couldn’t resist her when she was like this; real and raw and vulnerable as hell. He bent down and kissed her. There was no hope for either of them once their lips touched again. She was completely human, but she was full of magic. The simplest touch of her on him and he didn’t know which way was up or down. All he knew was that he needed her. He had come to her that time to say it was over, that he wouldn’t be able to see her anymore. Too much was happening in his life for it to ever be safe for them to be together. He begged her to listen to him and understand why it had to be that way. She didn’t understand and refused to accept his decision. Part of him hated her for making it so difficult, but the duality in his heart also screamed at him that he was being a stubborn asshole. 

Dean squeezed his eyes shut and reluctantly pulled back from her, though their lips were still nearly touching. “I can’t…”

She slowly shook her head and took a step back from him. His heart immediately cracked a bit more. “You’re a brave man, Dean Winchester. You fight some of the most disturbing, scary things this world has in its closet, but you will never be brave enough to fight for me.”

“I am fighting for you, I am fighting to keep you safe.” He was angry, but his tone was calm and soft. “I wish you could understand.”

“And I wish you could understand me. But you can't, so I guess I have to find some way to let you go.” He wanted to scream and tell her no, that’s not what he wanted. Farthest thing from what he wanted, in fact. “I will always think of you as my person, Dean. And if there comes a day where you could be brave enough to try with me… to really try, even if it means you still hunt, I’ll be here. ‘Cause honestly, no man could ever be as right for me as you are. And I won’t settle for less than I want.”

She turned to leave. Each step she took away from him, his panic grew. Fear gripped Dean like it hadn’t before. All that he had experienced in the past, fear of losing his brother, his friends, his own life… the fear of losing her was shocking and it was imminent. A flash of memories hit him again, and something inside him broke; the last of his defenses were gone along with his resolve.

His hand darted out, grabbing her arm and turning her back around. He felt primal, like he had so many times before in his life. His need for her was overwhelming and he gave in to all the impulses he tried to fight for so long.

“No,” he said and pulled (Y/N) closer. “You’re right, we should get what we want. You more than anyone, and if I am what you want, you can have me.” His words were hoarse and low, but she didn’t miss any of it. “‘Cause I want you. Hell, I need you. I hate that I do, but I can’t fight it anymore. I can’t lose you.”

He cradled her tear-streaked face in his hands, and when he looked into her eyes, he saw everything he was afraid of; a future. She wrapped her fingers around his hands, and moved them from her face. She was wary of his sudden change of mind, but it didn’t seem to matter because her lips grew into a soft smile. 

“What changed?”

Dean knew he had to be just as vulnerable as she had been with him. If this was going to work, he needed to give her the truth. “The idea of you not being there doesn’t sit well with me. Yeah, there’s still a very good possibility that this could end bloody. But when you went to walk away just now, knowing this would be the last time I saw you, it felt just as bad as if it ended in death. That probably sounds–”

“Insane? It does, but that’s what I’ve been saying, Dean. This, what we have here, this is what life is about. It's not always going to be easy. Sometimes it's going to be scary, or bloody, but it's goddamn worth it if in the moments in between we have each other.”

“So what now? How do we do this?”

(Y/N) gave him a shrug of one shoulder, then laced her fingers through his, pulling him closer. “We start with this.” She got on her toes to reach up and kiss him. “Then, we take each day as it comes. But we do it together. We take this leap of faith that no matter what happens, we’ll handle it. I will learn to defend myself against every ugly thing that goes bump in the night, and you learn to talk to me when things get dark inside you. And in the quiet moments, we live our lives. Whatever that looks like to you, I’m in.”

“And if it gets to be too much?”

“Then, we fight. We fight for what we want. If we are only ever fighting to survive, what kind of life are we fighting to keep?”

Dean thought about what she was saying, and something inside him felt free. Like whatever it was that prevented him from believing he deserved anything good, dislodged and evaporated. He was worthy of all the good things life had to offer, and she was the best of them all. 

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Fighting for me. For us.”

“I’ll always fight for us, Dean. You’re worth fighting for. One day, maybe you’ll see that for yourself. Until then, all I can do is love you enough for both of us.”

“I’m gettin’ there, sweetheart. Just keep doing what you do best.”

“And that is?”

“Being braver than I could ever be.”

(Y/N) melted into his arms and found no good reason to move away from them. Dean closed his eyes and rested his chin on the top of her head. She fit into him so perfectly, he felt that maybe he did find the missing puzzle piece. He thought that maybe despite the big picture of the life he had been destined to live, it wouldn’t be that bad now that he was complete with her by his side.

Tags:

@wings-of-a-raven @kazosa @deansbabymomma @hobby277 @breereadsthings @maddiepants @screechingartisancashbailiff @cloverhighfive @linki-locks11 @stoneyggirl @clarinette07 @lefthologramdeer @destielhoneybee @mrswhozeewhatsis @deathofmissjackson @akshi8278 @rebelminxy @fictionalabyss @blackcherrywhiskey @his-paradox @destielhoneybee @donnaintx @squirrelnotsam @weepingwillowphoenix @austin-winchester67 @krazykelly @igotmadskills @lovealways-j

Halloween Surprise

Pairing :  (Former) Dean x reader

Summary: You're out trick or treating with your son when you run into someone from your past. Someone with the same green eyes as your son.

Warnings: Feelings of betrayal, secrets, breakup and heartbreak.

Word Count: 5081

Y/N = Your Name | Y/L/N = Your Last Name

“Lucas! Are you ready to go?” You called up the stairs as you frowned down at your wristwatch. It was already getting a bit late, and you didn’t want to be out when it was dark outside. You’d long since learned what was lurking in the darkness, but ever since you had your son you’d grown even more wary of the lengthening shadows that came with twilight. 

Yet, though you were on a pretty tight trick or treating schedule, the little rascal upstairs remained nearly suspiciously quiet as you tapped the boot of your Wonder Woman costume impatiently. 

“Lucas (Y/L/N)!” You called up again, channeling every ounce of strict motherly love you could into your voice as you debated going up to check what the cheeky little five year old was up to. The beginning of fear and panic rearing its ugly head as your carefully developed hunter’s instincts always went to the worst possible outcome.  Yet, the little giggle that easily reached you from the top of the stairs quickly calmed your frayed nerves and reminded you that you were no longer a hunter. You’d left that life behind you nearly six years ago. The moment you realized you were pregnant. 

“No Lucas up here mommy!” Your son’s cheeky little voice called back, the poorly concealed giggles drawing a smile out of you as you rolled your eyes at the little guy. His love for the dramatic was clearly something he’d gotten from his father. Though the man in question would probably disagree and say it was a trait your son had gotten from you. Swallowing down the bittersweet feeling that always followed any thought of the man you’d loved and lost, you took a deep breath before calling back up to your little man.

“Really? Oh, that’s too bad, but… Does Batman wanna come trick or treating with mommy then?” You called back with a small smile. One that only grew from the happy squeal leaving your little vigilante as he bounced into view. Before carefully taking the stairs the moment you reminded him not to run down the carpeted staircase. 

“Yes! Batman wants candy!” His young voice was still high pitched and innocent. But Lucas still tried to mimic the deep, whispered voice of Batman as he hurried down the stairs. His Batman mask was slightly crooked on his freckled nose as he came to a full stop in front of you with green eyes looking up at you in anticipation. 

“Alright then Batman. It’s just you and me today then. We’ll have to bring some candy back for Lucas too,” You said with a soft laugh as you kneeled down to fix his crooked mask and smooth his slightly tousled nest of hair. 

“It’s me mommy!” Your little guy whispered as he lifted the mask, showing you his best conspiratory look as he gently placed the mask back on, just as crooked as it had been before you initially fixed it. 

“It’s a secret, hussssh” He continued as he let you fix his mask for him once more. 

“Mommy won’t tell anyone. Promise. Now, are you ready to go trick or treating pumpkin? Remember, we have to be back before it gets dark,” You asked your little superhero as you reached out for his Batman windbreaker and helped him put it on. 

“Yes! Trick or Treat!” He called out loudly and cheerfully, just like you’d practiced. Giving him a warm smile, you grabbed his little bucket in one hand, before reaching out to put his small hand in your free one. Ready to go door to door in search of treats, and hopefully no tricks. 

--- 

Halloween had never been your favorite time of year. Which was understandable, given how you’d grown up. But Lucas had given you a newfound appreciation for the day. And though you were still slightly on edge as you scanned the busy crowds out in your little, safe, cul de sac, you were much more at ease than you’d been when you first left the hunting life behind you. 

Which was probably how you missed the two men mingling with the crowds dressed in suits, stopping parents to show off fake FBI badges as you focused on getting your son from one house to the next. Along with a few of the other neighborhood moms. 

Hell, you even missed the clearly lustful looks thrown their way by Sharon, your neighbor three houses down from yours. Even though she was barely watching her own little monsters as they tried to steal an extra chocolate bar from the bowl, choosing instead to oogle the two agents as they quietly questioned parents a bit further down the road, making their way up towards you. 

Honestly, even if you had noticed him before Tara had leaned over to you to whisper some not so child friendly words into your ear, you weren’t sure what you would’ve done. Would you have ran away? Maybe… Frozen in place? Probably. 

Considering that was exactly what you ended up doing. Your hand squeezed Lucas’ a little as you gently pulled your little superhero behind you and let your eyes follow Tara’s down the street, just a little past the next house your route would take you to. Where a face you thought you’d never see again was looking back at you, green eyes wide and FBI badge lowered from where he’d just raised it to interrogate yet another thirsty soccer mom. 

“Dean,” The name that once had tasted sweeter than pie on your lips came out as a broken whisper as you tried, and failed, to tear your eyes off of the devastatingly handsome man. 

“Wait, you know him? When did you meet an FBI agent (Y/N)? And can you introduce me to his partner?” Tara asked, a little too loudly for your liking, next to you as her excited eyes went from you and over to Dean before coming right back to you again. 

“I… Yeah, I know him. Look, Tara. Could you take Lucas to the next house? I should… Say hi?” You managed to push the words out as you fought against the nearly nostalgic cotton mouthed feeling Dean Winchester always left you with. Though you were still not sure you had what it took to speak to him after… What had happened. You really had no choice. Not only because he’d spotted you. But because he was there. On your street. 

And when a Winchester came to your street, it was usually not just for a friendly visit. 

But still, you couldn’t bring Lucas with you. Not when the bright green eyes and dusting of freckles over a button nose easily betrayed whose son he was. A son Dean had no clue you’d been raising for the last five years ever since he pushed you away. 

“Only if you get me the number of that tall drink of water over there,” She shot back, already undressing Sam with her best bedroom eyes as you rolled your eyes at her. 

“Tara, you’re married. Happily at that,” You reminded your best ‘mom friend’ as she grinned back at you. 

“A girl can dream (Y/N),” She laughed, before shooting you a small cheeky wink, and dropping down to speak to Lucas instead. 

“Lucas…” She started, before your little guy shook his head quickly, still hidden from Dean’s view behind you. 

“Batman,” Lucas corrected as he clutched his bucket of sweets. As if he was afraid his aunty Tara was planning to steal his hard earned loot. 

“Alright Batman. Do you wanna come with aunty and Robbie to the next house? Your mommy needs to go talk to someone,” Tara said as she reached out her free hand, patiently pretending she couldn’t feel her own one year younger kid pulling at her other hand for her to hurry. As if the little ninja turtle next to her thought the houses would run out of candy if they didn’t hurry. 

“Can I mommy?” Lucas looked up at you through his little Batman mask. Puppy eyes fully engaged as he looked from his bucket of treats and back up at you, as if to stay he still didn’t have enough sugar to last him till next Halloween. 

Even though he already had plenty. 

“Go ahead, pumpkin. Mommy will be right there,” You nodded as you let go of his little hand and let Tara grab it instead. Somewhat reluctantly, as your hunting instincts always worried when the apple pie of your eye was out of reach. 

Giving your friend a grateful smile, you watched the three of them for a second as they walked up the path to the next house. Smiling slightly at Batman’s happy bounce up the footpath, before you turned back to look at Dean again. 

Only to realize he was no longer there. 

“(Y/N),” Just as you were about to scan the crowd for him, the sound of his voice to the left of you made you jump slightly as you cursed your rusty reflexes and pivoted to face him. Doing your absolute damndest to pretend his deep voice didn’t still send pleasurable shockwaves through your body. 

“Dean,” You whispered back as you tried to find your voice under the breathless vertigo that always took over whenever Dean Winchester was anywhere nearby. 

“Thank God. When we didn’t hear anything I thought you…” He said, relief evident in his voice, though you could also hear the early warning signs of worried anger brewing just under the surface. Though he had no right to be angry at you. Not since… 

Not after what happened that night. 

“I’m fine. I just… I quit the business,” You shot back, biting back the words you actually wanted to tack on to the end of your sentence… After you broke my heart. But by the way Dean’s shoulders fell, and the way his worried anger retreated behind a veil of sadness and regret in green eyes, you knew he’d still caught the silent addition to your sentence in your slightly narrowed eyes. 

“Oh…” Was all he managed to push out as he dug his hands into his suit pockets. Fidgeting in front of you in the same way Lucas always did whenever you caught him doing something naughty. 

Like father, like son. 

“Yeah,” You sighed, keeping back the many words you wanted to say as you threw a wary glance over to where Tara and the boys had just reached the next house. Though Dean’s next words forced your eyes back on him. 

“I missed you…” He started, before a quick shake of your head stopped him from continuing. 

“Dean… It was your choice,” You shot back, a small grimace of pain following your words as you remembered that fateful night when Dean Winchester broke your heart. For your own good, he’d said. But it had been anything but. 

You’d loved him, with every damn cell in your body. Hell, you still did. But according to him, six years ago, the two of you had been a liability. You were a weak spot he couldn’t protect. And that scared him. Enough to let you go. Even when you begged him not to.

“I know, and I’ve been regretting it ever since,” Dean broke through your trip down memory lane as he reached out to you in that achingly familiar way he’s done so many times before, to brush some stray hairs out of your eyes. Yet, before those slightly calloused fingers could reach you and burn against your skin, you sidestepped him and crossed your arms. Hugging yourself close as you suddenly felt very underdressed in your Wonder Woman costume. 

“It’s too late for regrets,” You whispered, unable and unwilling to meet his eyes as you instead looked around at the crowds or trick or treaters. More specifically their parents, your neighbors. Many of whom were looking your way. Or more like Dean’s way. Since his FBI outfit stood out among the costumes. 

“I…” Dean started, but you simply shook your head before cutting off whatever he was trying to say.

“Why are you here? Is there a… Anything I should be wary of?” You hesitated over your words. Keeping them vague enough to not arouse the suspicion or attention of one of your nosier neighbors as you felt your muscles tense. Still strong and lithe enough, even six years after your retirement. As you refused to rest on your laurels and kept up your training. Just in case your past caught up to you. If only to protect Lucas. 

“No,” Dean said as you eyed him warily. Not buying the single syllable answer. 

“I promise, there’s nothing here. We’re just looking for someone living nearby who can help us out on a… Case,” He explained, keeping his words equally vague as he let his eyes travel across the crowds that were all inexplicably slowing down when they got close to where the two of you were standing. Looking for the latest piece of juicy cul de sac gossip most likely.

“Alright, that’s good,” You said, a relieved sigh leaving you as your tense shoulders relaxed. Lucas was still safe. You both were. Which was all that mattered. It was all that could matter. Dean couldn’t. Not anymore.

“(Y/N)...” Dean tried. Though you knew what he wanted to say. And you couldn’t have that conversation. Not in the middle of the street with Mr. Brown, your neighborhood gossip, dressed as Frankenstein casting not-so-hidden curious glances in your direction. 

“Look Dean. I’ve gotta go,” You rushed out, avoiding his pleading eyes as you busied yourself with fixing the already perfect whip of truth replica on your hip.

“But…” Dean kept pushing, his hand once more reaching out for you, as if to stop you from slipping through his fingers. 

Yet, before he could continue, or you could think up any excuse, an excited little voice loudly called out to you from your right. A small little streak of black and yellow wobbling up towards you with one hand lifted high in victory. 

“Mommy! Look! They gave me a big chocolate!”

As you refocused your attention towards your little superhero, you barely caught how Dean’s eyes opened wide as they went from you over to the little Batman hurrying up towards you as fast as his little feet could carry him. Cringing internally, you still pretended you didn’t notice the look he threw you as you instead kept your eyes on Lucas.

“Is he…” Dean started, but you missed the question as you wiped the heartbreak from your eyes and focused your attention back on your son. Dropping down to his level, you let him run into your arms waving the chocolate bar in his little hand. 

“Wow! That’s great, pumpkin! Did you say thank you?” You said, adding a layer of fake cheer into your voice as you squeezed your little treasure closer.

“I did! And I said Trick or Treat too!” Lucas said as he wiggled slightly out of your arms without actually leaving the hug to look up at you with a proud beaming smile. Clearly wanting to show you how he was a big boy now. 

“You did great! Such a big boy!” You praised as you ruffled the little nest of messy dark blonde hair on top of his head. 

“Hey there Batman,” Next to you Dean had also crouched down to be at Lucas’ height as he shot him a small smile. Before looking over at you out of the corner of his eyes, making you freeze up as you held your son closer. 

“Who are you?” Lucas asked, suddenly shy as he half hid behind you, still clutching the chocolate bar in his small hand.  

“I’m a friend of your mother’s,” Dean said with a soft smile as he looked down at the full bucket of halloween treats. His eyes wide in admiration, though you could still see the hint of heartbreak and loss behind those green orbs as he clearly came to the wrong conclusion regarding your son. Imagining another man where there wasn’t one, and probably never would be. Yet he didn’t let it show to Lucas as he beamed at him. “Wow! You’ve gotten loads today, haven’t you?”

“Yeah! Mommy taught me how!” Lucas said proudly as he wiggled fully out of your arms now that he knew the man wasn’t one of the scary strangers you’d cautioned him of. Gingerly putting down his bucket, Lucas lifted his mask to properly take in his haul and show his new friend all his treats. 

Without the mask, there was no denying whose son he was. And as recognition flashed in Dean’s eyes, you knew he hadn’t missed the similarities between your child and him as he looked back up at you. An endless amount of questions painting his green eyes a deeper shade as he looked between Lucas and you. 

Wetting dry lips, you took a shaky breath as you gave Lucas a strained smile. Avoiding Dean’s eyes as you focused all your attention on your little superhero instead. 

“Mommy still needs to talk to her friend. Why don’t you go with Aunty Tara to the next house, alright Batman?” You finally managed to push out as you gently fixed your son’s mask and tried to soften the edges of your smile as you gave him a little nod towards where Tara was waiting when he seemed to hesitate.

“Will you come soon too Mommy?” He asked, his young little voice seeming a little dejected as he looked from his candy haul and up at you. 

“I will baby,” You softened as you placed a feather light kiss on his crown of messy hair.

“Promise?” The mini Batman asked as he set those big green puppy eyes in you. Eyes you could never resist. From neither of the two men to either side of you. 

“Pinky promise,” You swore, crossing your heart before stretching out your pinky and linking it with your son’s.

Giving you a sloppy kiss on your cheek, Lucas finally seemed happy with your answer as he grabbed his little pumpkin shaped bucket again as hurried back over to Robbie and Tara while loudly telling them both that “mommy said she’s coming soon”. 

For a second, Dean stayed silent next to you as you both got up from where you’d been crouched to speak to Lucas. The sounds of children’s laughter and hushed conversations between nosy neighbors filled the space between the two of you as you looked for a place to have the conversation you’d never thought you’d actually have to have. But as Dean grabbed your wrist, you were left stuck in place in the middle of the busy sidewalk. 

“Is he…” Dean started, not letting you move away from the crowd before he asked the question that had been shining out behind green eyes since he put two and two together. 

“Let’s go somewhere else…” You hesitated, throwing cautious glances at the crowds around you. Though most of them had seemingly grown bored of your conversation once they realized nothing juicy was being said.

“Is he my son (Y/N)?” Dean insisted, though he kept his voice low and his words barely a whisper. Keeping them between just the two of you. 

“... Dean,” You sighed, still not meeting his eyes as you looked around you. Making sure no one had heard his question. But Dean didn’t let you shift the topic as he shook his head and kept his hand circled securely around your wrist. 

“(Y/N), please,” He nearly begged, squeezing your wrist softly to make you look up at him. The fractured light hitting green eyes nearly took your breath away as you saw the desperate need to know shining back at you.

“Yes. He…” Swallowing heavily you took a shaky breath, before once more looking down the street to find your little Batman in the crowds together with Tara. 

“Lucas is your son,” You finally continued as you found him. Happily talking Tara’s ear off like the little ladies’ man he was. 

“Lucas,” Dean said carefully. Rolling the name around on his tongue as he followed your gaze down to look, awestruck, at his son. 

“Yeah, he’s just turned five not long ago,” You added with a soft smile. Remembering the late September birthday party. Which, no surprise, had been fully Batman themed. Just like everything had been lately. 

“Five… Not long ago?” Dean questioned. Brows furrowed as he did the mental math. Counting backwards to the cold January night when he broke your heart. 

“I found out I was pregnant shortly after you told me to leave,” Your words came out a bit more bitter than you meant for them to be. The sour taste of heartbreak still made it hard to sweeten the words.

“I never told you to leave,” Dean shot in, arguing semantics as his hand tightened slightly around the wrist he was still holding onto. Tugging your hand gently towards you, you shook your head at him when he still refused to let go. Biting back a bitter laugh and unwanted tears as you took a shaky breath. 

“You told me we’d never work out. Did you really think I’d stick around after that?” You whispered, still managing to keep your voice low, though your emotions were causing havoc within your chest. Making it hard to even hear your own barely even there words.

“I just wanted you to be safe! You kept…” Dean’s voice was loud enough to draw a few more curious glances  as you shot him a wide eyed, panicked look before shaking your head imperceptibly. Wordlessly reminding him to be quiet. Taking a deep breath, Dean shot your nosy neighbors a shaky smile before leaning in closer and lowering his voice.

“Look, I know I fucked up. But, even if I did, how could you not tell me I had a son?” His whispered voice muted the incredulity and slight sadness at the betrayal in his tone, but it was still painfully clear to you as you grimaced. You knew you should’ve told him. But your wounds had just been so damn fresh. So instead you’d relied on excuses. The same you leaned on as you finally looked back up to meet his green eyes.

“I tried… Your number was disconnected. The only number I had for you. And… Hell, I just didn’t want to hurt anymore,” You sighed. Some of the truth slipping out together with your practiced excuse from nearly six years ago. 

“It was? Shit… Damn it. I lost a phone during a hunt. And I would’ve done anything to have you back (Y/N). There’s no way I would’ve hurt you. Not when every day without you was hell. Still, you could’ve called Sammy. Or just driven up to the bunker. Or…” Dean was ranting as his hand finally slipped from your wrist to card through his hair in frustration. Though, from the way his eyes fell to the forgotten badge in his own hand, you knew he was mainly blaming himself as he cut off his words with a tired sigh. 

“Maybe I could have, but I just… Fuck. I just couldn’t. You hurt me and..” Cutting yourself off with a shake of your head you wrapped your arms back around yourself as if to protect your barely patched up heart and wet dry lips. Before squeezing your eyes shut, in a foolish effort to shut the world out. 

For a few seconds, you let the silence settle between you as you tried to find the words. Knowing Dean was doing the same in front of you. Though you couldn’t see him as you kept your eyes closed and let the bright dots floating in your cut off vision hypnotize you believing none of it had happened. That you were still just next to your son. Not being confronted with the ghosts of your own messy past. 

“Look Dean… I can’t do this. Not tonight. Not while I’m dressed as fucking Wonder Woman,” You finally said with a tired shrug of your shoulders as you finally opened your eyes and met Dean’s head on. You knew you couldn’t hide from your past anymore. Not when it had come nearly all the way to your front porch. But Lucas was waiting for you, and you needed privacy for the long overdue conversation with Dean. Something that was in short supply on the small cul de sac. 

“You look good in that…” Dean cut in, a small hint of his boyish grin and that trademark charm as he took you in, as if for the first time while you rolled your eyes at him. Though his attempt at lightening the mood still fell flat when weighed up against the heavy weight in your stomach from the many broken pieces of your heart that had dislodged from seeing him again. 

“I know I do. But that’s not the point. I can’t. Not now,”  You still let a small smile slip before you shook it, and the nostalgic emotions it was painted in, away and replaced them with tired resignation. As your own small smile that had temporarily brightened Dean’s fell away, so did his. Though his green eyes had softened slightly as he seemed to resign himself to not having all his questions answered by interrogating you on the sidewalk of your own street. 

“Just tell me one thing. Are you happy? Is Lucas happy?” Dean’s quiet voice asked after a beat or two of silence. His eyes slightly shrouded by enviably thick lashes as he kept them downcast and focused on the polished shoes of his FBI outfit. His words made you look towards the houses again, easily spotting your little man a few homes down as you smiled and waved in his direction where he was busy waving your way.

“We are and he is. We have a good life here. A safe home. He’s the smartest little boy ever. Just like his dad,” You finally said as you let your hand drop. Glancing Dean’s way, you caught him looking towards Lucas as well. His eyes watching the small boy wistfully as he once more stuffed his hands into his pockets. 

Wetting his lips, Dean seemed to hesitate for a second as he opened and closed his mouth wordlessly before finally tearing his eyes off of the son he hadn’t known he had to look at you instead. 

“Can I… Is it alright if I see him again? See you again?”

For a second, you hesitated. Your heart was stuck in your throat as you mulled over your answer. Thinking up and throwing away a million what ifs and reasons not to. But in the end, your heart won the battle. You could never forget Dean Winchester. And, no matter how he felt about you, and you about him, Lucas was his son. He deserved the chance to get to know the coolest kid you knew. 

“... Bring Sam over after 7 pm tonight. Bring candy. And change out of those stuffy suits. We’ll… Talk over dinner,” You finally sighed, losing the battle with your heart as you hesitated over every word, even as you’d made up your mind to invite him over and already started planning the night’s dinner in your head now that you’d have two more mouths to feed. 

“Yeah? Alright, yeah… Ok. Seven.  I’ll be there,” Dean was already walking backwards away from you, looking slightly hopeful and clearly itching to fill his little brother in to let Sam know he was an uncle. That bright boyish spark that you’d fallen in love with many years ago back in green eyes as he smiled cautiously at you. A slightly crooked smile that slowly grew warmer as your words sank in. 

Throwing you a little wave, he turned around, ready to hurry back to his brother and call off the search so he could go raid some stores for candy and change. Yet, before he could take another step, your exasperated laughter made him stop as you rolled your eyes at his broad back. 

“Dean!” You called out after him, a raised eyebrow paired with a small knowing smirk as you watched him turn around to look at you. HIs green eyes wide and looking more than a little frazzled as you melted at the sight of the gorgeous man you’d fallen in love with many years ago. The man you never stopped loving. Even if he broke your heart.  

“You need to know where I live first,” You called out to him. No longer caring about nosy neighbors as you warmed your words with a small laugh that only grew louder as the ‘FBI agent’ stumbled over his own feet in his hurry to come back over to you. 

“I’m just down the street, look for the white house with the green door. Down there,” You said, pointing in the direction of your small home. Next to you, Dean leaned in to see things from your viewpoint, carefully following your pointer finger as you felt your temperature rise from his proximity. Swallowing the cotton mouthed feeling, you found your lost voice between one heartbeat and the next as you let your hand fall and took a step back away from him to relearn how to breathe again. 

“7 pm,” You repeated. 

“7 pm,” He confirmed. 

Before quickly throwing you another small, hopeful smile. And hurrying away with a mumbled promise of talking later and bringing candy. 

As he walked down the street, looking slightly unsteady on his feet. You couldn’t help the soft smile that played on your lips. Though you didn’t know what would come from it. You couldn't help but feel slightly happy that he’d ran into you. 

Like your own special Halloween treat. One that definitely didn’t fit into Lucas’ plastic pumpkin bucket. 

And though only time would tell what would happen. You couldn’t wait to introduce the two bravest men you knew to the bravest, smartest little boy you knew. Casting one last glance at Dean, you quickly hurried after Tara and the boys. 

Now you had another reason to make sure Batman and you were back home before the sun fully set. At a distance, you swore you could hear Dean’s excited voice as you smiled to yourself. 

“SAMMY! You’ll never guess…”

Dean Winchester Tags: @woodworthti666 @defenderrosetyler  @akshi8278 @justanotherwinchester @lyarr24 @torn-and-frayed @all-will-be-well-love @wearesuchstuff1 @thefridgeismybestie @adoptdontshoppets @starsandmidnightblue @screechingartisancashbailiff @septixtrash @punof-agun  @deandreamernp @justagirlinafandomworld @sexyvixen7 @justrealizedimmascifygurl @globetrotter28 @siospins2 @iprobablyshipit91 @mrsjenniferwinchester 

Forever Tags: @deanwanddamons @winchest09 @hobby27  @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​ @sea040561 @donnaintx @alwaysdreamingforthebest  @thatmotleygirl @chocolateheart @superfanficnatural @flamencodiva @starryeyeseunbyul @waywardbeanie @supernaturalenchanted @ellewritesfix05 @emoryhemsworth @alwayskeepfightingsweetheart @the-lost-wanderer-of-the-night @strangersstranger @tatted-trina6 @jensengirl83 @whatareyousearchingfordean @jackandthesoulmates  @gh0stgurl @samsgirl93 @i-opened-the-chamber-of-secrets @dainrumnaheim @440mxs-wife

Instill Inside Me—Fear

Demon!Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: Language, bit o’ blood and gore, mentions of self harm, abuse. Demon Dean is a huge dick at this time.

Description: Dean breaks out of his restraints and torments you while Sam is away on a hunt. The two of you play a haunting game of hide and seek. Will he find you?

Reader discretion is advised. Enjoy.

Instills Inside Me-Hurt

Instills Inside Me- Lonliness

Instills Inside Me-Comfort

You had seen him, Dean, tied to a chair in the safe room below the bunker. You never dared going down there alone. Chalking it up to you being afraid to see what the older Winchester had become of himself.

You’d been studying in the commons area, with your several stacks of books surrounded you like a makeshift fort. Writing endlessly in the journals, making notes on the latest hunt you and Sam were working on.

There had been a den of vampires sighted in a nearby town couple miles outside Pasadena, California. Sam was on it with Castiel while you, sat here in the safety of the bunker, sending them research and conducting your own about a certain ball of demon joy a floor beneath you. Sam wanted as much information as possible on how to save Dean from the demon flowing through his veins. Yet, you didn’t know how much or if there was any.

There wasn’t.

The only thing about how to get Dean un-demoned was to pump him full of sanctified blood and hope for the best. You had written countless notes on the matter and were so in sync with your research that you were startled when you had seen that it was almost 10PM.

You yawned and stretched, pushing your books aside. You heaved a sigh-pushing in your chair as you headed for the kitchen to make you a cup of tea to help you sleep. You barely made it to the kitchen when the lights cut out. Everything then was enveloped in an antagonizing red glow.

Then the alarm began to blare throughout the bunker. It lasted a few seconds before that too was shut off by a loud crash, and your breath hitched. Either someone stupid was breaking in.

Or he had broken out.

You swallowed spit and forced yourself to move against the wall in an attempt to sneak off somewhere and hide. You wouldn’t be caught out in the open, surely not by Dean.

Especially not Dean, you corrected yourself. You managed to slip up the steps into the upstairs hallway when you heard Dean most likely kick through one of the downstairs doors.

You stifled a scream, pressing your back against the wall again keeping quiet while you found yourself slipping into a vacant room and under the bed.

“I know you’re here you little bitch, could practically hear your boots fucking shaking above me. Come out now and I promise I'll be gentle with you. Make it quick, y'know." He hollered.

You did not make a peep while you huddled beneath the bed of the many rooms on the second floor. The way you quickly learned how to limit your breathing made it easier for you to hide. Sam had even taught you in his free time how to sneak around without making a sound.

Of course, you knew that if Dean did find you--it would be much worse than what any monster you have hunted in the past. This was not the older Winchester you worked with just a couple months ago. Whatever was inhabiting his body now, the demon inside him, made his aggressive, made him lash out against the people who love him, and made him have this terrifyingly strong urge to kill anything and everything in his path.

Covering your mouth with your hands your eyes widened when his shadow went past the door.

"I'm not playing this game with you Y/N. When I find you and oh boy, I will. I'll carve out your fucking innards and hang your skull on my mantle." He growls, kicking through what sounded like Sam's bedroom a few doors down. You heard him grunt when he didn't find anything. His footsteps retreated to the room across from Sam's.

SLAM. SLAM.SLAM.

He was in. Another grunt and groan, he was off to the room next to the one you were in. You had to act fast as he broke his way through the door. You slipped out from your hiding spot as he was having trouble with the door in front of the one you were in.

This was not where you wanted to be. You could hear him cursing as you open the door ajar, wide enough to wear you could slip through. He slammed through the door and went inside as you took off down the hall.

"Where the fuck are you?" He screamed, throwing over the bed.

---A Few Hours Later---

You were inside a closet, tucked away where you knew he wouldn't find you. Or so you hoped. Hidden behind the water heater, you pulled out your phone, beginning to tap away at the screen to Sam.

S.O.S Dean's got out and he's looking for me.

You hit send and tucked the phone back into your back pocket. You leaned your head back against the wall and prayed. Oh, how you prayed that Sam would get home soon. You prayed to Castiel to hear you and appear out of thin air to save you. Dean, as much as you could hear from where you were had been pacing, throwing objects around and yelling.

"You think you're so fucking smart huh? You little bitch. Do you think that I wanna kill you? I've seen the shit that goes on in my head. I can watch and witness all those fucking memories of finding you a bloody heap on the floor. I have. I've seen them all. All the times I would stumble in a catch you slitting your fucking wrists like the weak little girl you are. I would have to clean you, set you straight, make sure you're all fixed up. What about me? When have you ever done that for me? You selfish little whore." Your hands covered your mouth as you stuffed down the urge to cry. You knew he didn't mean it. It was the demon that he was brought back as.

"My head isn't the only I've been through. You think anyone around you loves you? Sam...Castiel...me? Bobby could give a less of a shit about you. Hell, they all wanted you gone after Charlie died. Yeah they blamed you. It should have been you. " You hitched a breath, holding yourself. Which was a stupid move as he probably knew where you were.

The wall you were leaning against successfully had aa hole punched through as you raced to get up and out the door, you tried to run but you tripped over a stack of books that was strewn across the floor.

Dean stomped towards you, grabbing your foot to slam you into the ground. You writhed around in his hold, managing to kick him the jaw. You got back up onto your feet, only for him to lunge at you.

Overturning the nearby table, you shoved it in his direction. The tears would not stop as you tried reasoning with the man in front of you.

"You don't meant that Dean. Look we can figure out some way to save you. Please don't hurt me." You plead, hands raised as he draws closer to you.

Your heart was going to beat out of your chest, when he comes closer and closer and closer to you. With your hands still raised, the sensation of his rough, gnarled, and calloused hands grasping onto yours, pulling you to him.

The fear you felt as your could not hear his own heart beating, you were face first in his chest, his mouth to your ear, as he whispered something so low, you could barely make it out.

"I'm sorry."

◀️𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒

𝐏𝐆 𝟏𝟓 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓

𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐀𝐘 𝐁𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐍 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝟏𝟓

𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐒: 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍! 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐍! 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋! 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐒𝐀𝐌 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒

𝐒𝐈𝐓

𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇: 𝐒𝐀𝐌 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐓? 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇: 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍! 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋! 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇: 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋! 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀 𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇: 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐁𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇: 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐖𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐔𝐏 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇: 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄'𝐒 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇: 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐋 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇: 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐄𝐗𝐀𝐌𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇: 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇: 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐒

𝐈𝐍𝐉𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇: 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇: 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇: 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐓𝐎 𝟓𝟎𝟓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇: 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐖𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇: 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇: 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋! 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇: 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇: 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐎𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇: 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐋𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇: 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐂𝐀𝐈𝐍'𝐒 𝐃𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇: 𝐌𝐎𝐂! 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐌𝐘 𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐆𝐀 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇: 𝐀𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐀! 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍! 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇: 𝐀𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐀! 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍! 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒, 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇: 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇: 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑

Happy Hour

Summary: The reader returns home after a night at the club realizing she’s taken something that she shouldn’t have. Her neighbour, Dean, notices when she’s practically locked out of her house and spends the night with her.

Pairing: AU!Dean x reader

Square: Quote B: @supernatural-jackles​ 6. “I dare you to kiss me.” Neighbour AU @spnfluffbingo​

Word Count: 3,187

Warnings: drugged!reader, drugs, vomiting, implied/light smut, mature themes, kissing/cuddling, pining, language, mainly fluff, a little angst maybe

A/N: Don’t do drugs, this is pure fiction. Written for @spnfluffbingo​ and @supernatural-jackles​’ Tell Me a Story bingo.

_____

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Bucky Barnes | One Shot | Okay

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Plot: Bucky always makes sure his best friend is okay, because that is what you need. He's caring, but very passive and nonchalant, because you need it. Not him. He doesn't need that. He doesn't need you. Does he?

Warnings: 18+. Fluff and smut.

Words: 5,8OO

Your head is feeling heavy. Heavier than normal. The mellow music in the background, the rumble of the voices of your trusted friends around you and the warmth radiating from Bucky pressed against your side, all make you feel like you might go cross-eyed if you continue to pry your eyes open when they so desperately want to close.

It has been a busy week of non-stop assignments. You got up early every morning to prepare and brief each other towards the operation, then tiring yourself out during the complicated missions that required most people on the team to get involved, and if you were lucky, you’d be home just in time to collapse into your puffy bed, unable to crawl under the sheets or change your clothes. It was incredibly fun to let out your energy and be together with the entire team again, but the week is catching up to you and Natasha’s idea of having a ‘boozy night in’ backfired greatly.

Your muscles are tight with tension and your cheeks are glowing with fatigue. But you have buried yourself in the corner of the couch, Bucky’s frame blocking you from the rest, so you can comfortably swim in the atmosphere of peace and relaxation around you. As fun as the back-to-back missions had been, there were a few close calls and you never really process the relief that comes from getting out alive until all of you are sat together, talking, laughing and most importantly… unharmed.

“I’m not carrying you to bed,” Bucky grumbles under his breath, taking another swig of his beer as he keeps his eyes on Thor who is telling some strange story about a man made of stone and a creature made of blubber. You kind of clocked out after the words ‘sex club on this purple-blue planet’, which was shame because you wanted to know what it was, but you couldn’t possibly comprehend those stories at this hour.

“Yeah, I know. Just… Just wake me up,” you murmur, your voice soft and breathy as you tilt your head to rest on his shoulder, the soft jitters of his arm making you hum in delight. The bulging pressure of Bucky’s frame against your side has you struggling not to bury yourself into him as far as you possibly can.

Your best friend sighs softly, biting back a smile when you nominate him to cuddle up against. He might not be someone who likes to touch and be touched, but you always found your sneaky little ways to make him tolerate it. He couldn’t possibly pry his sleepy friend off him to fend for herself when she can barely form a coherent sentence, could he?

“Alright. I’m waking you up. Go to bed,” he orders, his voice strict, and you sit up before he can shake you off. Swallowing hard, you pry your eyes open with all your might, making Bucky turn his head to you with eyebrows raised in amusement at your devastating state.

He had already noticed earlier how your heartbeat had slowed to a heavy thump, your breathing evening out and the goosebumps appearing on your skin as the heat seeped from your body with the last remnants of your energy. He may or may not have let it happen instead of offering you the blanket on his other side so that you would nudge into his side a little. Bucky, too, found comfort in making sure his friends were around and well after a week as intense as the one they just had.

Especially you. You always have your shit together and manage just fine – in your own way that sometimes had Bucky baffled, but it seemed to work for you. Yet somehow he wanted you to relax around him. It wasn’t something he realised until it had sort of already happened, but he wanted to be the person that would allow you to let your guard down. And he is. If Bucky even captures the slightest sign of you faltering or stumbling, he’ll make sure he is just within reach in case you need him to fall into. Literally and figuratively. Like your safe haven.

And sometimes a look was enough. He didn’t even have to smile at you – thank God he didn’t – but sometimes you would frantically look around and your eyes would fall on Bucky (after he swiftly inserted himself into your sight) and your shoulders would sag. You’d give him a tight smile and return to your task with your mind at ease. He sometimes chuckled at just how easy it was to make you relax.

But never would Bucky admit that he needs to see that look of ease on your face or he will crumble and fall into a pit of disfunction. He doesn’t want to think about what would happen if something ever were to happen to you. He doesn’t need anyone. He never did. He’s just making sure you’re okay, because you need it.

“Yeah…” you mutter and push to a stand, blinking rapidly to fight the sleep in your body as you ready yourself to make way to your bed.

“I knew you’d be the first to fold!” Thor bellows with a laugh, his story interrupted and everyone turning to you, and you wave him a dismissive hand as you drag your feet over the carpet.

“We can’t all be tireless Gods,” you retort with a little less fire in your voice than you intended, making everyone breathe different octaves of soft laughs.

But you stumble over your feet, or maybe someone else’s, and fall into Steve’s lap with a gasp. He quickly steadies you with broad hands on your waist and Bucky is on his feet instantly. His hands wrap around your shoulders as he steers you away from the group.

“That’s enough outta you. Come on, sweetheart.” Bucky chuckles and you sway lightly as he walks you to your room. Falling face first into your bed, Bucky grimaces at you with a disapproving shake of his head, peeling your shoes off.

“You have got to start making your bed,” he scolds you as you crawl up to the pillows and he throws the duvet over you.

“Just because you’re a neurotic Super Soldier with endless amounts of energy to make your goddamn bed, doesn’t mean you get to judge my life style.” Your grumble is close to incoherent and open your arms wide, “Now shut up and come cuddle.”

“Absolutely not.” He huffs, but you catch onto the sleeve of his blue Henley, pulling him towards the bed. He stumbles and topples over you, giving you a death glare as he raises his face, but you quickly capture him under the blanket and crawl into his side.

You purse your lips to stop the devious smile tugging at them, knowing that a powerful and trained Super Soldier wouldn’t let himself be pulled into a bed by a flimsy piece of fabric, unless he wanted to. So you bury your face into his shoulder and squeeze him as his scents engulfs you, warmth glowing against you like a furnace.

“Such a baby,” you mumble and wait for his stiffness to dissipate, humming softly when he gives in by wrapping his metal arm around your back and stroking his flesh fingers through your hair.

“I hate you,” he grumbles and sinks down, both of you laying in a heap of limbs into the softness of your bed as you finally let the endless depths of your subconscious submerge you.

As long as you’re okay.

…

“You okay, Buck?” you ask with a gentle frown when see him slump from his bathroom with a towel around his neck. He’s wearing simple leisure wear, nothing more than some sweats and a white t shirt and it makes your insides warm with how huggable he looks. Though it seems that if anyone needs the hug, it’s him.

“Yeah. Just a rough few nights.”

“Hmm…” you hum softly and turn on the sofa to face him. “Wanna watch movies tonight instead of trying to fall asleep?”

“All night?”

“Sure. Yeah, why not?”

“You can’t stay up all night…” he drawls, reining in the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You cheer silently at the sight and the first hint of his happiness.

“Sure I can! Oh, come on… I have to defend my honour now. I can easily pull an all-nighter.” You try to sound convincing, but Bucky raises his brows in an unimpressed glare.

“Liar.”

“So, you’re in?” you ask hopefully and you can see the soldier faltering.

“Can’t be worse than staring at my ceiling,” he admits with a shrug and flings the towel to the side before slumping into the sofa next to you. This side of the compound was usually empty around this time, most of the crew having retreated to bed or having settled to hang out in one of the larger common rooms. But Bucky and you enjoyed basking in each others’ silence sometimes, a little further away from the group. Not that you are the silent type. But Bucky doesn’t mind.

“What kind of movies do you like?” you ask him, already flicking through the multiple apps on the TV that could stream your next movie.

“I don’t know,” and he doesn’t really care. He isn’t here to watch a movie, he is here to drag you to bed when you inevitably fall asleep. He’d pretty much watch anything. It’s not that you fall asleep all the time and he is like the babysitter to send you to bed, but he rarely slept the way you could, so he always ended up the last to be awake. Little does Bucky know, you rarely sleep the way you do when Bucky is around.

“What do you mean you ‘don’t know’? Aren’t you supposed to have a list of movies to watch to fit into this century?” you frown up at him, referring to his little culture list in Steve’s old notebook.

“Steve’s book? Yeah, no. That would be a list of my victims,” he tells you dryly and you punch his arm, making him chuckle. You truly are the only one he can joke to about that. He would choke the life out of most people for referring to something so personal, but the traumas that constantly seem to roil and simmer inside of him, quiet down to a quiet lake of emotion whenever you touch upon it. His bones and muscles slacken when you merge gently with his old pains.

“Alright, funny man. What’s it going to be? Action or Disney?”

“Disney? Really?” His brows relax when he looks at you, a stoic look on his face to dare you to get him to watch a Disney movie.

“You know the fairy tale of Rapunzel?” You grin like a fucking child at him and he narrows his stare to stop the alternative from creeping up on his features.

“Yes…” He retreats his face warily as he waits for you to elaborate on your bold choice.

“Oh, you’re going to love Tangled!”

“Isn’t that a kids movie?” He frowns.

“It’s a fucking masterpiece.”

…

“You’re drooling over a cartoon,” he mumbles, eyes still on the screen.

“Flynn is the love of my life. Now shut up,” you spit at him, fumbling a full claw op popcorn from his lap as you watch intently. Bucky’s breath hitches at the faint rumble above his crotch and he scrunches his eyes shut for a moment, deciding to redirect his energy from between his legs to teasing you further.

“You buy into that whole grumpy guy, sunshine girl -bullshit?” he grumbles, judgement clear in his voice as his stare remains on the bright screen.

You turn to him with you mouth hanging open and a stupid heat creeping up your cheeks. How does he know about that? Something that specific…

“How do you…?” you stammer and he gives you an unimpressed glare.

“Read some of your books and saw some shit on the internet.”

“What side on the internet are you on?” you question him further, attention no longer on the animated motion picture. You’ll get back to the book thing, not yet ready to confront him about that. There are more important matters at hand.

“What do you mean?” he feigns a frown with a playful smirk and you narrow your eyes at him suspiciously. This stubborn, innocent and old man would not indulge into modern culture. Surely, not…

“N-never mind…” you mutter after a brief silence. You decide not to even try and explain the different sides of the internet to your friend.

“I’m the sunshine in this relationship, you know,” Bucky mutters after a long silence and you snort a laugh, making him chuckle as soon as he hears your delight.

“Obviously.”

…

Curled up on the sofa, you pull your knees up to your chest, nose buried so far into your book, you can’t see anything but the black words on the worn pages. You should know better than to read this …filth in public, but the chapter snuck up on you and you can’t. stop. reading.

He dropped to his knees, eyes drawn up to watch her as his palms slid up the back of her calves. Slowly, so slowly, his hands glided further and further up until they slipped under the hem of her dress. Fuck – you’ve waited over three-hundred pages for this. His mouth came closer and the pounding between her legs increased with every inch he stole from between them. She remembered his lips. The feel of them on her own. Oh, to feel them somewhere else… doing that thing with his tongue. Her knees nearly buckled, if it weren’t for his stare pinning her down.

“Hey.”

You nearly fling the book to the other side of the smaller common room at the sound of Bucky’s voice and clench your thighs to will the pounding between your own legs to settle down already. But your wide eyes have already been caught by Bucky and his brows are raised with amusement, the crinkles in his face not helping your little situation.

“What are you reading? Didn’t hear me come in?” he asks, slowly walking over and crossing his arms over his chest. He looks like he already knows, his dominant glower at your hunched frame in the corner of the couch challenging you. Lie to me, I dare you, his eyes seem to say as they glitter with mischief.

“No. Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in,” you easily deflect his first question. “You and your trained sneaking methods.”

Closing the book and hiding it in your lap, you swallow hard as if resetting your feelings, the whining disappointment of being interrupted in the middle of that scene.

“What are you reading?” he tries again and you remain your empty gaze on him, thinking so hard of any answer to give him.

“A book.”

“Duh. What kind of book?”

“…Romance.”

“Romance?”

“Yes.”

He stays silent for a moment, his gaze rolling over your features. It isn’t often he allows himself the pleasure of someone else’s discomfort, but it is just too fun with you. And he isn’t stupid. He had to wait in your room once while you were still taking a shower, because you are always so slow when you shower, and he couldn’t help but snoop a little at the time. There was a time he used to enjoy reading a lot, it helped him get more familiar with all the languages he was trained in. Though he had never considered the light and bright storylines that were scattered through your bookcases. Bored, he had leafed through one of them and halted abruptly when his trained eye caught some disturbingly distinct words that he had only seem in a porn site search bar.

So he knows the kind of books you read and has to rein in his wonder at the balls you had for reading that in public, rein in his chuckle because of course you would get a kick out of reading that shit in public. Bucky never thought you were the innocent type, he knows better than that. The dirty nonsense that would leave your mouth after a drink, or when you’re too tired to think of the consequences, told him plenty.

He liked it. Bucky didn’t really allow himself to indulge in fantasies like you could and hadn’t been able to admit to his preferences when you asked him about it those few times. He had done some sexual stuff after returning from Wakanda, but it had always been a bit hasty and vanilla, too uncomfortable for his liking. He silently curses himself, because of course he is uncomfortable. It’s a trait he might never shed, but the things he would do if he could just let loose for once. That thought alone could send his cock skyward.

“You’re reading porn again, aren’t you?” He cocks an eyebrow at you and you let out a nervous laugh, opening your mouth to say something, but deciding against lying in the end.

“Way to expose me, Barnes.” You roll your eyes and he grins widely at you.

“It’s the way you are pressing your legs together that is exposing you, sweetheart,” he taunts, his voice having dropped an octave, and you stiffen at his words. Bucky has never acknowledged anything sexual, even when you so openly talk about it all the time, and it surprises you how natural it sounds rolling off his tongue.

“I wasn’t doing that,” you murmur, a tad shy all of a sudden.

Bucky tilts his head at you. “You telling me you’re not thoroughly turned on right now?”

“Bucky!”

“Oh, come on! Indulge me,” he nudges your knee with his metal hand and it shoots electricity up the limb to flutter in your belly. “Read it to me.”

“What?”

“Show me what the hype of written porn is about.” He shrugs and leans sideways against the back of the sofa, crossing his arms over his chest. “I can’t imagine it is better than watching it on video.”

He’s lying. Bucky likes porn as much as most men, but it is a quick fix. He can definitely see the appeal in dragging out the build up and reading from someone’s point of view. But admitting that wouldn’t get you all squirmy and uncomfortable and he finds he quite likes to tease you about this stuff. You always tease him, why not return the favour?

“Absolutely not,” you breathe.

“Pussy.”

“Bucky, I am not reading porn to you, are you insane?!”

But Bucky has already noticed your determined answer and he is too impatient to play this out a bit longer, so he quickly snatches the book from your hold and dives off the sofa, almost roaring a laugh at the impossibly slow response time you have to his actions.

Opening the book to the last page you ended on, he increases the distance between you as his eyes search the words. “She remembered his lips. The feel of them on her own. Oh, to feel them somewhere else… doing that thing with his tongue. Her knees nearly buckled, if it weren’t for his stare pinning her down,” he starts, his voice husky as he reads. “His eyes darkened as they finally landed on her throbbing, warm, aching –”

“Bucky!”

“ –cunt,” he smirks and tries to focus on the words in front of him, even though he suddenly realises who he is picturing as the girl in the book, his brain having latched onto the first person in his thoughts. “She felt as if she might pass out when she felt the fiery trail that the tip of his tongue traced up her bare thigh. So slow, so painfully slow. She couldn’t help the pulsating wave contracting her weeping pussy, another when he dragged his index finger through her folds.” Fuck, this fucking book. “His cock twitched at the feeling of her and the simple sound of the hitch in her breath. He couldn’t help but dip his finger in slightly. Just to test the waters, feel her around his digit. Scorching hot and fluttering with need…” Bucky drifts off.

“Bucky, please stop?” You ask him and his eyes, dark and heavy, snap to your frame on the couch. Your voice has dropped significantly and Bucky can’t help but notice the strangeness in your tone, pleading him to stop reading. Not because you’re embarrassed, no, but because it was turning you on.

And Bucky can’t help but let his nostrils flare as he inhales deeply, the air around him thick with your arousal. He can’t possibly make the distinction of whether you are turned on by the book, or by him, but he finds himself slowly caring less. Something tugs at him again. In his chest, his belly, his cock.

You’re uncomfortable. Horny and uncomfortable, aching and needy. He can read it on your face. And Bucky’s protective instinct can’t help but instantly want to make sure you’re feeling better. As opposed to the normal situations, a back rub, a nap, or a glass of water won’t help you this time.

And there you are. This wonderful, comfortable, beautiful person. Always teasing him, making his life better by making it worse. And something he hasn’t realised until now, a person who is completely and utterly… sexy. That sparkle in your eyes, those fleshy thighs, your lips, your hair, your everything. And your mind, especially. How it takes his body nothing to instantly respond to you, like an answer to your call.

Right now, you are calling again. Calling for pleasure and relief. Bucky’s legs stiffen to stop him from marching over and answering that call like he answers all the others.

“I’ll stop,” he replies stoically, shutting the book gently and walking over to you. He reaches out the book for you to take, but when your hands, albeit hesitantly, wrap around the cover, Bucky doesn’t let go and tugs both your hands to him slightly. “Is that what you want?”

His eyes are piercing into yours and you nod frantically, “Yes, I can’t take you reading any longer.”

He clarifies, “I mean the book. The scene – is that what you want?”

Your brows pull together and you search his face, disappointed to be unable to read it. “To have someone eat me out? Yeah… I can’t say I would mind it.”

Those words, followed by your breathy chuckle has Bucky’s fingers curl until his nails dig into the cover of the book. You talked about sex with him sometimes, but to hear you name such a filthy and delicious act so plainly? He doesn’t know how much more he can take. Is that what you felt when you heard him read? Because he will read you a bedtime story every night if this is how it makes you feel.

Bucky reluctantly lets go of the book and takes a seat on the other side of the sofa, running his hand through his hair as he takes a deep breath.

“Then why not go and get it?” he asks, staring ahead even if he feels your eyes burn into his side.

“No one will live up to the expectations of a book, Bucky,” you sigh and Bucky hates his name on your lips like that. Filled with disappointment. Absolutely hates it.

“Sure they do,” he shrugs and finally decides to face you, “all you need is that build-up.”

You swallow hard and your chest freezes with an inhale. “A build-up?”

“Yes,” he hums. “Those three-hundred pages of tension, a little teasing, some dirty talk…”

You roll your eyes with a low laugh. “Right. How realistic of you, Bucky.”

He likes that tone a lot more. His name from your mouth like that. Like he might be one of your favourite people. “Easy to get, sweetheart. We have a whole lot more than three-hundred pages under our belt.”

The nickname and the simple insinuation of his words make you curl up tighter in the cushions. You do. You have plenty of build-up. Plenty of teasing and tension, as far as you are concerned. But you never considered your friend to have experienced the same thing. You felt like a burden to him, always seeking him out and him grumbling as he helped you. But you could endlessly wonder. Or you could ask. Who is he to be putting you on the spot?

“What are you suggesting, Bucky?” you ask, even daring to sit up and lean in closer slightly. You should have expected him to not recoil too easily though. He wouldn’t even show you a weakness, despite your close relationship. No, he would lean into whatever you would give him.

“I think you know what it is I’m suggesting.”

You leap. Fuck it. “Say it.”

“You really want me to say it out loud?”

“Would I be reading books if I didn’t?”

He laughs at that, his lids lowering when his gaze narrows back in on you. His hand, draped over the back of the couch, is so close to your shoulder. He licks his lips.

“Say it,” you repeat.

“I’m suggesting,” he drawls, his voice having deepened, “that you spread your legs for me.”

You can’t believe it. Can’t believe he just said that. And how it sounded so natural, something you never expected. But you swallow the primitive response to his words that has your whole body reeling. You will play his part. You will find out just how far Bucky is willing to take his bluff. Sure, you had well over three-hundred pages of foreplay, but also well over three-hundred pages of trust to shatter with one stupid decision. However, you cannot currently find one good reason – not a single one – not to risk it all for him.

So you spread your legs for him.

His eyes widen slightly, an outside power pulling his sight down to the very core that you’ve exposed to him. He didn’t think it was possible, but his mouth waters, the absence of your taste on his lips grating his nerves. He drags his eyes back to yours, only to see you surveying him closely.

“Everyone is out. If I do this…” his voice is low and descends into a rasp.

“No going back,” you finish for him.

“I don’t want to go back.” There is no mistaking his words, his tone clear.

“Me neither.”

“Tell me,” he orders, his warm palms wrapping around your ankles, his thumbs stroking the skin of your shins. Even the metal is warm. Your breathing deepens and becomes heavier.

“I don’t want to go back,” you say. “I want this.”

“What? What do you want?” he asks, surely testing how far you’ll be willing to go with your confessions. You stay quiet, your eyes peering down into his as his hands slowly stroke up your spread legs, his fingertips grazing underneath the fabric of your shorts. “You want my tongue between your legs?”

Your pussy convulses at his words and you swallow hard. Fucking hell.

“Bucky.” It’s a whisper.

“I bet that book warmed you up for me, didn’t it?” he croons and you nod stiffly. “I wonder if it’s enough. I wonder if I need to spread you open a bit further.” His thumbs dig into inside of your upper thighs, spreading you open more. You pulse in answer, your chest rising and falling deeply.

“Why don’t you try and find out?”

Bucky snickers softly, shaking his head slightly in disbelief. “And there I was, thinking you’d be innocent.”

“You never thought I was innocent,” you breathe, the circling of his thumbs against your skin distracting you. More slick gathers between your legs and you wonder if Bucky can spot it through your shorts.

“Let’s just say I never thought I’d get to see this side of you,” he answers and licks his lips with his eyes burning into your warm skin. His fingers start peeling at the fabric and you wiggle your hips impatiently, ready to raise them and serve him.

“You severely underestimate yourself.” Your voice is quieter, more serious. You hope he can decode your vague confession. How much he means to you, how there is no one more worthy to speak to you like Bucky does, no one you could want more.

He stays quiet at that, however, his eyes raising to yours. His stare remains impassive, his eyes darting between yours as if trying to find something. But you stare back just as hard, unflinching, unfaltering. Something flashes across his face, a determination of some sorts, and he gives a quick nudge upward with his chin. An order. Raise your hips.

Serve me.

Your breath halts in your throat while you do as you’re told, lifting your hips as Bucky slowly peels your shorts off, your panties right along with them. Heart pounding at the relentless vulnerability of being naked before him, you stiffen. He twists you by his grip on your thighs, leaning you back against the back rest of the sofa and kneeling down between your bare legs. His eyes are on you.

“I have to warn you,” he starts and you gape at him, expecting some cocky remark that will make you roll your eyes at him. “If we do this – if you let me between your legs – it will not be the one time. I will be coming back for seconds and you will be coming, too. A lot. Tonight. Tomorrow. A week from now. This is it.”

You swallow hard, your eyes wide and frozen onto his relentlessly handsome face. He isn’t joking. In fact, you don’t think you have ever seen him this serious before. And for Bucky, that is saying something. But for him to admit something like that, hint towards borderline addiction when it comes to pleasing you – it does things to your heart and pussy that you cannot describe.

“Kiss me first,” you tell him. You need to kiss him first.

Bucky smiles – smiles – and lifts up on his knees, cupping your neck and pulling you forward instantly, giving you no time to come back from your request. When his lips touch yours, you let out a tiny gasp, the feeling of his lips against you making your chest lurch and your brain scream. His lips part and you moan softly into the kiss when your tongues meet, the strawberry texture of it making you want to whine. Instead, your hands grasp the collar of his shirt and pull him closer. He hums contently against you and both your breathing becomes more laboured.

Bucky pulls back a few times before diving back in, dragging his teeth over your lips and teasing you with the absence of him. Until you are a wet and throbbing mess between your legs. It is when you start wriggling in your seat, that Bucky chuckles and pulls back a final time.

“Getting a bit antsy?” he asks, his hands stroking your thighs as he sits back on his knees.

“Over three-hundred pages, Bucky…” you remind him.

He smiles again and pushes your knees apart once more, leaning forward as his lips press against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. You lean back and watch him closely, your attention solely focused on the rugged man between your legs.

His thumb starts to slowly rub over your clit and you gasp at the touch, it somehow feeling incredibly unnatural to have Bucky in that position. It being his touch that is causing you so much pleasure – and pain. God, you’re throbbing painfully now and you cannot help the whine squeaking from your lips.

“Shh, I know. I’ll get to it.”

It does make you relax, his words and his tone, and you make yourself sink into the couch, your hands reaching down to run through his hair. He smirks and locks his eyes with yours, slowly – so slowly – leaning down to replace his thumb with his mouth. And you can’t help the heavenly sigh that spills from you when it finally makes contact with your aching core.

“Oh Bucky,” you moan and tug softly on his hair as you throw your head back. He’s there in seconds, bringing you to that long-awaited peak. Apparently, you don’t need much when it comes to Bucky, the man himself being foreplay enough for you to launch towards release.

“Mhm,” he hums, “that’s it. That’s good.”

The warmth of his tongue is making you shiver, the slurping sounds coming from between your legs making you squeeze your eyes shut and throw your head back. If only to focus on holding out, on not drenching his face. It’s sinful, the protective, passive and gorgeous Bucky Barnes on his knees for you. Capable of destruction and so much violence, unrelenting towards everyone and a grump in his social life – but he’s on his knees for you.

Your moans and words of encouragement are growing incoherent, your belly tightening as Bucky hauls you closer to avoid any distance between your drenched pussy and his mouth. He’s slow, meticulous and ravenous as he eats you, his fingers rolling into your flesh as if he’s savouring every place where he’s touching you.

He is.

It’s unreal, to have such a beautiful woman above him, moaning and panting and grabbing at him while he does something he enjoys so much. His mouth won’t stop watering. God, he’s addicted. He has to remind himself to breathe when his tongue is desperate to make the pitch of your voice raise, get you to your release. He has to know what it is like to see you come, feel you come, hear you come – taste your come.

He needs you, he needs you, he needs you.

Then his finger gently traces the inside of your entrance, wiggling around to spread you open, and you start choking on your moans, your breaths sounding outright painful and your fingers curling around his wrist and into the cushion below you.

“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky!”

He hums and wraps his lips around your clit once more, rolling it into his mouth and flicking his tongue over it. And you crash, the tightness in your body coming to a high before every muscle and tendon snaps into pure euphoria. You buck and roll your hips into Bucky’s mouth, riding the waves of your orgasm with breathy, raspy moans that make Bucky’s eyes roll to the back of his head.

Violent tremors rack through your body as you come down and Bucky ceases his assault on your pussy, which is still pulsating heavily from the warm orgasm that seeps from your body. You finally open your eyes, looking at a Bucky who is completely alert and satisfied.

“Tomorrow,” he licks his lips clean, eyes shimmering with delight, “you’re going to read that chapter to me. And you’re going to sit on my face while you do so. If you manage to keep reading, I’ll make sure you keep coming.”

As long as you’re okay.

And maybe a bit better than okay.

A Million Reasons - Masterlist

Pairing: College!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes, with all of his trust fund money and family connections, gets assigned community service. You, as someone that’s technically part of the community, now have to put up with him. Every day. And he won’t stop killing your plants.

Warnings: Enemies (annoyance) to lovers, Bucky’s old money at an ivy league, angst, minor injury, drinking, eventual smut (minors dni, marked **)

a/n: Hello! I’ve decided there won’t be a set posting day for this series. This is something I’ve been super excited to share (even with my writing steam dying out) and I want to get it out here without extra pressure. I’ll be adding the dates for upcoming chapters as they are ready :) And thank you @traitorjoelite​ for that second, beautiful moodboard 🤍

♡ Series playlist 🪴

Keep reading

A Million Reasons - Masterlist

Pairing: College!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes, with all of his trust fund money and family connections, gets assigned community service. You, as someone that’s technically part of the community, now have to put up with him. Every day. And he won’t stop killing your plants.

Warnings: Enemies (annoyance) to lovers, Bucky’s old money at an ivy league, angst, minor injury, drinking, eventual smut (minors dni, marked **)

a/n: Hello! I’ve decided there won’t be a set posting day for this series. This is something I’ve been super excited to share (even with my writing steam dying out) and I want to get it out here without extra pressure. I’ll be adding the dates for upcoming chapters as they are ready :) And thank you @traitorjoelite​ for that second, beautiful moodboard 🤍

♡ Series playlist 🪴

Keep reading

Hold My Girl

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: Bucky comes home from a mission and needs time to hold his girl.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: So much fluff in Bucky’s pov <3

a/n: I love feedback!! Please let me know what you think, it gives me motivation to write more :) Got lotsss of inspo from the song ‘Hold My Girl’ by George Ezra.

Masterlist

~~

Fall was a finicky season. 

One day hot, the next a damp, dim breeze, the weeks that made up November were a myriad of change. You could smell it in the air and see it in the way the cars drove. Buildings kept their lights on longer, people walked slower; everything felt as if it were in limbo, waiting for the semblance of normality that would blanket the city when the sun finally left and took its morsels of warmth along with it. 

In your apartment, the change wasn’t as obvious. 

White sheets still glowed with pale light each morning. Plates still made crisp, ringing sounds each night—hot ceramic, straight from the dishwasher because Bucky couldn’t stand when they sat in there for too long. Footsteps echoed in the stairwell by the elevator. Laughs were low and plentiful, just murmurs drifting through warm vents when the moon was high. 

Keep reading

Discordant

Summary: When you risk your own life to save Matt's, he gets (very) angry with you. 

Pairing: Matt x fem!reader

Warnings: Sex trafficking, use of swearing, violence, misogyny, descriptions of blood

The sheets were abnormally cold. 

Half-asleep, you stretched your legs out, searching for the warmth that was Matt. Sometimes he rolled over away from you in his sleep, and then you'd have to shift yourself and your pillow closer to him unless you wanted to shiver all night. But he wasn't there. Blearily you checked your phone and squinted as you turned the brightness down as far as it could go.

It was almost three in the morning, and while Matt was nearly always home at this time, it wasn't impossible for him to still be out. What jarred you was the text notification that you had from him:

On my way back now.

It was his way of giving you peace of mind; you insisted that he always text you when he was on his way home so that you'd know something was wrong if he was out late and there was no text. 

But the text you had received tonight was sent an hour ago, and Matt should have returned long before now. Still, this didn't lead to a nefarious conclusion for certain, because if he couldn't sleep you'd find him reading over a case in the living room sometimes, the lighting nonexistent save for the neon swirls emanating from the billboard. Or, other times, he'd be on the roof, wearing a sweatshirt and just listening to the city. 

Sleepily you climbed out of bed and pulled on your flannel pajama bottoms. You were wearing Matt's tee shirt and it smelled like clean laundry detergent. You almost hoped he was on the roof tonight; you wouldn't mind sitting up there with him and looking out over the city. When you came into the living room to find it empty, you made your way up to the roof, slowly waking up as you ascended the stairs. 

But the roof was empty, and only then did your stomach plummet. He wasn't back. He never made it back, even though he'd said he was on his way. Dread twisted inside of you; even if something innocent had delayed him, he would have texted you a second update, letting you know that he wasn't actually going to be back soon. You tried calling but it went straight to voicemail. Calling the police was out of the question; Matt would never forgive you if his identity was compromised. 

Not that his identity would matter much if he was dead.

Where had he gone tonight? He'd mentioned to you over dinner that he was going to be investigating a sex trafficking circle... but where? DeWitt Park? But that felt wrong to you — no, that was where he had been the night before. It might have been the water. That sounded familiar. 

42nd Street, Matt had mentioned. Or had it been 52nd? Or it was 46th. Each number sounded equally likely. But there was no time to waste, so you landed on 42nd just because that was the first address you had thought of and it was closer to Matt's apartment. You slipped on your sneakers and a light jacket, and then slipped out the door into the night. 

It was much colder out than you were expecting. How on earth did Matt come out here, all year, wearing nothing but a hard suit? You scrunched your arms around yourself as you hurried down the sidewalk, praying that none of the criminals Matt took down regularly saw you, alone, in the street. The only saving grace was that you were still wearing the baggy flannel pajama bottoms and Matt's tee, so you weren't exactly dressed as though you were going to a gala; still, you found yourself glancing over your shoulder every minute or so. A siren shrieked in the distance, and you flinched as the echo of a man shouting in the alleyway resounded next to you, hurrying past as quickly as you could. 

Out of desperation, you pulled out your phone and tried calling Matt's burner again, but to your shock, there was a fuzzy sound on the other end as the call was picked up. 

"Hello?" you demanded. "Where are you?"

"I think a more appropriate question would be who are you?"

The voice on the other end was not Matt's, and you froze in your tracks. "Why do you have this phone?" you asked, choosing your words carefully for fear of giving away Matt's identity. Had you said his name when the call first went through? You already couldn't remember. 

"Well, we're not going to get anywhere just asking questions, are we?" the voice responded. "I'm Hugh, by the way. And you are...?"

"Coming to bust whatever operation you have going on," you said, trying to channel that cool confidence that you'd seen the Avengers use in clips online you'd watched of them (in your defense, who didn't watch recordings of the Avengers in action and wonder what they would do in their position?). "So I'd recommend listening carefully. That phone doesn't belong to you. Unless you release its owner now, you will seriously regret it. I mean it, dude." You were shaking as you spoke, not from anger but from fear, and felt immensely lucky that this wasn't a face-to-face conversation you were having. 

The voice on the other end tutted. "You're out of your mind if you think you have any chance of even getting in here, girl. Now stop calling this number and let me and my men get on with our business."

"Wrong answer. See, I'm an Avenger." You created the fabrication as you spoke, saying whatever popped into your head first. "They call me Thorn. Ever heard of me?"

"There's no fucking Avenger called Thorn."

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that. You haven't heard of me because anyone that's ever encountered me hasn't lived to tell the tale. There's a reason they call me Thorn, Hugh."

In the background you could faintly hear a familiar voice, and your heart jumped into your throat as you realized it was Matt. You couldn't hear what he was saying, but he sounded pissed. 

And if you could slightly hear him, then there was no doubt that he could hear you. 

"Listen up, douchebag dude. Yeah, I'm talking to you, dumb donkey," you said, a bit more loudly, desperately hoping that Matt would understand you were directing your words to him. Double D, Matt, get it? "I'll be there in — uh — eighteen hours, so this is your warning. Shout if you want me to call the cops, and we'll make this nice and easy. Right now. Shout if you want me to call the cops and I'll be dialing 911 as soon as you want."

There was a pause on the other end as Hugh likely interpreted the campiness of your threat. More important was the dead silence in the background; Matt had stopped speaking entirely. 

Damn it. You'd been hoping that he'd let you call the cops; it would have made things easier. "Alrighty, then. Feel my wrath in... awhile."

In reality you were only one minute out from the wharf, but the last thing you wanted was for them to jack up their security right before you got there. 

There was a warehouse right next to the wharf, by a rundown parking lot where three black cars were parked. Though its windows were broken and the exterior decrepit, you could see a few lights on inside the warehouse. Two tall men stood inside, next to a small door on the wall adjacent to the entrance, as though guarding it. Bingo. 

The next step was actually getting in. It was unnerving that Matt did this sort of thing every single night because you didn't even know where to start, except for sneak in find Matt save Matt run. Only then did you realize you'd only brought your phone and nothing else, not even the butter knife that had been right out on the counter next to you when you'd left the apartment. You cursed your own stupidity and searched yourself for anything that you could use as a weapon, but unless the men in there were scared of pajamas, you were going in empty-handed. 

Your identity would be an issue, too. Fortunately, you found an old crumpled face mask in your pajama pocket; it would have to do. 

"Um, okay," you whispered, pulling the face mask up to your nose. "Matt, not sure if you're within range to hear me right now, but I'm outside the warehouse. And I'm going to make a diversion, uh... somehow." You looked around you for inspiration and your eyes landed on a fist-sized rock sitting in the crumbling pavement of the lot. Rudimentary, but effective. It only took a massive hoist that nearly pulled a muscle in your arm to sling the rock through the window of the black car nearest to you — hopefully that's one of theirs and not someone else's — and gape, open-mouthed, as the window shattered like an eggshell. Immediately the car alarm began to wail, and you dashed off in the other direction, your sneakers slapping the pavement of the lot. 

The sound of the warehouse door opening and closing as the men exited to investigate nearly gave you a heart attack and you rounded the corner of the warehouse just in time. You didn't dare use the front entrance, for fear that they would see you, let alone hear the sound of the door, so you vaulted through the broken window and only sustained a small cut to the side of your arm and the bottom of your palm. 

If Matt wasn't in this small room, then you didn't know what your next move would be, but you just about passed out with relief when you flung open the door and saw Matt, still in his suit and chained up to a post in the room. All of the adrenaline felt as though it were rushing to your head and you had to restrain every fiber in your being from simply running to him and hugging him. 

"We probably only have a minute or so," you reported. Your eyes fell on a desk that was unnecessarily large, but would be a good block for the door, at least until Matt could be freed. "Well — two minutes if I could just move this stupid desk in front of the door—" You gritted your teeth and shoved the offending furniture as hard as you could. It budged only slightly, and scraped loudly as it slowly shifted to block the entrance. "Nice. Maybe three minutes." You turned to Matt, hands on hips. "How'd I do?"

It wasn't as though you were expecting him to be smiling or anything — obviously you'd be in a bad mood if you'd been kidnapped, too. But the look on the lower half of his jaw was so tense that you didn't even want to know what the upper half looked like. "Key is on the wall," he said shortly. "Hurry, they're already coming back."

"Hurry is my middle name. Actually, it's Lightning McQueen," you told him, grabbing the keys and kneeling to unlock the chains. Matt's body was warm and you could practically feel the heat radiating off of him through the suit. You fought another irrational urge to just grab his hand and squeeze it, and focused on grappling with the lock. It was one of those keychains that had five or six keys on it, and if not for the dire situation, you would have laughed at how comically cliched this was. 

Already the men were pounding at the door. You looked up nervously, seeing it shake and shift forward a centimeter. 

"Y/N, you have to move fast," Matt said, his voice somehow even more firm, and it was the startling note of austerity that you never usually received from him that cleared the trembling in your hands. Blood was streaking down your arm, you noticed, and you wiped it away, uncomfortably aware that Matt probably could smell it the moment you got cut.

There was another bang and this time, the door slid open six more inches.

"Shit!" you yelped, digging the fifth key into the lock. It still wasn't a fit, and it didn't help that there was now a face sticking through the crack, red and bellowing. 

"You bitch!" he yelled. "When we get in here, I'm gonna tear you apart!"

Focus, focus, focus. You squeezed the last key in, but didn't have time to turn it; the man in the front finally kicked his way in. Like a flash he was on top of you, shoving your back into the wall. "Hey, bitch. Thought you could sneak in here like this?"

I did sneak in here like this. You forewent the comeback, feeling that it wouldn't be very tactful. "I — I just—"

The other man entered. Immediately you knew that he was Hugh; his disposition was that of a leader and he was much calmer than the red-faced man. "She'll do well, actually," he observed. "I know of a few people who would pay for her."

You swallowed hard, averting your eyes. "I'm warning you again. Unless you... unless you want to die by a thousand thorns poking through your eyeballs and throat, then you'd be wise to not provoke me—"

"Thorn," Hugh snorted. "Can't believe I trusted you for a minute, there." His eyes trailed down your tee shirt and pajama bottoms. "I'll call the boss. He'll know what—"

Thwack. There was a sickening crack as Matt kicked Hugh in the head with an admiral flip through the air, and within a matter of seconds the man pinning you to the wall dropped too. Sagging with relief, you nearly fell into Matt's arms, letting his strength absorb the fear that you hadn't even realized was electric in every single one of your nerves, holding at him like he was a lifeline—

"We need to go, now."

"But... they're knocked out, right?"

Matt's mouth twisted. "There's more of them. They'll be showing up in a truck within a couple minutes. That's how I got taken down — there were too many of them." He grabbed your arm and hurried you forward, running at a speed that you could hardly keep up with if he hadn' t been half-dragging you. Together, you left the warehouse and continued down the street, staying at the same pace with Matt staying utterly silent the whole way. By the time he finally slowed — apparently judging the area to be safe — you were so out of breath that it was embarrassing, and you tried to stifle the air that you were gasping for to no avail. Certain that he'd make fun of you, or at least thank you for going into that stupid warehouse, you didn't speak either, but still he didn't engage in any conversation. Never had you felt so uncomfortable next to him as you did during the entire walk back to the apartment. 

The sun was beginning to rise when you entered the apartment. Exhaustion tugged at your eyes, but you forced yourself to stay as awake as you could. Matt peeled off his helmet, and his hair stuck up at every angle as he paced into the kitchen, still wearing the rest of his suit. 

"So," you said finally, trying to smile at him. "How'd you like my alias? Thorn is kind of cool, right? Maybe I'll even sketch out a costume—"

"Y/N. Not now."

You wet your lips as Matt leaned forward onto the counter, his head hanging towards the floor. "I don't understand. Why are you mad at me?"

"Why am I mad at you?" His head lifted, and for the first time since the evening before you got a full look at his face, incredulous and perturbed. "You risked your life tonight, wearing nothing but pajamas and a tee shirt."

"Well, next time I'll be sure to change into my strapless dress first," you deadpanned. "Look. I panicked, I tried my best. And we're both here and okay, right?"

"It was dumb luck, Y/N. Dumb luck that I was able to twist the key and dumb luck that you didn't get sex trafficked or shot right where you stood. Never again will you ever do that, do you hear me?" he said, lifting a finger and pointing it at you, and it was that motion alone that put you over the edge. 

"Don't act as though you can tell me what to do," you said, stung. "It was my choice and I chose to save you. I knew the risks, I—"

"You knew the risks? That's why you came prepared with something for self defense, right?" His tone switched to that of mockery. 

"Maybe if you let me come with you more often, then I'd've been prepared, and I would've brought a knife with me."

"Let you come with me? Do you not understand the danger out there, on the street? It's not a game, Y/N. I don't go out there for fun at night. If you think that it would be okay for me to just take you out there, where you could get injured or worse—"

"That's not fair, Matt."

"It wouldn't be very fair if tonight you died because of me. How do you think I would feel if something had happened to you?"

"And what if something happened to you?" you shouted. "You think I'd live merrily here, knowing that you got hurt and I didn't do anything to try to save you? Of course I had to do something."

"I never said that you had to just sit here! Come on, Y/N, you had a hundred other options to choose from, and all you could think of was calling the police? My phone was here — you could have called Luke, or Danny, or Jessica — hell, even Frank would've picked up the phone and helped out, but—"

"Oh, so it's okay for Jessica to help you, but not me," you said, seething. "You'd be fine if it was her running in there to save you, but you don't trust me enough to—"

"It has nothing to do with trust, don't be ridiculous. Jessica's got powers, you don't. Don't make this into something else."

"I'm not! I'm just saying, if you're going to bring up a whole laundry list of other people you'd rather have seen than me, then you might as well just go hang out with them and not me — sorry I don't have super strength, super hearing, or a glowing fist, or — I don't know, an unbridled yearning to kill people—"

"You're missing the point!" Matt's voice had risen to a shout as well, and it was alarming as it was infuriating. He stepped forward, hands clenched in the gloves of the suit. You could see traces of blood on the outside and hoped it wasn't his. "Everything you did was reckless and there was nothing I could do to stop you. That's why I'm pissed, Y/N, because you made poor decision after poor decision, and I couldn't be there to stop you!"

"Don't you dare call it a poor decision."

In response, Matt slapped the top of the table and spun around, spine rigid and back tense. 

You ran your hands through your hair. Tears were welling, unbidden, in the corners of your eyes, and you wiped aggressively at them. "I don't even know what to say to you right now, Matt. I wish you could see things my way. I wish you could acknowledge that I tried, and thank me, and not make me feel like shit for doing what I thought was right."

He didn't answer. You ignored the headache that was beginning to drum in the back of your head and went into the bathroom. Angrily you turned on the hot water and lathered soap in your hands, entirely forgetting about the massive cut on your palm — it was buried in enough sticky, dark blood clots that you couldn't even see it — and cried out when the water rushed into the open cut. It stung red-hot, burning enough that the tears came back into your eyes and you didn't even notice Matt was at your side until his hand rested gently on your forearm. 

"Can I help?" he asked, and you nodded, the tears spilling uncontrollably now. Gently he cleaned out the cut on both your palm and arm, and bandaged them up with dextrous fingers well-practiced in first aid. After he finished, he wordlessly left the bathroom, either to give you space or because he needed space himself. You didn't say anything either and opted to get into the shower, unable to bear the taut air between you.

You'd make up. You knew you would. Because that was the source of the argument, wasn't it — that you cared about one another too much? But for now, with Matt's stoic silence, you had never felt colder inside, and you let the tears fall in the shower as they mingled with residual blood from your hands. 

CONGRATS ON 2K!!! i’m so happy for you. here’s a cookie for you, you deserve it 🍪

💃 prompt 5&6 for everyone’s favourite mass murderer - frank castle. thank youu <3<3<3

— 🍪 received. with love. thank you so much for your request omg. number 6 is SUCH a frank thing like exactly a line i would write for him. hope you like this one!!

— prompts:

💃 5. mm. your warm

💃 6. no— no. it’s alright. come here

— warnings: swearing.

[grippingbeskar’s 2k night out celebration!]

“I didn’t know where else to go.” You stand at his door, dripping rainwater on his very small doorstep. Frank looks at you, wearing nothing but his boxers, with a slightly confused look on his face.

It was true. You had no where else to go. You’d been kicked out of your old apartment, and the place you were staying… well, it wasn’t actually yours, and unfortunately the very rich and very angry owners of the house had made an unexpected trip home.

They, obviously, called the police, which you didn’t want to stick around for, running in the pouring rain to the first place you could think of going. Franks house.

Your relationship was… complicated at best. Most of the time you hated each other, but the few times your interests had aligned, you worked better together than anyone you had teamed up with before. Not to mention Frank Castle stirred up feelings in you that you hadn’t felt in a long time, ones you weren’t sure you even still had.

He doesn’t say anything, just stands aside and lets you walk through the doorway, locking it behind you. He disappears into another room, and you try to minimise how much water you drip onto his floor, shuffling out of your shorts and jumper. He’d sewn you up more times than you could count, so being exposed around him wasn’t really something that made you feel anything.

What did make you freeze up was when he came back into the room, the look in his eyes and the way he watched you take the towel and clothes he had brought you, and how you felt his eyes burning holes in your figure.

He turned around to let you dry off, and only when he wasn’t looking at you did he talk.

“You must be desperate. Comin’ here.” You scoff, trying to ring out your hair before sliding a sweater over your body. It smelt like him— his cologne mixed with something sharp and metallic.

“Don’t have a lot of time to make friends, thanks to you.” He had brought you a pair of sweatpants, knowing you’d be freezing, but even the added warmth didn’t stop you from shivering. Frank turned around, hearing you swear at how your teeth were chattering together. “I’m freezing.”

“There’s a uh—fireplace. In my room.” You were already moving, too fucking cold to worry about how he’d practically just invited you to his bed.

His room was small, but there was a lit fireplace surrounded by brick. It was pretty, sure, but also a testament to how old the building was. You wondered why he’d never bothered to move someplace nicer. He could certainly afford it now. At least move to a place built this century.

You sat yourself on the edge of his bed, that was just close enough to the fire to thaw you out. You were still shivering, and you hadn’t taken your eyes off the fire long enough to notice Frank walking in, let alone sitting down next to you. Your body moved towards him when the mattress dips to his weight, and you do nothing to stop it.

“I’ll b-be out s-s-soon. Fucking rain j-just…” Your eyes close, trying to focus on stopping yourself from shivering so hard. It was almost exhausting— now you’re out of the rain you can feel how ice-cold it was, chilling you to the bone.

“You’re fine. Not like I got any plans either. Thanks to you.” Your teeth stop banging together long enough to scoff a little. You had both been making a dent in the FBI’s most wanted list, this being a time when your interests seemed to match up.

When he shuffles on the bed next to you, you can almost feel how warm he is through the small distance. His bed is messy from where he’s jumped out of it when you banged on his door, and you are fucking freezing—

You lean into him, your cheek brushing against his shoulder. The sudden contact makes you jerk back, despite how much you need to be close to him. Need him— no, not him. His body heat. You have to remind yourself of that.

“S-sorry.” You whisper, hardly audible above the crackling of fire.

“No— no. It’s alright. Come here.” He moves closer, wrapping his arms around you. His hands cling to you, rubbing along your arm trying to get the feeling to come back to them.

Abandoning any remaining pride, you lean into him again, this time falling into the hard lines of his chest, bringing your legs up and over his so he was practically holding you.

He turns around, keeping one arm holding you, and twists back with a blanket. It’s big and soft, and smells like the jumper he gave you when he wraps it around your shivering body.

“Better?” You nod quickly, afraid to move and lose any of the warmth you’ve started to retain. You also don’t want to risk having him move. You don’t know why you think that, but you just know your body wants to stay as close to him as possible. “You got anyone you needa call?”

“No one.” He nods above you, understanding.

“New roommates kick you out?”

“They didn’t know they had a roommate, so I guess they h-had a fair response.” Frank laughs quietly, and you turn your face upward, seeing a small smile. “Shut up.”

“You couldn’t just get a hotel room?”

“We aren’t all paid by special agents and veteran benefits.”

“Fair.” His arms tighten around you, feeling you still shaking slightly. You aren’t sure it’s from the cold anymore, with how his hand has slipped under the blanket, holding your waist. “Stay here.”

“What?” You sit up in his arms, and your faces are so close that you nearly whack his head.

“Stay here.” You probably look as confused as he did when you first showed up. “I see you every day. Until this shit blows over, and we’re done, stay here.”

You don’t know why he would be kidding, and his face tells you he’s deadly serious. Stay here. With him. Why the hell would he want that?

You have been nothing but a prick in his side since you moved here, getting in his way when he approached on what you claimed to be your mission. You were the one out of line, but here he was, offering you something like safety. Something you hadn’t had in a long time.

“So you can shove me out in the pouring rain, too?” You can’t look at him now, burying your face in his neck. “Way to kick me when I’m down.”

“No rain. Bed’s small, though.”

“You’ll have to be the little spoon.” Nothing is quiet about the way you both laugh, the silence of his small room filled with the light sound. You feel the hand on your waist let go, only to come back further down, around your hip.

“That a yes?” You look up and roll your eyes, but a small nod answers his question. “Alright.”

Apparently, it was that easy. Frank held you there, as close to the fire as you could get without jumping in it, and when you finally started to return to a normal temperature, you felt him shift under you.

“It okay if we…” He was tired, you could tell, and the look on his face had you moving up the small bed, claiming one of the two pillows he used.

Slowly, he laid down next to you, and you couldn’t bare the distance, pulling him closer as soon as he laid down.

“Mm. You’re warm.” You say into the crook of his neck, and he breathes in deeply, one of his hands running along your spine.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Good for something, at least.” At that, he forces you to spin around, and his body presses against your back while his arm wraps around your chest, keeping you bundled in the blankets and him.

“Go to sleep.” His lips brush against the back of your neck, and you can feel his smile when he talks. The intimate gesture sends all the heat you would ever need flooding your veins, and you fall into unconscious at the sound of his breathing.

#holy shit this went from wholesome to hot real quick

Puppy Love

A Dean Winchester x Reader One-Shot

Summary:  Imagine a witch turning Dean into a dog, and him being really affectionate towards you and sleeping in your bed, but the spell wears off in the middle of the night and you wake up cuddling with Dean.

Rating: Mature

Word Count: ~2,600

You were sitting at a table in the bunker’s library when you heard the front door open, then a loud bark. With a furrowed brow, you started to move your chair away from the table when a German Shepherd came bounding toward you and put his front paws up onto your lap.

“Woah,” you said and threw your hands up.

The dog let out another bark and nudged your arm with its snout. It seemed friendly enough, so you lowered your hands and began to pet the dog’s head and neck.

“Where did you come from,” you asked.

Sam walked into the room and stared at the scene in front of him.

“Sam,” you said, “where’d the dog come from?”

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

“That’s not a dog.”

“What?”

“It’s Dean.”

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𝐁𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐖𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐬!

Winchesters & Castiel x Reader

Summary: Guess what Reader?? IT’S YOUR BIRTHDAY! Team Free Will knows it too, and would love to celebrate with you because come on, you’re awesome!

Birthday cake, party hats, Winchester sass. The works. 

Let’s see what happens! :)

▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️

“Dude, you’re gonna drop it!”

“Sammy, if you don’t lay off, then I won’t drop it- I’ll smash it on you.”

“Does everything have to end with violence for you?”

“Only where you’re involved.”

“Sam, Dean. Please calm yourselves. This is a very important task we’re undertaking…”

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Frank Castle deserves to be treated right dammit

y’all know i’m right

It's the fact that frank castle doesn't love himself and he thinks he deserves to be alone for the bad things/actions he did in the past and continues to do but he didn't realize yet that he needs and fucking deserves to be with someone who loves him and appreciate him for what he is. What really strikes me is the concept of found-family that works so well for this character: he found, across his path, a new family (after loosing his real one) and yet he doesn't want to have anyone around him bc he thinks he doesn't deserve it bc in the end is a serial killer, a monster that should be banished and punished for what he's done. He's too evil to deserve amazing people in his life who genuinely cares for him. Even if he decides he's worthy enough to get close to anyone, he doesn't want to get emotionally invested in this. If he let his guard down for a moment, bad things might happen to his new family and he'll be devasted and probably would never recover from that. That's why frank pushes everyone who shows the slightest interest in him (es. karen) away bc he's scared of the person he has become and doesn't want to corrupt the only good thing that has ever happend to him, that is to say karen.

In this essay i will explain why kastle is a metaphor of "the beauty and the beast"...

Untold story of Sam and Bucky (47-?)

insp.