Have you tried pleading for a review on your blog? I had that issue and it tool a couple tries and they marked it as normal. As long as you don’t have explciit images, they should greenlight it
I have tried at least three times, all with no reply. There's nothing explicit on my blog, but Tumblr just doesn't care. Honestly even if I got my blog reinstated, I don't know how active I would be. I would try my hardest, but I haven't been able to watch the show in a long time and I'm scared to write characters that I'm not well versed in. Thank you for your support and suggestion, anon. They really mean the world to me. ❤
I'm not sure if my followers are seeing this, but if you are, then that's more than I could've hoped.
I've noticed that since the Tumblr snap and my blog being permanently marked as explicit, I've had a lot less traffic with my fics.
As much as I love writing for me, I love writing for all of you as well.
That's why I'm making this post. I've tried everything from every post that I've seen about it, complained multiple times with no action, and am honestly sick and tired of being stifled by something that was an accident in the first place. This issue is why I've been absent for so long on this account.
I’ve decided to make a different account and repost all of my stuff there so that more people can see it.
All Dark Angel fics will be found at the account @fine-transgenic-sister. All other fics (Supernatural, Ten Inch Hero, etc) will be found at this account (@savingtheworld-again).
Thank you for all the support you’ve given me thus far. I hope that you have it in your heart to help these new blogs get rolling.
Summary: The reader is struggling with an experience. Dean offers to help.
Pairing: Dean x Reader
Word Count: 1615
Warnings: Swearing, fluff, brief mentions of gore, insomnia
Written for the POTO Songfic Challenge hosted by @princessofthefandomrealm
Reader’s POV
The worst thing about the bunker was the lack of windows. Darkness was the perfect place for the thoughts to run wild. Sunlight was like a cage to the unwelcome notions. You can’t escape from them at night.
As I pressed my eyes closed, the image flitted behind my eyes. The apparition of a small boy, flickering in and out. He was smiling, coming closer. Right in front of me now. His hand reached out and there was a touch of pain in my chest before I wrenched open my eyes.
It wasn’t real pain, I knew that. The skin was scarring now, but I could almost still feel his fingers sinking into my chest. I lightly trailed my fingers along the healing wounds. Not even asleep yet and still the nightmares tore at me.
I glance over at the alarm clock, the faint source of light the only thing keeping the room from complete darkness. 1:24 AM. Running a hand through my hair, I groaned. Sleep didn’t seem to be an option.
Dean kept the bunker cooler at night, so I wrapped my blanket around my shoulders as I stood. Still, I shivered as my bare feet touched the freezing floor. Grumbling a bit to myself, I staggered over to the door. Coffee sounded like the best option if I was going to continue acting like I was okay.
Opening the door cautiously, I covered my eyes with my hand. Even with the layer of protection, the bright light hit my eyes. Squinting, I made my way slowly down the hallway towards the kitchen. Exhaustion was dragging at my limbs, but there was no point in trying to get to sleep just to get consumed in that nightmare again. I shivered at the mere thought.
The kitchen was brighter than the hallway, with the light reflecting off of the metal countertops and fridge. C’mon, wake up already. Stifling a yawn with my hand, I reached for the bag of coffee grounds on the top shelf of the standing shelves. I had to lift onto my tippy toes to grab it.
As my heels hit the floor, a wave of dizziness passed over me. I swiftly grabbed onto the shelf in front of my face, steadying myself and waiting for the lightheadedness to pass.
“Y/N?”
I nearly jumped out of my skin, wide awake as I turned around with what I hoped was a threatening look.
Dean’s green eyes met mine and he quirked an eyebrow. “What the hell are you doing up so late?” His voice was gravelly with sleep.
Ignoring the way my heart beat harder in my chest, I huffed. “Nothing. I’m sleepwalking.”
There was a moment that passed that he just stared at me. Then he sighed. “You don’t sleepwalk, Y/N. Why are you making coffee?” The prying words had me more aggravated than normal.
As I spoke, I knew that there was too much venom to pass off as annoyance. “I’m making it for the morning, Dean. What do you care?” Dean’s eyebrows shot up before they came back down again. A wave of regret hit me as I realized that his face now radiated concern.
“Y/N, it’s 1 in the morning.”
Crossing my arms, I mumbled, “1:30.”
He gave me a look. “Still, if you make the coffee for the morning now, it’ll be cold by the time breakfast rolls around.” Rolling my eyes at his words, I headed over to the coffee pot and filled it with water. “Stop it, Y/N.” I ignored him, slamming the bag on the counter when I finished filling the top portion. “Stop!” One of Dean’s hands grabbed my wrist, the other bracing on the countertop. I stared at the latter, refusing to look up at him. “Why are you doing this? What’s wrong?”
I had to clear my throat to disperse the tight feeling overtaking it. “Nothing’s wrong. I just want coffee, let me go.” Not convincing at all. Good job.
Interrupting my thoughts, Dean removed his grip from around my wrist. Instead of letting go, he slid his hand down and lightly entwined out fingers together. My heart skipped a beat. “Sweetheart, you can talk to me. You know that, right?” The words were gentle and understanding.
Coaxing and prying. I shook my head. “I told you. I’m fine,” I insisted.
Dean scoffed. “You’re a terrible liar.” Mustering up a glare, I directed it at him. Damn, it was hard keeping my face stern with his eyes that soft. “Tell me. Please?”
He knew. Of course he did, because Dean Winchester knows everything. Resigned, I took a deep breath and pulled my hand from his. “I don’t want to talk about it here, Dean.” It came out as nothing more than a whisper.
“That’s okay,” he said quickly. “That’s alright. We can take a trip in Baby. Just me and you.”
There was no escaping it. “Fine. Let’s go.” I set my blanket down on the table and followed him towards the garage.
The drive was silent save for the low hum of Led Zeppelin playing from his radio.
It wasn’t until we were sitting on a log and staring up at the stars that Dean spoke. “You’re having nightmares, aren’t you?”
The certainty in his voice made it sound more like a statement than a question. “How did you know?” I muttered, wrapping my arms around myself.
Dean sighed. “Because I get up in the middle of the night, too, when I get em bad. Sometimes, I don’t even bother trying to sleep.” I looked up at his confession to find him already staring at me, awaiting a response. When I didn’t comment, he continued. “Not to mention, you look like shit.”
Snorting at his blunt words, I replied, “Gee. Thanks, Dean.”
I could feel his gaze on me. “Talk to me. That’s what we came out here to do.”
Knowing that we weren’t going back to the Bunker until I told him the truth, I sighed. “Alright.” I paused, composing myself before speaking slowly. “That case from a week ago. The one with the little ghost kid.” I shook my head. “I can’t get over it. I know that we got rid of him, I just. Every time I close my eyes, I see him coming at me.” I finally look over at him. “You know, I thought I was gonna die. When I saw him coming at me and my gun was nowhere in sight. I thought I was a goner.” Wringing my hands, I cast my gaze into the forest, watching the moonlight make patterns on the floor of leaves. “I don’t want to die, Dean,” I breathed out, blinking fast to stop the tears from falling. “I haven’t been that scared in a long time. And I can’t-I can’t get over it. I’m still scared.” The disclosure felt like a weight lifted from my shoulders, but there was a nervousness wriggling in my heart. Of being judged, or dismissed.
It wasn’t until Dean’s hand rested on my knee that I lifted my head. He was staring at me with wide eyes and a certain vulnerability that I’d never seen before in him. “Y/N, you don’t have to be afraid. I would never let anything kill you.” He was leaning in as he continued. “I would never let anything happen to you. You should know that by now.” I flinched slightly as his hand caressed my cheek, brushing the tears away.
Gulping, I held his gaze. “Dean, you can’t promise things like that.”
He sighed, so close that I felt his breath fan over my cheeks. “You don’t get it, do you?” His hand found my waist, quickly wrapping around. “I love you.” My heart stopped in my chest. He loved me? “I’ll never stop loving you. And as sure as that promise is, you can be damn sure you’ll never get another scratch, sweetheart.” The hopefulness in his eyes gave me the courage to open my mouth.
“I love you too, Dean.” The words were light in the air between us.
The tension in his shoulders fell. “Oh, thank God.” Dean dipped his head and his lips landed on mine. A warmth I’d never felt before flooded through me. Closing my eyes, I wrapped my arms arms his shoulders to pull him closer.
When we broke away for air, Dean rested his forehead against mine. Across his face stretched a wide smile. “I love you,” I gasped out, smiling back at him.
Taking my face in his hands, Dean pecked my nose. “That’s all I need from you, Y/N.” He pressed another kiss to my lips before breaking away again. “I love you so much.” Wrapping his arms around me, he pulled me into his chest. Instantly, I felt safer. He kissed the top of my head. “Why don’t we go back to the Bunker so that you can get some sleep finally?”
I was shaking my head before he even finished the sentence. “I don’t want to go back there tonight. It’s so dark in there.”
Instead of a mocking Still afraid of the dark I see, Dean smiled softly down at me. “Sure. C’mon, I have a blanket in the backseat.” He stood, offering a hand to help me up.
As we made our way to the Impala, he wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “You won’t leave me, will you?” I asked, the blush heating my ears at how childish I sounded
He tilted his head down to make eye contact with me. “Never, sweetheart. I’d spend a thousand lifetimes with you if I could.”
Summary: The reader hasn't said a word since her mother died. But can the appearance of a stranger with green eyes and a cocky disposition put a stop to her long-found silence?
Pairing: Ex-Military!Dean x reader
Word Count: 4619 (oops)
Warnings: swearing, character death, angst (duh), one more in the tags because I don’t want to ruin anything
A/N: Written for @spnangstbingo and fulfilling my square Insane Asylum AU.
Masterlist
Reader’s POV
I’d heard them talking for a while now. It had gone on for about five weeks, the secretive back and forth. They didn’t always gossip in front of my room. It was only a common place because the security camera couldn’t quite reach the corner room beneath it, and the workers didn’t want to be fired for slacking on the job.
There was supposedly going to be a new guy joining us soon. They’d all said “soon” the same way, like he was going to show up the next day or something. Which he wasn’t, because court cases don’t go through in the course of a day. This guy apparently had PTSD from some unnamed experience and had flown off the handle, killing six people in the stretch of two days before the cops had caught up with him. His lawyer, as the story goes, decided it was best to plead insanity.
The stories generally varied on the guy himself. How he killed them, don’t even get me started. One girl said that he chopped off their hands, ate them in front of the victims, and then sliced their gut open and forced them to eat their own entrails as they died. Which for some reason, I seriously doubt happened, but you know. Gossip is scarcely trustworthy.
Either way, I don’t want to know this guy. A killer is a killer, no matter their mental illnesses.
That’s why when the doors opened at the far end of the hallway and the sounds of loud cursing and struggling came through, I slunk to the back of my room, desperate to put enough space between me and the new guy.
“Let me go, you sons of bitches! I didn’t do it, for God’s sake!” He had a deep, anger-filled voice. I would certainly believe that he was unstable in the mental aspect.
The workers trying to restrain him were desperately trying to calm him down. But the second one roared, “Someone tell Doctor Lambert to ready the anesthesia,” I knew it was about to get a whole lot worse.
There was a determined, “No!” from the new guy before sounds of a fight pierced through the air. And now there were footsteps approaching my room, none of the workers. I knew the distinct pattern of each employee’s footsteps from the years that I’d been here. So that must mean-
Before I could even finish my thought, the door to my room flew open and hit the wall with a loud bang. I scrambled quickly into the far corner, terrified of the man now standing, chest heaving and eyes wild, inside my room.
I don’t think he even realized that I was there, because he turned and shut the door again without a word. “Son of a bitch.” He had probably realized that there was no lock on the door. I don’t know how they even dealt with people with OCD that needed to check their locks three times before bed. Without a lock to check, you would think that they would go crazy.
Well, that’s kind of the point of being here, anyway.
The guy looked around the room, once again missing me in the darkness, and he rushed towards the solitary chair that my doctor usually sat in, dashed back over the the door, and propped the chair against it. As he finished his handiwork, he stepped back and audibly relaxed. He turned on his heel and-
His eyes locked onto mine. We both froze. Fear was coursing through my every inch. Probably seeing it in my eyes, he started forward. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he elaborated. I didn’t move. I was beyond terrified. The usual number of employees sent to escort a new patient was five. This guy single-handedly fought off five people and had killed six. And now I was stuck in a room with him. Sighing, the guy plodded over and sat heavily on my bed. My nerves were now through the roof. “My name is Dean Winchester. I’m sorry that I broke into your room. I was just trying to get away from them.” He stuck his hand out. I didn’t shake it, arms still curled around myself protectively.
Eyebrows raising, Dean pushed himself to his feet and started to further inspect my room. “Nice place, I gotta say,” he commented, finger brushing the only picture I had left of my mother. I felt my jaw clench. Nobody touches that. That’s mine. “So, what’re you here for?”
Silence. I wasn’t about to tell him my backstory when he had just touched the most prized possession that I owned without permission. Especially someone I had just met who was probably a serial killer.
“Fine. Don’t tell me. I was just trying to be friendly,” he finally grumbled, now searching through my drawers. As he picked up my journal, anger overrode fear. I leaped up from my seat on the floor and darted over to him just as he opened it to the first page.
Snatching it rather aggressively from his grip, I snarled, “Don’t touch my stuff, douchebag.”
Pleasant surprise spread across his features. “So, she does speak. Y/N, right?”
Instead of answering, I glared at him. He had probably read it in the front page of my journal. Either that or he was some sort of mind-reader. I’m guessing it was the first one.
Dean gave a pout. “Aw, come on. I thought that we had something for a second there. Are you only gonna talk to me if I piss you off?” I grinded my teeth together. This guy sure is grating my nerves. Did he never learn basic respect?
Fed up with his snide comments, I stormed toward the door, fully intent on letting in the reinforcements who were undoubtedly on their way. Dean’s hand fixed around my arm and yanked me backward. My back instantly straightened. “Where do you think you’re going?” It’s the first time that I’ve seen him angry, and the prosecutor must’ve had a pretty convincing case if they managed to work him up.
Swallowing down the timidity in my voice, I answered unwaveringly, “Away from you. Let go.”
Something darker took over his eyes. “No, you aren’t.” I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die.
Both freeze and flight instincts failing me, I resorted to the last possible route. Fight.
I drew my hand back and landed a blow on his chest. “I said let me go!” I shouted, hitting him over and over again. He was barely flinching with each one, and I eventually just gave up. “If you’re not going to let me go,” I started, voice calm once again. “-then I am going to introduce your face to your nads. Quickly and hopefully painfully.”
The glare I gave him really only seemed to amuse him. He was smirking, the asshole.
Bang.
Both of us jumped. Reinforcements had arrived.
And oddly enough, I didn’t want them to take him away.
Maybe I really did belong here.
“Well, this sucks,” Dean sighed. He let me go before I could snatch my wrist away. As the employees rushed forward to restrain him, he sent me an exaggerated wink. “See you in the cafeteria, sweetheart.” I couldn’t stop my mouth from twitching.
People were flooding around me, giving me an impromptu checkup. Even though they usually bothered me, I let them do their thing. I was too caught up in my head to pay them any attention.
New guy isn’t too awful. I mean, he’s kind of a jerk, but it’s not like I’ve talked to anyone else here. Literally ever. My doctors generally got frustrated. Dean had put a stop to my long-found silence. I owed him a lot. There had been so many times that I had wanted to speak up, but hadn’t found the words. New guy helped me in a way that I’ll never be able to repay. He was not bad at all.
His mug wasn’t too painful to look at, either.
They eventually left me alone, slinking back out of the room. The lights turned off a few minutes later. Nine o’clock had come and gone. Curfew. They would lock the doors soon.
I mused for maybe a millisecond the possibility of going to visit Dean in his new room, but I trashed it almost immediately. They probably gave him a dose of anesthesia, and I would be next if I dared to leave my room at this hour.
Determined to get my sleep, I settled myself into my bed and pulled the covers around me.
Just as Dean had promised, I saw him in the cafeteria the following day. He was sitting at a table alone, grumpily stabbing at his pancakes. Sliding in next to him, I bumped his shoulder in greeting. He turned to glare at me, and his eyes softened as he realized who I was. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice a bit hoarse. “Sorry. I feel like shit. Anesthesia. I threw up twice this morning. How are you?”
I desperately wanted to say something, but I felt like cotton had been stuffed down my throat. Instead, I gave him a flat, down-faced palm that I tilted back and forth. Dean frowned at me. “What, back to not talking, huh?” Now staring down at my own pancakes, I shrugged.
A pause. “Alright. That’s fine. I can live with that.”
We ate in silence for a while. Dean finally sighed and spoke up. “Hey, listen. My room number is 27. If you ever wanna talk or something.” Aw. That’s cute.
Doesn’t make him any less of an asshole, but you know.
When it was apparent that he wasn’t going to leave before I gave him a decisive answer, I nodded. His smile was great. No. No, no, no. You’ve gotta live around this guy for however long you last here. You are not going down that path.
Dean stood up to leave, and then something dropped in my lap. I looked down in surprise and my mouth dropped open.
A Hershey’s bar? Like, a full bar?
Okay, maybe I can keep this guy around.
I was thinking about the incident the rest of the day, even though I didn’t see Dean at lunch or dinner. He was probably still recovering from his dose of the anesthesia.
As I laid down for bed that night, I stopped. I’m probably gonna be here for the rest of my life anyways. What’s the harm that disobeying curfew will do? And really, the chances that I’ll get caught are tiny.
Set in my decision, I fluffed my pillows and slipped them underneath my covers before slinking over to the window. Right above it was a panel that I knew led to the old-fashioned vent system. I knew it like the back of my hand from my… luxurious stay. Pushing myself up onto the counter, I reached up, hooked my fingers through the grate, and yanked with all my weight.
It came loose violently, nearly making me hit my head on the wall behind me from the force. The grunt I let out was surprisingly enough the only sound that was made during the entire process. Setting the grate gently on the counter, I took one last breath, grabbed the sides of the inside of the ventilation system, and jumped to give myself an extra boost.
Instantly, I was encased in a warm, musty environment. It felt smaller than last time. Understandably so, considering I’ve been here for so long. I’d grown since I’d last bothered to creep around at night or search for a way out. Last time, it had been a comfortable crawl space. This time, it had been reduced to shoulders against the sides and having to hunch my stance.
I crawled around in there for a while, frustrated as I took wrong turns and such. Finally, I was peering down into room 27. Dean was sitting in the corner, jaw locked and eyes vigilant. Even from up here, he looked terrifying.
And exhausted. I couldn’t help but wonder if the anesthesia was the first time that he had gotten a decent night’s sleep in who knew how long.
Reminding myself to quit stalling, I slid so that I was curled up, my feet pressed against the grate and my fingers gripping kind of uselessly at the grate above me. Here we go. Taking one last breath for courage, I hoisted myself up with my arms and hammered my entire body mass into my feet, pushing at the metal lid of sorts.
I think that I surprised myself more than I surprised Dean as the grate came off on my first try. My fingers, loose from the weight of my body tugging on them, gave way, and I would’ve gone sailing into the room after the rectangular piece of metal had it not been for my speedy reflexes, locking my grip on the sides of the vent.
There was a glimmer of something shiny before all I could see was Dean. “What the hell?” he whispered furiously, but helped me down anyways. As soon as my feet were on the floor, I was struggling with the thing in my pocket. After a moment, I came up victorious, the chocolate bar by some miracle still intact, if not a bit melted. But Dean was shaking his head. “Nuh-uh, sweetheart. I gave that to you. You eat it.”
Rolling my eyes, I hastily unwrapped the gift and snapped it in half. I shoved it at Dean before he could protest. He sighed in defeat and took it. “Alright, fine. But you can’t hold this against me.”
We ate the chocolate in silence for a while before he spoke up. “I really didn’t commit those crimes. You believe me, don’t you? I mean, sure, I’ve seen…” He trailed off, then shook himself and continued. “But I would never hurt someone like that. I was framed. I’m sure of it. I’ve just gotta find out who it was and get out of here and make them pay.” His voice had grown to become so passionate throughout his monologue that I actually found myself believing him.
Before I could stop myself, I blurted out, “I was born here.”
Dean’s head whipped to look at me from where he had been zoning out, lost in his own thoughts. Now that his attention was on me once again, the nerves rose and I felt myself receding. “What?” he probed, slowly setting the remaining little square of chocolate down beside him on the bed.
I opened my mouth to go on, but nothing came out except a little squeak. The blush rose onto my cheeks, the heat so severe that it felt like it was burning me. My head ducked down to push my hair into my face. It was a safe haven, hand-crafted and well-used.
When Dean swore, I didn’t blame him. It felt like we were making progress, and then I went and messed it up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” The stark difference between his asshole, know-it-all tone and the ashamed tone that I was hearing now prompted a short laugh to escape my lips. Dean’s smile grew. “You’ve got an amazing smile, you know that?”
And damn it, now I was blushing again.
Eventually, I worked up the bravado. I turned away from him purposefully, knowing that if I looked at him, I would lose it. “I said that I was born here. My mother had schizophrenia. They wanted to see if it was a genetic issue. I don’t have it, but it doesn’t usually show up until early adulthood anyway. It took my entire childhood to get the samples and tests they wanted done. By the time I was eleven, they decided to keep me here instead of try and force me into society when I hadn’t had any social interaction with kids my age. Not that I want to be out in the world anyways.” I swallowed. “I have no one.”
There was a long pause. So long that I nearly up and left and wanted to never come back. Then Dean whispered, “How old are you?”
I closed my eyes. “Nineteen. Supposedly. They don’t really know, because my mom kept me hidden for a while.”
Describing what opening up about this felt like can’t be put into words. It felt like a weight was lifting from my shoulders and settling over my heart at the same time. Like I had just righted a wrong, but made another wrong to right in the process.
“I’m twenty-two,” Dean murmured, even though both of us knew that it didn’t really matter.
I looked over at him, grateful for the distraction. “Really? Ew, you're old.” I wrinkled up my nose in false disgust and he laughed.
We sat there for the entire night, talking back and forth, and he even braided my hair (albeit sloppily) at one point. It was a run of the mill sleepover.
Well, except for the fact that we were in a mental hospital.
Dawn was just kissing the horizon when I finally stood to leave. Dean stood with me, then rubbed the back of his neck as I blinked at him in surprise. “Um, I had a really good time. Would you mind doing that tonight again?”
Without hesitation, I nodded, smile splitting my face. He moved forward and his arms were suddenly around me. I stiffened.
What is he doing?
Sensing my discomfort, he stepped back a bit, even more sheepish than before. “Sorry. I, uh. I don't know what I was thinking.”
Not even knowing really why I did it, I reassured him that it was okay, even though I secretly was still confused about why you would put your arms around someone like that in the first place.
Maybe because it felt nice. Yeah. Nice and safe and warm and strong.
Waving one last time to Dean, I allowed him to help me into the vents once again and started the journey back to my isolation.
The next night when I came, Dean was snoring softly on his bed. I was contemplating leaving when he woke with a start.
Right. I keep forgetting. He has PTSD. Which is why he's covered in sweat right now and panting like his life depended on it.
I slunk quietly into the room, trying to stick to the shadows. Dean gave me a strained smile. “Hey, sweetheart. Glad you dropped by.” The tiredness in his voice prompted me to give him a closer look.
He had dark circles under his eyes. He looked like he hadn't slept in days. “Are you okay?” I blurted out, not stopping for a second to think about the consequences.
As I headed over to his bedside, he slid out from under the covers, bare feet touching the cold floor tentatively. “It's nothing,” he muttered, almost like a repeated mantra that he had said over and over.
Refusing to take the obvious bullshit answer, I rose an eyebrow at him. He sighed and crumbled. “Every time I close my eyes, I see…” he choked on his emotions, and I reached over and grabbed his arm almost instinctively. He didn't seem to notice. “-war. Destruction.” He shook his head. “It's awful. I can't…”
Rubbing his shoulder, I whispered, “It's okay, Dean. You're okay.” A pause. “But you do need some sleep.”
He immediately protested. “No. Nuh-uh. I can't… I can't relive what happened over there. Not again.” His eyes were haunted, and I felt my emotions swelling as I caught a glimpse of who Dean Winchester really was behind his facade.
“I'll keep you safe,” I promised, hoping that I could actually keep it.
Dean met my eyes for a beat before nodding and lowering himself back into bed, back ramrod straight. Against my better judgement, I lay down beside him. He pulled the blankets over the both of us. It was such a peaceful moment that I was nearly startled when he absent-mindedly placed an arm around my waist. I opened my mouth to tell him off and-
Nothing came out. Maybe it was because I liked it. It made me feel like when he had wrapped his arms around me. I was safe.
When I woke up, it was to find chaos. The door was open, alarms were blasting, and there were people fighting past each other in the hallway.
Where’s Dean?
It shocked me that this would be my first thought. But when I really dug into it, it shouldn't have been surprising. Especially considering the handsome bastard that I had fallen asleep next to was now nowhere to be found.
I pushed myself up, and instantly, I felt the heat in the air. I thought that it was the heat of Dean’s body around me, or the blankets. But no.
That wouldn't have caused thick smoke to sting at my eyes and block my vision.
The answer came to me all at once. Fire. There was a fire.
Heart pounding in my chest, I ran out into the hallway, now finding it eerily abandoned. I could see the flames licking at the staircase to my left, so I turned right.
Only to stop in my tracks.
Dean. Where was he? I needed to find him. Now.
Swallowing, I called out hoarsely, “Dean?”
No response. Worry rose in my chest.
I stumbled along for a bit longer before the smoke became too much for me and I sank to my knees, retching.
I can't let this stop me. Blinking away tears, I crawled along the floor for a while, blurrily trying to find the only friend that I had ever had, when a groaning met my ears.
There he was. A large chunk of the doorway to the stairs had fallen, and was now pinning his chest and shoulder to the ground. Beside him was Mrs. Smith, an elderly woman who had Alzheimer's. Dread settled low in my belly. This wasn't going to end well.
Dean’s eyes caught mine, and they held immense relief. “Y/N,” he called out, beckoning me over with his good hand. I crawled toward him as quickly as I could. When I reached him, he said the exact opposite of what I expected. “Get her out of here. Now.”
My mouth dropped open. “Dean, no. You're hurt. I have to help you.”
Mrs. Smith smiled vacantly at me. “Well, aren't you pretty.”
Dean's jaw was clenching, obviously trying to withhold his pained noises. “Y/N, I swear to God. You get her out of here. She won't last much longer. She's older. And if you keep arguing with me, we're going to have some problems.” The authority in his tone snapped me into action.
Grabbing onto the railing beside me, I put Mrs. Smith's weight against my shoulder and hoisted us both up. “You’d better be alive when I come back, Winchester,” I snapped, but instead of the venom that I had hoped to convey, I sounded weak and worried beyond comprehension.
Dean grimaced. “You think a fire is gonna bring down the great Dean Winchester? Sweetheart, I'm hurt.” The poor attempt at humor didn't help matters, considering he was hurt.
Being on the third floor was a royal pain in the ass when you had to escort an old lady down the stairs. It felt like it took forever. As soon as she was on the first floor, I pointed toward the door and bolted back up the stairs to the best of my abilities.
Please be alive, please be alive.
I rounded the last corner and the breath was nearly punched from my lungs. Dean looked awful, pale and sweaty as the fire swept toward us. He was barely holding onto consciousness.
Not allowing myself the luxury of panic, I raced to him, shaking his shoulders to rouse him. “Dean.” He blinked at me, eyes hooded and glazed over.
He wasn't dead. But he would be if I didn't get him out of here soon.
Keeping a wary eye on the swiftly advancing flames, I started to free Dean’s torso and arm. He barely even groaned. My anxiety for his safety was full blast.
“Up and at 'em, big guy,” I rasped, panting as I hauled him up.
Dean proved to be even more difficult to get down the stairs than Mrs. Smith had, his feet dragging and head lolling frequently. With my own vision going in and out, I was worried that we weren't going to make it out in time. The building was moaning. It was going to collapse.
I just prayed that we wouldn't be in it when it did.
The thought roused a new burst of adrenaline in me, and I pulled Dean along with me as I stumbled down the last few steps.
It was the first floor.
I almost wanted to sob with relief.
Instead, I pressed on, and didn't stop until the heat was gone and the sky was above us, and we were surrounded by patients and doctors alike in front of the burning building.
And then I collapsed.
Dean rolled as soon as he hit the ground, grunting. I didn't even have the energy to pick up my head, much less make a sound.
“I should've been there to help you,” Dean coughed, his body racked with the spontaneous hacking fit. “But I woke up earlier. I went out to the garden, just to look up at the stars. And you know what?” He was smiling now, handsome even with a dirtied face. “It was the first time in a long time that I got up because I had to take a piss instead of because of my nightmares.”
The crude language coaxed a dry chuckle out of me.
I barely was successful in fighting off the urge to jump as his hand closed around mine. “Y/N. I love you,” he rasped, and then, just like that, he was gone.
Energy rushed into my veins and I pushed myself onto my hands and knees. No. Nononono. I felt for his pulse.
None. It wasn't there.
No. This wasn't how this was supposed to go.
Straddling his chest, I put my hands over his heart and began compressions, tears streaming down my face. No. Dean Winchester will not be taken down by a fire. A lame fire, take down him? No.
But his eyes, his gorgeous emerald eyes that I had grown to care for and cherish myself, were empty.
I was hitting at his chest, now, sobbing uncontrollably. I took in a gulp of air, closed my eyes, and screamed, “No!” as loud as my voice would allow before falling onto him, still crying, clutching at his shirt.
Dean, the asshole who broke into my room an eternity ago. Dean, who I had trusted so openly that I shared full conversations with him when I couldn't even say a word for nineteen years. Dean, who exchanged his personal story for mine. Dean, who respected me. Dean, who never questioned what I said. Dean, who was selfless until his last moments.
Dean, who was dead.
Who I loved.
Who I would never speak to again.
I gasped awake, head pounding. Great, another vision. As per usual, I couldn't remember a single thing from the dream. Really, what was the point of giving me visions if I couldn't remember them?
There was a ruckus outside my room. The door banged against the wall as a man burst through. I huddled in the corner, terrified.
And through it all, I felt a growing sense that this was all too familiar.
Summary: Silly little ditty I thought up a while ago in honor of @that-loud-kid aka @crazy-wayward-daughter. That’s right, this one is in honor of you! Basically the reader is obsessed with every kind of soup on the planet in a situation where it isn’t beneficial to Dean or her.
Word Count: 848
Warnings: None really. I don’t think that there’s any swearing, but maybe couple argument? However minor and petty it is?
Masterlist
Reader’s POV
“Y/N!” I looked up as Dean stormed in. It was funny, because even as I was up on the counter, I was still a good head shorter than him. I let out a short giggle, which only proved to make him frown deeper.
Hopping down from my perch, I skipped over to him. “Hey, sweetie!” I greeted, pecking his stubbled cheek. Knowing what was making him so disgruntled gave me a deep sense of satisfaction.
Pointing at the cupboard, he growled, “That entire cabinet is full of soup!” I would've been so turned on, had he not been so stuffed up.
Trying desperately to stifle my laughter, I shrugged. “And?”
With a pointed glare, Dean stalked over to the cupboard and threw open the doors. His fingers scanned the labels as he read them off. “Cream of mushroom soup. New England clam chowder. Split pea. Navy bean. All of which I hate!” I barely managed to wrestle the corners of my mouth into a frown before Dean whipped around.
I dismissed his argument with a shrug of my shoulders. “Oh, well. More soup for me,” I stated.
Dean stared at me as if he were trying to solve a complex puzzle. “Y/N,” he said slowly, and I knew I was in for it. “I'm the one that's sick, not you. Yet you bought soups that I loathe.” I practically saw the light bulb go off in his head. “You bought me soup that I wouldn't eat so that you could eat it! You put your obsession before your own boyfriend's health.”
Rolling my eyes, I set my hand on my hip. “You know that I'm a soup junkie. Soup isn't going to make you better, you know. So, why not give it all to your loving, caring girlfriend?” I batted my lashes, fully knowing that I was laying it on obnoxiously thick.
My apparently very unhappy boyfriend narrowed his eyes at me. “You know that I've been crawling the walls with not being able to hunt. Anything helps, sweetheart. And you're trying to keep me cooped up in here. Probably because me hunting makes you nervous,” he rasped out steadily. He's right on the nose. But I couldn't let him know that.
Tilting my chin up, I hugged. “Or maybe I just like soup!” I defended, arms crossed. We glared at each other for a few seconds, vivid green on Y/E/C. Then, Dean let out a light, humorless laugh. My heart sunk in my chest.
“Whatever,” he mumbled, whisking out. Big mistake, Y/N. As usual.
I did everything. Paced, bit my nails, ran my hands through my hair until it was standing on end. And I still couldn't calm myself down. My mind obviously thought that this whole thing was a big deal, so how do I even start to fix this?
I perked up as I saw the edge of a red label in the cabinet. A plan instantly formed in my head and I smiled widely. Perfect.
Taking a deep breath, I knocked on Dean’s door. “Go away,” he grumbled, sounding absolutely miserable, then fell into a coughing fit.
Ignoring his not so polite request, I awkwardly pushed the door open with my shoulder. Dean tried to glare at me through his coughing fit, but it seemed to only make it worse. Internally scoffing at his stubborn nature, I strolled over to his night stand. There, I carefully placed down each item that I had brought. Cough drops, medicine, a bottle of water, and a bowl of tomato soup, spoon sliding along the lip of it. “Quit coughing for a second,” I demanded, plopping down beside Dean and rubbing at his shoulder.
It took a bit, but Dean eventually calmed to the point where I could talk fluently without being interrupted every two words. Picking up the bowl of soup, I set it in my lap. I reached for the spoon, but Dean had different ideas.
He lightly smacked away my hand. “Nuh-uh. I'm not four,” he protested, but it was hard to take him seriously when his normal bold voice was almost gone. But knowing that pissing him off further wouldn't help the situation, I transferred the bowl from my lap to his. He was clearly trying to mask his surprise in a look of contempt. Real slick, Dean.
As he sipped carefully from the spoon, I began to run my fingers through his hair. His eyes immediately fluttered shut and he leaned into my hand. Smiling, I began to hum. Recognizing the tune, Dean joined in softly. “You know that I'm sorry and I love you, right?” I whispered, afraid that if I spoke too loud, I would break the tender atmosphere.
Dean smirked at me. “Hey, Jude. Don't make it bad,” he sang, his voice gravelly, yet somehow still attractive. The exercise on his sore vocal chords, however, caused him to fall into another hacking fit. Eyes crinkling at the corners, I rubbed his back until it let up. “I know,” he croaked out, grin on his face.
Summary: Jensen Ackles is everything that the reader hoped for in a man. Except his occupation. That, she could live without. AU in which the Supernatural cast (only a select few are mentioned) are a hockey team.
Word Count: 319
Warnings: Swearing, making out along with a mentioned fumble of clothes
Part 1
Masterlist
Reader’s POV
"I can't believe that you threw me into a snowbank!" I squeaked as Jensen toweled me down, that ever present grin mocking me.
"Well, it was there. You were next to it. It was destiny," he ended his mini-speech largely, hand to his forehead and the other on his heart.
I simply snorted and whipped the towel at him. "So was that," I smirked, well aware that I was riling him up.
Jensen wiggled his eyebrows at me before catching my thighs in his big hands and throwing me back onto our bed in one fluid motion. He came tumbling after me, mouth on mine and hands fumbling with my clothing.
Of course, a cell phone ringing definitely killed the mood. J groaned, barely pulling away before grabbing his cell from the night table and answering. "Hello," he greeted, definitely not friendly in the slightest. As the person retaliated, he shot up, eyes shooting open. "Um, no. Nope. Sorry, Jim." Uh oh. Jim, his manager. Was nice enough away from hockey, but put the two together, and he becomes a hot head with anger turning his face near red. Jensen listened a bit more and chuckled, shoulders sinking a bit. "Shit, I forgot about that. I'll be there as soon as I can."
As soon as he hung up, he gave me a quick peck and leapt off the bed, clothes flying everywhere in two seconds flat. "Wait, where are you going?" I whined, not even bothering to get off the bed.
Without even turning, Jensen replied, "Forgot I have an interview in, like, ten minutes. I've gotta hurry up." He was pulling on a nicer shirt, running his fingers through his hair repeatedly in a vain attempt at doctoring it's messy appearance. "I'll see you later, sweetheart," he shot at me, grinning quickly before speeding out the door.
Oh, good Lord, that man is going to kill me.
Summary: Jensen Ackles is everything that the reader hoped for in a man. Except his occupation. That, she could live without. AU in which the Supernatural cast (only a select few are mentioned) are a hockey team.
Word Count: 488
Warnings: Swearing, fluff, brief mention of past injury
Masterlist
Originally posted by tearinmyeye
Reader’s POV
I sighed, running my fingers through Jensen's hair. He leaned into my touch, adorable grin on his face. "Big game today," I whispered to him.
His smile didn't falter in the slightest. "Yep. And I'm gonna win. Just for you, sweetheart." He finished his statement with a wink.
Jensen fully well knew that him being on the ice made me nervous, so voicing it definitely wouldn't do much. I couldn't help it, though. Although major injuries weren't common, Jensen came home bruised and battered a lot of the time. I didn't like seeing him hurt. He claimed that he was used to it, but I doubted it. How can you be used to getting slammed into walls constantly?
Pressing a quick kiss to my lips, J pushed himself back onto his heels. "Gonna have lunch with the guys. Then, because I'm such an amazing boyfriend, you and I will walk around the park. Just the two of us. I promise that I won't let Jared tag along this time." I smiled fondly at J, his green eyes drawing me in.
"One, I think you see those guys more than you see me. Two, you had better keep us warm, because I am going to be pissed at you if you let me get cold. And three, you are powerless against Jared's puppy dog eyes and you completely know it," I concluded sweetly.
My boyfriend just rolled his eyes. "Haha. Very funny, sweetheart. I would much rather spend time with you, but I'm not the one who skipped last night's game." He rose his eyebrows pointedly at me and I scoffed, finally leaning up to hit his shoulder.
Crossing my arms and pouting, I retaliated, "It's cold in there! Plus, I haven't seen Roxie in forever. She was how I got through high school. I wouldn't be alive today had she not blessed my life with her presence." At my dramatics, Jensen threw his head back in a childish laugh.
As he recovered, he crushed me in his muscular arms, making me squeak. "Well, I should probably thank her, then," he murmured, kissing the crown of my head. I let my eyes fall closed, relaxing into Jensen's hold. Stupid cute ass. Always making me forget about the important things.
He pulled away a second later, large grin stretching from ear to ear. "Hey, I really do have to get ready. We're meeting at 12:30 at a place twenty minutes away. And it's already noon." I felt myself deflate. "Later," he quickly promised, sensing my mood nosediving. Sighing, I nodded. Pecking my lips one last time, he started toward the shower. I stared after him, eyes fixated on the barely-healed bruises scattered across his back.
Why couldn't my soulmate have been someone idle and normal, like a janitor, or something? Why did he have to be broadcasted just to make a living?
Most importantly, why a freaking hockey player?
Summary: The reader is just trying to relax, but Dean clearly has different ideas.
Word Count: 726
Warnings: Swearing, slight nudity, very slight almost laughable injury, a comment that really makes you want to nail Dean right in the nads, to be honest it’s not even that Christmassy
Masterlist
Reader's POV
I raised the steaming cup of hot chocolate to my lips, eyes not leaving the television screen. It was the first designated lazy day that hadn't been rescheduled because of a hunt in about five months. Long overdue, I thought, smiling at the cliche chick flick flashing throughout the dark room.
That’s why I was so startled when Dean popped in his head from the doorway. I jumped so severely that the hot chocolate was lapping at the very edge of the cup. “What are you doing in here? And why the hell are you wearing your ugly Christmas sweater? It's literally the middle of July!” I shamelessly ignored him, staring even more intently now at the scene that I would probably end up replaying later anyways. Dean scoffed and, before I knew what was happening, he was leaping onto the bed beside me.
The bed frame shook from the force and the bed bounced me up. I let out a squeak as I came down, causing the hot drink to fly from the cup and land spectacularly all over my beloved Christmas sweater. Gasping as it burned my skin through both the sweater and the camisole, I peeled them off and threw them to the side without a second thought.
I didn't even realize that I had scrambled out of the bed until Dean started snickering and it wasn't coming from above me. “Oh my God, Dean!” I half-shrieked, half-whined. “That's my favorite sweater and you ruined it!”
Dean simply rolled his eyes in return. “I'll buy you a new one,” he grumbled, but he wasn't getting off that easy.
“Oh, no, mister!” I yelled, getting up in his face where he was sitting calmly on the bed. “I don't want a new one! I want that one! I've worn it in. It's mine and you've just wrecked it!”
All I earned in response was an odd look and an infuriating comment. “Are you on your period or something?”
Huffing, I crossed my arms over my chest and marched out, snatching up the soaked clothes as I went. Two lefts and a right later, I was violently throwing the two articles of clothing into the wash. I was so furious at Dean’s stupidness that my hands were shaking when I poured the detergent into the appropriate spot. Without thinking twice, I slammed the kid shut.
Directly on the fingers of the opposite hand. “Oh, fuck!” I exclaimed, flicking my hand as if it would be effective in lessening the pain.
A low call made me internally groan. “Y/N!” Dean, of course. I hid my hand behind my back just as he came barreling in, concern etched into his face. I forced on a neutral expression. He didn't buy it for one second. “Okay, what did you do this time?” he sighed, looking like he was mentally bracing himself. I opened my mouth to give him an evasive answer, but he cut me off. “Oh, please. Don't say nothing. Every single time you storm off after one of our spats, you somehow injure yourself.”
I glared back at him. “I do not!” I denied vehemently. He shot me a bitch face. Yeah, I do. Crap.
Before I could admit that he was right, he grabbed my arm and yanked, carefully examining my hand. Wow, I'm really discreet, I mused, wincing as he trailed over a particularly sore spot. “What did you do?” Dean rumbled, squinting at the damage I'd inadvertently done.
Whatever you do, do not tell him you're embarrassed. Don't even let him see it. “I slammed them in the washer lid.” There's no way that someone can say that sentence with their head held high. And not looking like a complete idiot.
Dean's eyebrows shot up. “Well, that's a new one. I'll go get some ice for that.” I was staring after him, mouth hung open because he hadn't even giggled, when he turned. Smirking at me, he shed his flannel and tossed it to me. “Probably better to not stomp around the bunker in just your bra,” he snarked as he swaggered off.
I pulled on the flannel slowly, reveling in the residue warmth for an instant before realizing that I should have a witty retort. “It's a free bunker!” I shouted, and I swear I heard Dean's tell tale chuckle answer.
Could you do a dean winchester x reader sorta based on the song aristocrat by new politics? Like the reader is also a hunter but shes like rich n stuff ig?? And they keep runnin into each other on hunts or whatever idk
I sure can! It'll be up as soon as I listen to the song and get a good idea of what exactly I want to do with it. Thanks and congrats on being my first request! ❤️
Summary: Dean won’t leave the reader alone when she’s planned to wrap gifts, and at first, she’s less than thrilled.
Warnings: Swearing, suggestive comments, fluff out the wazoo
Word Count: 1110
This was written for @torn-and-frayed‘s Winter with Dean Drabble Challenge!
Masterlist
Reader’s POV
“Why can’t I come in?” Dean whined, the door creaking miserably as he leaned heavily against it.
I simply rolled my eyes and continued what I was doing. It hadn’t even been five minutes into wrapping Christmas presents that Dean had started bugging me, griping left and right about how I was ignoring him. I seriously considered just letting him in and ruining the surprise at one point, just to have a break from his constant badgering. But I just couldn’t. It was for Christmas, and Dean needed to mind his own damn business so that he could have a normal holiday like everybody else. No way was I budging on this.
With a perfectly placed bow, I finally finished wrapping up Dean’s haul of gifts. Sighing in relief, I pushed the large box to the side and stood. I was stretching out the aches in my joints when the whine came yet again. “Y/N,” he dragged out, accompanied by the light sound of his head banging against the wood.
Huffing in frustration, I stormed over to the door, unlocked it, and yanked it open. Of course, I didn’t really think about the 180 pound hunter that was putting his entire body weight against the door. I realized my mistake a second too late. Dean was already falling through, green eyes flying open wide as we went down in a tangle of flailing limbs. As I lay on the floor, him on top of me as I struggled to regain my breath, Dean grinned at me. “Well, hi there,” he laughed, only giggling more violently at the pissed glare he received.
“Get off unless you want to sleep on the couch tonight!” I demanded harshly, shoving at his broad shoulders.
Of course, Dean reacted immediately, springing away from me as if I was poisonous. Satisfied with how I handled the situation, I pushed myself to my feet. I was brushing off my butt when Dean grumbled, “I feel manipulated.” The snort that he received was inevitable, and I definitely didn’t regret it when he glowered down at me.
Without giving a proper reply, I wandered back over to my set up on the floor and sat. Mumbling to himself the whole way, Dean followed me. I had to physically restrain myself to not laugh. It wasn’t like he was on a leash. Crybaby could leave any time that he likes.
I reached under the bed, then stopped as Dean tilted his head to the side, uncannily resembling a confused dog. Right. Big mouth on this one. “Dean, if you tell Sam what I’m about to show you, I’m going to leave Baby in a fast food parking lot for a week, got it?”
His eyes went wide again as he nodded fervently. I slowly dragged out Sam’s Christmas present, grunting at how heavy it was. Dean’s mouth fell open. It was a long, wide box full of books. Big, hefty ones. I had gone to the thrift store and picked up anything that had looked remotely interesting. $50 sounds like a lot to spend on books, but when you’re not shopping in Barnes & Noble, you’re up to your neck in books.
“How did you…?” Dean breathed, completely flabbergasted.
“I have my secrets. C’mon, I’m gonna wrap them a half dozen at a time. Help me find ones that have about the same outline.”
Watching Dean’s hands pick up the dusty books and measure them next to each other was pornographic. The muscles barely strained at all in the face of the cumbersome books. I bit my bottom lip. Large, muscular, calloused hands. Jesus Christ.
Dean waving a hand in front of my face brought me back. “Hellooo? You in there, sweetheart? You gonna help or leave me to do all the work?” The smug grin on his face had my cheeks lighting up.
“Right. Sorry.”
We spent maybe fifteen minutes in relative silence before all the books were in fitting piles. I looked around at the spread with a wide smile on my face. Sam wasn’t the only one that would benefit from all of these books. So call me out on my ulterior motive. I won’t correct you.
Grabbing the roll of wrapping paper, I started to work. I was gifted with wrapping. It was something that had always come naturally to me.
But no one can keep their concentration in a room with Dean Winchester. To be fair, it wasn’t even his looks this time.
“What’s this?” I looked up to see Dean closely examining the larger present that I had carelessly set aside earlier.
Sighing to myself, I got up and crossed over to him. “No touch,” I scolded, smacking his hands away before leading him back to where I was wrapping presents.
It happened again not even a few seconds after that. Dean started giving me little touches, his fingers tracing up and down my thigh quickly progressing to him kissing at my neck skillfully. I pushed him off, annoyed. “Dean, stop distracting me. Here, go wrap those books over there.” I gestured to a pile in the corner, far away from where he could be distracting, hopefully. With a pout and the supplies he needed unceremoniously dropped into his awaiting hands, he sulked off to the corner.
The silence, unfortunately, didn’t last for much longer, either.
“Done!” Dean announced proudly. It was good timing, at least, because I had just stuck the bow to the top of the last stack I had. Trying to suppress my exasperation, I glanced up. What I saw nearly had me in tears in an instant.
There Dean was, proud as ever, holding an extremely poorly wrapped present. He clearly does not have the gift.
Before I could think twice about it, I pushed the words from my mouth. “Very nice. You should help more next year.”
Don't laugh. Don't laugh, Y/N. Don't do it.
A ridiculous grin spread across his face. “Really? I thought I did an awful job.”
The urge to tease him went away. Damn, he's too attractive for his own good.
Smiling, I gently pried the box from Dean’s hands and set it on the bed. “Yes, really.”
I was startled when something smacked to my forehead. Dean laughed at my bewildered look. “There. All decorated and everything,” Dean chuckled deeply.
I reached up to take off whatever was sticking to my forehead, but he stopped me. “It's a bow.” He leaned in to whisper in my ear. “Which means that I get to unwrap you later.” Needless to say, I was a bright red when he pulled back to give me a kiss.
Summary: Alec and the reader are on a regular burgling job, when the rug is pulled out from under them.
Fandom: Dark Angel
Pairing: Alec McDowell x Reader
Warnings: Swearing, threats, transgenic hate (I don’t like it, either), light gore (nothing too bad), angsty ending (I’m sorry in advance)
Word Count: 3965 (it doesn’t feel that long, trust me)
Masterlist
Reader’s POV
“I cannot believe I let you talk me into this,” I hissed furiously, trying desperately to peel the stray hairs from where they had stuck to my sweaty face.
Alec turned to give me an extremely sarcastic grimace. “Well, I don’t really wanna be here, either. Logan called me, and I couldn’t go in alone!” I huffed, knowing that he was right. I never would’ve let him go alone, in any case. We’d had a dinner date planned and everything. Well, our dinner dates were generally snuggling on the couch with some take out. But still. I still had every right to be angry. Alec rubbed a hand over his face. “I promise that we’ll spend time together later, okay? Let’s just get this over with.” The easy smirk slipped back onto his expression.
It was going to be a quick job. In and out. The only inconvenience was that it was about an hour away. Going in for some kind of file. I didn’t have the energy to spare on caring about that. It was all going towards being irate about the situation I was shoved into. It had interrupted my perfectly fine evening. And the fact that Alec had all but tackled me into a closet as soon as we broke in, just barely closing the door before the sounds of a person running down the hall met my ears.
We’d been stuck in here, unable to touch each other without losing focus on the task at hand, ever since. Which did not help in the slightest.
Alec’s hand on my arm jolted me out of my thoughts. “C’mon,” he whispered, ear to the door. “Coast is clear.” He didn’t even ask if I was ready to go before the door clicked free of the lock. What a gentleman I snagged myself.
As soon as the path was clear, Alec was tugging me through the new opening by the grip he still held on my arm. My eyes closed in bliss as the cooler air hit my overheated skin. Sweet Jesus, that feels amazing.
I didn’t even realize that we had moved until Alec’s hand was gone, having pulled away to pick the lock of a file cabinet. We were in an office. A hot, muggy office. My face immediately wrinkled up. “Dude,” I whined.
But Alec wasn’t paying attention. He was in mission mode. His face was drawn and his muscles were tense. I also had a tendency to call it “Manticore mode”, but I tried to steer clear of that term. He didn’t care about anything but the mission in this mode. The mission was all that mattered. Not me. Not the people he might run across. Just the file, and getting it back to whomever it may concern.
This Alec scared me a bit.
He gave me one look and I was gone, fleeing to the door. That was my job, after all. Keeping a lookout. Turns out, even a genetically modified super soldier couldn’t multitask. And I was not about to step on his toes when he was looking at me like he wouldn’t hesitate to rip out my throat.
Grumbling, I eyed the hallway, checking the shadows just to ensure my suspicion. It was radio silence. Just as the air was starting to become unnecessarily stuffy, Alec slid the file cabinet drawer open successfully. “Bingo,” he whispered, brow furrowing as he started flipping through, file after file. I let my feet slide along the floor as I crept up behind him, trying to catch titles on the folders as they flew by.
“Anastasia Grossman”, “Experiment 304: The Londonberg Virus”, “Possible Cure to Ammonia Poisoning” The labels seemed to be more and more informal as the list went on.
“Go back to the door,” Alec requested calmly out of nowhere, actually making me jump a bit. I could hear his amused chuckle as I slinked back over to my patrol, embarrassed.
I was left there for maybe five minutes before Alec was at my elbow, Manila folder in hand. “Come on,” he urged, words barely there, they were so quiet.
He somehow managed to make not a sound, not even a scuffle, as he led me down the hallway. I think even the light squeak of my shoes along the floor was starting to tick him off.
Boredom starting to press in on my senses as time ticked on, I grabbed for the file in Alec’s hands. He instantly recoiled, hackles going up. “What are you doing?” He growled, the folder nearly crinkling with his tight grip on it.
Fully knowing that it wasn't going to do any good, I made another swipe for it. Alec, of course, smacked the pathetic attempt away. “Let me see,” I demanded.
He shot me a face. “No. Now, shut up,” he bit back shortly.
Being the awesome girlfriend I am, I prodded at him further. “C’mon,” I whined, now having to jog to keep up with his long strides. “I just want to see why my evening was interrupted.”
A force hit me from the side, and next thing I knew, I was hitting cold, hard floor. “Umph!” I exclaimed, hands already stinging from their attempt at stopping my descent. Not even a second later, a weight hit me from behind, smashing my face into the unforgiving cement. I instantly felt blood running from my nose.
“Shit,” came Alec’s voice, scrambling off of me just as a door slammed shut. I wiped the blood off of my nose and started trying to push myself up. Alec’s hands were on me in a second, hauling me to my feet and gently examining every inch of me that he could reach. “Fuck. Sorry, sweetheart.”
Grimacing, I murmured, “‘S okay. It was an accident.”
Alec’s face hardened as he turned to the now sealed door that blocked our escape. A man with a gun and a ferocious look on his face was glaring right back through the little glass window at the top. “Filthy transgenics,” he spat, cocking the gun within our line of sight. My blood ran cold. Alec tensed beside me. “I wonder if I should call the cops or just shoot you in your cage?” he continued taunting.
Warm air caressed my ear as Alec leaned down to speak into it. “Ignore him. He’s too cowardly to actually shoot us. Apparently-” Alec raised his voice so the man could hear him. “-all he can do is lock us in a fucking freezer.”
My brain started making the connections. My breath was coming out in white clouds. Goosebumps were running up and down my exposed skin, and even seemed to be spreading underneath my thin, tight burgling outfit. How had I not noticed before? Maybe I hit my head a bit harder than I thought I did.
The man tightened his jaw, and I knew that Alec’s comment was not moving our reputation in the right direction with him. “This is an office building,” the man started. “I’m the janitor. I’m the only one around. So, theoretically, I could accidentally leave the back door open for my friends to get in and beat the shit out of you,” he finished decisively.
I couldn’t stop Alec in time before the usual smart-ass two cents were out of his mouth. “Bring it on, big boy. I could take all of you sickening yippies with my eyes closed.” I instantly moved to tell Alec to shut the hell up, but it was too late.
Our jail-keeper growled on the other side of the door. The warm side. “Bet you could. You sure you could protect your pretty lady, though?” he walked away before the steaming Alec could retaliate.
“Goddammit!” Alec swore, stalking back and forth to wear off the anger.
I rubbed at my arms in vain. “Holy shit, it’s cold in here.”
Alec snorted. “Well, duh. It’s a freezer.”
My frustration poured over. “Alec, how are you not bothered by it?!”
His pacing stopped. He closed his eyes. “Shit,” he muttered, scrubbing at his eyelids. “Alright, here.” He shed his jacket and threw it at me. I barely caught it. I couldn’t even feel the tips of my fingers anymore. Teeth starting to chatter, I pulled on his oversized jacket. “It has to do with Manticore, I think. I bet you anything they put in genes to stop their precious experiments from freezing to death.”
I nodded, but I was really just trying to get the fact that I had started shaking out of my mind. I slid to the floor slowly. This is happening, and fast. I was going to freeze. I wasn’t Manticore. I wasn’t even close. That man that had shoved us in here must’ve seen Alec’s barcode and assumed that I was like him.
But I’m not. And I’m going to freeze for some arrogant man’s accusations.
Alec knelt next to me and put his hands on my cheeks. I leaned into his warmth immediately, eyes closing. “Alright, sweetheart. I’m gonna go see if I can find the thermostat. And hope to God that it's actually in here.” Patting my shoulder one last time, he stood and his lanky legs carried him away.
The cold seemed to be everywhere. Sinking into my bones, chilling my very core.
It was terrifying.
And I wanted Alec by me. But he just… wasn't.
I willed myself not to cry. Oh God, I'm going to die. I'm going to freeze to death.
Alec.
Alec’s POV
I rushed around the space, looking frantically along the walls and trying to fix my hearing to the little clinks that running machinery will often make. But I couldn't do it. Not with the sound of the vents pumping cold air in. Not with Y/N making those whimpers. Not when I could hear her heart beating in her chest, telling me that she was horrified. Terrified. I swallowed down the emotion and kept walking.
There. My eyes zeroed in on the little box. I blurred over to the wall. “Okay,” I whispered, fingers pressing the up key.
10… 11… 12… It kept going up, and I felt a smirk spread on my face. That was, until it only went up to 32. Freezing point. I jammed my thumb into the up button until there was blood dripping from my fingernail, which I had caught wrong on my latest descent on the thermostat.
Closing my eyes to compose myself, I leaned my forehead against the wall beside the blasted unit.. 32 degrees is better than 9, but it wouldn't help Y/N. Not enough. And not in time. My mind starting racing for a fix.
How could I get her out of here? Force, intelligence, strategy. That’s what Manticore had taught me, but I couldn’t for the life of me make sense of it in that instant.
“Alec,” the whimper caught my attention. Taking one last breath to stop my heart from pounding right out of my chest, I padded back to Y/N’s slumped form. She was on the floor, leaning against the wall. She didn’t look better in the slightest.
Trying desperately to calm my nerves, I plopped down beside her and gathered her shaking form into my arms. “Hey, sweetheart,” I responded, taking special care to keep my words gentle.
She was starting to slip. I could tell. Her eyes were drifting closed and her muscles were relaxing. Her body was going into shock. Probably from the huge emotional hit she had taken. Fighting away the instinct to panic, I shook her slightly. “Stay with me, Y/N. Here. I’ll talk. You listen. Okay?”
I almost wasn’t expecting the nod in reply. Breathing freely again, I cleared my throat and continued. “Okay, um… Don’t be mad at me, but this wasn’t a mission that Logan sent me on,” I admitted, hoping that it would be enough to hype her up and get her back to a comfortable state of consciousness again.
But all I got was a muffled, “I’m gonna kick your ass later.” Pushing down my worry, I rubbed at her shoulders.
“Yeah,” I laughed shortly, but even to me, it didn’t sound like me. That laugh belonged to someone uptight who worried throughout their entire lives and was destined to worry for the rest of their miserable lives. That person was not me. “I, uh… I figured that I should probably pay Max back for not letting my head explode. So I got an informant on the inside who told me that this was the only night that an event wasn’t being hosted.” It hurt my pride even thinking about it. Max and Logan loved each other, or at least, they were damn close to it. And I had single-handedly sabotaged their best shot at getting back together. I would never admit it to them, of course. I had planned to drop off the file at Logan’s place while he was sleeping, when it couldn’t be traced back to me.
I could help without being the hero. That was Max’s job.
Anger filling me almost out of the blue, I set Y/N back against her wall before stalking over to the metal door. Steeling my nerves, I went low and rammed my shoulder into the cool surface. To my surprise, only my shoulder seemed to be affected in the slightest. Crap.
That same bastard appeared in the window. “Shut up in there!” he snarled. I simply glared defiantly at him.
“Let us out. Now. Or you will regret it later. I promise you,” I growled, trying to make myself look as intimidating as possible.
The man only smirked. “I’m not the one locked in a freezer, bucko.”
My throat contracted as I tried to gulp in the frigid air around me. “Please. If not me, get her out of here. She... “ my voice broke against my will, frustrating me. “She’s not a transgenic, okay? She’s gonna freeze to death if you don’t get her out of here,” I finished in a burst, struggling to keep my emotions down. Y/N was all I had, and damn if I was gonna lose her.
Our captor blanched a bit at my emotion peeking through, but his face hardened again in an instant. “Well, either way. She was working with you. A transgenic. Which means that she supports you freaks.”
My mind scrambled to find something to say, but my mouth already seemed ahead of the game. “Yeah, well. You really want a human death on you and your redneck pals?”
The comment had its desired effect. The man went pale, face falling as he realized that he couldn’t win. “Fine,” he finally bent, and I heard the distinct sound of the metal lock sliding free. “Step back,” the guy demanded, putting a gun in my line of sight. Although I really wasn’t all that frightened by it, I still complied. He was the only way that I was going to get out of this hell hole. The only way that I could get Y/N out. I wasn’t about to piss him off and have him express his frustrations on her.
The door clicked open, followed by the barrel of a gun. “You move, boy, you die. Understand?” The muscles in my neck twitched, but I nodded all the same. Eh. I lie all the time. And this asshole actually deserves it.
He moved quickly to her, keeping the gun trained on me. Just as I predicted, he knelt down in front of her and turned to help her. A fatal mistake, really. Smirking, I blurred forward, knocking the gun out of his hands and smacking him in the face with it in one smooth motion. His body slumped to the floor, unconscious.
Pushing his limp form out of the way slightly, I grabbed Y/N in my arms. “Alright,” I hushed to her, concern flooding me once again as I realized how cold she really was. I think I’ve felt ice cubes warmer.
Settling her against the wall right outside what I now realized to be the office building’s freezer in its large kitchen, I darted back inside. There was a moment that I considered leaving him there. Making hiim down a taste of his own medicine. Even my transgenic self was getting sluggish in there, less focused. More frozen. But no. No, Y/N wouldn’t want me to. And neither did I, deep down. I still had issues dealing with the things I had done back at Manticore. I can’t just keep adding to the list. Taking a breath to wrestle the memories of Manticore back into the corner of my brain that was specially made for them, I dragged the man out of there. For extra insurance, I zip tied his hands around a support beam.
Y/N was starting to blink dazedly by the time I finished in my task. “Hey, princess.” When she didn’t answer, I assured myself that she would take a while to get back to normal. “Alright, I’m gonna get you to Logan. He’ll know what to do. Come on.” Begging my mind not to dig too deep into what I had just confessed to her, I picked her up.
It was an hour-long drive back to Logan’s apartment. I made it in half an hour, with the countryside a free range area. All the time, Y/N was slumped in the passenger seat, sagged against her seatbelt. I had a firm grip of her hand, but didn’t get any response back. I steered my brain away from assuming the worst.
No. If there is a god, he wouldn’t let her die. Not like this.
Not when I still need her.
I yanked the car door open impatiently, nearly breaking it off, if the squeak of protest it made was any indication. Everything was blurry until I was in the elevator heading up to Logan’s apartment, Y/N still frigid in my arms.
But I still had that damn file. And fuck me if I was going to let all that trouble have nothing good come out of it. I adjusted her to hang over my shoulder instead. I would need at least one hand free.
As soon as the elevator stopped on Logan’s floor, I was running to his French doors and pounding on them. “Logan!” I yelled, not caring what time it was. Y/N couldn’t wait for morning. She might not even be able to wait until Logan answers the damn door. My blood ran cold at the thought.
I was about to shout for him again when the door creaked open. An annoyed Logan stuck out his head. “Do you have any idea what time it-” his eyes trained on Y/N’s body. His jaw tightened. “Let me get my things. Set her down on the couch.”
Before the words were even fully past his lips, I was rushing her into his apartment. “Max, move,” I commanded as I saw that she was where I had been instructed to place Y/N. I didn’t even have the care to be surprised that she moved without hesitation. I just lay her down, hair spreading on the pillow and skin ghostly pale.
Max had to pull me away when Logan came back. It had been so fucking painful to sit there and watch him poke and prod at her. I’d come dangerously close to ripping his lungs out through his chest twice before Max got the clue and dragged me into the computer room instead. Where I was pacing a hole into the carpet. “She’s gonna be okay,” Max reassured lamely.
I scoffed. “Max, shut up,” I suggested roughly.
She held her hands up in surrender. “I was just trying to help. Sue me.”
Guilt surged through me. I fell into Logan’s desk chair and rubbed at my eyes. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that,” I amended, and I think Max looked as surprised as I felt.
Hopping off of her perch on the desk, she slunk over to me. “Alec, why were you two there? You’ve told me every detail but that one. Why?” she pressed.
I never should’ve told her.
Sighing heavily, I pulled the severely wrinkled manila folder from the back pocket of my pants and slid it across the table to Max. Her perfectly manicured nails grabbed it. As she flipped through its contents, her mouth started to drop open. Finally, she looked up at me. “Alec, is this-?”
“Yeah,” I confirmed, forcing a smile on my face. “Go nuts, kids. After a little dose of that, you and Logan can finally do the dirty.”
I got the usual smack to the back of the head, but it wasn’t nearly as brutal this time. “Alec…” she breathed out, and I realized that she was about to cry.
Instantly, I was on my feet. “Nuh-uh. No crying. Me and crying girls do not mix well,” I blurted.
Max laughed, but I could tell that she was trying hard not to burst into tears. “Oh my God, I don’t… I don’t even know how to process this. Thank you!” She leaped into my arms, knocking me back a half-step. I blinked. Max had never hugged me before. Ever. “It’s called a hug, hotshot,” she whispered into my neck. I chuckled in response and wrapped my arms around her.
Both of us heard Logan’s loud footsteps, and God was I glad. Not only was that the most awkward hug I have ever had, but my stomach was starting to twist, I was so nervous for Y/N. Stuck to the truth, Logan clomped in a second later. “She’ll be fine. She’s got frostbite, and I think a few of her organs started shutting down with the intense cold. And her nose is broken, and I suspect that she has at least a minor concussion, going off of what you’ve described. But other than that… she should wake up in maybe an hour or so?”
My entire body sagged with relief. It had been too long. But something stopped me from jumping out of the chair and kissing the daylights out of my girlfriend.
This was my fault. Mine alone. The mission was my idea, down to the very last bit. And I had screwed us both over. How many times is that gonna happen before I finally realize that I’m hurting her more than helping her?
I clenched my jaw. It’s not going to happen anymore.
“Alec? Hey, Alec. Did you hear that? She’s okay. Just like I said,” Max probed gently.
My eyes closed. “Tell her goodbye for me,” I growled lowly, careful not to let my voice crack.
Both Max and Logan looked utterly shocked. I was almost through the door before Max caught my arm. “Alec, what are you talking about? That’s Y/N! The love of your life! You are not about to leave her when she needs you the most!”
A nasty look overtook my face and, before I knew it, I was shouting right back at her. “That’s not what this is about!”
Max, being Max, glared right back, twice as ferociously. “Then please, tell me!”
I blanched. “I…” How do I even explain all this crap? “I guess I’m just tired of her getting hurt because of me,” I finished quietly. Max didn’t try to stop me this time. It was just the ache in my chest and the pleading in my mind. I wanted to see her one last time, but I knew that it would only make goodbye harder.
I’ll miss her for the rest of my life. No goodbye. No final meeting to play over and over again in my head and wonder what I did wrong.
I knew what I did wrong. And this was the only way to fix it.
Summary: Dean is up to his usual schemes, leaving the reader furious.
Word Count: 1628
Warnings: Brief nudity, swearing, Dean is hella horny, implied sexy times
Masterlist
Reader’s POV
It wasn’t a very nice wake up call, I have to say. Dean was shoving on his pants, Sam getting his stuff together on the opposite side of the room and yelling about another murder the previous night. I only really saw one problem with it all.
I was stark naked under the covers.
It was Dean’s fault, actually. Even with Sam in the bed next to ours, he had insisted that we fully indulge ourselves. Yeah, remind me not to ever listen to him again.
Sam stormed out with a roll of his eyes, bag in hand. “Hurry up!” he shouted grumpily over his shoulder as the door clicked shut behind him. Immediately, I slipped out of the covers and darted over to the bathroom, not even thinking about grabbing any clothes. I nearly swore out loud as Dean’s fingers closed around my wrist and tugged me back to him, bare chests colliding together.
His hands settled on my hips, biting his lip and looking down at me. Despite the lust that was radiating off of him, I knew that I had to be the one to keep a level head in the situation, even though I wanted nothing more than to give in. “You look gorgeous, sweetheart. What’s the rush?” My insides turned to absolute mush at that point, but I forced my brain into working ability.
Gently setting my hands on his broad shoulders, I pushed him off. “I need to get dressed. Dead body, remember? We’ve gotta get back to the case,” I said in a firm tone. I was actually pretty proud of myself for putting my foot down so unfailingly. Shaking my head at his puppy dog eyes, I briskly made my way over to my bag. Unzipping it quickly, I reached for a bra, then underwear. I had my fingers around my jeans when Dean walked over, grabbed a shirt from my bag, and dumped it into my arms. Sending him a little glare, I stomped off to the bathroom, the door slamming shut behind me. I could hear laughing through the thin walls.
Rolling my eyes, I pulled on each article of clothing with rapidly increasing urgency as my mind was pushed further and further into consciousness. There's a dead body. And you need to go look at it. Because that's your job. And you need to have a clear head while doing so, because if you miss a detail, you're freaking screwed.
Definitely what I want to wake up to in the morning.
Not.
The unceremonious yanking on of my clothes was stopped short when I realized that one of these articles of clothing wasn't even actually mine. As I stared at Dean's over-sized Led Zeppelin shirt barely hanging onto my shoulders in the mirror with a dropped jaw, I heard snickering on the other side of the door. "Dean, is it possible for you to be mature?" I sighed, not having the energy to get mad at him over childish antics.
"Aw, sweetheart, I know you love me," he said through the door, and I could almost picture that shit-eating grin on his stupid face.
Frustration entering the corners of my mind, I banged my forehead lightly against the door. "Could you please go get me one of my shirts, that actually fit? Because I'm really not in the mood for this today, and I can't go out in public wearing a dude shirt."
There was a snicker on the other side of the door, and I told myself to count to ten. "Well, you could. You just don't want to. Besides, you dropped a bunch of your clothes in dirt yesterday, remember?" Sighing, I leaned my back against the door. Yes, I remembered. Only I hadn't been the one who had dropped them. Dean had. And then he had looked up into my face with a very insincere, "Oops" and shit eating grin.
Definitely an accident.
I forced myself to scan through the possibilities in my head. I couldn't exactly work a job like this. It was trashy even for the lowest of characters, even a college student. It cheapened the person I was trying to portray. I learned that in my theater class in eighth grade. "Dean, I'm serious. I can't help with the investigation when I'm dressed like this and you know it." I couldn't keep the whine out of my voice, however hard I tried.
Dean exhaled slowly. "Then stay in the car. I'll get pictures from the crime scene for you to pour over, ya freak. Now, can we please go? Sam won't leave us alone later if you don't hurry up."
My hand curled around the doorknob and yanked it open. "What makes you think that I want to have alone time with you later?" Reaching back to untuck my hair from the shirt, I walked past him, venom dripping from my words. I was tired, uncomfortable, and now not able to do the job that saved people's lives. So, yeah. I was a little pissed.
He opened his mouth to say something, but I was already gone, bag slung over my shoulder and scowl on my face.
It was a long day. I had had to fight off an armed werewolf with almost a second skin on. Dean's shirt was cut up badly by the time we piled into the Impala. The boys weren't in particularly pleasant moods either, seeing as Dean's shoulder had been dislocated and Sam was stitching up the deep gash in his stomach in the back seat as I drove.
We stumbled into the motel room, beaten and exhausted and in desperate need of a shower. Sam, of course, called the first one, and Dean and I were powerless to his puppy dog eyes. He seemed to take forever, of course. Especially when he had to take the extra time to shove Dean's shoulder back where it belonged.
As soon as the door closed behind Sam, Dean was sat beside me on the bed, pulling my face forward to smash our lips together. I instantly shoved him off, but he took it in stride, reaching down to pull off his shirt. "You're right, I need to hurry up. Sammy takes short showers."
The discarded shirt flew across the room and caught on a lamp, making me roll my eyes and push his shoulders again as he tried for another move. He winced, rolling his newly fixed shoulder. "Dean, cut it out. I'm tired, you're tired AND injured. This really doesn't seem like a good idea. Go to sleep." As I rolled over, I even admitted it to myself. I was just grumpy about that morning.
Seeming to read my mind, Dean spooned me gingerly, careful to keep the weight off of his bad arm. "You're not still mad at me, are you?" he mumbled, and I could almost hear the pout on his lips.
Forcing a smile, I turned my head to look him in the eye. "'Course not. Go to sleep or get out, Winchester. I want to keep up on my beauty sleep." I was only really half-joking, but Dean didn't need to know that.
His hand settled on my hip. "You are a terrible liar," he whispered just behind my ear, then placed a little nip there.
I ignored him.
Sam came out of the bathroom not 30 seconds later, shaking out his hair like a wet dog and throwing me and Dean a look. Dean grumbled as he grabbed more comfortable clothes and slinked into the shower, knowing that he hadn't left the conversation with the only girl who he could have a good time with and it would be late by the time he came out of the shower, since Dean loved to take hot, steamy showers.
And he wasn't wrong. I was passed out in a ball on the motel bed by the time he came out from the bathroom, running his hands through his hair to style it slightly. Sam looked up from his computer as Dean groaned. "Seriously? C'mon, man, of all the times that I need it, she's grumpy and asleep. Fan-fucking-tastic."
I wriggled as morning sun hit my eyelids. Immediately, my nose wrinkled as Dean tightened his grip on me.
Scoffing, I unwrapped myself from his embrace and tip toed into the bathroom, bag over my shoulder and intent on washing all the grime off.
The shower ran until steam was thick in the air and the mirrors were foggy. I stepped out of the shower with a sigh. Even though I had been in there for about an hour, I still hadn't fully thought through everything. The shower was my escape from the outside world. That's why Dean was never allowed to join me.
I dressed quickly, with a goal in mind that I sincerely hoped wouldn't end in getting made fun of. I walked out of the bathroom and headed straight for the bed I had been in earlier, not even surprised that Dean was still sleeping.
Steadying my breath, I crawled onto the bed and curled into his hold, making his eyes flicker open. He smiled sleepily. "Is there a special reason as to why you’re wearing my shirt?"
I bit my lip. Oh, this was a stupid idea. "It was in my bag. Figured, what the hell. It wasn't really that big of a deal. Kinda comfy, actually."
Dean's face lit up like he was a kid on Christmas morning. "So you like wearing my shirts?"
With a hum, I snuggled into his chest. "You just caught me when I was grumpy."
Feeling Dean's lips press against my temple, I closed my eyes. "Good, because I think you wear my shirts better anyways."
Summary: The reader's hair is getting to the point where it needs to be cut again. But a closer look at her relationship with her boyfriend makes her hesitate.
Pairing: Sam x Short Haired! Reader
Word Count: 980
Warnings: Self doubt, like one suggestive comment (because Dean), Sammy being a cutie patootie
Masterlist
A/N: My first Sam fic is in honor of my short haired beauties, particularly @adrianthewaywardson and @andro-mocha-witch, but also for all you short haired girls out there.
Reader's POV
My hands brushed over my hair, pushing it out of my eyes. I would have to get it cut soon, of course. The tips of my bangs kept stabbing me in the eyes. As I tugged at a strand of my hair, however, I started having second thoughts.
I jumped as arms slipped around my waist and a chin settled atop my head. "Hey, Angel. Haven't seen you all morning." For someone as tall as him, you would think that he wouldn't be able to sneak up on people so well.
Smiling, I turned in Sam's arms to look up at him. "You know me. I'm a girl. I take forever. You're a guy. Your forever is five minutes." Sam laughed, then dipped down to press a sweet kiss to my lips. I tried to get into it, but the thought was nagging at the edge of my mind.
Sam must've sensed that something was up, because he pulled away a moment later, eyebrows knitting together. "Hey, you okay?"
Forcing a smile onto my face, I nodded. He didn't look like he was buying it, and he opened his mouth to say something about it. "Hey, lovebirds. Put some clothes on and get out here. I'm homesick for the Bunker." We rolled our eyes nearly in tandem. Dean just loves to ruin the moments between us. His obnoxious personality definitely clashed with me and Sam's more mild relationship. He took every chance he could get to butt into our business, often times leaving an awkward silence in his wake.
Sam leaned down again to peck me on the lips. "I'll let you get cleaned up," he whispered to me, grin infectious. Straightening up, he walked into the main segment of the motel room. Forcing my eyes back to the situation at hand, I started packing up my things in my toiletries bag. But all the while, I couldn't help sneaking glances at my shaggy head of hair in the mirror. And as time went by, my frown deepened and deepened.
Dean was beating the steering wheel along to a Metallica song in the driver's seat when I woke up. I instantly shook my head to clear it, causing the fringe to hit my face from all angles, and started rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Sam turned in his seat and beamed at me. "Morning, Angel. Sleep well?" Still yawning, I nodded in response.
My eyes met Dean's in the rearview mirror, and his immediately crinkled at the corners with laughter. "Hey, Sammy," he started. "Does it bother you that your girlfriend has shorter hair than you do?"
Sam threw his head back in laughter, but didn't respond. Instead, he flashed me this... Almost sorry smile. My good mood faded away instantly.
Did Sam really not like me the way I was?
I was completely silent the entire drive back home, save for the one word answers I gave Sam when Dean stepped out of the car to refill it with gas. He definitely knew something was up now, but I would deny it up and down. It wasn't Sam's problem.
When the Impala pulled into the Bunker's garage, I flew out of the car, tugging at my hair even when Sam called after me to slow down. I just pushed myself to keep walking. Not look back.
I didn't truly know why it bothered me so much. Usually, I didn't care what people thought of me. But with Sam, it was... different.
I stared at the ceiling, wishing that I had chosen to go to sleep with shorts on instead of the fuzzy pants I was donning. Sam came in about an hour ago, quiet as he realized that I was asleep. Well, pretending to be asleep. I had too much on my mind to be able to fall asleep that fast. But he must've fallen for it, because he had crawled into bed beside me without even trying to wake me.
My fingers yet again ran through my hair. I bit my lip. The clock changed from 3:41 to 3:42. I was slowly going insane. Something so small was going to be my undoing.
"Are you ever gong to tell me what's on your mind?" I jumped at the deep sound of Sam's voice, then turned my head to look at him. He was staring back, puppy dog eyes on full force.
I unraveled in a second. It was almost embarrassing, the effect that look had on me. With a sigh, I struggled to explain myself. Finally, I settled with, "Does it bother you? That your hair is longer than mine? Or, rather, that my hair is shorter than yours?"
There was a long second of silence, and I was just about to say, "Forget it" when Sam spoke up, tired tone sounding through his words. "Of course not. What got that in your mind?"
I gnawed on my lip again. "I don't know. It's getting kinda long again and... Well, I was thinking about how girls generally have the longer hair in the relationship, ya know?"
Another moment of quiet, and then I shivered as Sam ran a large hand through my hair, fingers massaging my scalp. His nose touched mine a second later, then his legs wrapped around mine. "You're perfect just the way you are. And don't you ever doubt that. We'll go get you a haircut tomorrow, and then we can read or watch a movie or something. Whatever you wanna do. Just so that I can prove to you that your style doesn't change your ability to do anything that's important."
Humming in happiness, I allowed Sam to wrap his long arms around me, pressing a lingering kiss to my temple. "Thanks, Sam," I whispered.
He chuckled lightly and nuzzled my face. "You're welcome. Just remember. I've already got the long hair covered."
Summary: The reader is on the high school swim team. She makes a few awful decisions and meets Dean in the midst of an embarrassing predicament.
Warnings: Nudity (it's brief and only because she's in the shower), swearing, suggestive comments, Dean is kind of an asshole at first, embarrassment
Pairing: Dean x Reader
Word Count: 1807
Masterlist
Reader's POV
I sighed, massaging my scalp underneath my lithe fingers. It had been a long practice. The times just weren't good enough, and instead of pushing the newbies, coach decided that he was going to put the extra stress on us upperclassmen. Because we weren't under enough stress already as is.
Reaching a spot where I had strained the muscle a bit mid-stroke, I hissed between my teeth. Swimming was a bit dangerous if you didn't do it properly, and seeing as I'm team captain, I was trying to shout at the freshmen to get their act together on every down stroke.
Not a very wise idea.
And then, as if my day wasn't already utterly horrid, coach had made me stay after to discuss which people we were going to put into each swim meet.
Couldn't he see that I just wanted to go home and sleep?
Swallowing down my frustration, I shut off the water and reached out to grab my towel from my stack.
My eyes shot open. The stack that was apparently nonexistent.
Feeling anger start to rise with the immediate assumption that one of those asinine underclassmen had played a childish and amateur prank on me, I let reason flow into my head. Everyone else had left twenty minutes ago. I put that stack out when I got in from the pool.
Wait... did I?
I cast my mind back through the wrath and strong urge to punch the wall beside me and... I had walked straight into the shower without getting clothes or anything.
"Oh my God," I groaned aloud to myself, aggravated by my own shortsightedness. Growling a bit under my breath, I grabbed my soaked, dirty swimsuit from the floor and covered myself up a bit before making a dash to my gym locker.
Even in that short trip, it felt like I had been plunged face-first into an icy hell after spending an hour in a boiling inferno. My fingers fumbled for the lock, and then my heart stopped in my chest.
Stupid, stupid.
How could I do something like this?
Goddammit.
I sat heavily on the bench, suddenly feeling exposed as the only high-school-aged girl in the otherwise empty locker room hours after school ended. The key to the lock was in my car. I had been stupid enough to leave it there when I had stormed in late from an awful date that had taken up my free period.
And now I'm stuck here. If no one else, the cameras would catch me streaking to my car. And that's if I'm lucky. I'm almost positive that both boys tennis and football were mid-practice, and both the field and the court were within view of the parking lot. It would take a miracle to get there without drawing attention to myself.
Grounding the palms of my hands into my closed eyes, I fought to keep down the rising panic.
How had this day turned out so badly?
And of course, it was so cold outside, my wet swimsuit would only cause me to freeze to death.
I cast my eyes upward and they fixed on the fabric directly above my head. My brain scrambled. It was worth a shot, especially if it meant less embarrassment in front of the probable large group of people that were to be out there.
Making up my mind in that split second, I stood and reached up, tearing the American flag from its residence on the wall. I'll put it back, I justified to myself as guilt enfolded me. Shaking my head at my own doubt, I wrapped it around my body, shocked at how much it actually covered.
And now comes the risky part.
Breathing a bit to loosen my chest up, I dashed for the locker room door. As soon as it was open, I was scampering along, deeply regretting not just waiting there for someone to find me. It was a long way to the parking lot, and I was so not looking forward to it.
Caught up in my thoughts, I didn't even realize as a person came hurtling towards me from the other direction. I only took notice when I ran face-first into something warm and hard. I sprang away from the boy immediately, face flushing as I finally paid attention to my predicament. I had made a hasty decision on a whim and it was not paying off. At all.
Because that super hot guy from pre-calculus was smirking down at me, eyes raking over my body like he would like nothing more than to devour me. "Well, God bless America," he finally managed, licking at his plump lips.
I shoved myself away from his chest with the hand that wasn't holding the flag in place. The guy-I think his name was Dave or Dan or something-snagged my arm before I fell flat on my ass. "Woah, there. Can't let the flag touch the ground."
The wink only served to set me more on edge. Before I could even stop myself, the words spewed out of my mouth, "Hands off, pal! I've got pepper spray!" It had been such a natural reaction that I had completely forgotten that the claim wasn't actually real.
My cheeks brightened as the guy in front of me chuckled. "Oh sure. Right behind Rhode Island's star, huh?"
I was chanting at my legs to make a run for it, but they just weren't working. I fixed my gaze at his boots, wanting nothing more than to just curl up on my bed and cry.
Apparently sensing my change in demeanor, the guy tilted his head to try and meet my eyes. I stubbornly avoided his, but I could feel his gaze at the top of my head. "Hey, no. I'm sorry. You look like you've had a day." His sympathetic tone made me risk a tiny little glimpse up. He looked genuinely apologetic, green eyes boring into mine. "Do you need some help? Anything? I feel like a complete dickbag right now."
Not believing my luck, I tightened my grip on the flag, wincing as the rough material dug into my sides. "Uh, yeah. As long as you promise not to steal my car. It's... um.... it's the dark blue 66 Camaro in the front row. Driver's door should be open. Can you... can you grab my locker key? My clean clothes and everything else is in there."
For a second, I thought that the bastard was going to laugh. He just kinda seemed like one of those guys. "Yeah, sure. Go wait right inside the girl's locker room. I'll be there in a bit." Offering me one final lopsided grin, mystery guy jogged off, leather jacket protesting a bit as he moved his arms along with it.
I hadn't even taken the time to notice his features. He was cute, like really damn cute. And not to mention tall and muscular and...
Blushing profusely, I turned and made me way slowly back into the locker rooms. It felt a lot safer in there, even though it had been the main setting of my long tale of woe.
I nearly jumped as the door opened just slightly, the guy's hand coming through the crack blindly, being dragged along by the key. I instantly snatched it. With a swift thank you, I shrank back to my locker and pulled on the clean clothes that I had packed this morning, fully well knowing that mystery man would probably be gone by the time I got out of the locker room.
Which is why I nearly dropped my gym bag when his voice came out of nowhere as I opened the door. "Hey, Y/N," he mumbled out, low tone nearly startling me out of my socks. "You know, I think that Miss America would win Miss Universe with your last outfit, but this one is just as delicious." He licked his lips playfully, reminding me both of what kind of boy he was and his name.
"Well, Dean, that is awfully flattering of you-" As soon as his name rolled off my tongue, hope blazed in his eyes, smile picking up the corners of his mouth. "-but I really just want to go home right now, okay?" I rushed out, not wanting to admit how much I was really interested in this fine specimen of God's creation.
His face looked almost stricken at first, then morphed into a kind of acceptance, sadness underlying it not-so-subtly. "Oh. Alright."
I turned to leave, then thought better of it and whipped back, torn. Finally, I managed, "Thank you. For doing all that, I mean. You're perfect. I mean... you were perfect. I couldn't have thought up a better person to help me."
The tips of his ears were turning pink, and he scrubbed at the back of his neck skittishly. "Any time," he answered nervously.
"Bye," I whispered, wanting nothing more than to lunge forward and kiss the shit out of him, but legs betraying me once again as they headed straight for the exit.
My throat was closing up when I heard his footsteps come after me. "Y/N, wait!" I spun on my heel, and he nearly collided with me. He laughed breathlessly, running a hand quickly through his hair. "Um... I was just wondering if... you maybe... want my phone number?" he squeaked out, looking like it had been his first time ever asking a girl.
But I didn't even care. My heart was pounding in my chest. I was sure that he could hear it. How could something as trivial as a boy get me so worked up in less than an hour's time? Without a forethought, I breathed out, "Sure." Not that I could ever turn those eyes down.
God, what was wrong with me?
Dean was grabbing for my hand, holding it in his much larger palm. His other hand held a pen. I giggled as the tip tickled my skin as he jotted down his presumed phone number.
He was practically a stranger, but he had already saved my life today and there was obviously something more there.
"Bye, Y/N." I blinked. I hadn't even realized that he had put the pen away. And now he was walking in the complete wrong direction. I wanted him next to me. Right at my hip.
"Dean, wait!" I called out this time. I ran after him as he stopped in his tracks. Heart jumping into my throat, I reached up onto my tip-toes and pressed a little kiss to the corner of his lips. As I pulled away, I caught a snippet of his shocked face. "Bye, Dean," I whispered, allowing my hips to sway as I walked away from him.
Oh, these were going to be a good few weeks of my life.
Summary: The reader is a nine year old in post-pulse Seattle. She’s taken care of herself since her parents disappeared, but she doesn’t like taking help from anyone, and she never trusts a single person with the secrets that burden her. So what happens when she runs into a man who hides just as many secrets as she does, and gets her tangled in a mess far bigger than the both of them?
Pairing: None
Fandom: Dark Angel
Word Count: 1010 on the dot, which gives me a very strong sense of accomplishment
Warnings: Kind of fear of large crowds, I guess?
For those of you who haven't gotten the memo yet: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4
Masterlist
Reader's POV
As soon as I burst out from the alley, I was scouring the crowd. It was busy. Looked like maybe midday, so I had probably caught the lunch rush. Swallowing thickly, I walked briskly toward the shops and tons upon tons of people. Especially with being this short, it was easy to make yourself scarce when higher ups and beggars alike were standing shoulder to shoulder in the wide expanse of the marketplace.
Joining the crowd almost seemed to be a mistake. I was jolted between the hard, bony elbows and knees of fully grown adults. My wrists were still cuffed in front of me, so I couldn’t even really do anything to fend off the endless waves of businessmen. Forcing myself to breathe to prevent a panic attack, I trained my eyes on the flickers of images I got between the long legs of the determined and timed working class.
Fish. Definitely not what I was looking for, especially when it was Julid. There were a lot of stories floating around about him. Mostly that he believed in an old law code, and whoever stole from him lost their hands. Even if it was just a myth, I wasn’t about to take that chance. I don’t like seafood, anyway.
As if roused by the thought of food, my stomach grumbled irritably. I took a moment to count. It had probably been a full day without food, now. Not a single morsel. Not to mention, my throat felt like the Sahara.
Just as I licked my lips in a rather useless attempt at making myself feel less lightheaded, I glimpsed a display with coats coming up on the left. Without even a peek at the chains, I weaved my way toward the display. As I approached, the owner turned to speak to a customer on the far side of his booth. Seeing a window of opportunity, I swept by the table, not even sparing it a glance as my hands darted out and snagged a light gray petticoat. It looked a few sizes too big when I spared half a look down at it, but it was better than freezing my tail off in the light drizzle that Seattle was infamous for.
I didn’t stick around long enough to find out if the owner ever discovered that someone had snatched one of his products.
Entering back into the crowd was a bit of a hassle. It seemed that everyone was determined to not let me in for a split second, but a I spotted a gap in a minute and slid easily back into the roar of people. I stayed on the marketplace road for about half an hour, managing to steal a now cool roll and a bag of carrots from an unfortunate man who fell in the midst of the crowd. The coat was still hiding my hands and wrists, as it was draped over the chain of the cuffs.
And let me tell you, stealing is a lot harder with the necessity of both hands on deck. I’d almost had a Hungarian sausage, too. But in my concentration, the handcuffs slipped my mind and one hand trailed after the other uselessly.
Needless to say, after being chased away by the butcher, I paid due attention to my latest predicament.
The sun had sunk below the city skyline by the time I found an acceptable place to stay. It was a little niche, right above a dumpster. It looked like it might have been a heater once, but the cobwebs proved that it hadn’t been used since the Pulse hit.
I had to take care of something before I climbed up, though.
Holding my breath, I opened the large garbage bin lid and peeked in.
My eyes were scanning over the heap of garbage when a glimmer caught my eye. I instantly snapped to attention.
There. A pile of papers in a manila folder. Right at the edge, a paper clip was desperately hanging on.
Sighing, I set my coat and food on the ground, then put my palms on the lip of the bin and hauled myself up. My feet landed perfectly where my hands had just been as they moved to support me on the still closed side of it, testifying to my long dumpster-diving career. Shifting so that one hand was supporting me and the other was somewhat free, I twisted, fingers reaching for the clip.
My hands were shaking so badly that I nearly dropped it, but I quickly curled my fingers in, shielding the small device from the dark abyss of the dumpster. As I landed, my feet nearly slipped out from under me, but I caught myself just in time, swallowing away my fear before starting to work.
Within ten minutes, I freed myself from the cuffs and flung them across the alley, feeling a small hint of triumph as they clattered uselessly against the brick wall. But then I winced and rubbed at my reddening wrists. Those are going to hurt for a while.
Bending down, I slipped the stolen food into my pant pockets and pulled the coat on. I breathed a sigh of relief as warmth washed over me. It's been too long since I grew out of my old coat. This one will last me a while.
I scrambled up onto my perch, exhaustion dragging at my limbs. From the escape, to the crowd, to the stealing… it had been a long day.
As I shoved the food into my mouth, I allowed myself an ounce of worry for Alec. He was forced to kill people and he would die if he didn't. Who the heck does that? I stored the name “White” in my memory banks for later use, knowing that those kind of government people didn't like letting witnesses go.
The back of my head gently hit the metal contraption as I leaned back, sighing. I can't do anything for him. Either way, people will die. And I can't change that no matter what I do.
