Summary: From the moment you walked into the bar, Jo knew deep in her heart exactly what was going to happen. AKA: You and Dean fall in love as told from a series of moments that Jo sees.
Content warning: Suggestive. Nothing explicit. Kissing. Sharing a bed. Drinking. Explicit language (I think I only used fuck one time!). Mentions of reader being shot and stitched up (does not go into detail).
Word Count: 4k
A/N: I have been thinking about this Dramione fanfic I read awhile back that was from Pansy's POV that was so beautiful and sad. I wish I could find it again, but it was so long ago that I read it. But it had this concept of Pansy watching Draco and Hermione falling in love, and I thought I might give it a try. Maybe, one day, in the future, if I can ever try to imagine Dean with someone other than myself, I might try writing one from the reader's perspective of watching Dean fall in love with someone else, but today ain't that day.
Master list.
AO3.
From the moment you walked into the bar, Jo knew deep in her heart exactly what was going to happen. You walked in with a sparkle in your eyes, a smirk on your lips, and a swing to your hips that had everyone's head turning. Dean's included. And that was when she knew, as Dean's eyes widened before he schooled his face into a calm nonchalance, that there was never going to be a chance for her.
Your eyes glanced around the bar, taking in the atmosphere, the jukebox playing in the background, the smell of spilled beer and cigarette smoke lingering in the air. And your shoulders dropped slightly as you relaxed, like this bar was exactly where you belonged. Like you have many nights in places like this across the country.
You sauntered up to the bartop, sliding onto a stool, thankfully several away from Dean, and Jo turns to you, smile on her face. "What's your poison?"
"Just a beer, please. Whatever you have is fine." You say, smiling back at her. Then Dean slid in the barstool next to you.
"What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?" He asks, wearing a smirk that has gotten him in bed with plenty of girls before.
"What exactly are you insinuating about this place? Or me for that matter." You ask, turning to face him, eyes assessing his features.
Dean's eyes twinkled with amusement. "Just that you are too beautiful for the likes of the customers around here."
You look around the room before focusing on Dean again. "I don't know. Blue shirt over there has potential."
Dean nearly spit takes the drink of beer he was taking. Of course she had to find Sam in the bar. He just hoped Sam wasn't your type. "Yeah, well, that's my brother."
Jo sets a bottle of beer in front of you. You smile, thanking her. You take a long drink, putting the bottle back on the counter.
"Oh? Your brother. So the good looks run in the family?"
"You can thank my dad for that."
You smile. "I just might. What's his name?"
"John. Winchester."
"Winchester?" Your brow raises in recognition. The way you said that made Dean realize there might be more to you than meets the eye.
"You heard of him?" Dean asks.
"I have. Which means you are—"
"Dean."
"Dean." You repeat, and he likes the way his name rolls off your tongue. He wonders how you might say it in a different context. "I've heard about you too."
The smirk that crosses his face is infectious. "All good things, I hope."
"Wouldn't you like to know."
"There is a lot about you I would like to know, including your name."
Giving him your name, you can't help flushing under his gaze. You grab your beer bottle to take another drink, trying to stall for a moment.
He repeats you name to himself before looking around the bar, his eyes landing on the free pool table. "I got an idea. How good are you at pool?"
You shrug, not wanting to let him know you could probably give him a run for his money.
"Are you a gambling girl?"
"Depends. What do you want?"
"A kiss."
"Is that all?"
"For now."
Jo glances up as she wipes the bartop down with a rag. You and Dean are laughing as he leans over the pool table, him winking at you before taking the shot and balls scatter across the table, sinking an impressive number in the pockets. You stand there, leaning against your cue stick as you play the naive girl. And Jo should know, she has played that part too many times to count as she hustles men who think that just because she is a woman that she doesn't know how to whoop their ass at pool or poker.
And Dean is so caught up, trying to show off for you, that he doesn't realize exactly what you are doing. You miss your next shot, biting your lip in concentration, like it is taking all your effort. Jo knows you are just concentrating on making sure you miss the shot, but Dean comes up behind you, correcting your form, body pressed against yours, lips by your ear as he whispers instructions. She pretends not to see you relax against him, adjusting your stance to purposefully press further back into him.
You make the next shot, but it doesn't save you from losing the game. Even if it is purposefully.
"I think it is time for me to collect my reward." Dean says, grinning from ear to ear as he steps closer, one hand sliding to your waist.
You hold up your hand against his chest. "Hold on, cowboy. Double or nothing?"
"You want to lose again?" Dean asks. "You know, if I win again, I'm going to want more than two kisses, sweetheart."
"Too bad, Winchester. Your bet was for a kiss. Double is two kisses."
His hand tightens on your waist, pulling you closer. "We all know where this is going."
"Do we? Pray, tell, where is this going?" You ask, laughing.
"You and me back at my motel room. With a lot less clothes."
"I do love the confidence. And if I say no?"
Dean holds up his hands. "Then I'll back off. But something is telling me you don't want me too."
Your face twists into a smirk at his audacity. But he wasn't exactly wrong. He was charming and handsome as sin. You could do worse than him at the end of the day. Your hesitation to answer him seems to be answer enough for him.
"See? That's what I'm talking about. You want this." Dean continues, stepping closer again as his hands land on your hips.
"Here's the problem. You are too good looking to be good where it counts. Guys that look like you typically disappoint in the bedroom." You counter, as your hands twist in his jacket and you lean your head back to look into his eyes.
Dean's eyes glow with amusement, ducks his head to hover his lips just above yours. "Why don't you take me for a test drive and see for yourself?"
Jo turned away, not wanting to hear anymore of the conversation. And she definitely pretended not to see you leaving with Dean at the end of the night, his arm around your waist like he was already familiar, already claiming you in front of everyone. It wasn't until later that she realized she wasn't sure exactly what you were playing for, or if you had won the next match.
The next time Jo saw you, Dean burst through the door with you and Sam on his heels. She had heard that you had helped the brothers on a few cases, but wasn't expecting you to still be around. Hunters came and went. That was the nature of this line of work. And often people tended to work alone. It was easier that way, considering how hard headed some hunters were, and you could get killed if you were too busy arguing over plans instead of acting.
Sam went off in search of Ash, while you and Dean came right up to the bar.
"Hey, Jo." You smile warmly.
"Hey. Can I get you anything?"
"Couple of beers, please." Dean interjected. "How ya been, Jo?"
She reaches for a couple of bottles, handing them over. "You know. Holding down the fort."
Dean opens his bottle, taking a drink. "We just took care of a vampire nest in Oklahoma."
"Yeah? How did that go?"
Dean starts recounting the story to Jo as you listen in, adding little quips here and there. Until Dean goes into detail about the nest. "You should have seen her, Jo. Like an avenging angel covered in blood. I about fell to my knees in love."
You scoff, smacking his arm. "Oh my god. You are seriously overstating my help."
"You saved my life."
You roll your eyes. "That is an exaggeration. But you are welcome for keeping you from getting hurt."
"I haven't thanked you properly yet."
Your eyes widen at the implication. "Dean!"
"Later." He muses, turning his attention back to Jo. "It was epic."
"I'm sure it was something." Jo says, leaning against the counter.
The way Dean's eyes sparkled when he looked at you. She hadn't seen that look on his face before. And definitely never directed towards her. But that's how he was looking at you. Like you had hung the moon and each and every star in the sky, like you were an aurora borealis and he was utterly mesmerized by you.
Jo excused herself, saying she needed to get something from the back, needing a moment to compose herself before she went back out. Before she had to watch you guys like she wasn't just as captivated by the man who seemed to be consumed by you. And she couldn't blame you for falling under Dean's spell. He could charm the pants off anyone. Hell, he had charmed his way into plenty of skirts across the country. But seeing him equally as charmed by you was new. She wondered how long it would last, or if you would be on your way when the newness wore off.
Over the next few months, Jo got to know you better each time you came into Harvelle's Roadhouse. And try as she might, she couldn't hate you. You were kind, funny, always willing to help out if she needed it. Slowly, over time, you guys became friends, your eyes lighting up whenever you saw her. Pulling her away for 'girl time', as you liked to call it, saying you were tired of being around testosterone all the time.
You thankfully didn't tell her the details of your and Dean's budding relationship. She had a sneaking suspicion that you might suspect of her crush on the older Winchester, but you never pushed anything or made it awkward between the two of you. And you must not have said anything to Dean, because he never mentioned anything to her.
She got to know you too. How you got into hunting when your boyfriend was killed by a rugaru, and you were saved by none other than John Winchester from the same fate. How your family had basically disowned you, calling you crazy when you tried to explain what happened. How you decided you were never going to be caught in a situation that you couldn't get out of again. You poured over lore like it was your full time job, which considering this was now your profession, it kinda was.
But you and Jo bonded over nights of bad karoke, over the fact that you were both young women surrounded by male hunters who thought they knew better, who thought that due to your age and gender, you couldn't possibly outsmart them at every turn.
You had begun to think of her as the sister you never had, and she began to do the same.
As the four of you stand in the motel room, Dean scratches the back of his head as he looks around the room. "Alright. I'll take the couch. You and Jo can have the bed, and Sam can have the other bed."
Jo sighed, knowing what she was going to have to offer to take the couch. She should have just gotten her own room so she wouldn't have to deal with this awkwardness. And this shouldn't have been awkward. She knew you and Dean were together. Hell, she was there when it happened. But it didn't mean she wanted it flaunted in her face.
"No. No. I can take the couch. It isn't a big deal." Jo says, setting her stuff down on the table.
Sam cut in, "We could share my bed. It isn't a big deal. I swear I don't bite, and I won't just randomly start spooning you."
"It happened one time, Sam!" You say.
"And now I'm scarred for life." He counters. "Dean was ready to deck me and it wasn't even my fault."
Any other girl would probably be ecstatic at this arrangement, sleeping in Sam Winchester's bed. He was tall, attractive, had a nice smile. But Jo only had eyes for one Winchester. The one that was extremely off limits. The one that was undoubtedly yours. So Jo smiled and thanked Sam, praying that she wouldn't have to see or hear too much from either you or Dean.
Luckily, you both were either exhausated or were conscientiousness enough to realize you weren't alone, and Jo didn't have to hear more than a few kisses and whispered good nights before the room was quiet and dark.
In the morning, as light filtered through the old dusty curtains of the motel room, all that could be heard was soft snoring and the occasional groan of the mattress as someone would shift in bed. And Jo had woken up after a fitful night of trying to sleep.
Then she heard a deep breath and a sigh coming from the bed you and Dean shared. She risked a glance over and saw Dean pulling you closer, you both turned towards each other.
"Mornin'." Dean murmured softly, voice rough from sleep and disuse and you grinned up at him.
"Good morning, baby." You whisper back, pressing yourself against his warmth. Dean's hand splayed against your back to keep you as close as he can. Your leg hooks over his hip, and you giggle quietly, feeling just how awake every part of him was. "Well, good morning."
Dean's answering chuckle is husky before he kisses you. Deep, desperate, wanting. When he pulls back he murmurs against your lips, "Don't tempt me. It isn't just Sam in the room this time, sweetheart."
You nip his bottom lip. "You gotta be good, Winchester. Keep it in your pants."
Then his hand slips down your body, under your sleep shorts, past your panties as his fingers press against you. You can barely hold back a moan as you breathlessly gasp, your fingers curling in his shirt.
"Yeah, that's what I thought." He says as he leaves you empty, his hand returning to your back.
"You are a menace." You mumble.
"Your menace." He corrects.
You sigh, pressing your face into his neck.
"I gotta take a shower." He murmurs. You pull back and smirk up at him, question in your eyes. "Nope. Even if you are all I'm going to be thinking about today, the answer is no."
You untangle yourself from him to let him shift away. "Fine. But just saying. It saves water."
Dean chuckles again. "Not the way we shower."
"Fine. Leave your girlfriend all alone and unsatisfied."
"Girlfriend, huh?"
"You got a problem with that?"
"Nah. It has a nice ring to it." You kiss him again, all the space between you disappearing in the blink of an eye.
Jo stretches, yawning loudly to make a show that she is waking up, trying to make you guys realize you aren't the only ones awake. She isn't sure just how much more of this she can take. You both pull apart, Dean glancing over your shoulder.
"Morning, Jo. How did you sleep with Sam taking up all the room in the bed?" Dean asks.
"Fine. I think I'm just going to take a quick shower." She says, sitting up in the bed, careful not to wake Sam, still snoring quietly beside her. Grabbing some fresh clothes, she escapes to the bathroom, closing the door behind her as she leans against his and tries to get ahold of herself.
In the back of her mind, she knew this was coming. You and Dean in a relationship. Why wouldn't you fall for Dean? Jo had and he wasn't even trying to make her fall for him. He was magnetic. Eyes such a deep green you felt like you could sink into them forever. And when his attention was on you, it made you feel like you were the most important person in the world. Even if some of his pick up lines were cheesy, his confidence in delivering each and every one was difficult to ignore.
Besides, it wasn't like she was trying to make Dean fall in love with her now. She knew when to back off, even if it did hurt. She wouldn't be that girl who tried to steal a guy. Really, what guy was even worth that much trouble? And if you did manage to get him, was he worth keeping, if he was so easily swayed? She knew she wouldn't respect Dean if she got him that way.
She just wished she could convince her heart to move on.
She was happy for the two of you. Truly, she was. But there was still that loss that she nutured in her heart, the pain of wanting what was just out of reach. And if he had wanted to, he would have made a move before you came into the picture.
Jo takes a deep breath, pushing herself from the wall to turn on the shower, letting the water heat up. She wasn't sure how she was going to manage it, but she was going to get over Dean. One way or another. Because this wasn't fair to you, Dean, or herself.
It was late one night, the bar slowing down as closing time approached. You and Dean stood by the darts, as he played against Sam. You sat on a chair, just watching the brothers try and outmatch the other, sipping your drink.
Jo saw as Sam won a round, and Dean moped, dragging himself to stand between your legs. Your hands running up his arms soothingly. His head drops against your shoulder, your fingers running through his hair. The perfect picture of love.
She didn't hear what you said, but she saw the way Dean's body froze, his hands on your waist. He pulls his head back to look at you. His eyes were wide, unsure, like he isn't sure whether or not to run. Then he swallows, one of his hands cupping your face, thumb brushing against your bottom lip.
Jo can sense this is a private moment, but she is unable to look away. Your hands shake as they fist in his jacket, keeping him in front of you.
"Say it again." He murmurs. Adrenaline might be rushing through his body, but he holds onto you gently, like one wrong movement is going to break this moment.
One corner of your mouth pulls up, and even though Jo can't hear what you are whispering as you gaze into Dean's eyes, willing him to believe you, she can read your lips as they move.
I love you.
You just told Dean you loved him. And he looks…awestruck. Like he isn't sure how he got this lucky, that you love him. He is just some hunter with more blood on his hands than anyone should, but you see something more. Something better than he ever could in himself.
Then he is kissing you fevertly, like he can't get enough of the taste of you. Like he needs to breathe the same air you do. When you finally part, you both are breathing heavy, staring into each other's eyes like nothing else exists in the world besides the person in front of them.
When Dean pulls you up from the chair, you follow him outside, grinning like a schoolgirl completely and irrevocably in love. Jo just grinned to herself, hoping no one stumbled onto you guys, knowing neither of you were patient enough to ensure you were completely alone before you…celebrated.
Dean holds you close to his body as he carries you inside the bar, you face twisted in a grimace against the pain. You press down on your side, trying to stop your blood from gushing from the bullet wound. Dean's face is frantic as he sets you down on a table, hollering for Ellen.
Everyone comes rushing out, crowding around you. You are breathing heavy, doing your best to put on a brave face for everyone around.
"I'm fine. I'm fine." You say, your voice betraying just how much pain you are truly in.
"You are not fine. You were shot!" Dean says as Sam bursts through the front door.
"Is she okay?" Sam asks.
Your blood covers all three of you. Jo wonders if the boys should have taken you to the hospital instead of here, but that would invite a police report, and no one wanted that. Then her mother goes to lift your shirt, revealing the bullet wound on your stomach. Luckily it had stopped oozing blood quite so much, your body trying to clot off the wound.
"Did it go through?" Ellen asks.
"I think so?" You say, trying to focus on your breathing instead of the pain coursing through your body.
"Let me see." Ellen says.
You grunt as Dean and Sam help turn you so Ellen can inspect your skin, seeing the exit wound on your back.
"You are one lucky girl. Ash, go grab the first aid kit, she is going to need stitches. Honey, we ain't got any pain killers."
"Something strong will work." You say, and Sam crosses the room to go behind the bar and grab a bottle of tequila. Dean holds your hand, his other smoothing your hair from your sweat soaked brow.
When Sam hands you a glass of the tequila, you shakily take a swallow, grimacing against the burn down your throat. You take another gulp, draining the glass. "More, Sam. Please."
Sam is refilling the glass, handing it back to you as Jo goes to grab some fresh water to help her mom clean your wound. When she comes out you are gripping Dean's hand so tight, your knuckles are white. But he doesn't say a word about the pain, completely focused on you, as he leans closer, whispering softly in your ear.
"Dean, this isn't your fault." You say. "Shit happens."
"Like hell this isn't my fault. I'm supposed to protect you." Dean says.
You look at him. "Dean, I love you, but goddamn, you can't keep me completely safe. That isn't reasonable."
Dean frowned. "That's my job. If I can't keep you safe—"
"Don't you dare finish that sentence." You say, and Jo thinks for a moment, that maybe you and Dean had had this conversation before, probably under better circumstances. "Don't you even think for one minute that I would be better off without you, Dean Winchester."
"Guys, you can have this conversation after I'm done." Ellen says, eyeing both you and Dean.
"Fuck!" You hiss as Ellen starts cleaning your wound, first with water then rubbing alcohol.
Everything pauses as Ellen slowly stitches you up. Your face is contorted with pain with each draw of the needle through your skin until she is finally done. You breath a sigh of relief, trying to sit up on the table. Dean helps you up, unable to keep himself from trying to keep you from hurting as much as possible.
"Thank you guys." You say, your words starting to slur from the blood loss and amount of alcohol you drank in such a small amount of time.
Sam helps everyone start to clean up, as Dean keeps his arm around your shoulders, steadying you. You head falls against his chest. "You scared the hell out of me, sweetheart. I don't want to lose you."
"I love you, Dean Winchester. Don't let me getting hurt push you away." You murmur quietly.
He kisses the top of your head. "I love you too." He looks like he has more he wants to say, but considering your state, he just repeats the words again.
And Jo knew as she watched you both, helping everyone clean up, that this was the way everything was supposed to turn out. You and Dean were perfect together, practically made for each other. Balancing the other and helping make each other better. And God help whatever monster came after you next, because Dean wouldn't hold back to keep the ones he loved safe. And he loved you.
Stumbling into the motel room after the latest hunt, you felt like you'd gone swimming in a manhole. You wouldn't dare to think about the guts and whatever gross substances were slathered on your body. That would only lead to spiraling and lighting something on fire. Probably yourself.
"I need a bath." You'd announced, letting your bag clatter beside your bed. Well, it was the bed you were sharing with your boyfriend.
Without even needing to glance over your shoulder, and spot the smirk curving the side of Dean's mouth, you speak up once more. "Alone."
And that had been ten minutes ago. The water had been turned on and stopped. You were inside the bathroom, in the tub, relaxing. Just like you wanted to.
But Dean was bored. Unequivocally.
He tried looking for new hunts. Cleaning his guns. Even started pestering Sam by going up behind him and pretending to punch him, muttering "pow" each time he did it. But he was only able to do it twice before Sam waved him off. Staring at the wall was an option he easily decided to decline.
So here he was, opening the bathroom door with a sheepish grin. He opens the door a crack- just enough for his face to smush against the door.
"Hey, sweetheart." He says coyly, glancing at you in the tub. "I know you said you didn't want to be bothered but-"
"Dean, please." You sigh, looking over at him.
"I know. It'll just take a second." He pleads, flashing his famous five-watt grin.
A long-suffering sigh falls from your lips. "Alright. What's up?"
"I'm thinking burgers tonight. Or that Italian restaurant with the feta and spinach pizza you like. Which, really sweetheart, you gotta work on your pizza choices. S'a real bummer watching you-"
If you weren't trying to destress, he would have been endearing. It was sweet. The mighty Dean Winchester could barely spend fifteen minutes without his girlfriend. You take a breath and let the ghost of a smile twitch at your mouth.
"Honey. Burgers are fine." Your voice is calm, despite the frustration brewing in your abdomen. All you wanted was twenty minutes. And clean clothes.
Dean seems to get the hint. "Alright. I'll, uh, get out of your hair."
He closes the door with a soft click, leaving you to submerge yourself beneath the lavender scented bubbles.
That doesn't last long.
He's back at it again, apologizing and starting a whole new conversation. One that really could have waited ten minutes. Only this time, he comes into the bathroom.
The door shuts behind him. He walks over to sit on the edge of the toilet lid, glancing down at you. To be a flirt, or curb the rising agitation in your gaze, he winks at you.
"You know where my keys are, mama? Gonna head out and get food."
"In your jacket. Where I always leave them." You close your eyes, trying to pretend to have some solace.
"Wait, actually, I'll just wait. We can go together." The smile is evident in his words.
"Sounds good, honey." You murmur, knowing it was no use. A small smile captures your expression. "I'll be out soon."
"I'll just stay in here, then."
"Dean!"
He laughs, already getting up and walking towards the door. "Okay, okay, I'm leavin'! Gosh, woman."
The last thing you hear is the door shutting and a muffled 'I love you.'
Thinking about normalAU!Dean Winchester in his late teens, being the popular slut around campus… except now the manwhore himself has got his eyes on someone after their infamous one night stand! (wink wink)
Warnings: no use of condom (irresponsible), one night stands, penetrative sex, alcohol, frat boys in general, mention of porn, mention of virginity, car sex, MANWHORES
(wc: ≈ 2k)
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
| A few days passed since your last encounter.. though, the traces of that night had never quite left you alone.
'Just another one night stand to brag about.' That’s what you’d tell yourself over and over again, as you laid restlessly in your bed, tossing and turning, yet not getting rid of the thought of him. Him. Dean Winchester. The most popular slut on campus!
You'd be lying to yourself, if you said that it didn’t mean anything to you. That night had been mind blowing. Sinful. Corruption to your innocence. But to him? It probably didn’t mean anything. No, you knew it didn’t mean anything to him. Of course, it didn’t.
It never did with him. You had seen him in the halls the last few days and he hadn’t even looked at you. Damn Womanizer was too busy flirting with the blondie from his chemistry class to even notice you. After all, who were you? Some random Sophomore chic.
…Well, that was about to change!
On a hot afternoon in July, you flopped onto your bed, too bored and annoyed with the heat to do anything productive. That’s when he struck your mind again.
You'd lay on your back, as the golden sun shone through your colorful curtains, your skin damp, making your hair slightly stick to your forehead, when you felt your face heat up pink. At the mere thought of Dean, no less!
Before you could even question your almost perverse actions, your hands slid into your already slick panties, your thighs pressing together, as you fought back those obscene sounds you made, back when it was Dean's fingers instead of your own. You thought back on his touch, the cool metal of his rings against your thighs, as he parted them like he owned them. Just the memory alone made you rub your clit faster subconsciously. He truly had taken over your mind!
Just when you bit down against the back of your sweaty hand, successfully silencing your slutty sounds, though not the squelching of your cunt, you heard two voices coming from downstairs. Ugh! It was your older brother and.. undeniably Dean Winchester. You'd be able to tell that voice from miles away.. it was the same he had used, when he told you to ride his dick a few nights ago. So, what the fuck was he doing in your house?!
Oh, right. He was your brother’s friend.
Now, both sweaty and frustrated, due to your unfinished orgasm, you pull your panties and shorts back up, wiping your hand somewhere along your tank top that you prefer to wear without a bra. Duh, who actually liked wearing those?!
As you walk downstairs, your cheeks burn hot pink, when your eyes land on them; Dean laughing with your brother. Though, as soon as you tiptoed down the stairs, Dean's green eyes landed on you, his boyish pretty-boy grin still insufferable. Especially when you reminded yourself that he used it as his primary flirting technique.
"Hey, look who's finally graced us with her presence, hm? How're you doing, sexy?" He was shameless, calling you that in front of your own brother. Though, he held his hands up in surrender, laughing it off as a joke. "Don’t take it serious, man— I would never hit on your little sis, alright? She’s like family to me, I swear!" Dirty, dirty liar! She was anything but family to Dean. Not, when he had been eight inches deep inside her.
"Just wanted to.. get something to drink before heading out to my math tutoring.." You replied, trying to keep your voice casual, as if you hadn’t been fucking yourself to the thought of him just moments ago.
"Nerd." You'd hear him mutter under his breath. Just bullying you as per usual. So, you didn’t pay it any mind—or at least pretended not to mind it—walking to the fridge to get yourself a can of coke zero, duh?, as you felt his gaze linger on the back of your shorts for a little too long. It was practically burning into you.
Not knowing if you should be offended or aroused, you cracked the can open and took a sip.. just as Dean spoke up again. "Why don’t I drive the little nerd to her tutoring class myself? Would be better than letting her walk though this awful heat, huh?" He told your brother in a tone that made him seem almost worried for you. Concerned. This bastard was anything but that. He just wanted to get into your panties as quick as possible.
Before you could even finish your coke, Dean 'so considerately' ushered you out to his car.
A 1967 Chevy Impala. Baby. His baby.
Once you got inside and into the passenger's seat, he started driving, casually turning up the music.. Metallica, what else? Eugh, how romantic. His caring act wore off just as fast as the car raced down the streets.
"How do you even know where to drive, De?" You question him, just to be bitchy. Since, yes, he pissed you off.. treating you like just another one night stand.
"Oh, sweetheart, after I heard your fuckin' moans upstairs? You’re skipping tutoring today, baby." He‘d tell you with a voice that could only be described as smug. Cocky even.
Your memories of the night blurred with the earlier moments of your arousal.. and before you knew, the car was parked in an empty diner parking lot. Trashy asshole.
Your tank top was discarded, your bare back laying against the sleek leather of his car, as he climbed on top of you, equally shirtless, though with his necklace dangling in your face. Those hands you thought about now fondled your tits again, happy that you hadn’t been wearing a bra to begin with.
"Shh, baby, you’re thinking again. What did I tell you about thinking? Hm? Ya look much better when you’re all dumb from my cock.." He told you.. and you moaned. Filthy so.
As for your panties? A quick glance to your left and you saw the lace hanging by the mirror of his windshield. Pervert.
Still, watching his veiny hands undo his jeans made you even wetter.. if that was even humanly possible. "Fuck, De— What if somebody sees us?" You’d ask anxiously, watching him get rid of his jeans.
"Let them fuckin' see, baby. You didn’t wanna be just another quick fuck, huh? Then let people see who owns this pussy, hm?" He cooed against your ear, before leaning up and crouching in front of you, just to spit onto your already glistening cunt, and give your clit a few circles with the pad of his thumb.
He pulled his dick out of his boxers, already leaking with pre. Fuck, you couldn’t deny that the sight made you dizzy, even for a second time. It was a truly erotic sight, watching him casually look down on his dick, pumping it with a few strokes, before running the tip along your slit to gather both of your arousal and use it as lube.
"Ah— Oh! Fuck! Fuck!" You moaned, when he pushed in, knowing that you could finally let out all those sounds, all those perverted thoughts about him. The ones that had been keeping you up at night. Keeping you with your hands between your thighs.
Dean had thrusted his whole eight inches inside you with no sympathy for you cunt in any way, bottoming out, when he steadied himself on his forearms back on top of you.
"Yeah, c'mon, baby.. c'mon, keep giving me these sweet sounds. Gimme something to work with here.." He'd encourage you, his green eyes fluttering shut in pleasure, as he rocked in and out of you, assaulting your guts so casually. He solely focused on your sounds.. and you’d bet real money that, even for a moment, he tried to imagine you were one of those pornstars he liked to jerk off to.
So, you moaned. You dug your nails into the muscles of his back, leaving half-moons and scratches, groaned, whined.. did everything that those women would do. "Ah! Ngh— Dean, oh, you’re so big! Don’t stop, baby!"
Baby. You had called him 'baby' just for the sake of authenticity. And you swore you felt his hips stutter for a moment, thrusts growing uneven and rushed, a whiney moan leaving his unfairly plush lips.
His hips rutted into you like there was no tomorrow, his eyes now squeezing shut, as his arms hugged around you, and his damp forehead rested onto your collarbone. Your legs wrapped around his slutty waist, pulling him in closer with his dick snug against your cervix, as his balls slapped against your wet flesh with every movement.
"Keep talking, pretty. Gimme some more, hm? 'M so close— So.. so fuckin' close. You gonna come, baby? Hm? For me?" He egged you on, his voice cracking the slightest bit, making him sound more desperate than he'd like to admit.
"Coming, De—" You almost screamed, your body's heat tangling with his, as you shared breaths in short puffs, the windows of the car tinted and foggy, leather smelling like sex.
"I know, baby, I know—" He reassured halfheartedly, as he pulled out in one swift movement and jerked himself off and onto your stomach, his cum pooling in your belly button, as your hand came down to eagerly rub your clit, making both of you reach your orgasm at the same time.
Your sounds had been nothing short of eroticism, leaving him to collapse on top of you, as you both caught your breaths. The air smelled like leather and sex, the remains of your arousal dripping onto his car's seats, as your sweaty and damp bodies laid together in the stuffy backseat. Your panties dangled from his rearview mirror like a trophy. And you were pretty sure that he would keep those right there.
As your regained consciousness, he lifted his spiky, dirty-blonde head to press a kiss against your forehead, his hand cupping your flushed pink cheek.
"Your brother is gonna kill me if he ever finds out. But, shit, baby.. you’re worth every risk, aren’t you?" He'd ask you, making you chuckle, as you two laid together for another few minutes.. his music still playing faintly in the background.
Usually, guys like him didn’t linger. Didn’t stay close, didn’t press lazy kisses to your skin after sex. Though his thumb brushed against your cheek, slower now, quieter, he actually began to see you. Actually see you.
It didn’t last. It never did with guys like him.
Still.. maybe you were not just another one night stand to brag about.
𑣲 This is the part 2 of the fanfic I posted the other day! Hope you guys like the way it continued! If you have any requests or ideas, lmk! And.. don’t judge me, please! I tried my best xoxo 𑣲
dean winchester x reader cw almost no dialogue bc i cba, a little angsty maybe notes i actually researched towns in the us and their average october rainfall for something to base this on and i ended up with eatonville WA in mind even tho it looks prettier than what i wanted
hugs with dean last longer than they should.
he's never been big on physical touch, with exceptions being loved ones that he's worried about, but with you he can't get enough.
it starts simple. his arms tighten around you briefly before he lets you out of a hug, something no one notices but you. gradually, he stops being the first to pull away. when you're forced to share a bed in some dingy motel room because sam calls dibs on sleeping alone, his protests get weaker over time, until they eventually stop. sometimes, you wake up in the early hours of the morning to his hand on your arm, or your shoulder, or his knee pressed against you.
he starts reaching for you during rough hunts. small touches to reassure himself that you're there, that you're alive and okay. occasionally, he'll do the same to sam, so you brush it off at first.
the first time he outright grabs your hand, your heart stops for a second. it keeps happening, ranging from subtle knocks of his knuckles against yours to him intertwining his fingers with yours. your reaction stays the same each time.
things come to a head in some tiny, miserable town just south of seattle. you split from the brothers to do some research about the town's vampire population and odd disappearances with specific instructions from dean to "stay in crowded areas, stay lowkey, and keep us updated." of course, nothing ever goes right for the three of you, and after a long night held hostage by vengeful vampires and a bloody fight, dean won't let you go.
he carries you to the impala because, although you're "fine, dean," you've been stuck in an abandoned bar all night, and god knows what those vamps could have done to you. you can see on his face that he's reluctant to put you down, and he makes sam sit in the back despite his brother's protests about the length of his legs. sam shuts up when he sees how tightly dean holds your hand from the driver's seat.
you share a bed again that night, not because sam called dibs on the other bed again (you'd been blessed with your own bed, and dean had been banished to the couch) but because dean refuses to let you out of his sight. he helps you shower, even when you say you don't need it, pointedly averting his gaze when you have to wash anywhere intimate - possibly the most not-dean thing you've ever seen.
when you've changed, he stops you from leaving the bathroom, instead wrapping his arms around you tighter than he ever has before. you immediately reciprocate, and he continues, tighter again.
"don't ever do that to me again, y'hear?" he mutters into your hair.
the two of you stand in the steamy bathroom, wrapped up in each other, for what feels like hours. sam seems to understand the intimacy of the moment, and despite being desperate for a shower of his own, he allows dean the momentary reprieve of holding you close.
Thinking about normalAU!Dean Winchester in his late teens, being the popular slut around campus!
Warnings: no use of condom (irresponsible), oral sex, one night stands, penetrative sex, alcohol, frat boys in general, mention of porn, mention of virginity, MANWHORES! ㅤ♡
(wc: ≈ 2k)
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
| He would be going to Highschool, not because he truly cared about his grades but mostly because his alcoholic father forced him to, after his mother died, just to regain some sort of normality in his son’s life. That being said, his GPA was low enough to.. not only scare away his teachers.. but also any chances of getting into any university at all.
His little brother, Sammy, was a Freshman, while Dean was soon to be a Senior. Rumours said that Dean might have had a hookup or two with some cute cheerleaders from his little brother's Biology class, but he never seemed to pay any mind to it. He was smug enough to brush those comments off with a flash of his pretty-boy grin.
Since Dean wasn’t exactly an academical weapon, he settled for being popular. A manwhore. Community dick. The one and only Frat President. Because, if grades didn’t work in his favor, girls and sports might get the job done!
——————————————————
It was a Friday night; a loud party taking place in whatever frat house Dean had managed to get in and suddenly take over. Loud music, red cups for beer-pong, drunk girls, and sloppy sex everywhere. Reasonably fun. Among the many people—since everybody and their mother was invited—were you. Currently tipsy, drunk off of a few shots, nothing crazy.
You'd known Dean for a while, had seen him around campus before. Of course, everybody had seen his perfectly fuckable face. Yet, you've only talked to him once, due to your older brother, who was in his History class. ..Although it had been a pretty short and awkward conversation. A mere exchange of 'hi's and you trying to come across as cool and mature, when your palms were sweaty and you felt your stomach flutter.
Time passed and, as you leaned against a massive beer keg, you could see Dean coming downstairs.. his short, dirty-blonde hair all spiky and ruffled, his face flushed, and his belt was missing a loop through his bowlegged jeans. He looked freshly fucked.
To your own surprise, he walked up to you, greeting you with his stupidly charming smile. "Hey, babe, where’s your brother at?" 'Babe'. He called you 'Babe'?! Probably because he called every other bitch nicknames..
"..Don’t know. Probably throwing up. Or making out." You reply, as you feel your whole body almost shiver, when he laughs at your comment. You felt like such a loser, but a second of attention from a guy like Dean was enough to make you go red.
This conversation started off so innocently!
——————————————————
Lights blurred and the music became fainter, when you regained consciousness of what you were doing. Before you could question if it was a dream or not, you found yourself moaning, sounds spilling from your lips in a way you’ve never experienced before.
Dean’s hands were on your hips, squeezing at the flesh, poking at your stomach, the cool metal of his rings making you shiver with slight goosebumps, back arching off the random bed you'd ended up in.
Your shorts were discarded by the side of the bed, panties somewhere in the pocket of his jeans. What a perv.
His mouth was filthy, tasted like alcohol and sin, as he sucked and lapped at your weeping cunt, obscene sounds filling the room, when he inserted two thick fingers into your hole. You weren’t the first tonight—you had to remind yourself—before you fell in love. He seemed to have noticed your overthinking, when you heard him mutter some words between the motions of his tongue against your clit. "Don’t think, baby.. don’t look pretty, when you think.." At the time time, he was basically rutting his hips against the mattress of the bed.
So, against your better judgment, you let yourself go. Moans, gasps, and whines blended in with the music blasting downstairs, when Dean urged you on. "Come for me, pretty girl. C'mon.. wanna feel you come on my face." And you did! Your orgasm was mind-blowing, Dean's fingers pumping in and out of your dripping hole, fucking you through it, as his nose nudged your clit deliciously, making your back arch off of the navy blue sheets of the bed, eyes rolling back with filthy whines escaping your choked up throat, when you were grinding against his freckled face.
And to think that you'd called yourself a virgin before this day. Now you were anything but. "So fucking hot, baby.. almost came in my pants. Shit, you’re dripping.. don’t even make it seem like you’re inexperienced. I’ve seen Seniors fuck worse—" That’s what Dean told you, maybe to encourage you, as he undid his belt again. For the God-knows-how-many time tonight.
His dick sprung free, when he pulled down his boxers, stained with pre. His tip was flushed pink and leaking, shaft curving upward, almost slapping against the trail of dark blonde hair along his stomach. Every vein was visible along the flesh of his dick, as he gave it a few strokes, sucking his plush bottom lip between his teeth. The sight made you almost salivate.
"You ready for this, baby? Gonna take it like a good girl? Hm? Talk to me, sweetheart."
"Yeah.. wanna take all of it, De. But— you’re gonna have to pull out.."
"Don’t worry your pretty head about that. I'll pull out alright." He reassured you halfheartedly with a smug grin, as he settled on top of you, brushing his tip along your slit to gather the lube of his pre and your arousal, in order to push in.
The first inch was brutal. He was thick! Impalement! Your nails dug half-moons into the firm muscles of his back, moaning into his shoulder. "F-fuck— De, s'really big.."
"I know, pretty. That’s what all of 'em say." And he said it so smugly, you felt yourself clench around his dick, as he pushed in further. You took inch by inch, up-up-up!, whole eight inches into your cunt, until you swore you felt him against your cervix. Your legs wrapped around his slutty waist, as he gave a testing thrust, his hips connecting with the back of your thighs.
"Ah— Mngh! De-Fuck! Ngh—!" Your sounds were obscene, mixing with the squelching of your dripping cunt, the more he pounded into you. And Dean was eating it right up. His lips connected with your jaw, his green eyes fluttering shut, almost as if imagining that he was banging one of those porn-ladies he adored so much. Can’t judge a guy for learning his techniques from professionals!
His stamina was admirable but, since he was captured by your erotic sounds, he flipped both of you over, with you landing directly on top of him.. his dick digging even deeper into your poor guts. He wanted you in the filthiest and most pornographic ways. Sigh, horny teenage guys…
"Ah!" — erupted through the room.
"Shh— I know, baby. C'mon, ride it like I know you can. Be a good girl and ride it f'me, yeah? Wanna see your tits bounce, when you do.." He told you, as he fondled your breasts casually. Too casually. Womanizer!
When you begin riding his dick, his forearm rested behind his dirty blonde head, just laying back and watching you do all the work, as if this was just another day for him. Just another fuck. He kept one hand on your hips though, just to set the pace.
Once he heard you whimper and moan that couldn’t handle it anymore, he hushed you. "Shh, pretty girl. Stop whining so much, would'ya? Here, let me help you, hm?" And that’s when he pulled you down to lay against his chest, your head falling against his shoulder, when his freckled arms wrapped around you, and he started fucking up into your cunt.
The sounds his movements created were obscene; his balls slapping against your soaked skin, as his hips bucked up and into your cunt, making your body clench entirely in pleasure. "Close— Dean! Ngh— Gotta.. pull out!" You'd whine, just moments later. The mere possibility of getting pregnant from a one night stand with the school's manwhore was terrifying. Especially for your innocent image..
"Fuck, baby, gonna let me come on your tits? Gonna let me paint 'em white for you, hm? Hm?" Dean urged, as he pulled out his flushed red dick and jerked himself off and onto your stomach. His movements were frantic but purposeful, his balls drawing up tight with his impending high. His orgasm was intense enough to spill even across your chest, coating your tits in hot, sticky cum, as his green eyes were squeezed shut, pleasure overtaking his every sense. You swore you heard him whimper too..
Both of you came, since, although Dean had pulled out—thankfully—the sight of him as he came, mixed with your own hand, rubbing your clit, made you come a second time and collapse against him.
Out of breath and damp with sweat, you both laid together in some random bed, the party downstairs still ongoing, music blasting, as the air between you, your shared breaths, smelled like sex. Maybe it was now, that he began to notice you.. his friend's little sister. Or some stupid Sophomore chic.
Just another one night stand to brag about.
𑣲 This is my first time writing! Don’t judge me, please! I tried my best xoxo 𑣲
Summary: You and Dean are used to sharing a bed, and you finally get a room with three beds.
Pairing: Dean x reader
contains: Dean flirting slightly, kinda fluff maybe, bed sharing, best friends to lovers, protective Dean, reverse there is only one bed trope, pining
WC: 654
The canvas of your duffle is scraping your shoulder painfully, slight red marks forming on your skin. The drive to John Creek was long. You had been cramped in Baby for seventeen hours, Dean too stubborn to let you drive for even fifteen minutes. He only let Sam drive when he told him that if he didn’t, Dean was going to crash his own car.
Sam goes to check in while you and Dean grab the bags out of the trunk. Dean takes over Sam’s bag as his eyes are stuck on the red mark on your shoulder. You just look at him with a crooked smile, shaking your head lightly.
The keys in Sam’s hand jingle as he signals to you that he secured you a room, and you notice he has a certain glint in his eyes, one that usually means trouble. “You’ll never believe what I just pulled off,” he beams as he opens the door to room 316.
The room had a deep red carpet, soft lighting and, one, two…
Three beds.
two singles and a queen.
Your shoulders slumped as you counted the beds. Usually, when you were on a hunt, you shared a bed with Dean, not in a sexual way, not at all. Although you wouldn’t mind that. You just had a huge crush on the guy, and you couldn’t help feeling safe with him near. It had gotten to the point where you slept better on a hunt than in your own room and your own comfortable mattress just because Dean wasn’t there. You just felt alone the whole night. And with Dean, you slept deeper, more soundly, and you even had fewer nightmares.
Dean had thrown his duffel on the queen-size bed as soon as he stepped inside the room, claiming it as his own without further conversation about the topic. What happened next, however, had you looking at him kind of confused, and when you looked around, you saw you weren’t the only one.
Dean tosses Sam's bag at one of the single bags before grabbing yours off of your shoulder and putting it next to his on the queens at the side furthest away from the door.
Sam has a stunned expression on his face, he does a double take before asking his brother the question you would like to know two. “What are you doing?”
Whereas Sam is asking the question in a very confused state, you can’t help but perk up a little.
Dean Winchester put your bag on his bed. And for once, it isn’t because you have to share, it is because he chose to.
Dean looks at his brother like he just asked the dumbest question he has ever heard in his life. “There is a monster out there who hunts for women with her exact description. I am not letting her out of my sight.” He says before he turns towards you apologetically. “Sorry, sweetheart, but this isn’t up for discussion.” And you can’t help but blush a little. Before you can answer, Sam seems to have decided it’s his job to defend your honor, something you don’t want or need him doing at all.
“What are you talking about? She’ll still be in the same room, and she can take care of herself.”
Dean turns towards his little brother, slightly annoyed now. “I said, no discussion.” Dean snars at Sam. Pointing at him like a mother who was completely done with the antics of her children.
“This is ridiculous.” He curses under his breath. You just smile at the younger Winchester, butterflies in your stomach. “It's okay, Sam, I don’t mind,” you say sweetly as you take a step closer to Dean who is looking you up and down. Sam lets out an annoyed breath as he turns around grabbing his toiletries out of his bag.
Dean looks at you. “Didn’t think you would.” He winks
I think this is so cute. I have an idea for a quick part 2 for this drabble. Anyone interested?
i was thinking dean x reader (dating and Dean would do anything for her). them and sam all hunt together, so after a gruesome hunt, chasing a shapeshifter like cat and mouse causing to get hit, kicked, punched even shot at by cops thinking they were the ones committing crimes. well anyway, now they're back in a shitty hotel room and Dean was complaining about his back hurting so reader suggests a back massage, Dean being the drama queen he is he's moaning loudly and groaning as if he was getting head and Sam jokes around about it and teases both of them. then afterwards they cuddle or sumthin ^^
- 🎶
⋆｡ ˚ dramatic relief
summary ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ after a brutal hunt leaves everyone sore and exhausted, you offer dean a back massage—only for him to react like he’s in a completely different kind of situation, much to sam’s endless amusement.
pairing ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ dean winchester x reader ( f ) ft. sammy
wordcount ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ 564 genre ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ fluff
warnings ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ post-hunt injuries (non-graphic), bruises/soreness, suggestive humor, dean being loud for no reason, brotherly teasing, cuddling
notes ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ ִ❀໋ consider supporting my work .ᐟ
The motel room is awful.
Peeling wallpaper, flickering light, and a smell that suggests something definitely died here once and never properly left.
You barely notice.
You’re too busy dropping your bag and wincing as your body finally registers the damage from the hunt.
Shapeshifters are the worst.
“Son of a—” Dean groans, kicking the door shut behind him. “I think my spine’s outta alignment.”
Sam snorts, tossing his jacket onto the chair. “You got tackled into a police car, Dean.”
“Yeah, well, rude,” he mutters, rolling his shoulders with a grimace.
You glance over at him.
Bruised knuckles. Split lip. That familiar stubborn tension in his posture like he’s trying to pretend he’s not hurting.
“Sit,” you say, pointing at the bed.
Dean blinks. “Excuse me?”
“Sit down.”
Sam immediately perks up, sensing entertainment.
Dean narrows his eyes. “Why?”
“Because you’re clearly in pain and you’re annoying about it.”
He considers that.
“…Fair.”
He drops onto the edge of the bed with a grunt.
You step behind him, hands hovering for a second before settling on his shoulders.
“Relax.”
“I am relaxed.”
“You’re literally clenched like a brick.”
“Hunter instincts.”
“Dean.”
“Fine.”
He exhales dramatically.
You press your thumbs into the tight muscles at the base of his neck.
Dean freezes.
Then—
“Oh— wow.”
You pause.
“…That’s your reaction?”
“Don’t stop,” he says immediately, voice already dropping an octave.
You bite back a smile and keep going, working down his shoulders, easing the knots from hours of tension and adrenaline.
Dean lets out a long, exaggerated groan.
“Oh my God—”
Sam looks up slowly from where he’s sitting.
“…Dude.”
You keep your hands moving, trying to stay focused.
Dean leans forward slightly, head dropping as another sound escapes him—
Loud.
Very loud.
Sam stares.
“Are you—” he gestures vaguely, “—are you serious right now?”
Dean doesn’t even respond.
Another shameless groan.
You stop. “Dean.”
“What?” he pants.
“You’re being weird.”
“I’m in pain.”
“You sound like you’re not.”
Sam chokes on a laugh. “Yeah, man, I don’t think that’s what pain sounds like.”
Dean shoots him a glare over his shoulder. “Shut up, Sam.”
You press into another sore spot just to test something.
Dean melts. “Oh—there, right there—”
Sam stands up. “I’m leaving.”
“You’re not leaving,” Dean snaps.
“I am absolutely leaving,” Sam says, grabbing his jacket. “I am not sitting here while you—whatever this is.”
“It’s a massage!”
“Uh-huh.”
Sam points at you. “You’re doing great, by the way. Keep up the… work.”
“Get out!” Dean barks.
Sam laughs on his way out the door.
The room falls quiet again.
You let your hands slow, easing the last of the tension from Dean’s back.
He exhales, shoulders finally dropping.
“…Okay,” he admits. “That helped.”
You hum. “You’re welcome. Drama queen.”
He glances back at you, a small grin tugging at his lips.
“C’mere.” Before you can question it, he grabs your wrist and gently tugs you down onto the bed beside him.
You land with a soft huff. Dean immediately shifts, pulling you against him, arm wrapping around your waist like it belongs there.
You relax into him easily. “Better?” you murmur.
“Yeah,” he says quietly, pressing a quick kiss to your temple.
A beat passes.
Then, from outside—“I can still hear you if it starts again!” Sam shouts through the door.
You laugh. Dean groans. And pulls you closer anyway.
ꔛ. all works ; writing guidelines ; writing schedule.
dean winchester and his girl best friend, who are way too comfortable with each other (og post!)
They’ve always been that way — too touchy with each other and not enough with anyone else. Sammy’s seen the brunt of it for the most part.
The late night talks on the sidewalk outside of their motel room, where she leans on Deans shoulder, and nudges his work boots with her sneakers until he picks her legs up and throws them over his lap.
On long drives, where she desperately wants to get the hell out of the car but won’t say it, so instead she’ll bend forward and wrap her arms around Deans shoulders. Dean will pull into the next gas station he sees, and help her crack her sore back. She’ll wrap her arms close to her chest, and Dean will lift her off the ground and to his front. Afterwards, she lets out a big sigh of relief and Dean will pat her lower back — well, he used to.
When Sam was sucked into the cage, it was only the two of them. Somewhere in that time, they lost a lot of care for what ‘best friends’ are and aren’t supposed to do. Her and Dean don’t seem to notice the difference, but Sam does, once his soul is back.
Their first ‘normal’ hunt, all three of them back together, she wraps around Dean four hours into the drive.
“All good, pretty?” Dean turns his head a little, just to nudge hers which sits on his shoulder, but still watches the road. She nods, and holds him tighter.
Sammy’s used to that — it’s kind of refreshing, actually. To see something that’s so normal in their everyday life, compared to everything that’s been happening. Y’know, like, angels and the devil and not having a soul.
Dean still pulls over, twenty minutes later. She leaves the back seat immediately, stretching her arms over her head and raising up on her tippy toes. Sam watches the pair unconsciously as he leans over the other side of the car.
Dean pats her arm, shoves it a little, so she’ll turn around. He lifts her off the ground effortlessly, and her head falls back on his shoulder in relief.
“Better?” He asks, while she turns back around with a grin.
“Yeah.” She nods. “Thanks, De.”
“Ah,” He grins right back, tilting his head. “Always, pretty.”
Then, she turns once more, to open the back door and hop in, and Dean pats her on the ass. Twice.
“Alright, let’s get this show back on the road.” He jumps back in the drivers seat, leaving Sam frozen, and quite honestly, disturbed, outside of the car. That…that was not refreshing.
Neither was the time Dean went to go get food when Sam was supposed to. It’d been mutually agreed that they switch back and forth every time they get take out, but the last time they’d been near their current place of stay, Deans girl had a wonderful milkshake at this diner that was pretty far. He wanted to get her one, but obviously, he can’t just say that, and Sam won’t go to a random diner ten more minutes away than the others in town just ‘cause’, so Dean opts to take another turn grabbing dinner.
The problem here, though, is that that decision was made while she was in the shower.
Twenty minutes later, she bursts through the bathroom door in nothing but underwear and a covering her chest.
“De, where’s my pajamas- oh, my God, Sam!” As quickly as she entered the room, she’s back in the bathroom. “I’m so sorry, I thought you were Dean!”
Sam, with heat crawling up his chest, and ears burning red, is so sick of them.
“What difference would that have made!” His head flips in the opposite direction of the bathroom, even with the door closed again. “You just walk around naked when i’m not here?”
“Well-it’s Dean, it doesn’t matter!”
Sam’s so done. There’s no point in continuing to argue about it with either of them, because it gets nobody anywhere. They still continue acting all lovey dovey and clueless, and everyone gets more irritated.
Somehow, neither of them understand why people think they’re a couple so often — the motel clerks when they get a room with one bed, random old ladies in stores watching them swing their conjoined hands and giggle, bartenders and waitresses passing every tab Deans way, the list is endless. Hell, their first time at the Roadhouse, that crew thinks so too.
“So, uh,” Jo starts, from next to her mother. The brothers were conversing with Ash, and left her back with the two woman over on the other side of the bar (she didn’t feel like getting up, and dean didn’t have the heart to make her). It was a nice change of pace, really, to not be surrounded by so much suffocating testosterone, even if they had just been holding her and the two people she is the closest with at gunpoint. “When’d you meet those two?”
“Couldn’t tell you,” She shrugged, taking a gulp of her water. “When Sam was okay with being called Sammy.”
“Huh,” Ellen scoffs. “Well how ‘bout that.”
“When’d you get with the little one?” Jo interrupts her mother’s reminiscing, leaning over the counter.
“Uh,” She laughs a little, confused. “Dean? What do you mean?”
“Y’know, like when’d start being more than just real good friends?”
“Well, I mean he’s always been my best friend, if that’s what you mean.” She shrugs, and a little smile makes it way onto her face. “Guess if I had to find a point it’d be when we were all playing with Bobby’s dog, and I fell and scraped my knee in sixth grade. He cleaned it up and stole me some Cracker Jack and then we listened to Led Zeppelin.”
The three sit in silence for a minute, her, staring over at Dean at the other side of the bar with a wide grin, and the mother and daughter sharing a look of disbelief.
“…so you’re saying you aren’t dating that guy?” Jo tries one last time, pointing over in Deans direction.
“Me and Dean? No,” She shakes her head, and laughs it off. “A lot of people think that, though. I don’t get why.”
The other two woman share another brief glance at one another, before the Winchesters and Ash come barreling over. Sam sits on the stool to her left, and Dean stands close enough to her right that she can lean against his chest.
“Anything good?” She asks, peering up at him from next to his heartbeat.
“Oh, yeah, pretty,” He grins right back, wrapping an arm around her. “Ash’s checking some stuff out, thinks he can track the demon down.”
“Oh, great!”
“Sammy said Ellen’s found us a case while we wait. Somethin’ with clowns.” He wiggles his eyebrows, and they both turn to ‘oooohhhh’ in Sam’s direction.
“Oh, just-shuddup!” He grumbles, stomping outside to the busted van. She shoves her face in Deans chest as they cackle at Sam’s expense, before eventually crawling down from her seat.
“I’m gonna use the bathroom before we get outta here. Meet you in the car, yeah?” She does a quick stretch, backing up towards the bathroom a little, only for Dean to palm her waist and pull her right back against him.
“Alright.” Dean plants a kiss to her forehead, and gives her waist a gentle squeeze before backing off. “Hurry!” He shouts on his way out the door.
Ellen and Jo watch the pair go their separate ways from behind the bar. Ellen grabs a beer, and sighs.
“How long you think that’s gonna last like that?” She grumbles with plenty snark.
“Who knows how long they’ve been like that already! Oh, poor Sam…” Jo shakes her head.
hey this is a random request but can you write humour fluff ( reader x dean) about reader ranting about the reality/struggles of being on the road and living in motels with two boys as a girl - like having a period, wanting to gossip on the phone to her bestie, ovulating, having a skincare routine and like even the smallest things like trying to hide taking off your bra every night but it’s hard with them always being there lol. especially since reader and dean have unspoken crush and reader feels flustered by dean all the time.
but sam and dean then try to be very understanding and help when she’s on her period. e.g leaking the bed on period, travelling can make feel sick or having to have toilet stops, make her feel embarrassed but they are nice about this
thank you so much ik this is random but i was just thinking about these things - a girl on her period
⋆˚꩜｡ three toothbrushes n zero privacy,
summary. living on the road with two men sounds simple—until you realize motels, periods, skincare routines, and zero privacy make everything ten times more complicated.
pairing. dean winchester x reader ft. sam
wordcount. 574 genre. fluff
warnings. period talk, bodily functions, mild embarrassment, awkward living arrangements
<𝟑 .ᐟ consider supporting my work on ko-fi 🩷
“Okay. I need to rant.”
Sam doesn’t even look up from his laptop. “That sentence never ends well.”
Dean glances over from the motel table where he’s cleaning a gun. “What’d we do this time?”
You plant your hands on your hips.
“You know what the problem is with hunting with two men?”
Dean raises a brow. “Besides the obvious charm?”
You ignore that. “There is no infrastructure for women on the road.”
Sam finally looks up. “Infrastructure?”
“Yes, Sam. Infrastructure.”
You start pacing the motel room, pointing dramatically at random objects. “One bathroom. One trash can. Two men who never close the toilet lid. And zero consideration for things like—” you gesture wildly, “—periods.”
Dean blinks. “…Oh.”
“Yes, oh,” you say. “Do you know how hard it is to deal with that on the road? Gas station bathrooms, long drives, gross motel sheets—”
Dean slowly sets the gun down.
“Wait. Sheets?”
You stop pacing.
“Don’t make it weird.”
“Sweetheart, you said sheets.”
You groan and drop onto the edge of the bed, burying your face in your hands.
“This is exactly what I mean. It’s embarrassing.”
There’s a small pause.
Then Sam clears his throat. “For the record,” he says gently, “it’s not embarrassing.”
You peek through your fingers.
Dean nods quickly. “Yeah. Totally normal. Happens to, uh… half the population.”
You sigh. “That’s not even the worst part.”
Dean cautiously asks, “There’s worse?”
“Try living in a tiny motel room with two men when you just want to call your best friend and gossip for two hours. Or do a skincare routine without someone asking why you have six different bottles of things.”
Sam lifts a hand. “In my defense, they all look the same.”
“They are not the same.”
Dean leans back in his chair, clearly entertained now. “Anything else we’re failing at?”
You hesitate. “…Taking my bra off at night.”
Dean chokes on air.
Sam drops his pen.
You point accusingly. “See?!”
“I did not need that mental image,” Dean wheezes.
“Well I don’t need the stress of trying to be subtle about it while you two are always just—there.”
You flop backward dramatically.
“And don’t even get me started on ovulation. My hormones are already embarrassing enough without Dean Winchester walking around looking like that.”
The room goes quiet.
Very quiet.
You freeze.
Dean freezes.
Sam slowly closes his laptop.
“…I’m going to go get snacks,” he says calmly, standing up and leaving the room with impressive speed.
The door shuts.
Silence.
You sit up slowly.
Dean is staring at you.
“…Looking like what?” he asks carefully.
You clear your throat.
“Forget I said that.”
“Not a chance.”
You grab a pillow and throw it at him.
He catches it easily, grinning a little now—but the teasing softens when he notices the faint tension still in your shoulders.
“Hey,” he says, gentler. “For real though.”
You glance at him.
“If you need extra stops on the road, we stop. If the motel sheets suck, we get new ones. If you feel sick—same deal.”
You blink.
Dean shrugs like it’s obvious. “Not exactly rocket science, sweetheart.”
You feel warmth creep up your neck.
“…Thanks.”
He tosses the pillow back onto the bed.
“Besides,” he adds, smirking a little, “you put up with our crap every day. Fair trade.”
You roll your eyes.
But when Sam comes back with chocolate and painkillers fifteen minutes later—you don’t feel nearly as overwhelmed anymore.
ꔛ. all works ; writing guidelines ; writing schedule
── .✦ requests are currently closed.
Request: HI! I lovee youurr opla zoro fanfic, likee ACKKK I CAN'T GET ENOUGH, I would like some oneshots for it, like cuddling, making out or moree zoro jealousy, anythingg really, I LOVE YOUR WRITING
Requested by: @muiyui
Pairing: OPLA!Zoro Roronoa x F!Reader
Word Count: 1,822
A/N: Hey, I don't know what this is lol
Regardless, enjoy this little bonus of 'This is the Beginning'.
You don't have to read the series, but if you'd like to, you can find it here!
"Here you go, lovely."
Smile beaming, you take the plate from Sanji hands, trying not to so openly drool at the smell. The whole crew had hit the jackpot on the last island you'd arrived at a few weeks ago with ingredients and after practically begging Nami to allow a little splurging, the kitchen was filled with a wide array of ingredients. Sanji had been estatic about it.
He really was an excellent cook and you'd be lying if you said you weren't taking full advantage of it.
"Thank you, Sanji," you grin up at him, settling back into your seat at the island to dig in. "You spoil me."
Moving on to start prepping dinner, because he'd been delayed with your request for a sweet treat, Sanji lets out a light laugh. "Of course," he admonishes with ease, voice light and airy. "A lady like you deserves to be."
It's been a while since the five of you had set off on your journey to the Grand Line after the whole incident with Arlong and by this point, you're thoroughly used to Sanji's flirting. He does it any chance he can to either you or Nami. Therefore, his comments don't phase you, too happy chewing on the tart he'd prepared for you.
They do, however, bother a certain someone.
"I thought I told you to quick it with the flirting, waiter." Zoro drawls, having just made his way into the kitchen. You straighten out at his voice, turning to face him with a smile as Sanji sends him a sharp glare.
"I've been looking for you," Zoro says, his tone considerably lighter as he turns his attention to you.
You beam, holding up your half-eaten tart. "Sanji made me a treat!" You exclaim, letting out a gummy smile. Zoro's eyes flicker across you for a moment, thinking to himself how utterly adorable you look in that moment, so content with just a simple treat. But when he's reminded of who prepped the treat, his mood sours.
Turning back to Sanji, Zoro glowers; "how nice of you."
"I live to serve," Sanji replies, just as icily.
You eye the both of them.
Moving closer to you, Zoro sends one last glare Sanji's way before lowing his gaze back to you. He sets his hand on your back, touch warm. "Nami says we'll be arriving at the next island by tomorrow."
"Oh, really?" You ask, swallowing. "I didn't think we'd find one so soon."
Zoro shrugs, and the sounds of Sanji chopping in the background fill the silence. "Want to explore together?"
At that, you practically flow. "Really?"
The corners of his lips turn upwards and Zoro laughs; "yeah. We didn't get to last time, so I thought we could."
Pushing the now empty plate away from you, you jump to your feet and wrap your arms around Zoro. He lets out a light huff as you practically fling your entire body on him, but his arms curl around your waist with ease.
"Yes!" You cheer, "I'd love to."
And as he returns your hug, Zoro can't help but send a smug smirk Sanji's way. The cook just rolls his eyes.
-
You're practically bouncing with every step you take.
Zoro, who walks more casually, watches with an amused smile as your eyes flicker from one thing to the next. You're so excited you can barely focus on one thing before getting distracted.
Then, he winces when you trip and nearly fall flat on your face.
Catching you by the waist, Zoro shakes his head. "Careful."
Turning to him, still in his arms, your cheeks are flushed as you offer a nervous smile. "Sorry," you whisper, "I'm just excited."
He snorts. "I can see that. But you're going to hurt yourself if you don't slow down."
He steps back, but his hand remains on you. Instead of holding your waist, he shifts to hold your hand instead, threading your fingers through his own.
That catches your attention. Pausing, your lips part, and you stare at your entwined hands.
"This is not my first time holding your hand," Zoro huffs down at you. It's as if he can already hear the thoughts that bounce around in your head.
"No, but... you're not usually so affectionate in public."
Zoro knows you're right so he doesn't bother trying to come up with an excuse. Instead, he simply just starts walking, hand still in yours, and this time, although you still walk with a bounce in your step, you match his stride.
-
After a long day of exploring the island together, you and Zoro, along with the rest of the crew, have settled down at a bar for the evening. You'd all agreed that going out to eat would be a nice treat and would give Sanji the break from cooking for one night.
It's been about an hour or two since the crew had arrived. Everyone had eaten and now Zoro is nursing a nice drink, watching you. Shortly after finishing eating, Usopp and Luffy had jumped to their feet, exclaiming they wanted to dance. Sanji had declined their offer with a fond smile while Nami simply rolled her eyes and said she'd pass. They hadn't even bothered asking Zoro, fully aware he didn't plan on getting up now that he had alcohol.
You, however, Luffy and Usopp had managed to convince to follow them to the dance floor. It had taken some coercion. At first, you'd shaken your head, assuring them you were happy where you were. But after Luffy had started begging, you'd given in pretty quickly then.
Zoro hadn't been able to take his eyes off of you since. He knew that Nami was definitely smirking at him and he's sure if he turned, Sanji would have a smart comment of his own. Zoro didn't really care.
It was nice to see you so care free.
You'd been stiff and awkward at first while Usopp and Luffy danced around you like bumbling idiots, but with time you'd eased into softer, more calm dance movements. The smile on your face was infectious though. With an ear to ear smile, you watch Luffy and Usopp with gleaming amusement as you let yourself dance to the rhythm of the music.
Your eyes kept ocassionaly meeting his, and almost instantly you'd flush in mild embarrassment. But Zoro would just offer you a small smile, making it clear he was happy you were enjoying himself. And that he was enjoying himself thoroughly too.
At least, he was.
Zoro pauses when he sees a body slither up beside you. Usopp and Luffy were currently in the midst of doing some sort linked dance, going around each other in circles, meaning they were oblivious to the new person.
Zoro, however, catches it immediately.
He sits up, setting his drink down as his body tenses.
The man who'd approached you steps close, chest pressing into the side of your back. You instantly stop moving, wide eyes turning to look behind you. Zoro can't hear what's said over the pounding of the music, but the look of discomfort on your face is clear.
So is the lecherous smirk on the man's face.
Without hesitating, Zoro stands to his face. His sudden movement catches Nami's attention who turns away from her conversation with Sanji in confusion. She calls out to him but Zoro doesn't bother to answer, not wasting a second before he makes his way straight over to you.
"Zoro!" Luffy calls, catching sight of his first mate with a beaming smile; thinking his crewmate is coming to join him.
Zoro doesn't respond to his Captain either. Instead, his eyes set on the man bothering you, his gaze fierce.
"Can I help you?" Zoro cuts in whatever the man had been saying, voice sharp and threatening.
Both you and the man turn to look his way at his voice, and the relief is visible on your face. Your body eases and you shuffle over to Zoro, pulling away from the man's unwanted touch.
"Just offering the lady a compliment on her dancing," the man smirks, eyeing Zoro. "What? You her boyfriend?"
Zoro scoffs, "I am, actually."
The man's face falters, briefly, before he scoffs. His eyes turn from Zoro back to you and his grin widens. "I think you need to be reminded of what a real man is, little lady. How about--"
Whatever he'd been about to say is promptly cut off as Zoro sends a sharp punch right to his face.
Gasps echo instantly. The crowd disperses from the dance floor and Zoro hears Usopp let out a scary squeak behind him as Luffy laughs loudly. Zoro ignores them all.
"Next time, I'll kill you," is all Zoro says.
Thens, he simply slips his hand in yours and turns to pull you out of the bar.
When he passes the crews table, Nami is sending him a smirk and raising her glass at him while Sanji looks ready to get up and punch the guy himself. Zoro just snorts, and continues walking.
You let him lead you, not fighting against his pull. You don't say anything either, the walk silent as Zoro eventually slows his pace, easing the walk on you.
Zoro only stops when you reach the ship.
In the girls cabin, Zoro lets out a sigh. "Are you okay?"
"Mmm-hmm," you mumble, hugging your arms to yourself now that Zoro's let go of your hand. Raising your head to meet his gaze, you smile softly; "thank you."
Zoro glances down at you and the frown that had been pressed on his lips eases at the sight of your worried face. Instantly, he realizes that you're worried about him.
Stepping back towards you, Zoro lets the tip of his fingers brush against your cheek.
"Sorry," he mumbles, suddenly feel abashed. "I didn't mean to scare you."
You shake your head, leaning into his touch. "You didn't scare me," you reassure. "I just didn't want you to worry about that guy anymore. He... It meant nothing to me."
Zoro lets a small smile curl on his lips.
"I know," he assures, pulling you towards him.
You respond to the hug with ease. Letting your head rest against his chest, your arms slip around his waist and you let out a soft breath.
"I vote we just stay here."
Zoro chuckles; "yeah?"
"The crew probably won't be back for a while."
"You're right."
With one last glance his way, your guys' decision is made for you. You step towards your bed, pulling Zoro with you. It's small and cramped, but it doesn't bother either of you. Zoro shifts so you're resting on him, head pressed against his chest and legs tangled together.
"Should've just done this from the beginning," Zoro sighs.
You let out a soft giggle. "I agree."
The rest of the night is spent quietly basking in each others arms.
Summary: Rumors spread quickly and may make more sense than they seem.
Word Count: 1,002
Tags/Warnings: funny story, Dean and Reader being friends... Maybe expecting to be more
This was more of a funny story among demons. The theory that Dean followed you around like a puppy seeking its owner’s approval. It was a joke to hide the fact that you were hunters who could easily annihilate them or send you back to hell. But there was a reason for that joke.
It was true that Dean was always behind you whenever you talked to someone else, be it an enemy or another hunter. Always present, at least three meters away, arms crossed, attentively observing your company. But you never noticed him. Yes, maybe you were aware of his presence, but you’d grown used to it. It seemed normal to you, something he’d do for any other hunter or his brother.
So when the other hunters saw them walk into a bar, Dean glancing around while you walked ahead, you never believed they were actually whispering about how it seemed Dean had a leash around his neck, held by you.
So the rumor spread among hunters, reaching even the demons who might possess them, to every supernatural creature in existence.
It was clear that at some point this rumor would reach you, and, of course, it had to be in the worst possible way.
⋆⋆⋆🝳✞✧★ఌ𐙚⋆⋆⋆
The mission was simple. They had agreed to go to a meeting with a group of demons. It was clear it was a trap and there were probably more demons than they had expected. That’s why they were prepared.
“Okay, Castiel and I will stay behind and check the perimeter and take out everyone hiding. You guys just make sure you buy time.”
“We know, Sam.”
“Just going over the plan.” He sighed.
“You heard her.” Dean smiled, tucking his gun into his jeans. “We got this.”
Sam rolled his eyes.
“Fine, whatever.”
⋆⋆⋆🝳✞✧★ఌ𐙚⋆⋆⋆
Later, as you walked, you straightened your jacket and glanced at Dean.
“Let me do the talking.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re no good at talking to demons.”
“What are you talking about? I’m an expert at talking.”
You stopped walking and turned to look at him. Dean stopped too.
“Dean, literally, the last time we had a conversation with a demon, you stabbed him in the shoulder.”
“Yeah, but that demon deserved it.”
You rolled your eyes.
“Let me do the talking.”
You walked past him, and Dean sighed, following behind you.
You spotted the demon from a distance and glanced over your shoulder at Dean before moving on. The demon and his followers looked at you.
“What? No guard dog today?”
You looked at him curiously, wondering what he meant by that, and Dean stepped out of the shadows, walking a few steps behind you.
“Oh, wait, there he is.”
The demons beside him laughed, and you felt Dean at your side, but you stopped him with a hand on his chest before he could continue walking.
“Hey, I am nobody’s freaking dog, demon.”
“Relax, Dean.” You muttered under your breath.
“Listen to your master, guard dog.”
“That’s enough. Did we come here to talk, or to joke around like kids?” You said, taking a step forward.
The lead demon looked over his shoulders at the other two before looking back at you.
“Fine. Let’s talk.”
⋆⋆⋆🝳✞✧★ఌ𐙚⋆⋆⋆
After “talking,” which was really a fight lasting less than two minutes and in which you emerged victorious, you and the boys went out to eat, but Dean couldn’t stop talking about the name-calling.
“And can you believe—?” He laughed, shaking his head in amusement. “Can you believe that demon called me a guard dog?” He gave another laugh, hoping the others would join in.
The thing is… No one joined him. Sam and Castiel exchanged a glance while the the first played with his salad.
“W-what? What’s wrong?”
You hid your smile as you took another bite of your burger.
“Well…” Sam began. “It’s just no wonder they call you that.”
Dean looked at him as if he’d said the most horrible thing in the world and rested his elbows on the table, leaning forward.
“What do you mean by that?”
“You’re always chasing after her, stalking her, and looking around.” He put some of his salad in his mouth. “It’s kind of funny, actually.”
“No, it’s not funny. You know why? ‘Cause It’s not true.” He looked at you. “It’s not true.” He repeated, but you just shrugged, so he turned to Castiel for support. “Come on, Cas, tell him it’s not true.”
“Well…” Castiel sighed, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “It’s true that your closeness to her has spread rumors about you among the angels.”
“Rumors?” You asked curiously.
“Yeah, some angels claim you’re sleeping together, and others claim Dean’s in love with you, but you prefer him as a friend, so now he’s acting like a dog following you around.”
Dean shook his head, and you put down your burger.
“We’re not sleeping together.” You said quickly. Sam looked at both of you curiously. “We’re not, no.”
“No, of course not.” Dean laughed awkwardly. “And I’m not in love with her in any way, and she definitely didn’t reject me.”
“And even if he were into me, I’d reject him.” You nodded.
At that, Dean looked at you and wiped his hands.
“Well, I think there would be a lot of factors to consider first—”
“No, there’s nothing to consider. I’d reject you immediately.”
He licked his lips and raised his eyebrows.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“You sound very determined.”
“I am.”
For a few moments, Dean forgot Sam and Castiel were present and turned to look at them.
“See? Nothing more than rumors.”
He went back to eating, just like you, but neither Sam nor Castiel shared those beliefs. They exchanged a look and Sam shrugged.
“Okay…” He mumbled before returning to his meal.
The three of you ate in silence under Castiel’s gaze, but every so often, Dean and you would also exchange glances, wondering if maybe, and just maybe… something more than friendship was happening between you two.
You don't know how this happened. 12 hours ago you were driving down the highway, music blaring, Dean laughing behind the wheel.
Now you're in an interrogation room, handcuffed to the table, being accused of god-knows-what. You're not even sure why you've been arrested- okay, skulking around an active crime scene with a loaded gun and a car full of weapons didn't help- but they still haven't told you exactly why they're holding you.
Dean's next to you, he looks like he's about to break out of his own cuffs by how irrate he's gotten-
"If you dare touch my wife again I'm going to fucking-"
If there's one thing about Dean, he knows a con. He knows faking a relationship will help you get out of this- though you're not sure why he went as far as wife. Maybe girlfriend is just too close to home, trying to label something you've never once thought about labelling. Wife is fake, wife is a charade. Girlfriend feels like defining the indefinable.
You and Dean aren't a thing. You're just not. Maybe Dean wants it- hell maybe you do too, but you two have never been about dealing with your problems, and you're not about to start.
"Sir, please- this isn't getting us anywhere." The cop sighs, her head in her hands.
Caught at the edge of the forest at 3am, the same place two bodies had just been found, Dean immediately fell into a We were just having sex! routine. A routine you've seen before- a routine you've gone along with before- but it's never had to last this long. He started to get angry the moment you were put in cuffs- the same time he started calling you his wife. The name twisted in your gut in a way you pretend not to notice.
Dean slumps back against the seat- a vain in his forehead ready to pop. You like watching Dean act- he's a funny sunuvabitch when he wants to be, and it always makes you laugh to see him putting on a character. You can almost see the twinkle in his eye, the secret him hidden behind the mask.
"I'm a tax paying citizen- you can't do this." He grumbles. Oh he's really in character.
"All we want to know is why you chose that particular spot to apparently have an intimate moment while still completely clothed and carrying loaded guns."
"I know my rights- I don't have to tell you shit!"
She sighs again, rolling her eyes, "Are you two even married?"
"Of course we- what the fuck?" Dean seems taken aback. He's not used to his hustles being so outright questioned.
"Your IDs are from different places- you haven't got the same last name-"
"She's a feminist-" Dean glances at you, "-wanted to keep her own."
"-you haven't got wedding rings- you're not acting like a couple."
You swallow hard, looking down at your cuffed wrists. That's mostly your fault, you don't know how to make it look like you're his wife. Not when it feels this real.
"When's her birthday?" The cop leans forward.
"I- shit- okay so that's just one detail about her I can't remember-" Dean looks at you, guilty. He told you there was no way he'd need to learn the date on your fake ID.
"Where was she born?"
"Look- I didn't have to memorize her ID to marry her-" He's not even able to keep up his fake angry act, clearly out of his depth.
"What do you- do?" She raises an eyebrow.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean mutters.
"What do you do? You and her? You're a couple- right? Been married a while? Tell me what it's like, when it's just you two?"
Fuck. You look a her hand. A ring. She's married. Of course she's married. This isn't about facts, this isn't about the IDs- this is about how you're meant to look. How it feels. Whether you can convince her you're actually in love.
"We-" Dean gawks, his mouth opening and closing like he's a fish taking in air- "We- I don't know we kiss? We hold hands?"
"That's it?" The cop raises her eyebrow.
"Jesus what do you want me to say? We fuck like rabbits! I bend her over and-"
"He holds my hair back." You cut in. They both turn to you. You've been silent since the moment you stepped into the room, under strict instructions from Dean to keep your mouth shut. You're no good at lying- you know that. So instead, you decide to tell the truth. "When I vomit- he holds my hair back. When I get sick, or too drunk- he sits there with me and rubs my back- tells me I'm not gonna die."
The cop gives you a small nod to continue.
You swallow, "He- uh- I get nightmares, sometimes- they're bad- real bad- and he'll always wake up with me- and he'll go through them and make sure I know they're not real- and then he won't sleep until he knows I'm asleep again."
You glance over at Dean, his face twisted in confusion. Clearly he doesn't understand why you're saying these things- these very real things that actually happen. No cons, no hustles- he doesn't understand what this is supposed to prove.
"He ran me a bath once- when I was uh- I had the flu-" You're bad at lying. Your face starts to heat, it wasn't the flu. It was a busted skull from a demon hunt gone wrong, the whole left side of your body purple with bruises, a cut on your thigh almost deep enough to see bone. You go back to the story, the real story, "-and he washed my hair for me because I could barely lift my arms. And he just hummed- the whole time- didn't say a word just- he wanted to distract me, from the pain- the flu pain- and so he just... Hummed."
You've almost lost the train of thought, now you just want to talk about Dean. Why you like him. Why he's so kind and sweet and why you should have never pretended to be in a relationship to begin with.
The cop nods slowly, thinking through your words. Then she looks at Dean, "And you? You got anything else to say?"
He seems baffled, forehead creased. He looks between you and the cop, still trying to figure out what's actually happening.
"Just-" you take a deep breath, reach your hand across to his. You wrap your fingers into his- it looks like something a couple would do. It feels like something a couple would do. It is something you and Dean have done before- laying together in a small motel bed, both of you just glad to be alive, exhausted from a hunt. And you reached over, tangling your fingers together, both of you sleeping with the comfort of the other. You give him a look, a tiny glare, willing him to understand what you need, "-just tell her. Yeah? Tell her the truth."
There's a long pause, then Dean starts to speak, "She wears my jacket. When she gets cold- because she always forgets to dress for the weather and it's goddamn annoying because I always tell her-"
Your heart sinks- clearly he doesn't understand what you're trying to do here. You look at your entwined hands- he gives yours a small squeeze, almost imperceptible, a silent I've got this.
"-the point is, she wears my jacket. And then when I put it back on it smells like her- and it feels nice. It's nice knowing she's there even when she's not there."
"Anything else?"
Dean lets out a small breath, "She tells me when I'm being mean- she'll look at me like I'm a dumbass and stop me from making an absolute idiot of myself." He squeezed your hand again, but then keeps the firm hold, fingers still locked, "And I make an idiot of myself a lot."
The cop nods, "Good answer."
He smiles, "And she listens to me- like she really listens to me. Puts down whatever she's doing to hear me complain about random bullshit-" he glances at you. Then away again, "-but she does this thing when she's focusing, where it's like she gets all lost in just looking at you- and jesus she doesn't even realize she's doing it but it's the most gorgeous sight you'll ever see."
You chew at the inside of your cheek, trying not to take his words to heart. He's good at hustling, you know that. Good at lying.
The cop looks back at you, "You love him?"
You give a small nod, "Yeah- yes. Course I do."
Then at Dean, "And you?"
"Yeah-" he glances at you, "-I love her."
She nods slowly, appreciating the responses. There's a long pause, she just stares at you, likes she's waiting for one of you to break. You keep hold of Dean's hand, feeling the way it relaxes against your own. Then she stands- "Wait here."- and leaves the room in one quick move.
You feel your heart pounding in your chest, eyes still facing forward, refusing to turn. You bite your lip, trying not to make a sound, scared of the moment.
He finally lets out a slow sigh, a small laugh, "Good work sweetheart- you're getting better- hell even I almost believed you."
You swallow hard, unfurling your hand from his, then let out your own halfhearted laugh, "Thanks- learnt from the best."
He keeps his hand outstretched, like an invitation for you to come back. You tap your foot slightly, still not looking at him.
"You- uh- you heard me humming?" He murmurs, "Thought you were so out of it you'd forget."
"Yeah- yeah it was nice." You nod slowly. You look at his hand, still just waiting. "Do you actually like it when I wear your jacket?"
He looks at you, then away again, "Yeah- you suit it, I guess."
There's a beat. You hold your breath as you look at him, he turns his head at the same time, both of you watching each other carefully.
His jaw clenches quickly, a rapid blink, "Hey, sweetheart? Do you really-"
The door goes, you both turn to look as the cop steps back in. She stares at you both again, that small chance you'll break, then gives a short nod, "You're both free to go."
☾𖤓☾𖤓☾𖤓☾𖤓☾𖤓
Part of the tarot series - 22 unrelated short stories exploring different Dean x Reader archetypes.
Asked to tag: @pieolsen
☀️ As always- I'd love to know your thoughts ❤️ Comments are very much appreciated ☀️
heyy, could you write something on Dean finding out he's going to be a dad, reader finding out and telling him and Dean on his usual overprotective manner and being extremely lovely to her, something veryyy fluffy and emotional 💌
⋆˚꩜｡ two pink lines,
summary. you’re terrified to tell him you’re pregnant—until dean proves he’s been waiting for something like this his whole life.
pairing. dean winchester x reader ( f )
wordcount. 545 genre. fluffy fluff!
warnings. pregnancy reveal, emotional vulnerability, soft dean
<𝟑 .ᐟ consider supporting my work on ko-fi 🩷
You find out alone.
That wasn’t the plan. There wasn’t a plan. Just a pharmacy run for headache meds and a test you toss into the basket like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t feel heavier than a gun.
Two pink lines.
You stare at them so long your vision blurs.
You don’t cry.
You just sit on the edge of the bathtub, heart pounding, whispering, “Oh my God,” to no one.
Dean is in the bunker garage when you find him.
Music playing low. Hood of the Impala open. He’s elbow-deep in engine grease, muttering to himself about carburetors.
You stand there for a second, watching him.
He looks peaceful. Focused. Safe in his routine.
“Hey, baby,” he says without looking up. “You bring me that socket wrench?”
Your voice doesn’t work at first.
“Dean.”
Something in your tone makes him straighten immediately.
He wipes his hands on a rag, eyes scanning your face. “What’s wrong?”
You shake your head. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“That’s not how you say my name when nothing’s wrong.”
Your hands are shaking, so you just hand him the test.
He frowns at it. “What’s this—”
And then he sees.
There’s a full three seconds where his brain just… stops.
You watch it happen.
His eyes flick between the lines. Back to you. Back to the lines.
“You’re—” He swallows. “You’re pregnant?”
You nod.
Silence floods the garage.
You brace yourself.
For fear. For panic. For the weight of his past crashing down between you.
Instead—
Dean sits down hard on the bumper of the Impala.
“Okay,” he breathes.
You rush to fill the space. “If you’re not ready, or if this isn’t what you—”
“Hey.” His head snaps up. “Don’t.”
He stands again, closing the distance between you in two steps.
“You think I don’t want this?” he asks softly.
“I don’t know,” you admit, voice small. “You never really talked about it.”
He exhales shakily, one hand coming up to cradle your face.
“I didn’t think I’d get it,” he says. “That’s different.”
The words settle into you slowly.
He glances down at your stomach. Not obvious yet. Still just you.
But not just you.
“You’re sure?” he asks gently.
“Yeah.”
A smile breaks across his face, hesitant at first. Then brighter. Softer. Almost boyish.
“Holy crap,” he whispers. “I’m gonna be a dad.”
The awe in his voice makes your chest ache.
He drops to his knees in front of you without a second thought, hands hovering before carefully resting at your hips.
“There’s a tiny Winchester in there,” he murmurs, stunned.
You laugh wetly. “Fifty percent me.”
“Poor kid,” he teases automatically—then looks up at you with something so open it steals your breath. “We’re gonna be okay.”
“You sound very sure.”
“I am.”
He presses his forehead gently against your stomach, grease-stained hands warm and steady.
“I’m not my dad,” he says quietly. More to himself than to you. “I’m gonna do this right.”
Tears finally spill over.
He stands again, pulling you into his chest, holding you like you’re something breakable and precious all at once.
“You’re not alone in this,” he promises into your hair. “You got me.”
And for the first time since you saw those two pink lines, you know you’ll be okay.
ꔛ. all works ; writing guidelines ; writing schedule
── .✦ requests are currently closed.
summary: After a messy vamp hunt leaves them drenched in blood, Dean and his partner share a cramped motel shower. No heat, just tired teasing, gentle touches, soap fights, and the quiet comfort of two people who’ve already seen each other at their worst.
warnings: brief nudity (non-sexual shower sharing) light swearing excessive amounts of domestic fluff for two hunters Dean being stupidly soft in private
The motel bathroom was barely big enough for one person, let alone two grown hunters caked in blackish-red vamp blood, but Dean kicked the door shut behind them anyway.
“Jesus, we smell like a slaughterhouse had a bad day,” he muttered, already peeling his soaked flannel away from his skin. It landed in the corner with a wet slap.
She snorted, reaching past him to twist the shower knob. The pipes groaned like they were personally offended before lukewarm water sputtered out. “You’re the one who said ‘aim for the neck, less mess.’”
“Yeah, well, clearly the necks disagreed.” He tugged his shirt over his head, grimacing as it peeled away from a smear of dried blood on his collarbone. “You got some in your hair, by the way. Looks like you went full Carrie.”
She flicked a glance at the foggy mirror, then at him. “And you’ve got a whole handprint on your ass. Classy.”
Dean twisted to check, eyebrows lifting. “Huh. Souvenir.” He grinned, crooked and tired, then stepped under the spray without waiting for an invitation.
She followed a second later, shoving him lightly so she could steal the bulk of the water. “Move, Winchester. Some of us actually care about getting clean.”
He laughed under his breath, grabbing the tiny bar of motel soap and lathering it between his palms. “Here. You first. Ladies who decapitate zombies get priority.”
She rolled her eyes but let him rub the suds into her shoulders, his thumbs working in lazy circles over the knot that always lived there after a hunt. She tipped her head back, letting the water sluice the worst of the mess down the drain.
“You missed a spot,” she said, reaching up to swipe a thumb across his jaw where a streak of red still clung.
He caught her wrist, gentle, and pressed a quick kiss to the inside of it—more reflex than anything else. “Better?”
“Marginally.” She smirked, then flicked soap bubbles at his face. “You still look like you lost a fight with a paint roller.”
Dean retaliated by scooping a handful of water and dumping it over her head.
She yelped, laughing, and shoved him back against the tiles. “Asshole.”
“Your asshole,” he shot back, already reaching for the shampoo bottle. He squeezed way too much into his palm—because of course he did—and started working it into her hair, careful around the tangles, like he’d done it a hundred times before. Which he had.
For a minute there was only the sound of water drumming on porcelain, the soft rasp of fingers against scalp, and the occasional muttered curse when one of them stepped on the other’s foot.
She leaned back against his chest, eyes closed. “We’re burning these clothes.”
“Already planning the bonfire,” he murmured into her wet hair. “Maybe throw the boots in too. They’re cursed now.”
“Everything we own is cursed.”
“True. But these ones are extra cursed.”
She huffed a laugh, small and fond, and turned just enough to rest her forehead against his. The water kept falling, warm now, washing away the last of the night.
Neither of them said anything else. They didn’t need to.
They just stood there, breathing the steam, letting the grime spiral down the drain until the only thing left was them—tired, bruised, alive, and still stupidly in love with each other.
Eddie Munson x ex wife! reader, Steve Harrington x reader
Summary:
Eddie’s life is falling apart. It feels like just when he thinks he might be able to pull himself out of this—things get worse. So much worse. You and the kids are the only thing he can cling onto to hold himself together.
Warnings:
Big time angst, drinking, drunk driving, drug mention (weed), pregnancy
Word Count: 13.2k
A/N:
The first thing I wanna say here is: trust the process! I love you guys so much and I am so excited for this chapter. It’s a big one. I can’t wait to hear your thoughts. The wait for chapter five should not be as long! Also I’ve been putting together a playlist for this series, let me know if you want me to share it!
Eddie had been drinking. A lot.
You could tell the moment you saw him, even though he was sober now. It was in the bags beneath his eyes, the defeated way he carried himself, the band tee he wore that was more wrinkled than usual, as if he had grabbed it from the top of the hamper and threw it on at the last second. His curls were wild, reminding you of when you’d first met, before you showed him how to take care of them.
The girls jumped out of the back of your car with their bags as you climbed out, eyes lingering on him with your brows furrowed in concern. He did seem to light up at the sight of them, smiling as they threw themselves at him in a group hug.
“Hey, my girls,” he said, even his voice raspy. He kissed the top of Caroline’s head, holding his daughters close like it had been much longer than a week since he’d seen them.
“Miss Amanda said I did exeptially well at the recital,” Janie said proudly, a wide smile on her face.
“Exceptionally,” Caroline corrected with a roll of her eyes.
Janie shot her sister a look before turning back to Eddie. “She said I was the best in the whole class!”
“She did not say that,” Caroline muttered.
Eddie laughed softly, the interaction with his girls lighting him up in a way it looked like he hadn’t felt in a minute. “Well, you were.” he said, brushing his hand through her hair. “I was so proud of you, baby girl. You were amazing up there.”
“I’m gonna be a real ballerina,” Janie declared proudly, nodding her head. “Mama says I’m serious and that’s how real ballerinas are.”
“She’s right,” Eddie said, leaning back against the side of his truck. “You even got your first bouquet. That’s how you know you’ve made it.” He gives you a look over their heads. You knew you’d be hearing about that at some point.
“The beautifulest bouquet!” Janie exclaimed, bouncing in place. “Mama helped me put them in water and now they’re in my room!”
“And we went to Enzo’s,” Missy contributed, her gap-toothed grin brightening her face. “I ate some steak.”
Eddie’s eyes widened. “You went to Enzo’s?” He looked at you again.
“Yes!” Missy yelled. “Steve took us. He had reserations and everything!”
“Reservations,” Caroline mumbled.
“Wow,” Eddie said, his voice deadpan. “That’s…nice.”
Silence settled over the group like a physical weight even the kids were aware of. Caroline looked over at you, making you school your expression into something neutral and less irritated.
“Okay, girls, get your bags in the truck. Your dad probably wants to get out of here,” you said, leaning against your own car with an ankle crossed over the other, your arms across your chest. Eddie’s gaze lingered on you as the kids did as you said, climbing into the backseat and shutting the door, cutting out the sound of their bickering entirely.
The silence was even heavier now. You could feel Eddie looking at you as much as you could see him, his eyes big and dark and so deep you used to get lost in them. You held the sleeves of your sweater tighter around you, blaming it on the November chill.
His expression was unreadable, which was unfamiliar to you. But then his lips turned into that lopsided smile. “You look good.”
You sighed, even though his words stuck with you in a way you didn’t like. “Eddie, have you been drinking?” you asked like you couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Like…a lot?”
His face fell immediately. He said your name in that pained way that always made your heart ache, running a hand through his already disheveled curls. “It’s not…I mean, yeah, but—“
“Today?”
“No!” Eddie said. “Jesus, no.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “I’m not…I’m fine. You don’t have to be worried about the girls, or anything.”
You frowned, because you didn’t know if that gave you much confidence. “You sure?” you asked, a little softer this time. “If you need me to keep them this weekend, I’m sure they’d understand—“
Eddie was already shaking his head. “No, definitely not. I’ve…I need this.” There was a heavy pause—then he laughed softly, more bitter than anything.
“I’m going crazy in that house.” The words came out quiet, like a confession. “I just…I need to spend time with my kids. I need to feel fucking normal.”
His words hit you like a punch to the stomach. You’d noticed that Eddie seemed to be having a hard time lately, but you didn’t realize it was this bad.
“Eddie…” you said his name so gently you thought you saw him flinch. “I don’t—“ you paused. Because what could you say in this situation? You were his ex wife, it’s not like you were in the position to offer too much comfort. “I meant it when I said you can talk to me, if you need to. And if you need to talk to someone, there’s nothing wrong with that either—“
Eddie laughed again, running his hand over his mouth. “You think I’m losing it.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Yeah, well.” Eddie finally pushed off the side of his truck. “I’m okay. I swear. You don’t have to worry about me.”
You bit at the side of your lip as you watched him. Maybe he was fine for now, but you couldn’t help the creeping anxiety over knowing you wouldn’t see him again for another two weeks after picking up the girls. And when had you ever been anything less than excited to not have to see Eddie for a while?
“Okay,” you said finally. “Um…call me, if you need to.”
Eddie nodded once. “Will do.” He lingered awkwardly for a second before he finally walked around, getting into the driver’s seat.
In the safety of your own car, you let out a shaky breath, hands tight on the steering wheel. You sat there for a minute after Eddie left, thinking so fast it was making your head spin.
You were worried.
And you didn’t understand why you cared so much all of a sudden.
Eddie’s weekend with the kids went by way faster than he would’ve liked.
He spent the days he had cherishing every second possible with his girls, taking them to the arcade, out roller skating, and having movie marathons at the house. Stacy joined them for some of the movies, but for the most part, it felt like an escape to Eddie.
Sunday evening coming around was like a slap to the face. He wasn’t ready to go back to his life alone with Stacy, and those couple days never felt like enough time with his kids.
It had only been two and a half years since the breakup, after all. Since he was living in a house with you and the kids, together. Since he came home to a house with so much noise and laughter and love every day. And sure, he had enjoyed the bachelor lifestyle for a while, bringing girls over and smoking weed in the house and coming home to relax with a beer, unbothered, after work—but it wore off fast.
And then came the regret.
He figured it was normal, at first. It was normal to miss the woman you’d spent over a decade with, right? But it was more than that. It was a deep ache in his bones, a yearning in his chest. He found he thought of you constantly. He’d come home ready to tell you about his day, just to be hit with the utter silence, the suffocating loneliness.
Stacy had been his attempt at something normal, something stable after you. And it had been a mistake. He’d liked her at first, of course he had. She was beautiful, and she was fun, at least in the beginning. As much as he enjoyed spending time with her, her company making the weekdays alone feel less like a personal hell, he knew deep down that she never made him feel the way you did. No one had ever come close.
Eddie thought about that a lot lately, but especially now, as the girls gathered their things to go back home. He watched them bustle around the house, between their rooms and the living room, bickering with each other. There was a comfort to the chaos, one like he hadn’t found anywhere else, one that he missed desperately.
It hit him all at once. Something he knew, deep down, that he had known for a while, but now it was there, unignorable, like a total and complete truth that couldn’t be denied anymore even if he wanted to.
He loved you. He was in love with you, and had never stopped, not for a single second. He was a complete and utter idiot for ruining things with you, for trying to distract himself from the way he felt about you with other women, and he couldn’t blame you if you never forgave him for it. But fuck, he couldn’t live with himself anymore if he didn’t at least try. What if you felt the same, somewhere inside?
The girls rushing back into the hallway snapped him from his thoughts, the three of them packed with their bags over their shoulders. The reminder that his time with them was over settled heavily over his chest again, but he forced a smile, picking up his truck keys from the hall table.
“Ready to go?” he asked, twirling them around his finger. “You know Mom hates when we’re late.”
“Ready,” Missy confirmed. “But, um, I can’t find my Barbie. The one with the makeover?”
Eddie knew exactly what doll she was referring to, because it nearly gave him nightmares. Missy had taken scissors to the doll’s blonde hair ages ago, leaving it ragged and sticking in all directions, and marker to the face for makeup, the smile reminding him more of the Joker at this point. He cringed at the thought of the thing being somewhere hidden in his house for him to inevitably find in the middle of the night.
Missy smiled a little bigger. “Yeah. She always finds me.”
The wording of that gave Eddie an uncomfortable chill, but then Caroline and Janie were bickering again on their way out the front door, Missy trailing behind, and Eddie followed. Caroline helped lift Missy into the truck, the girls getting themselves in their seats in the back while Eddie climbed into the front.
Eddie started the engine with a loud rumble, the radio blasting at the volume he’d left it at. He turned it down, bouncing between a few of his favorite stations to see if anything interesting was playing.
“Can we listen to Sad But True?” Janie pleaded from the backseat. When Eddie looked into the rear view mirror, he saw Caroline and Missy nodding in agreement.
A crooked smile touched his lips, pride swelling in his chest. “Yeah?”
“Yes!” Missy exclaimed. “I like that one. I like when you sing it.”
Eddie laughed, reaching for his large collection of CDs he kept in a thick organizer between the seats. He easily picked out the self-titled Metallica album, putting it in the player and skipping to the second track.
Eddie pulled out of the driveway as the song began, head banging with the opening riff, his curls bouncing wildly as the girls laughed behind him, doing the same. Yeah, they were Munsons, alright.
All three girls sang along with him, knowing every word. “I’m your dream, mind astray, I’m your eyes while you’re away, I’m your pain while you repay. You know it’s sad but true!”
Eddie hadn’t felt so light and happy in what felt like ages. And the thought of getting to see you again had him feeling even more on top of the world, knowing that he had finally accepted that he still loves you, and that he wanted you to know. Everything felt right in a way he had been craving.
They listened to more of the album as he drove. He held a cigarette out the window, trying to keep the smoke away from the backseat. His fingers tapped against the steering wheel with the songs, smiling to himself as he listened to the girls sing along.
His smile faltered when he pulled into the old parking lot and saw another car there—but it wasn’t yours. It wasn’t hard to figure out who else would be here in a fancy, brand new BMW, the paint shining, not a single scratch on it.
Eddie’s eyes narrowed as he killed the engine, watching Steve step out of the driver’s seat, still somehow looking every bit the rich asshole even in jeans and a polo on his day off. But then you walked around from the other side, a soft smile on your face that made his stomach flip, your own jeans hugging your curves in all his favorite places.
He swallowed hard, then busied himself with getting out of the car and helping his daughters with their bags. He walked around to open the door on Janie’s side, helping her down first before Missy latched onto Eddie’s bicep, forcing him to flex his muscles as he held the 40-something pounds of her, the six-year-old bending her legs beneath her like hanging from a tree branch.
His arm trembled slightly at the weight of it, and he laughed as her sneakers finally touched the ground. “Don’t know how much longer I can do that, princess. You guys are outgrowing me.”
“Steve can do it!” Missy exclaimed, bouncing on her toes before she ran over to Steve. He let out a huff of air as she practically launched herself at him, then chuckled as she latched onto his arm the way she’d always done to Eddie. He flexed his bicep, holding her weight steadily like it was nothing as she dangled her feet.
“He can hold both of us!” Janie said, immediately proving her point as she grabbed onto his other arm. He struggled a little more on her side, but he held them both, and it took every ounce of restraint in Eddie’s body to not roll his eyes hard.
“Okay, girls, that’s enough,” you laughed as lightheartedly as possible, sensing the tension radiating off of Eddie in waves. You smiled a little awkwardly as you took the girls’ bags from him, the soft brush of your fingers against his enough to distract him from how bad he fucking hated Steve Harrington. His eyes met yours for a brief moment that felt a lot longer to him, and then you were gone, putting the bags in Steve’s trunk.
You walked back around to where Janie and Missy were animatedly telling Steve all about the prizes they’d won at the arcade, how Eddie showed them all his tricks for skee ball, and his absurd talent for getting the prize he’s after from claw machines nearly every single time. You couldn’t help a smile at their bragging, remembering how Eddie had snagged you the cutest bat plushie on your first date that lived in the center of your bed for years.
“Did Caroline tell you about next month?” you asked him, leaning against the car door.
Eddie furrowed his brows, looking at his oldest daughter. “No?”
“I forgot,” Caroline said sheepishly. She looked up at her dad. “I have a choir concert…like a big one, for Christmas.” She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “The 12th, before Christmas break.”
“Okay,” Eddie said, mentally noting it down. “You know I wouldn’t miss it, baby.”
“But you have to dress nice,” she added quickly. “Everyone has to dress up really nice, and you guys can not embarrass me—“
“Because Nathan is gonna be there!” Janie said, making kissing noises at her older sister.
Caroline turned bright red, pushing Janie in the shoulder. “Shut up!”
Eddie held up a hand. “Wait. Who is Nathan?”
Caroline covered her face with her hands.
“Nathan is her boooyfriend!” Missy giggled.
“He is not my boyfriend!”
“Yeah, but you wish he was!” Janie laughed. “‘Dear diary, today Nathan sat beside me at lunch. He gave me half his chocolate chip cookie—‘“
Caroline let out an angry groan, dropping her hands and looking at her middle sister with fire in her big brown eyes. “I told you to stop reading my diary! How did you even find it again?”
“Please,” Janie said. “Like you make it hard. ‘Nathan kissed me after practice today—‘“
“He kissed you?” Eddie said, his mind still struggling to wrap around the conversation. “You’re kissing boys?”
“Oh my god,” Caroline groaned, burying her face in her hands again.
“Yes!” Janie giggled. “And she—“
“Janie, that’s enough,” you said, fingers on your temples as you felt a headache coming on. Steve lingered awkwardly off to the side, trying to hide his amusement. “Give your sister a break.”
“She has a boyfriend?” Eddie asked you, the look on his face nothing short of horrified.
“Everyone get in the car,” you said. “We’ve got to get dinner started before bedtime.”
The girls listened, Missy giggling as Caroline and Janie kept up their quiet fighting. Steve pressed a soft kiss to your head before getting back in the driver’s seat, giving you and Eddie as much privacy as he could.
“Why am I just now hearing about this?” Eddie asked, his rings catching in the light of the sunset where his fingers trailed through his hair. “A boyfriend? Already?”
“They aren’t really…I mean, they’re 11, you know?” you smiled softly. “They just went on their first little date last week to see a movie. I dropped her off and picked her up, met the kid’s parents.”
Eddie rubbed a hand over his stubble. “I don’t like the idea of some little creep—“
“Eddie!” you scolded, even through a soft laugh. “He’s a good kid.”
“Not good enough for my kid,” he muttered.
“You don’t know anything about him,” you laughed. “And you’re gonna feel that way about anyone she dates for the rest of her life. I know you.”
He smiled softly, because he knew you were right. “You don’t think she’s too young?”
“It’s nothing crazy serious,” you shrugged. “She’s in middle school now, Eddie. She’s growing up.”
“I just…” he said, anxiously scratching at his short facial hair. “I don’t want her to grow up too fast. I don’t want…”
“Don’t want her to end up pregnant in high school like me?” you asked.
Eddie flinched slightly. “I didn’t…” He rubbed his hand over his mouth again, the idea itself making him feel sick. “I mean, yeah.”
“She’s not us, Eddie.” You said softly. “She knows how hard that is. She’s a smart girl. She’s got dreams and ambition and two parents who love her more than anything and can tell her firsthand all about that.” You smiled again. “And I think you’re getting ahead of yourself. It’s a first little crush, nothing crazy.”
He sighed. “I know. I know all that. I just…thought I had more time here. Before she grew up on me.”
You softened. “Yeah. It happens before you know it.”
Eddie nodded, because he knew that more than anyone. “Well, I’ll be at the concert. And I want to meet this boy.”
“Talk to Care about that,” you laughed. You pushed off the side of the car. “I’m gonna get these guys home, get dinner started.” You paused, remembering how rough he’d looked just two days ago, now knowing he’d be without the kids for two weeks. “…Take care of yourself, Eddie.”
He nodded again, clearly distracted. “Yeah. I will. You…you too.”
Eddie watched you leave before he bothered to move himself, getting back into his truck. He’d wanted to say something so badly when he saw you, but Steve’s presence ruined everything he’d been hoping for. Steve was making things complicated, and it was becoming more and more clear to him that he was running out of time before things with Steve really did become too serious.
He knew what he needed to do. He needed to end things with Stacy, tonight. Whether you agreed to try again with him or not, it was the first step, and the right thing to do. Maybe it would show you how serious he was.
He didn’t think he could live with himself if he let you slip by again.
You felt exhausted walking back into the apartment behind the girls, Steve trailing behind you with everyone’s belongings stacked in his arms. He dumped them on the couch at your instruction.
“Girls, please put your stuff away!” you called as they headed off to their bedrooms. “Tonight! I don’t want this stuff in the living room for a week.”
“We will!” Caroline called back right before the bang of her bedroom door nearly slamming shut. Off to find a new place to hide her diary, you were sure.
You walked into the kitchen, turning the oven on before bending over to grab the meat you’d been thawing for dinner. You jumped when you felt Steve’s large palm slap against your ass, laughing when you stood up straight again.
“Really?” you teased, moving to the counter to start prepping. “You’re such a perv.”
You smiled as you felt his hands slide up to rest on your hips, his body pressing in behind you. “Can’t help it,” he mumbled into your ear. “Look too damn good in those jeans.”
His touch sent a chill across your skin, your body melting back into his while you mixed together the ingredients for the meatloaf. “You didn’t get enough all weekend, Harrington? You’re insatiable.”
Steve chuckled quietly against your neck, where he was placing soft kisses against every bit of bare skin he could reach. His hands moved around to your front, fingertips grazing just beneath your shirt. “I don’t think I could ever get enough of you.”
You let out a sharp exhale. “You can’t do this to me when we’re not alone…”
Steve hummed, sucking lightly on the skin between your neck and shoulder. “They’ll be asleep in a few hours…”
The laugh that escaped your lips was breathless and distracted. Steve had your heart beating fast, that feeling between your thighs again that you really wish you could let him take care of right now. “That’s true, I guess…” You pulled away from him long enough to put the meatloaf in a baking dish, sliding it into the oven and setting the timer. “You really want to stay another night?”
Steve shrugged as he leaned against the counter watching you, a comfortable grin on his face. “Why not? I like being with you. Beats sitting at home alone…where I’d be thinking about you, anyway.”
You looked at Steve, the affection you felt for him swelling in your chest. “I think you’ve got it bad, Stevie.”
“For you?” he smiled, soft and boyish and handsome. “Yeah, I do.”
You walked up to him, arms sliding around his neck while his hands happily rested on your waist again, pulling you close. There was just something about the way his large hands felt when he held you…
Soft lips met yours in a kiss both gentle and passionate, the kind that had your heartbeat thudding against the surface of Steve’s own chest. He smiled into the kiss, his thumbs rubbing soft circles on your hips.
He pressed you back against the counter, and you moaned softly into his mouth. His hands slid around to grip your ass for just a moment before he grabbed your thighs, lifting you to sit on the counter. You pulled away from the kiss long enough to gasp as a measuring cup was knocked over into the sink, laughing softly even as Steve connected his lips back to yours.
“Steve—“ you said, trying to get a word out between the frantic way he was kissing you. “Dinner—the kids—“
Steve groaned, his hands tightening where they held your sides. “Just a little make out session,” he pleaded, lips trailing down your jaw to your neck. “Nothing wrong with that.”
You moaned quietly again when you felt his tongue against your pulse point, your fingers digging into his thick biceps. “I can’t think when you’re…”
“Don’t need to think,” he answered quickly, his voice low and husky. “Just feel.”
And you could feel—everything. Your racing pulse, your head spinning, the heat in your veins. His hot breath against your skin, his searing kisses, his hands, greedy and searching—the hard bulge pressing against you that you allowed yourself to grind against just once, earning a ragged moan from Steve that sounded like it was torn straight from his lungs.
It took everything in you to place your hands on his chest, lightly pushing him away. When he looked up at you, you nearly pulled him right back in. His hair was disheveled, cheeks flushed, eyes dark and lips wet and kiss swollen. He looked absolutely sinful.
“Steve…” you said, breathing ragged, pupils dilated as you tried to calm yourself. “I—fuck—“
Steve smirked, moving in again, before you placed your hand in the center of his chest. “What?” he asked, actually pouting.
You laughed breathlessly. “We can’t…not right now. Later, okay?”
That was enough to please him. Steve placed one more soft kiss to your lips, making your head spin once again even with that brief contact. He held your hips and helped you jump down off the counter, just as Missy rushed in, her sock feet sliding against the kitchen floor linoleum.
She froze, before a mischievous smile crossed her features. “What are you dooooing?” she asked, drawing out the last word.
You smoothed your hair down, your cheeks hot. “Cooking dinner!”
She grinned even bigger. “Suuure.”
Steve leaned against the counter, watching you with a smile. You couldn’t look at him, not now. “Go tell your sisters to wash up for dinner, okay?”
“Okay!” Missy said, sliding her feet around on the floor like she was ice skating. “Can I have a cookie?”
“After dinner,” you said, knowing she knew that would be the answer. “Go get your sisters!”
Missy ran off with a giggle, and you let out a breath. You turned back to Steve.
“You’re gonna get me into trouble, you know that?”
Monday after work, Eddie pulled into the darkened driveway, stress clinging to him like the oil stains marking his skin. He sat outside in his truck for a while before he could make his legs move, to carry himself into his house. His own fucking house.
When he finally did move, it was sluggish, as if Steve Harrington had taken off with all the joy in his life. He supposed he had. He sighed as he pushed the front door open, hoping to get a shower then sit down with a beer and think about how he could still fix things.
“You’re home!”
Her voice was far more excited than Eddie felt the situation deserved. He forced something like a smile onto his face as he looked at her. “Yeah. Got held up with that old Ford.”
Stacy walked over to him, grabbing his hand. Eddie looked down at it, furrowing his brows as he looked back up at her. It was…unusually affectionate.
“I wanted to talk to you,” she said, looking like she could barely contain the smile on her face. Something about it was unnerving to him, settling a deep uneasiness in the pit of his stomach.
“…About what?” Eddie asked, looking around; even meeting her eyes felt uncomfortable.
She laughed softly, squeezing his hand. “Come on, sit down with me on the bed.”
That really sent alarm bells ringing in his head. But still he let her drag him down the hall, knowing deep in his body that he was walking towards the end.
She sat first, and Eddie lingered stupidly for a second, like maybe if he didn’t sit down, she wouldn’t say what she was about to say, and everything might be alright. When she tugged lightly on his hand, he finally sat down, body moving on autopilot.
“So…” she said, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear before grasping his hand again. “I have some news.”
He swallowed down the urge to vomit. “Yeah? What…kind of news?”
Her smile grew. “Eddie…I’m pregnant.”
Eddie froze. He had never wanted more in his life to be sucked into a hole in the ground and never seen again. His face paled, his hand trembling in hers. Her smile only faltered when she noticed that he actually looked a little sick.
“Eddie?” she said, a little quieter this time. “Can you say something?”
“I…” Eddie stuttered, trying to gather a single thought besides run. “…Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure,” she said quickly, offended at the thought. “Why would you ask that?”
“Isn’t that a normal first thing to ask?” Eddie said, pulling his hand from her grip and running it through his hair instead, facing forward and leaning on his knees. He thought back to when you had told him you were pregnant for the first time. He hadn’t felt this horrified even then, at nineteen years old in the drama room of Hawkins High.
“Yes, I’m sure,” she snapped again. “I took, like, three tests. All positive.”
“Can I see them?” he asked, looking over at her—which only made him feel worse. When she just stared at him blankly, he raised his eyebrows. “…You kept the tests, right?”
“I mean, no, I didn’t keep the tests,” she laughed. “That’s kind of gross, right?”
Eddie looked at her in disbelief. Sure, he guessed, but all he could think about was how every positive pregnancy test you’d ever taken sat in that box in his closet, even though they were long faded.
Eddie slumped forward with his arms on his knees again. He felt like his entire world was crumbling, and suddenly it felt hard to breathe. “…Jesus, Stace.”
It was like she couldn’t read him at all, or at least was pretending not to. “I was thinking we could get the girls this week and tell them over dinner—“
“Are you crazy?” Eddie said. “No, we’re not telling them right now. Fuck.”
She rested her hand on his shoulder, and he instinctively flinched. She pulled her hand back. “Are you not happy?”
“Of course I’m not happy!” he snapped, standing suddenly. She startled, which made him feel a little bad, but he was too angry to care too much. “Stacy, what the fuck?”
“What do you mean?” she asked, curling in on herself in a way that made her look small.
“What do I—“ Eddie scoffed, throwing his arms up before running them both through his hair, the curls now frizzy and standing in all directions. “How about the fact that you knew I didn’t want more kids, at all, ever, and you essentially trapped me into this?”
Her lips parted, but she didn’t say anything. Tears welled in her eyes, and Eddie groaned, loud, burying his face in his hands.
“I cannot fucking believe you,” he muttered. He began to pace, panic coursing through his veins in a way he had never felt. This could not be happening. He was going to leave her. He was going to tell you he loved you. He was going to have his family back together.
“Well it’s your baby,” she said through tears. “Just as much your baby as Caroline, Janie, and Missy.”
Hearing the names of his daughters dragged into this felt like a slap to the face. It made anger flare within him, hot and consuming. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” she asked. He felt like she was playing stupid, and it only pissed him off more.
“You know what you’re doing,” he said, his voice quiet and dangerous. “Don’t fucking talk about my daughters.”
Stacy’s eyes widened. “Eddie—“
He shook his head, like he was trying to erase his own memory. “I can’t do this right now.” He headed for the bedroom door, stopping just short of the entryway. He paused—then walked out, closing the door hard behind him.
He didn’t see Stacy again for the rest of the night.
A loud knocking at the door startled you from your sleep, waking abruptly. Your eyes were wide as you regained consciousness, looking over at the clock and seeing it was three in the morning. Jesus, who the hell—
You stood from the bed, pulling a pair of sweatpants on, the oversized tee you wore to sleep hanging loosely on your frame. Your hand instinctively reached for the baseball bat you kept just in case, holding it as you cautiously walked down the hall to the living room, where someone was still knocking on the front door. It was a miracle the girls hadn’t woken up. The thought of them made your hand tighten around the bat, absolutely prepared to beat the shit out of someone if it came to it.
Because who the fuck knocks on the door like this in the middle of the night?
You peered through the peep hole in the door, but couldn’t make much out. It was dark and raining hard. It was a wonder anyone made it here in this weather at all—the thought filling your stomach with an even more sickening dread.
Another loud knock, right in front of your face this time, startled you. You squeezed the bat so hard with one hand your knuckles turned white, the other slowly reaching for the doorknob. You turned that lock, pulling the door open only as far as the chain lock would allow, peeking through the opening.
The bat nearly fell from your grasp. “What—“
You closed the door again, sitting the bat against the wall and unlocking the chain before opening it completely. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
It felt like you were dreaming as you took in the sight before you—your ex husband, soaking wet and miserable, swaying on his feet on your front porch. His hair hung limp and dripping around his face and shoulders. His clothes were clinging to his body, the muscle of his biceps, the softness of his belly. He didn’t even have a jacket.
Eddie looked like he was seeing land for the first time after a year at sea. He said your name, a rush of relief. “Had to…had to see you.”
The whiskey on his breath was lethal. You screwed your nose up in disgust. “How drunk are you?”
He shrugged. It was as if he didn’t even notice the pouring rain, despite the way his body shivered. “Had a few.”
He’d had a lot more than a few, you could tell by simply looking at him. His eyes were red, and with the rainwater falling down his face, you couldn’t tell if it was just from the alcohol or if he’d been crying.
“How did you even get here?” you asked, looking back over your shoulder to make sure the rest of the house was still quiet before returning your attention to Eddie.
Eddie flung an uncoordinated arm in the direction of his truck, parked crooked and taking up two entire spaces in the apartment complex parking lot. Your eyes widened.
“You drove yourself here?” you asked, angry and panicked. “Are you fucking insane? You’re wasted—“
“Had to see you,” he said again, like it was that simple. Like he hadn’t just gotten behind the wheel of his big ass truck and drove the twenty minutes to your house completely hammered. As if he couldn’t have ruined multiple lives tonight.
“Unbelievable,” you muttered, opening the door wider and gesturing him inside. “Come on, you fucking idiot. You’re not driving back home, that’s for sure.”
Eddie stumbled inside like a stray dog being offered a place to sleep for the night. He immediately began dripping puddles onto your floor, his boots tracking mud in.
“Wait,” you said, closing and locking the front door. You sighed, crouching down and untying his boots. He held onto the back of the couch for support as he lifted each foot, letting you remove his shoes, still nearly falling flat on his ass.
When you stood, you just looked at him. What were you supposed to do with him?
Eddie stood there for a second, just swaying, looking around the apartment. He’d never properly been inside your place before. He looked around at the photos hanging on the walls and sitting on the various surfaces, all notably missing his presence. There was even a photo of you and Steve now, looking cuddly and happy.
He choked out a sob, his knees buckling.
You moved forward automatically, arms reaching out in an attempt to catch him. You weren’t able to hold his full weight, but you at least softened the fall a little, kneeling on the floor next to him. Eddie was in a heap, his long limbs seeming to fold beneath him, and you froze when he leaned forward, burying his face in your chest, shaking cries muffled in the soft cotton of your t-shirt.
You hesitated for just a second before you held him back, arms tentatively wrapping around him. Your right hand slowly moved up to rest on the back of his head, fingers gently brushing through his hair the way that always soothed him. He clung onto you in return, holding on like he was scared to let you move an inch, like you’d leave him and he’d never touch you again.
“Hey…” you whispered. You could feel his tears soaking through your shirt, his body shaking hard with the effort of his despair. It made your chest feel like it was cracking open. “Hey, shh, it’s okay. I’m here, it’s okay.”
He moaned against you, a sickening kind of sound, hopeless and pained. You flinched, holding him tighter. “Eddie, please…you’re alright, everything’s okay.”
“Nothing—“ he finally gasped out through his cries, not lifting his head or loosening his grip on your shirt. “Nothing is okay. I fuckin’—I love you.”
Your breath hitched sharply. Your eyes fell closed, unable to take how miserable the man before you looked, how completely tortured he was. It was killing you. “Eddie…you’re just drunk.”
“Y’don’t understand,” he said, speaking as if every word was painful but necessary. “I love…I love you, I never stopped loving you. You’re the only one, the only…the only thing that makes me feel…whole. You’re everything, you’re, fuckin’…the stars in the sky, the words on the page, the…the fuckin’ reason the sun rises and sets and the world turns and…”
A tear fell from your eye and down your cheek as you held him, taking in his words. Suddenly your chest felt tight, your hands trembling where they rested on his back over his drenched t-shirt.
“An’ now I can never have you,” he continued, his voice dropping lower, the pain lacing each word even more evident than before. “I can never have you back, because you love Steve, and now Stacy is…is having my fuckin’ kid, jesus fuck—“
You drew in a gasp at his admission, the knowledge settling over you heavily. You felt it in your chest, like your heart itself ached with the words. But then Eddie was abruptly pulling away from you, heaving over the floor.
“Wait wait wait!” you said, scrambling to your feet and running to get the trash can, mom instincts taking over in an effort to keep from cleaning puke off your floors.
You put the trash can down just in time to guide his head over it as he got sick, relieved that you’d at least managed to avoid that disaster. You held his hair back, gently rubbing between his shoulder blades as he retched into the bag, his arms braced on the sides.
When it finally stopped, he roughly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, laying his forehead on his arms with a groan. You kept rubbing his back, seeing his breathing steady.
“…You done?” you asked softly. All Eddie could offer in return was a grunt and a nod. You looked at him with furrowed brows, fingers combing through his hair for a second before you stood up.
“Let’s get you out of here,” you said quietly. “I don’t want the girls to wake up and find you here like this.”
Eddie nodded again, weakly holding out an arm. You grabbed onto him, grunting as you did most of the work getting him back on his feet. You couldn’t help but look at him with pity—he looked like hell. Still soaking wet, eyes swollen and red, vomit on his chin and clinging to the front of his Iron Maiden shirt.
You glanced at the clock on the microwave—nearly 3:30am. You sighed, slinging his arm over your shoulders and wrapping yours around his back.
“We gotta get you cleaned up, Ed…” you said, carrying him down the hall to your bedroom, then into the attached bathroom. You sat him on the closed toilet, where he slumped weakly.
You watched him for a second before leaving him there to clean up the mess in the trash can. When you came back, he was eyeing the razor Steve had left here.
You turned the water on, letting it heat up while you pulled his shirt off. Eddie let you, lifting his arms to help you remove it. Something inside you twisted at the sight of the tattoos hidden beneath his shirt, the ones you hadn’t seen in so long.
Pulling him to stand, you unbuttoned his jeans. He watched you, too drunk to really process it, but knowing he liked it. Not just because you were beautiful and he loved you and you were undressing him, but the feeling of you taking care of him like you used to. The way you made him feel loved like no one else had, even know, with him wasted and you not happy.
“You’re so pretty,” he slurred.
His jeans slid down his legs with some difficulty, the wet denim clinging to his skin. He put his hands on your shoulders to anchor himself as you removed his socks and jeans, tossing the wet clothes in a pile against the wall.
You looked up to find him looking right back at you. His chest rose and fell with his heavy breaths. You were seeing more of his body than you had in years, now down to nothing but his boxer briefs. He was half hard, but you ignored that. It was a wonder he could get hard at all this drunk.
“I’m gonna take these off, okay?” you said. “So we can get you in the shower. Is that okay?”
Eddie nodded quickly. “Yeah. ‘s okay.”
Shaking your head, you moved to the waist of his boxers. You hesitated for a second before just going for it, pulling the material down his body, leaving him completely naked.
It wasn’t the obvious that had your heart stuttering in your chest. It was the ink on his hip, hitting you as a memory you hadn’t allowed yourself to think about in ages.
Your fingers brushed over the tattoo. Your initials. You remembered when he’d come home with that, when Caroline was only a year old. He’d been so proud—you had been shocked.
“Isn’t that, like, the kiss of death for relationships?” you’d asked, laughing as you looked at the intricate ink up close.
“Not for us,” Eddie had declared confidently. “More like…we’ll always find our way to each other. You’re a part of me now, baby, couldn’t cut it off if I tried.”
His words rang in your ears now. You traced the letters, making Eddie shiver beneath your touch. He let out a breath, something like a moan but not quite.
“Always think about you,” he said, his voice low. “All the time, y’know, but especially…’specially when I see that tattoo. I touch it and I think about how you touched it, how you’d kiss it before you went down on me…”
You pulled back as if you’d been burned.
Eddie was looking at you, the heat in his gaze making you lightheaded. Or was that the steam from the shower?
You stood up, needing to put some distance between you. You turned away from him, running your hands through your hair, pulling slightly. Get it together. Get it the fuck together.
When your thoughts finally calmed and you turned back around, Eddie was still standing there, waiting. You sighed and held onto his arm. “Come on. In the shower.”
He obeyed, walking forward unsteadily. You moved the curtain aside and helped him step in. You reached for the soap, hesitating. Steve’s stuff was here, but you thought that might make him feel worse. You grabbed your own body wash instead, lathering up a clean wash cloth from beneath the sink and starting to scrub his body.
He let you, pliant and moving at your instruction. He still looked so fucking sad, so completely broken, but something had put some more life in him, at least.
Once he was clean, you helped him out. You dried him with the towel, gentle and caring in a way that made his body ache with love for you. You gave him a t-shirt and a pair of sweats—those were Steve’s, but all you could do was hope he didn’t notice. He didn’t seem to, looking content to let you dress him.
You weren’t sure what to do with him after that. The sofa wasn’t really an option, because you didn’t want one of the girls getting up in the night and finding their dad passed out drunk on the couch. That really only left your bed.
Eddie let you lead him there, where he easily flopped down before you could even move the sheets for him. You had to yank them from beneath his body, covering him. He cuddled into the warmth. “Smells like you,” he mumbled, eyes closed.
You stood there, wondering if you should sleep on the floor or something. Finally, you let out a sigh and moved to the other side, climbing in bed with him after turning the lamp off, leaving the room in darkness.
It seemed like maybe he was already asleep at first. But then you felt his hand on your waist, soft and tentative—before he moved over, wrapping his arms around you tightly, burying his face against your neck from behind.
You froze. “Eddie, you can’t—“
“Please,” he pleaded against your skin, his voice quiet and broken but clearer than it had sounded all night. “Please let me hold you. Just for one night. Please.”
You didn’t know what to say. But you didn’t push him away, couldn’t bring yourself to, just laying there, stiff and conflicted. His quiet snores filled your ears before you could think too hard about it, his breathing evened out against your back. So you let him stay.
He was already gone when you woke the next morning. You could have believed you’d dreamed the whole thing—if not for the wrinkled sheets next to you, the lingering scent that was so undeniably Eddie.
Your hand rested where he’d been, still warm.
December 14, 1985
The dress you’d been able to find on short notice at the thrift store was beautiful. The second you saw it, you felt that it must have been placed there just for you. It fit you perfectly, couldn’t have taken any alterations if you’d tried. A beautiful off white color with lace accents and an elegant skirt that trailed to the floor, it was one of the most beautiful dresses you’d ever seen.
Your hand was held tightly in Eddie’s as you walked into the courthouse, the other clutching your small bouquet. Wayne trailed behind the two of you, dressed up as much as Wayne ever got, hands in the pockets of his best jeans. Your parents stayed together, looking like they were going to a funeral. You could feel the disapproval radiating off of them.
“You feelin’ alright?” Eddie asked, leaning closer to you. His hair was neat, the sleeves of his black button up pushed high on his forearms. His free hand was in the pocket of his nicest jeans, the knees only slightly frayed.
You shrugged, feeling suddenly very young in the seriousness of the place. You clutched his hand tighter. “I’m alright,” you said softly. “…It’s a little scary, huh?”
Eddie grinned. “Terrifying.”
You smiled, leaning into him. “Are you scared? Of being tied down to me forever and ever, til death do us part, amen?”
He laughed, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “No. Not really. I love you and I definitely will for the rest of my life, piece of paper and my last name or not.”
“You really mean that?” you asked. It was hard to believe someone could love you the way Eddie loved you. It seemed impossible, but you could never even doubt him, because he made it so obvious.
“Of course I do,” he said easily. “Spending the rest of my life with you is the least scary part of all this.” He smirked, taking your hand and guiding you to spin in a circle as you laughed. “And you do look beautiful in a wedding dress, Mrs. Munson.”
“You clean up nice yourself,” you said, letting him pull your body into his, his hand resting possessively on your waist.
He smirked down at you, one hand still holding yours. “You think we still get a first dance?”
You scrunched your nose up. “Here?”
Eddie looked around. “Why not? It’s fancy.”
“Could you imagine my parents and Wayne having to stand there and watch us dance?” you asked, giggling. Eddie laughed along with you.
“We could always do one alone,” he offered, shrugging. His smile was crooked and sweet now. “Just somethin’ to think about.”
“Where?” you asked. “Your bedroom or mine?”
“Or…” he said, eyes shifting around like he had a secret. “We could do it in the very fancy hotel room I booked for us tonight. For like a…honeymoon, kinda.”
Your eyes widened. “You got us a room?”
He shrugged again, smiling softly. His hands moved around your waist. “Yeah. It’s not really fancy, though. I mean it’s not some cheap motel either, I wouldn’t take you there. It’s got a pool we can hang out in and it’s like a suite or something, but—“
You shut him up by pressing your lips to his. He melted into it like second nature, A hand coming up to cup your cheek.
“I love you,” he said against your lips, a lovedrunk smile on his face.
“I love you too,” you said back. You had never been more sure of anything in your life.
When they called your names, you and Eddie stood together, your families following behind you. You locked eyes with him, finding comfort there. You felt a little silly, but with him, your nerves faded away.
“Eddie, you’re my best friend,” you read from the folded paper in your hands. “You were my only friend, for a minute there. That’s the thing about you—you always felt like home. You’ve always been my home. I think you’re a part of me, a piece that cannot be separated because it will never fit properly anywhere else.” You glanced up at him, his own glassy eyes making you look back down before you started crying yourself. “I don’t know if I believe in soulmates, or fated loves, but whatever you want to call it, you’re mine. I love you.”
Your words settled there, Eddie looking at you with pure adoration. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his own crumpled paper.
He said your name, low and sure. He smirked up at you before he looked down at his written vows. “When I saw you for the first time, I thought to myself, ‘That’s the most beautiful girl you’re ever gonna see in your life’. I didn’t know beauty could be like that. Like the sun, like all the light in the room comes from you. I want to wake up and see that every day of my life. I wanna hear you laugh and play you music and raise a kid with you. Because you’re everything, you’ve always been everything.” He put the paper back in his pocket. “‘I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone.’”
You exchanged your rings—simple gold bands, yours with a small diamond. Eddie kissed you with tears streaming down your cheeks, your hands at the back of his neck. He kept it respectful—your dad was right there, after all—but there was something different about that kiss. It felt like there was something fundamentally different now. Bound, but not necessarily by the paper you had both scrawled your signatures on, unable to wipe the smiles off your faces.
Eddie carried you into that hotel room bridal style—he insisted it was the only way. You couldn’t stop laughing as he opened the door, lifting you with dramatic flourish and carrying you into the room. The door fell shut behind you as Eddie sat you down in the middle of the space, brushing your hair back.
“You are so hot, Mrs. Munson,” he said. He couldn’t get enough of hearing the title, feeling it on his tongue. “I love this dress, but I kinda wanna see it on the floor, too.”
You smirked, walking into his embrace. “I thought we were gonna be dancing?”
His grin grew wider. “I brought our song.”
You raised your eyebrows. “Our song?”
“Yeah,” Eddie nodded, reaching for his bag. He pulled out a cassette, putting it in the stereo. Fast forwarding to the fourth track, he hit play, the opening notes of Thank You by Led Zeppelin beginning to fill the room.
A smile spread across your lips, but you still looked at him confused. “This is our song?”
“This song was playing that night we were in my room making out after Hellfire, you know?” he explained quickly, hands moving wildly. “When you pulled back you said, ‘I love this song,’ and I said, ‘I think I’m in love with you’, like a total loser.”
You laughed, letting him pull you in by your waist. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close as he slowly began to sway with you to the music. “And I said, ‘I think I’m in love with you, too’.”
“Actually,” Eddie said, his feet moving slowly in time with yours, “you said, ‘Huh?’”
You buried your face in his shoulder, hiding your laughter. “I didn’t think I heard you right at first!”
“Oh you heard me right, baby,” he said. His hands rested at your lower back, holding you close as he danced with you. You breathed in the scent of him, felt the beating of his heart though his chest, something you wanted to remember for the rest of your life.
“I think we’re gonna make a pretty cool kid,” Eddie said randomly, his head laying atop yours. You had closed your eyes, listening to the music in the warmth of Eddie’s embrace. “I’m kinda excited.”
You smiled dreamily, head resting against him. “You think we got this?”
“Hell yeah I think we got this,” he said easily. “You know nothing scares me.”
Your hands press against his back. “I feel like I can do it if you’re with me.” You paused. “I was worried you wouldn’t want to be…that you wouldn’t want this.”
His hand stroked through the back of your hair. “I’m never gonna leave you. I’m always gonna be here, always gonna love you. You never have to question that, baby. You’ll never get rid of me.”
Your heart felt full, like it could burst out of your chest. You let Eddie hold you, quietly singing the words as he rested his head on yours, dancing with you in the quiet December evening. Something like coming home.
If the sun refused to shine
I would still be loving you
If mountains crumble to the sea
There will still be you and me
November 1997
The air smelled like acetone and nail polish, strong and unpleasant, but coming here weekly meant Stacy was used to it. She relaxed back in the leather chair, her feet in the tub of hot water. The set of nails she’d had done first were dry now, long and painted a stunning red color.
“So…you’re really having his baby,” her best friend, Becca, said, sitting to her right. “A baby…with Eddie.”
Stacy nodded, a soft smile on her face as if she couldn’t even hear the skepticism in her friend’s voice. “Yep…finally a little Munson of my own.” Her voice was dreamy, already imagining the future with Eddie she’d longed for since the beginning.
Silence stretched for a moment. Finally Ashley spoke up from Stacy’s left side.
“Was he…happy?” she asked, knowing she already knew the answer to that question.
Stacy frowned. “I mean, no, not really, but—but he’ll come around, you know? He just doesn’t know he wants this yet. But it’s happening, you know, so he’ll have to get on board with the idea.”
Becca and Ashley exchanged a look. “Stace…” Becca said cautiously, worried about her friend’s reaction. “…Are you really sure this is a good idea?”
“It’s already happening, isn’t it?” Stacy snapped defensively. She couldn’t help it. Every time someone questioned this baby, or Eddie, it just made her angry. She loved Eddie, and she wanted this family with him more than anything.
“I guess,” Becca said awkwardly. “But—come on, Stace, we’ve talked about this. Eddie isn’t…”
Stacy looked over at her, her expression cold and defensive. “Eddie isn’t what?”
Becca sighed, the burden of a topic she’d been over countless times and could never get her friend to listen to settling onto her like a weight on her shoulders. “Eddie’s not…I don’t know, girl. I don’t think he’s…all in. I don’t think he’s serious about you.”
Stacy stiffened, her defenses rising harshly. “That’s not true.”
Becca and Ashley both looked at her with pity. They loved their friend dearly—the three of them had been best friends since fifth grade—but they could never get Stacy to see what they saw in Eddie. They had watched this relationship turn her into someone they barely recognized, the strong, independent woman they’d once known and loved now reduced to a girl who felt like she needed a man’s love to survive, who would do anything just to make Eddie Munson stay with her.
“Stacy, I think it is,” Ashley contributed. “And I think he’s been trying to tell you that for a long time.”
Stacy’s skin heated, anger and shame and embarrassment coursing through her at once. “You don’t know anything about Eddie. He loves me. It’s all that…that bitch of an ex wife, who won’t leave him alone—“
The girls froze. They certainly weren’t your biggest fans either, having been listening to Stacy bitch about you for the better part of the last year, but they knew it definitely wasn’t all on you.
“She’s gonna be around forever, you know, Stace,” Becca said gently. “That’s what comes with dating a guy with kids. The mom is always gonna be there in a big way.”
“And they’re never actually over her, either,” Ashley muttered, speaking from personal experience.
“It’s different,” Stacy said firmly, trying to convince herself as much as her friends. “He’s not…in love with her. She’s just always in the way.”
Even Stacy knew deep down that what she was saying wasn’t true.
Becca and Ashley exchanged another look, knowing even without ever seeing the two of you together that Eddie Munson was completely and utterly hung up on his ex wife. There wasn’t a single doubt in their minds that Stacy was and always had been nothing more than a placeholder for a woman she could never live up to.
They sat in silence as they got their pedicures. There was a creeping feeling Stacy could feel in her spine, something unignorable that she was trying her best to not acknowledge. Because she knew Eddie loved her. Eddie loves her, and he’s going to love this baby. Right?
Her hand pressed softly to her flat stomach. Because if Eddie was in love with his ex, and didn’t love her—well, she’d just have to make him.
You had thought of Eddie a lot since that night. That was an understatement, really—he plagued you. He hadn’t called, hadn’t said a word to you at all, much less about what happened. You couldn’t help but worry, though, anxious about what you’d see when you dropped the girls off next. Would he be okay? Would he be worse? Had what happened really happened at all?
On top of it all, guilt ate at you, deep and ravenous. Sure nothing inappropriate had happened, but you’d undressed him, you’d let Eddie sleep in your bed, let him hold you to sleep. It felt like a betrayal, and you didn’t know how to even begin to explain what had happened to Steve.
And a part of you felt like you owed it to Eddie not to. You’d seen him at his lowest, the only one who had. He’d come to you because he trusted you.
Because he loved you.
You kept pouring over the words he’d said to you, running through your head like a broken record. You supposed it wasn’t actually the biggest surprise to hear that Eddie still had feelings for you, but you had no idea it was this bad.
And, god, the thing about Stacy? She was actually pregnant?
You didn’t know why the thought made you so sick. A lot of things had been making you sick recently, stress catching up to you from a million different directions. But the idea of Eddie having a baby with another woman…something about it made your chest ache. It felt real. It felt final.
Steve was great, he always was. He was around more than ever, and you didn’t mind. You needed the distraction, you liked the help with the girls. The girls loved him, you loved him. He was amazing. He spent the night a couple times a week, his own apartment feeling cold and empty compared to the warmth he felt with you and your family. One he was starting to feel really, really sure he wanted to be a real part of.
Bustling around the kitchen with the girls underfoot and Steve leaning against the counter, asking how he can help, began to feel second nature. You weren’t sure when Steve turned into a fixture in the house that belonged there rather than a guest. Maybe it was when he’d started leaving some of his things here. Maybe it was when the girls started asking him for help with things, or when they began talking about him like they just assumed he’d be there, too. Either way, Steve Harrington had integrated himself into the lives of these four girls he had grown to love deeply.
“I have a Christmas party at work next month, on the 19th,” Steve said Sunday evening. He’d spent the night Saturday and lingered all day today, too, helping you do the household’s laundry and clean the apartment while the girls handled their own rooms. He sipped a beer while he watched you stir the spaghetti sauce on the stove.
“Oh yeah?” you said, a little distracted from the sounds of Caroline and Janie at the kitchen table. Caroline was trying to help her little sister with her math homework, but Janie was goofing off, and they were getting annoyed with each other.
“Yeah,” Steve said, smiling softly. “And I was thinking you might wanna go with me? It’s Eddie’s weekend, and it’ll be after you drop the girls off, so…”
“You want me to meet everyone?” you asked, smiling back at him. The idea was a little terrifying, but it made you feel warm at the thought that Steve wanted to introduce you to more of the people in his life. “Is your dad gonna be there?”
Steve winced a little. “Yeah. He’ll be there. He, uh…wants to meet you. All of you, really, but I figured we could…start here.”
“Wow,” you said, turning back to the pot on the stove. “I mean, yeah. I’d love to go with you. What do I wear?”
Steve hummed, putting his beer down on the counter and walking over to you. The older two girls were distracted by the homework, Missy in the living room loudly singing along to The Little Mermaid. Steve wrapped his arms around your waist, his nose pressed against your neck.
“That red dress in your closet would be nice,” he said, his voice a low purr against your skin. “I can’t wait to show you off. Can’t wait to let everyone in the office know I’ve got the hottest girl in Hawkins.”
You laughed. “I don’t know that I’m—“
“I do,” Steve said quickly. “You’re a fucking bombshell. Like, oh my god levels of hot.”
Your cheeks heated, both embarrassed yet flattered, because whether you believed that or not, it was clear Steve really did. “Says the King of Hawkins.”
“Hey, I’m not seventeen anymore,” he grinned. “None of that shit matters. What does matter is my insanely hot girlfriend, who everyone’s gonna see me with—“
You lightly slapped his arm with an oven mitt, making him laugh. “Just a piece of meat to you, huh?”
“The most delicious, expensive steak on the menu. The one only rich people can buy.” He kissed your cheek as you rolled your eyes.
“You’re so lame,” you said, turning the stove off. “Don’t know how everyone ever thought you were so cool.”
“Me either,” he smiled. “I think it’ll be a fun night, though. I mean, usually these parties are lame, but you’re gonna be there this time, so it will be much less lame.”
You carried the pot over to the sink, draining the pasta. “Maybe we can sneak in vodka in a flask, like prom.” You glanced over at Caroline and Janie, making sure they hadn’t heard that.
Steve chuckled. “There will be alcohol, believe me.” He watched you finish up dinner, looking at you in that way he always did—like he couldn’t get enough of you, couldn’t believe you were his. “If it blows, though, we can always leave early. It’s no pressure. And I know you always tend to have pretty bad cramps around that time of the month, so if you’re not feeling it, we can go home whenever.”
It was sweet, the things Steve noticed about you. The details he remembered, things he filed away in his brain so he could be the best boyfriend he could be. It meant a lot to him, making you happy.
But then his words actually settled into your brain. He was right—you did usually get your period in the middle of the month, like clockwork. But it was the 16th now, and you hadn’t seen a single sign of it. You’d been so preoccupied with Eddie you hadn’t even noticed.
You were late.
The revelation nearly made you drop the food. Your skin felt ice cold, your head suddenly swimming, making your hands tremble as you started making plates.
“Hey, you okay?” Steve asked, brows furrowed in concern, moving closer and lowering his voice. “You look really pale all of a sudden.”
“I’m fine,” you said quickly, even though you felt anything but. “Just really hungry. I think I need to sit down and eat.”
Steve nodded slowly, not sure if he believed you. “Here, you go sit down. I’ll make plates for you and the girls.”
You felt a million miles away as you ate dinner with your family. The girls didn’t notice anything abnormal, and Steve was too distracted by the way they talked his ear off to press you too much.
Could you be pregnant? You were on birth control, but it wasn’t impossible it had failed. You also might not be pregnant, of course, this could all be nothing, but after three pregnancies, you felt like you just…knew. The ache in your breasts you hadn’t even noticed was telling you a story you’d heard before.
You watched Steve laugh with Caroline, a smile on the moody preteen’s face you hadn’t seen in a while. The girls loved Steve. You loved Steve. Steve loved all of you.
Was this a bad thing?
You tried to imagine how Steve would react. Sure, he had joked before about being okay with it if it happened, he’d talked openly about how badly he wanted kids, but you hadn’t even been together for that long. And it wasn’t like this was just having a baby—Steve would be signing up for going from being childless to essentially a father of four.
Four.
Four kids.
And this one would have a different father. Not Eddie, not a little Munson…a little Harrington instead.
That night, after Steve helped you clean up the kitchen, washing the dishes side by side while the girls got ready for bed, you were relieved for once that he was going back to his own apartment. He kissed you softly by the door, like it pained him to leave.
“I love you,” he said quietly against your lips after kissing you for the fifth time. “So much. Fuck, I hate having to say goodbye to you.”
Your smile was bittersweet as you kissed him again. “I know. Me too. But I love you, and I’ll see you for dinner tomorrow, right?”
“Of course,” he grinned. “Would never miss out on anything you’re cooking. That sausage and potatoes thing you make…” He closed his eyes, groaning.
You laughed. “Good. That’s what I was planning for tomorrow.”
He smiled bigger. “Oh, I’ll be here.” He glanced over your shoulder at the sound of something falling, followed by Caroline yelling. He looked so fond of the chaos of your life. “Okay, I guess I better go for real.” He kissed you one last time, soft and lingering.
“Bye, Stevie,” you said as he pulled away. “I love you.”
“Love you more,” he quipped back as he finally walked out the door, spinning around to look at you every few steps. You laughed—it really was amazing the way he made you feel, like you were just two kids again. It felt silly and beautiful at the same time.
With Steve gone, your fears crept back in again. You couldn’t take the uncertainty of it. One way or the other, you had to know, and you had to know now.
You asked Caroline to watch her sisters while you ran down the road to the corner store. The drive felt much longer than the two minutes it was in reality. The pregnancy test you bought was fifty pounds in your hand, the drive home feeling like it took twice as long.
The apartment was quiet when you got back. You quietly crept down the hall, peeking into the girls’ rooms. Missy and Janie were already asleep. Caroline sat in her bed, propped against her pillows with the lamp on, reading A Wrinkle in Time.
“Goodnight, baby,” you’d said to her quietly, the girl before you looking so much older than the small, wiggling newborn version of her you kept picturing in your head.
“Night, mom,” she called back. She looked up from her book long enough to smile softly at you as you gently closed her bedroom door.
In the privacy of your own bathroom, you tore the small box open. You read the instructions, even though you knew what you were doing. It had been six years, but the mechanics were the same, at least.
You took the test, your hand shaking as you put the cap back on and sat it on the counter. You made yourself leave the room, opting to pace the bedroom instead with a five minute timer set on your watch.
The soft beeping felt like a jolt back to reality. You turned the timer off, rubbing your hands over your face and taking a deep breath. You could do this, right? You’d been here before.
Your feet padded softly through the bedroom and into the attached bathroom, that stick laying on the counter like a ticking time bomb. You stopped, eyeing the plastic device that might be about to change everything about your life. You were terrified. It felt like the first time all over again.
Finally you made yourself step forward that final bit. You reached out and snatched the test off the counter like it was hot. One more deep breath, and then you turned it over in your hand, looking down at the results.
Two lines.
The air in your lungs rushed out of your body in a single sharp exhale, the force of the revelation like a physical punch. You gripped onto the edge of the counter for support, the room starting to spin much in the same way it had for Eddie last week.
It made sense. A lot of things suddenly made sense. Why you’d been so much more emotional, crying over everything. Why you’d felt so easily irritated, especially at work. The bras and jeans that didn’t fasten quite right this past week suddenly made a sickening amount of sense.
How didn’t you see it? You should’ve seen this coming a mile away.
You walked back out into the bedroom on instinct, sitting on the edge of the bed. A photo of you and Steve stared at you from your bedside table, something you’d put there since the Eddie incident. You stared back, looking into Steve’s hazel eyes and wide smile, frozen in time. You imagined him holding a tiny baby, freckled skin and perfect hair, all Harrington.
And you thought about Eddie. What this was going to do to him when he found out. Why did you even care? He was having his own kid with someone else. Someone who wasn’t you.
You rested your hand on your stomach. The idea of there being a baby inside always felt abstract at first, but especially now. It didn’t feel real. None of it did. It felt both like you were back all those years ago, but also like you were taking a blind step off a cliff with no idea where or how you’d land.
A free fall into a future that felt more unsure than ever.
September 1986
“That’s all Munson, huh?”
You looked over at Eddie. He had the small newborn held in his hands as he sat on his bed, presenting her to you like his prized possession. She wore the tiniest Hellfire shirt you’d ever seen. Her dark brown hair swooped in tiny curls already, her eyes big and brown and still a little unfocused.
“Oh, for sure,” you said. “I grew her and did all the hard work pushing her out, but she looks just like you. Don’t really get how that’s fair.”
Eddie laughed, looking down at Caroline as he cradled her on his arm, her small head resting perfectly in the palm of his hand. She was awake, looking around the messy bedroom you now shared with her father. Her bassinet was in the corner, never far. “Sorry, babe. Told you the Munson genes were strong.”
Eddie looked at that baby like she hung the moon and stars herself. It only made you love him more. He’d taken to being a father like he was born for it, easier than playing his favorite songs with his eyes closed, easier than the little fantasy stories that would pour from his pen and become his campaigns. Loving her was so, so easy.
She puckered her lips, her tongue poking out. Eddie laughed, adoration shining in his eyes. “Think she’s hungry, babe?”
“When is she not?” you smiled, taking the wiggling baby from his arms. Her limbs still worked in uncoordinated, jerky movements, like she was getting used to herself as much as the two of you were. You lowered the straps of your tank top, pulling one side down to bring the baby to your breast. She latched easily, her eyes closing, making soft hums of contentment as she ate.
“Like I said,” Eddie grinned. “A Munson. Loves to eat, and loves boobs.”
You snorted. “Being a father has made you so mature, Eds.”
He moved up on the bed to lay next to you, leaning back on the pillows. He watched Caroline eat, his hand reaching out to trace a finger down the soft roundness of her cheek. “I love you,” he said, gentle and quiet. You weren’t really sure who he was talking to at first. “Like I didn’t know I could love anyone this much. Both of you. Love you so much it kinda scares the shit outta me.”
You smiled, exhausted but happier than you’d ever felt. Caroline continued to nurse, oblivious to how completely treasured she was by both of her parents. “Shouldn’t be scary,” you said softly. “You’ve got us, don’t you?”
“Better be keeping you both forever,” he said. Eddie pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “Couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t.”
You held up your hand carefully, ring shining even in the dim light of the cramped bedroom, the sun descending over Forest Hills Trailer Park. “Think you’re locked in.”
He took your hand, kissing the ring with a certain reverence. “You look so good wearing my ring and my last name,” he said with a smirk. “It’s our souls that are intertwined, though. Can’t fake that. Can’t get rid of it, either.”
You carefully adjusted Caroline, smiling down at her because you were worried if you looked at Eddie right now, you might cry. The postpartum hormones were kicking your ass. “That’s poetic, babe.”
“Yeah, well,” he tucked his arms behind his head. “I’m a pretty poetic guy.”
After Caroline fell asleep, Eddie took her from your arms. He always held her like a priceless artifact. His friends had joked that Eddie wouldn’t know the first thing about taking care of a baby, but he’d proven everyone wrong. He paid attention to every bit of instruction given to him like there’d be a written exam, and he remembered it all, too. He was an expert diaper changer, knew exactly how to put the onesies on, and was often better at rocking her to sleep than you were.
He held his daughter for a minute, bouncing her softly even though she was already asleep. You’d turned over the second Eddie had taken her, drifting off into your own badly needed rest—but sometimes he just couldn’t bring himself to put her down.
He held her, humming the familiar melody of Maybe. You’d had Janis Joplin records spinning for the past few months, even since before the birth. It reminded Eddie of his own mother. Caroline reacted to music like it was a part of her. Maybe it was, maybe she’d been born with it like he always felt he had. It made him proud.
Maybe
Oh, if I could pray, and I try, dear
You might come back home, home to me
Maybe
Whoa, if I could ever hold your little hand
Oh you might understand
Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe
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