Just a girl from Down Under fangirling over her favourite content, characters and actors: mainly Supernatural, Jensen & Dean). Open to requests!
Masterlist: https://at.tumblr.com/fangirlingfromdownunder/masterlist/j265mzn0xf7k
LinkTree: https://linktr.ee/Fangirl_Down_Under
A/N: I just want to start by thanking everyone for all the love on this story so far. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. Please read the TW below and only read on if you feel comfortable doing so.
Potential Trigger Warnings: mentions of violence, rape, therapy, depression, Smut - cunnilingus, female-receiving (Marked with ***)
A Sweet Mishap Masterlist | Main Masterlist
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I sit on the kitchen counter watching Jensen stir pasta on the stove. He insisted on celebrating all the upcoming milestones with a home-cooked meal, and I wanted my comfort food to calm the bursting anxiety in my stomach. So, he’s spent the last half an hour cooking fettuccine carbonara from scratch–mostly; we did buy the uncooked pasta to save significant time and effort.
Once the pasta is mixed with the sauce and simmering, he turns and takes my hand. “How’re you feelin’?”
“Terrified. Excited. Like I might throw up.”
He laughs. “Sounds about right.”
“Thank you,” I say quietly. “For all of this.”
“Wouldn't be anywhere else.” He squeezes my hand. “And I’ll stay in New York as long as I can.”
“You don't have to—”
“I want to.” He steps between my legs, his hands resting on my thighs. “I want to help you move into the apartment, get settled, help you move and assemble furniture, maybe christen a few surfaces–after your doctor appointment, that is–if you’re comfortable. And, most importantly, be there when you absolutely kill that audition.”
“You have too much faith in me.”
“Nah, I have exactly the right amount.” He leans in and kisses me softly. “Now, come on. Let’s eat.” He reaches into the cabinet beside my head and pulls out two plates. I jump down, pour two glasses of wine and grab two forks while he fills our plates.
We eat dinner in the theatre room. Jensen puts on an ambient video to fill the space without adding any distractions. The pasta is perfect—creamy and rich and exactly what I needed.
“This is really good,” I say around a mouthful.
“Thanks. I don’t really get a chance to cook much in Vancouver, but I like trying new recipes when I can,” he says as he twirls more pasta onto his fork.
“So, what else do you cook?”
“A lot of barbecue. Marinated meats, roast veg. We’re big carnivores during filming season.”
“Spoken like a true Texan. I do miss good barbecue, but at least I know about that place at home now.”
“You cook much?”
“You’ve seen my kitchen and my schedule…Mostly sandwiches and microwave meals. I used to cook for Tyler,” I wince at his name. “He expected to come home to a cooked meal, so I didn’t have much choice. But since…” I fade off, shaking my head. “Not in a long time.”
“Maybe your new apartment will help change that.”
“Maybe…But it’s not mine yet.”
“It will be.”
We fall into easy conversation—talking about nothing in particular, but everything at the same time. He tells me about an attempt to make barbecue ribs, but then found that Jared had eaten the entire tray raw the night before. I tell him about one time Stewie tried to teach me to make his famous croissants, and I turned the oven up too high and burnt the whole batch. By the time we've finished eating, the wine is almost gone, and my earlier anxiety has softened into something more comfortable.
Jensen collects our plates and disappears into the kitchen. I curl my feet beneath me on the couch and reach for my wine, listening to the distant sound of him rinsing the dishes. It's such a small, domestic thing, and yet something about it makes my chest ache with want. Not just tonight—but all the ordinary evenings that we could have in the future, here or in New York. Coming home to someone. Cooking together. Talking about nothing until it becomes everything. I didn’t realise how much I’d missed that. Even though my past experiences turned out badly, I hope that maybe we can make it work.
He reappears in the doorway, leaning against the frame, watching me with an expression I can't quite read.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing.” He pushes off the frame and crosses the room, sitting close enough that his thigh presses against mine. He takes the wine glass gently from my hands and sets it on the coffee table, then takes my face in his. “Just thinking how lucky I am.”
“Jensen—”
“I mean it.” His thumb traces my cheekbone.
The low light of the theatre room catches the green of his eyes. I rest my hand on his thigh and feel a shiver run down my spine.
He rubs his hand over my shoulder. “You alright?”
The old fear is still there, hovering at the edges. But it's quieter tonight. I nod. “Kiss me,” I say softly.
He does. Slow and deliberate, his hand slides from my cheek into my hair. I shift toward him instinctively, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. When he pulls back, his forehead drops to mine. ‘We don't have to do anything—”
“I know.” I pull back just enough to look at him. “And I keep telling you I want to.” I swallow. “Not everything yet. But…”
“Whatever you want,” he says. “Whatever you're comfortable with.” His eyes are steady on mine, unhurried and sure. “I'm not going anywhere. And I won’t be disappointed or annoyed. There are no expectations.”
Something in me settles at his words. I lean in and close the distance between us again.
******
For a long time we stay on the couch, wrapped up in each other, taking it slow. He keeps his hands gentle and asks before he moves them. When I tense, he stills and waits. When I relax, he tests the boundaries again. Eventually, I lift his shirt over his head and trace his toned chest. We’ve been here before; I know it’s safe. His hands dip under my shirt, pushing it up towards my bra. I arch my back and let him take it off. As he moves, his eyes study mine for fear and consent. When he’s satisfied with what he finds, he continues.
He kisses slowly down my neck; his hands rest on my stomach, not drifting south. I run my nails down his back. “Jens?”
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
“I love you too. You still ok?”
“Yes.”
He nods and dips his head back down to pepper kisses along my collarbone, following my bra straps down. One hand grips my waist while the other trails up my back until he’s grasping the clasp. He looks up, and I nod. He unhooks my bra with practised expertise and then slides the straps down. The fabric joins our shirts on the floor.
“So beautiful,” he whispers against my skin as he continues peppering kisses over my exposed skin. He takes one nipple in his warm mouth, and my whole body arches off the couch. Jensen lets out a low moan and the vibrations go straight to my core. I involuntarily grind up against him, and his hand moves back to my stomach, pinning me down. He trails kisses across to my other breast and then looks up, meeting my eyes. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m okay. Just–”
“Need me to stop?”
I shake my head. “I need more. I haven’t felt like this in years. Maybe ever…”
“Don’t stoke my ego, Darlin’.”
“I could stroke something else…”
“Don’t do that, Baby. Don’t talk dirty to me. I can’t take it. I’m already using all my restraint, don’t make it harder.” He holds his hand up to stop me from commenting on his use of words, and I smile. He leans up and kisses my lips softly. “You sure you want to keep going?”
“Yes.”
He kisses down my stomach and across the waistband of my jeans while his fingers deftly undo the button and zip. I lift my hips, and he guides the tight fabric down to my knees. He works his way down one leg and up the other, pushing the fabric to the floor. I run my fingers through his hair, tugging as he leaves wet trails along my inner thighs. I feel like I’m burning up in the best possible way. There’s no fear, just pure desire and even a little lust. I try to remember the last time I felt this loved, desired, safe–but then he kisses me through the thin cotton and all thoughts disappear. Only me, him and the burning desire remain.
His fingers toy with the elastic. At my nod, he slides the fabric down and kisses me. It’s pure ecstasy. His mouth is warm, his actions deliberate as he kisses my sensitive flesh and his fingers trace soft patterns over my thighs. He moves slowly, giving me plenty of time to adjust to the new sensations without letting any fear creep in. His tongue flicks against my clit, and I let out a sound that I barely recognise. Jensen’s fingers tighten, and he hums against my skin, sending the most amazing vibrations through my body. He slows, and I almost beg for more as I tug his hair. I feel his smirk as he speeds back up. I can feel the tension coiling in my stomach as he works me higher with his lips and tongue. His fingers join, and my legs tense. He hums against me again, and heat radiates through my whole body as my orgasm takes over. I experience a brief second of ecstasy before everything feels heavy. My chest tightens. My throat burns. And tears burn down my cheeks.
*******
Jensen instantly stops. He sits up and pulls me into his arms. “What happened?” I just shake my head. My throat’s too tight to form words. “I’m right here. It’s just me. You’re safe.” I try to take a deep breath, but instead, a loud sob comes out. He tightens his arms. “It’s okay. Let it out. I’m here.”
After what feels like an eternity, the tears finally stop falling. I don’t know if it’s just because I’ve run out of liquid or if I’m finally getting a grip. My chest feels half a fraction looser. I try to speak, but nothing comes out. My throat burns. Jensen’s grip’s still tight. He kisses my head softly as he whispers that he’s here and that he loves me. I try to relax into his arms.
When my throat finally gives in, I croak out, “I…Love…You.”
“Oh, Darlin’. I love you so much. I’m sorry if that was too much.”
I shake my head. “I…Liked…It.”
He pulls back just enough so he can meet my eyes. “But–I’ve heard of girls crying when they, you know, but that seemed like something else. You generally a crier?”
I start to shake my head but then stop. I take a moment to find my breath and voice. My throat loosens further, and I say, “Not like that.”
“Did you not–”
“I did. You know I did. I just…I guess it’s been so long since I have.”
“Well, thank you for trusting me. I promise that as we continue to go further, every time will be just like this. As slow as you need. All on your terms. And we don’t have to do anything more until you’re ready. Tonight was clearly a lot.”
“Thank you. I know this is a lot for you too. Do you want me t–”
“Don’t worry about me. This is all about you until you get more comfortable.” He kisses my cheek. “Let’s get you cleaned up and into bed.” As he stands up with me in his arms, he whispers, “You were amazing, by the way”.
Warm light filters across the room. I blink a few times as I recall the events of last night. I look to my left and Jensen’s still sleeping soundly, his arm slung over my waist, his breathing deep and even. I smile. A feeling of safety washes over me, and despite my involuntary outburst, I don’t feel any regret.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. I reach for it quickly but carefully, trying my best not to disturb Jensen. I squint at the brightness as I read the notification. I swipe across to open the message.
Dear Y/N,
It was lovely to meet you yesterday. I had a long chat with my daughter last night, and I’d like to offer you my apartment. I had a feeling about you from the moment Stella told me about you, and seeing you on that screen yesterday confirmed it. You remind me of myself at your age–brave, passionate, and ambitious, and a little nervous about it all. It’s inspiring and exactly what I was hoping for.
I do hope you'll be as happy here as I have been.
Warmly,
Evelyn
I read it and read it again, trying to contain my excitement.
“This feels like déjà vu. Not that I mind. I could wake up to your shaking body every day. Good or bad today?” Jensen’s arm squeezes around me, and I roll over to face him.
“Evelyn said yes,” I whisper.
He pulls me to him tightly and rolls onto his back, pulling me on top of him. “I knew she would. I told you. Congratulations, darlin’.” Adrenaline courses through me, and I sit up, straddling his stomach. “How’d you feel?”
“Shocked. Excited. Overwhelmed.”
“That’s my girl. I’m so excited for you.” He leans up and kisses me. “This is shaping up to be the best summer ever.”
“I couldn’t agree more. I really feel like everything’s starting to turn around.”
“I always knew it would. You deserve all of it. And so much more.”
“Thank you. And I’m sorry I didn’t return the favour last night.”
“One, it wasn’t a favour; I loved every second. Two, I didn’t do it for anything in return. I did it because I wanted to. Knowing you trust me enough to let me take care of you like that is more than enough.”
“You’re not real.”
He kisses me deeply. “Oh, I’m real. Now, how do you wanna celebrate? We could pick up where we left off last night…If you’re okay. Or we could get up, have breakfast and go pick up Misty?”
“How about option three? We shower first, then have breakfast, and then get our girl.”
“You sure? We don’t have to. I don’t expect—” I kiss him, cutting him off.
“I want to.”
“Option three it is!” He kisses me again as he lifts me, carrying me to the bathroom.
The volunteer from yesterday greets us with a smile as we walk through the gate. “Back to visit Misty?”
“Yes, but actually,” I bite my lip, and Jensen squeezes my hand reassuringly. I continue, “I just got approved for a pet-friendly apartment, so I was hoping we could finish off the paperwork and maybe bring her home.”
“Wonderful! Congrats on the apartment. Follow me, and we’ll get everything sorted.”
The paperwork takes the better part of an hour. Forms for the adoption, the microchip transfer, and the vaccination records. Jensen sits beside me through all of it.
“One last thing,” Jade says, sliding a final form across the table. “The adoption fee. It’s $150, but it covers everything. Spay, vaccinations, microchip transfer.”
I hand over my card, my hand shaking. Jensen squeezes my thigh gently. I smile at him.
“Congratulations,” the volunteer says, processing the payment and sliding back a receipt. “You're officially Misty's mom.”
The word settles over me like something warm and heavy and entirely welcome. Jensen kisses my cheek. “It’s all real. I’m so proud and excited for you.”
The volunteer stands, clapping her hands on the wooden desk. “Ready to get your baby?”
I nod enthusiastically, “Absolutely!”
She leads the way to Misty’s cage. When she opens the gate, Misty runs over, tail wagging. “Ready to come home, Misty?” I ask, holding my hand out to her. She sniffs it and nudges her head against my palm. I pat her. The volunteer clips a lead onto Misty’s collar and hands it to me.
“Congratulations again on your new family member. Look after our sweet, timid girl,” she says before leaning down to Misty and adding, “Enjoy your new home.”
I gently pull on the lead, and Misty follows. She stays by my side, which I’m glad for, so I don’t have to tug. My nerves settle slightly at the thought that she’s happy to come with us with little coaxing.
We get her settled in her bed in the tray of Jensen’s truck, securing her in. Jensen drives carefully back to his house. I barely take my eyes off Misty in the back.
A/N: I just want to start by thanking everyone for all the love on this story so far. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. Please read the TW below and only read on if you feel comfortable doing so.
Potential Trigger Warnings: mentions of violence, rape, therapy, depression
A Sweet Mishap Masterlist | Main Masterlist
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
The next morning arrives too quickly. I wake before Jensen, the early sunlight streaming through his bedroom window creating golden patterns on the wall. For a moment, I just watch him sleep—his features relaxed, one arm thrown over his head, his breathing slow and even. There's a peacefulness to him like this that makes my chest ache in the best way.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand, and I carefully reach for it, trying not to disturb him.
An email from Evelyn. My heart jumps into my throat as I open it.
Dear Ms. Y/L/N,
Thank you for your application. I’ve reviewed your materials and, after meeting with your friend Stella yesterday, have all the references I need. She made a very compelling case–it’s clear you’ve made a strong impression on her and have a good support network. My 20s were a fond time; hold those friendships dear; they’ll make all the difference when you get to my age.
Like I told your friend, I do have others interested. However, I do think you stand a high chance. I look forward to meeting you later today. I understand you’re on holiday, making the most of your youth with your beau, but I’m sure between Stella and my daughter I’ll figure out the fancy technology.
Best regards,
Evelyn Chen
I reread it three times before going back through the photos Stella sent through late last night. They show the things that tell the tale of the apartment rather than the sales pitch—the photos on the walls of a happy family posing in the courtyard, a corgi sitting on the end of the couch, the homely decor that makes it a home. My hands tremble as I scroll.
“You're vibrating.” Jensen's sleep-rough voice makes me jump. He's watching me with one eye cracked open, a small smile on his lips. “Good news or bad news vibrating?”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Just means I can see the real you, rather than the dream version. She’s not as good anyway.” He rolls slightly to face me. “So, news? Good? Bad? Ugly?”
I laugh. “Good, but nervous. The lady who owns the apartment emailed me. Stella made a great impression.”
“I thought the viewing was today?”
“Yeah, it’s a long story. I’ll tell you on the drive. But I think I have a good chance at getting it.”
Jensen's suddenly wide awake, pushing himself up. “That's amazing!”
“I just—” I stare at the phone. “What if I see it and it's not as good as Stella said? What if I can't afford it? What if—”
“Hey.” He takes the phone gently from my hands and sets it aside, then takes my face in both his hands. “You're spiralling.”
“I know.”
“Breathe with me.” He takes an exaggerated breath in.
Despite myself, I laugh. I take a deep breath, then another. “Okay. I'm okay.”
“You're more than okay. You're incredible.” He kisses my forehead. “Now, what time is it?”
“Almost eight.”
“And, do you still have the viewing?”
“Yeah, Stella’s gonna call at two.”
“So we've got six hours. Plenty of time to get to Austin, see Misty, and find somewhere with good wifi.” He grins. “See? It's all working out.”
I want to argue, to point out all the ways this could go wrong, but something stops me. Maybe it's the certainty in his voice. Maybe it's the way the morning light makes his eyes look impossibly green. Maybe it's just that I'm tired of being afraid. Instead, I say, “Let’s do this.”
“That’s my girl.” He kisses her softly, then pulls back.
We’re on the road by nine, Donna’s breakfast burritos filling our stomachs and soul. The Texas landscape stretches out before us once again. Jensen drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the centre console where I've laced my fingers through his. We drive in comfortable quiet for a while, letting soft country music wash over us and watching the landscape flash past.
“Can I ask you something?” I say after a while.
“Always.”
“What did your parents say last night? When I was in the shower?”
He's quiet for a moment, his jaw working. “They asked if we were okay.”
“What did you tell them?”
“The truth. That we're working on it. That I messed up, but you're giving me another chance I probably don't deserve.” He glances at me. “My mom said something that stuck with me.”
“Yeah?”
“She said, ‘That girl has been through more than most people twice her age, and she's still standing. Still fighting. Still dreaming. Don't you dare be the one who breaks her.’” His voice cracks slightly. “And she's right. I won't be that person, Y/N. I swear it.”
Tears prick my eyes. “Your mom said that?”
“She did. And Dad, in his own way, told me I'd be the biggest fool in Texas if I let you go.” He laughs softly. "Pretty sure he also threatened to disown me if I hurt you again.” I squeeze his hand, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. “You made quite an impression. They love you,” he continues. “And so do I. And I know I keep saying it, but I need you to know that I'm in this. All in. Whatever the future brings.”
“I know,” I manage. “I love you too.”
“Now, tell me about the Amazing Stella and how she got you a chance at the apartment.”
I tell him everything; I even read him Evelyn’s email. Hope sprouts in my soul as I talk.
It’s after noon when we arrive at the shelter in Austin. I know I can’t sign anything and take Misty home until I have full confirmation on the apartment, but I need to see her. We make our way to her cage. She stalks over as we approach. I kneel down and hold my hand against the bars. “Hey, Misty. I missed you.” She nudges her cold, wet nose against my palm and I smile. She remembers. Jensen kneels beside me. She cowers back slightly, but comes back when he stays still.
A volunteer approaches us—a different one from last time, younger with bright purple hair. “Impressive. You must be Y/N. Everyone’s been talking about you and your progress with our shy girl here. You here to finalise the adoption?”
“I wish. I’m still waiting on approval for a dog-friendly apartment. I should know more by tonight. I just wanted to see her again. I really am serious about her.”
"We all know that. And she’s serious about you too. We generally say we can’t guarantee a dog will stay long if you don’t move fast. But I think Misty’s a special exception. We’re only gonna let her go with someone she’s comfortable with, and that seems to be you. In saying that, she’s gonna be much better once she’s free of this cage.”
“I understand. We’d love to take her now, but we just can’t guarantee anything yet. She needs stability.”
“I agree. Feel free to stay with her as long as you like and let us know as soon as you know more, and we’ll be more than happy to get things moving.”
“Thank you.”
She wanders off to help other families, leaving us with Misty. We pat and talk with the skittish pup for as long as we can before heading to a nearby internet cafe. I set up my tablet at a table in the back while Jensen orders. I make sure I’m framed well, and the lighting is okay. Jensen places my iced coffee and bagel on the table and kisses my cheek. He sits down opposite me as Stella’s name pops up on the screen. “You’ve got this. I’m right here, but a silent bystander, unless you need me.”
I smile at him, take a deep breath and accept the call. “Hey Stell!”
“Hey Bestie!” She flips her phone sideways, and a lady with short grey hair and wrinkled skin comes into view. Her smile is enchanting. “This is my new friend, Evelyn. She's excited to meet you and see if you’re a good fit to look after her home.”
“Nice to meet you, Evelyn. I’m Y/N. Firstly, I want to thank you for considering me. You have a lovely home.”
“Thank you, dear. It’s lovely to meet you as well. Stella has given you a glowing review; I feel like I know you already. She says you’re a manager at Mamma Jo’s and on Broadway? That’s impressive. I was somewhat of a showgirl myself back in the day, you know? We travelled all over, Fred and I, playing music and dancing in bars from the Vegas Strip to Studio 54. I didn't make a lot, but it was a lot of fun. It would give me great comfort knowing a fellow entertainer is living here and keeping this place’s memory alive.”
“I love singing and performing. It’s my dream. Mamma Jo’s is great too for these bills, but it’s not my endgame.”
“Of course not. You’re only a young’in. Gotta do what you gotta do. Stella says you also have a dog, or will have, anyway?”
“Yes. I’m hoping to adopt a skittish rescue here in Austin before coming home. I just need a stable place to get the go-ahead.”
“My Elvis here was a rescue. Freddy brought him home after I broke my hip and had to give up dancing. Best friend I ever had. I miss my Freddy, but Elvis is good company on the lonely nights. You’ve also got a Beau there? Will he be living here too?”
“Not full-time. He works up in Canada, so would only be visiting. For now, anyway, we never know what’s down the track, but I’d let you know if our situation was looking to change.”
“I appreciate that. Like I said, you’re still young. Anything can happen. I already spoke to Stella about this too. There’s an opportunity for you to rent-to-buy, if you’re interested. I’m not getting any younger and can't manage the upkeep. My daughter and her husband are willing to help out where they can for a while, but we will eventually be looking to sell. So, depending on how everything goes, I would be looking to give the current occupant the first chance to buy at a heavily discounted cost.”
I glance over at Jensen, and he nods as if to say he’ll help. “Thank you, that’s a very generous offer. The maintenance won’t be an issue; I’ve learned some skills along the way and can hire handymen if I need it. The chance to buy is also a major opportunity.”
The little corgi from Stella’s photos pops their head into the camera, and we all laugh. “On that note,” Evelyn states, “That’s all the basic information I have. If you don’t have any questions for me, I’ll get Stella to take you for a look around.”
“Thanks, Evelyn. What would be the move-in timeline?” I ask, my voice steadier than I feel.
“My daughter’s already helped me to start packing, but it would still be a couple of weeks. Ideally, I'd like someone in by the first of next month, but I have some flexibility.”
“The sooner the better for me, without wanting to rush you, of course.”
“I’ll have to speak with my daughter before making any final decisions. But I'm happy to stay in touch and let you know if I’m able to move any earlier. I just don’t move as fast as I used to; old achy bones are a curse we all must unfortunately bear as age catches up to us.”
“I completely understand.”
“Speaking of aging, it is coming up on nana-nap-time. I’ll get Stella to take you for a quick look around, and then feel free to email or call me with any further questions. I’m better in the mornings after my first cup of tea.”
“Thank you again, Evelyn. I appreciate your time. The photos have already been very thorough, so we’ll make it quick so you can rest.”
Stella stands up and shows me around the apartment, pointing out all the places where I could set up my things. She goes out into the courtyard; it's better than the photos. A decent-sized rectangular space with artificial turf, a wooden fence for privacy, and there's even a small tree in one corner providing shade.
Once she makes it back to the living area, we both thank Evelyn again and then leave her to rest. I promise Stella that I’ll call her again soon and then end the call. I look over the black screen and meet Jensen’s eyes. “I want it.”
“I’m sure you’ll get it. She loved you; I could tell.” Jensen raises his almost empty glass and toasts, “To new beginnings.”
I lift my glass to meet his and smile. “New beginnings.”
A/N: I just want to start by thanking everyone for all the love on this story so far. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. Please read the TW below and only read on if you feel comfortable doing so.
I also want to apologise for the long wait between chapters!
Potential Trigger Warnings: mentions of violence, rape, therapy, depression
A Sweet Mishap Masterlist | Main Masterlist
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
After multiple phone calls—to the real estate agent, the shelter, and Stella to confirm she can view the apartment—the waitress returns to our table, apologising as she explains they need to clear our table to prepare for the dinner rush. I feel a flush of embarrassment realising how long we've been sitting here.
As we walk out to Jensen's truck, guilt settles in my chest. “I'm sorry I spent so much time on the phone instead of talking with you.”
He opens the passenger door for me. “Don't be. I was perfectly happy to sit back and listen.” The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Besides, watching you take charge like that? It makes me happy. You’re so strong and independent, and I love watching you prosper.”
I slide into the truck, warmth spreading through me at his words. The thoughts swirl around my mind at everything I accomplished in the last couple of hours and the plans coming together so quickly. Tonight we'll stay with his parents, then drive back to Austin in the morning to visit the shelter. After that, we'll head to Houston to see my parents before flying back to New York, giving me more time to sort out the apartment situation before the audition.
The only loose end is Jensen's truck, but I'm confident my parents or uncle won't mind it sitting in the shed until Jensen can arrange transport back to Austin. When I suggested he could stay longer with his family while I handled the move alone, he shut that down immediately.
“I want to help,” he says firmly. “And I don't want you in that apartment alone. Not after everything.” I don't argue.
When we walk into his parents' house, they're both napping on the couch while a daytime soap plays on the TV, the dramatic music filling the quiet living room.
“Can't believe that's still going,” Jensen says softly, a note of nostalgia in his voice.
“What is it?” I whisper.
He looks at me with disbelief. “You really don't watch TV, huh?” When I shake my head, he chuckles quietly. “Days of Our Lives. I did a stint on it years ago as Eric Brady. Kinda where I got my start.”
“That's amazing. Your parents must be so proud.”
“But I’m not on there anymore—some new guy took over the role. I'd hardly call watching him supporting me.”
I suppress a giggle. “Come on, we'd better take this conversation upstairs before we wake them.” I tug his hand toward the stairs, leading him up to his room.
He stretches out on the bed while I settle cross-legged at the foot. The comfortable silence settles between us, and I trace patterns on the comforter while I gather my thoughts. Then, I finally break it softly, “I've been thinking—”
“When are you not?” He teases.
“Hey!” I push his shin playfully.
He holds up both hands in mock surrender. “It's a valid statement. You're an overthinker, Darlin'. It's one of your defining characteristics.”
I level him with a look that I hope conveys exactly how unimpressed I am.
“Fine, fine.” He grins. “What were you thinking about?”
“That's better.” I take a breath, suddenly nervous. “I was thinking about making an appointment when I get back to New York. With the gynaecologist…”
He sits up so quickly I startle. “Darlin', you know you don't have to—”
“I know.” I cut him off gently but firmly. “But it's better if I'm protected, especially if we're going to be seeing more of each other. I should've done it before summer started. I regret that I didn't. I was just scared that if I did, I'd feel obligated to…” I trail off. “But I know now that I don't have to,” I continue. “That you’ll respect my boundaries and speed, no matter how slow. But I also know that neither of us wants to be in a celibate relationship forever, so I want to be ready to keep pushing those boundaries in myself.’
His expression softens. “You know how I feel. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about having sex with you on multiple occasions over the past week, but I would never pressure you. And anyway…” He runs a hand through his hair. “I kinda thought I'd blown any chance I had after–well, everything.”
“I was thinking about it before all that,” I admit quietly. “Then everything happened, and I spiralled. But you keep proving yourself. You're not like the other guys I've dated.”
He reaches out and cups my cheek, his palm warm against my skin. “You give me too many chances. You deserve better than someone who keeps screwing up.”
“I've had much worse. You are better.”
“That's not the point.” His thumb strokes my cheekbone. “Your standards shouldn't be 'not as bad as the worst.' Just because I didn't cheat doesn't mean I haven't hurt you. I keep—”
I lean forward and press my lips to his, cutting him off. When I pull back, I keep my forehead against his. “You chased after me at that bus stop. You apologised without making excuses. You cut ties with Maeve. You chose me. You keep choosing me through all my dramatics and anxiety and insecurity. You keep comforting me and pushing me to be my best self.” I pull back just enough to meet his eyes. “No relationship is perfect. There are going to be issues, especially when I over-analyse everything because of my past. But as long as you keep fighting for us, I will too.”
“I don't deserve you,” he whispers.
“I'm sure thousands of women would say it's the other way around.” I try to lighten the mood. “Emmy winner, gorgeous, talented—”
“They don't know me. Not really. And they don't know you either.” His fingers thread through my hair. “But I don't care what they think. Just what you think.” His gaze shifts to my face, and he rubs his thumb gently under my eye. “As much as we need to keep talking, you need a nap. You look like an adorable panda.” I want to protest, but a yawn escapes instead. “Come here.” He lies back and holds out his arms. I don't hesitate this time, crawling up the bed and settling against his chest. His arms wrap around me, solid and secure.
Despite everything—the fights, the tears, the uncertainty—this still feels like the safest place in the world. I close my eyes and focus on his steady breathing, the rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek. The rhythm lulls me into a peaceful sleep.
The room is dark when I blink back to consciousness. Jensen kisses the top of my head. “Mom came in earlier. Dinner's almost ready. You wanna clean up first?” At my confused look, he pulls out his phone and snaps a photo, turning the screen to show me. My makeup has smudged across my face and all over his light-colored shirt. I grimace. “You look well-rested,” he says with a soft smile. “But I thought you might wanna freshen up before facing my parents.”
I sit up, stretching out the stiffness in my shoulders, and reach into my bag for makeup wipes. Jensen stands and pulls a fresh shirt from his dresser. I catch a glimpse of his bare chest and quickly turn away, using my phone camera as a mirror. I wipe away the smudged makeup and sleep from my eyes. Faint purple shadows remain, but it's much better.
Jensen holds out his hand and pulls me up into his arms. “I'm sorry, Darlin'. I love you, and I'm going to keep working hard to be the man you deserve.”
I wrap my arms around his waist. “Thank you. I love you too. I'm sorry I overreacted and overthink everything.”
“I know why you do. I get it.” He kisses my forehead. “I just have to do better at recognising it and responding better. And I’m gonna keep working on being better, for as long as you’ll let me.” He pecks my lips. “Now, let's go eat.”
Dinner is awkwardly quiet. Everyone attempts small talk while simultaneously walking on eggshells, and the uncomfortable atmosphere makes guilt settle heavily in my stomach. I push pasta around my plate, managing to eat about half despite Donna's concerned glances.
After we finish, I offer to help clean up, but Donna refuses. “Absolutely not. Guests don't do dishes in this house.”
‘But I want to help—”
“Nope.” She waves me away with a gentle smile. “You've had a long day. Go relax, sweetheart.”
Recognising a losing battle, I excuse myself and head upstairs to shower, giving Jensen some time alone with his parents. As I climb the stairs, I hear their voices start up in the kitchen, muffled but earnest. I'm glad for it.
The hot water feels amazing against my skin, washing away the lingering tension of the day. I take my time, letting the steam fill the small bathroom, trying not to think about the conversation happening downstairs.
When I emerge wrapped in a towel, my phone is buzzing on the bathroom counter. Stella's name flashes across the screen.
Hey!” I answer as I sink onto the closed toilet seat.
“YN! Okay, so I just got back from viewing that apartment for you, and oh my God, you have to take it.”
“What? I set the viewing for tomorrow? How’d you–”
“Because I’m the best!”
“I won’t dispute that. Tell me everything!”
“Well, Nick and I decided to do an early drive-by just to work out where we need to go. But when we got close, we thought we may as well see what we could see on foot and grab dinner while we’re at it. So, anyway, as we were looking through the lobby windows, a lovely old lady came over and invited us into the lobby. Turns out, it’s her apartment, and she’s moving in with her daughter to get a little extra support.” My heart skips as I listen to Stella’s account.
“The photos don’t do it justice, Y/N! The courtyard is bigger than it looks—definitely enough space for a dog, especially since I know you’ll walk her or bring her over to ours often. The kitchen has plenty of room to cook if you want; the bathroom has a beautiful tub over the shower–I know how important baths are for your relaxation. And the bedroom is spacious with a walk-in wardrobe, way more space than you have now.”
“It sounds perfect! What’re the neighbours like? You meet anyone else?”
“Nah. But, Evelyn, that’s the old lady, said it’s a quiet place. She’d lived here since her husband passed around five years ago and never had any issues.”
“Now the only issue is the money…”
“About that! Evelyn said there might be a little wiggle room for the right tenant. And, as she’s getting older, she'd be happy to consider a rent-to-buy situation, so you could eventually own your own apartment in the city too. That is, unless you’re looking to move to Austin?”
“Maybe one day…but not right now, and I could always rent it out down the line. But that’s too far forward to think about now.”
“Big picture is important. So, yeah, I’m gonna head back over there at the arranged time, and I’ll FaceTime you so you can meet Evelyn. She really is lovely. You’re gonna love her, and she's gonna love you. I already talked you right up, like the great best friend that I am. She did mention she's had a few other people inquire, though.”
My stomach drops. “Oh.”
“But,” Stella continues quickly, “With my killer recommendation, I’m sure you’ll jump to the top of her list. I think if you put in an application now, you'd have a real shot.”
Tears prick my eyes. “Stella, you’re too much! What would I do without you?”
“Crash and burn. Besides, I’d do anything for my second favourite person in the world–sorry, Nick’s in the room, and I think my marriage would be short-lived if he thought he wasn’t my favourite.”
I laugh. “I’m proud to be second to Nick.”
“Anyway, you need to get out of that current place. Too many bad memories.” She pauses. “On another note, how are things with lover boy?”
“Complicated…But I think we’re gonna be alright. We’ve done a lot of talking and we're going to try couples therapy.”
“Good. He seems like one of the good ones, but therapy never hurts. Especially with everything you've been through.”
We talk for a few more minutes before she has to go. After we hang up, I pull up the rental application on my phone. The form is straightforward: employment history, references, reason for moving. I fill it out carefully, listing Stewie, my current landlord, and Stella as references. In the ‘reason for moving’ section, I simply write: ‘Seeking a fresh start’.
My finger hovers over the submit button. This is it. A concrete step toward my future. Toward the life I want to build. I press submit. The confirmation email arrives almost immediately, and I sigh. Whatever happens with Jensen, with the audition, with everything—I'm taking control of my own life.
A soft knock at the door interrupts my thoughts. “Y/N? Darlin’, you okay in there?”
I open the door to find Jensen leaning against the frame, concern etched in his features. “Yeah, I'm good. Great, actually. I just submitted the application for the apartment.”
His face lights up. “Business deals on the toilet, butt naked. Best way to do it. How’d it go?
I look down and grip the towel tighter, suddenly hyper-aware that I haven’t dressed yet. “Let me get dressed, then I’ll tell you everything.”
He opens his mouth to say something, then changes his mind, pulling the door shut gently. I quickly put on a cute pair of PJs and then go into Jensen’s room. “Don’t know what I like better, this or the towel,” Jensen says appreciatively while playing with a small decorative bow between my breasts. I chuckle, and he lets his hands fall to my waist, pulling me close. I crawl onto the bed, my knees resting either side of his hips. I hold up my weight, not letting myself rest on him. When I meet his eyes, they’re dark. He drops his forehead against mine and sighs. “Not here. Not now.” He takes a deep breath and lifts me to sit beside him. “Tell me about the apartment. What happened there?”
“You know you don’t have to be so guarded. I know my limits; we can make out–”
“It’s not that, this time. It’s my childhood bedroom, and my parents are downstairs waiting to watch a movie. I don’t wanna risk being walked in on again. We’ll have time and privacy in Austin and New York. There’s no rush.”
“They’re waiting for us?”
“Yeah, but we can talk instead if you want. I’ll just tell them. They just wanted a chance to spend more time together, but if you need me. I’ll be here with you.”
“It’s our last night here. Let’s go watch with them. We can talk tomorrow.”
“You sure?” I nod. “Mom's making popcorn, and Dad's already arguing about what to watch. Fair warning: it'll probably be a western.”
“I can handle that,” I say, taking his hand.
As we head downstairs, I hear Alan's voice booming: “Now, Donna, I'm just saying John Wayne never made a bad film—”
“That's not even remotely true, and you know it!” Donna's laughing response makes me smile.
We settle on the couch—me tucked against Jensen's side, his arm around my shoulders, his parents in their respective recliners. Alan wins the movie debate, and soon the opening credits of True Grit fill the screen.
Donna passes around the popcorn bowl, and when it reaches me, she catches my eye and mouths, “You okay?” with such genuine concern that my throat tightens. I nod and mouth back, “Thank you.”
She settles back in her chair, and I realise that whatever happens between Jensen and me, I've gained something valuable this summer: people who care. I snuggle in closer to Jensen, and he squeezes my shoulder lightly. For the first time in a long time, I truly believe the future is bright.
As the movie plays on and Jensen's fingers absently trace patterns on my shoulder, I let myself relax into this moment. Many uncertainties loom in the days ahead. But for now, in this quiet living room with a man who keeps choosing me and his parents, who welcomed me like family, I let myself just be. And that's enough.
A/N: I just want to start by thanking everyone for all the love on this story so far. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. Please read the TW below and only read on if you feel comfortable doing so.
Potential Trigger Warnings: mentions of violence, rape, therapy, depression
A Sweet Mishap Masterlist | Main Masterlist
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Even after I finish the email, Jensen doesn’t come upstairs, so I decide to distract myself, downloading the audition script for Mamma Mia! And reading it over and over again. I hope that Jensen and I can get through this, but I tell myself once again that I can’t give up my dreams for a man. I know that I can do this, with or without him, and I focus on that. I refuse to reopen the still-healing scars over this, and search for my inner strength.
It’s well after dark when Donna knocks on the door with a plate of food. She explains that Jensen went for a drive and hasn’t come back and offers for me to eat with them, but understands if I’d be more comfortable alone. I thank her and take the plate, placing it on the floor beside me. Despite not eating since late-breakfast, I can’t bring myself to lift up the fork. The food cools beside me as I continue to focus on the script. I read over the same few paragraphs until my eyes are stinging and watering then finally put the phone on the floor. I rub my thumbs over the scars on my palms, pressing firmly. I look down at my body. My thick, muscular thighs from hours on my feet at the cafe, muscles built from necessity rather than choice. Then my stomach; I know I’m not overweight, irregular meals and tight budgets had seen to that, but it’s also not the defined abs that someone who pines over cheerleaders would be looking for. I run my fingers through my hair, slightly greasy and still messy from sleeping in the truck bed last night. I wonder if we only worked long distance because he wasn’t really seeing me. He could imagine his perfect cheerleader instead of just me. Instead of just an authentic, boring, unimpressive poor girl. I look over at the now cold plate of pasta beside me and push it further away.
I never was the cheerleader, or valedictorian, or prom queen, I was just a girl doing my best to graduate and blend in. But I look at his shelf of trophies, and I know he was. MVP in various sports, lead in all the school plays, popular guy that dated the lead cheerleader, and now a popular, Emmy winning TV star. I always knew we never fit, but he let me believe. So, I did.
Not able to eat or read another word, I grab what I need to shower. As I look down at the sea of red running down the shower drain, I reason that my feelings are likely heightened by my hormones and that I’m likely being a little unreasonable about it all. I wipe away the newly falling tears and tell myself that I can fix everything if I just blame it all on my period and back down.
When I come out of the shower, I text my mom to ask if it’s okay if I come early. I tell her it’s because of the audition and she immediately agrees, saying the room’s already ready. Laying in his bed alone, I pull the small cowboy hat to my chest and continue to let the tears fall until the world and my depressing thoughts finally fade to black.
“Oh, fuck, shit, gross!” I roll over at the loud cursing and bright light filling the room. I blink and squint towards the voice. “You couldn’t’ve–” He bends down, picks up the plate and walks out, leaving the light on and door open. The stench of strong liquor hangs in the air. My stomach turns with guilt and the tears start to fall onto the comforter. I wait for what feels like an eternity for him to return so I can apologise, but he never does. I stare out at the hallway as the rest of the house goes dark, then throw the comforter over my head.
I’m not entirely sure if I ever really fell back to sleep, but when I finally pull the comforter back down the sun is shining through the window. I drag myself into the bathroom to attempt to freshen up, washing my face and applying layer after layer of make up until the tear stains and dark circles are mostly hidden. I was good at this once, and had better, thicker concealers. But, it’s been a while since I’ve had to cover a bruise or mask the visible signs of my mental state, so I’m evidently a little out of practice. As I go to leave the room, I notice a small red stain on the carpet where my dinner plate had been. I rush back into the bathroom, grab a towel and try to scrub it out, but no matter how hard I scrub the deep red stain remains. It’s lighter, but still there. I write a note apologising and explaining that I’m getting breakfast out and leave it on the bedside table before quietly creeping into the hallway. I stand at the top of the stairs and listen, trying to figure out if anyone is awake, but the house seems to be silent, so I make my way outside being extra careful to shut the door as quietly as possible. Halfway down the driveway I pull out my phone to find the nearest bus stop. It’s just over a mile down the road, so I keep walking. With each step my heart is screaming at me to turn back, but I don’t want to have another argument in front of his parents. I figure this way he can sober up and make his own decision about what he wants to do without seeing my reaction either way. I tell myself I’m doing the right thing and keep putting one foot in front of the other.
I’m waiting, leaning on the bus stop sign when I hear heavy footsteps pounding the pavement. I look up as they get louder and closer.
“Please…Don’t go,” Jensen pants as he comes to a stop a few feet from me. “I’m sorry. Please…Give me a chance to fix it.”
“That’s not the first time you’ve asked that, you know?”
“I know. And I know I don’t deserve you. That you’d be better off if you just got on the next bus and enjoyed the rest of your well-deserved break before it gets cut short so you can become the next big thing on Broadway, or take over that cafe you love so much. And I won’t stop you. I love you, so I’ll set you free. You’ve been tryin’ to do it since we met, and I was holding on too tight, because you had it all wrong, Darlin’. It’s not you…Those other guys, they don’t know what they threw away, but I do. I know it. And I can see the backwards steps you’ve taken since being here, with me. And as much as it will break my heart, I’d rather witness your growth from afar, than trip you up from being too close.”
Looking at his red eyes, stained cheeks, frown lines, messy hair, and alcohol stained shirt, it’s impossible to see the Emmy winner. He’s vulnerable. Human. I almost run into his arms, wanting to fix all the broken pieces, but I know I can’t. “You finished monologuing?” He nods confused. “I’m not leaving. I just think we both need some space today. I can still smell the night you had, and I want to talk about that too, but you’re not in the headspace to have the conversation we need to have right now. So, I need you to go home and sleep it off and think about what you want and then we can go somewhere and talk properly.”
“I can talk–”
“I’m not arguing in front of your parents again. And if I come back now, that’s what will happen. So, we need space. Just for a few hours.” He nods and steps back as we hear the bus approaching. As I hail it, I ask, “Would you be open to therapy?”
“As in couples therapy?” I nod and he does too.
“I’ll talk to Dr Kate and get a reference. Thank you.” I close the distance between us, taking his hands in mine. “But, we both still need time, so I am going to get on this bus and explore the city on my own today. But,” I make sure he’s looking at me, “maybe, with some time and a lot of work we can get through this.”
“I’ll do whatever it takes, I swear.”
The bus pulls up and I step on holding out my card to pay. Jensen stands there as the bus takes off. I watch as he fades into the distance and then sink into my seat.
In the city, I find a nice cafe not too dissimilar to Mamma Jo’s to have breakfast then wander through the streets. I window shop at the boutiques and smile as I pass a young boy busking with his guitar case open. I put in a few coins and keep going. As I wander, I find a beautiful park and take a seat in the shade of a large tree. I pull out my phone and go back over the audition script again, trying out the lines softly on the warm, summer breeze. Kids run around playing tag, frisbee and other nostalgic games while their parents sit on picnic rugs or at the few tables scattered around. The noise is comforting and drowns out my practice, giving me the confidence to try the lines a little louder, trying not to look down at my phone. One of the groups throws their frisbee and lands by my side and when a little girl come running over to get it she stops and looks at me quizzically. “You have a nice voice.”
I smile at her and say, “Thanks, that’s very kind of you.”
Her eyes light up, “Are you famous?”
I shake my head. “I guess I would like to be, but not yet. I’m just practising.”
An older lady, I assume is her mother comes running over and chastises her, saying she shouldn’t talk to strangers. I apologise, saying I shouldn’t have kept her, but that she wasn’t disturbing me. As her mother tries to usher her away she turns back and asks, “What are you practising for?”
I smile at her, “A play. In New York City.”
“Oh,” she says, then looks up to her mom, “I think I’m gonna audition for the next school play.” I smile as her mom smiles and encourages her to do it, then urges her to go back to her friends who are now playing on the jungle gym. As they get further way and their voices fade I open my phone again. But, instead of looking at the script again, I open a real estate site. I save a few apartments that look nice and are not too far from both Mamma Jo’s and public transport for school and Broadway. Then Dr. Kate calls. She explains she read my email and praises my journaling efforts before urging me to get whatever I need off my chest. I rehash everything from my email in deeper detail and then explain everything that’s happened since. She nods along without interrupting, just letting me get it all out. Then, once I’m finished, she offers her wisdom.
“I know I probably sound like a broken record by now, but communication, communication, communication. It sounds like you’re trying, but you also keep running away from the problem too. It’s okay to take some time, but don’t take too much. Don’t let this fester, for either of you. Even if you say the same thing 10 times or more, that doesn’t matter, he needs to hear your side, and you need to listen to his. I’m glad to hear you’re setting boundaries though, that is healthy. But, be willing to compromise too.”
I tell her I understand and that I’ll try, then ask her about couple’s counseling and she says that she believes every couple should do it, and that especially with our mostly long distance set up it would be a good idea. She refers me to a colleague that specialises in virtual councelling for distance couples and I thank her. She goes over a few more topics, checking in with my mental state and giving me homework to continue working on my meditation and communication. When we finish, I text Jensen.
Hey, you awake?
Yeah
Can we get lunch and talk?
That’s exactly what I was gonna ask
I send him the name of the park I’m at and offer for him to pick somewhere and pick me up. I look at few more properties while I wait, looking towards the carpark every now and then to check for his truck. Part of me dreads the idea of leaving the only apartment I’ve known in New York, but I also dread going back there with all the bad memories. I scroll down to a ground floor apartment with a small courtyard and smile. I know it’s hardly enough room for a dog to stay cooped up all day while I work and study, but let myself dream anyway. I imagine Misty sitting on the fake turf chewing a bone while I sit next to her reciting a script, or dancing around to choreography while she jumps around beside me. I reach into my purse and pull out the business card the shelter gave us the first day. I dial the number but look up before I press call and see Jensen’s truck parking. I cancel the call and stand up. As I walk to the carpark, I remind myself that I can’t rush in.
Jensen picked a quiet Italian restaurant. There are only a few other full tables in the whole restaurant and we’re at a table in the corner with no one around us. The waitress starts us with some drinks, a Cola for Jensen given he’s still nursing a hangover and a lemonade for me, despite just knowing this place would serve the best wine, but I don’t want to have this conversation impaired in any way. We both look over the menu in silence, and only finally talk once the waitress takes our orders and menus.
“I called Maeve this morning,” he says and I nod while waiting for him to continue, “And, I told her I wouldn’t be coming to lunch today because I was taking you out instead. I also told her I knew what she said to you at the party and that we can’t talk anymore. She clearly feels differently for me than I do for her, and she hurt my girl, and put a wedge between us. I can’t have that. I should never have told her the things I did about you. I trusted her as one of my few friends from before, but she used that against me and even more so you. So, I can’t trust her, just as I know you still can’t trust me.”
“I never meant to come between you and your friends.”
“You didn’t. She did. I don’t want you to blame yourself, because this was not your fault. It was hers, and mine for not seeing it sooner. And given the way she took it, it was good for you to have boundaries. I have no doubt she would’ve done everything in her power to make you feel uncomfortable at lunch. I never should have pushed to go, or said it was rude not to, you were right. I’m sorry.”
“I appreciate you saying that, and taking action. I’m sorry you lost a friend.”
“She proved she’s not a friend that I want or need. I have a whole family in the Supernatural cast and crew, and hopefully one day, if I haven’t screwed up too badly then maybe, with you…eventually.”
“You said yourself, this is gonna be a long road. And this is a detour up a rocky mountain that we have to travel slowly and carefully…But I’m willing to trek it if you are?”
He nods.“I’m always willing. I just don’t wanna hurt you anymore.” The waitress returns with our meals and we fall quiet as we eat. After a few bites, he asks, “How’s the beef ragu?”
“Delicious, and the gnocchi?”
“Good.” I nod. After a few more bites he asks, “How was your morning?”
“Lovely actually. I found a nice little cafe for breakfast that reminded me of Mamma Jo’s and then found that park. Spent most of the time there going over the audition script, looking at apartments in New York, and I, uh, I had a session with Dr. Kate. She sent me through a reference for a therapist that specialises in long distance couples.”
“Oh, okay.”
“She said she thinks it would be beneficial for us given my past and how often we’re apart. Her colleague could give us tips to handle any issues better, especially when we’re apart, and she could help you understand me and the way my brain works.”
“I’m game. I think that would help a lot.”
“I can try to explain a little.” I take another bite as I think. “The thought of being in a relationship and potentially being cheated on again terrifies me, so I avoid getting too close and I run away when things get too serious or have any sign of going sideways. The same thing for intimacy. If I let things start going somewhere, what if you don’t stop when I want you to, or what if you want to be rough but I can’t, what if we go there and I’m not good and you decide to find someone else. When anything happens, I go right back to those bad times in my mind.” I take another bite before continuing, “Like, after the party. When you came in and I’d broken the glass. I didn’t see you in that doorway; I saw Tyler. And in my mind his belt was coming off so he could teach me a lesson for breaking things and not cleaning it up fast enough. And again last night, when you came in smelling like liquor and stepped on that plate swearing. I just laid there waiting for the blow that never came.” I put down my fork and wipe away my tears.
“That’s why you were so scared when I tried to touch you.” I nod. “I’m sorry, YN. I didn’t realise. Thank you for telling me, it can’t be easy talking about it. But, I want to know these things, so I can adapt the way I react and help you. If that means therapy, then I’ll do it. I know it will be difficult once we’re apart again, both with busy schedules and different time zones, but we’ll make it work.”
“Where’d you go last night?”
“To a bar in town. I just sat there mostly, didn’t talk to anyone ‘cept the barkeep. Only had a few, give or take, over the whole night. But some guy smashed a bottle on the bench beside me and it splashed all over me. That’s why the smell. Then, I came home and stepped on that plate, I just–I don’t know. Then it occurred to me that that was your dinner and you didn’t eat it ‘cause of me. So I didn’t wanna come back up and start an argument or upset you more, so I slept on the couch.” He takes a drink before speaking again, “So, have you given any thought to what you want to do with the rest of your summer break? Do you want to go to your parents early?”
“I already told my mom I would be. But, I also want to go back to Austin. I want to see Misty again. I want to put in an application on my own.” He nods. “I found a place in New York, and I know I should look at it first and I would need to actually get it before I could get Misty which is all impossible, but I want to.”
“If you want to, you’ll find a way. That I know.” The waitress takes our plates and brings us new drinks. I pull out my phone and bring up the apartment and show him. He takes a few minutes to scroll through the photos before replying. “It’s perfect for you. And Misty.”
“And the rent is the same as mine. I’m just swapping views for a courtyard.”
“You should enquire about it. Then, call the shelter.”
“Between the cafe, school and broadway, if I get a part, how would I look after her? She’d be there alone too much. She needs someone who can be with her more constantly.”
“You’re home every night, and you said they agreed to let your broadway experience count for course points, right? So, you’ve only got one module left. You could manage. I know you could.”
“I’d have to get Stella to do an inspection for me…”
A/N: I just want to start by thanking everyone for all the love on this story so far. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. Please read the TW below and only read on if you feel comfortable doing so.
Potential Trigger Warnings: mentions of violence, rape, therapy, depression
A Sweet Mishap Masterlist | Main Masterlist
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
I wake to the sound of birds chirping and the gentle lapping of water against the shore. For a moment, I'm disoriented. The ceiling above me is an endless blue sky, and there's a warm weight across my waist and a dull ache in my back. I stretch carefully and Jensen stirs beside me.
“Mornin’, beautiful,” Jensen's voice is rough with sleep, his arm tightening around me. I turn in his arms, taking in his tousled hair and the way the early morning light catches the green in his eyes. “I never meant to sleep out here.”
“I know. I just can’t believe it’s the second time I’ve slept outside this summer.”
“You’ll miss it when you’re cramped up in that New York apartment.”
“I’ll miss you.”
He pecks my lips. “I’ll miss you too. But I’ll visit as often as I can. And if you’ll let me I’d love to bring you up to Vancouver or to a convention sometime. Show you the other side of me. Show you off to my friends.”
The doubts swirl around my mind, but instead I say, “I'd love to.”
He kisses my forehead and then sits up. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and stares at the screen. “We’d better get back home. My mom’s ready to send out a search party.”
“Should we pick up breakfast on the way?”
“We’d better not. My mom likes to cook when she has a full house. I’m sure something’s already going cold on the table waiting for us.”
Just as Jensen predicted, there’s a spread of pancakes, French toast, fruit and a pot of hot-ish coffee waiting for us when we walk into the dining room. He’s quick to apologise and explain the situation, taking full blame. His mom reprimands him for not at least leaving a message, but eventually waves it off and urges us to eat the once hot breakfast. As we’re eating, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, and on the screen is an email from the stage director of the Grease production. As I scan the words, I drop my fork. Jensen instantly puts his hand on my arm from beside me.
“Everything okay?”
Without looking away from the screen, I say, “I don’t know…Uh, my stage director just invited me to audition for a role.”
“When? We can be on the next plane to New York.”
I put my phone down and look at Jensen. “We? You don’t have to–”
“Our summer doesn’t have to end just because you’re auditioning. My summer is where you are. Honestly, I always planned to follow you back.”
“But–”
“No buts. Now tell me. When’s the audition, what’s it for, how long’s the run? I want to know everything!”
With all the noise, his mom comes back in from doing the dishes in the kitchen. “Everything okay in here?”
Jensen smiles and looks over at his mom as he squeezes my arm. “Y/N got an audition. We may have to head to NYC a little earlier than planned.”
“That’s great news, dear.” She smiles at me. “What show is it, I may have to make a little trip myself. It’s been too long since I saw a good broadway show.”
“Mamma Mia!”
“Oh, I love that one! ABBA is so good.”
“You’d make a wonderful Sophie,” Jensen adds, “I can help you learn your lines and practice. You should do I Have a Dream”.
“The auditions are the end of next week. It's not enough time-”
“We'll make it enough. We have a couple of days here, go to your parents’ early, if they’re open to it. Then, be back in Austin early next week, and then fly to New York in time to have a good night’s rest there before the audition. We can make it work.”
“And if I don’t get a part?”
“Then, we find things to do together in New York. It’s a big city. The experience and opportunity is worth it. My years in LA taught me that. Your parents support you, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Then they’ll understand why we need to change our plans. Just like mom does, right, ma?”
“Absolutely! I may have been a little skeptical when my 18 year old boy wanted to fly out to LA and become a movie star with no experience. But I see it now and I understand. You gotta fight for your passions. I never had the pleasure of seeing your last show, Y/N, but I trust what Jensen has said about your talent, and if you’re lucky enough to land a role I’d love to come out and watch.”
“Thank you, Donna. That means a lot.”
Alan then comes in from the garden, wiping his hands on his shorts. Donna explains that we won’t be staying as long and he nods. “Acting’s a bit like that. Good luck with the audition, Y/N. And I’ll give you some unsolicited advice that I gave Jensen when he took off to LA. Do every audition you can, it’s great experience. And walk out of there remembering that, regardless of the result.”
“Thanks, Alan. I’ll try to remember that.”
Jensen stands up and takes our empty plates to the kitchen. When he comes back, he stands behind me with his hands on the back of my chair and questions his mom about their plans for the rest of the day. She explains that they’d left their schedule open, so they could work around what we wanted to do, but throws out a few suggestions. Alan then jumps in and says, “Don’t forget we have that lunch tomorrow.”
She glares at him and then reluctantly explains, “I’m sorry. Theresa found-I accidentally let it slip that you were coming to visit. And now they just happen to have some event here. I think it’s bull, she’s trying to…” she shakes her head and sighs. “You don’t have to come. I’ll make up some excuse.”
“They? As in Maeve, too?” I ask. She nods, and I look up at Jensen. “It’s up to you if you want to go, but I’d rather not. You can drop me off somewhere, and I can just explore, or I can stay here and study Mamma Mia!”
“Com’on, it’d be rude not to go,” he argues. I dig my fingers into my healing palm under the table and chew on the inside of my cheek.
I shake my head. “Then go. Just don’t ask me to.”
“But if I go without you, you’ll just sit here and stew.”
I spin around in the chair to look at him astonished. “I wonder why? She’s your ex and she’s still in love with you.”
“Maybe, but I’m not.” He sits down beside me reaching for my hands, “Just trust me to end it.”
“You saying there’s something to end?”
“No, just…I’ll make sure she knows where I stand.”
“Be my guest. But I don’t need to be there. She all but threatened me in the bathroom. Tried to play on all my insecurities, which, by the way, how'd she even know? Then you know the rest of that night.” Donna slides her chair out to stand up, making me suddenly very self-conscious about our public argument. “Let’s not have this argument here. Do what you want.” I squeeze out of the chair and walk out into the backyard. I apologise to Donna as I pass her in the kitchen. I keep looking behind me as I make my way over to the swing set, making sure Jensen’s not following. I can hear raised voices from the kitchen, but I can’t make out the words. I wipe my wet cheeks and stiffen as the back door swings open, but when I see Alan I relax a little. He strides over to the blooming flower garden and cuts off a beautiful white rose. I watch as he walks towards me, sits on the second swing and holds the flower towards me.
“If I can’t trust my son to show you true Texan manners, then I’ll just have to.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make a scene. Jensen’s a good man and I’m sure he owes that to you. I just have a hard time trusting sometimes and–”
“No need to explain, unless you want to. I’m happy to listen but don’t feel like you owe us an explanation. It’s between you and Jensen, I just don’t want you to feel uncomfortable here. Donna was wrong for spilling the news, but she and Theresa are old friends. We thought Maeve came on a little strong the other night, but we figured it was just nostalgia. I’m sorry to hear she treated you badly.”
I spin the rose around in my fingers. “I appreciate you saying that. I don’t know what exactly Jensen has told you about me. But I have a bit of a colored past. My previous boyfriends didn’t treat me well, and I was attacked earlier this year in my apartment. It makes trusting difficult, but I’m in therapy. And Jensen knows all this. I don’t mean to be difficult or unfriendly.”
“He didn’t mention your past, but he did call when you were in hospital. He was worried, didn’t know what to do. He didn’t give any specifics, just that you were attacked, that’s your story. But I’m sorry about whatever you went through. I couldn’t imagine if that had been our Mac.”
“I feel like it’s one step forward, two steps back with me, and my therapist says that’s normal, and it all takes time. I just don’t know if it’s fair to drag Jensen along while I go through all the motions. I don’t want to hurt your son, I love him.”
“Listen, we worried about him a lot as a teen and when he moved to LA. But, he’s grown up since then. He’s come a long way. And when he said he was bringin’ a girl home for the summer we were beyond excited, thought this was finally it. But if he ain’t able to be your rock while you go through whatever motions you gotta go through to find your strength and work through your emotions, then maybe he’s not it for you. Maybe he’s got more growin’ up to do. And that’s exactly what Donna’s tellin’ him in there.”
“Why?” I ask and looks at me confused so I add, “Why are you taking my side? Shouldn’t you be siding with Jensen?”
“When you get to our age with grown kids and grandkids you start to see things a little clearer. Sure, we’ll always have some bias and rose-tinted glasses for our own, but we also can see a situation for what it is. It’s not about sides, it’s about making sure everyone is comfortable and safe and if not, why not and how do we make that happen? So, how do we keep you comfortable here? Or, do you need a lift somewhere?”
“Just time … I want to stay and work it out. I don’t give up so easily. And maybe that is a problem, maybe I stay too long and give too many chances, and that’s why-But I guess I just have to trust him.”
“That girl always got in his head … He had this obsession with wanting to date the cheerleaders, typical teenage boy, I guess. She had him enamored, but then he always was ambitious, too. So, when he wanted to go to LA, she just lost it. And Donna, bless her heart, always had a soft spot for her and Theresa. Got all swept up in the idea of their kids ending up together.” Alan shakes his head, cutting himself off, before adding, “But he seems to really love you, so I’m sure he’ll come around. Lest he’ll regret it.” The door squeaks open, and Alan stands up. “Be strong,” he says as he walks back to continue tending to the garden.
I look down at the ground as I wait for Jensen to make his way over to me. He leans on the edge of the monkey bars. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles.
I shake my head and stand up. “You call that an apology? Do you even mean it? Or are you just saying it because you mom told you to?”
“Darlin’ d–”
“Don’t. Tell me the truth. How long? Just since the party or?” He shakes his head. “She knew all about my insecurities, so you’ve obviously been talking before that.”
“She’s a family friend, we text. That’s all.”
“And you still promise nothing happened at the party, or after?” He shakes his head, and I bite my lip. “I need to know.”
“I can’t prove it and you don’t fucking trust me, so what’s the point? My parents think I’m a scum bag and evidently you do too, so whatever.”
I stand up and lean against the monkey bars opposite him. “Look, I don’t want to argue. I-I love you, Jensen, you know those words aren’t easy for me to say, but it's true, and that's why it hurts so much. And I do trust you, as much as I can, but you lied to me…At the brewery told me you hadn’t seen or spoken to her in years. Now I find out you’ve been texting her all along, telling her things I told you because I trusted you. So, tell me, Jensen, how am I supposed to trust you now?”
He hangs his head, but I can see the tears falling down his cheeks. “You-You love me?" I nod, but he doesn't look up.
"That's not how I wanted to tell you...But yes...I do."
He shakes his head and slams his palm against the monkey bars. "I keep fucking this up. I shouldn’t have lied to you. I know why I did, ‘cause I knew this would happen if you knew. You were already on the verge of going back to self-harming, and I thought maybe one omission would be alright if it stopped you from going backwards…if it kept you trusting me…But I see how stupid that sounds now. I just-I didn’t want to lose you. But I’m going to anyway.” He looks back up briefly, “Maybe…maybe since I love you too, I should set you free.”
“I just told you how I feel, and you wanna-You-you want to break up?”
“God, no. I love you, but I keep hurting you. Maybe we only work when we’re apart. Maybe this summer was too much? You’ve been hurt too many times, and you’ve come so far. I can’t watch you go back downhill, especially if it’s because of me.”
“Dr Kate says the only way forward is to communicate. So, I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to break up. But, Jensen, we can’t have secrets or omissions; to trust you, I need to know everything. It doesn’t matter if you think it will hurt me; I need to know. I need to know I’m in control of my life. Which is why it hurt when you said my boundaries were rude. I don’t want to control who your friends are and who you talk to. I’ve been there. But that doesn’t mean I have to put myself in positions that make me uncomfortable. And, would I have liked for you to take my side and agree to stay with me? Sure. And will I be stressed the entire time if you go? Absolutely. But, I won’t stop you, and I would hope that when you come back, we could talk about it with no lies, omissions or half-truths. So, you make your decision for what you want to do tomorrow, but I will be sightseeing around Dallas.”
I walk back inside before he can say anything else, go up to his room and write a long email to Dr Kate, using it as a form of journaling and meditation. I close off the email requesting a session tomorrow.
A/N: I just want to start by thanking everyone for all the love on this story so far. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. Please read the TW below and only read on if you feel comfortable doing so.
Potential Trigger Warnings: mentions of violence, rape, therapy, depression
A Sweet Mishap Masterlist | Main Masterlist
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
I wake up to terrible cramping in my abdomen. I groan as I roll over. Jensen’s grip tightens around me pulling me back to his chest. “One too many wines, huh, Darlin,?” he drawls.
I shake my head. “Maybe, but that’s not all.” He snuggles closer with his chest to my back and then the cause of the throbbing pain occurs to me. “Shit! Careful.”
He hums clearly mistaking my stress for arousal. He grinds his semi-hard dick against my ass as he kisses my neck. “You be careful,” he growls in my ear. “You’ve unleashed—“
“Jensen, Stop. I can’t.” I pull away and start frantically inspecting the sheets.
He sits up and looks at me confused and apologetic. “I’m sorry, it’s just…last night…”
“It’s not that!” I pull back the quilt looking for red patches, but the sheets are perfectly clean. Relief washes over me.
“You lose something?” He asks once he finally pays attention to my actions.
I shake my head and go into the ensuite to check myself. Thankfully, I’m clean. But I put on a pad just in case before returning to the bedroom where Jensen’s sitting up with his head in his hands. I crawl back into bed beside him. “I’m sorry. That had nothing to do with you or what you were doing. I promise.” He doesn’t look up so I crawl in front of him and put my hands over his. I place a kiss on the top of his head. “I woke up with cramps. I thought I was making a mess of you and your sheets. I freaked out, that’s all. You did nothing wrong. If I wasn’t worried about a tsunami of red I would’ve been into it.”
He finally looks up. “You’re still scared of me…You thought I’d be mad…”
I start to shake my head to say no, but then stop. “I know you would understand, but I’d also understand you being disgusted and annoyed.” I consider telling him about the time Travis got so mad he threatened to make me buy all new bedding when I spotted on the sheets once, but I quickly try to push the thought aside and focus on right now.
He looks at me like he can tell I’m hiding something and then kisses my cheek. “I don’t know exactly how I’d react to that, but I know it’s not your fault and I’d never get angry at you for it.”
“The reasonable part of me knows that.”
“But the trauma part has experienced different?” I nod. He rests his hands on my waist and litters kisses over my face. “You said cramps? Want a massage? Hot water bottle? Warm bath?” He drops his face near my ear and adds, “I’ve also heard orgasms are great pain relievers…”
“Aren’t we supposed to be driving to your parents?”
“We have all day. You underestimating my skills?” I shake my head and smile. His fingers venture under the fabric of his oversized T-shirt covering my body, running over my bare hips, stomach and stopping just under the swell of my breasts.
I place my hands on his wrists stopping him. “This isn’t the right time. We should get on the road.”
He nods and reluctantly pulls back. “Maybe we can use the extra time to see Misty one last time?”
“Breakfast first?”
“Of course. How bad’s that hangover?
“I’ve had worse. Stell and I can get pretty carried away.”
The sun is low in the sky by the time we cruise through the bustling city of Dallas, passing fancy stores and five-star restaurants on the way out to the outskirts of town. Half an hour later, when the views are nothing but trees and mountain ranges again, we pull into a small community of houses with spacious yards. Jensen slows down in front of a quaint two-storey house with a beautifully decorated verandah at the front. The front yard is covered in luscious green grass with a smooth concrete path that runs from the street, through the white picket fence, up to the front steps. A large water fountain is perfectly placed in the middle of the concrete path. Jensen pulls up in front of a taller gate and punches in a code. The gates swing open slowly, and he drives down the paved driveway up to the house, parking under the shade of a large oak tree. He squeezes my hand as he shuts off the engine. “You ready?” I nod. I feel less stressed having met them already. But knowing we skipped breakfast the next morning and the events of that night bring a small ball of anxiety to the surface. I swing open the door and jump out before I can overthink anymore. I round the truck, and Jensen takes my hand in his, leading us up to the house. Just as we get to the bottom step, the large wooden door swings open, and his parents emerge smiling. They each pull us in for a hug and welcome us inside. Donna leads me to the kitchen to help set up afternoon tea while she instructs Jensen to be a gentleman and get our bags and set us up in his room. He rolls his eyes playfully, but does as he’s told. Donna hands me a glass jug of iced tea and sends me out to the back deck to set it down. The table is already set with four fancy plates and glasses over a checkered tablecloth. I place the jug in the middle and return for more. On my subsequent trips, she hands me a chocolate cake on a glass cake stand, a fruit salad, a tin cookie jar and a box of chocolates. She straightens everything out as I’m admiring the view. The yard is edged with lovely beds of vibrant flowers and vegetable patches filled with plump red tomatoes, lettuce and carrots. In the centre is a bright, yet slightly faded swing set. In one of the large trees sits a timber tree house. I try to imagine a young Jensen running around the yard with his siblings. I smile.
Arms wrap around my waist. “This feels like deja vu.”
I put my hands over his and look up at him before I hear a camera shutter and turn around.
“Geez, can’t even escape the paparazzi in my childhood home.”
“Sorry,” Donna says with her hands in the air defensively with her phone in one. “Just couldn't resist. I don’t see my boy often and this happy. Was too cute a scene to pass up.”
“We eatin’ or what?” Alan says sitting down.
Jensen pulls away and pulls a chair out for me. I sit down and he pushes it in. I’d think he’s showing off for his parents except he does this even when no one is looking. It’s just his nature. A well-raised man.
We take the rest of the afternoon to settle in. Jensen shows me his childhood bedroom where we’re staying. Unfortunately, it’s been redecorated alot since he was a child so there’s little to give me insight into what a young Jensen was like. There’s a queen bed in the centre of one wall, a wooden desk under the window and a large dresser opposite the bed. He lays on the bed with his arms behind his head, ankles crossed and eyes closed. I take the opportunity to explore the room. In his wardrobe I find a kid-sized cowboy hat, boots, vest and holister. I smile.
“Now who’s the cowboy?” I say pulling out the hat and waving it at him. He opens his eyes.
“I used to wear that every day. Even just to have breakfast. I was gonna be the best cowboy in Texas.”
“Yet you haven’t played one on screen yet?”
“See, if you’d watched the show you’d know Dean’s a big fan of cowboys. Even dressed up as one once.”
I crawl onto the bed, still holding the hat. “I bet you loved that.” He nods. “Does it bother you I haven’t watched it yet?”
He reaches for my hand. “I’m just teasing. I don’t mind. Like I said when we met it was refreshing. But now you know me, so it might be nice if you saw what I was working so hard on when we’re apart. But I know you’re a busy woman, so no stress.”
“Maybe we could watch some together?”
“I’m down for that. Now, com’ere.” He pulls me down to cuddle against his chest. I reach back to put the hat on his head, it’s way too small to fit so it just balances there. I pull out my phone and take a selfie and rest my head on his chest.
“Hey Jens?” He hums in response. “Are you ashamed of dating a cafe manager?”
“Where’d that come from?”
I roll over so I can look up at him. “Whenever I introduce myself as that you turn it to say I’m a broadway star. I’ve done one production, I’m hardly a star. But I have worked real hard to get to manager at Mamma Jo’s.”
“When did–”
“Always. Tina. Your parents. Jared. It was the first thing Gen wanted to talk about. Point is, you make this big deal about me being an actress and I’m not. I was an understudy for a few nights and background apart from that. I can hardly talk much about my extensive broadway experience. But I have a lengthy resume for knowing coffees, hot chocolates and pastries and managing people. It just feels like–”
He rubs his hand up my back. “I’m sorry. I thought I was hyping you up. It’s your dream and I’m so proud of you. I just want everyone to see how amazing you are–”
“And I appreciate that. But I think my full time job is actually quite impressive too.”
“It is. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I looked down on it. We never would’ve met if it weren’t for Mamma Jo’s. I am proud of everything you’ve accomplished, evenmore so the challenges that most can’t see, but I don’t mention them either. You’re the strongest, most resilient woman I know.”
I lean up and kiss him. He pulls me close and deepens it quickly, letting his hands fall to my ass. I pull away quickly when I hear the door hinge creek.
“Mom! What are you–Knock please!” Jensen warns as he slides me to lay beside him.
“I’m sorry, Sweetheart. However, this is my house.” He nods towards me and she continues, “I’m sorry, Y/N. I promise to respect both of your privacy while you’re here from now on.” I try to push down the embarrassment and give her a smile.
“You obviously interrupted for a reason…” Jensen says urging her to say her piece.
“I just wanted to see whether you wanted to eat in or go out for dinner? Your dad and I are happy either way. I defrosted a cottage pie or we can go down to that steak house you love?”
He looks at me then back to his mom. “Cottage pie sounds nice. We had a big day, we can go out tomorrow.”
“I’ll make a salad for the side. Any allergies I should be aware of?” She asks.
I shake my head. “None here.”
“I’ll knock when dinner’s ready.”
“Thanks, mom.” Jensen says. She closes the door and I snuggle back into Jensen’s side. “We have time for a nap if you want?”
“Tell me a story. Tell me something about you growing up.”
He hums as he thinks. I close my eyes as he begins to talk, telling me a long-winded and surely exaggerated story about him playing with his siblings. He tells me about how he used to love playing cowboys and his siblings would tease him for it but play along anyway. It makes me smile. At some point, as I’m drifting off, the story seems to change direction. And instead of his siblings, he’s recounting a tale with other, unnamed children and a dog running around a backyard while he sits back and watches.
After a quiet and enjoyable dinner with his parents, Jensen says he wants to go on a little adventure but needs a little time to prep. I take the chance to shower and then change into a pair of comfortable shorts and tank-top and then throw one of Jensen’s hoodies over the top in case the night air has a bite. Having had a lovely nap prior, I’m more than eager to see where he wants to take me. When he finally comes to get me he urges me to wear my new boots. We say goodnight to his parents so they don’t have to wait up for us and then get in his truck. After a few quiet, comfortable minutes he pulls off the road and down a dirt track. We bounce around as he carefully navigates the uneven terrain and winding path through the trees. The further we drive the darker it gets and I can see the stars twinkling in the clear night sky. Eventually, we come out into a clearing and drive along a glistening lake. He reverses up to the lake side and shuts off the car. He gets out first before helping me. As I take in the breathtaking surroundings he opens the tailgate and fusses around in the tray bed. I wander over to help and see that he’s set it up with a thin mattress, blankets and pillows. He lifts me up and then climbs in after me. We snuggle under the blankets and gaze up at the sky. It’s the clearest sky I’ve seen in years.
“You don’t get stars like this in New York” I say, a little awestruck.
“Vancouver either really, at least where I live and work.”
“So, how many girls–nevermind, I don’t wanna know.”
“We used to come out here to drink and smoke, and all the other things we didn’t want our parents to know about. It’s also a good place to think.” He rubs his thumb over the healing scar on my palm. “Speaking of thinking…I've been thinking about what you said earlier. About how I introduce you to people.”
“It’s fine…”
“No it’s not. It hurt you and I’m sorry. I was so focused on wanting people to see your talent that I wasn't honoring the work you do every day. Managing people, running a business. That takes real skill. I’m gonna do better.”
“Thanks.” We lie in comfortable silence for a while, watching the stars twinkle above us. The night air is cool but not cold, and wrapped in the blankets with Jensen's warmth beside me, I feel perfectly content.
“Can I ask you something?” I say eventually.
“Always.”
“When you were telling me that story earlier, about playing cowboys as a kid... at the end, it sounded like you were talking about something else. Was that?”
Jensen goes still beside me, and I wonder if I've overstepped. But then he lets out a long breath. “I thought you were asleep. But yeah, I know it's way too early to be having those thoughts, but being with you makes me think about things I haven't considered in years.”
“I think about it too. But it scares me. The idea of wanting something that much again. Just like the thought of loving you scares me, because it means giving you the power to break my heart. But, maybe... maybe being scared together is better than being safe alone.”
“Does that mean?” He turns onto his side looking at me in disbelief. “Is that your way of saying…”
I nod. “I know after recent events it’s probably still too soon, but I just can’t help falling for you.”
He places his hand on my cheek softly. “You had a minor relapse because of my actions. Where your thoughts went was understandable given your past experiences and my lack of response. This will be a long road, I know that, but I’m excited to travel it with you. Detours, roadblocks and all.”
“I,” he shakes his head. “No, don't stop me this time. I need to be able to say the words out loud. I love you, Jensen. I’m sorry that doesn’t come with unconditional trust, zero jealousy, and simple intimacy, but I do love you.”
He leans forward and kisses me passionately. When he pulls back he says, “I don't need those things. I just need you and whatever you are able to give me as you’re comfortable to give it.” He pecks my lips. “And if it wasn’t already abundantly clear, I love you too.” Before I can answer, he's crawling over me, his lips meeting mine in a kiss that's soft and sweet and full of promise. He deepens the kiss and my hands slip into his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. He groans against my lips. “You drive me crazy, Darlin’. Tell me to stop.”
“Not yet.”
When we eventually break apart, he rolls onto his back and pulls me to his side. Above us, the stars continue their ancient dance, silent witnesses to this moment of possibility stretching between us like the endless Texas sky.
A/N: I just want to start by thanking everyone for all the love on this story so far. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. Please read the TW below and only read on if you feel comfortable doing so.
Potential Trigger Warnings: mentions of violence, rape, therapy, depression
A Sweet Mishap Masterlist | Main Masterlist
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
We get up bright and early to go back to the shelter and visit Misty. While we’re there they get us to do an interview to get to know us more and review our suitability to adopt Misty. We explain our situations and requirement to travel frequently for work and to visit each other and I can tell they’re instantly sceptical. Jensen tries to explain that he’d be the primary owner, taking her with him to Vancouver where he films for most of the year. They look at me and explain that she seems more comfortable with me, but agree to consider it.
After extensive coaxing and patience, she finally lets me pat her and I feel an instant connection. I smile at Jensen and he smiles back, but then I pull back. “You should be working with her. She’d be yours”. He takes my place but she cowers back. He sighs.
He looks down at his watch and stands up. “We’d better get going. I’ll never hear the end of it if we’re late.”
I nod and kneel down quickly to say goodbye to Misty. The drive back to Jensen’s house is tense. I can tell he’s disappointed about Misty. I put my hand on his thigh and break the silence, “I want her…”
He glances at me and nods, “I know.”
“I’m sorry.”
He puts his hand over mine. “You should submit a separate application. Take her back to New York, ask Stella to house her until you find a new place?”
“She’d say yes in a heartbeat. But-”
“There’ll be others. I’ll go to some shelters in Vancouver. She’d be with us until you have to leave.”
“But, we’re still traveling. We have to visit your parents and mine yet. They won’t approve it. These things take more time than we have.”
“I think if you said you’d be her owner full time they would. And we can bring her. We wouldn’t be able to pick her up before we leave for Dallas tomorrow, but I’m sure your parents wouldn’t mind if we were able to bring her home next week. I think you’d be good for each other. I’d feel better if you had her around instead of being alone.”
“I work so much, I couldn’t give her what she deserves.”
He pulls into the garage, “just think about it.” I nod and climb out. He unlocks the door and ushers me in first. I glance at all the stuff we bought for Misty and then quickly turn away and go upstairs. From the bottom of the stairs Jensen asks, “You wanna shower first?”
I turn back to face him. “I can use the other room, all my stuff’s still in there anyway.”
He climbs a few steps to close the gap. He smirks and then says, “Or we could–“ he looks away. “Sorry, that was—forget it.”
I put my hand on his cheek softly to make him look at me. “How much time do we have?” He stutters a few times trying to find his words. I lean down to peck his lips to make him stop and then dash into the master suite. I hear his heavy footsteps as he chases me and it’s not long before his arms are wrapped around my waist. He spins us in a circle as he chuckles.
Next to my ear he says, “Long enough”. He carries me into the ensuite before putting me down. He turns on the water and then strips quickly. I do the same, trying not to overthink it all or focus on how naked he is infront of me. The second my underwear hits the tiles he pulls me under the stream. His lips are on my neck as his hands roam over my sides. He pulls back slightly to look at my face. “You’re not on birth control yet, are you?”
I shake my head. “Sorry. I-”
“No need to explain. We just need to be careful is all.” He kisses my cheek. “Think you’ll get on it soon?”
I wrap my arms around his neck. “Yeah, but-”
“No pressure, Darlin’. I’m not trying to push.”
“I know. I want to. But maybe not rushed in the shower?”
“Of course not. This is a big enough step for now.” He hands dip to my lower back and over my ass cheeks. “So beautiful.”
I blush. “You’re not too bad yourself.” He pushes me against the wall as he kisses me deeply. My fingers tangle in his hair and he groans before he pulls back. He steps back and spins be around and cleans my body and hair. I return the favour and then we both get out. He wraps me in a heated towel before tying one low on his hips. I look at him through the mirror on the opposite wall. He goes into the wardrobe to get dressed and I go through my suitcase for options. I find the baby-blue summer dress that he got me for Christmas. I take it and clean underwear and go into the second room.
When I come out, fully dressed with my makeup done, I find him in the kitchen looking out over the river with a glass of water in his hand. I wrap my arms around his waist from behind and stand on my tip toes to kiss his cheek. His free hand rests on mine. He sculls the water and then turns around. He looks me up and down as a grin takes over his face. “You brought it? It looks more amazing on you than I imagined. I wonder if we have time to make a pit stop?”
“What for?”
“Boots and a hat would complete that look perfectly.”
I hold up my foot in my white sneakers, “what’s wrong with my shoes?”
“Nothing. But, you’re Texan, be proud. Com’on.” He takes my hand and leads us out to the car. He lets me pick the music as he drives. I take in the scenery and bustling streets as we sing along to everything from classic rock to country and pop. Eventually he pulls into a carpark infront of a large brick and tan clad building with ‘Cavender’s Boot City’ in large red and white neon lights.
“So you weren’t kidding then?”
He shakes his head. “Should’a brought you here sooner. I can’t believe I’m dating a Texan who’s forgotten her roots.” He gets out and jogs round to open my door and help me out. “Truth is, I could use a new hat too, wanna help me pick?”
“Absolutely!” We walk in hand-in-hand and he greets the lady behind the register politely.
“Long time no see, Jensen Good to have you back. And who’s this?”
“Likewise, Tina. This is my girlfriend, YN. Can you believe, Texan born and raised but she doesn’t own a hat or boots?”
“That just won’t do! Come on lovely, let’s find you the perfect set!” Tina says, full of energy. She leads us through the aisles to the women’s boot section. My eyes go wide at the shelves stacked to the brim with boots. There are brown, black, white, tan, pink, blue all in a variety of designs. Jensen picks up a white pair with tan embroidery. They're nice but I know I’d get white dirty, so I shake my head. Tina shows me down the aisle pointing out a variety of different designs, until I spot a light brown pair with blue and yellow flowers embroidered on them. Tina asks for my size before slipping out the back to find a pair for me to try.
While I wait I sit on a bench and lean down to untie my sneakers, but then Jensen crouches down to untie them for me. Tina comes back and sees this and smiles, “Such a gentleman. Good to see fame hasn’t changed you.” She pulls the boots out of the box and hands them to Jensen and I slip my feet in. “So, you on that demon show with him, YN?”
“No. I’m not–I help manage a cafe in New York.”
“She’s also on Broadway!” Jensen adds and then looks at me as he stands up, “You’re a star and everyone should know it.”
As I stand up to do a lap I say, “I was an understudy on Grease, once. But that’s my dream.”
The boots fit perfectly, hugging my feet and calves comfortably as I walk. As I get back to Jensen and Tina he asks, “How’d they feel?”
“Like a dream!”
“Awesome! I also found the perfect hat to match.” Tina says. She opens a hat box and pulls out a classic cowgirl hat in a slightly lighter brown felt with a matching brown leather and blue band. She sits it on my head and they both smile. “I think we found you a cowgirl, Jensen!”
“I think so too. Isn’t she a beauty?”
“Definitely a catch!” Tina grins. I blush, but then I think of the price tag and bite my lip.
“How much is all this, Tina?”
Jensen holds a hand up to her and looks pleadingly at me. “Please let me get this one. Let me spoil you. Consider it a set with the dress?” He puts his hands together and juts out his bottom lip.
“Fine, just this once.”
“Thank you!” He pecks my lips and then turns back to Tina. “You can put it on my account. I also need a new hat, left my other one up in Canada. Got one that’ll match my girl?”
“Of course, right this way.” She leads us to the men’s hat section and we start to browse. He tries a few on, they all look incredible on him, but Tina finally picks out a Stetson in the same colour as mine with a simple leather band and silver buckle. The display one sits a little awkwardly on his head but it looks great. Tina disappears to grab one in his size before ringing up the bill. As she’s calculating the costs she gestures at his eye, “So what happened there?” She looks down at my bandaged hand and continues, “He forget to pick up his socks and you got him good?”
I shake my head and Jensen steps in. “Hers was an innocent kitchen mishap. This,” He gestures at his eye, “Was a drunken brawl.”
“Still can’t hold your liquor, huh?” She sighs, smirking. “It’s ready when you are.”
Jensen covers the screen so I can’t see the price and swipes his card. “You can be an independent woman in New York, for now you’re my cowgirl and I get to spoil you.” We say goodbye to Tina and he rests his arm around my shoulders as we walk out to the car. “Now you’ll fit right in with the Padalecki’s. They’re true Texas too, well, Gen’s from all over, but she fits right in. You’re gonna get along great, you actually have a lot in common but I’ll let you guys hash that out.”
It takes half an hour to get to the Padalecki’s house but it’s unmistakable when we pull up. It’s a massive property. The house is beautiful and very Texas. Jensen shuts off the engine and jumps out quickly. Two young boys come barrelling out of the door and into his arms the second his feet are on the cement. They giggle loudly as he scoops them up in his arms and spins them around. I smile at the happy vision as I climb out of the truck. Both boys go shy as they see me, hiding between Jensen’s legs as he puts them back on the ground. Jared and a beautiful woman I assume must be his wife emerge from the house and wave. I crouch down to the boys’ height and introduce myself to them, asking their names. When they refuse to say a word Jared comes over and introduces them before scooping the younger one up and hanging him upside down. He laughs loudly. I stand back up and introduce myself to Jared’s wife as she joins us in the driveway. She introduces herself as Genevieve and then invites us all inside. She offers to give me a tour as the men take the boys out the back while they finish barbequing dinner. As she leads me through their beautifully architectured home she shares a little about herself. She tells me about her time studying in New York and how she started acting in regional theatre productions. I quickly understand Jensen’s earlier comments about how similar we are. In return I tell her a little about my time on Broadway and my degree, but also tell her how I’m currently focusing on the cafe that I’ve recently been promoted to managing.
Once we make it to the kitchen she offers me a glass of wine. I happily accept and then we join the boys out on the back deck. I take in the stunning panoramic views overlooking paddocks, perfectly manicured gardens, chicken coups and their pool. It makes my heart warm with a feeling of home. I realise how much I’ve truly missed Texas. I jump a little when two warm, strong arms wrap around me from behind. Jensen kisses my neck and cheek before resting his chin on my shoulder. “How’s my beautiful Texan girl doin’?”
“Loving this view.”
“Considering moving home yet?”
“Maybe…But–”
“Nope, no buts. Maybe is good enough for me.”
I look back out at the view. “I love it here and I lov–” I turn in his arms so I can face him.
“You don’t have to say it.”
I nod. “I’ve been trying to for a while.”
“I know. But there’s no pressure.”
“And that’s why…well, one of the many reasons why. But, regardless, both of our lives are elsewhere, at least for now.”
“Yeah, I know. But we can keep making it work.”
I nod and he leans in to kiss me, but he pulls back when Genevieve calls out loudly, “Come on, lovebirds! Dinner’s gettin’ cold!” Genevieve is already plating up food for the boys while urging them to sit up nicely at the table. Jensen takes my hand and leads us over to the table to join everyone. We all fill our plates and glasses and Gen says Grace before we dig in. The boys finally start to warm up to me as we all eat. They tell animated stories of their time at kindy and daycare. Once they finish eating and are excused to go run around with the dogs, we start to have more grown up conversations. We tell them about our holiday so far and our time with Misty. They tell us about some of their recent parenting adventures and managing the property. It feels so comfortable. They both accept me instantly. Jensen squeezes my thigh lightly under the table. Eventually, Gen starts to clear the table and I offer to help. We stack the plates and cutlery and then I help her carry it inside to the kitchen. She rinses and I stack the dishwasher, trying to keep the bandage dry. I can feel her looking at it, but she doesn’t pry.
“So, is he treating you right?”
“Yeah. I’ve had some bad experiences in the past but Jensen’s different. I still have concerns and anxieties that’ll likely never go away, but deep down I do trust him.”
“He’s a good man. They both are. He’s helped Jared through a lot when we’re apart. It’s a tough gig being with someone when they work so far away and then the whole publicity thing, but it’s worth it. They’re worth it. I can tell he loves you and Jared’s told me a lot too.”
“They are. I guess if I ever want to make it on broadway then the hope would be that I would make a name for myself too. I’m just concerned about people thinking I’m using him for my career, when I’m not.”
“People will talk. The headlines will hurt, trust me. But all that matters is what the two of you and the people who truly know you, think and know. And I can already tell you’re not in it for money. The way you look at each other…It’s how Jared and I looked at each other.”
“Thanks. It means a lot coming from someone who’s been through it.”
“I mean, I’m an actor too, but I don’t have quite the following they do. Plus, I was the villain so fans already hated me. So, trust me, I know. You’re not alone.” She closes the dishwasher, leaving space for our glasses and then pulls out her phone. “I can give you my number if you ever want to talk to someone who gets it?”
I pull out my phone and input her number. “Thanks. I’m sure I’ll take you up on that. Especially once I get back to New York.”
“Please do!”
We rejoin the boys outside. Jensen’s eyes instantly find mine and he smiles. I blush. He wraps his arm around me when I sit down.
“So, when’s the wedding?” Jared teases. I tense up and Jensen squeezes me. Shaking his head at his friend. As if sensing the tense atmosphere, Tom and Shep run over and tackle their dad. Gen then wrangles them and ushers them inside to get ready for bed. “You think you two’ll have some rugrats someday?” Jared asks.
“We’re just lookin’ at right now, brother.”
“A good way to be. Anyway, I should help Gen with our little monsters. Feel free to just chill,” Jared says getting up.
“Wanna go for a walk?” Jensen asks as Jared walks inside. I nod. We wander down the stairs, past the pool and vegetable gardens. We don’t say anything. The quiet is comforting. He holds me close as we walk. Eventually, we reach a secluded sitting area, which he obviously knew about. He sits down and pulls me onto his lap. His lips are instantly on mine. When he pulls away for breath he says, “I’m sorry if Jared over stepped back there. He means well.”
“He’s excited for his friend. I get it. Anyway, I was thinking … My-uh it’ll be that time soon and so I’ll be able to get protection that can start working sooner … I want to take control of my body again.”
“Are you?” He nods down, “Do you need anything?”
I peck his lips and shake my head. “I said soon. And it’s something I’m used to handling on my own.”
“Alright Miss Independant…No cuddles or massages for you then.”
I give him my best sad puppy dog eyes and say, “No cuddles?”
He wraps his arms around me and pulls me to his chest. “You know I can’t say no to you. Plus, I’d be denying myself too. You can have as many cuddles as you want.”
He pulls back slightly and I climb off his lap as we hear footsteps approaching. Jared and Gen give us a suspicious look as they sit on another bench.
“Just showing my girl your beautiful property,” Jensen says.
“Sure you were,” Jared says smirking, “Never should’a showed you this place. Do I have to sanitize that seat before the boys sit on it?”
I blush and look down. Jensen grabs my hand and squeezes it. “Just talkin’...and maybe a little light make out. Nothin’ sinister.”
“Perfect spot for it,” Gen says smiling. “You want another drink or a game or something?”
“No more for me, I’m drivin’ but how ‘bout you?” Jensen says, looking at me.
“I could go another wine, but just one more. Then what games you got? Just be warned, I can be quite competitive,” I say.
“Bring it on,” Jared says, “We all are. Couple versus Catan?”
Jensen looks at me for approval. “May the best couple win!” I say. I stand up pulling Jensen with me and we make our way back to the house. The men set up the game while Gen and I get refills and snacks.
A/N: Hey guys! Guess who's finally back! I'm so sorry I stayed away so long. I never stopped thinking about this story, just needed some time. I hope you enjoy this (long-awaited) chapter and the rest that I have in store for you.
Potential Trigger Warnings: mentions of violence, rape, therapy, depression, cheating
A Sweet Mishap Masterlist | Main Masterlist
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“It's beautiful,” I say, taking in the sprawling property. A spacious patio stretches along one side on the large bar-style building, dotted with wooden tables and string lights hanging overhead.
“It’s one of my favourite places. I’m proud of it.”
He pushes open a large door around the back of the building. Revealing gleaming steel tanks, the air rich with the earthy scent of hops and malt. Several people in matching brewery t-shirts look up as we enter, their curious expressions quickly shifting to knowing smiles when they see Jensen before going back to work. He shows me around the brewing area, explaining the process with infectious enthusiasm. Despite being much more into wine, I listen intently and get caught up in his passion. It feels good to be wrapped up in something positive and learn another side of him.
Once we’ve explored all the behind the scene parts, he leads us out to the dining area with one hand on the small of my back. He then steps behind the bar with practiced ease, pulling two glasses from underneath. “Wanna try some? It’s slightly different out the tap than the can.” I nod as I watch him perfectly pour two different beers. He slides them across the bar and then comes back around to sit beside me. We both take a sip before he takes a deep breath and says, “About last night…”
And just like that the tension is back. I set the glass down carefully, mindful of the condensation seeping into the bandages. He dives into a lengthy explanation. He tells me all about his past relationship with Maeve in high school and how they ended when he moved away and how he hasn’t seen or spoken to her since. Then he recounts the night, how he got swept up in the past and her antics, then the fight with Gavin. He tells me that Gavin accused him of being a terrible person and especially boyfriend, and them both being drunk it quickly divulged into a brawl of fists instead of words. Finally, he tells me he regrets a number of his decisions and wishes he’d come home with me when I asked.
In return, I explain the thoughts that ran through my head when he wouldn’t answer my calls or messages and everything that Dr Kate said. When he asks about the glass and cuts, I tell him everything. From the anger and guilt of breaking it to the moment of weakness almost reopening old scars and how the physical pain helps to quiet the noise in my head. The room is dark when I stop talking. The air between us heavy, but somehow easier to breathe with everything in the open. I look into his green eyes and say, “I feel like you’re taking a sledge hammer to all of my carefully constructed walls.”
“Maybe we can use the bricks to build a new home, together. I want a future with you, Y/N. I hate that I hurt you…again. When all I want is for you to be happy. I said I wanted to love you and spoil you and shower you in gold, but instead I–” he nods at my hands.
“It takes two. I have been too scared to admit it, but last night affected me so much because–because I have started to let my walls down with you. I have a long way to go in healing my own scars and from what Dr Kate says I could be working on that for the rest of my life. But…I–”
Jensen stands up and hold out his hand, cutting me off. “It’s getting dark, let’s go for a walk.” I take his hand and we walk outside. The grounds are massive. As we round the building I take in the large playground that sits nestled under the shade of a massive oak tree. The sky is a multitude of colours overhead. We walk in silence until we reach the swing set. Jensen sits on one and I sit on the other. As he kicks out his long legs he says, “I always imagined this as a place for families. A place where one day I’ll bring my own family and watch my kids as they play while I sit up on the deck enjoying a beer with my wife and friends.”
“How many?”
“I always thought two. And a couple of dogs.”
“That sounds nice.” I glance over at him. “But you have to know, I’m not ready for any of that yet.”
“Nor am I. I’m just saying, one day…Although, actually, I was thinking of getting a dog. Jared has a dog and I’m a little jealous. It can get lonely up there in the cold.”
“Can we get one while we’re in Austin?”
He lights up as he looks over at me. “We?”
I blush. “I mean…Could I help you choose?”
“Of course. We have nothing planned for tomorrow…”
“Jens…You can’t just–”
“Why not? It can come everywhere with us. Then to Vancouver with me. I’ve been thinking about it for a while; it’s not a split-second decision.”
After a relaxing breakfast by the pool, we head out to a local pet shelter. He explains he doesn’t really want a puppy, as he doesn’t have time to train it, so instead he wants to rescue a slightly older dog. My adoration and love for him only grow as I watch him pet and play with the dogs at the shelter. An elder lady with greying hair gives us a tour of the facilities and introduces us to a few of the dogs in their cement and iron cages as Jenen explains what he’s looking for. She then leads us to a small, fenced courtyard to wait while she gets each dog ready.
The first dog we meet is a sprightly 3-year-old golden retriever. Blondie is full of energy and jumps all over Jensen as soon as he squeaks one of the rubber balls. She licks his face and I grimace. Jensen laughs. She bounds over to me and I step back. Noticing my apprehension to her boisterous energy, he requests if we could meet another option to consider. The lady is quick to oblige, getting Blondie back on a lead and taking her back to her cage.
She returns with an adorable French bulldog named Boulder. She explains he’s slightly older at 7 years. Jensen tries to attract him, throwing a ball and shaking around a rope, but Boulder just lays down at his feet and rolls onto his back for belly rubs. I crouch down and pamper him. He kicks out his back leg as I rub his belly. I could sit and rub his tubby little tummy all day, but I can tell Jensen’s looking for something a little more energetic and playful. I look up at the lady and ask about a medium-sized fluffy dog I saw hiding under a blanket during our tour. She explains that I’m likely thinking of Misty, a timid 3 year-old goldendoodle that got brought in a few weeks ago. She goes on to tell us that Misty was surrendered to them from a violent household, so she’s highly skittish and needs a lot of love and attention, but with time she could be a very happy and lively dog. I give Jensen a questioning look and he nods, so I ask if we could meet her.
She puts Boulder back on his lead and then takes us to Misty’s kennel. She lets us go in one at a time, so Jensen urges me to go first. I crouch down slowly and hold my open palm out to her as I scoot inside the cage. She lifts her head and looks at me. She’s trembling lightly so I stop moving and just keep my hand held out to her.
With a gentle voice I say, “Hey Misty, I’m Y/N. I understand you’re scared, but I promise I won’t hurt you.” I can feel Jensen watching me with apprehension. I know he doesn’t want or have time for a high-maintenance dog, and I can’t take her with me. But, there’s just something about her that captured my attention the second I saw her. Her pain and fear is so similar to my own. “I know what it’s like to be scared and hurt. People have hurt me too. But there are also good ones. My friend, Jensen, here is a good one. We would both love you and care for you and never hurt you.” When she stays still I look back over my shoulder. The lady hands me a packet of treats. She explains they haven’t made much progress themselves yet, but that I’m welcome to keep trying. I pull out a treat and snap it into pieces. I carefully lean over to place a piece on the edge of her bed and then lean back. I wait a while but she doesn’t take it, so I crawl out. I look up at Jensen, “We can go back to Blondie if you want.”
He nods as he watches Misty. Then he smiles. I look back over at her and the treat is gone. “I’m not one to back down to a challenge and she deserves a family that understands her.”
“But I can’t–”
“Promise you’ll stay in my life and visit as often as possible.”
“No, you’re not using her as a bargaining chip. You know I can’t promise that. And nor can you.”
He crouches down and places his hand on the still open door. I hand him the treats and he gently places them in a trail from her bed to the door before moving back. She slowly eats the ones closest to her but stops far enough back that we can’t reach her.
The lady allows us to work with her all afternoon, and we make small progress. She agrees to mark her as on hold for us and says we can fill out the required paperwork in the meantime and then continue to visit with her over the coming days while they review it.
On the way home he insists on stopping by a pet store to buy a few essentials in preparation for when he finds the perfect dog. We take turns pushing the cart as we both fill it with all kinds of toys, food, treats, cleaning supplies and bedding.
“You don’t have to humor me with Misty, you know? She will be your dog, so the decision should be yours.”
“And it will be, primarily, for now…But–and this isn’t the ultimatum I made it sound like earlier, just a hope–I hope that she will be ours.” He stops the cart and takes my hand. “I know it’s early, but I see a future with you.”
“I’m hard work…”
He shakes his head. “You’re a work in progress and you’re worth it all. Just like Misty.”
Back at his place, we unpack all the purchases. We set up a cozy bed in the corner beside the couch and another upstairs at the end of the bed. The food and drink bowls go by the back door. I sit on the lounge room floor, fluffing up the bed and arranging the toys. Jensen takes a seat beside me, resting his arm around my shoulders to pull me close. I snuggle into his side as I play with the bandages on my hand.
“I’m sorry about the accidental ultimatum earlier. I have no intention of trapping you. I want you to be happy.”
I look up at him. “I am.” He presses a kiss to my head. I pick up a squeaky, squishy pig we bought and turn it over in my hands. “What happens if they say no or time runs out before they say yes? I mean, we meant to be going to see your parents on the weekend…Then mine next week.”
“If not her then I’ll keep looking. I’ve been planning this for a while. And even after you have to go back, I’ve still got a little more time off between conventions before going back. Unless…” He looks away, “Nevermind.”
“Were you gonna offer to visit me in New York? My place isnt dog-friendly.”
“Maybe it’s time you got a new place?”
“Jens…” I shake my head. “I like the–”
“You’re terrified everytime you’re there, understandably. I want you to feel safe and comfortable at home. I could help with the bond and the move.” I go to protest but he holds up his hand and continues. “A loan, pay me back when you can. It’s a helping hand for your well-being.”
“It’s a lot of work…But I am dreading going back there.”
“Exactly. You shouldn’t dread going home. I could fly back with you and stay with you until you can find somewhere new and then help you move. It would make me feel more at ease.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“I guess that’s good enough for now. I still have some time to convince you. You hungry?” I nod. “Wanna go out?” I shake my head. “Alright. Night in it is. Wanna help me cook?” I start to shake my head, but then his hand drops from my shoulders and he stands up. “Com’on. At least keep me company.”
Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, friends to lovers, humor, forced proximity, fluff, smut (oral f and m receiving, p in v sex,), light angst, love confessions
Summary/Warnings: Dean is your best friend, and nothing more, no matter how much you want that to be different.
But he's trying to tell you something. And when you get trapped together for a week, he finally gets the chance.
Author's Note: Request from an anon! I lost my goddamn mind.
Word Count: 17.7k
“Are you smelling this, sweetheart?”
“Yeah,” you sigh, wrinkling your nose as another blob of something drifts past your feet. “We’re standing next to each other, Dean.”
Dean points his flashlight up, enough for you to see his grin in the dark. “You remember when Sammy farted last month, then pretended it was my Baby leaking something?”
You snort, kicking away something strangely hard that you don’t want to think about. “Yeah?”
“Least this still isn’t that bad.”
You look up to give him a flat, amused look, and freeze.
“Dean-“
“C’mon, he’s not here-“
“No, Dean, fuck-“
You grab out your gun, aim it right over his shoulder, and shoot.
The last swamp monster thuds into the water, and Dean stares at you with wide eyes.
“Uh, how close was I to bein’ a swap snack?”
You shrug, giving him a small smile. “Don’t undervalue yourself, dude. You would have been swamp dinner.”
Dean snorts, wading through the water to your side, and rests his hand on your back. There’s no real reason for him to do that. You’re standing up just fine. No serious injuries. No panic.
He’s just touching you. Casually. The way he always has, without thought, because he trusts you enough not to turn around and try to cut off his hand.
And it’s always driven you out of your mind.
Dean’s casually put his hand on your body since you met him. Since the first hunt, where he and Sam saved the helpless little vampire victim, and you tried to shoot them because you didn’t know that the people carrying machetes were the good guys. Dean had put his hand on your upper arm and lower back, helped you to your feet, and been the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.
You can still feel where he touched you, all those years ago. It’s branded a level right under your skin, the lightening and fire sensation of a broad, rough hand being so gentle on your skin. And every time he’s touched you since, you’ve still been able to feel it. Sinking deeper and deeper, spreading and growing with every accidental brush of his hand and shoulder bump and time you’ve been pressed right against him on a hunt. It’s going to burn forever. You don’t want it to go out, even if it drives you out of your mind.
Days the bunker is empty, and you lock the door to your room with your legs spread. Whenever he makes you—and Sam, but that’s not important—breakfast. If you’re watching a movie, and he puts his arm over your shoulder because he’s comfortable. Every time he whispers a joke in your ear, grins so wide when you laugh. Every fucking night you have to spend in the same room with him, pretending you don’t feel like you’re burning alive with a light that won’t flicker out.
Most motels don’t offer three beds. So there are times where the couch fits Dean—never Sam, and you’re not allowed to sleep on the couch because they’re dumbasses who think they’re gentlemen—and times where you just have to suck it up and share.
Sharing with Sam is fine. You can’t grind into the sheets as the fire sweeps into your core—Dean likes to walk out of the shower without a shirt, and he might hate you—because fucking Sam is right on the other side of the bed.
When you share with Dean, it’s… different.
You can’t fuck yourself then, either. But it becomes unbearable. Your body seems to ache, just to touch him. Sometimes the light will be angled just right through the window, and you’ll be able to watch the passing headlights of the cars drift over his pretty face.
Because Dean’s face is still so fucking beautiful. It’s one of those few things you know will never change.
But you don’t want anything to change. Change is the thing that leaves you alone, dead in the water, trying to use the stars to guide yourself when the sky is pitch black. You’ve never been good at it. When you joined hunting, it took months for you to fully adjust just to living in the bunker.
Dean had gotten you through that. Made you comfortable. Taught you how to hold a gun, and throw a punch, and made you waffles when you’d finally managed to knock him on his ass.
“I know you went easy on me,” you’d told him, spraying the whip cream on your plate, and he’d chuckled.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart.”
“It’s okay,” you’d shrugged. “Next time you can go all out, and I’ll still win.”
Dean had grinned at you, and you’d felt that heat rising to your cheeks. It wasn’t fair how he could do that. How you’d gotten so good at being around him and not acting like just one word in your direction made you feel high. At this point it had just been a crush, on the big handsome man who saved your life.
Even then, it had still felt like a massive, consuming type of crush. The kind like a tree, that wouldn’t stop rooting into your heart and growing. The kind that you’d known would get you in trouble, if you weren’t careful.
“Sure you will.” Dean had reached for the whipped cream can, and you’d whacked his hand with it. “Hey, c’mon-“
“I’m not done.” You’d finished the pile with a little swirl, and passed him the can with a smile.
He’d stared at you, then the whipped cream mountain. “You trying to drown yourself?”
“Maybe.”
Dean had reached forward, taken some on his finger—ruining the artwork, but it had been Dean, so you were never mad—and dabbed it on your nose. He’d laughed at your glare, and you’d tried to bite his finger.
It had just made him laugh harder.
“You look cute.” He’d said, lookin back to his own waffle, and it had been like being shot up with fire.
He thought you were cute. Dean thought you were cute. And he’d touched you again. And maybe if you’d asked him to, he could have kissed you and you could run your hand through his hair and taste the salt of his sweat, and he could show you how to do a few other moves, right here at the table, and-
“You good?” He’d asked you, and he’d sounded concerned. Not starved for you, just worried. Like a friend would be.
And you didn’t want anything to change. This was already better than you could have dared to ask for.
So you’d smiled at him, and nodded.
And nothing ever had to be different.
Friends.
You were so fucking lucky just to be his friend. The one-night stands came and went, and you were still here, with Dean. You could take that.
Take it, and use it to kindle all that heat in your body. Burn it and burn it until it was ash.
Keep pretending that your hunger and fever for Dean would ever go out, when you know that this is forever.
You’ve known it was love since you were in a diner, almost a year ago, and he made the waitress get you the children’s coloring mat, because it had crossword puzzles and you didn’t want to ask.
“Don’t bother her, Dean
“I’m not bothering her, sweetheart, it’s asking her to carry freakin’ paper-“
“No, it’s stupid, I’ll get a newspaper-“
“We’ll get you a newspaper after.” He shrugged, giving you a shockingly serious look. “But it’s not stupid. You’re not stupid. We’re getting that kids mat.”
You’d flushed, and nodded. And you loved him.
Love him.
Now, even in the swamp monster mess, his touch and attention do the exact same thing to you. It’s going to drive you out of your mind, one day. But you don’t want to try and stop it.
That would mean moving yourself away from Dean, where he couldn’t touch you. And it might not even do anything, but make you miss him. Make things change.
So you’ll lean slightly into his touch—just in case—and smile at him in the dark.
When he smiles back, it’s like the whole world lights up.
And you never want that to change either.
“You think we need to clean this shit up?” He nods around you, making a face as a fresh wave of swamp-stench drifts through the air, and you shake your head.
“Can I suggest an alternate plan?”
Dean nods. “You know I love a backup, sweetheart.”
You flush again, bowing your head to make sure he won’t see. “I vote we just blow it up.”
“That’s a plan.” He bumps your shoulder, and you can hear the joy in his voice. “I’m team blow it up.” He pauses. “Can I-“
“Yeah.” You smile at your feet. “You can do the work.”
“Awesome.” He starts to walk towards the exit, and all you can do is follow him. “Then we’ll get all this shit off us.”
You hum an agreement, and try not to pick apart his happiness too much. It’s always good when Dean is happy, but you’ve developed a bad habit of trying to pinpoint why. If he gets excited when you buy him pie because you bought him pie, or it’s pie. If he grins at you when he sees you because he’s happy to see you, or just to see a friend.
If he just wants to use his grenade launcher, or if he’s happy you gave him a reason to.
It never gets you anywhere, to think of that. And no matter what conclusion you draw, it’s never going to change anything.
But it’s still a fun way to torture yourself. Watching him with a smile as he blasts the old cabin, and the whole thing goes crashing down. Returning his thumbs up with a smile, and giving him a high five when he walks back to the car.
“Another monster, ganked.” He puts the launcher back in the truck, and you hum.
“And it’s a swamp monster. Big day for you.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Yeah, guess it is. Didn’t really think about that.”
You blink at him. “Really?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs, giving you an odd smile you don’t really understand. “Guess I was worrying about other shit.”
“Other-“
“C’mon.” He raises his voice over yours, grabbing your arms and starting to herd you towards the passenger’s seat. “We gotta get you back to the motel. You’re gonna catch a cold.”
“Me?” You frown at him. “You’ll get one too, Winchester-“
“Nah. I don’t catch colds.”
You snort as he closes the door behind you. You wait for him to get behind the wheel before you’re leaning forward, raising your brows.
“Everyone gets colds, Dean.”
“Not me.” He winks at you, turning on the engine. “I run hot, baby.”
Jesus.
That’s like being doused in gasoline and struck with a match. It is freezing outside—swamp monsters somehow ended up in Montana—and you are drenched in something worse than water, but all you can feel is the wired heat under your skin, as you play that over and over in your head.
It’s just another moment, that means nothing to Dean and everything to you.
But there are so many of them. They make up the tapestry of Dean, that lines your ribs. Remind you over and over that you love him, and every bit of his happiness—whether you’re the direct cause or not—is a rare, priceless gift he gives to so few people.
Dean does love you.
As a best friend.
You really can pretend that’s enough, just as long as it never has to change.
Dean opens the door to the motel room for you, with a wide, smug grin. “You want first shower?”
“Sure, but-“ You flick a chuck of Swamp Monster off his shoulder with a pointed look. “I think you need it more.”
“I’ve been covered in worse.” He shrugs. “You go, I gotta call Sammy and give him the update.”
“Dean, he’s on vacation, don’t bother him-“
“He can pick up the damn phone at the beach.” Dean rolls his eyes. “Eileen won’t care. Go shower, sweetheart.”
You sigh, but give in. Once Dean decides something like that—you aren’t holding your pee for the rest of the drive, they will find a diner that serves Sam’s stupid rabbit food, this place does have a broken heater and Dean’s going to goddamn fix it—there’s no talking him out of it.
And the shower is nice. Warm. The motel shampoo actually smells like something for once—flowers, nice, sweet flowers—and they water is loud enough that, if you lean against the wall and let your hand wander between your legs, Dean won’t be able to hear it.
He never hears it. He doesn’t know that you’d get on your knees for him, if he ever asked. That you’d sleep in his bed and hold him through every nightmare, if he let you.
Dean doesn’t know that you have to bite your tongue to swallow moans, as you think of his hands so easily on your body, and the deep sound of his voice as he said baby, and his eyes, shining on yours. You’ve pictured them above you too many times. Glinting and blown out, as he unravels you below him. Or under you, fluttering and squeezing tight as you ride him. And he’d buck his hips up into you, driving deeper and deeper, and when you moan his name he’d drag you down into a kiss, and all this heat would finally burst into a firework-
You shake, tossing your head back as your release hits. It’s a small one. You’re too tired to do anything properly, and even angling your clit under the water didn’t do as much as you wanted it to. You don’t manage to swallow the squeak of Dean, but the water is still running. You barely heard it. ‘
And as you walk out of the bathroom, Dean’s still on the phone.
You’re in the clear.
He scans over you with a tight frown, and you raise your brows. He just shakes his head, pointing to the phone, and you nod, shuffling over to the bed.
“Listen, uh- Sammy. Sam.” Dean shoots you another look. “I gotta go, man, shower is open- No, I’m not gonna- Sam.” His voice lowers to a hiss, and you smile to yourself. That’s the shut your face voice. Sam’s probably trying to convince him to do something. “No, I ain’t calling you after, bitch, I don’t- Fucking Christ. Yeah. I know.”
He hangs up, and you glance at him, having settled on your bed with a book.
“Not saying bye?”
“He doesn’t deserve it.” Dean grumbles, moving to his feet.
“What did he do-“
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Well,” you wrinkle your nose, leaning forward. “Now I am worried.”
He sighs, running a hand over his face. “It’s not a big thing, sweetheart. I’ll tell you tomorrow.”
“Or, you could tell me now.”
“I, uh- gotta shower.” He makes for the bathroom, and you raise your voice after him.
“Dean-“
“Tomorrow!” He calls over his shoulder, and closes the door behind him.
You sigh, looking back to your book. It’s probably nothing. Dean doesn’t keep big secrets, not from you. If it was something for you to be worried about, he’d probably have told you already, to try and convince you to lay low at the bunker while he and Sam handled it. Your bet is on another hunt, that Sam’s trying to send you on.
Nothing big.
Just more time you get to spend, only you and Dean.
Dean mutters your name from the doorway, and when you look up, your breath hitches in your throat.
There’s steam, billowing out of the bathroom and casting in a halo-like light. His hair is damp and spikey and soft looking, his bare chest looking almost golden—you don’t know how he tans, when you all live in a fucking basement—and water running over his muscles. And you’ve dreamed about pressing your face into his pecs, or scratching at his abs while he kisses you, or kissing over that V before he grabs your hair and pulls you back and stuffs your mouth with-
You cough, and force your attention back to your book. You can’t look at him too long, or you’ll do something really stupid like beg him to fuck you stupid.
“Yeah, Dean?” Your voice isn’t steady, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
“I, uh-“ Dean coughs, and you risk a glance up to see him scratching the back of his neck. “You know we ganked those gross assholes real fast. Thought we’d be here longer. And Sam says there’s a story coming, tomorrow, so we’re gonna have to hit the road in the morning.”
“Storm? What storm?” You frown at him, and he gives you an oddly sheepish grin.
“Snow-storm. Supposed to be bordering on a blizzard or something. ‘Less we wanna be stuck here for least a week, we should haul ass soon.”
“Oh.” A week stuck in a motel with Dean doesn’t sound that bad. It would be torture, but the kind of torture that you’d get a thrill out of. The kind that could fuel a lot of dreams for months to come.
Or everything could get fucked up. He’d get sick of you. You’d moan his name in your sleep. Too many things could change, if you were stuck together.
It’s best if you go in the morning.
“I, um-“ You bite on your inner cheek, watching him carefully. “Is that was you were talking to Sam about?”
Dean blinks at you, then nods slowly. “Yeah. Sure.”
“Sure?”
“Sure.” He shrugs. “That’s what we talking about, sweetheart. The storm.”
You narrow your eyes at him—he’s being weird, and you don’t believe him—but Dean only clears his throat and gives you another grin.
“And since we gotta go in the morning, I was ho- Uh, wondering. If you’d wanna get a drink.”
You frown at him again. “We have beers in the fridge, Dean.”
“Yeah. We do.” He mutters, throat bobbing, and you’ve never seen him like this. Looking at the floor a lot. Not walking around with a puffed-out chest and mastered, cowboy swagger. Like he knows how pretty he is, and he’s using it as a shield. Trying to flash bright enough that people won’t see anything but that smooth voice and boyish, charming grin.
You’ve been allowed to see beneath it. Because he’s your friend. Because he’s not trying to impress or trick you. Not trying to sell himself to you, even though you’re kind of already his. He doesn’t care if he gets your love or affection. Some part of you always wonders if he knows he already has it, and that’s why you get to know Dean, the perfect, sweet, broken but strong man, instead of Dean, the sex-god and hunter legend.
And you don’t want to go out drinking with him. You love him. But if you have to watch him flirt with someone else the whole night, you’re going to go find another swamp monster and let it eat you.
You don’t get to open your mouth and tell him that, before he’s continuing on.
“There’s kinda this bar I’ve been dying to check out, since we pulled into down.” His gaze feels like it’s buzzing over your skin. “And we should celebrate. So. Drinks.”
“Drinks.” You repeat, tilting your head at him. He gives you a crooked half-grin and nod, and you pull your lip between your teeth.
He’s being so fucking weird.
“You can go yourself, Dean-“
“No.” He shakes his head, standing up a little taller. “You saved my life tonight. I’m getting you a drink.”
“You’ve saved my life more. And I never buy you a drink.”
“That’s different.” He dismisses you quickly, and you frown.
“How-“
“C’mon,” he drawls your name, his tone almost challenging. “One drink.”
Fuck.
He’s got you. He must know he’s got you, otherwise he wouldn’t have pushed it. All he has to do is poke you, and you cave. Give a mumbled nod and agreement, and trying not to burn from within at his happy grin.
And you don’t know if he’s happy because you said yes to getting drinks, or because he’s getting drinks.
It doesn’t matter.
He’s still happy.
It’s a quick drive, from the motel to the bar. And it’s nice, but not the kind of place you think Dean would be dying to see. It’s just like all other bars you’ve seen, in every corner and county of America. Posters on the walls, dartboards and pool tables, and jukebox that really should be out of commission by now, and dirty, chipping wood tables. The drinks are strong, but no stronger than any other drinks. They’ve got pretty good maraschino cherries, and the bartender doesn’t seem to judge you when you ask for them—which is a plus—but there’s also a gaggle of girls in cowboy hats at the other end of the bar, and you know how this night is going to end.
Or you thought you did.
But they’ve been giggling and shooting looks at Dean all night, and he hasn’t so much as turned around.
“What else do you have on your list?” You ask him, playing with the stem of a cherry, and he frowns at you.
“My list.”
“Your bucket list.”
“I don’t have a bucket-“
“Don’t lie to me, Winchester.” You kick his shin lightly, with a small grin. “It’s not befitting of a lady.”
He snorts. “That’s rich, coming from you.”
“I’m not the one being questioned.”
“Oh, I’m bein’ questioned?” He grins, leaning a little closer, and he smells like pine trees. You never should have gotten him that body wash, but you’d also found out he hadn’t been using body wash, and you couldn’t just let that slide. “What’re the charges, sweetheart?”
You shrug. “Lying about your bucket list.”
He opens his mouth, and you give him a flat look.
“I saw it, Dean. You keep it at the bottom of your bag.”
“You-“ He shakes his head. “Why the hell were you looking in my bag?”
You flush, staring down at the cherry stem. The knot won’t stick. “You said I could use your shirt. When mine got vamp blood on it.”
“Right.” He gives you an odd look. “Y’know, I never got that shirt back.”
“Sorry. Forgot.”
You didn’t forget. You keep it in your drawer and sleep in it when you haven’t seen him in a few days. He doesn’t need to know that.
Dean shrugs, taking a swig of his beer. “It’s whatever. I got other shirts.” He gives you a small grin. “You remember what else was on that list?”
“Um,” you wrinkle your nose at the air, biting on your lower lip. “Meet Burt Reynolds, save his life. Give Baby guns. Try an Oreo pizza.” You swallow, keeping your gaze fixed firmly on your hands. “Have the sex.” You can’t look at him. Not right now. “Dean, I’m pretty sure you’ve had sex before.”
“Yeah. But this is, uh-“ He coughs. “Special sex.”
That makes you look at him. He’s picking at the label of his beer, a deep frown on his face. He doesn’t want to talk about this. Not with you.
“Well,” you mumble, tugging on your cherry stem. “I think you’ve got three options, if you want to go for that one.”
He glances at you, brow drawn. “What?”
“The cowgirls behind you.” You’re going to rip the stem in half. “I think they’d be down to have the sex with you.”
It’s meant to come out as a joke, but you mostly sound bitter. It’s sour on your tongue, because you hate being jealous. It’s not Dean’s fault he doesn’t see you like that. And you can’t place any claim over him, or even blame the cowgirls for taking him away from you. If you saw Dean in a bar, you’d do the exact same thing. And maybe then he’d give you the lazy, hungry smirk he always gives everyone else. If you could just be a pretty face.
There’s a hollow, vile sneer in the back of your head that reminds you he might not even think you’re pretty, and that’s why you never stood a chance. You’ll drink it away, when he leaves you at the bar.
But he doesn’t. Dean doesn’t even look at them.
He just keeps watching you.
“Nah.” He shrugs, and you blink at him.
“Nah?”
“I got better things to do, sweetheart.”
You stare at him. “Like?”
Dean just grins at you, and that’s not fair. It’s making you feel molten and important, and he doesn’t even mean it like that.
“Alright.” You let out a soft laugh, and that sounds bitter too. “Who even are you?”
“I dunno, sweetheart.” He shrugs. “You tell me.”
“I- I’m-“ You take a sharp drink of your own, giving him a tight-lipped smile. “So you’re not going to flirt with them.”
He shakes his head. “You’re not going to flirt with the dudes watching you.”
You snort. “There are no dudes watching me-“
“Yeah.” His tone has changed. Gotten firmer. Deeper. “There always are.”
“Dean.”
“It’s true. You just never freakin’ see it.”
“What, and you do?”
His jaw tics. “Yeah. I do. Beard and flannel, 2 o’clock.”
You look before you can stop yourself, and he’s right. Over your shoulder is a broad, bearded man, wearing a green flannel and looking right at you. He winks, when you meet his gaze, and you swallow.
“I, um-“ You look back to Dean, who looks oddly annoyed for having pointed the guy out to you. “That’s different.”
Dean let out a dry laugh. “Yeah, okay. Sure.”
“It is. I don’t do… that.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah-“
“So what do I do, sweetheart?”
He’s staring at you, something behind his voice that sounds like it’s important. It’s written all over his face, as well. He still hasn’t looked at the cowgirls. You’re not sure what the fuck is happening.
“I don’t know, Dean.” You murmur, wrapping the stem around your finger like a ring. “What do you do?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. And when you look back up at him, that strange expression has returned. You wait. You’d wait forever.
And you don’t want to say the wrong thing and fuck this—whatever the hell this is, because he’s never looked at you like that before, but it feels like you’re being turned into starlight—up.
“We, uh-“ He cuts himself off with a frown. “You and me. We’ve known each other a while.”
You’ve felt like you’ve known him your whole fucking life. You felt like that almost the first time you saw him. Sort of like you’d looked at him, and known that this always ends with you falling in love.
Another thing he doesn’t need to know.
So you just nod.
“Right.” He glares at the bottle, like it’s personally responsible for something bad happening to him. “And we’ve been through some shit together. I mean, mostly me. Causing you problems-“
“You don’t cause me problems.” You say before you can stop yourself, and he chuckles.
“I know. You always say that. But, uh- I got news for you, sweetheart. I cause you a lot of problems. And,” he raises his voice before you can protest again. “You never give up on me. Shit, I might of given up on me, but you didn’t. You’re always- No matter how shit this gets, it feels alright long as I got you.”
He’s looking at you like you’re supposed to know what that means. When you stare at him back, he just clears his throat.
“You mean a lot to me.” He mutters. “You- Your trust means a lot. More than anyone.”
“Oh- okay.” You feel kind of dizzy. “Cool.”
He swallows. “Yeah. And I know I do go home with other chicks, uh, I- It’s not. It never means anything. They know that. And a lot of them have been in…” His ears go slightly red, his voice dropping lower. “Situations. And that ain’t for to them, or- Yeah. And I always go back in the morning.”
You’re lost. “What?”
He sighs. “I always head back to you, sweetheart.”
“I know, Dean, we live together-“
“No- I mean, yeah, but-“ He sighs, running a hand over his face. “You’re kinda the best friend I’ve ever had,” he grunts your name, and you sit a little taller. “I don’t tell you that enough. And I was- Uh, I’ve been thinking- A lot.”
You’re going to chew through your tongue. “About?”
He stares at you, mouth hanging slightly open, and you wait.
Dean takes a deep breath, his gaze darting over your shoulder, and he shakes his head.
“Nothing, sweetheart. Never mind.”
You frown. This doesn’t feel like a never mind. “Dean-“
“You want some help with that?” He nods to your cherry stem, giving you a bright grin. “I can do it with my tongue.”
His tongue. He can do things with his tongue. And it’s flicking out over his lips, and he’s grinning at you, and you’re the best friend he’s ever had.
Friend.
Best friend.
“I’m okay.” You mumble, fiddling with the stem and dropping it in your glass. “Thank you, though.”
His jaw twitches again, and he opens his mouth, then closes it. The cowgirls seen to have wandered off to another corner of the bar. The music is playing quietly in the background, and it’s not a bad song, but it feels like nail scratching your ears. You just don’t want to hear anything right now, other than what Dean decided not to tell you.
You know he wasn’t building up to the fucking cherry stem. But if you ask, that would be pushing it. And it might not be something you want to hear.
So you let it go, and give Dean a small smile as you stand up.
He frowns. “Where’re you-“
“Bathroom.” You shrug. “Be right back.”
Dean’s hand flexes, like he’s going to try and reach for you. But he doesn’t. So you walk away.
But you smile at him, because you’re pathetic. Smile and squeeze his bicep.
You’d like to run your hand through his hair.
That’s not a friend thing.
The bathroom of the bar is just what you’d expect. Flickering lights, cheap looking stalls, a toilet seat that you’re careful to wipe down, because you really don’t want to round all of this off with an infection.
It hasn’t been the most shit week. You got the monster. Hung out with Dean. Broke your own heart over it, almost every second, but that’s nothing you haven’t been doing for years. And maybe he’s not going to tell you whatever the hell he was building up to, but maybe it’s another thing that’s just not about you. Dean’s being weird because he and Sam are fighting about something stupid. Dean had sounded tense on the phone, earlier.
So it’s not about you. Tomorrow, Sam will probably call you bitching about Dean, and ask you to talk some sense into him. Sam seems to be under the impression that you’re the only person in the world that Dean listens to without question, but you’ve been in multiple situations where that proved not to be true. The time he wouldn’t let you hunt alone, when you asked him to borrow the car to go into the city—which is something he lets Sam do all the time—the kitchen indecent, when he wouldn’t let you help him figure out how to bake a cake for your birthday, the other time he wouldn’t let you hunt alone-
“You should totally go talk to him!” A girl’s voice cuts through the air, and you freeze.
You’d sort of forgotten other people could, hypothetically, use the bathroom.
“No, it’s okay. There are plenty of hot guys in the world, right?” Second voice. Different girl.
“Not hot like that.” The first girl says again. “I mean. He looks like he fell right out of the fucking sky. That’s once in a lifetime hotness.”
Dean. They’re talking about Dean.
Fuck.
You should make your presence known. You should just cough, or say yeah, he’s hot, but he’s got a weird penis. Which would just be possessive—which you’re not doing, you’re not—and a straight up lie. You’ve heard the reviews, from girls in the morning. You’ve heard the sounds, when he used to get separate rooms just to rail women in. Sam would put in headphones with a sigh, and you’d try to pretend it wasn’t happening until you’d heard screams of Dean, and you’d decided to find whatever bar was closest and had the highest cut off.
These girls could be the ones screaming, tonight.
Unless you embraced the jealousy thing, and told them he has a weird penis-
“Yeah, he’s hot, but the woman he was with,” the second girl sighs, and you freeze. Too late to make yourself known. “I think she’s like his girlfriend or something.”
You gape at nothing, and third girl pipes up.
“No, actually, I agree with that. Don’t talk to him, he’s got a girlfriend.”
“Are you kidding me?” The first girl scoffs. “That was not his girlfriend.”
You scowl. She didn’t have to say it like that. She’s right, but she might not have been, and She didn’t have to be rude about it-
“Why not?”
“Because if that’s your boyfriend, you don’t leave him alone in a bar.”
The other two girls make sounds of disagreement, and that shouldn’t make you feel as good as it does.
“No,” the third one says. “Maybe he’s just like, a loyal guy. And she trusts him.”
“Please,” girl two laughs. “Men who look like that aren’t loyal.”
That almost makes you stand up. Dean’s loyal. Arguably, it’s his worst quality, because it’s nearly given both you and Sam multiple aneurysms. You manage only to curl your fists, though. And the second girl continues.
“Like yes, she was really pretty too. And they looked to be having a serious conversation-“
“Which isn’t what people just hooking up do-“
“I know that. But like, he wasn’t touching her. Maybe they were sitting really closer together, and he ordered her those cherries before she asked-“
“That was really cute-“
“Yeah, but, maybe they’re just like friends!”
“Kaylee.” The third girl says, voice flat. “Did you see how he looked at her?”
“No. You’re the one who pretended to go the jukebox.”
“Well, it was like a puppy dog face. He love loves her.”
You feel like you’re being shot. The girls don’t stop talking.
“Are you sure?”
“Oh, yeah, just pretend to walk past them later. It’s super obvious.”
They leave a few minutes after that. And you have to remember how to move your legs, but a lot of things are crashing around in your brain. You’re pretty. You and Dean look cute together.
Dean looks at you like he loves you.
It feels like you’re floating, when you make your way back to the bar. Dean’s fidgeting with his sleeves, mostly staring at his bottle, and when you tap his shoulder, he looks up at you with a frown.
It quickly turns into a grin. And he holds up your folded cherry stem with a proud grin, puffing out his chest.
“Did it while you were gone. In one shot, by the way. You can, uh- Keep it? I dunno. Didn’t think past doin’ it, I guess.”
You give him a softer smile, and tuck the cherry stem into your pants. “I’ll keep it. Thank you.”
“Course.” He shrugs, glancing around the mostly empty bar.
The cowgirls are watching you.
Dean’s hand is resting on your wrist. You’re not sure if he knows he’s doing it, but it’s warm and electric over your whole body.
And when you scan over his face, there’s nothing on it that screams he loves you. That’s just Dean’s face. Maybe the third girl just had too much to drink, or is rooting for him to be in love with you, which is very sweet but overall useless to you-
“You wanna head back?” Dean squeezes your wrist, giving you another easy, causal grin. “We should get our three hours, before we beat the storm.”
You sigh, giving him a tight smile. “It’s eight hours.”
“Yeah, if you’re a health nerd.”
“Dean-“
“It’ll be six hours, if we go now.”
You wrinkle your nose at him, and he just grins back. It really is the same grin he’s always given you. But you hear the cowgirls giggling, when you pass them. They’re probably reading into Dean’s hand, on your back, way too much. You know you have.
But reading too deep into things is what you’re best at.
And now that they’ve mentioned how Dean looks at you, it’s impossible stop.
You’re picking it apart, for the rest of the night. For the entirety of the drive, as you analyze every shift in his face, when he glances your way. How he smirks at you, when he opens your door with a dramatic, sweeping gesture. How he laughs when you roll your eyes, and the face he makes when you mumble that you’re getting changed. Then the face when you come back, and he looks up from the TV.
“Dean.” You lean over the back of the couch, making your voice as firm as possible. “Six hours. You promised.”
He groans, but turns off the TV, and flicks your nose. “After all I do for you, sweetheart, you’re gonna make me sleep?”
“Yep.” He’s so close. You can see every handsome feature of his face. “Go to bed, Dean.”
He grunts and his gaze is trapped right on yours. His eyes are so fucking green, and they’re shining on yours. His breath is warm on your face, and in the cold of the night, it’s impossible to ignore. How all the heat is coming from Dean. You could move. Just an inch. Press your lips against his, and see what it does. Maybe he’d pull you over the couch and into his lap, kiss you until he’s all that you can feel. Until you’re burning alive, but he’s burning with you.
Or it could change everything. And you’d lose your best friend.
You pull back. And don’t look at Dean again, as you go to bed. You need to stop torturing yourself. You’ll do it enough on the car ride tomorrow.
Dean’s true to his word. He goes to the bathroom, takes another shower, then gets into bed right after you. Enough for six hours, even if he’s up first.
He doesn’t wake you up, as he gets ready to go. Packing his bag, then yours, then the remaining supplies. You mostly just drift in and out, listening to him shuffle around the room, pause, then move again. At one point, after you hadn’t shifted around in a while, his hand rests on your brow. And because he thinks you’re just sleeping, you nuzzle into it.
He lingers.
Fingers trace over your face. Your cheeks and nose and eyebrows, then up into your hair.
He sighs, and moves away, and there’s another thing to over think. He could be disappointed in you. Annoyed with you. Tired of you. Just tired overall, and that was a yawn. But Dean doesn’t really yawn.
He also doesn’t just touch people’s faces.
But-
“Son of a bitch?”
Your eyes shoot open, and you sit up in a second, reaching for your gun. No one seems to be in danger. Dean’s glaring out the window.
You rub your eyes, pushing up to your knees. “Dean, what’s wrong?”
“Come look.” He mutters, and you shuffle to your feet, peering out the window.
“Oh.” You whisper, and he chuckles.
“Yep.”
You didn’t beat the storm.
The storm beat you. The world is all gray and white, falling snow and sheets of white over the whole world.
So you’re trapped in the motel. With Dean
———
“We did try to leave early.” Dean grunts into the phone and you sigh, holding your knees to your chest on the bed.
It took five hours for the storm to clear enough that Dean could call Sam. Another hour for Sam to pick up, because he is on vacation.
And you’re not sure how you’re going to survive this.
Not the storm. The storm will be easy. You’re what Dean’s called paranoid—but is proving itself to just be prepared—and there’s no possible way you’re going to run out of food. The water is still running, as it electricity. The heater did break again, but Dean’s spent the last two hours on his knees, trying to fix it.
Most of his tools are both for cars, and in the car.
He’s improvised.
And he’d given you this big, boyish and proud grin, when he’d realized he could use the wire hooks without being electrocuted. And that’s why you’re not going to survive this.
You’re trapped with Dean. And his smiles and voice and body and general everything. It’s one room—two if you count the bathroom—and it’s just you and Dean. No buffer to stop you from saying something stupid, like how you love him. No distractions, because the electricity is working but this motel only has cable, and that’s down. Just you and Dean.
“Fuckin’ Christ.” Dean mutters under his breath, shooting you an odd look.
You mouth what back at him.
He rolls his eyes, and mouths back Sam, before speaking aloud. “Yeah, I know how waitin’ out storms works, Sam, I freakin’ taught you- We ain’t gonna run out of water, this isn’t a drought, we can drink the snow- I’m not drinking it right now.”
You giggle, and Dean gives you a flat look. You only shrug in return, and that eye roll is for you, but you don’t really care. At least it’s for you.
“No.” Dean turns back to the heater, his voice having dropped. “I ain’t doing that. No- Sam. Shut your face or I’m calling Eileen and telling her she’s got a funeral to attend. Not mine-“
Dean groans, running a hand over his face, and you climb out of the bed. The blankets have to stay wrapped around you—it’s fucking freezing—but you can still help. You kneel down at his side, holding out your hand and nodding to the hanger. Dean frowns at you and shakes his head, and you flex your fingers, giving him a pointed look.
He pulls the phone away, covering the speaker—Sam’s voice muffled through his hand—and grunts, “I got it, sweetheart. Go back to bed.”
“Dean.” You sigh, just grabbing it out of his hand. He doesn’t fight you, just staring as you shift on your knees. “Finish your phone call.”
He opens his mouth to say something, then sighs, and nods. He squeezes your shoulder, as he moves to his feet, and you watch him walk to the other side of the room.
You’ve been studying his face all morning. The cowgirl’s words haven’t stopped replaying. He looks at you like he loves you.
But you really don’t think he does.
He’d given you tight smiles all morning, until you’d finished sorting the supplies and decided that you’d easily survive this without eating each other.
“If we don’t have enough,” he’d said, hanging over your shoulder. “I want you to eat me.”
You’d sighed, and whacked his thigh. Better not think about how firm it had been. How if you turned your head, you would have been at perfect eye level with his bulge. And it had been freezing, but that was the kind of heat that was going to kill you just as much as it made you come alive. Now, trapped in a motel during a blizzard, was not the time to test the waters of how much Dean would want you. You’d rather turn to ice than have to spend a whole week, awkwardly pretending you hadn’t come onto Dean and gotten rejected.
“I’m not going to eat you, Dean.” You’d muttered, and he’d shaken his head.
“I’m telling you to eat me, sweetheart.” He’d dropped at your side, and you’d focused on your sorting. If you looked at Dean, you’d stare and try to figure out if he loved you. “It’s my last wish. You not gonna honor a dying man’s last wish.”
“No.”
“That’s pretty damn rude-“
“You’re not dying.” You’d looked at him, because you’re weak. No promise you ever made yourself about Dean lasted more than about twenty minutes, because most of them were don’t look at him or don’t talk to him, and actually committing to that would mean more change.
He hadn’t been looking at you like he loved you.
It had just been the same way he always looks at you. Open, handsome, with a small grin and light in his eyes.
That’s just his stupid, pretty face. And it had been hard to keep pretending to be annoyed with him, when this was the first real smile he’d given you all morning.
“We’ve got enough.” You mumbled, your eyes seemingly trapped on his. “I- I won’t need to eat you.”
“Awesome.” He’d grinned at you, and you’d swallowed, and nodded.
That was just another expression he always made. It didn’t mean anything.
He is scowling at the air, now that he’s focused on his phone call. He hasn’t looked at you like that, ever. But you also haven’t been saying anything to piss him off.
It’s very rare, that you actually do piss Dean off.
But you’re his best friend, so that can’t mean much.
You have to drag your gaze back to the heater. You’re going to drive yourself out of your mind, before you even hit day five.
Dean keeps talking, and it sounds like a serious conversation—serious enough that you’re not allowed to hear it, which you’re trying and failing not to read into, but it can just be another way to fucking torture yourself—when you hear the rattling buzz from the heater that means it’s working.
You turn to Dean with a wide grin, sitting up straight and making a ta da gesture to your work, and he grins at you again. Gives you a thumbs up, even his brows remain furrowed at whatever Sam is saying.
“Sam.” He grunts, walking towards you. “I’m going.”
There’s a sound of protest from the other end of the line, and you bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing again.
“I know how rationing works, Sam, I taught you that shit, too- No, we’re not fuckin’ talking about that- Bye.”
Dean hangs up, Sam’s voice dying mid-sentence, and you give him a curious look.
“Not talking about what?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Dean mutters your name, crouching down at your side and scanning over the heater. “Nice work.”
That shouldn’t make you flush as much as it does. But Dean’s really close, and he’s praising you, and suddenly the room has spiked from freezing cold to almost insufferably hot.
“Thanks,” you mumble, and Dean just shrugs, clapping you on the shoulder. The way he would a friend.
“No problem. So.” He scans around the room, and his brow pinches together the moment he’s not looking at you.
He’s thinking. That’s all it means.
“We got food, water, heat, shelter.” Dean says, mostly to himself. “Overall we’re not half fucked.”
“Only a quarter.”
Dean snorts, and his brows un-pinch as he looks at you.
Which still probably means nothing.
“What do you think that quarter fucked is, sweetheart?”
Him. Being trapped with him. Already starting to spiral about what everything he does and says means, if this is going to make things change, if he’s going to get sick of you, if he does look at you different. You really can’t tell anymore. You might have already gone mad, or the heat is just getting to your brain.
Making you hallucinate how close he is. How his attention on you is undivided, how his thumb is rubbing small circles where it’s still resting on your shoulder.
That’s your quarter fucked.
But you also know what Dean’s is, so you say that instead.
“No TV.” You give him a mock pout, and he lets out a dramatic groan.
“It’s not funny, sweetheart-“
“Yeah, it is.”
“You’re saying that now, but what are you gonna do when you get sick of talking to me?”
You frown at him. “I won’t get sick of talking to you.”
He scoffs. “Sure-“
“I’m serious, Dean.” You lean forward, which is a mistake. He steadies you with a hand on your knee. He’s still like a furnace. You’re going to catch his heat and melt into nothing. “I won’t get sick of you. Are-“ You swallow. You shouldn’t ask it. “Will you-“
“No.” He mutters, scanning over your face. “But I still miss TV.”
You give him a small smile, a weightlifting off your chest. “It’s been like, twelve hours.”
“Fifteen.”
You laugh at his grumpy face, and his lips twitch.
“We’ll find something to do, Dean.” You cup his face as you move to your feet. He might have leaned into your touch. Another thing to pretend not to think about. “I promise.”
———
“Checkmate.”
Dean groans, leaning over the board with a glare. “No, that’s- Son of a bitch.” He looks up at you with wide eyes. “I fuckin’ had it, sweetheart, what the hell.”
You shrug, starting to reset the pieces. “You never had it, Mr. Winchester. You’re a fool and your knowledge of the gentleman’s game is weak.”
He snorts. “I think you’re just cheating.”
“Maybe.” You grin at him. “But if I am, you haven’t caught me.”
“So you have been-“
“Do you have proof?”
Dean sighs, and grumbles, “No.”
You hum. “Innocent until proven guilty.”
“Or until you admit it.”
“I’ve never admitted anything. In my life.”
Dean raises his brows. “Half an hour ago, you told me you used to sing lyrics to classical music.”
You flush, and throw a pawn at his face. “That was a secret-“
“I haven’t told anyone! I’m just sayin’ back to you what you said to me-“
“Well, you used to name your toy cars after different cartoon characters-“
“Hey.” Dean wields the pawn at you like a knife, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t bring She-Ra the Pontiac into this.”
He glares at you, you glare right back, and there’s only a beat of silence before you both burst out laughing.
This has been most of the last two days. You’d raided the entire room, to see exactly what type of amenities were provided, and found mostly paper, meaning that you and Dean spent most of last night playing drawing games. He drew genuinely the worst tiger you’ve ever seen, and you drew a snake so worm-like he spent twenty minutes laughing on the ground. This morning—before you got up—he went outside during a brief lull in the storm, grabbed your playing cards from the trunk of Baby, and raided the lobby for board games.
He beat you at two-person poker, twice. You won gin rummy, and cribbage, so he insisted on a third poker round. You know he just wanted it to win again. But you love him—and his stupid, dopey grin whenever he does something well—so you let him have it. And he did win. But you kicked his ass in Candyland.
Dean said this one was a kid’s game, so it didn’t count.
You’d pulled out the chess, after that.
This is your fifth win in a row. And you’re not cheating.
But Dean is adorable when he’s grumpy. And just for now, you’re giving up on trying not to look at him too long. You won’t mess up, because this is already such a fragile situation. You’re on a high alert to not do anything too obviously in love with him. And already spent all of last night with the sheets tangled between your legs, looping over and over how Dean had made you dinner. Stared at you when you’d come out of the bathroom in a towel and coughed. Talked to you until two in the morning, because for once neither of you had anywhere to be in the morning.
In a very, very strange way, this feels like a vacation. A precarious one, where you’ve sealed over half the things you want to say to him—I love you, Dean, I want you, I spent that whole shower thinking about what it would feel like if you were with me, on your knees or behind me or anything, I’d take anything—and allowed yourself to look at him to keep it together. To keep him from noticing.
It would be suspicious, if you didn’t look at him. And it’s quelling that unending heat, in your body.
You’re going to get through this. Walk out the other side, with only good memories, and nothing changed.
You’re probably going to be trying to figure out how Dean looks at you forever, but that’s only hurting you, so it’s fine.
It’s all just fine.
“No more chess.” Dean grumbles, grabbing a rook out of your hands and bumping it on your nose. You blink at him kind of stupidly. He doesn’t seem to notice. “Let’s go back to cards.”
You take the rook back, poking it into his chest. “Why, so you can win poker?”
He shrugs with a grin, and you sigh.
“How about war? No skill. Just luck.”
Dean frowns. “I got shit luck, sweetheart.”
“And I don’t?”
“Better than mine.” He mutters under his breath, and you frown.
There’s something heavy to his tone that you don’t understand. But before you can try and find the words to ask him about it, he’s moving on.
“One poker game, just to level out the field. C’mon. I’ll make you lunch?”
“And- Do I not get lunch if I say no?”
“No, but this doesn’t work if you keep bringin’ reason into it, sweetheart.”
“Sorry.” You pick at your nails, giving him a small smile, and he sighs.
“It’s alright, sweetheart. But if we play war, I’m shuffling.”
You nod, giving him a wider smile, and his jaw twitches. It’s been doing that a lot, today. You spent most of breakfast staring at it, trying to figure out what it meant. Probably just that he’s tense, from the stress of the situation. Even though it started last night. And overall, the situation hasn’t been all that stressful.
Again. Trying not to think about it.
“Deal.” You hold out your hand, and Dean shakes it. His hand fits perfectly, in yours. It always has. You’ve had a lot of fantasies about just Dean’s hands, alone.
And it’s impossible not to stare, as he shuffles. His fingers have always moved so deliberately, with such exact, measured movements, and they’re big and thick and rough, and when you passed him the cards, he’d touch your forearm and you felt like you were going to fly out of your skin-
“Ready?” Dean nods to the pile of cards in front of you, and you blink.
Right.
The game.
“Ready.” You mutter, sounding breathier than you meant to, but you’d also worked yourself into a small frenzy, thinking about his hands. His smirk isn’t helping.
You really don’t think he knows, exactly what he does to you.
But if he does, this is downright cruel.
“Alright,” he drawls your name, picking up his own deck with a dramatic roll of his shoulders. “Let’s skirmish.”
You laugh—it’s stupid, but you always laugh—and Dean’s grin widens.
It’s not clear if he’s smiling because you laughed, or just he got a laugh.
You really have to stop picking yourself apart like this.
The first few flips run by, and soon you’re not even counting down to flip anymore. You and Dean have gotten somehow merged your game brains, and you’re flipping in perfect sync. You’re winning most of them. Dean hasn’t seemed to notice yet.
“Would you rather be attacked by a duck, or a hippo.”
You blink at him, flipping over another card. “What kind of question is that, obviously-“
“Wait.” He grins at you. “The duck has a gun, and the hippo is a baby.”
“Oh.” You tilt your head at the air. “Does the duck know how to use the gun?”
“Sure.”
“Okay, and is the hippos mom around?”
Dean frowns. “Why does that matter.”
“Mothers are incredibly aggressive when their babies are threatened, Dean. A grown mom hippo kill me.”
“Huh. Well, we don’t want that.” His brow furrows, and you try not to let that make you feel too gooey. “Let’s call it that the mom hippo is around, but far enough that she won’t know if you’re careful.”
“Careful? The hippo is attacking me-“
“So you gotta kill it.”
You gape at him. “I’m not killing a baby hippo, Dean.”
“Fair.” He nods, flipping over a nod. “So you’re going Gun Duck.”
“Do I get a gun?”
“If you can take his.”
“I can do that.” You watch him grab the cards he won. He’s rolled up his sleeves, so you can see his forearms. It’s distracting. “What would you choose?”
“Gun Duck.” Dean shrugs. “I think I could take that mama hippo, though.”
You snort. “No, you couldn’t.”
He gives you a mock look of offense. “Sweetheart, I’ve fought the Devil-“
“Hippos kill 500 people a year, Dean.”
He scoffs. “So?”
“So there are about 180 plane crashes a year.” You give him pointed a look and he gulps, going a little pale.
“Good point. No hippos.”
You hum, pulling more of your own cards forward. “Would you rather live on the moon, or underwater?”
Dean pauses, thinking about it as you both flip. “The moon. Space would be pretty awesome. Can I guess your answer?”
You nod, a little desperate to know what he thinks you’re going to say, and he grins at you.
“Underwater.”
You keep your face perfectly neutral. “Why?”
“Because you think space is scary.”
“The bottom of the ocean is scarier.”
“Yeah, but you wouldn’t live at the bottom of the ocean.” He gives you a look like that’s obvious, and sighs when you just stare at him. “I think you’d be like, a lady of the lake or whatever.”
“A-“ You blink at him. “Like in King Arthur?”
“Yeah.” He grins at you, wide and toothy. “I’d be a pretty awesome King, right. I’d get to sit at the round table.”
“Sure,” you return his grin, setting out three cards. “What are your stances on tithes and feudalism?”
“Uh.” He makes his tight, adorable thinking expression—the one where he’s really trying, but doesn’t have a fucking clue what you’re talking about—and you want to kiss him all over his stupid face. “Anti?”
You hum and nod, and he raises his brows.
“Was that right?”
“I don’t know, you’re the King.”
“Yeah, but you’re my- Lady advisor.”
You snort. “Lady Advisor?”
“The- Guinevere lady-“
“That was Arthur’s wife.” You say, and it’s really hard to sound causal about that. “And she cheated on him with his best friend.”
Dean recoils slightly, shaking his head. “Okay, so you ain’t that.”
You give him a cautious look. “Do I have to be something, in your fantasy land?”
“Course you do, sweetheart.” He says that like it’s obvious, too. “It ain’t a fantasy land if you’re not there.”
You flush, and Dean sits a little taller, clearing his throat. You don’t know if he meant it like that. He probably didn’t. But now he’s not looking you in the eyes, and he probably thinks he’s leading you on—even if he doesn’t know he doesn’t need to put you on a leash or offer you a reward, you’d follow him to the end of the earth no matter what—and things are going to change-
“I’m the Lady of the Lake.” You mumble, folding a card between your finger and giving him a small smile. “Of course I’m in your fantasy.”
He coughs, but grins at you, and he’s ears are red again.
Don’t think too much into it.
“Awesome.”
———
It’s only been three days.
You’re falling into a far too comfortable pattern.
Dean makes you breakfast, you do lunch, he does dinner. You play card games and talk, Dean goes out to check that nobody’s stolen Baby—it doesn’t matter how many times you tell him that won’t happen, he has to do it anyway—and you make him hot chocolate for when he gets back. You spent most of today talking about superheroes, Dean hanging your paper stars on the ceiling because he’s perfect, and you don’t know how you were ever supposed to not fall in love with him.
“Can I have the purple?” You ask, and he passes the marker to you with a small grin.
“I still don’t understand why you these in the car, sweetheart.”
“For organizing. Duh.”
“Right. Duh.” He chuckles, nudging your side with his foot, and you squeak.
“Dean-“
“Sorry.” He laughs above you, and he kind of looks like a God. Big and strong and handsome, so far above you, so untouchable, but offering you more with his joy than you can understand.
Because you haven’t seen Dean this happy in years. He’s fully relaxed, he’s not scanning around every few seconds to check that everyone is safe, and he’s still sleeping with his gun under his pillow—that’s never going to change—but when you woke him up this morning, you didn’t end up with the barrel in your face.
It’s probably because there are no threats.
It’s getting harder and harder to think it’s not about you.
“Can you pass me my book?”
“Sure.” He shuffles away, and your body seems to want to follow him, which isn’t fair. “What, you gonna use the pages to make more stars?”
“Don’t joke about that.” You mutter, frowning at the star in your hands. “I just want to use this one as a bookmark.”
Dean just hums, and the book is passed into your hands as he sits at your side. “You, uh- Liking it?”
You angle your head to see him, and he’d grabbed a beer while he was getting your book. He’s picking at the label again. His jaw is ticking.
You really don’t know how to ask him what that’s about.
“The book.” He adds—after you’re quiet for a beat too long—giving you a sheepish grin. “How are you liking the book.”
“Oh. It’s- Good. I’ve always wanted to read it, and I- yeah.” He’s sitting too close. It’s making you short circuit.
Dean just nods, turning the bottle in his hands. “So it’s on your bucket list?”
He gives you a half-grin, and that makes you almost go limp. He’s smiling at you like it’s a secret. Like it’s something only you get to know about, even if it was because you accidentally snooped.
You smile back. It always makes his grin wider, and his shoulders relax, and that could be about you-
No.
You’re not doing that.
“Maybe.” You shrug, and he raises his brows.
“You gonna tell me what else is on there?”
You sit up, holding his gaze. Your knees are bumping together. You could swear his eyes widen slightly.
“The sex.” You whisper, and he groans, shaking his head and looking back to his bottle with a tight smile as you giggle.
“Bet you’re proud of that one.”
“I am.” You poke his thigh, lying back down as his nostrils flare, and he gives you an odd look.
“You should write one.” He says suddenly. “We got a shit ton of paper. Sammy says they’re good for you to do. Reckon with your own mortality or something.”
You snort, fiddling with one of the stars. “Like you’ve ever reckoned with your mortality-“
“I’m serious,” he says, and when you look back up, he’s staring right into you. “It’s useful. Sammy’s usually out of his freakin’ mind, with that therapy bullshit, but-“ He sighs, tipping his head back to rest against the bed. “It’s not half bad.”
He glares at the ceiling, as if he can’t believe what he’s saying, and you take a risk. It won’t change anything. You’ve comforted him before, and he’s comforted you, so this won’t change anything.
“Dean.” You murmur, resting your hand on his thigh. “I believe you, I just- I don’t want that many things.”
“Everyone wants things.” He mutters, and you shake your head.
“Not me.”
He finally looks at you, and that strange expression has returned. His eyes lock onto yours, and there seems to be a heaviness to him that you’ve never really seen before. You smile at him gently, and his lips only twitch. He’s looked at you like this before, as well. In the dead of night, when he woke up shouting and you were the only one who heard.
But you’ve never seen it in the light before.
And it’s the way he always looks at you, but more. His eyes are softer, but his jaw is clenched so tight you’re worried he’ll hurt himself. There are deep lines on his face that you want to trace with your fingers, and his lips are in a tight line you want to pry open with your tongue.
“Nothin’ you want, huh.” his voice is deeper than only a moment before, almost a little hoarse.
You sigh, your eyes darting to your hand, still resting against him. “Nothing I can have.”
He gives you a curious look. “What, going back to civilian life?”
“No. Never.” You bite on your inner cheek, playing with the fabric of his jeans. “You’re stuck with me, Winchester. Sorry.”
He lets out a low laugh, leaning back once more. “Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. I think I’ll live.”
———
Dean taps on the top of your head, and you look up to find him grinning down at you, holding your book.
“What-“
“I read it.” He stands a little taller, seeming to puff out his chest. “You were right, sweetheart, it’s pretty good.”
“It’s- The book?” You blink at him. “You read the book?”
“All of it. Except the acknowledgments.”
“Yeah, you don’t really have to read the acknowledgments-“ You shake your head, chewing on your tongue. “Why did you read the book.”
“I dunno. You,” he gently bops your head with the book. “Fell asleep early. And you didn’t stop reading it yesterday, so- I dunno. Wanted to see what the big deal was.”
You nod, watching him carefully. “And you liked it?”
“Sure.” He pauses. “Did you like it?”
“Yes.” You whisper, and you’re not sure why this is hitting you in the chest so hard. It’s just a book.
But he read it for you.
And he’s been looking at you all week. Laughing with you. Not pushing you away or shutting you out when the conversations get too serious. Acting like you’re the only two people in the word, which is what it feels like.
It’s just you and Dean. In this room, and—even though you know that it’s not true, that he’ll probably turn around and walk right into another bed when you’re free—in the whole fucking universe.
It’s really impossible to think that none of this is about you, now. It probably isn’t, but playing pretend is getting easier and easier. You’re not getting sick of him. He’s not getting sick of you.
And if you never had to leave, you might ask him. If he’s happy here with you, or just happy here. If he thinks he looks at you differently, if there was any truth to what the cowgirls said.
If he really was never going to go home with them.
What the hell he was going to tell you, at the bar.
If he can feel how humid it is, here. How outside, the storm is still raging, but in here your skin is hot and sweaty because Dean’s been pulling your legs over his lap when you’re on the couch. And the steam keeps following him out of the shower and into your dreams.
Last night you had to take an emergency shower, because you’d had a fucking wet dream. It had been all hands and lips, everywhere over your body at once. Soft on sensitive skin and rough on your neck and tits and between your legs. You’ll woken up with your hair stuck to your brow, and your hips grinding into the mattress. Chasing release in nothing, until you’d scrambled into the bathroom, turned on the water, and finished where he wouldn’t hear you.
Couldn’t hear you.
Didn’t hear you.
Dean couldn’t have heard you. If he had, he wouldn’t be looking at you right now. He’s been trying to let you down gently, instead of sitting right next to you. Waiting for your attention. Pressing his thigh into yours.
Best friend.
He’s comfortable with you because you’re his best friend. And you’re getting really, really bad at remembering that.
But he’s really not making it easy.
“You- Uh-“ He clears his throat. “You ever think about how Sammy’s doing?”
“Like- Emotionally?”
“No, like-“ Dean lets out a slow breath, watching you so carefully it feels like he’s pulling you apart. “With this life he’s got goin’ for himself. Less hunting, more time with the missus. Thinking about that white picket fence, payin’ taxes, apple pie shit. You ever think about that?”
You swallow, and speak slowly. This sort of feels like a warzone. You don’t want to misstep.
“Sometimes.” With you. “I- I mean, I have the dream.”
“The dream?”
You nod, and he frowns.
“I thought you didn’t want things.”
“I don’t want things I can have.” You correct, and Dean raises his brows.
“It’s a dream, sweetheart. Doesn’t gotta be something you can have, think that’s the whole freakin’ point.” He pauses. “I’ve told you about my dreams.”
Fuck.
“I- Don’t know.” Your gaze drops to your hands, but Dean’s gaze keeps searing over your skin. “It’s dumb.”
“Nah. You’re never dumb.”
Fuck. “Dean-“
“You don’t have to tell me.” He mutters, something oddly edged in his tone. “But I’m here. If you wanna-“
“I’d like it.” You cut him off softly, and he stills at your side. “What Sam’s doing. I mean- Not exactly that. But we- I would kind of want both, I think. Keep helping, even if it’s mostly research. Having something good, my way.”
You give Dean a small, nervous smile, and his mouth is hanging open. He’s closer than he was, only a second ago. You could lean forward and bump your noses together, if you tried.
And you want to.
But Dean’s just staring at you, and your knees are starting to feel weak, despite sitting down.
“Why isn’t that something you can have?” Dean’s voice is so low you can almost feel it in your chest, and he only seems to be getting closer.
“Because there’s no one I can do that with.” You say, before you can think about it, and Dean’s jaw twitches.
He’s so fucking close. You can really smell that pine tree wash. Your heartbeat is in your ears, along with a strange rattle that’s bouncing around your skull with every heated thought—his hand wandering up your leg and between your thighs, his body covering yourself, his lips wherever the hell he wants them, as long as it’s on your skin—and most of your brain is just a haze of Dean.
But you can’t move first. Things can’t change, when this inevitably ends.
The rattling sound is getting too loud to just be the hunger, bouncing around your ribs.
“The heater is making noise again.” You whisper, and Dean licks his lips, his voice still low and hoarse.
“It’ll be fine,” he mutters. “You fixed it.”
That is not a good enough reason for it to be fine, no matter how confident and smooth Dean says it. Even if it ignites in your lower gut, and spreads humid between your thighs. “But-“
“You want dinner?”
You frown. “It’s my night-“
“It’s fine.” He moves to his feet suddenly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh- Pasta. And those frozen meatballs, we haven’t used them yet.”
“At least let me help.” You try to stand up, but Dean just blocks you, shaking his head. “Dean-“
“I got it, baby. Don’t worry about it.”
You don’t argue with him after that. Not because he’s right—he’s not—but because you’ve forgotten how to walk. Or talk. Or do anything at all.
Baby.
Dean called you baby.
———
He doesn’t do it again. Not for the rest of the night, or in the morning. The next day is mostly spent making up a new card game, that’s mostly based on you and Dean yelling at each other, and trying to steal cards. At one point he tackles you, starting a mock wrestling match, and it’s like being tossed into a wildfire. You giggle too much. Give in too fast.
Dean stands abruptly, and goes to the bathroom for twenty minutes after that.
You don’t think that’s about you. Not when he immediately drags you to your feet and announces that he’s ready to learn how Zodiac signs work. If he was pissed at you—if something had changed—he wouldn’t be talking to you at all. But he doesn’t move from your side for the rest of the day.
So the heat doesn’t die.
Not until you crawl into bed, and the heater stops rattling.
Stops all together.
And everything starts to freeze.
For the first hour, you try to just bundle yourself as tight as you can, burrowing yourself in the blankets and curling up in a ball. But the temperature drops faster and faster, and these are motel sheets. Thinner than they should be, a little itchy, and not made to withstand the cold of a blizzard. Your fingertips start to go numb, and you can feel the cold almost in your bones, until you have to clench your jaw to stop your teeth from chattering.
Dean’s snoring soundly, in his own bed. You don’t even think he’s realized how cold it’s gotten.
But the man runs like a furnace. A warm, big furnace that could wrap around you, and make you warm, so fucking warm-
You sit up, and stare at him in the dark. Just as handsome as always, with all the panes of his face cast in sharp long shadows that only make him more beautiful. You could easily lose yourself kissing along his jawline or running your finger through his hair. Sitting in his lap and pressing your face into his chest, just feeling him until the whole world is lighter.
And this isn’t about that.
It can’t be. You roll out of bed—keeping the blankets wrapped around you—and this isn’t about how you’re in love with Dean. If it becomes that, you’ll spiral into what every single brush of his skin and breath means. You’ll stare at him all night instead of sleeping, and he’ll notice, and you’ll ruin everything.
So it’s just about heat.
You nudge his arm, and drop your voice to a loud whisper. “Dean.”
He grunts, and you sigh, poking him again.
“Dean.”
He rolls over, making a low sound like your name, and his hand rests over yours as his eyes flutter. He looks so comfortable. Peaceful. At complete ease, in a way you’ve almost never seen.
It’s so fucking selfish to wake him up, just for you.
But another chill runs through your body, and you don’t have another choice.
“Dean.” You shove him gently, and he makes an adorable grumbling sound, slowly opening his eyes.
“What- What’s’a matter.” He frowns around the dark, then up at you. His hand over yours tugs you a little closer.
It doesn’t mean anything.
“I’m cold.” You whisper, he frowns, and this was stupid. “Never mind. I’m sorry, I just- I’ll go back to bed-“
“Wait, just-“ Dean pulls you back with a small yelp, and his hand rests over your brow. “Son of a bitch, sweetheart, you’re freezing.”
“I- I know.”
“Well, we gotta-“ He cuts himself off, scanning over you carefully as his nostrils flare.
You just stare at him back, and whatever he can see on your face, it’s what he wants.
Dean gives you a tight nod, and throws open his blanket. “C’mere.”
“No- It’s okay- I’ll be fine-“
“You’re already not fine-“
“But you don’t have to-“Dean grunts your name, and it’s a good thing he can’t see the flush of your cheeks. “Get in the fuckin’ bed. Please.”
Please.
He did say please.
You crawl onto the mattress, and before you can build any sort of safety barrier between your bodies, Dean’s pulling you right into his chest. And that’s enough to make the heat spike and return, stronger than before. But then he bows his head so his lips brush over your hairline, and his hands dive just under your shirt to rub your skin, and his legs tangled with yours until all you can feel is Dean.
Hot.
So fucking hot, you’re worried you’re going to evaporate and turn into nothing but steam.
“Relax.” He mutters, deep and right in your ear, and you almost go limp in his arms. “There you go. Warmer?”
You hum—speaking feels like a taller order right now—nodding against his shoulder, and Dean lets out a slow breath.
“Good. Go to sleep, sweetheart, I’ll fix it for you in the morning.”
He’ll fix it. For you. Dean will fix it for you.
That’s about you.
And he’s fixing it now. But not in the way he probably thinks.
You’re warm, but you can’t fall asleep. Also you can think about his Dean’s fingers, brushing over your spine and spending smaller, pleasurable shivers through your body. His knee is pressed far too close to the painful ache between your legs. His breath his fanning over your brow, and he’s wrapped an arm around you to pin you right against him. Every inch of your body feels alight, just in his presence. The heat between your legs is almost painful, and when you rub your thighs together, you can feel your arousal.
You’ve never been hotter in your life. You’re on fucking fire, trapped in Dean’s everything, and there’s no fucking way you’re going to do anything but memorize him. The way his body shifts, how it feels to be swimming in him, and the feel of his strength keeping you so tight.
You can hear his heartbeat.
It’s faster than you thought it would be.
And when you wiggle in his arms a little, trying to get more comfortable, his fingers curl on your back and he holds you tighter.
“Don’t move.” He almost growls in your ear, and you swallow.
“Dean?” You whisper, and he grunts, the sound vibrating through your whole body. “My leg is falling asleep.”
He moves you without another word, but the friction just makes you hornier. And now his lips are pressed against your neck, making your core molten and forcing a soft, high sound from your throat.
Dean tenses around you, immediately pulling away and readjusting you again, but you don’t get the chance to over think it.
Because you feel it, first.
His erect cock, pressed right over your pussy.
You lean back to stare at him, your mouth hanging open, and Dean looks at you like he’s looking at the sun. His jaw is clenches, his features blown out with hunger, and his fingers on your spine have started a soft, slow dance that makes you arch into his touch.
His eyes flick down to your lips, and then expression he gives you is almost pleading. His thumb traces over the shape of your lower lip as you try to remember how to speak, or move, or do anything.
Then he mutters your name, dropping his brow against yours, and you grind fully into his knee.
“God, fuckin’-“ Dean groans, his lips so close you can almost feel them. “Tell me I can, baby. Please. Let me- Fuck-“
You can’t remember how to speak.
But Dean’s knee pressed right against your clit, and it jumpstarts your memory of how to move.
You grab his face, and slam your lips over his. He responds in a second, flipping you flat on your back and dropping his hips, keeping you pinned beneath him. He’s rough, hot and wet and desperate, with grabbing your jaw and angling it back, using his tongue and lips and teeth until you’re slack in his hands.
He pulls back suddenly, examining you for a second before starting to kiss on your neck. Sucking small spots that feel like flares, sparking through your body and making you squirm with a desperation for more.
“Dean-“ You gasp, tugging at his hair as you try to spread your legs. “I- I need- Dean-“
“I know.” He growls against you, his teeth grazing over a soft spot, and you arch off the bed with a high whine. His free hand finds its way between your legs, cupping your pussy over your clothing, and you gasp, wiggling until his palm is pressed against your clit. “Heard you callin’ for me last night, baby. Christ, you have no goddamn idea how much I- Fuck-“
You start to grind into him, and Dean rises over you, something like awe written all over his face.
“That bad, huh.” He mutters, and you nod weakly. “You want me? Gonna let me warm you up?”
You don’t know why he’s doing this. Don’t know what it will bring in the morning.
All you know right now is that Dean’s pulled your pants down, and is teasing your slit over your underwear with two broad fingers. That he’s above you, and looking at you like he wants to eat you alive.
So you nod, letting your brain turn into only a fog of Dean and good, so fucking good.
And Dean grins.
A sharp, almost predatory grin that makes your breath hitch in your throat, and your hips jolt as he flicks your clit. He gives you a deep, heavy kiss, pressing his tongue between your lips and down your throat, all while circling his thumb right around your clit, and you’re melted within seconds.
“Can you say it?” He drawls, his lips still brushing right over yours, and you just blink at him through the daze. “Say it, baby. Tell me what you want.”
He rests his thumb right over your clit, his fingers playing with the wet spot on your panties, and you just manage to whine out what he wants to hear.
“Touch me.” You gasp, and he chuckles, giving you a soft, rewarding kiss.
“Good girl.” He hums, and you don’t even have time to register how that makes your moan before Dean’s moving.
Your shirt gets pulled over your head, as he kisses down your neck and over your shoulders. Dean makes a small stop at your tits, taking one in his hand to palm and knead, the other being almost attacked by his mouth. Licking and sucking and kissing everywhere he can reach, before pulling your nipple between his teeth. He groans as you shiver and writhe below him, switching his attentions until you’re flushed and tugging at his hair, silently pleading for more.
He hums, kissing over the curve of your breast before continuing down. Under the covers where you can’t see him, making every single touch even more electric. Your eyes close as he gently works over your stomach abdomen, gasp when he nips at your inner thigh, and fist the sheets as you try to guess where he’s going to be next.
Dean kisses your clit softly, over your panties, and he squeezes your ass as he slowly pulls your hips off the mattress.
You hold your breath, when you feel the cool air hit your dripping cunt.
And Dean doesn’t move right away.
His breath is warm over your pussy, his stubble brushing sensitive skin as he kisses your thigh, but he’s not touching you. All you’re getting is his hands on your ass, the phantom feelings when he’d been before, and it’s starting to make you go cold again. He could not like what he sees. You might have pushed this—whatever the hell this is—too far, and he’s going to come up and tell you this was a mistake-
Dean licks a rough stripe up your pussy, and you almost fly off the bed. His arm plants over your lower stomach, pinning you to the bed as he swirls his tongue around your clit, and pinches your ass gently. You flop back down with a deep breath, shooting a hand under the covers to tug at his hair—unsure if you’re trying to move him away or urge him on—and Dean moans against your pussy as he starts to eat you out like a man starved. Sucking your clit and rapidly flicking his tongue until you’re panting, before starting to lick your pussy as a feverish speed.
You never know where he’s going to be next, and it’s driving you out of your mind. It doesn’t take long for you to feel that coil in your gut tightening, set to snap any second, and Dean seems to know that. His hand on your ass rolls and squeezes as he tongue fucks and licks you, his arms holding you firm against his mouth. Every yank of his hair only makes him groan, and the sound vibrates in your pussy, making your eyes roll back in your head.
“Dean.” Your voice is high, almost whiny, and Dean hums. “Please, I- I’m going to-“
He presses his tongue flat over your clit, shoves two fingers into your pussy, starting to pump them at a brutal, rapid pace, and your mouth falls open as the heat flood through you. You see white, your thighs clenching around Dean’s head and toes curling as he eats you out through the orgasm.
Dean gently pries your legs away, as you float back down, and presses an almost mockingly sweet kiss over your clit—making you shudder in his hands, and earning you a second one—before shuffling up your body.
You stare at him, as he reappears from under the covers. His chin is shining with the wetness from your pussy, and you take a ragged breath as he wipes it with his thumb, and hold your gaze as he sucks it clean.
“I-“ You take another breath, almost grabbing at the air to try and get him up, with you. “Dean, Dean-“
He crashes up, angling his lips over yours for a sloppy, open-mouth kiss, and you moan, tangling your fingers in his hair. You can taste yourself, on his tongue, and just like that you need more.
You need to taste him.
Dean pulls away first, resting his brow against yours with a wide grin.
“Hi.” He mutters, and there’s something soft in his voice you didn’t expect. “Anyone ever told you how good you taste, sweetheart?”
You flush, fingers curling on the nape of his neck. “No.”
He hums, giving you another soft kiss on the nose. “Well, you do. Taste like fuckin’ heaven, make so many pretty sounds.” He rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and grins when you squeak. “So sensitive, baby. Even better than I imagined.”
You blink at him, your sex-addled brain not really able to understand what he meant by that, so you just say the only thing you can think of.
“You’re really good at that.”
He gives you a look that’s awfully close to pride, and kisses up your neck, stopping to whisper in your ear.
“Easy when I got such a pretty fuckin’ pussy to worship.”
You take a sharp breath, and Dean trades it with his own, almost pushing his tongue fully down your throat. He keeps kissing you like he’s trying to mark you, or maybe just fuse you together.
You really wouldn’t mind that.
But you have something else to do first.
“Dean,” you whisper, and he pulls back with a tight expression.
“What’s-“
“I wanna put it in my mouth.”
You say it fast, before you can lose confidence. Dean stares at you for a long beat after, his eyes dark and jaw clenched, and you suck on your lower lip, trying not to focus on how his cock is pressed against you. It feels thick. Big. You need it.
“Please.” You add, and Dean’s eyes flash, his voice hoarse.
“Sweetheart, you don’t have to-“
“I want to.” You manage to push up on your elbows, and Dean swallows. “Please, Dean, I- I want it so bad-“
He slams you back down into the bed with a kiss, and you grab his face between your hands. You want to feel him. Have this passion branded into you, until you can feel it forever.
“Fuck,” he grunts, pressing a softer kiss to the side of your mouth. “You wanna suck my cock, baby?”
You nod, and Dean hums, leaning back to give you an almost strict look, after.
“I’m not comin’ in your mouth. If I finish, it’s in you.” He pauses, then adds. “Long as that’s- I don’t wanna make it something you gotta give me, just like- Head would be awesome-“
You rise up to meet him this time, hooking your arm fully around his neck and cutting him off with another kiss.
“I’m on the pill.” You say, nipping at his lower lip. “And I- I’d like you to- Do that.”
Dean looks like he just won the lottery. You even get one last kiss, before he’s flipping you over and helping you settle between his legs. He is big. Mostly thick, but still big. And pretty.
You want to choke on him.
Dean smirks at you as he lazily strokes himself. “Like what you’re looking at, sweetheart?”
Somehow, that gives you whatever little jump you needed to move. You roll your eyes, swat his hand away, and take him into your mouth in one, quick movement. Dean grabs your hair with a grunt, as his cock bumps against the back of your throat, and you take what you can’t fit in your free hand. It’s easy to set a pace, rubbing his cock as your tongue swirls and you suck him off like he’s candy. He’s heavy and perfect on your tongue, and even moan of your name only makes you speed up. You hum around him, grinding your hips into the sheets, and Dean makes the most animalistic sound you’ve ever heard.
His hips jerk, making you gag, and he tries to pull back.
You squeeze his leg, and go faster. Faster. He’s twitching in your mouth and saying your name like a prayer, and-
Dean yanks you off with a grunt, and you giggle as he drags you up his chest, glaring at you with a lustful, dark expression.
“You think this is funny, baby?” He mutters, and you smile at him, nodding.
His lips twitch, and he reaches up to grab one of your breasts, smirking when your breath catches in your throat.
“You want to fuck you?”
“Yes.” You whisper, and Dean hums.
“Gonna be a good girl for me?”
You nod, and Dean’s hand trails between your thighs, slowly circling your clit until you’re grinding on his abs, nails digging into his chest.
“Felt how tight you were.” He says under his breath. “But you’re fucking soaked, sweetheart. Think you can take it?”
A whine leaves you, and Dean chuckles, the sound rolling through your cunt.
“Yeah. You can take it.”
He picks you up, and your mouth falls open as you’re driven slowly down onto his cock. The stretch burns, but it’s so good. Dean lets out a deep moan as he bottoms out, and he doesn’t waste any time. He guides you up and down, helping you bounce on his dick, and you try to roll to meet him but you’re alight, high on the feeling of him dragging every needy spot inside of you, gasping whenever he slams you down and you feel fuller than even in your life. Dean slams up to meet you, every time, and you arch in his hands, starting to set your own, desperate pace of grinding on his dick.
Dean groans, and he looks at you under hooded eyes, hands starting to roam and grope anywhere they can find. You roll your hips and he grabs your throat, hissing when you clench around him. Dean starts to jackhammer up into you, and you whimper as he hits impossibly deep, squeezing hard. He sits up, taking your breast back into his mouth, and you yank on his hair, trying to warn him that you’re close. You can’t remeber how to do anything but whimper his name, though, and he somehow understands.
Dean sucks on your neck as he starts to tap on your clit, and you go slack in his arms, trying to fight it off.
“Come on,” He growls, pressing down hard as he slams up. “Give it to me baby, fucking cum on my cock-“
You gasp, as your orgasm crashes into you. Stars dance behind your eyes as white-hot pleasure washes through your body, and Dean gives you one last, bruising kiss as he groans your name with his own release. It paints inside of you and sends you over the edge one last, shivering time, and you whine as he stills inside of you.
And this doesn’t feel real.
It’s the type of heat that feels like steam. Like a drug. As if, when Dean kisses your brow and pulls out, it could only be a dream.
You’re too fucked out to think about it. You can only let Dean move you around—clean up, bathroom, back to bed—in a trace like state, before you’re tucked back into his chest. In his bed.
Warm.
You drift easily off into sleep with your body spent, and you’re so easily, happily, perfectly warm.
———
The world is slow, when you open your eyes. There’s a deep comfort you haven’t felt in a while, a comfortable warmth settled in your body—not wired, not goin to burn you, but just peaceful—and you take a deep breath, settling into the covers.
Dean groans, and his lips brush over your ears. He shifts behind you, tugging a little tighter against his chest.
You still.
His chest. His arm, wrapped over your stomach. Because you slept with him.
You fucking slept with him.
And he’s still here, in the morning. Still holding onto you. When you roll over, his features are relaxed, and his mouth is hanging open as he snores. His chest rumbles with each breath, and his fingers trail over your waist in his sleep, and you slept with him.
You can’t stay here. In his arms. You don’t want to sit in it too long, let yourself get too high on the smell and feel of him around you, then have him wake up. Stare at you, then jump away. Tell you this was just a casual thing, you’d just been stuck together too long, and this doesn’t change that you’re just friends. You’ll have to pinch yourself, to stop from crying. And then the car ride back will suck, and Sam will come home and notice things are weird, and you’ll have to stop yourself from crying again.
It’s easier, if you just pretend nothing happened. Nothing will actually change. Your heart will remain in its fragile shape—made like glass, so fucking easy for Dean to shatter—and Dean won’t have to go to the trouble of rejecting you.
So you, very slowly shift your way out of his arms. It takes longer than you thought it would. Dean keeps pulling you back, and grumbling in his sleep, and at one point his morning wood ends up pressed right against your bare ass, and you have to take about fifty deep breaths.
But you manage. With a lot of help from the sheets, stuffed into his arms as you move away, you get out of the bed.
Take a shower. Wrap yourself in blankets and layers, because the heater is still broken. Make coffee.
Drift through the early morning, trying to think about anything but the thing. If you think about it, you’ll start crying all by yourself.
And when you look out the door, it’s a small blessing.
You won’t have to think about this at all. The storm has stopped. Someone cleared the roads, last night.
You and Dean can leave.
Dean groans your name, a few hours later, when he wakes up. Shoots upright with his gun, when he realizes you’re not in bed with him.
“Over here.” You say, rubbing your hands against the quickly cooling coffee, and Dean grunts.
His eyes still aren’t in total focus. He’s rubbing his face, his hair spiky and the sheets pooling around his lap. You have to stare at your coffee mug, because now all you can think about is how those abs had felt flexing under your fingers, how his chest had looked above you, heaving as you sucked his cock-
“What’re doin’ over there?” He mutters your name, and the heat isn’t need anymore. It’s prickling. Sore. You just want to leave this behind. To give him the out he’s probably looking for, and not think about how it’s not you. Dean doesn’t regret sex with you.
He just doesn’t want to do any sex that leads to expectations in the morning.
“It’s safe to drive.” You mutter, glaring at a carving of a flower Dean did on the table. It’s making you think about his hands. On your tits, holding your neck, inside of you. Focus. “Heater’s broken. We should probably go.”
Dean stares at you. You can feel it. And when you look up, there’s an expression you’ve never seen before. You don’t even know how to read it. His face is tight, but his brows are relaxed, and his mouth is open. It’s not even there long enough for you to analyze it. Dean just shakes his head, runs his hand through his hair, and stands up.
You flush, biting your lip and looking back to the table. His cock is hanging between his legs, and you can still taste him, still feel him when you shift in the chair, and it’s going to maybe haunt you for the rest of your life.
“Right.” Dean mutters—not seeming to notice how you’re squirming in the chair—and you can see him pulling on his boxers in your periphery. “We should. I’ll start packing-“
“I already did everything.” You tilt your head to the couch, where you’d hauled the bags. “You just- Have the keys. And I need your help carrying them.”
He snorts, voice dry. “What, you gonna take off with the money?”
You frown at him. “We don’t have any money.”
“It’s- Never mind.” Dean shuffles to the bathroom. “Gonna take a leak. Get dressed. Then we’ll leave.”
You don’t know why he’s saying it like that. He wanted to leave. He wanted to beat the storm in the first place. And this has been perfect, this feeling of peace with him you haven’t known in years, but if you were still stuck here that would have to change. He wouldn’t have this clean, neat out.
But it feels like he’s pissed at you. You’re not trying to talk to him, but he’s not trying to talk to you. Dean almost stomps out of the bathroom, grabs the bags, and hauls them outside without a glance in your direction. While you go to the front to turn in your key, he walks a pace behind you. When you grab a blanket from the trunk and slide into shotgun, he doesn’t tease you about being cold.
Dean glances at you, his jaw ticks, and he starts the engine. It warms up quickly, but you can’t really feel it. Your fingers are still numb. Your heart feels like it’s going too fast and too slow, all at once.
There’s only that hot, uncomfortable prickling sensation, and pure fucking cold.
Dean’s not moving at all. Not driving away, and leaving this all in the dust. He’s just drumming on the wheel, glaring out the windshield, and pressing his lips tight together.
He’s going to tell you no anyway. You did so much to avoid it, to get out before the change could sink and stick, but he’s just going to do it here-
“I just-“ He takes a long breath, and you swallow. “Before we go, you gotta tell me, sweetheart. Are we locking it?”
“Are we-“ You blink at him. “What.”
“Locking it.” He grunts, giving you firm, almost heavy look. “This. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”
Oh.
You don’t want to lock it. You don’t want to trap it and push it down, because it’s just going to bubble up and you’re going to explode.
But you don’t want things to change.
“If that’s what you want.” You mumble, and Dean huffs a low, dry laugh.
“Yeah. Alright.”
It doesn’t sound alright. He sounds pissed, and tired, and he’s still not looking at you, but he usually looks at you all the time. Maybe he’s never going to look at you again, maybe your friendship is going to melt away with the storm if you don’t-
“Is that what you want?”
You speak before you can think. But it gets Dean to look at you.
Stare at you.
With that same strange expression from before. Seeing it closer, for longer—his breathing heavier than it should be, his grip on the wheel white-knuckled—it looks almost broken.
Almost as cold as you feel.
And you shouldn’t speak again. You should just let it go. Speaking it will change everything, without any way to stop it. The water will run, and you’ll either be smoothed out and locked into the riverbed, or you’ll be swept away with the current.
But everything has already changed. Dean’s never not looked at you for so long. You’ve never felt this hot discomfort around him.
So you take the leap.
“I- I don’t want it.” You whisper, and his jaw ticks. “I want it to be more. I want to go back to bed, and I want to wake up next to you, and I want you to pee with the door open and make up stupid games together and order me cherries- Everything else we’ve always done but you kiss me after. Like- I cut out paper stars and give them to you and you kiss me, and you take a shower, and I kiss you, and you keep making me breakfast but now it’s just me-“
“It’s always just you.” Dean grunts, and you blink.
“What?”
“Breakfast.” He mutters, still staring at you. “I don’t really make Sam breakfast.”
Oh. “Oh.”
Your voice is barely a breath, and Dean chuckles.
“Yeah, and, uh-“ He clears his throat, his ears going red again. “You’re the sex. The one I’ve kinda- Since I freakin’ met you, I- Yeah. So, guess I got two bucket lists this week.”
He gives you a small, crooked grin, and it’s like a spark in your chest. Warm. Bright.
Maybe guiding you to something really, really good.
“You know the bar we went to?” You say carefully, just because you have to be sure. “The girls who tried to flirt with you?”
“Not really.” Dean shrugs, and that just makes the spark start to catch fire. “What about them?”
“In the bathroom, I heard them talking, and-“ You give him a tight, nervous smile. “They thought you were my boyfriend. Because of how you look at me. Like you- As if you love me.”
You expect him to dismiss it. To say he has feelings you, but avoid the L word. To awkwardly tell you he just wants to keep having sex, and the cowgirls were just drunk.
But he doesn’t.
Dean just grins at you.
The exact way he always has.
“Y’know, Sammy says I do that.” He twists to fully face you, his fingers still drumming on the wheel. “Said it was obvious. So obvious I needed to man up and tell you out loud. But you never acted like you could see it, so I guessed he was just being a bitch. But I guess that’s kinda the only face I make, when I’m looking at you. Guess I can’t blame you for that one.”
He gives you a smaller grin, raising his brow, and you breathing heavy through your nose.
Obvious.
It’s been obvious.
And he’s- He’s not say-
“Dean.” You whisper, leaning forward until your hand is braced on his knee. “Do you-“
“Yeah.” His voice is low, but not like it’s secret. Like he’s telling you something so critically important, it has to be said slow and deep, just to make sure you understand. “You?”
“Yeah.”
Dean’s jaw twitches, and his eyes flick down to your lips. “Can I kiss you, then? Whenever I want?”
You nod, and Dean crashes forward. It’s slow, this time. With music in your chest and a high feeling in your head, as Dean pulls you closer and hold your face like it’s something priceless. There’s no rush, to try and imprint yourself upon each other. You’re already molded into him, and he’s already branded all over you.
And things have changed.
But you’re never going to go back.
End Note: Thank god for that snowstorm. I choose to believe Sam summoned it to trap them together.
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I just wanted to check in and apologise for being MIA recently. I am very much still planning to continue A Sweet Mishap (and maybe a few other things...), but my motivation and creativity have just been a little lacking of recent.
Between the Easter holidays with family and work, I just haven't been able to sit down at my desk to write as much as I would like, and when I have, I've been coming up blank. I'm really hoping to get back into it very soon and get a new instalment out for you all.
I appreciate all of you who take the time to read what I write and leave likes and comments, it truly means the world to me! I promise to try not to stay away too much longer.
A/N: I just want to start by thanking everyone for all the love on this story so far. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. Please read the TW below and only read on if you feel comfortable doing so.
Potential Trigger Warnings: mentions of violence, rape, therapy, depression
A Sweet Mishap Masterlist | Main Masterlist
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I invite Jensen’s parents to stay when they drop me off at his house, but they decline, saying they’re driving back home in the morning. I persuade them to at least meet us for breakfast before they go and they say they’ll text Jensen the name of the cafe near their hotel. I thank them for the lift and then go inside using the spare key that Jensen made sure to put out after last night’s incident. I take a long shower before laying down on Jensen’s massive bed and calling Stella. She answers enthusiastically and demands that I give her all the goss, so I do. I tell her everything from the airport to the restaurant to sleeping under the stars and then tonight’s fiasco. I do conveniently skip over our shower escapades though, wanting a little just for me. She’s quick to call Jensen out on his actions and warns Nick that if she finds out he’s still talking to his ex like that, they’re over. Her over-the-top reactions make me laugh and suddenly I feel tons better.
Time passes fast as it does any time I’m with Stella and it’s midnight before we know it–after one in New York. We reluctantly hang up after she makes me promise to call her in a few days with another update. It’s only when I’m alone and the house is silent that I really notice that Jensen’s still not back. The house suddenly feels too big, here on my own and I realise that if I was to choose a future with him and agree to move here this is what every night would be like while he’s up in Vancouver filming or away at conventions. It’s not like I’m not used to being alone, I’m just not used to being alone in such a big space that still doesn’t feel like it’s mine. No matter how many times he wants me to call this place home, it is his house and everything around the room just screams Jensen. I can’t help but wonder what I could do to make it feel like ours, but any changes I think of seem wrong.
When the clock ticks over to one, I text him.
Hey Jens, You ok? Coming home soon?
When 10 minutes pass with no reply, I call him. Still no response. My heart sinks. In my mind there’s only a couple of options. He either went home with Maeve or he’s been in an accident. Not knowing else I could call to find out more, I try him again. No answer. I stand up and pull one of his flannels over my pjs as I start to pace. I text him again.
Message me pleaseNeed to know you’re ok
I chew on my thumb nail as I pace the room. As my mind races through increasingly dark scenarios, I make my way downstairs. Each step seems to creak in the silence. I switch on every lightswitch I pass hoping the light will block out the shadows of my anxiety and bring me comfort. In the kitchen, I pour myself a glass of water. It’s only when I see the waves in my glass that I notice how badly I’m trembling. I lean against the bench trying to calm myself as I take sips of the cool water. I check my phone every few minutes hoping for a miraculous reply despite my phone not chiming.
As the minutes continue to pass with no sign of Jensen my anxiety and anger climbs. Pictures of him kissing Maeve start to torment me. Overwhelmed, I hurl the now empty glass at the wall and it shatters. I instantly feel guilty, knowing it wasn’t mine to break. I collapse to the floor. My legs are stiff from all the trembling and holding up my weight. It feels good to sit down but all my muscles are still tense. It’s almost 2:30am when I call him again, still no response.
I carefully crawl over to start cleaning up the mess but a piece of sharp glass slices my palm. It stings, but it distracts me from my thoughts. Enjoying the silence of my mind I clench the glass in my hand. I feel the warm blood trickle through my fingers but I don’t lossen my grip. When it becomes too much I finally drop it. It doesn’t take long for the intrusive thoughts to come rushing back in. I pick up a larger shard and hold the cool material on my wrist, not cutting, just feeling. I hold it over the long-since faded scars that sit there. It’s been a long time since I’ve even considered it, but as I sit there imaging being cheated on for a third time, I can’t help but wonder what’s the point?
I sit up straight when headlights illuminate the house and tire crunch on the driveway. I try to quickly gather up all the shards as a car door shuts. Keys jingle in the lock and I jump slightly as the door swings open and shut. I keep my head down as footsteps approach. In my peripheral vision the imposing figure in the doorway transports me back a year and to my kitchen in New York. I try to clean up the mess faster, apologising breathlessly. I only stop when Jensen crouches next to me and makes me with his hands on my wrists.
“What the hell are you doing? Look at you. Stop!” I hang my head. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” I try to pull away, but as I do I land back in the glass and a shard digs into my bare thigh. “Shit. Darlin’, stop. It’s me.”
I force myself to look up at his face and the images of him and Maeve return. Anger overtakes the fear and I rip myself out of his grip. “Don’t touch me!” He holds his hands up in surrender.
“Okay. I won’t touch you, but please Darlin’ stop hurting yourself. You’re bleeding, I just wanna help.”
“Yeah? Like you’ve been helping Maeve?”
“What?” His expression drops. “No, it’s not like that. I didn’t–I’d never. You said you trusted me?”
“I thought I could, but…”
“Please, let me help you then I’ll explain everything.” I shake my head as he reaches out again. He nods, stands up and walks away. I sigh, but then he returns with my running shoes from this morning and places them on the floor beside me. I slip them on and carefully get up. I hobble over to the sink and rinse my hands. The water runs red and my skin stings. Jensen places a first aid box on the bench and opens it. “Please, let me help.” Reluctantly, I hold out my wet hands. He carefully dries them with a paper towel, removing any remaining glass before rubbing them with a cool antiseptic cream and wrapping them tightly. He then crouches and does the same to my thigh and knees that until now I hadn’t even realised were bleeding.
He stands up and look at me with tears running down his cheeks. “Did–Did I–Did you do this because of me? Because you thought–”
I look down. “I’m sorry.”
He puts his hand on my chin and tilts it up. “Don’t. This is not your fault.” He looks around and then back at me. “I’m gonna fix this. I promise. I’m gonna clean this up and I’m gonna fix us. I–I can fix this.”
I watch his lips move but I can barely hear his words. I whisper over and over, “I’m sorry.” Trying desperately without the energy or right words to apologise for making a mess, breaking his stuff, ruining his night, not trusting him, not being strong enough, and most of all for not satisfying him.
A dull yet incessant buzzing rumbles through the room pulling me awake. I glare over in the direction of the noise and see Jensen’s phone moving against the bedside table where it’s plugged in. He grumbles and rolls over, pulling his arm out from under my head.
“Mornin’ Mom…Oh…She didn’t…Yeah…I got in late…We’ll see you in a few days…Yeah, I know…Sorry, Mom… Yep, love you too.” He hangs up and flops back onto the bed, hiding his face in the pillows. Then he rolls back to look at me. He gently lifts my wrapped hand to his lips. “Can we talk?” I nod and roll a little so we’re facing each other. “Was this deliberate? Were you trying to self-harm?”
I shake my head. “Not initially. But…I called you.” As I look at his face I notice dark bruises forming, one beside his left eye and one on his chin. I lift my hand to brush against the deep purple mark on his chin. “What happened?”
“Things got a little out of hand after you left. A little too much whiskey, the wrong words, a bit too much testosterone and unfinished business. Gav said some things, I said some things…words and actions were shared that I’m sure we both regret. Once they finally got us off each other and threw us out, I helped take some stuff back to Theresa’s place to work off the adrenaline.”
“Maeve’s place?” I ask cutting him off, he nods. “And?” I look over his messy appearance. “Was she there too? Did you…?”
He looks up, his eyes apologetic. “No. Y/N, you have no reason to believe me but, I would never do that to you. I swear I didn’t. She helped clean me up and get me sober, but that’s it.”
I nod. Tears are sliding down his cheeks and I believe him. “I was worried about you. But…I also couldn’t help but think–”
“I know. I’m so sorry. I know why you’d think that–”
“I called and texted and you didn’t answer and I just thought…You were either hurt or dead somewhere on the road or–or in her bed. And in my messed up mind I didn’t know which would hurt more. Either way I thought I’d lost you.”
He pulls me into his arms and kisses my head. I don’t pull away. “You haven’t lost me. I’m right here. And you’re all I want.”
After a few minutes, I pull back and sit up. “This is a start but…You’re not forgiven. Last night took me too far back to place and person I don’t want to be anymore. But I know I can’t blame it all on you. Maeve got in my head and no matter how hard I try those doubts and trauma will always be a part of me.” I climb out of bed, wincing slightly at the soreness in my hands and legs. “I’m gonna take a shower alone and then do a session with Dr Kate if I can. I think I just need some time to myself today.” He nods.
“So tell me more about what happened last night,” Dr. Kate says, her voice calm and steady through my laptop speakers. I'm sitting cross-legged on the guest bed, the door firmly closed.
I take a deep breath, and recount the events of last night: the waiting, the anxiety, the glass, Maeve. “I thought I was past this,” I say finally, holding my bandaged hands up to the camera.
“Healing isn't linear,” she reminds me. “What happened last night doesn't erase all the progress you've made. It's a setback, yes, but you can grow from it.”
I nod, though the disappointment in myself still weighs heavily. “I just–when I couldn't reach him, all those old fears came rushing back. I was finally letting myself trust again and then when I thought he’d cheated too…”
“That's how trauma works,” Dr. Kate explains. “It finds links between your fears and your current feelings. The fears will continue to creep in, but it’s how you handle them that’s important.” She shifts slightly in her chair, leaning closer to the camera. “What concerns me most is not that you had these thoughts, but how you’ll deal with them next time. Famous or not, Jensen is a grown man, Maeve is likely not his only ex. What could you do differently if this happens again? If you meet another one of his exes or friends or a jealous fan? Or if you don’t hear from him?”
I consider her words carefully. “I don’t know.” She nods but gives me space to think. “Breathe? Meditate? Have faith and wait to hear the full story?”
“All good options. The main point is: try not to jump to conclusions or take the pain on yourself. Everyone has a past and life happens and that’s not on you. The other important thing to do is talk to him about all of this. Tell him about how Maeve made you feel and how he made you feel and how that made you think when he wouldn’t come home with you and didn’t contact.”
“We spoke a little this morning, but...I told him I needed space today.”
“And I think that was a healthy choice in the moment. Sometimes we need time to think and process things alone. But eventually, you do need to have that conversation. Clear communication about emotions and expectations will become the backbone of a healthy relationship going forward.”
By the time our session ends, I feel a little lighter. More grounded and ready to face Jensen. When I finally emerge from the guest room, I find Jensen in his home office, papers spread across his desk and his head in his hands. He looks up when I enter, his eyes questioning but patient.
“Hey,’ I say, hovering in the doorway. He gestures for me to come in.
“How are you feeling?”
“Better. I had a good session.”
He nods, “Good. That's...that's good.”
An awkward silence stretches between us. There's so much to say, but neither of us seems to know where to start.
Finally, Jensen says, “I was thinking maybe we could go out this afternoon? Somewhere quiet. Talk things through.”
“I'd like that,” I reply, then add with a small smile, ‘As long as your face doesn't scare the waitstaff.”
He chuckles, touching the bruise on his chin gingerly. “I deserve that…Uh…Well, I was actually thinking it might be a good time to show you my brewery. There’s plenty of space for privacy and no one can say anything about...you know…’cause I’m the boss.” I nod. He stands up and walks over to me. “But first. Can I check the bandages?” I nod and hold out my hands.
A/N: I just want to start by thanking everyone for all the love on this story so far. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. Please read the TW below and only read on if you feel comfortable doing so.
Potential Trigger Warnings: mentions of violence, rape, therapy, depression
A Sweet Mishap Masterlist | Main Masterlist
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Just after one, Jensen pulls up around the back of a restaurant in the CBD. During the drive, he explains that it’s a family friend’s 60th birthday and they’ve hired a private room for the party. We’re expecting there to be anywhere between 30 and 50 guests, which is both a blessing and a terror. On one hand, I like the idea of being able to vanish into the crowd, but on the other, that’s a lot of strangers to face while Jensen and I are still figuring ourselves out. He says the birthday woman, Theresa, used to be his neighbour growing up and sometimes he and his siblings would play with her kids. When he tells me her daughter, who is his age, will likely be here I feel a hint of discomfort–which some may call jealousy–but I push it down.
As we walk hand-in-hand, I survey the room. It’s become a coping mechanism to find the exits and take note of as many details as possible. It helps me distract myself and manage my nerves. I note the illuminated green exit sign above us as we walk in and another on the side wall near the opposite side of the room. The open-plan room is decorated with pink, gold and silver streamers and balloons with the number 60 painted on. A table runs along one wall, covered in platters of meats, cheeses, fruits, crackers, sweets and a myriad of other delicious-looking snacks. In the middle of the table sits a three-tier cake, perfectly decorated with pale pink frosting. The rest of the room has smaller round tables scattered around with a few seats here and there. I don’t attempt to count the people yet–I’ll save that coping mechanism for if things get worse later–but there a small groups gathered around most tables chatting.
Jensen leads us towards a table further towards the back of the room. I see a middle-aged-ish couple chatting with a younger girl. Jensen squeezes my hand as he gets their attention. “Mom, Dad?” They instantly turn towards us and step forward one at a time to embrace him. He lets go of my hand briefly and I smile to hide my nerves. When he parts from them he rests his hand on the small of my back softly. “I wanted to introduce you to my girlfriend, Y/N.”
Despite Jensen having just introduced me, I introduce myself again and tell them how nice it is to meet them. They both smile and pull me in for a hug. Their acceptance eases my nerves slightly but as I step back to Jensen I notice the younger girl–around our age–looking me up and down with a sneer before strutting off to another table. I just smile and try to stay focused on Jensen and his parents. They talk about how long it’s been since they last saw him and he tells them a little of what’s been happening in Vancouver and with his life before bringing the conversation back to us. His parents ask questions about how we met and then ask about me, so we tell them the story of the cafe and then I share a few of my passions, steering clear of any of my bad stories or past issues.
As we talk more guests slowly filter in and the room starts to feel more full. Eventually, Jensen goes to get us drinks while I stay with his parents. They stay polite and tell me how happy they are to see their son so happy. They tell me how they know he’s dated other women in the industry but I’m the first he’s ever brought home to meet them. When I look over towards the bar to see what’s taking him so long I see the girl from earlier standing close to him with her hand on his arm. My heart clenches a little at the sight but I try to brush it off and not let his parents see it, but they obviously follow my line of vision.
“Who is she?” I ask trying to sound polite and genuinely interested.
His mother frowns slightly as she responds. “That’s Maeve. She’s a nice girl really, but I think she’s lonely…”
Another lady around Jensen’s mom’s age walks up beside us, cuts in and holds out her hand to me. “I’m Theresa. Maeve’s my daughter. I don’t believe we’ve met. You must be Jensen’s mysterious plus one.”
“Nice to meet you. Happy birthday! That would be me. I’m Y/N.”
“Thank you, darling.” She gives his parents a slightly disappointed look before smiling back at me. “I guess you could say my Maeve’s a little lonely. But I just don’t think she’s quite gotten over being dumped so horrifically in her senior year. Trust issues ever since. She’s back with me for say six months now. But she’ll land on her feet…eventually.” She looks back towards the bar and sees Jensen and Maeve walking towards us and claps her hands. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Y/N, I’d better keep doing my rounds.”
As she walks away Jensen’s parents shake their heads at her. When he approaches the table Jensen passes me a glass of white wine with a smile. “I hope my parents haven’t been embarrassing me too much in my absence.”
“You watch your tongue, boy,” his dad says with a smile. Jensen laughs. Maeve then clears her throat from behind him.
Jensen looks back at her and smiles. “Oh yeah, Y/N, this is Maeve. The friend and neighbour I was telling you about. Maeve, this is my girlfriend, Y/N.”
I smile politely. “Nice to meet you.” I hold out my hand but she doesn’t take it so I draw it back to my chest.”
“Likewise.” She looks away from me and focuses back on Jensen, positioning herself close to him. “Anyway, as I was telling your parents earlier, I’m back with my mom here in Austin for a while. We should hook up while you’re in town. Get a drink or something, you and me.”
I struggle to push down the hurt and jealousy that bubbles up when he says, “Yeah, absolutely. I’ll let you know when I’m free. Maybe take you out to the brewery, show you what I did with the place. It’s exactly like I dreamed.”
“I can’t wait to see it! It’s a date!” Without any shame, she kisses his cheek with a smile. “I’d better find mom.”
I know it’s unfair to feel jealous, and that I don’t own Jensen and that I wouldn’t even want to stop him from catching up with friends, but I can’t help it. He never even bothered to correct her when she called it a date. Yet, I take a sip of my wine and try to push it all down. I refuse to make a scene in public, especially in front of his parents when they’ve been nothing but kind and accepting. To my surprise, his mother steps in and scalds Jensen, nodding at me. He instantly looks my way, but I try to stand tall. “Maybe we should get some air for a minute.” Just as he reaches for my hand to lead us away, a familiar voice fills the room requesting everyone’s attention. He smiles at me apologetically and we both face forward to listen to Maeve’s speech. She goes on for ages about how wonderful her mother is and thanks everyone for coming before encouraging everyone to help themselves to the food platters. The fact that we’ve barely eaten anything today after all the exercise then plays on my mind.
“We should eat,” I tell Jensen.
He nods and we join the line for the table. Much to my dismay, Maeve finds us as we’re filling our plates and sidles up next to Jensen again. I try to focus on the food options and ignore her. It’s not until I get back to the table alone that I realise Jensen isn’t behind me anymore. He’s over at the table with Maeve, Theresa and a man I assume is the father and husband. His parents try to reassure me, telling me that it’s just because it’s been a long time since they saw each other. I pick at the food, trying to fill the growing hole and hide my jealousy and pain. I keep telling myself that it’s not fair to be upset at him, he’s just being polite. Eventually, his parents do a lap of the room and I’m left standing alone. Every time I glance over at Jensen he’s laughing and Maeve’s hand is on his arm. My heart aches.
A band starts playing on a stage on the other side of the room and I focus on them. My attention only wavers when a small group come over. I introduce myself politely, but they just ask if they can use the table. I nod and move over to lean against the wall closer to the band. As I’m standing there one of the few people our age wanders over to me. He’s not quite as breathtaking as Jensen, but he’s handsome enough with blond hair and blue eyes. He introduces himself as Gavin and tells me that he’s Theresa’s son. I introduce myself as well, but I just say I’m a friend of the Ackles family. The music picks up and he holds out his hand, asking if I want to dance. I accept with a smile and we move over to the makeshift dancefloor together. He holds my hands and we move in time with the beat. I smile briefly, but then I see Jensen out of the corner of my eye and it fades.
Gavin notices as he says, “I’m not the dance partner you want, am I?”
“I’m sorry. I came here with Jensen but…” I nod towards him and Maeve.
He nods and leads us back off the dancefloor to talk. “They used to be inseparable. Dated for most of senior year. Then he said he was moving to L.A. and didn’t want her to go with him. Maevy was devastated. Never quite got over it.”
“I see…”
“Listen, don’t let them ruin your night. We can have some fun or you can always head out. You don’t seem like the kinda gal who needs a man.”
“Is the bar on tab?”
“Yep, dad’s covering it all. Wanna get something top shelf?” he asks with a cheeky grin. I smile and nod. Gavin’s right, I don’t need Jensen to have fun. I can still enjoy the free food and drinks. We make our way over to the bar together and I order a sex on the beach cocktail. Gavin laughs at my antics and orders a whiskey. He leans closer and in a low voice says, “He’s looking, wanna make him jealous?” I start to shake my head but then I see Maeve’s hand still on his forearm and nod. “Come on then.” He takes my free hand and leads me back to the dancefloor. He pulls me close with his free hand on my waist and moves us in time with the beat again.
We move together for a few songs before I feel another hand on my arm. “Mind if I cut in?” Gavin looks at me for guidance and I smile and nod. He pulls away and leaves me with Jensen. He places both of his hands on my waist and pulls me close. “I’m sorry.” I just shrug.
“You didn’t mention she’s your ex.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“You-Look I’m not gonna start a scene here. It’s- it’s whatever.”
“I’m sorry. I should’ve told you. I just didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
“Well, bang-up job on that.” I sigh. “Can we just drop it?”
He nods and focuses on the music. Before long we’re interrupted again by Maeve on the microphone saying it’s time for the cake. The lights dim and the band starts playing the ‘Happy Birthday’ tune. We all join in singing and then the lights come back up as a couple of waitresses take the cake away to cut and plate up. We go back to wait with his parents until the cake is ready. They tell us they’re looking at heading back to the hotel after that and I look to Jensen hoping he’ll agree for us to go home then too, but to my disappointment, he says, “I promised Maeve I’d stick around and help with packing up”.
So, I look at them with a smile instead and ask, “Did you drive? Could you possibly drive me back to Jensen’s on your way?”
“Really? You won’t wait with me?” Jensen says, dropping his jaw.
I turn to him with a confident look. “You wanna hang with your ex, that’s fine. But I don’t need to stay and be a third wheel.”
“What about you, cozying up with Gavin?”
I shake my head, shocked. “I don’t wanna start a scene, Jens. I just want to go home. But don’t let me ruin your night.” I look back at his parents and smile. “I’m not trying to impose, if it’s too much I can get a cab.”
His mother smiles and reaches across the small table for my hand. “Nonsense, Sweetie. We’ll give you a ride. But first, let’s get some of that cake to go and say our goodbyes. We’ll get you a slice too.”
“Thank you.” They both smile and then wander across the room to where the cake is now being served, some on glass plates and some in takeaway boxes. I look back up at Jensen, “I’m gonna go freshen up. I’ll see you back at your place I guess. Enjoy your night.”
“I’m sorry.” I give him a polite smile as I gather my purse and then make my way to the bathroom.
As I’m washing my hands and neatening up my hair Maeve walks in. She leans against the vanity beside me checking herself out before her eyes meet mine in the mirror. “Who are you anyway? Actress wannabe? Paid escort to keep his parents off his back? Jensen is a man who values his career above all else, he’ll never settle down, not really.”
I try to stay confident and not give her the reaction she wants. “Maybe that’s the Jensen you know. I know a different side of him.”
“He’s good at his job, that's all. You’ll see. He’ll move on and forget all about you when the next season starts.”
“Maybe…Or maybe he won't. He’s loyal.”
“You’re right about that, but to who? He’s known you what? Five minutes? I’ve known him forever.”
“True…Maybe he will choose you. I don’t control him.” I turn to face her. “And you might think you have him wrapped around your finger, and maybe you do…But-No-You know what, you’re not worth it. Have a good night, Maeve. It was a pleasure to meet you.”
I grab my purse and walk out before she can respond. I spot Jensen waiting with his parents near the exit and I make my way to them. When I reach them, I pull Jensen in for a hug and leans down to reciprocate. But with my lips near his ear I quietly say, “I trust you. Please don’t let me down.”
A/N: I just want to start by thanking everyone for all the love on this story so far. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. Please read the TW below and only read on if you feel comfortable doing so.
Potential Trigger Warnings: mentions of violence, rape, therapy, depression
A Sweet Mishap Masterlist | Main Masterlist
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
It’s late in the afternoon when Jensen and I are sitting in his spacious backyard again watching the multicoloured sky darken overhead as we share a mid-afternoon snack platter. After spending an hour or so working out in his home gym while I did a session with Dr Katelyn, we spent the rest of the afternoon relaxing in the pool. Once we were well and truly wrinkled–for the second time today–we made a platter complete with fruits, cold cuts of meat, cheese, crackers and wine to share as a picnic under the trees that fill his backyard.
“No regrets about this morning?” Jensen asks carefully.
I shake my head. “I had a session with Dr. Kate…”
“Yeah? And?”
“She said it’s all progress and it’s about knowing my limits, which I do. But I also know I can push my boundaries when I feel safe and ready.” I smile at him, “Plus, it was really nice to care for you too.”
Jensen's face breaks into a warm smile. “I appreciate that. And I appreciate you. You know, we're figuring this thing out together, Y/N. It's okay to be vulnerable and admit that this morning was...intense.”
I nod, feeling a sense of relief wash over me. “Yeah, I guess it was…intense. But it also made me realize how much I want to explore this further with you.”
He takes my hand and squeezes it gently. “Speaking of taking this further…You ready to meet my parents?”
“I-I thought that was-”
“Next week, I know. But they’re coming into Austin tomorrow for a family friend’s birthday and my mom wants me to go…and I was kinda hoping you’d come with me.”
“Oh…”
“I know it’s sudden and if it’s too much-”
“No, it’s okay. I’m just surprised is all, I thought…Can we still do the hike in the morning?”
“Of course. They won’t get in until after lunch and it’ll be too hot to stay out after that anyway.”
I nod and lean into Jensen’s side. The warmth of his body against mine is comforting, grounding me in the moment as we watch the sky shift from vibrant blue hues to dusky shades of pink and orange. A gentle breeze ruffles my hair, carrying with it the scent of chlorine from the pool and grass.
“I want to go, but I am nervous…” I say softly.
Jensen’s smile widens, his green eyes reflecting the fading light of the day. “I get it. I’m nervous too. But I trust that they’re gonna love you,” he says with certainty. “Just like I do,” he adds after a moment. He pulls me close and we enjoy the rest of the sunset in peace as we fee eachother portions from the spread beside us. As darkness settles around us, Jensen stands up and holds out a hand to help me up. “Let’s head inside”.
After spending some time prepping everything we need and getting an early night, Jensen and I are up bright and early to make the most of the cooler morning air. The sun is rising beautifully overhead as we shrug on our backpacks and hit the trail, leaving his truck in the car park. The morning air is crisp and cool against my skin, as we hit the cement trail through the tall trees, a welcome relief from the Texas heat that will soon blanket the landscape. As it’s still cool enough, we walk hand-in-hand as the path winds through the shade of trees that have to be hundreds of years old and take in the beauty of the glistening lake as it flows alongside us. Vast hues of wildflowers line the path on either side brightening the landscape.
After half an hour or so we reach a clearing with a manmade viewing deck that overlooks the lake. We stop briefly to take it all in and rehydrate. “How're you holding up?” Jensen asks as he glances over at me, his water bottle swinging from his hand.
I put my bottle back in my bag and adjust my backpack. I smile up at him, glancing away from the breathtaking view. “Great! This sort of thing is what I miss most about Texas.”
“Me too. But Vancouver does have its perks. It’s just often too cold to do this.”
We both nod as we let the comfortable quiet settle back over us. We get back on the trail enjoying much of the same views and the comfort of nature until we get to the next rest stop. The further we walk, the higher the sun climbs in the sky as though it’s keeping pace with us and eventually we’re both sweating heavily. Jensen passes me his water bottle as he walks backwards in front of me. I shake my head but he insists, “There’s a refill spot uphead. Plus…” We follow the trail around a bend and a large swimming centre comes into view. “We can cool off and relax here for a while before heading back to the car.”
I smile and follow him through the gates. He’d told me to throw in my swimmers last night, so I had a feeling, but the spring-fed pools in front of us are not at all what I’d expected. I had thought it would be in the lake. This is better. We go our separate ways to change out of our sweaty athletic wear for a bit and into our swimmers. Once I’m done I see him sitting at a bench reapplying suncream in the shade. He’s in black and red swim shorts and shirtless. I join him and put down my backpack on the edge of the bench. He hands me the sun cream bottle and I start to apply my own. He stands up and gets my back, softly massaging the cream into my shoulders, neck and back. He then turns around and urges me to do his. It feels intimate, especially out in such a public setting. It’s not overly packed for being summer, but there are a few small groups scattered around the pool and all around sunbaking or chatting.
Once we’re satisfied, he dives into the deep end urging me to follow. I attempt my most graceful dive and then swim over to him. He places his hands on my waist and pulls me close. He pecks my nose. “This is the best summer I’ve had in years,” he says.
I nod, “Me too. So, tell me…What should I know about your parents?”
“I’ve already told you everything you need to know. You don’t need to overthink it, they’re gonna love you.”
I’m about to reply, telling him that’s easy for him to say when a young girl swims over awkwardly. I smile at her then nudge Jensen. He turns and smiles at her. I put some space between us, treading water on my own. The girl shyly says, “Hi, I’m sorry to disturb you, it’s just-My…”
“Hi, Sweetie, what’s your name?”
“Ally.”
“Hi Ally, you watch the show?”
She nods enthusiastically. “My friends and I are obsessed, I’m such a Dean-girl.”
He smiles, “I’m glad you enjoy it. Look, I’d be happy to get a photo with you when we’re done if you’re still around, but I’d appreciate if this didn’t become a big thing,” he looks over at me and winks.
“Oh, I appreciate that, and I completely understand. Is she your girlfriend?” He smiles back at her, nods but then puts his finger to his lips. She nods, “You look happy together, enjoy your day. Sorry again, for intruding.”
“Thanks.” Jensen swims over to me. “Where were we?”
“It’s out I guess…”
“Sorry.”
I shake my head and kiss his cheek. “It was inevitable. But, I’m okay, really.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m not saying I want to be on the front of magazines, but we can’t hide forever.”
“You’ve come so far, and I love it. I’m so happy for you.” He pecks my cheek. His eyes are bright and full of happiness. He looks young and youthful and full of energy. We float slightly away from each other on our backs but in the same direction, enjoying the cool water against our previously clammy skin and the contrast of the sun beating down on us.
Eventually, we decide it’s time to get out, especially considering we still have to change, walk back to the car and still have time to get ready before meeting his parents. Once we’re both wrapped in towels the girl and a couple of her friends approach and ask if they can still get the photo. Jensen smiles politely and obliges. I offer to take it for them and then they scurry off blushing and giggling. Despite the invasion in our private moments, it does feel good to make others happy and I then understand why Jensen always makes the time.
When I emerge from the changing room Jensen is waiting by the side with a double-scoup ice cream cone. He holds it out to me, “Fancy a snack for the road?” I laugh but happily take a lick, but scrunch my nose up when I taste the mint mixed with the sweet chocolate. “You don’t like mint?”
“It tastes like toothpaste!”
“But it has chocolate!”
“That just makes it weirder!”
He shakes his head as he laughs. “Guess you’ll have to wait till I finish the top scoop then. More for me!”
We start walking back along the trail towards the car park. Once he finishes the mint-choc ice cream he hands it over, letting me have the rest. I end up insisting on sharing though as we have to eat quickly. The harsh sun makes it melt quickly and soon both of our hands are sticky and we have to use our water bottles to clean them. The walk back to the car goes significantly quicker and his truck is within sight before we know it. The second he drives off my anxiety starts to rise as it suddenly feels real that I’m actually going to meet his parents today. He spends most of the drive reassuring me or trying to distract me with music as we sing along.
A/N: I just want to start by thanking everyone for all the love on this story so far. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. Please read the TW below and only read on if you feel comfortable doing so.
ALSO, apologies for no chapter last week! We had severe weather here which made writing difficult, but this week's is a little longer and quite eventful, so I hope you enjoy!
Potential Trigger Warnings: mentions of violence, rape, therapy, depression, SMUT
A Sweet Mishap Masterlist | Main Masterlist
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
After finishing the bottle of wine and endless teasing and sharing, the chef finally comes out to join us. He treats us to some top-shelf whiskey as he and Jensen catch up. I pay attention for a while, trying not to be rude but then leave them to their conversation while I scroll through my phone. I give Stella a quick text catching her up on everything and promising to call tomorrow and give her more details. Then, half an hour or so later the men stand up and call it a night. Jensen orders us a ride, agreeing that we can come and get the car tomorrow after his friend agrees to move it into the locked staff car park around the back.
In the back of the Uber, Jensen is unusually clingy. His hands never leave my body and as the car stops in front of his house he leans close so his breath ghosts against my ear and whispers, “I got one last one for you…Never have I ever…Had sex on a first date”. I ignore him as I search for his wallet to pay the driver. He stops me, pulls out a $50 and hands it over before pulling me out of the car with him, without a word to the driver. I apologise and thank the driver just as he speeds off. Jensen puts his arms around my waist and pulls me against his body as he starts kissing down my neck. I try to pull away but his hold is too tight. I feel claustrophobic in his usually comforting embrace but try to stay strong.
When he doesn’t get the message I get firmer, “Jensen! Stop! Let me go!” He instantly lets go, but his gaze is dark and unfocused. I think back to the restaurant and realise that each of his questions was designed to make us both drink while I tended to target him. I try to remember how many times he refilled his glass, but I wasn’t paying enough attention. Then there was the whiskey after I blocked him and his friend out completely. He tries to reach out and grab my wrist again but I step back and hold my hands up in front of me. “Jens, not tonight.” I take the chance while I’m free to input the code for the gate and let us into the front yard.
As soon as the gate slides shut behind us, he steps closer again, “Com’on, baby. Just want you,” he slurs.
“And I’m right here. But you’re drunk, babe. Come on, where’s the keys?”
“Gimme a kiss.”
“This is not a transaction, give me the keys.”
He wraps his arms around my waist and starts kissing my neck again. “Jensen, I mean it! I’m not doing this tonight, not now.” He sighs and drops his head to my shoulder. I use the opportunity to slip my hand into his pocket for the keys but all I can find is his wallet and phone. “God damnit, Jensen. Were the keys on your keyring with your car keys?” He nods and starts to giggle, like actually giggle. I can’t help but laugh with him as I throw my head back to the sky. “Looks like we have two options. How good is your alarm system?” He just shrugs. “For fuck’s sake.” I lead him to the porch and urge him to sit down, “Sit.”
“I’m no dog…”
“Right now you may as well be. Sit.” He obediently sits on the edge of the porch and watches me with a grin. I shake my head. Despite the situation, I smile. It could be worse, he could be violent or mean, but instead, he’s giggly and clingy; not at all what I expected. I crouch down to his level. “I know this is probably a dumb question, but Jensen, do you have a spare key somewhere?”
He looks up and then says, “Jared.”
“Of course…” I pull out my phone and check the time, it's half past midnight. There’s no way I’m waking up a guy I met once to deal with this. I’ve dealt with worse. “Alright. Stay. I’ll be right back.”
“No..Don’t leave.” He pouts and I kiss his cheek.
“I promise I’ll be right back. I’m not leaving.” I stand up and he reaches out for my wrist. I sigh and then something occurs to me, “Nesnej, stay.” He nods and drops his hand. I walk around the side of the house. All of the first-floor windows are shut and locked. I try the sliding doors around the back, but they’re locked too. I turn around and survey the backyard. The deck area has a few reclined deck chairs and a gas firepit. Though I loathe to sleep out here, I figure it’s only a few hours and then we can call his chef friend or Jared. The only bad part is that as I look at the water I suddenly have the urge to pee. “Fucking great,” I sigh. I look back at the house and windows. I briefly wonder how mad he would be if I broke one to let us in, but then consider the alarm system. Having not told me the code yet, I realise that we’d likely have to listen to it going off all night until he sobers up. I like that idea even less.
Trusting that Jensen–or Nesnej–is still out the front I slip off my heels and pad over to the garden and do something I haven’t done in years–since my time on the trails with Snowball–relieve myself on the dirt. Part of me feels ashamed, but desperate times. I stand back up and straighten my clothes before walking back out to the front porch. Jensen is still sitting where I left him and he lights up when he sees me. I hold my hands out to help him up. “Come on, let’s have a campout.” I lead him out the back and onto a deck chair. He sits back obediently while I light the firepit to combat any overnight chill and then pull another chair close to his. I sit back on my own chair and he reaches his hand across the small distance. I take it, feeling slightly more comfortable with his touch. After a few minutes, he sits up suddenly and pulls back his hand. I watch him, confused. He shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over me and then lays back down and takes back my hand. I blush, even drunk he’s the biggest gentleman. When I look back over at him, his eyes are closed and he’s snoring lightly. Confident he’s asleep and too drunk to understand anyway, I whisper, “Goodnight, babe. And by the way…I love you too”. With the weight of those words off my chest finally, I pull Jensen’s jacket tighter around me and try to get comfortable enough to fall asleep.
I feel the heat of the morning sun beating down on my face and squint as I pull the make-shift blanket up over my face, but then it exposes my bare thighs where my dress has ridden all the way up to my waist overnight. I instantly try to pull my dress back down and then look over at Jensen. He’s still out. I smirk and then roll on my side so I can face him. Then, in a slightly louder than normal voice say, “Good morning, Nesnej”. He groans and rubs his hands over his face. “Sleep well?” He shakes his head. “Yeah, well, it’s your fault so…” He gives me a look like he doesn’t understand. “Keys…”
He flops his head back against the chair before pulling out his phone and calling someone. I sit up, stretch and do my best to straighten myself up, figuring that we’ll have guests soon. Feeling extra exposed in the morning light, I slip Jensen’s jacket on over my dress. As I turn back around I catch Jensen staring at me. He looks away quickly and focuses on his phone call. When Jensen hangs up the call he looks at me with a sheepish expression. “I’m sorry about last night. I don’t remember much yet, but I quite obviously messed up,” he says gesturing at our surroundings.
I give him a soft smile. “It’s okay. We all have our moments. I got to meet Nesnej, after all.” He groans.
Jensen nods and stands up, stretching his arms above his head. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
“No need. It was…an experience.” Then, feeling a little extra bold, I say, “You never answered you own last never have I ever though.” He shakes his head not understanding. “Well, I guess you won’t khow my answer either.”
“Maybe that’s for the best?”
“Never have I ever…had sex on a first date…”
He drops his head in his hands. “God, I’m so sorry. I-”
“It’s alright, you were drunk. And you stopped when I told you to.”
“Still, you shouldn’t have to-I’m so sorry.”
“I would’ve drank. And had you not been drunk, maybe…”
“Darlin’. Sober me would never-I mean-”
“I know.” I get up and sit on his chair next to him. “I’m just saying. You told me you loved me yesterday, I didn’t miss that. I may not have been able to say it back, but I do.” He turns to face me and places a hand on my waist. He looks into my eyes and then leans forward slightly, but then pulls away suddenly as a car door shuts.
“Come on, let’s take this inside.” He reaches for my hand and then we walk back around the front of the house to greet our savior.
As we round the house we see Jared standing there swirling a set of keys around his finger with a massive smirk on his face. “You two look like you had quite the night,” Jared remarks.
“Shut up!” Jensen says as snatches the keys with his free hand. Jared rolls his eyes at Jensen and shoots me a wink. “Thank you for this, now if you’ll excuse us we’re going to get some actual sleep.”
I lightly slap Jensen on the upper arm, “Be nice.”
“Yeah, you should be nicer to me,” Jared remarks, his grin never faltering. “But, nah, I should get back. I’ll see you guys on Friday, enjoy the rest of your week.”
“Jared, before you go,” I stop him. “Any good hiking trails around here?”
“Heaps.” He looks over at Jensen, “Take her to Lady Bird Lake. I’ll send you a map of the best trails.”
“Thanks,” Jensen and I both say at the same time.
“Anytime. You guys have fun,” Jared says with a wink before climbing back into his car and reversing out. We wave him off before finally going inside. The cool air conditioning that we left on is instantly refreshing. I sigh.
“Now, I wasn’t gonna say anything ‘cause you’re always beautiful to me and it’s my fault we were outside all night. But you should probably hit the shower,” Jensen says as he gestures at his face.
“Screw you, Ackles,” I call out, but I’m already climbing the stairs, eager to wash off my makeup and sweat.
He rushes up the stairs behind me and captures me at the top, wrapping his arms securely around my waist. He then whispers against my ear, “Only if you insist, Sweetheart.” My breath catches in my throat. I flounder for a response but nothing comes. He then loosens his grip, but the loss is worse. I turn in his arms and stand on my tiptoes, slip his jacket off my shoulders and wrap my arms around his neck before pulling him into a passionate kiss. He’s eager to reciprocate, his hands fall to my waist as he effortlessly lifts me up. He walks us forward, but I don’t pay attention to where I give him my undivided attention. I only pull back slightly when I feel his fingers on the zip at my spine. Against my lips, he breathes out, “Tell me to stop…Tell me you don’t want this.” I look into his dark eyes, now clouded with lust, but they’re still caring and full of love. I shake my head. “I need to hear you say it.”
“Don’t stop. I want this. I want you, Jensen.”
He groans, “I want you too”. He slams his lips back against mine while sliding the zip down my back until my dress falls loose against my body. He pulls away and untangles my legs from his waist so I stand. “Let me see you.” I obey and slowly slip the straps down my arms so the fabric falls in a heap at my feet. I swear his eyes darken further as he takes in the matching lace set barely covering my most intimate areas–areas that no one else has seen or touched in too long.
He steps forward to touch me but I step back. “I believe you’re still overdressed, Ackles.” He groans and throws back his head briefly but then starts trying to unbutton his shirt at speed. The second his shirt is on the floor I step forward and run my hands over his chest. He lets me explore without touching me. His hands are in tight fists by his side. “It’s okay, you can touch. I trust you.” With my permission, he brushes his warm fingers down my bare sides. Goosebumps ignite all over me, but I feel like I’m on fire. I glide my hands back down his torso, over his toned abs to his gold belt buckle.
“It’s all you, baby. You’re in charge of how far this goes, but I’m all yours.” I pull the black leather through the buckle and let the sides hang loose over his hips. I hover my fingers over the button but hesitate. I know I want this–him–but a part of me is still scared. I know if I tell him, he’ll stop it all, so I keep my mouth shut and force my fingers to work the button loose. He brings his fingers to my chin and tilts my head up. His face is flushed and covered in a light sheen of sweat, likely from all the restraint. Without breaking eye contact I slide my hand over his tense bulge and he hisses. I push his pants down past his hips so they fall in a heap at his feet. He kicks them away and toes off his socks as he draws me back to his chest, capturing my lips. His skin burns against mine but I can’t help but want more. He steps backwards, pulling me with him and then I hear water splashing against the tiles. I feel his fingers slide over my back and linger at the clasp of my bra before unhooking it, but we’re pressed too close together for it to fall. Then, in one too-quick movement,t he pulls away, pushes down his boxes and steps back under the water. My lacy bra falls to the floor and without letting myself overthink it, I push down my underwear and step under the spray with him. “So beautiful…” he breathes out as he reaches for me. I don’t dare look down, I keep my eyes locked on his face as his fingers graze my arm. I want to reach out and touch him too, but I’m too hyper-aware of how naked we both are. As if noticing my hesitation he spins me around. “It’s okay. Talk to me. Tell me what you want.” I shake my head. “You want me to stop?” I shake my head again. “Use your words, Darlin’.”
I focus on the glass in front of me and try to steady my jumbled, lust and anxiety-filled mind. “I need…Slow…But don’t stop.”
He kisses the space behind my ear before whispering, “I got you”. His arm reaches up past my head to a basket full of bottles of liquid soaps, shampoo and conditioner, none of which look manly enough to be his normal taste. He rubs his hands together creating a foamy lather before gently massaging over my shoulders and down my arms. He relathers and then moves to my sides and over my stomach. But as he ducks down to kiss my neck he moves his hands to my thighs. I whimper slightly as his fingers brush my inner thighs. He brings his hands back up to my sides and then as he continues to kiss my neck, runs his hands under my breasts. He kisses back up to my ear and breathes out, “Tell me your safe word, baby.”
“Brisket,” I breathe out.
“Good. I’m going to touch you now, but say the word I’ll stop.” I nod and he finally takes my breasts in his hands. His calloused thumbs flick over my hard and sensitive nipples and I throw my head back against his chest. Water splashes against my face and I quickly try to turn, but Jensen just shuffles ever so slightly forward so I’m out of the stream. I know the air must be cool but I can’t feel it as my blood runs hot and the steam surrounds us. He continues softly kneading my breasts in his big hands as he kisses down my neck again. I’m suddenly hyper-aware as I feel his left hand leave my breast and travel slowly over my stomach and rest at the peak of my thighs. As I lean back against him I feel his erection rub against my back, I know he’s desperate, but doing his best to hold back. I reach up for the soap and then turn around in his arms.
“Can I?”
He nods and lets his hands rest on my waist. “All yours.” Copying his earlier actions, I massage his shoulders, chest and stomach. I look up and his eyes are closed. His breath is heavy. I bring one hand to his erection and wrap my fingers around it. He bites his lip as he curses. I set a steady rhythm and rub my thumb over the head as it leaks pre-cum. I keep watching his face as I move faster and he moans out. “Darlin’...Y/N…So good…’m so close.” I nod and after a few more strokes he cums all over my hand and his stomach with a strangled moan that comes out as a beautiful string of curses and my name. I rinse my hand under the falling water as he cleans himself.
As he catches his breath he says, “You didn’t have to”.
“I know. I wanted to. You’re always taking care of me.” After a few moments of silence, I confess, “Also, I-I was at my limit with you…”
He puts his hands on my shoulders. “That’s okay. This was a major leap. Your comfort is the most important thing. My only concern is you.”
“I’m okay. I’m more than okay. But…Can I?” I gesture at the water.
“Of course, take your time.” He presses a quick kiss on my head before stepping out of the shower. He wraps a towel around his waist and then disappears into the bedroom. My skin is already well and truly wrinkled and we’ve used so much water I feel guilty, so I just quickly wash my face clean of my make-up and step out.
A/N: I just want to start by thanking everyone for all the love on this story so far. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. Please read the TW below and only read on if you feel comfortable doing so.
Potential Trigger Warnings: mentions of violence, rape, therapy, depression
A Sweet Mishap Masterlist | Main Masterlist
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
I’m suddenly very aware that we’re standing on the side of the road. I shake my head in disbelief at his words and try to pull away but he tightens his grip on my arms. “Jensen…I…”
“You don’t have to say it back. I just couldn’t hold back anymore. Not when you think I think so little of you when in fact the opposite is true.”
“I said I trust you, but the truth is I don’t think I even know how to trust anyone. I’m working on it, but something’s broken inside me. I always assume the worst, I can’t help it.”
“I know why you do. But you keep fighting and working and that’s all you can do. And that’s why I’m so damn proud of you. I’m sorry if it seemed like I pitied you, I don’t. I just don’t like seeing you struggling.”
“But I need to. It’s the only way I’ll grow. I don’t want some knight in shining armor or rich ass actor to save me, I want to work! I want to earn my success myself!”
“But you’ve struggled so much already…”
“But this is a different kind of struggle. If you support me mentally like you have been I can manage the financial stuff. I enjoy hard work!”
“I get that. I do. I don’t need to work as much as I do, but I enjoy it. So, I understand wanting to work, but I just want to help. I want to make it easier.”
“But I don’t want you to! I want to do it on my own!”
“But you can work without the burden!”
“It’s my burden! I have to own it! I can’t move forward if I don’t work through it! I’ll never feel like I’ve made it on my own if I let you clear all my past problems and debts! I’ll feel like a failure and a gold digger and I can’t live with that.” Jensen drops his gaze to the ground, his grip on my arms loosens and he puts his hands in his pockets instead. I can tell he feels guilty.
"I don't want to make things hard for you."
I reach out and put my hand on his cheek. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad, I just want you to understand my side. Why this matters so much to me.”
His eyes flick back up briefly. “I want to understand. But…”
I shake my head and look at the steady flow of traffic passing us by. “We have a reservation to make. I’ll try to explain more on the way.”
He looks at me surprised. “You still want to go?”
“I put a lot of effort into this,” I wave my free hand over my body, “let’s not waste it.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. Come on.” We both walk back to the car and get back on the road towards the restaurant.
As he drives I try to think of words to describe my feelings in a way he’ll understand. “You told me once you moved out to LA at 18. When you did that did you want your actor dad meddling and handing you roles and paying for everything?”
He nods. “At 18? A little, I thought, ‘Why can’t he just put in a good word’.” He sighs, “But in hindsight, no. I’m stronger because he forced me to do it alone. All those rejections helped me grow and I did value things more when I earned them myself.”
“See. And that’s all I want. I’ve had help when I need it. My dad got me a place to stay for free and a job at the bar back home when I came back from London broken. But in New York…that’s all been me. I’ve never taken handouts there. And I’m proud of that. I’m managing to keep that apartment and keep the lights and water on. And in the last few months alone I’ve gotten a promotion and raise and had my first taste of broadway and I loved that. I feel like I’m finally managing to stand on my own two feet.”
“And I’m so proud of you for all of that. I love watching you shine.”
“And now I’m finally able to consider romance again. That’s because of you, Jensen. But you need to let me find my own way there. You promised…”
“I know…your terms, your pace. I understand. I’ll try to tone down my concern and let you tell me what you need.” He pulls into a park and shuts off the engine before continuing. “I’m still allowed to take you out to a fancy dinner and treasure you though, right?”
“We both have some compromises to make. I’ll try to be more accepting of you spoiling me a little, as long as you let me cover debts that are purely mine. But, yes, let’s go on a date in a fancy restaurant.”
“Perfect.” Ever the gentleman, he gets out first and then opens the door for me. The air between us is much lighter now, but there’s still a simmer of a different kind of tension. We both know that he said those all too important words and I didn’t say them back. God I wanted to, but I couldn’t. Not like that. I need to mean them in every way and be able to prove it before I can say them again. After years of saying them as empty words, I need to claim their true meaning back first. I want them to mean something again.
His hand rests lightly on the small of my back as we walk up a cobblestone path from the car park to the front of the restaurant. I look up at the building as we approach. It has the facade of a traditional country cabin but has clearly been remodelled for extra strength and a touch of modernism. Across the front of the building is a subtly backlit sign that reads ‘The Rusty Spur’ sitting on five shiny star-shaped spurs. As we get closer we climb the three wooden stairs to the massive double doors. Jensen pushes the heavy door open for us and urges me to walk in ahead of him. My eyes instantly gleam as I take in the opulent, yet country-style and expert architecture. Black metal lanterns hang down from the ceiling by shiny black chains and shine a romantic and inviting low-ambient light throughout the restaurant. Perfectly polished wooden floors meet panelled walls with mahogany accents. Each wall is covered with historical photographs, maps, flags, taxidermy bucks and bull horns.
As Jensen talks to the receptionist at the door, my eyes land on the fancy bar situated perfectly in the centre of the room. The counters are crafted from deep mahogany and a large cabinet filled with multicoloured bottles of surely expensive alcohol separates one side from the other while barmaids and men busily mix and serve drinks. I’m drawn away from it as I feel Jensen softly urging me to walk. I continue to look around while following the impeccably dressed woman to a small secluded corner table. The first thing I notice is the panoramic views of the Texas Colorado River and the clear sparkling sky. Then as Jensen pulls out a chair for me I notice the plush red velvet cushioning on the expertly carved mahogany chairs that match the table. I take my seat and Jensen walks around to sit opposite me. I spread my fingers over the soft white tablecloth that contrasts the dark hues of the room and furnishings. A small glass of tiny red and white wildflowers sits in the middle of the table with a small flickering candle. I smile. It really does feel like a date.
“Can I get you anything to start?” The server asks politely as she hands a drink menu to Jensen.
Jensen looks at the drink menu briefly before passing it to me. “You know wine better than me, you can choose.”
I nod and then glance over the menu. While I do know wine, of course, all the wines listed on the page appear to be local and way out of my price range. Feeling out of my depth, I go with what I know. I know I love a good Cabernet Sauvignon, so I choose that. My biggest fear is not that I’ll have ordered wrong, but more so that it’ll be the best wine I’ve ever tasted and I’ll struggle to go back to the budget brands once I get home. Once I give the request to the server, she takes back the menu and says she’ll be back in a moment.
I glance out the window at the glimmering reflection of the moon on the mostly-still river. I hear Jensen rustling his menu, so I bring my attention back to us and flip through mine as well. “What’s good here?”
“Everything, the chef’s a master. But if you’re asking for recommendations…the brisket is always great, so’s the chicken fried steak.”
“What are you getting? I wanna get something different.”
“I’ll go the brisket. And ‘cause I think that’s what you’re hinting at, ‘course you can have a bite.”
I blush. “Maybe…Alright, I’ll try the chicken friend steak then.”
“You won’t reget that.”
We both close our menus and look back around the room. The place isn’t overly busy, there are just a few other tables with couples chatting quietly while sipping drinks. The server comes back then with a bottle of expensive Cabernet Sauvignon in a metal bucket of ice and two wine glasses. She carefully sits it all down and then pours us each a glass of the rich, deep red liquid. She then places the bottle back in the bucket and asks if we’re ready to order. We nod and give her our requests and Jensen adds on a serving of cheese fries to start and she takes our menus as she strides back to the kitchen. Jensen lifts his glass up to me as he says, “To a wonderful first date and summer filled with opportunities.”
I smile and lift my glass to his. “I can toast to that.” We both take a small sip and savour the rich flavour profile. It’s exactly as I expected: the best wine I’ve ever tasted. “How do I go back?” Jensen lifts his eyebrow as he places down his glass. “To cheap wine after this.”
“Easy, you don’t.”
“Jens…”
“I know, I know. But whenever I’m with you I want you to experience the best. Suffer through what you must in my absence, but when we’re together I plan to cherish you. Show you the life and luxuries you deserve.”
“Fine. If it means I get more of this wine, then I can accept that compromise. There’s one thing though…I’d never get drunk on it. It’s too good to chug like that.”
“That’s the idea.”
“Maybe I should tell Nick. He gets so annoyed whenever Stell and I get wine drunk.”
“He gets annoyed about that?”
“It’s not like that. He cares is all and he hates seeing her hung over and in pain…and he thinks I’m just immature.”
He shakes his head. “I’d never get mad or annoyed about that. I just want you to have fun. I still get drunk with my friends every now and then. Only my kind of drunk is too many whiskeys. Jared actually has a name for me when I’m drunk…”
“Oh yeah?”
“Nesnej. It’s Jensen backwards.”
“Sounds like a fun guy.”
“He is.”
The waitress comes back with the bowl of steaming cheese fries and places them in the middle of the round table. We thank her and then each reach for the bowl. “You really are letting your diet go this summer, huh?”
He rolls his eyes with a low chuckle. “I’ll cook us a healthy meal tomorrow night and hit the gym in the morning.”
“Hey, you don’t have to. I’m just-”
“Nah, I gotta stay in shape. I can’t afford to let myself go. I was planning to do that anyway.” He puts a fry in his mouth and chews. I follow suit. After he swallows he continues, “Feel free to take the truck and explore the city. Or you can join me. This is your summer too.”
“I’ll think about it.” I look back out the window briefly as I eat another fry. Then I look back at him. “Can we go on a hike around the river or trails sometime?”
“‘Course. We got some good trails. Jared walks them more than I do though, so I’ll ask for some recs.”
We let a comfortable quiet fall over us as we enjoy the cheese fries and wine and take in the atmosphere. Before long our mains are coming out. Jensen tops up our glasses with the cool wine and we share our meals. He was right; the meals are absolutely to die for. The brisket has a delicious smokey flavour that overwhelms my tastebuds and the chicken fried steak is paired perfectly with the creamy Texas gravy. We don’t say much as we both enjoy and savour the flavours.
Once the waitress collects our empty plates she offers us the dessert menu, Jensen takes it and glances over it but asks for a moment to peruse it. I shake my head. As much as I believe the desserts would be phenomenal, I feel like I’d be sick if I ate another bite. Jensen smiles and puts it down on the table. “The pecan pie is great,” he teases.
“I bet it is. I’m not used to eating like this.”
“This beat your old friend Ramsay?”
“By a mile. God, it’s gonna be impossible to adjust to life in New York again.”
“Let’s go for a walk, then maybe you’ll have some room for dessert.” He stands up and holds out his hand. I stand up and take it. He leads us around the dining area to a secluded lounge with two leather couches. There’s a large cabinet in the corner filled with hunting trophies and weapons. The walls have picture frames and certificates. Jensen points out a family photo and explains that it’s his friend and his family who have owned the restaurant for years. He explains the passion for Texan cuisine has been in their blood for generations and that’s why it’s so good. He also explains how his friend told him that in the beginning, they used to catch and kill everything they needed for the restaurant. That was back when it had a much smaller patronage and standards were lower. Now everything is ethically sourced.
He then leads us out onto a small balcony that overlooks the river. It’s quite clearly the smoker’s area as the scent of cigarette smoke instantly causes my nose to wrinkle, but I try to brush it off and enjoy the view. We go to an empty section and lean on the wooden rails. Neither of us says anything. No words are needed to express our current feelings. It’s comfortable and pleasant. The longer we stand there enjoying the slightly cooler night air and endless views, the more guests filter out and the smoke slowly clears. Only once the balcony is fully empty, do we retreat back inside. Jensen then asks if I still feel too full for dessert. I nod. He chuckles and leads us back to our table. Within a few minutes, the waitress is checking on us again. Jensen orders a slice of pecan pie to-go and requests the cheque. Jensen tops up our wine glasses once more and relaxes into his chair as he sips at the deep liquid.
“I hope you don’t mind, I wanna wait for the chef and thank him.”
I shake my head. “Not at all. I wouldn’t wanna waste this fine wine anyway.”
“You wanna get through the wine? I got an idea then. Never have I ever…played a drinking game.” I pull my lip between my teeth as I think before I take a sip. “You game?” I nod. “Your turn then.”
I take a few seconds to think of a scenario before saying, “Never have I ever…fallen in love at first sight.” I hold my glass to my lips but don’t drink as I study his reaction. He looks me dead in the eyes, smirks and takes a sip. My breath hitches in my throat briefly and when I gather myself back together I take a sip too.
A/N: I just want to start by thanking everyone for all the love on this story so far. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. Please read the TW below and only read on if you feel comfortable doing so.
Potential Trigger Warnings: mentions of violence, rape, therapy, depression
A Sweet Mishap Masterlist | Main Masterlist
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My first full day in Austin passes by smoothly. Jensen drives us to a secluded cafe for breakfast where we both enjoy coffee and share a big greasy breakfast of bacon, eggs, toast and hashbrowns. With full stomachs, we then go for a pleasant walk in the not-too-hot morning sun, exploring the area and window shopping at the boutiques. Once the day starts to heat up, we seek refuge in the air-conditioned supermarket and walk the aisles together. I push the kart while Jensen fills it with ingredients and treats for the coming week. I sneak in a few extras and he pretends not to notice, but I see his knowing smirk every time I place an item in the kart. It feels strangely comfortable and domestic between us as he explains the different meals he plans to make and encourages me to tell him my specialities so we can get whatever I need to make them for us. And when the bill comes up at almost $300 he doesn’t bat an eye, he just swipes his card and inputs the pin while politely thanking the young lady behind the register. He insists on pushing the piled-up kart back to his truck to give me a break and I give in, walking beside him. I help him transfer the bags into the tray of his truck and then return the kart to a nearby corral while he starts up the car and pumps the air con to combat the now sweltering sun. Despite the air con being up high the car is still steamy when I climb in. The black leather seats sear the back of my exposed thighs as I sit down and my short summer dress rides up. Jensen chuckles as I jump slightly in my seat at the feeling, holding myself up off the burning material. I have to be careful, as the bag of ice cream and milk is at my feet, in an attempt for it not to melt under the hot Texan sun.
“Sorry, ‘bout that. Should’a warned ya.” Through his chuckling, his words come out in a thick Texan drawl that almost gives me goosebumps. I shake my head at him and put my hand on the seat testing the surface temperature then gently lower myself back down while trying to pull down my skirt to cover as much skin as possible. Once I’m sitting properly with my seatbelt secured, he backs out of the parking lot with practised ease and takes us pack to his place. He gives me his phone during the drive and we take turns picking songs for me to play.
Back in his house, he blasts the ducted air conditioning through the whole space as we put away the mountains of groceries we–or specifically he–bought. He takes the lead while also telling me where things belong whenever I pick up an item that I’m unsure of. The whole kitchen is surprisingly organised for a guy, especially one who spends significant time living elsewhere. I can’t help but wonder if it’s due to an interior designer’s help or his mother, either way, he’s making a great impression. Once everything is put away he wraps his arms around my waist from behind and rests his chin on my head. “I think it’s time for a nap.” I nod. “Let’s go up to bed. I need a decent hour or so.” I nod and let him lead me up to his room. Rather than getting in under the covers, he pulls up a throw blanket to cover us before pulling me close to his chest. Despite the sweltering heat outside, with the air conditioning blasting through the room, the air is cool enough for me to enjoy sharing his body heat and the comfort of the soft blanket.
Golden pink hues of light filter through the floor-to-ceiling windows across the room. I stare out at the magnificent sunlight over the lake while attempting to stay as still as possible to not disturb Jensen. I know he works hard and doesn’t get to rest as much as he should, not that I’m much better, so I want him to get all the rest he needs. However, despite my best efforts, he starts to stir moments later. His arm tightens around me and his fingers resume their light patterns against my bare arms before he kisses my head. “I could so get used to waking up like this,” he says, his voice groggy with sleep.
I nod against his chest and agree, “Me too.” A comfortable quiet falls over us as we take some time to wake up from the extended nap and get used to the change of light. Then, eventually, I ask a question that’s been on my mind for a while. “Would you ever consider moving to New York?”
His fingers stop briefly before he answers, “Permenantly? I’d prefer it if you’d consider moving here…”
I consider his response. “New York has a better broadway scene than here.”
“I know…” He tilts his head and mine so he can meet my eyes. “We don’t have to make any decision today. My work is still in Vancouver for the foreseeable future anyway. We can do it all. While we’re working I can fly out to New York to see you whenever I can, and I can fly you up to Vancouver sometimes and then we can spend our breaks here. You still have to graduate next semester. I don’t plan to make any big decisions with you until after that.”
Overwhelmed by his consideration and care for my future and dreams, I almost blurt out those three words, but I stop myself at the last moment by surging forward and kissing him instead. I pour all of my emotions into the kiss in lieu of using words and he instantly reciprocates. He pulls me on top of him for ease of access and deepens the kiss, swiping his tongue along my bottom lip and into my mouth. His hands glide down my back. I give myself over to everything he has to offer until he pulls back slightly out of breath. “Wanna go out for dinner?”
“Like a date?”
His face crinkles in all the right places as he smiles at my response, revealing perfectly formed crows feet by each eye and the dimples in his cheeks. “I’d say I’d pick you up at your door and everything, but, well you know.”
“Wasn’t this morning a date?”
“I guess, but didn’t officially ask you. So, now I am. Y/N, would you do me the honor of going on a dinner date with me?”
I smile back at him and say, “I’ll have to check my calendar, I think I already have plans.”
He flips us over and starts tickling my sides as he lightly pecks my neck. His warm breath adds to the sensations, giving me goosebumps as I squim under him while laugh uncontrollably. When he gives me a respite, he says, “You wanna rethink that response?”
I shake my head and his fingers start to move again, so through fits of laughter I say, “Fine! Fine! I’ll go on a date with you!”
He stops his tickling and pecks my lips softly. “That’s better. You wanna get ready in the other room and I’ll pick you up at your door at eight? It’s our first official date, I wanna do it right.”
“Jens, we’ve had plenty of dates. The park, the car in the alley, my apartment, this morning…”
“Yeah, but they were just us hanging out. They were generally rushed and you never got the chance to dress up. I didn’t get to show you off in public.”
My face drops when I realise the weight of his implications and what it could mean. “Public? Paparazzi?”
“There’s not many paparazzi here. Plus, you were out with me all morning. If you’re calling that a date…please…”
Whether he means to or not, his green eyes go big and puppy-dog-like and I can’t disappoint him. “You drive a hard bargain Mr. Ackles.”
“Is that a yes? If it’s too much…”
I gather my confidence and look up at him with a smile. “It’s a yes. Just don’t let me get in my head and it’ll be okay. I didn’t even think twice about it this morning, it all just felt so natural. I didn’t even consider that we were out there where we could get photographed or seen. I want to continue feeling like that.”
“Me too. Let’s just focus on us, that’s all I want to do this summer.”
I glance out the window at the now-dark sky. “I guess we should start getting ready if I’m meant to be ready by eight.”
“Yep!” He pecks my lips briefly before jumping up off the bed. “I’m gonna hit the shower. Make yourself at home in the other room, it can be your private dressing room. Spread out as much as you want.”
I climb off the bed. “Thanks.” He disappears into the ensuite and I gather my makeup, hair accessories and pick a fancier dress and heels for tonight and rush into the guest suite. Expecting Jensen to not take too long getting ready I have a quick shower–I don’t need a long one anyway as I did the full exfoliation, hair washing and shaving shower just before I left New York, so I’m still alright–and then start on my hair and makeup. I pin my hair into a half-up-half-down look, leaving the length the fall over my shoulder and down my back. I straighten the length to make sure it sits how I want it to and then turn my attention to my face. I follow all the steps carefully without going overboard, adding a covering layer of foundation and powder, before adding just a touch of blush–I blush enough with Jensen as it is–and a light smokey eye with mascara and eye liner. I finish the look with some red lipstick and admire my work, before setting it with setting spray. I then put on a pair of lacy underwear and a matching strapless bra–hoping that tonight maybe I’ll get the courage to show it off–and carefully step into my red satin-feel dress. I zip up the back, smooth out the ruches so it sits properly over my hips and thighs, adjust my boobs in the bra and top to fix the cleavage on display and then untwist the small off-the-shoulder sleeves so they sit flat. Satisfied with the fit, I put on my one good set of jewellery. Just as I finish clasping the necklace I hear a knock at the bedroom door. I tap my phone to check the time and curse under my breath. Despite trying my best to be quick, I still went over time.
“Just a minute!” I call out as I take one last look at my handiwork and smile. I quickly slip back into the bedroom and sit on the bed to put on my simple silver high heels and then grab my purse. Finally, I open the door to reveal my stunning date. His jaw drops as his eyes glide from my face to my feet and back up again.
“Wow! I might have to swap venues. This look deserves somewhere with an extra couple Michelin stars.”
I then notice that he’s dressed in a simple short-sleeve black and white button-up, a pair of bright white jeans and black boots. He looks stunning, but much more casual than me. I blush. “I can choose a different-”
“No way! Gimme a minute, I’ll be right back.” He quickly turns and goes back to his room. I awkwardly sit on the edge of the bed waiting for him to come back. I mentally slap myself for not asking about the dress code, rather than assuming that he’d mean some fancy restaurant fit for a famous actor. When I hear him return I look up. He now has a perfectly pressed black suit jacket over his shirt, making the outfit more dressy. “Now I can confidently stand beside you.” He sits on the bed beside me and pulls out his phone. “I was gonna take you to the brewery, but now I have to make other plans. We can’t waste all this beauty on food vans and beer.”
“I should’ve asked, sorry.”
He shakes his head. “Nah, my fault. I said I wanted you to dress up, you deserve somewhere better anyway. But don’t worry, I know other places. Just gotta make sure they can fit us in.”
“I still wanna see your brewery…”
“And you will. Just not tonight. Give me a sec.” He dials a number and puts his phone to his ear. I stay quiet as I listen. “Hey man, what’s up? Awesome! I’m great! Just wanted to see if you had a table free for me and my girl tonight? That’s amazing, knew I could count on you. See ya soon, man.” He hangs up and smiles at me. “All set. Let’s go!” He stands up and holds his hand out for me. I take it and let him lead the way downstairs and into the garage. He takes a different set of keys out of the case than in the morning and leads me to a different car. Instead of the giant red Ram truck, he unlocks a sleek black classic Ford Mustang and opens the passenger door for me. I climb in and he walks around the other side. Being an older classic I don’t expect it to have air conditioning or Bluetooth, but to my surprise, he’s suped it up so it has all the beauty of a classic car as well as the luxuries of a modern one. I shake my head as I imagine what life could be like if I had money to splurge on luxuries and hobbies like this, as it is I’m on a payment plan for the clothes shopping I did for this trip and everything I bought was on sale. “You’re in your head again. What’s up?” Jensen asks as he expertly reverses out of the garage.
“Nothing you need to worry about. Or that I’m gonna let ruin our date.”
“You saying that makes me worry.”
“If I tell you you’ll just want to fix it and I don’t want you to. I have to manage this problem on my own.”
“Did you get your period or something? Trust me I’m not squeamish. I have a sister and female friends. I’m not afraid to buy pads.”
“It’s not my period. So, you don’t have to worry about that.”
“Then what?”
“Jensen, please. Just drop it. I’m fine, I promise.” When he doesn’t respond I focus on the road and passing street lights outside the car. His music autoplays, filling the now-tense silence between us. I contemplate opening up or even just making something up to satisfy him, but I choose not to. I refuse to let him fight all of my battles for me. Eventhough I know he can easily afford it, I want to prove that I can make it on my own. Him paying for this summer is my limit. I think back to a previous session with Dr. Kate about building up my confidence and standing up to people to fight for what I want and deserve. I know I have to apply that to this situation. I refuse to let myself go backwards just to attempt to save a date that’s now already potentially ruined. I just have to trust that we’re stronger than this and that he will understand eventually. I’m shocked back to the present when I feel the car screech to a stop off the side of the road.
Jensen turns in his seat to face me. “I’m sorry for pushing.” I feel his hand reach for mine, I don’t pull away but I don’t look at him either. “Please, look at me.” I begrudgingly pull my eyes away from the darkness outside and face him. “I worry about you, that’s all. But you said you’re okay and I have to trust you.”
I nod. “There are just some things I have to do myself. I need you to understand that. And trust me.”
“I do.”
“Do you? Really? ‘Cause you’re looking at me like I’m some charity case! Like I’m someone you need to save! And I don’t want that! I don’t want your pity! I don’t want your money! I don't-I just-I just want you to love me!” Feeling overwhelmed by the tension in the car and my own emotions, I reef the door open and jump out. Stumbling slightly with my unsteady heels on the rough dirt. Caught in my own head I don’t hear Jensen get out, I only feel his warm hands lightly gripping my forearms to steady me.
“You’re not a charity case, and I don’t pity you. I’m beyond proud of you. But yeah, maybe I do want to shower you with gifts and money, but that’s only because…” He looks up at the sky as if he’s searching for the right words or looking for a sign, but then he eventually looks back at me and continues, “Because I do love you. I want to spoil you and treasure you and give you everything you deserve and more. I don’t want you to have to worry about a thing. I just want you to chase your dreams and be happy every day. Because for whatever reason I started falling for you the day you spilled that coffee on me and I don’t know how to stop.”
