one of my biggest pet peeves in fanfiction is when it’s an angsty fic and the reader forgives the character way too quickly, like wdym it only took one conversation and you’re all good ?? like no ?? it genuinely gets me so annoyed on behalf of the reader 😭
like when they pull the “she wanted to stay mad at him, but she couldn’t help but smile at his pleading and sorrowful face” LIKE STOPPPPP
i wish people understood that an angsty fic can have a happy ending without rushing through the forgiveness, let the reader be angry, let her be stubborn, let her process her emotions instead of jumping into forgiveness, let her refuse to accept apologies until there’s effort on the character’s side to fix things, i’m so tired of the reader just forgiving so quickly without even having a valid crash out, let my girl go crazy
like stop making the reader so dependent on a character to the point where she forgives way too easily
let reader crash out in 2026
(also i know i used she/her pronouns for the reader but this can apply to male!readers and gn!readers as well obvs)
Description: When Johnny is sent to investigate suspicious steam coming out of a sewer, he doesn’t expect a woman from another dimension to climb out of it. You look at him like he’s your knight in shining armor, and he realizes very soon you possess the ability to completely derail his life.
Inspired on the movie Enchanted ✨
Tags/Warnings: whimsy!reader, fluff, humor, cheeky references to other characters and universes, yearner!johnny being down bad for women out of this world.
Notes: I’ve been feeling whimsy lately and it’s all thanks to my dear @vividxpages, so this one is dedicated to her 🤍 I’ve also missed writing our dramatic prince Johnny, and ended up giggling a lot while writing this. Enjoy 🫶🏼
Masterlist
Johnny had just walked out of the shower when his Fantastic Watch™ beeped. Wrapped in only a towel from the waist down, he steamed the remaining water off his body as he reached for it.
‘Steam rising from a sewer system detected in Midtown, please go check it out – Reed.’
He chuckled. The situation seemed a little bit dramatic to call a whole superhero, but Johnny Storm never missed a public appearance if the opportunity arose. He quickly got dressed in his blue suit, making sure his hair was fully dry before smiling to his reflection, and stepping out into the living room.
Ben, who was reading a book on one of the large couches, watched Johnny stroll to the kitchen island to snatch a fresh Maisie’s cookie from the batch H.E.R.B.I.E was putting on a tray, giving him a little pet in the process.
“Hey, J,” Ben called, just as Johnny reached the balcony and burst into flames. “If you find anything weird down there, try not to flirt with it,” he teased without looking up, and a robotic giggle was heard from the kitchen.
Traitor, Johnny thought, narrowing his eyes at Herbert.
Ben thought he was so smug ever since the whole Herald fiasco. But Johnny, ever the sweet summer boy, just gave him a pearly white condescending smile before finally taking off into the night.
A few minutes later, Johnny lands in the middle of a street in Times Square, where traffic has stopped and a crowd has gathered around a rattling sewer lid. There’s indeed thick white clouds coming out of it, and Johnny can feel the high temperature as he lands next to them.
People gasp when they see him, then cheer and whistle because salvation has arrived.
‘Human torch!’ ‘What’s happening?’ ‘I told the mayor he needed to check on the system ages ago!’
“Alright everyone, back up,” he puts on a smile, shooing people away with his arms. “I got it covered–”
A loud metal sound makes him turn around, and the manhole cover blasts upward landing on top of a car nearby with a loud crash. People scream and scatter away, and Johnny flames on instantly, absorbing all the heat that pours out of it.
The white steam subsides, replaced by some lilac, glittering particles that make Johnny cough a few times, swatting at it with his gloved hands. Once Johnny can see clearly again–or maybe not–he notices there’s something peeking out.
Is that…a hand?
A hand comes out to grab the edge of the sewer, but he sees no claws or scales or weirdly colored skin, no…it’s a woman’s hand wrapped in delicate lace gloves. Then the other hand comes out, clearly trying to prop themselves up.
Johnny’s fire dies when he sees no imminent danger, and he frowns at the small coughs coming from inside, stepping closer to see when something finally emerges from the sewer.
You emerge.
“Oof,” you say, using all your strength to climb out of…whatever you were in.
The puffy white gown you’re wearing spreads around you as your heels finally touch the ground, layers upon layers of sparkling fabric drag through the glittery pavement when you straighten yourself up. You brush away dust from your giant skirt, too lost in your own world to notice that the crowd around you has gone dead silent, and Johnny looks flat out bewildered.
That is, until a car blasts its horn, making you jump so hard you almost fall back into the sewer.
Strong, warm arms wrap around your waist, catching you immediately. You yelp, clinging to your savior, and that’s when your eyes finally meet. Your breath hitches, but all you needed was one look to that perfect blonde hair and those bright blue eyes to exhale in relief.
“Oh, thank goodness!” you say giddily, “Is this the Barbie Kingdom?”
Johnny doesn’t answer because quite frankly, what the fuck?
You don’t seem to mind, your melodic voice keeps spilling out excitedly. “My bad, Ken. I know it’s not a kingdom anymore! That democracy thing you have going on is spectacular, I really admire–” your enthusiasm dies out a little when your eyes dart around, realizing there’s zero pink in this place, only strangers, a bunch of weird colored lights, and the guy you’re holding onto for dear life is looking at you like you’re insane. “But this…doesn’t look like Barbieland,” you add with a nervous laugh. “Are you…a prince?”
Barbieland. A prince?
(I mean, he’ll take the compliment, but ????)
Johnny’s confused gaze darts all over your face, then down to your dress. A wedding dress. There are actual sparkles woven into it, and he’s sure your skirt alone weighs more than him. The white fabric is pristine and you smell like flowers, not like you just crawled out of a sewer.
And you just called him Ken. Thank God Ben is not here.
“Umm, kind sir?” You snap him out of his trance, still gripping his forearms. “Can you please tell me what kingdom is this?”
He looks at you, then at the crowd that’s just as confused as him, before replying hesitantly.
“...Manhattan?” He says, and it does very little to calm you down. He clears his throat, finally releasing you from his grip so you feel more comfortable. “You can call me Johnny, by the way,” he says, giving you his best trademark smile.
You smile back at him, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes.
“Well, Johnny of Manhattan,” you say, wrapping your arms around yourself and trying to avoid making eye contact with the people whispering around you, and the noise of those weird metal boxes with wheels. “Do you know Andalasia?”
Even with all the extensive space knowledge Johnny possesses, he can’t really point out a place in the universe named like that.
“Is that your planet?” He asks, making you chuckle softly. Johnny delights in the sound, he feels like any moment now birds will wake up to surround you and start chirping.
“It’s my world,” you say, your voice turning more nostalgic now. “I was meant to marry The Bat Prince Edward today, my Eddie, and now I’ve fallen into this terrible place...”
“…Right.”
Johnny tries to consider all options.
Maybe you hit your head? Or you were some junkie? A very dedicated theater kid? Method actor? Or maybe, crazy idea, you were telling the truth. He doesn’t get much time to dwell on it because your laced gloved hand suddenly reaches for his.
“Please, can you help me go back?” You ask desperately.
Johnny looks where your hands meet, and decides to ignore the creeping blush on his face and the intrusive thoughts. She’s engaged. She’s probably crazy. But she’s so beautiful–no! Stop it, Johnny.
The last time he had a crush on a woman that showed up unannounced on his planet, things had not ended well.
“I know someone who might,” is all he says, avoiding your eyes. Since when does Johnny Storm get shy?
You squeal immediately, practically leaping into his chest to give him a hug he certainly wasn’t expecting. Johnny laughs surprised, trying not to get lost in your sweet perfume. A white flash suddenly blinds you, and your eyes widen in panic at the crowd closing in.
‘Johnny, who is she?’ ‘Another Herald?’ ‘Is this for a movie?”
Without thinking you cling tighter to Johnny, who you’ve decided is the only person you can trust in this weird place, and that does something alarming to his stupid little heart. Red flag, red flag–whatever, he decides to step up to the role, shielding you from the photographers.
“Alright, show’s over everybody!” He announces with a smile, never losing that golden boy persona, before turning back to you. “Okay, princess, you’re coming with me,” he says, pointing upward.
“...How?” You ask, staring up at the sky with a frown.
“You just hold on, and try not to scream,” he winks at you, and before you can react he’s picking you up bridal style, bunching the skirt of your dress so it’s not on the way. “I’ll try not to scorch it, but no promises.”
“Scorch it? What do you mea–oh my god…”
The night sky glows with fire coming out of this man’s body, as he flies you across the Manhattan realm. Truth to be told, coming from a world of magic and curses, this may not be the craziest thing that has ever happened to you.
You land on the balcony of a tower that looks absolutely nowhere near the ones made of stone back home. And thank the universe you’re too busy gawking at the view, because Johnny is able to sneakily pat the ends of your dress that caught on a few flames without you noticing.
“Oh wow…” you whisper, placing your gloved hands on the railing, overwhelmed by all the movement and lights and floating things. “Your world is strange, Johnny of Manhattan,” you laugh softly.
Johnny chuckles, and wow, this is not what he thought his night would be like. But then you gasp, pointing at the sky.
“We have the same moon!” You exclaim, placing your elbow on the railing and your cheek on your palm as you stare longingly at the sky. “Don’t you like it, Johnny? Knowing she’s always there?”
Johnny smiles, but he’s not sure it’s because of the celestial body he’s admired since he was a little boy, or the way you seem completely mesmerized by it.
“I’ve always loved her,” Johnny says fondly, stepping next to you with both hands on the railing, but he doesn’t look up. His eyes stay on you. He watches you sigh dreamily, and it makes him smirk. “Is this the part where we start singing about our heart’s wishes?”
“What? Noo,” you chuckle, without taking your eyes off the moon. “It just means home must be close if we can see the same stars…”
Right, home. Johnny forces himself to take his eyes off you, and as he peeks inside the empty living room, he notices Ben is no longer there. Perfect.
“Come on, let’s go inside, princess,” he says, and you turn to him with a smile.
He bows to let you go first, and you do a little bow in return. Your enormous skirt barely manages to cross the threshold with a few tugs. The black fabric at the ends, courtesy of the human torch, drags across the carpeted floors as you slowly take in every detail. He guides you into a big metal box, and presses a panel. You extend your arms for balance as the thing begins going up all of a sudden.
“Fascinating,” you whisper.
Johnny watches you with a smile and pride blooming in his chest. The Baxter Building is a marvel even for normal people, to you? It must be mind blowing. The innocent awe in your face makes Johnny feel that familiar flutter of butterflies in his stomach he hasn’t felt in a long time.
Bad Johnny.
“Okay, number one rule,” he clears his throat, compensating by the thing he does best: joking. “We’re going into the ogre’s swamp, so you’re better off not touching anything.”
He feels proud of it, at least until you look at him horrified and recoil in fear.
“An ogre? Oh no no no no…” you shake your head, reaching for the panel and pressing it frantically until the thing stops moving. “I don’t like those, absolutely not.”
“No, wait, sorry,” Johnny apologizes. “It was just a joke. We’re going to my brother in law’s lab, and he’s a bit…particular,” he explains, and only presses the button to keep going up when you nod. “Just uh…follow my lead, and you’ll be fine,” he says, when the elevator comes to a stop.
He stretches his neck, bouncing slightly on his feet and giving himself a small pep talk you can’t really understand. Then the doors open to another colorful, open place that makes your eyes go wide. Johnny strolls in first, and you follow behind like an anxious lost puppy.
“Reed!” he calls out dramatically, to a figure leaning over a counter. “I bring gifts from my mission!”
The man–not ogre, thank the stars–Reed, doesn’t even look up from what he’s doing. His intention to ignore Johnny doesn't last long though, because he hears a pair of heels clicking on the floor that definitely don’t belong to his brother in law. He lifts his gaze, and his eyes immediately land on you.
“Why is there a bride in my lab?” He deadpans, looking at you up and down. “For the love of God, Jonathan, don’t tell me you–”
“Uh-uh,” Johnny cuts him off, holding a finger in the air before spreading his arms in a flourish to gesture at you. “I present to you: the steaming sewer.”
“Hiii!” You smile politely, waving at Reed. “Are you the ruler of this realm?”
Reed now looks at Johnny, exasperation written all over his face. “Explain yourself.”
“She came out of the sewer,” Johnny shrugs, looking too smug for his own good. “Dress and all.”
“I did,” you nod enthusiastically, not really helping at all.
Reed sighs, rubbing his eyes with the tips of his fingers, but by the time he opens them again, you’ve already wandered to one of his old models with a curiosity that reminds him of his own son.
“Oooh, what’s this?” You ask, reaching for a red lever.
“No, don’t touch–“
You gasp in delight as the lights flicker when you pull on it, but Johnny catches your hand just in time before you pull the whole thing and cut the power of the entire building. He gently guides you away from the counters, smiling apologetically at Reed’s resting bitch face.
Ogre, indeed.
The doors of the metal box you arrived in open again, and a woman storms in carrying a child in her arms. He doesn’t even look a year old.
“Not only are you working late, but you’re messing with the power while I’m trying to put Franklin to bed and I–” The woman stops in his tracks when she sees you standing in the middle of the lab. Her eyes go to Johnny, and she only has to raise her eyebrows for him to look like a scolded child.
“Sue, I can explain. Don’t panic, she’s just a–”
“Pwincess!” The baby in her arm babbles, clapping his little hands together.
You coo at the baby, but stay put where you are, not wanting to crowd the woman narrowing her eyes at you. You gather the fabric of your dress and give them a little curtsy.
“Thank you, little bean. But I’m not a princess yet,” you say, pressing one hand to your chest.
Sue notices the way you clutch the fabric of your dress nervously, and curiosity gets the best of her.
“Did you escape from your wedding?” She asks, but there’s no real malice behind it.
“I didn’t escape,” you shake your head, looking down to the floor. “I believe someone may have tried to kill me and I ended up here instead.”
“Oh honey,” her expression softens, not entirely sure why she believes you’re harmless to her family. At least at this moment.
Johnny does, and he sighs, because now you’ve activated Sue’s mom instincts. How is he supposed to not get attached?
At least she won’t be telling him to kill you.
“Where exactly did Johnny find you, sweetheart?” She asks, bouncing little Franklin on her hip.
“Johnny says it’s called a sewer!”
Sue just nods, looking between Reed and Johnny but the latter just smiles with a shrug. A sudden blue light washes over you, but before you can panic Johnny shows you it’s coming from a little device Reed is hunching over.
“He’s just scanning you to see how we can help,” Johnny explains reassuringly, and you nod as the light keeps going all over you.
“Fascinating,” Reed says after a few minutes, walking away from the thingy to circle you. “No traces of chemical intoxication. Her body has adapted to survive in our environment, but her clothing fibers are unlike anything I’ve seen on this planet.”
“Oh! My dress was hand sewn with the help of my friends. Mouses and rabbits are very talented when it comes to special fabrics,” you say matter of factly.
“Mouses and rabbits.” Reed repeats and you nod happily. Jesus Christ.
“H.E.R.B.I.E told me you were all here. What’s going on?” A new voice echoes across the lab as the doors open again. ”Uhh, is Johnny getting married and didn’t tell us?”
You turn around to see a tall man made out of orange rocks and your shoulders sag in relief. Finally, someone normal around here. But before you can ask him if he knows how to get to your kingdom, Reed is already gesturing for him.
“Perfect timing, Ben. Team gathering. Now.”
Ben obeys, following him without taking his eyes off you. Sue walks past you, and Franklin giggles when he tries to grab one of your puffy sleeves and fails. Reed motions them deeper into the lab, and Johnny walks backwards to look at you.
“Don’t touch anything,” he mouths, and your eyes drift immediately towards another lever device on the counter. “Especially that!” He whisper-shouts, and you nod innocently, clasping your hands behind your back.
He flashes you a grin before jogging to meet the others, who are already explaining the situation to Ben. You can hear the whispering, but you can’t really make out what they’re saying, so you distract yourself with your own dress.
On the far corner of the lab…
“She came out of a sewer, and you believe she’s a princess?” Ben asks, biting back a smile as he watches Johnny roll his eyes.
“She could be delusional. Experimenting a psychological episode perhaps.” Reed says.
“Then why didn’t your scans show anything?” Johnny crosses his arms.
Reed hesitates, because the machine may not show physical abnormalities, but your mental state is a different thing.
“My love?” Reed asks the person he trusts the most in the room.
“She looks harmless,” Sue shrugs, shifting Franklin who’s starting to fall asleep on her shoulder.
“She is harmless,” Johnny says immediately.
“You've known her for like twenty minutes,” Ben teases.
“Yeah, and in those twenty minutes she’s been overwhelmed, yet polite enough to ask for our help. After all we’ve seen lately, I think we’re safe–just…look at her.”
They all glance back.
You’re standing exactly where Johnny left you, carefully lifting the edge of your gown and gasping in visible distress when you notice it has turned black.
“Oh no…my dress…”
Johnny mentally slaps himself when you look at the singed fabric with a sad face. Okay, maybe flying in flames while carrying a hundred pounds of magical tulle had been a bad idea.
“So who’s the lucky fella?” Ben whispers, nudging his arm to get his attention.
Johnny takes a second too long to take his eyes away from you, before turning back to the group with the answer.
“She said she was marrying some prince named Eddie,” Johnny explains, trying to sound as casual as possible. “But I don’t trust him, what if he’s the one who sent her away?”
“Or…maybe you just want to steal his bride,” Ben says without hesitation, making Sue snort. Even Reed’s mouth twitches.
Johnny groans, stepping back to point between them defensively.
“No, no, no. I know what you’re thinking, and you’re wrong! Absolutely wrong,” he defends himself, but his family has the audacity to laugh in his face.
“Johnny–”
“No! This isn’t another Shalla-bal situation,” he insists, crossing his arms. “That was months ago. Besides, can you really blame me? She was gorgeous.”
“And do you think the princess is gorgeous?” Sue asks with a knowing smile.
He glances at you once again, and it’s a bad idea, because Herbert has rolled into the room too and now you are bending slightly so you can pet his weird head. You were actually petting him. The droid is complimenting your dress, and you thank him giddily because you somehow understand what he’s saying.
“I fear the gown may be ruined, though,” you add with a small laugh.
“It still looks pretty on you,” Johnny blurts out loudly from his spot.
You straighten up to look at him, and your flustered face makes it difficult for him to not smile like a lovesick puppy. What the hell is happening to him?
When he turns back around, everyone is staring at him. Johnny closes his eyes with a grimace, sighing.
“I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”
“I say you’re toast already,” Ben says, amused, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Good thing you can handle some heat–“
“I’m not handling any heat–“
“Alright!” Reed shuts them up. “Until we understand what happened, we can’t exactly send her anywhere,” Reed says, exhaling in defeat.
That makes Johnny perk up immediately with a smile that’s nothing but trouble.
“So we’re keeping her?” He says.
“We are letting her stay temporarily because she clearly needs help,” Sue corrects, giving him a warning look. “And you are going to behave.”
“Yes, absolutely!” Johnny nods, way too fast and completely unconvincing. Sue narrows her eyes at him. “Your mistrust wounds me, sister. I’m always on my best behavior.”
She glares at him one last time, before gesturing with her head at the group to walk back to you. She notices H.E.R.B.I.E has stuck to your side, and seems to be charmed by you as much as Johnny is. Which is another positive point in your favor.
“You can stay with us until we figure things out,” Sue says with a reassuring smile. “We’ll do our best to find your home.”
Your eyes go wide, the relief washing your face makes you look even brighter. Johnny has to keep himself from clutching his chest dramatically.
“Oh, I’m eternally grateful to all of you,” you say, lifting the fabric once again to do a full curtsy. “But especially to you, Johnny of Manhattan, because you were the one to trust me enough to bring me to your castle,” you add with a smile, straightening up and walking toward him to pressing a soft kiss on his warm cheek.
Johnny stills on his spot as your lips delicately graze his skin, before you pull apart a walk alway like nothing happened. His hand lifts instinctively to touch the spot you kissed, and this time his family’s snickers are inevitable.
Maybe Ben was right. Maybe he’s toast. Burned toast.
As he watches you obliviously hum a little tune for Franklin, who’s drooling away on Sue’s shoulder, acceptance hits him like a train.
He was absolutely doomed the second you climbed out of that sewer.
Thank you for reading this small fairytale! Feedback is always appreciated 💗🦇
Summary: you begin studying with Remus Lupin during your final year at Hogwarts. What starts as tutoring slowly turns into friendship, late-night conversations, and unexpected romance.
Warnings: gryffindor!reader, Lily is your wingwoman, smut, sub!Remus, a teeny tiny corruption kink maybe? blink and you'll miss it, dry humping, teasing, Remus cums in his pants (😝), one mention of reader having a clit but apart from that i think it's gender neutral, this is overall pretty soft tbh
Note: submissive nerd Remus as the Lord intended 😌
—.
Professor Binns droned on endlessly about goblin wars. Or was it giant wars? You'd stopped listening ages ago, and judging by the glazed expressions around the classroom, so had basically everyone else. Gryffindors shared History of Magic with the Ravenclaws, and for all their erudite, none of them were paying attention, either.
The only exceptions were Lily and Remus. This was convenient for you because Lily was one of your best friends, and while she heavily disapproved of your complete lack of academic focus during class, she always helped you figure things out once exam season rolled around.
So really, you weren't too concerned.
Sirius, your desk mate, had initiated a game of hangman to keep the two of you entertained. James, stuck behind him and offended at being excluded, resorted to repeatedly kicking Sirius's chair. This distracted Sirius from the game, who retaliated by folding the hangman paper into a projectile and launching it at his best friend. Within seconds, the two of them had started their own miniature war—maybe Binns could lecture about that instead.
Bored again, you let your gaze drift around the classroom. Most students were asleep, some were secretly finishing homework for other classes. Other people were whispering quietly to each other.
Then, your eyes landed on Remus. He sat upright, completely focused on the lecture, scribbling neat notes as though what Binns was discussing was genuinely fascinating. His tongue peeked out slightly in concentration. He wrote with his left hand, you noticed. You couldn't make out his handwriting from where you sat, but from the elegant movement of his wrist and the long strikes of his pen, you figured it was pretty.
His hand was pretty, too, you thought to yourself. Long fingers, slim and deft, faintly scarred—you knew he was a werewolf, being quite close to his friends who were absolutely not subtle.
For a brief, dangerous moment, you wondered what else his fingers could do. A smirk tugged at your mouth before you quickly shook the thought away.
Lily, sitting next to him, looked up from her notes and caught your expression immediately. One eyebrow lifted in silent judgment at your obvious lack of attention. Then, she wiggled her brows knowingly, hinting she’d caught you staring at Remus.
Truthfully, you did that a lot. And she had noticed it a lot. Lily could be way too perceptive sometimes, seriously.
You stuck your tongue out at her, earning an eye roll before she turned back to her parchment.
The second class finally ended, you let out a loud sigh of relief. You packed your things in record time and made your way over to Lily, already knowing exactly what she was about to say before she even opened her mouth.
“You need to pay more attention in class,” you said in an exaggerated imitation of her voice at the exact same moment she said it normally.
Lily rolled her eyes, though there was no real annoyance behind it. "Seriously, it’s NEWT year. Exams are in a month."
"A very long month, Lily," you argued. "You’re being a bit dramatic with your sense of time there."
She shrugged. "Better safe than sorry."
"Fine," you sighed dramatically, "I concede. Tonight, I will catch up on History of Magic."
"Really?" Lily turned fully toward you, suspicion written all over her face. "You're studying History tonight? Voluntarily? Alone?"
"Well..." You dragged the word out, shooting her a pointed look. "I was kind of, maybe, perhaps, slightly hoping you'd take pity on me and turn it into more of a tutoring situation."
Lily smiled, almost sadly, as if she really wished she could study that evening, before she said, "I promised Marlene I'd help her with the Charms essay tonight."
You sighed, this time less theatrically. Lily really had no obligation to help you fix your own academic failures. "No problem, Lils. Maybe if I struggle through it myself, the information will actually stay in my brain?"
"Or..." Lily said slowly, eyebrows wiggling suggestively again, "you could ask Remus to help you."
Immediately, you scoffed. "Yes, and have him realise what a hopeless idiot I am? No, thanks."
"He wouldn't think you're hopeless," Lily replied softly. "First of all, you are not an idiot. Just a procrastinator with the attention span of a goldfish. He's already friends with two of those." She paused meaningfully. "Second of all, I know you fancy him."
Heat rushed to your face. "I do not."
"You do."
"I really don't."
"You're in looove," Lily sang, skipping backward down the corridor.
"Am not!" You called after her. You heard a singy "are too!" before she dissappeared in the next corridor, to her Ancient Runes class.
You shook your head, scoffing slightly but unable to stop a smile from tugging at your mouth, before heading off toward Alchemy.
Later that evening, Lily’s words kept circling around your head while you sat in the Gryffindor common room, your textbook spread open on the small couch table beside the notes she’d lent you. Should you ask Remus for help?
Lily had definitely exaggerated by saying you were in love with him—seriously, you barely knew him—but you couldn't deny you might fancy him a tiny bit. Studying together would give you an excuse to actually talk to him without sounding ridiculous.
Apparently, the decision had already been made for you. The portrait hole swung open and Lily climbed through, Remus right behind her. The second she spotted you, her face lit up with entirely too much satisfaction. She shoved Remus lightly towards your table, shot you a sly wink, and disappeared in the girls’ dormitories.
Remus shuffled closer, awkwardly, like everything he did, hands shoved into his pockets. You looked up at him expectantly.
"Uh—" he started quietly, glancing toward the staircase Lily had vanished up, "Lily, she said you wanted help on History of Magic?" he sounded unsure, as if you were going to send him away, or maybe laugh at him and tell him he'd been mistaken.
You mentally cursed Lily, giving Remus a warm, inviting smile. "Yeah! I’m terrible at paying attention in that class, and you always seem like you know exactly what he's talking about."
You shrugged a little helplessly, silently asking if he’d mind helping. Remus nodded immediately. "Sure, I can help, if you want."
He stayed standing there awkwardly for another second until you patted the empty spot beside you on the sofa. He took the hint to sit down, knees brushing the edge of the table.
"Where are you up to in the course material?" Remus questioned softly. You answered, flipping to the chapter on the witch hunts.
Remus' eyebrows shot up. "Oh." he said. "That's... not very far."
The moment the words left his mouth, horror crossed his face.
"I mean, not that that’s bad," he added quickly. "Or unusual. Well, maybe a little unusual, but- but not in a bad way! At least you’ve started?"
He somehow managed to turn the last sentence into a question, unsure whether he was recovering or making things worse for himself. Luckily, you just snorted at him.
"Relax, Remus. I'm not offended. If anything, now you understand why I need tutoring."
A laugh escaped him then, quiet and warm.
"Well," he said, visibly relaxing, "James and Sirius haven’t even opened their textbooks yet, and they’ll probably still pass with flying colors. You’re already ahead of them, you'll probably be fine."
You smiled warmly at him, and something suspiciously like butterflies stirred in your stomach at his words.
Not long after, the two of you settled into an easy rhythm. You’d explain the bits you thought you understood, usually losing the thread halfway through, and Remus would gently fill in the gaps without making you feel stupid for missing them in the first place.
Somehow, hours slipped by unnoticed.
By the time you glanced at the clock again, midnight had already come and gone, and the two of you were still hunched over parchment and textbooks, having long since moved on from witch hunts to the origins of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy.
You quickly discovered that Remus was very easy to talk to. You’d spoken to him before, of course—small conversations in passing, questions about where Sirius or Lily had disappeared to, complaints about homework, comments about the next Hogsmeade weekend—but this was different.
Now, the conversation wandered naturally between topics whenever your studying lost momentum. One minute you were discussing magical treaties, the next you were telling him about your favorite Muggle album. You’d been surprised when he immediately recognized it.
"I didn’t know you listened to Muggle music," you admitted.
Remus shrugged lightly, smiling a little. "My mum’s a Muggle."
Something softened in his expression as he continued, "Though honestly, my dad's the one responsible for my music taste. He's obsessed with records."
When he'd dissappeared upstairs at some point to retrieve snacks, you found out Remus was a chocolate lover. Big time. He returned with an absurd amount of chocolate in his arms. Plain chocolate, chocolate with caramel, chocolate with hazelnuts, chocolate with toffee—honestly, it looked less like snack time and more like he'd raided Honeydukes in preparation for a natural disaster.
You stared at the pile in disbelief. "Remus."
"What?"
"You have a problem."
He looked genuinely offended. "Chocolate is not a problem."
"You brought six different kinds."
"That's called variety."
You laughed, expecting him to duck his head shyly the way he usually did when teased. Instead, he simply unwrapped one of the bars with complete confidence, clearly far too devoted to chocolate to feel embarrassed about it.
It probably helped that he'd gained some confidence in talking to you since the beginning of the study session, relaxing as you spent more time together. Now, sitting beside you in the dim glow of the common room fire, he looked comfortable.
Comfortable with you.
The realization sent another wave of warmth fluttering through your chest.
As the clock crept toward one in the morning, the two of you finally decided to call it a night. Even without classes the next day—a Saturday, thankfully—you were both exhausted, and after several hours of History of Magic, even Remus looked thoroughly sick of it.
Silently, too exhausted to keep up the conversation, Remus and you packed up your things before heading toward the dormitories.
At the split between your staircases, you paused.
"G'night, Remus," you said softly, offering him a tired smile.
He returned it instantly, something almost shy flickering across his face again. "Goodnight."
Then, you stumbled upstairs and collapsed face-first onto your bed, asleep within seconds.
After that, it somehow became a routine. To your surprise, Remus had initiated your next study session. Then another followed. And another one after that.
Apart from the obvious academic improvement (you were no longer catastrophically behind on History of Magic), you also felt yourself growing closer to him.
Eventually, the two of you started spending time together outside of studying too. Once, Remus joined Lily and you in Hogsmeade as you made your ways to the Three Broomsticks, where they spent most of the afternoon making fun of your inability to drink butterbeer without getting foam on your nose.
Another time, you'd been pestering Sirius relentlessly about their 'Marauders Map' when Remus wandered into the dormitory. Sirius, dramatic as ever, had immediately declared the explanation "too complicated" and abandoned you entirely. Remus had stayed, though, patiently walking you through how the map worked and answering every single one of your questions.
Merlin, he was smart.
Your tiny crush strengthened every time he laughed at one of your jokes, every time he absentmindedly handed you chocolate during study sessions, every time he looked at you like he genuinely wanted to hear whatever nonsense you were about to say.
Eventually, it became impossible to ignore.
One evening, during yet another late-night study session—or rather, tutoring session, considering you still didn't pay attention in Binns' class—Remus was explaining Goblin rebellions to you for what felt like the fifth time. Frankly, your focus had once again abandoned you completely, so at this point, maybe Professor Binns wasn't the problem.
Remus paused mid-sentence after realizing you hadn't responded in a while. When he looked up, he found you staring blankly into space, completely zoned out.
A smile tugged at his mouth as he snapped his fingers lightly in front of your face.
You blinked hard. "Oh, Remus. Sorry. I was just…"
"Not paying attention?" he offered, amused.
You groaned, dropping your forehead dramatically against the table. "I swear I'm trying."
He laughed softly. "I believe you."
After a short pause, he suggested, "We could do something else, if you want. Save goblin rebellions for when you're less tired." His lips twitched slightly. "Or less bored."
"Yeah," you said distractedly, your gaze lingering on his lips without meaning to. Truthfully, you had been thinking about Remus while you were zoned out. Somewhere during his explanation, your attention had drifted entirely to him instead. Seeing him in his element, talking passionately about goblin rebellions, of all topics—seriously, who was interested in that?—had you imagining him under you, unable to bring out any coherent thought, brain leaking from his cock as you rode him.
When this happened, you always felt bad; Remus was so cute and so sweet as he helped you out. But then again, that's exactly what inspired these kinds of thoughts in the first place, so really, whose fault was it?
You only realized you were still staring when Remus cleared his throat quietly. His cheeks had turned faintly pink under your attention, and at his shy demeanor, you felt a flicker of boldness spark in your chest.
"You know," you said slowly, raising an eyebrow as you turned fully toward him, your knees brushing his beneath the table, "I've got something else in mind we can do, if you want to take a break."
This was either going to break your friendship or turn it into something more. For one terrifying second, you wondered if you'd just ruined everything between you.
"Wh- what do you mean?" Remus asked, voice almost a whisper, visibly flustered, as the blush on his cheeks deepened. The common room was almost completely silent around you, the fire crackling softly somewhere behind him.
You smiled and he seemed to shrink under your gaze. You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice, "I think you know what I mean."
His breath caught softly as you leaned even closer so your noses practically touched, until there was barely any space left between you and you could feel the warmth radiating from his skin.
"Remus," you murmured, "do you want me to kiss you?"
His eyes widened. "D- do you want to?"
"Yes," you answered simply, and for a moment, he just stared at you. Then, he nodded in response. You closed the remaining distance carefully, your lips meeting his in a soft, tentative kiss. Remus made a quiet, surprised sound before relaxing into it, his nervousness melting away little by little as he kissed you back. Your lips moulded together as you slotted one of your legs in between his.
When you finally pulled away, the two of you stayed close enough that your breaths still mingled between you. Remus' eyes remained shut for a second longer, as though he was trying to process what had just happened.
You smiled at the sight before leaning in to kiss him again, unable to help yourself.
This time, he answered with more vigor, jaw nudging forward almost desperately. Cute, you thought to yourself, smiling against his lips.
Remus' hands settled on your hips as you shifted closer, letting him pull you into his lap. A quiet groan escaped him at the friction of you simply sitting on him.
You pulled back just enough to murmur against his lips, "Shhh, Remus. We don't want anyone coming down here and finding us like this, do we?"
He shook his head immediately, eyes glazed over as he tried to recapture your lips. You dodged him at the last second just to tease him, laughing softly at the look on his face.
Without either of you realizing, a tent had formed in Remus' pants. When you softly grinded on him, providing just the softest bit of friction, Remus tipped his head back for a moment, breathing unevenly, clearly overwhelmed already. The room felt impossibly warm.
You grinned. "Does it feel good?"
His ears turned pink as he gasped out, "I'm sorry, didn't mean to—"
"What?" You cut in, a teasing lilt to your voice. "You didn't mean to get hard just from a few kisses?"
His blush deepened at the embarrassment he felt, but there was no denying the jump of his cock under you, hopelessly fond of you and everything you said.
Suddenly, his expression softened as he whispered your name quietly, almost shyly. "I really like you."
You heart just about melted. "I really like you, too, Remus," you replied, smiling softly.
Remus grinned at that, finally regaining some of his confidence as he kissed you again, softer this time but no less eager, and you melted into him easily. You continued to shift back and forth on his clothed cock. Breathless sighs escaped his mouth as you broke apart once again, eyes shut tightly. You couldn't help panting, either, the stimulation on your clit making you dizzy.
You were lucky the common room had emptied out hours ago. A mischievous smile crept up your face as a devious idea formed in your mind.
"Remus," you murmered softly, fingers slipping through his soft locks as you continued the stimulation on his dick, "Do you think you could come like this?"
Remus' eyes snapped open immediately, a stutter tearing through his breathing. "Wh—what?" His voice jumped higher by just an octave, clearly taken off guard.
"I think you could," you continued, taking note of the twitching of his cock as you spoke. "And I think you'd like it."
Remus threw his head back, not daring to look at the dangerous glint in your eyes. A quiet moan escaped him, high and trembling, as he shifted his hips to match your rhythm.
"I—I'm—" he stammered, eyes opening again as you tugged his hair.
"You're what, Remy? Talk to me," you asked with a grin, continuously grinding against his cock. You felt his precum through his pants, mixing with your own wetness seeping through your underwear. "Are you going to come?"
Remus nodded hurriedly, taking note of the mocking tone in your voice but too out of it to care if he came across as desperate, clinging to your waist like you were the only thing grounding him.
"Yes, yes, I'm gonna—please—" his voice broke, and you took pity on him just a little, brushing kisses all across his pretty jaw and cheek while your nails scratched lightly across his scalp. Remus let out a shaky gasp, eyes widening slightly at the attention.
His hands tightened on your hips instinctively, pulling you against him with force—had he always been this strong?—as he let out a loud, wanton moan. You laughed quietly, covering his mouth with your hand before he got too loud, pushing his head against the sofa as he reached his high.
You stopped grinding as Remus held your hips in place, eyes shut tightly as he cried out under your palm. His hips bucked against you in short spurts as he soiled his underwear with his cum. He rode out his orgasm, and you let him, staying still in place as he used you to stimulate his cock.
When it finally subdued, Remus sagged back against the couch, completely dazed.
"Had fun?" you teased.
Remus looked up at you, eyes still slightly unfocused, mouth parted. "Did you, you know..."
He trailed off awkwardly. You knew what he meant, though.
You shook your head. "Nope. But it's okay. Maybe you can repay me in another way."
At the confident smirk on your face, Remus perked up, becoming alert again. "Sure, I can—I mean, I've never done that before, but, but I can try, and you can teach me—"
As he clambered to a more comfortable position, with every intention to try and please you, you laughed softly. Pushing him back slightly, you answered, "Remus, I'm not getting undressed in the middle of the common room. Maybe you can repay me some other time, if we manage to find an empty bedroom for once."
Remus let out a breath, realisation settling in. "Right. Yeah, that makes sense."
You smiled, climbing to your feet and tugging him up with you. "Come on," you said. "We should probably get ourselves together before someone finds us."
He nodded, then hesitated before stopping you.
"What, uh, what exactly does this mean?" Remus asked quietly. "For... for us?"
You smiled at him softly. "Well, considering I like you, and you like me, and I just made you come in your pants, I was hoping you're not completely opposed to the idea of a relationship with me?"
"Yeah?" Remus exclaimed, almost in disbelief, before he ducked his head slightly, lowering his voice. "I mean, yeah, I'd like that."
Then his expression faltered a little.
"But you should know," he continued carefully, "I'm not exactly easy to be with. There's still a lot you don't know about me."
"Like you being a werewolf?" you tilted your head, aware of the bomb you'd just dropped.
Remus went completely still.
"What?" he sputtered, genuine panic crossing his face. "Who told you?"
"Shh, Remus, let me explain," you said quickly. "Nobody told me. James and Sirius are about as subtle as fireworks, and I've always paid very close attention to you anyway, so I figured it out myself." You raised a hand before he could interrupt, "Before you start worrying—I don't care."
Remus stared at you, stunned.
"I like you for who you are, and the fact that you transform into a howling beast every month doesn't change that," you continued. "If anything, it just makes me worry for you, because none of it is your fault and I don't want to see you in pain."
Remus was quiet for a moment, dazed at your blunt explanation. Then, he asked very quietly, "Do you really mean that?"
You rolled your eyes affectionately. "No, I completely lied to you just for the fun of it."
Despite himself, Remus snorted.
"Of course I mean that, Remus," you said, more softly. "You're a wonderful person, one of the kindest people I know. Nothing about this changes that."
You flushed suddenly, realising just how rawfully honest you were being with your feelings for him. But when you looked back at him and saw the disbelief and emotion written so clearly across his expression, you knew it was worth it.
Remus reached for you then, pulling you closer before pressing a quick, almost hesitant kiss to your lips. "I think I'm in love with you," he admitted quietly, almost unintentionally.
Your heart skipped embarrassingly hard, before you grinned, nudging him toward the stairs. "Sleep it off."
The next morning, you were at breakfast unusually early, still unable to stop smiling into your tea. Lily had only joined you at the table for about three minutes before she made a comment on it.
"You look happy," she observed, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. "What happened?"
"Oh, nothing," you shrugged innocently, taking another bite of toast. Then your grin widened. "Apart from Remus and me kissing."
⁺ . summary ! – out of curiosity, you see if you can classically condition your cute co-worker using snaps and swedish fish–spoiler: you definitely can.
⁺ . paring ! – coworker!dennis whitaker x fem!reader
⁺ . warning ! – intern!reader, fluffy, mild suggestiveness, non consensual training, use of pavlov’s dog, dennis is clueless and in love, trinity featured, big pet play undertones PROOFREAD/EDITED BY @str4wbsstuff
⁺ . della's note ! – wrote this bc i really really wanna classically condition a man without him knowing and yes a sexy horny version is coming eventually
✦ MORE UNDER THE CUT | 18+ MINORS DNI </3 ! ⁺
It all started on a very normal day at PTMC. Nothing crazy or too terribly exciting happening beyond the run of the mill, normal horrifying situations of the ED. Blood, guts, vomit, piss, broken bones, you name it they got it. Just normal. Normal enough for you to conduct a harmless little experiment on your cute co-worker, Dennis Whitaker. Now, was conducting a non-consensual experiment on your co-worker during your shift wrong? Yes. But you’re positive Dennis would be totally fine with it since he’d never find out.
Out of every single one of your colleagues, Dennis would be the easiest subject. He was sweet, kind, had a little crush on you, and submissive. This personal quality of his could’ve only been present in the workplace—which was perfect because this is exactly where you’d be doing your tests. It wouldn’t be weird for you to start handing out candy to your co-worker, that was normal. Everyone knew that you had always had a bag of candy tucked in your locker when your sweet tooth was begging for something to soothe cravings. You tried to keep it a secret but after Langdon caught you shoveling Skittles into your mouth when you were supposed to be going outside to take a breather. Now you were known as the doctor who would hand you a piece of candy if asked nicely. So obviously at the conception of your idea you knew you going to have so much fun with this.
At the end of your shift, it was you and Dennis alone in the locker room. Changing out of your scrubs and grabbing your filled backpacks out of your lockers like usual. But you did something different this time.
Snapping twice, you get his attention. Saying his name so he knows it’s directed towards him, and naturally he looks up with curious eyes. “Yeah?” he asked, slinging the bag over his broad shoulder and shutting the door before walking up to you—this was going to be just as easy as you expected. “Wanna piece of candy?” you offered, opening your hand you used to snap and displaying a single piece of Swedish Fish in the palm of your hand, his favorite. If only you could’ve taped the way his eyes lit up at the light. He looked as cute as a button, blue eyes warming up instantly. “Oh, yea sure! Thanks,” he said sweetly with a soft smile curling at the corner of his lips as he grabbed the piece of candy, fingers brushing your palms as he did so.
“Don’t mention it. I know they’re your favorite,” you replied, closing your locker, sending a short wave his way as you walk away knowing that this experiment would be more than successful. Poor Dennis was none the wiser, heart thumping from the interaction and the brief moment of “skin on skin” contact utterly hung up on the fact that you remembered his favorite candy.
You had spent the next week training Dennis with the snap of your fingers and it was working faster than you expected. Keeping a small bag in your pocket and occasionally triggering his new Swedish Fish stimulus outside of the locker room. Sometimes when you’re at the nurses station, walking into work at the same time, when he’s charting .etc. All you need to do is snap twice and Dennis is right beside with a cute smile bending at his lips. You don’t even have to say his name or look at him. Just snap twice and he’s there. Summoning him like he’s an eager, bright-eyed puppy. He didn’t even realize he was doing it.
It was probable that Dennis was expecting a little treat every single day thanks to you, waiting for that snap every time he was around you. The guy didn’t even know how well he’s been behaving. Obedient everyday of the many weeks you’ve spent fucking around with his brain. At some moments you felt bad. Quite literally dog training Dennis, but he was getting Swedish Fish everyday—so it wasn’t all that bad.
But it was time to switch something up to see how big the effects were on him. To see how he’d react when there was nothing. No snapping. No candy. Nothing at all. You could even see that familiar glimmer in Dennis’ when he thought he was about to receive a piece. This whole thing got to him a little more than you had expected.
Your fingers clicked and clacked against the keyboard as you typed up the chart for your most recent patient but got kindly interrupted by yours truly. He didn’t say hi or hello or even say your name, but with the sorrow twisted throughout his 3 words as he said “Is everything alright?” You knew he had noticed. Suppressing a grin you looked up, his short sentence matched his face. Eyes somehow sadder his usually pink lips, chapped— no doubt driven from him nervously chewing at it. Pulled into a frown like he had just been kicked off his bike.
“Yea..why do you ask?”
Gulping, he looked down at his hands as he began tapping his nails on the counter anxiously, like he was afraid to look you in the or the response you would produce. “I..I was wondering if I did anything wrong? Did I make you mad?”
To make sure he didn’t think you were a sadist, you once again conceal your grin, swapping it out for an empathetic smile as your brow furrows in pity. “No, Dennis…what makes you think I’m mad?” Voice soft, tone neutral. He laughed through his nose like he realized how pathetic he was about to sound. “It’s just…you usually give me candy everyday but, you didn’t do it?” he said quietly, almost seeming embarrassed to speak as he finally looked you in the eyes. You wondered for half a second if he was gonna shed a tear.
Absolutely perfect.
Fortunately you were lucky enough to get a view into how Dennis’ mind was wrapped around what he thought was a completely normal situation. Both Trinity and Dennis were hunched over the counter as their eyes scanned the board, but when you heard your name being brought up in the conversation you couldn't help but do a little eavesdropping.
“Mhm and she gives me candy every single day,” he says with an obvious smile in his voice. The chirpiness gave away how happy he truly was and it was the most endearing thing ever. Little did he know. Trinity scoffs, shaking her head as his pure hopelessness. “She gives everyone candy, Huckleberry. You’re not special,” she sighed, which was partly true except for the fact you were always a willing participant to the candy “giving.” But Dennis pipes up because he was well aware of that. “Well…no. She lets you have candy, She gives me candy. There's a difference.”
“Like it's a treat?”
“Yeah but–”
“Dogs get tricks. You’re like her dog, man. Not a fuckable option.”
Of course she almost immediately caught on. And you could tell that it dawned upon Dennis as he left silence as Trinity wisped away to whatever patient that was likely to make her day a little harder. Not unexpectedly, he goes looking for you. Using the rare free time he had on his hands to ask you a pressing–and what he thought was a stupid–question. And it doesn’t take him long to do so. You were at max 5 feet away.
“Hey–Uh..Can I ask you a question? Promise not to laugh,”
“I won't laugh at you, Dennis. What's up?”
“Me and Santos were talking and…she–she s-said I was like your pet. She actually said dog. I just..wanted to know if you really think that?”
“Kinda. But you’re a cute dog.” Reaching your hand up, you pet him. A simple stroke against the messy curls atop his head. Leaving the poor boy speechless but with an oddly familiar warmth growing through him.
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Sorry but why does every fanfiction with older men have to be age gap? And why does the reader ALWAYS have to be a pale, white, skinny, petite barely legal woman with a bratty personality?? And why do we suddenly loose subplots and major information that has EVERYTHING to do with the setting we're in
Like im not kidding i saw a fic saying "she shyly glanced down unto her ballerina flats" BALLERINA FLATS. in an apocalypse? Like i get you want your little princess moment but can we do that without tettering on the edge of pedophilia? Ive yet to see a fic with an older man where the reader has a somewhat acceptable age group compared to the character... what happened to bad ass personalities where the reader is ACTUALLY strong and not just a weak woman in need of saving.
If you're ever feeling bad about your posture, imagine your favourite character coming up behind you, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck and gently gripping your shoulders, pulling them back to press against their chest.
Vanilla not does not mean boring or bad. Sex can just be sex. Some of y’all are just too porn-brained to realize that.
Not every smut fic needs to turn into the movie Hostel (2005) or a WWE smackdown. Please tell me why the majority of tags for men like Clark Kent, Steve Rogers, and Spencer Reid have them acting like that dude from Haunting Adeline or have Carlisle Cullen moving like a pedophile.
At this point y’all are just writing OCs and slapping the name of already established character on it.
He shouts it across the clearing, a lopsided grin across his face. The shot was perfect, and he knows it- he always thinks your shots are perfect. He likes knowing you have his back, that he can trust you when things get tough. He wants you to know how much he appreciates that.
"Good girl."
His voice is quiet, pressed against the shell of your ear, fingers curling into you as another desperate gasp falls from your lips. "Doin' so good for me- that's it sweetheart, just a little bit more."
"Can't- De- too much-" you whine. You're still giddy with the last orgasm, body overstimulated, head swimming.
"You can- just keep going-"
"Stop moving- let me take care of you."
He says it firm, a short breath pushed out his nose. He's trying to sound patient, but with your blood still seeping out of the cut in your leg, he knows he needs to get you bandaged up quick.
You'd do the same to him, frustrated as you both try to sort through each others injuries. But that frustration never lasts. It always ends with him kissing your forehead, an affirmation that he's not actually angry- and that you're okay.
"Stop moving, baby, I'm takin' care of you."
It's not like you have a choice- wrists bound to the headboard, stretching your arms above your head as you lay against the mattress. Your hips are still lifting off the bed, thighs twitching as Dean dives his head back between them.
His tongue presses against your clit again- you tug at your restraints, another loud moan pushed out of you. You feel him grin, looking back up, "Thought I told y' to stay still."
"You want me to teach you?"
He raises an eyebrow, a genuine question. He likes being able to show you things, likes being useful. It's difficult with you- when you already know so much, when you have hunters instincts and skills he sometimes feels envious of. He secretly relishes those small moments where he can actually teach you something new.
You nod, looking down at the gun in his hand, the object of question in the first place- "Yeah- yeah show me how you did that-"
"You need me to teach you a lesson?"
You've been teasing him all day- the makeout in the police station that left his cock swollen in his pants, the way you flirted with the witness while keeping your glances on Dean the whole time, your outrageously short skirt. You knew he was gonna get you back for it- but maybe that's part of the fun.
He's got you pulled over his lap, that same skirt bunched up to your hips, his handprint already etched red against your skin.
"This what you've been asking for all fuckin' day?"
"Dean-" you whine, cheek pressed against the sheets.
"Asked you a question, sweetheart- you better start answering-"
"You just need to relax."
He's got the bath running, your candles are lit in the corner. Your body's still aching from the hunt, your mind more exhausted than you realized. He helps you pull your T-shirt off over your head, you manage to get your own pants down.
"You want some ice-cream? I've got some in the freezer- get in the bath and I'll grab you a bowl."
"Relax, darling."
His body envelops you, touching every part- lips on your neck, one hand on your chest, the other wrapped around your hip. He's going slow- torturously slow. He knows it's making you frustrated, whiny and bratty as you try to lift your hips for friction.
But he likes you like this- that's why he's gonna keep you on the edge, smiling against your body like he's just trying to be sweet. "You gotta take it easy, sweetheart, let me take my time."
"Jesus- that tastes good."
Dean doesn't trust Internet reviews- why should he believe strangers online, who gives a shit about their opinions?
Which is why you've started working strategically. You've got a list of the top burger spots in each state- you leave little hints during cases, "maybe we should head north after this, see if there's any more leads?", "let's come off the highway, I wanna go the scenic route.", "hey I'm getting hungry, why don't we stop here?".
This time it's paid off, Dean thinks he's found a hidden gem- the grease from the bacon coats his lips, fries scattered across the plate. He grins at you, still chewing the bite- "How'd you always find such good places?"
"Jesus- you taste good."
He looks up at you from between your thighs, eyes glosses with admiration, trying to hold himself back from rutting against the mattress like a fuckin' dog in heat.
He always gets like this when he goes down on you- you've actually had to stop him during cases coz you know it makes him so dumb he'll be useless for the next 3 hours. His tongue circles your clit again, fingers pushed into you to the hilt. He's gonna make you cum at least 4 more times before he even thinks about getting his cock inside you.
"So good- fuck sweetheart- fuck-"
///
A/N: me? Hopping on a trend while it's actually still a trend? Whaaaat
By the time the Impala rolled into Bobby Singer’s driveway, the snow had turned to hard-packed ice beneath the tires.
Dean killed the engine and sat there for a second with both hands still gripping the steering wheel.
The salvage yard stretched around them in crooked rows of dead cars and rusted parts dusted white beneath the gray afternoon sky. Smoke curled lazily from Bobby’s chimney. Somewhere nearby, metal clanged faintly in the distance like the whole property breathed in junkyard noises.
Dean barely noticed any of it.
Because Y/N’s car was there, right where it belonged—parked crooked near the house, half-covered in snow.
Dean stared at it like he couldn’t quite believe it was real.
His pulse kicked hard against his ribs.
“Well,” Sam muttered beside him, already smirking, “look who suddenly remembers how to sit up straight.”
Dean elbowed him automatically without taking his eyes off the car. “Shut up.”
But he was already fixing his jacket, running a quick hand through his hair like that would accomplish anything after six hours in the Impala.
It had been almost five months since he’d seen her in person.
Five months of shitty phone connections and rushed conversations and missing each other by days because John always had another hunt, another town, another reason Dean couldn’t stop moving long enough to breathe.
And now she was thirty feet away.
The front door banged open before Dean could move.
“About damn time,” Bobby barked from the porch. “Thought you idjits got yourselves killed.”
Dean climbed out into the cold, boots crunching against ice.
Then he saw her.
Y/N appeared behind Bobby half a second later, bundled in that dark green coat with a knit scarf wrapped around her throat. Her hair was longer than he remembered, falling messy from beneath a beanie, cheeks pink from warmth and winter both.
Dean forgot entirely what Bobby was saying.
Y/N looked at him.
Just looked.
And suddenly all five months sat there between them at once.
Every missed call. Every late-night conversation cut short. Every mile.
Her expression shifted first—subtle but unmistakable. Something softening around the edges.
Dean felt it low in his chest like a physical ache.
“Hey,” Y/N said.
It came out quieter than he expected.
Dean swallowed hard against absolutely nothing.
“Hey.”
Sam made a face somewhere behind him that Dean ignored completely.
For one terrible second neither of them moved.
Then Y/N smiled, bright and relieved.
Dean was done for.
He crossed the distance before he could think too hard about it.
Y/N barely had time to laugh before he wrapped both arms around her and hauled her against him hard enough to nearly lift her off the ground. Cold air and shampoo hit him all at once, painfully familiar.
“There you are,” Dean muttered against her hair before he could stop himself.
Y/N made a soft surprised noise, then melted into him just as tightly.
Her arms slid around his middle beneath his jacket.
And Christ.
That was it.
That was the thing he’d been missing.
Not phone calls. Not hearing her voice.
This.
Her solid and warm against him after months of nothing.
Dean shut his eyes briefly.
Behind them Bobby groaned loudly. “Alright, save the reunion crap for inside before you both freeze solid.”
Y/N laughed against Dean’s shoulder, the sound muffled by his worn leather jacket—John’s leather jacket. Somehow that didn’t seem to bother Dean.
Dean pulled back just enough to look at her properly.
She looked different.
Not dramatically, but college had settled into her somehow. Confidence maybe. There was something sharper in the way she carried herself now, something brighter behind her eyes.
It should’ve intimidated him.
Mostly it just made him stare.
Y/N noticed immediately, one eyebrow lifting. “What?”
Dean shook his head once. “Nothin’.”
Lie.
An absolute lie.
Y/N narrowed her eyes like she knew it too.
Then her gaze flicked over his face slowly, taking inventory in return. “You look tired.”
Dean grinned crookedly. “My favorite compliment.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
The smile faded a little around the edges after that.
Because she did know him. Better than most people did. Better than Dean usually liked letting anyone get.
Her gloved hand brushed briefly against his wrist, thumb dragging once over the inside of it before letting go.
Tiny touch.
Tiny thing.
Still enough to send warmth straight through him despite the cold.
“C’mon,” Y/N murmured. “Bobby made chili.”
“Jesus,” Bobby barked from the doorway. “I ain’t raising a damn family out here. Get inside.”
Dean snorted softly and followed her up the porch steps.
As soon as they crossed the threshold, heat wrapped around him in a wave. The house smelled like wood smoke, coffee, old books, and something simmering on the stove. Familiar enough to loosen something tight in Dean’s shoulders immediately.
Y/N tugged her scarf loose while Sam headed for the kitchen.
Dean lingered near the door a second longer, watching her.
She caught him again.
“You gonna keep staring at me,” she asked lightly, “or are you actually coming inside?”
Dean leaned against the wall, unable to stop the grin pulling at his mouth now that she was here in front of him and real again.
“Depends,” he said. “You gonna disappear for another five months?”
Something flickered across Y/N’s expression then.
Not quite guilt.
Not quite sadness.
Maybe the same ache Dean had been carrying around since August.
“I didn’t wanna go away,” she said quietly.
Dean’s breath caught stupidly hard.
Because he believed her.
And because some selfish ugly part of him had needed to hear it anyway.
The house suddenly felt very small.
Warm and close.
She stood only a few feet away now, cheeks still pink from the cold, eyes fixed steadily on his.
Dean became painfully aware of the velvet box tucked deep inside his duffel upstairs.
Not yet, but soon.
꒰ ♡ ꒱
Y/N’s bedroom hadn’t changed of course, she had been gone for a single semester. Still, it felt smaller somehow.
She shrugged out of her coat and tossed it over the chair in the corner before wrestling the window open with both hands. Freezing wind immediately pushed into the room, sharp enough to bite.
“Jesus,” Dean muttered, rubbing his hands together. “You trying to kill me?”
Y/N snorted softly without looking back. “You smoke in motel rooms with windows shut. Your lungs have survived worse.”
“Yeah, well. That’s different.”
“Mm.” She glanced over her shoulder finally, mouth twitching. “Because?”
Dean opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Y/N laughed quietly under her breath like she already knew there wasn’t an answer.
God, he’d missed that sound.
She dropped onto the floor beneath the window first, back resting against the wall. Dean followed a second later, knees stretching out beside hers over the worn carpet. Their shoulders bumped lightly on instinct.
Neither of them moved away.
Y/N dug into the pocket of her sweater and held up a slightly crushed pack of cigarettes. “Peace offering?”
Dean took one immediately. “Marry me.”
“That line work on all the girls?”
“Only the terrifying ones.”
She rolled her eyes, but he caught the smile she tried to hide as she leaned forward with the lighter.
For one brief second her face hovered close to his in the dim room, flame glowing gold across her skin.
Dean forgot entirely how to breathe.
Then the cigarette caught, and she leaned back again before he could do something stupid like kiss her. That would be awful of him, right?
Horrid.
Smoke curled slowly toward the open window.
Outside, snow drifted lazily across Bobby’s yard beneath the floodlights, smoothing the sharp outlines of rusted cars and scrap metal into something almost peaceful. Inside, quiet settled around them as easy as breathing.
Dean rested his head back against the windowsill with a long exhale. The cold wood pressed against his skull while nicotine unfurled warm and slow through his chest.
Y/N mirrored the motion, shoulder fitted against his like it belonged there.
Maybe it did.
Silence stretched outwards, but not awkward. It was never awkward with her. Just full.
Dean glanced sideways eventually.
Her eyes were closed now, head tipped back against the sill. The low yellow lamp beside her bed painted soft light across her face while smoke drifted from parted lips.
She looked tired too.
Not physically. Something deeper than that.
College tired, maybe.
Life tired.
Dean knew the feeling.
“How is it?” he asked quietly.
Y/N cracked one eye open. “Bobby’s chili?”
“College, smartass.”
“Oh.” She looked back toward the ceiling. “Good.”
The answer came too quickly.
Dean nudged her shoulder lightly with his own. “Liar.”
Y/N smiled faintly around her cigarette. “It is good.”
“But?”
She hesitated and Dean waited, just like always. Finally she sighed smoke toward the window.
“It’s weird.”
“Weird how?”
“I dunno.” Her fingers tapped ash carefully outside. “Everybody acts like they already know who they are. Or who they’re gonna become.”
Dean listened quietly.
“And maybe they do,” Y/N continued. “Maybe they’re all just… moving forward normally and I’m the only one faking it.”
Dean frowned slightly.
“That doesn’t sound like you.”
“It’s not supposed to.” She glanced at him then, expression softer around the edges. “You know what the weirdest part is?”
“What?”
“I keep wanting to tell you everything.”
The words landed directly beneath Dean’s ribs.
Y/N looked away again immediately after saying it, almost like she regretted it.
But Dean couldn’t stop staring at her profile.
Because good god she had no idea what she did to him.
Dean swallowed hard before speaking carefully. “You can.”
“I know.”
“No, I mean it.” His voice came rougher now. More honest than he intended. “You can call me. About dumb classes or shitty roommates or whatever. I wanna hear it all.”
Y/N’s throat moved subtly when she swallowed.
“You already listen to me complain at two in the morning,” she said lightly.
“Yeah, well.” Dean smirked faintly. “I’m a generous guy.”
“That’s not the word I’d use.”
Dean gasped dramatically, clutching his pearls. “Ouch!”
This time her laugh came out real and warm.
The sound filled the room and settled somewhere deep inside him where the ache had been living for months. Without thinking, Dean bumped his knee against hers beneath the window.
Y/N didn’t move away.
Instead her head tilted slowly until it rested against his shoulder.
A small thing.
Dean went completely still anyway.
Every nerve in his body was suddenly aware of her.
Her hair brushing his neck.
Her cold fingers curled loosely around the cigarette.
The steady warmth of her pressed against his side after so many months apart.
Outside, wind rattled faintly through the trees.
Dean stared out at the snow because looking down at her felt dangerous somehow.
“You know what sucks?” Y/N murmured eventually, voice quieter now against his shoulder.
“What?”
“Coming home and realizing it still feels more like home when you’re here.”
Dean shut his eyes briefly.
Nobody said things like that to him, looked at him like he was something worth missing.
Carefully, Dean turned his head just enough for his temple to rest lightly against hers.
“I missed you too,” he finally admitted.
Y/N went still beside him.
Because he’d never said it before.
Dean felt her breathe in softly.
Then her hand found his where it rested against the floor between them.
No hesitation this time.
Just her fingers threading quietly through his like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Dean looked down at their hands for a long second.
Then back out at the snow falling beyond the open window.
And for the first time in months, the hollow feeling inside his chest eased.
꒰ ♡ ꒱
Morning eased gently through the windows in Bobby Singer’s kitchen as he sat at the table, drinking coffee with his beloved daughter.
Selfishness would’ve made him keep her there year round, but she was a kid, and he wasn’t John.
All Bobby ever wanted for Y/N was a chance at normalcy. He brought her up tough, of course. Taught her how to handle a gun and how to hunt, both wild game and evil things. She wouldn’t be defenseless under his roof, not as long as he saw to it.
Throughout his daughter’s growing up years, he trusted Dean to be the perfect older brother figure—rough housing to keep her on her toes, but gentle enough to give her the security that she had someone in this world who had her back.
Ultimately, the old man wouldn’t live forever.
Bobby would say it out loud, Dean was his pick.
He loved Sam, no doubt. But he wasn’t reliable in the same manner. Granted, the younger brother was only 16 and had plenty of room to grow, but Bobby could call ‘em.
He had watched the dynamics unfold since the first of three remarkable lives was brought into the world.
Two years separated each moment.
Dean was first-born, green-eyed and beautiful. John was much kinder that day.
Two Christmases passed and Y/N was welcomed. It was decided then between the two older hunters that their children would grow up together and be menaces to all the scary things that lurked around in the shadows.
Only, as time passed, Bobby realized that John had a different understanding of scary things.
Bobby meant that their children wouldn’t have to live so harshly, and could torment all the trauma that haunted generations of hunters—they could build something safe and satisfying.
Two more Christmases slipped away and little doe-eyed Samuel was born.
Then Mary was murdered.
And John?
John meant revenge.
He would carve the perfect piece of hunting machinery from his green-eyed killer.
A four year old Dean Winchester.
Anytime Bobby tried to intervene, it made things worse. John would go MIA.
Then he dumped Dean on Bobby’s doorstep after he was caught stealing from the supermarket.
Dean was ten and full of spit-fire.
Bobby adored him.
“Boy, what business do you have taking something without paying?” Bobby had asked the young punk.
“Needed food, Sammy was hungry.”
Sammy was hungry.
Not Dean, it didn’t matter if his stomach was cramping with hunger pains, he would’ve lived. But Sammy needed to eat.
All of Bobby’s chastising faded immediately.
“There’s stuff for a sandwich in the fridge.”
The boy wasted no time making himself something to eat, along with a sandwich for eight year old Y/N, who had rounded the corner as he was putting deli meat onto bread.
There was no keeping them apart after that.
As years passed, Bobby watched the pair’s bond transform from something familial, to profound.
When nobody, himself included, could get through to Dean, his daughter could.
She didn’t take shit from him, or anyone else, John included.
Dean needed that kind of solidarity, Bobby could see it.
The way Dean’s eyes glimmered as if to say, yes ma’am.
Though he would continue to threaten Dean’s life if any “funny business” went on in her bedroom when Dean stayed over, the old man couldn’t be more thrilled that out of all the boys his Y/N could chase, it was Dean.
Because there was no chase, Dean met her in the middle.
Always.
“He’s been hurting, Y/N.” Bobby finally spoke slowly, sipping his coffee and eyeing his child narrowly.
Y/N knew, of course, but apparently so did Bobby now. Which was good, it meant Dean was talking.
“He’s always hurting, Daddy.”
“It’s different, something’s different. He looked embarrassed.”
Y/N paused.
Dean Winchester didn’t do embarrassed.
He was closed-off, sarcastic, angry, and guilty.
He was always so guilty.
But not embarrassed.
“I’ll talk to him later.” She assured.
Bobby gave a curt nod and heavy footsteps followed by boyish banter hurled down the stairs.
“Bitch!”
“Jerk!”
The grin on Bobby’s face spoke for him.
At least for a little while, all his kids were back home.
John Winchester was a hypocritical asshole, even to the most dedicated hunter. He preached about protecting those nearest and dearest, but failed miserably to do so. His nature could no longer be shrugged off as projection—he was just selfish.
Only Y/N had an inkling of knowledge about the extent of John’s self-serving habits, or rather the result of them.
If she or Bobby had any real idea of what Dean was doing for the preservation of himself and his baby brother, John Winchester’s body would’ve joined the rotting corpses of the monsters buried beneath the 18-wheeler out back.
Dean sugarcoated it, even for Y/N.
All she knew was that as a young teenager, Dean often stole in order to feed himself and Sammy whenever John would disappear for days on end—no contingency plan in place for his two children to have full bellies.
It was a half-truth, the theft.
If only another living soul knew what had been stolen from Dean Winchester.
Such a pretty thing he was.
꒰ ♡ ꒱
Winter settled hard over the Midwest that year.
By mid-December the gutters were lined with dirty snow and the Impala’s tires hissed against salt-crusted roads every time Dean pulled into another gas station parking lot he didn’t care about. The sky had been gray for what felt like weeks straight, flat and endless and heavy enough to crush something beneath it.
Dean was pretty sure that something was him.
He slammed the motel door harder than necessary behind him, boots wet with slush, duffel hitting the floor with a dull thud. The room smelled like stale coffee and gun oil. Somewhere in the bathroom, Sam was brushing his teeth while the television muttered low static to itself.
John barely looked up from the table. Maps were spread everywhere. Newspaper clippings. A half-cleaned shotgun laid across one chair.
“Door works fine,” John muttered.
Dean shrugged out of his jacket. “Maybe it shouldn’t.”
John ignored that, dragging a pen across one of the maps. “We leave early tomorrow.”
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
Three days before Christmas.
Y/N had been home from college for almost a week now.
Something ugly twisted low in his stomach.
“You said this one was a quick job.”
“It is.”
“You said that four jobs ago.”
John finally glanced up then, sharp-eyed and already irritated. “You got somewhere to be?”
The answer came too fast in Dean’s head.
Yeah.
Her bedroom floor. The passenger seat of her car. The diner off Main where she stole fries off his plate without asking. Anywhere Y/N was, the details never mattered.
Instead he shrugged again because that was easier than saying any of it out loud.
“Nah.”
Sam emerged from the bathroom just in time to feel the tension curdling through the room. His gaze bounced between them cautiously before he sat on the edge of the bed with a paperback in hand, wisely staying quiet.
John returned to the map like the conversation was over.
Dean stood there another moment, jaw tight enough to ache.
Four months.
Four goddamn months.
Not entirely. They talked on the phone when they could. Mostly late at night from motel payphones with Dean feeding quarters into the slot while John slept two rooms over. Sometimes Y/N sounded exhausted, voice rough from studying and campus parties and a life that kept moving without him there to witness it. Sometimes she sounded happy.
That part messed with him more than it should have.
Not because he wanted her to be miserable. Jesus, no. Dean wanted Y/N happy more than he wanted oxygen some days.
But hearing about new friends and professors and late-night coffee runs and football games made something hollow open inside his chest. Like she was slipping further away every time he blinked.
Meanwhile Dean was still here.
Still sleeping in motels that smelled like mildew.
Still following his father across back roads chasing monsters nobody else knew existed.
Still twenty miles outside some nowhere town while Y/N lived in libraries and lecture halls and parties strung with Christmas lights.
Sometimes Dean pictured her there and couldn’t reconcile it with the girl lying beside him in tangled blankets, smoke curling from her lips.
Sometimes he worried college would teach her she deserved better than him.
That thought sat like poison in his ribs.
Not to mention the jealousy he despised himself for. Sammy was the smart one, Dean was just another blunt object. Except that wasn’t entirely true, now was it? Dean was just as capable and could’ve done well for himself outside of—
“You listening?” John snapped.
Dean blinked. “What?”
John sighed heavily through his nose. “I said we hit the cemetery first thing in the morning.”
Dean laughed once under his breath, humorless. “Of course we do.”
John’s eyes narrowed immediately. “You got a problem?”
Yeah, Dean thought.
I’ve got a huge fucking problem.
Instead he dragged both hands through his hair and turned away before the fight fully lit. “Forget it.”
“Dean—”
“No, seriously. Forget it.”
The motel window rattled softly from the wind outside. Dean crossed the room and shoved it open an inch anyway, letting freezing air slash through the stale heat. He needed it. Needed something cold enough to scrape the frustration out of his lungs.
Behind him, John started talking again—research, lore, plans—but the words blurred together into meaningless noise.
Dean’s mind was somewhere else entirely.
Y/N standing at a bus stop wrapped in that green coat she wore every winter.
Y/N laughing breathlessly into the phone when he told her about Sam accidentally setting instant mac and cheese on fire.
Y/N saying quietly, almost shyly, I miss you.
That one had nearly killed him.
Dean rested his forehead against the cold window frame.
He hadn’t said it back.
Not because it wasn’t true.
Because it was too true.
And Dean Winchester had spent his whole life learning that wanting something badly was the fastest way to lose it.
“You know,” Sam said carefully from the bed, “college break lasts until January.”
Dean shot him a look. “Not helping.”
Sam lifted both hands innocently, though there was something knowing tucked into the corner of his mouth. “Just saying.”
John’s expression darkened. “We’ve got work to do. Dean can survive not seeing his girlfriend for another week.”
Girlfriend.
The word landed strangely.
Dean and Y/N had never called each other that. Even after the summer nights and lingering touches and phone calls stretching past midnight.
They’d never named whatever this was.
Maybe because naming things made them real.
Maybe because Dean was terrified she’d realize she could still leave.
Still, hearing John say it made heat crawl instantly up Dean’s neck.
“She’s not my girlfriend,” he muttered automatically.
Sam made a face that clearly said bullshit.
John snorted. “Right.”
Dean flipped him off without turning around.
Outside, snow drifted silently beneath the flickering motel sign.
At Bobby Singer’s house almost two hundred miles away, Y/N was home for Christmas.
And Dean wanted her so badly it felt like another kind of hunger altogether.
꒰ ♡ ꒱
Dean found the antique shop by accident.
Or technically because John disappeared into the sheriff’s station for two hours chasing a lead that probably amounted to nothing, leaving Dean and Sam stranded in the middle of a tiny Iowa town with twenty bucks between them and absolutely nothing to do.
Sam picked the library.
Dean wandered.
The cold bit through his jacket the second he stepped out onto the sidewalk, snow crunching beneath his boots as he shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. Main Street was all dull wreaths and blinking Christmas lights that looked sad in the daylight. A few bundled-up shoppers drifted in and out of stores carrying paper bags and coffee cups while Bing Crosby crackled faintly from somewhere overhead.
Dean hated Christmas music.
Mostly because he secretly didn’t.
He passed a hardware store, a diner, a barber shop with fake snow sprayed across the windows, then stopped short in front of a narrow storefront squeezed between a florist and an empty laundromat.
ANTIQUES & ODDITIES, the faded sign read.
The display window was cluttered with old lamps, silver trays, porcelain dolls with cracked faces, and enough dust to choke on.
Dean stared for a second.
Then he went inside before he could talk himself out of it.
A bell jingled softly overhead.
Warmth hit him first, thick with the smell of old paper, cedar wood, and something faintly sweet underneath it all. The shop was dim and cramped, aisles packed close together with leaning shelves and glass display cases full of tarnished jewelry and yellowed photographs. Somewhere deeper in the store a record player hummed low jazz through static.
Dean shoved his hands in his pockets harder.
He had no idea what the hell he was doing here.
Y/N wasn’t exactly the jewelry type.
At least not in the polished department-store sense. She wore bangles that turned her wrists green and earrings she forgot to take out for weeks.
Still.
Dean kept thinking about her hands.
The way she tucked her hair behind one ear while reading. The way gold caught against her throat under low light.
He drifted toward a glass case near the counter before stopping in front of it awkwardly.
There were necklaces laid across dark velvet inside. Lockets. Thin gold chains. Tiny crosses. Tarnished silver pendants.
Dean squinted at them like they might suddenly explain themselves.
“What’re we shopping for?”
Dean nearly jumped.
An older woman looked up at him from behind the register, reading glasses low on her nose. She had gray curls pinned messily atop her head and the kind of expression that suggested she already knew more than you wanted her to.
Dean cleared his throat. “Uh.”
The woman waited patiently.
Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “Christmas gift.”
“For your girl?”
Heat climbed immediately into his face.
“Something like that.”
The woman smiled a little at that but didn’t push. “What’s she like?”
Dean opened his mouth.
Closed it again.
How the hell was he supposed to answer that?
Y/N was sharp edges softened by candlelight. She was cigarette smoke curling from half-smiling lips. She was loud arguments and quiet silences and chipped french tips tapping against cassette cases. She was every song Dean heard late at night and every ache he didn’t know what to do with.
“She’s…” He huffed out a laugh under his breath. “Complicated.”
“Aren’t the good ones usually?”
Dean’s mouth twitched despite himself.
The woman stepped around the counter slowly. “C’mon. You don’t want any of this shiny nonsense.” She waved vaguely toward the gold chains. “You want something with character.”
Dean followed her deeper into the store.
Snow tapped softly against the front windows while she rummaged through an old wooden tray full of tangled gold.
“This one’s too delicate… this one screams divorcee…” she muttered mostly to herself.
Dean snorted quietly.
Then she pulled something free and held it up toward the light.
“There.”
It was simple.
A thin chain with a small oval pendant hanging from it, darkened slightly with age. At the center was a tiny carved tiger’s eye framed in curling golden vines.
Nothing flashy.
But when the light caught it, the stone glimmered with a red band the color of Sedona clay, only for half a second.
Dean’s chest tightened unexpectedly.
He could picture it instantly against Y/N’s skin.
The woman watched his face carefully and smiled when she saw it happen.
“Ah,” she said softly. “That’s the one.”
Dean swallowed.
“Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “Yeah, I think it is.”
He took it carefully when she handed it over, thumb brushing across the cool stone. It felt old. Worn smooth with time. Like it already carried stories inside it.
For some reason that mattered to him.
“How much?”
She named a price just barely within what Dean had in his wallet.
Of course.
Dean hesitated anyway.
Not because he didn’t want to buy it.
Because gifts meant things.
Especially gifts you picked out this carefully.
Especially for someone like Y/N.
The woman must’ve noticed something shift in his expression because her voice gentled slightly. “She must be pretty special.”
Dean looked down at the necklace again.
At the stone glowing faintly beneath the dim shop lights.
Then he thought about Y/N sitting cross-legged on her dorm room floor during their last phone call, telling him she’d found a record store near campus she wished he could see—and the way his own voice got softer once he was tired enough to stop pretending he didn’t miss her.
“Yeah,” he said finally, almost to himself.
“She is.”
Outside, snow kept falling quietly over Main Street while Dean tucked the small velvet box carefully into the inside pocket of his jacket like it was something breakable. Something important.
Dean was sprawled across Y/N’s bed like he belonged there, one leg dangling over the edge, the other bent awkwardly at the knee. The mattress dipped beneath their combined weight, old springs creaking every so often whenever one of them shifted. The threadbare quilt underneath him smelled like smoke trapped in fabric, cheap detergent, weed, and the faint, lingering trace of Y/N’s perfume rubbed into the pillows from years of occupation. It was the kind of smell that settled into your clothes long after you left. The kind you secretly hoped would.
The room glowed dim amber from the bedside lamp with the crooked shade, light spilling across posters peeling at the corners and stacks of cassettes littering the floor beside the record player. Outside, tires hissed against wet pavement somewhere down the road, and every now and then, headlights dragged pale bars of light through the slats of the blinds before disappearing again. The radio crackled softly between stations before settling back into some slow rock ballad neither of them had bothered to turn off.
Dean had a joint balanced between two fingers, ash threatening to spill onto the blanket. The cherry burned slow and red, flashing beneath the sharp line of his jaw every time he inhaled. Smoke drifted around his face in lazy ribbons, clinging to his hair and clothes like it had no intention of leaving him alone. Maybe it didn’t. Dean looked unfairly good like this—rumpled and half-melted into the mattress, shirt pushed up enough to reveal the lean line of his stomach, lips pink from heat and smoke, eyes gone soft around the edges.
Beside him, Y/N lay flat on her back, legs tangled carelessly in the blankets. Her soft hair spread across the pillow in messy waves, crushed from where Dean had been leaning against her half the night without either of them acknowledging it. She looked comfortable in a way Dean envied. Like she’d figured out how to exist in her own skin without fighting it every second.
Dean watched her from the corner of his eye.
Not obviously. Never obviously.
That was the thing about him and Y/N—everything important lived in the spaces between words. In the pauses. In the touches that lasted half a second too long before either of them pulled away pretending not to notice.
The joint had migrated to Y/N somewhere along the line. It rested between her fingers now, held loosely near her mouth while smoke curled from her lips in a thin stream toward the ceiling. She didn’t even look at him when she inhaled again, gaze fixed somewhere above them, distant and thoughtful.
Dean swallowed.
It hit him suddenly sometimes—how easy this felt. Being here. Being with her. Easier than temporary school hallways full of noise and fists shoved into lockers. Easier than girls who laughed too loud at his jokes and boys who only liked him when he acted mean enough. Y/N never seemed to want anything from him except exactly what he was in that moment, and Dean didn’t know what to do with that most days.
The silence stretched warm between them.
Not empty. Never empty.
Dean turned his head against the pillow, studying her openly now. The slope of her nose. The shine of the lamp caught against her lashes. The way her throat moved when she swallowed smoke.
God.
His chest tightened with something slow and aching.
“Hey,” he murmured eventually, voice roughened by smoke and sleepiness.
Y/N hummed softly without turning.
A grin tugged crookedly at Dean’s mouth. “You’re hogging it.”
He reached over and jabbed two fingers lightly into her ribs. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to make her jerk and let out a breathy laugh that punched straight through his ribcage. Before she could complain, Dean stole the joint back, his fingers sliding against hers deliberately slow.
Their knuckles brushed.
Then stayed there.
For one suspended second neither of them moved.
Y/N’s eyes flicked toward him at last, dark and heavy-lidded beneath the low light. Dean felt a shiver crawl up the back of his neck despite the smoke settling warm in his lungs.
He took a drag mostly to give himself something to do.
The ember glowed bright between them.
She kept watching him now, and Dean suddenly became hyperaware of everything—how close their shoulders were, the press of her knee against his thigh beneath the blankets, the taste of smoke sitting on his tongue. His pulse kicked harder for no good reason.
Or maybe for one very obvious reason.
This was her last humid summer with him before she would wander off to some university campus. Despite the ache in his chest—be it jealousy or longing—Dean couldn’t be more proud.
꒰ ♡ ꒱
After the pre-mature death of Y/N’s mother, Bobby Singer had insisted on normalcy for his sweet summer child. He was fortunate enough to have a sister-in-law residing in the city whom Y/N had begun living with as soon as she was old enough to attend school.
He didn’t spare her summers, however.
Every June when the weather warmed and the rainy evenings snuck into Sioux Falls, Y/N was back home with her father in that old salvage yard.
It was littered with the rusting bodies of projects long abandoned, projects that Dean had been busying himself with since he was double digits. As often as he found himself meandering around the graveyard of automobiles, he also found himself slinking into Y/N’s eyeline.
Early on, Dean found it most suitable for him to piss off his own father—that was guaranteed to land him at Bobby’s for punishment.
It was more like a reward, but that stayed between Dean and the Singers.
Under the innocent guise of childhood, Y/N’s fondest memories were of pestering the elder Winchester boy.
Very little had been innocent about Dean’s childhood, except Y/N.
Back then, a 10 year old Dean would never have admitted aloud how fond he was of the wild child. Being a couple years younger, she was closest to an annoying little sister. That didn’t keep him from dusting off her clothes when she tripped and fell, or from leaving unique rocks or animal bones on her nightstand.
Similarly, those gestures never failed to find their way into a shoebox that remained beneath her bed, Dean's name scrawled across the top in messy cursive.
Dean thought it was funny the way things never really changed, only aged.
Even now, 19 and fresh-faced, he couldn’t bring himself to confess his affections. Instead, he just rolled another joint and spoiled Y/N rotten with that sticky Seattle Strain.
presenting ... ꜝꜞ 𝓦inchester !! reader ❞
────── · · Sam Winchester & fem ! teen ! reader & Dean Winchester
white lace, flickering lights, deer in headlights, late night driving, diet coke on bars, fogged up windows, poetic n sensitive, liminal dreams, a sense of non-belonging, pure, feminine.
𝔀inchester ! reader who .. is the only sister of the hunters, born from a different woman that gave John a sense of safety for a small while. extremely aware of everything going on around her, very sensitive to paranormal activity, who constantly has dreams of looped infinite places she never remembers going to but that feel strangely familiar and comforting: as if she belongs there. she is the softest out of the tree, the most artistically inclined, and also the one that Women In White and Dead Brides always lunge for.
𝔀inchester ! reader who .. Castiel seems to recognise.
pairing: sam winchester x reader, dean winchester x reader
word count: 0.5k
rating: teen
summary: can you read my mind? I've been watching you
tags/ warnings: set in late 90s, pre-canon, ages have been shifted a little, underage drinking, unrequited feelings, everythings just a little chaotic,
notes: dont know how many parts this is going to be based on the song crush by ethel cain
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You’re sixteen when you realise that you’re in love with Dean Winchester. You’d been suspecting it for a while. You’d known them most of your life of course but as you’d grown up and landed in that awkward limbo of being a teenager, you’d felt your friendship change. Your feelings changed. As their visits at Bobby’s became less frequent, sticking to the months John only really needed Bobby to fill time where the board of education selfishly wouldn’t, and you found you missed him. Like think of him every damn day missed him. You missed Sam too of course. You missed the way the house was with them both there. You missed his quiet, questioning presence. His thoughtfulness. The calm to Dean’s chaos.
But Dean felt different.
Sure, it was easy to fall in love with a guy like Dean. He was funny and charming. He had an attitude and an aptitude for commanding attention. Not to mention, he was really fucking hot. You'd discovered that last summer when they’d rolled up and he stepped out of the car all broad shoulders and cocky smiles. When he’d slung an arm around your shoulders forgetting you weren’t some girl he was dating until you’d blushed furiously before he’d dropped it. He’d lost that youthful thing Sam still had. That awkwardness that made his limbs too short where Sam’s were long and his face softer. He had a jaw now, sharp enough to cut glass and the greenest eyes you’d ever seen.
But it was more than that. You didn’t like him for the obvious reasons. You liked him for that stuff below all that, under that bravado. You liked the way he looked after Sam, after both of you. You liked that even though he was older and could find his own fun he spent every summer following you and Sam around, trying to convince you to do stupid shit he liked but still enjoying himself when you both asked to do something he said was ‘nerdy as fuck.’ You liked the way he let you see under that perfect mask like when his dad called and gave orders or when he told you about his mom. That one was rare, but when he did you listened in a way you were sure you could recite everything he’d said verbatim. You liked the way he called you, stating that it was because he was bored out of his mind and had nothing better to do which probably should’ve hurt but you didn’t care because there was definitely a girl somewhere he could hit up if he actually wanted to.
It’s why you’d started dressing differently. You wore makeup now, just enough to be slightly noticeable, and you did your hair, going through all the magazines until it became second nature and your fingertips stopped aching because you stopped catching them with the curling iron. You started favouring dresses over jeans, short skirts and cut off denims using the heat creeping in and announcing the arrival of summer as an excuse when your uncle Bobby had raised an eyebrow. It didn’t matter that the rising thermometer only served to announce the arrival of something else besides long days and sticky heat.
When they arrived this time, you weren’t going to be some kid. You weren’t just his friend, the girl he’d play fought, taught to shoot tin cans, and chased frogs with down at the creek. You were a woman now. Pretty and filled out in a way you’d only noticed when you’d started trying.
And if you had your way, by the end of summer, Dean was going to see that too.
