Always Keep Fighting.

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[isaacforalpha14]

Dean Route

   The fervent confession sparks an emotional failure; the precarious hypothetical boundaries you’ve been wavering on for months crumbling leaving devastation in their wake. Dean had retreated from the room with Garth in an effort to prolong having to deal with the consequences of the altercation, hiding from the emotions he’d revealed, the rejection, as you helped Sam stumble to the bathroom. There’s a devastating silence looming in the bathroom, nimble fingers assisting Sam out of his suit jacket before he rolls his sleeves up to his elbows, leaning against the porcelain sink. Sam can sense it; the stifling tension has returned, an emotional rift between you, he doesn’t want to surrender, to lose you, but he’ll respect whatever decision you make. The impending conversation feels like an imminent storm, he can’t avoid it or prepare, all he can do is ride it out. 

“Are we going to talk about it?” Sam’s rough voice questions in a defeated murmur, hazel eyes watching as you dampen a washcloth. There’s a second of silence, abstaining from answering, as you wring the washcloth out and take a deep breath in an effort to refrain from crying. This was never what you wanted; you never wanted to fall in love with brothers, to create this strife in someone's life, especially not the Winchesters. “I understand, you know.” He continues, grasping your wrist in an attempt to get your attention. The second his hazel eyes meet yours, his heart aches at the warm unshed tears reflecting in your beautiful eyes, and he feels the need to protect you. He always has. “If you feel something for him. I understand.” He whispers, making you feel worse. How could he be so understanding? He releases a sigh of defeat as you remain silent, wincing as you dab at the dried blood under his nose, he just wants to hear how you feel. 

“I am sorry.” You apologize, voice quivering as warm tears trickle down your cheeks. He wants to reach out and comfort you but he feels like it’s inappropriate. He doesn’t want to cross any boundaries. 

“Why’re you sorry?” He replies confused, you can’t control how you feel as much as anyone else can. There’s an awkward silence that settles in the air, it takes a second for him to understand just what you meant by the vague apologies. “You’re in love with Dean.”

“I think I need to head to Sioux Falls for a while.” The response took him by surprise, you haven’t returned home to Bobby’s since his death. He doesn’t want you to leave, but he knows it would be selfish of him to try to convince you to stay. “I need time to myself.”

“Uh, y-yeah, I get it.” He doesn’t get it. “B-but Y/N.”

“Sam, please.” You whisper, tossing the washcloth in the sink before crossing your arms against your chest in a defensive position. “Don’t try to talk me out of it.”

“I was just going to say that.” He hesitates, heart aching as he decides to be the better person here. He doesn’t want to lose you because it didn’t work out. He wants you to be happy. He wants his brother to be happy. “I know that you and Dean deserve a chance, okay? And..I think you know that, too. Just give him a chance-like you have me. I mean, Y/N you saved me.”

Dean’s leaning against the Impala, olive eyes fixated on his brown boots as he stuffs his hands in his military green jacket pockets. He’s avoiding the inevitable, when he goes into the motel room he’s anticipating a fight. He’s emotionally exhausted; he’s tired of fighting his brother, he’s tired of pretending that seeing you and Sam together isn’t killing him inside. He’s caught up in his musings, he doesn’t hear the motel room door open, or you saying goodbye to Sam. 

“Hey.” You murmur, interrupting the silence as you place your duffle bags on the pavement.

“Hey.” He responds with the hint of questioning in his inflection, glancing at the luggage on the ground and back at the motel room door. “Are we leaving?”

“No, uh- I am.”

“What does that mean?” He’s panicking; his heart beating against his rib cage as he feels in his bones that this is somehow his fault. It had to have something to do with the scene from earlier. 

“Sam and I broke up.”

“T-That doesn’t mean you have to go.” He rushes. “He can’t make you go.”

“Sam didn’t ask me to leave. I am leaving because I am in love with you.” Dean’s thrown off, he was not expecting that answer. He’s conflicted as his olive eyes meet yours in a meaningful gaze. How can you leave after telling him you love him? “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” He questions in a haze, overwhelmed with emotion and his thoughts. 

“Don’t blame yourself.” You whisper, wrapping your arms around his neck, placing a hand on the nape of his neck as you press your forehead to his, nuzzling his nose with yours before you speak again. “Don’t beat yourself up. I’ll come back. I just need to give him space after everything.”

“But I don’t want space.” Dean whispers, warm breath fanning over your mouth as he sighs and wraps his arms around your waist to pull you flush against him. 

“I know.” You chuckle at him. “Let me do this for Sam. I don’t think he could handle having me around for a bit. He’s being kind about the situation, he told me to give you a chance, but I don’t want to hurt him.” 

“He did?”

“Mhmm.” The moment is interrupted by the honk of a horn as Garth pulls his El Camino into the parking spot beside the Impala.  Dean groans, annoyed that just as he finally had what he wanted within his grasp it’s taken away again. Dean’s gonna be a nightmare to deal with while you’re gone. “That’s my ride.”

“I am back!” Garth sings, leaning against the El Camino as he raises his arms for emphasis, the driver's door wide open.

“Are you sure you have to go?” He asks a final time, placing your duffle bags in the bed of the El Camino causing you to laugh at his persistence. 

“Yes, Dean.” You place your backpack in the passenger seat through the open window. “You can always visit me if you really can’t wait until I come back.”

“Make sure you call me.” He instructs with a serious tone, clutching your hand tightly before he sighs again. He really didn’t want you to leave. “Please.”

“Dean Winchester, have you gone soft?” You tease, making him blush as he chuckles at you.

“For you, always.” He replies, opening the passenger side door waiting as you climb in to close it behind you. “I’ll see you soon.”

“You.” He points at Garth. “Take care of my girl.” Garth is confused, when he left you were with Sam. Now, you’re Dean’s girl? Boy, were you in for a conversation during the ride. He wanted the skinny. He’s afraid of what would happen if he didn’t agree with Dean so he nods with a clueless smile. 

[isaacforalpha14]

Sam Route

  Dean had retreated from the room with Garth in an effort to prolong having to deal with the consequences of the altercation, hiding from the emotions he’d revealed, as you helped Sam when he stumbled to the bathroom. There’s a devastating silence looming in the bathroom, nimble fingers assisting him out of his suit jacket before he rolls his sleeves up to his elbows, leaning against the porcelain sink he avoids eye contact. It’s strange; Dean’s confession made you feel nothing but sympathy for him. You’d wished to hear that confession at a certain point in time but now that you have, it didn’t change anything. You’re in love with Sam. You want to be with Sam. If anything, it gave you the closure that you needed to move on with your life with no regrets or conflicting emotions. You love Dean, and in the past, you may have loved him as more than a friend but now everything leads to Sam. Shaking yourself in the moment, you notice your boyfriend’s hunched shoulders, the crease between his eyebrows, the reflection in his hazel eyes and the frown on his mouth. 

“Don’t do that.” You murmur, grasping a washcloth from the meticulous pile on the wicker hamper, running the warm water for a moment before dampening the cloth. “Don’t overthink this.”

“He loves you, Y/N. How can I not overthink that?” He murmurs, staring at his hands as he refrains from looking at you. He’s terrified; scared that Dean’s confession will change things. Maybe you were better suited for Dean and now that you know how he feels you’d leave Sam in the dust to mend the pieces of his shattered heart alone. “I am not gonna lie.” He sighs, gnawing on his lower lip. “A part of me always knew.”

“Sam.” You sigh, placing your palms on the sink as you hang your head in exhaustion. This entire situation is emotionally exhausting. You were tired of struggling with those conflicting emotions for years, even more so since Dean’s return, and now that you’re certain of how you feel, you don’t want to worry about this anymore. You just want to live your life with Sam. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“I’d understand, you know.” He continues, swallowing the lump in his throat as warm tears blur his vision. “If you-you felt something-”

“Sam.” You interrupt, raising your voice, tone stern as you smack your hand on the heated porcelain. “Please, just drop it.”

“You do, don’t you.” Sam whispers, lip quivering before he clears his throat, attempting to conceal the pain flowing in his veins like razor blades. 

“No.” The response is clipped, annoyance in your voice, but your aggressive demeanor crumbles the second you look at him. He’s hurting. The tears in his pleasant hazel eyes alert you to the fact that this has shaken him, he needs to have this conversation. Taking a calming breath, you decide that if he needed this, you owed it to him to have this conversation. He flinches when you place a hand on his thigh, the involuntary spasm making you feel a sense of guilt, you move to stand between his legs as you place a finger under his chin and dab the washcloth against the dried blood beneath his nose. “Dean is my best friend. I am-” You hesitate, wondering how honest you should be with him. Hoping that this truth wouldn’t crush him, you decided on telling him. “There was a time that I did think I was in love with him.” He moves to recoil from your hand but you pinch his chin between your fingers to keep him in place. “But I am not. I love you. I am in love with you.”

“But how-”

“There are no buts.” You drop the washcloth, wiping the moisture from under his nose with your thumbs before cradling his face to keep eye contact with him. You need him to hear you.  The vulnerability in his beautiful hazel eyes is heart wrenching. “I love you, Samuel Winchester. You’re mine and I am yours.” 

“I love you too, honey.” He whispers leaning forward, despite the dull ache in his chest, to press his forehead to yours, noses brushing as he releases a sigh of relief. 

“I’ll talk to him, okay?” You whisper; wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders, pressing an affectionate kiss to his lips. “I want you to promise me something.”

“Anything.” His palm is cradling the nape of your neck, thumb caressing the flesh in an affectionate gesture. 

“Things are going to be uncomfortable for a while but, please, don’t let this come between you. You’re family. Dean is all that you have.”

“That’s not true.” 

“Sam.” You warn, attempting to withdraw from his affection. You didn’t want to but you needed him to take this seriously. This can’t come between them, you refused to be a reason that they fracture their relationship further. It’s already hanging by a thread. 

“I just mean.” He rushes, tightening his hold against you before continuing. “I have you and you’re everything to me. You’re family. I’ll let it go, I promise.” Sam means it; he wants to release the envious acidic feeling in the pit of his stomach but Dean’s words keep replaying in his head, the echo like a tortuous loop. You should’ve known that I am in love with her. He nestles his face in the crook of your neck; squeezing you flush against him, wishing that he was unaware of his brother’s feelings for you, praying that he’d be able to keep his promise. A knock at the motel door interrupts the moment, Sam releasing a disgruntled groan, knowing what awaits him, being gentle as he ushers you to the side to answer the door.

“Be nice.” You call out, knowing that it’s probably Dean attempting to apologize in his own way. Sam’s gone for a while, the muted sound of Sam’s raised voice filtering in the hollow door. You release a solemn sigh, it’s gonna be tense for a while, it’s unavoidable given the circumstances. After another minute, the motel door opens and Sam’s lingering near the entrance before he clears his throat.

“He’s getting a different room for the night.” 

“C’mere, honey.” The mattress releases a dulled thump as you pat the comforter with your palm, coaxing him to sit beside you. This impending conversation is going to be upsetting, you know he’s going to try to convince you to change your mind but you can’t. This needs to happen so that the tension can dissipate and the problems that’re lingering between the brothers can be solved. They needed to return to basics, back to the beginning when all they had were each other to depend on, and that can’t happen with you present. “I need to talk to you about something.”

“What’s wrong?” He’s worried, when he stepped outside he was convinced that everything had been talked out. At least between you. Dean is another problem for tomorrow. 

“Nothing’s wrong, handsome.” It’s endearing, the amount of worry and care he provides to you. He loves you more than anything. That’s why you need to be strong and do this, he may not agree but he needs this as much as Dean does. “I need to go to Sioux Falls for a while.”

“W-What?” He’s caught off guard, he had hoped that when you chose to return home that he’d be there with you for emotional support but he’s getting the ominous feeling that you mean to return to Bobby’s without him. Naturally, he can’t help himself when he speaks again. “We can pack tonight and find a car to head out in the morning.”

“No, baby, just me.” You murmur, gentle as you grasp his hand, intertwining your fingers as you place your clasped hands atop your crossed legs. 

“Did I do or say something wrong?” Sam’s tone is quiet, almost as if he were afraid of the answer. He couldn’t think of a reason why you’d want to leave him behind. 

“Absolutely not.” He nuzzles his stubbled face against your palm as you cradle his cheek, thumb brushing the skin in reassurance. “I just think that Dean’s going to need time to deal with his feelings and he won’t be able to do that with me around.”

“You shouldn’t have to leave because of how he feels.” Sam’s being stubborn, you anticipated this response from him. He didn’t mean to be selfish but he couldn’t bear the thought of not having you around. 

“Sam, you promised.” You remind him with a gentle sigh, fingers running through his softened chestnut hair. “You said you wouldn’t let this come between you.”

“Yeah, but that was before I knew you’d decide to leave because of him.” He retorts with a scowl, releasing a deep breath as you use your thumb to smooth the crease from between his dark eyebrows. 

“It’s not just Dean’s feelings for me. Things between you were already strained before that. I just want to give you guys space to work out the issues. All you’ve done is fight.”

“I mean, yeah, things are rough between us but Dean’s not exactly the heart-to-heart type.”

“I know that, honey.” You gnaw on your lower lip, attempting to land on a decision of how to handle the remainder of this conversation without causing an argument. “But it’s not just Dean. I’ve seen the change in you. The way you’ve fought about Benny, I never thought I’d see the day that Sam Winchester wouldn’t give someone a chance.”

“Benny’s a monster.” Sam responds in a defensive manner, expression reflecting the storm of emotions in his mind. 

“So was Ruby, Amy, and Kate.” You reason, releasing an exhausted sigh as you release his hand. “All I am saying is there’s a reason Benny is different. Dean trusts Benny, and I think a part of you hates that.”

“This is because I won’t trust Benny?” He raises his voice, standing from the bed in a huff as he raises his arms in defeat. “So, I am supposed to just trust a vampire because Dean says so?”

“I don’t want to fight, Sam.”

“I just don’t understand, Y/N.” He’s frustrated but he’s also hurt. 

“I am not leaving you.” You stand, approaching him as you continue. “I am coming back. I just think you guys need time to work through your issues and it won’t happen if I am there. I can’t play mediator anymore. It’s not helping.” He nods in defeat, he knows you’re completely right. You have always been the buffer in arguments between the brothers and the sole time any real conversations were had was when you weren’t around. It was difficult to get Dean to reveal his emotions but it was even harder with you around. He never wanted to be vulnerable in front of you. He wanted to be strong for you. “Please, don’t be mad, honey.”

“I am not mad at you.” He whispers, feeling a sense of guilt for getting so worked up. He leans down to press an affectionate kiss to your lips, guiding your arms around his waist as he takes the opportunity to hug you. 

“Garth is coming to pick me up.” You reveal after he pulls away, he releases a sad sigh, setting his cheek on your head as he squeezes you. “I’ll text or call you if I need anything.”

[isaacforalpha14]

#119 Sam and Dean Winchester

A/N: Third part is here! Don’t forget to chose Sam or Dean for the remainder of the part. 

Benny Lafitte; the cajun vampire from Southern Louisiana, in a morbid romantic gesture tracked down his maker for murdering the love of his life, Andrea, and killed him. It wasn’t until he’d slashed his way through a portion of the nest that he learned the sad truth that she wasn’t actually murdered, but worse, turned into a vampire. He didn’t recognize the woman that stood before him, she was a monster. Before that chapter of his life could be closed, she needed to die and he knew in his heart that he couldn’t be the person that did it. So, like a good friend, Dean shouldered the responsibility and ended her life before she could attack Benny. The tale is tragic; vampire or not. Knowing Dean’s hatred of everything that goes bump in the night, it revealed the character that Benny must possess in order to earn Dean’s respect and trust. Benny is a friend. Wishing that Sam could hold that level of trust and understanding felt daunting, especially due to his response when he shook Benny’s hand and reached for his hunting knife. Dean shook his head, a silent signal to refrain from causing a fight and, in that moment, you’d decided to trust his judgment. Benny seemed okay; besides, he went through hell to make certain that Dean returned topside, that should mean something, right?

Benny is the topic of today’s argument between the Winchesters; especially since Dean remained silent since leaving him behind. It seemed that the cajun vampire was the hypothetical match on the growing kindling of unspoken grievances between the brothers. The electrical tension in the atmosphere since Dean’s escape from purgatory is crackling, the static reaching dangerous heights, aggressively lapping at the brothers like wildfire flames. Someone is going to get burned. The question is should you allow it to happen without interference or at least attempt to negotiate a semblance of peace between them? 

“You wanna talk about Benny? Fine, let's talk.” Dean’s rough voice sighs, stuffing his cell phone in his jean pocket from the Impala’s hood on the driver’s side. Dean’s facial expression- jawline flexed, the crease between his dark eyebrows, puckered mouth and disinterest reflecting in his olive eyes- conveys it all; he’s guarded. 

“How about he’s a vampire?” Sam’s deep voice lowers, attempting to refrain from drawing attention to the dispute. 

“He’s also the reason I’m topside and not roasting on a spit in Purgatory. Anything else?”

“Don’t pretend I don’t get it. I know you had to do what you had to do down there.”

“I highly doubt you get anything about Purgatory.”

“But you’re out now, and Benny’s still breathing. Why?” Sam interrupts dismissing the verbal jab.

“He’s my friend, Sam.” Dean responds after a second of awkward silence, the tone in his voice makes you frown in empathy. Sam doesn’t understand; the bond that Dean shares with Benny is comparable to the trauma bond of soldiers. There’s a heartbreaking amount of trauma and suffering associated with the life of a hunter, it just so happens that Dean’s received a devastating amount more than usual. If anyone should understand the burden of being a Winchester, it’s Sam. 

“And what about my friend, Amy? She was what? ‘Cause you sure as hell didn’t have a problem ganking her.” Sam is doubling down, a hand on the hood of the Impala for support and the left hand on his hip as he stares at his brother in defiance. 

“Well, I guess people change, don’t they? We let that werewolf, Kate, go. Didn’t we?”

“She was different. She..you think Benny’s different? He tell you he’s not drinking live blood, or something.” When Dean avoids an answer, tongue running against his chapped lips, Sam scoffs. “And you believe him. Wow. Okay. You know, you’re right. People do change.”

“Yeah. I got a vampire buddy, and you turn your phone off for a year.”

“Don’t turn this on me.” Sam replies, aware that you’re watching the argument as his hazel eyes meet yours through the windshield. He’d never apologize for the year he got to spend with you. It’s the happiest he’s ever been. 

“Look, Benny slips up and some other hunter turns his lights out, so be it.”

“But it’s not gonna be you, right?”

“You coming or not?” Dean’s rough voice questions, done with the conversation altogether.

The Impala is silent; Dean’s lost in his memories as he drives to the next hunt, Sam’s searching for his meal in the grease stained paper bag in his lap, and you’re preoccupied by the resentment towards Sam for being so obtuse and narcissistic about the Benny issue. The grease soaked paper bag obscures your vision, Sam is turned in the passenger seat waiting patiently for you to grab the food he bought you. He anticipated a thank you, words of appreciation for thinking of you, or a statement of excitement. What he hadn’t expected was for you to snatch the paperbag from his hand, nimble fingers sliding against Dean’s broad shoulder as you give him a reassuring squeeze. You’re with him. The reticent gesture made Sam’s stomach knot, bile rising to the base of his throat as he slowly turned to focus on the food in his lap as he had a sole thought cross his mind, how can you side with Dean?

The Benny argument is nothing compared to this; Dean is standing in the motel room beside his bed, malice in his eyes as he squares his broad shoulders with his pistol pointed at his brother. This hunt wasn’t as simple as a salt and burn; it was a confederate specter attached to an aged penny leaving a string of chaos in its wake of possessions. The scene was jarring; Dean would never physically hurt Sam, he’d spent his entire life being his brother’s keeper, let alone kill him. 

“You should have looked for me when I was in Purgatory.” The vengefulness in his rough voice elicits a shiver down your spine. This isn’t Dean. 

“C’mon, Dean. I know it’s not you in there pulling the strings.” Sam responds, attempting to keep composure and subdue the anxiety within his chest. 

“Don’t.” Dean barks, aiming his gun at Garth for a second as he’d attempted to reach for his holstered gun beneath his cowhide jacket. 

“You never even wanted this life. Always blamed me for pulling you back into it.” Dean states through clenched teeth.

“That’s not true.”

“Really? ‘Cause everything you’ve ever done since you climbed into my ride has been to deceive me. “

“What do you want me to say? That I’ve made mistakes? I’ve made mistakes, Dean”

“That’s not Dean, Sam.” Garth attempts to comfort Sam, the tension in the air is suffocating, he doesn’t want this to ruin their relationship. 

“Shut up!” Dean screams, an awkward and strained silence filling the room. “Mistakes?” He releases a humorless chuckle. “Well, let’s go through some of Sammy’s greatest hits. Drinking demon blood, check. Being in cahoots with Ruby. Not telling me that you lost your soul. Or how about running around with Samuel for a whole year, letting me think that you were dead while you’re doing all kinds of crazy. Those aren’t mistakes, Sam. Those are choices!”

“All right. You said it. We’ve both played a little fast and loose.”

“Yeah, I might have lied, but I never once betrayed you. I never once left you to die. And for what, a girl? You left me to die for a girl?!” Something inside of Sam snaps, a rage building in the pit of his abdomen at his brother’s tone, as if you didn’t matter, as if he hadn’t told his brother what you meant to him. Sam’s movements are swift, he reaches out to clutch at the gun, grasping Dean’s arm in his hand as he wrestles him against the room median. The shattering glass causes you to wince, watching the scene in a helpless sense of anguish. Sam’s hitting Dean repeatedly, the sickening sound of his fists meeting the side of his brother’s head causing you to look to Garth for direction. But Dean’s always been the skilled fighter, he punches Sam causing him to lose his momentum before he headbutt’s him in the face, pushes him an arm lengths away and kicks him away in the chest. The kick sends Sam crashing through the coffee table as you release a scream of surprise. Just as Dean raises his gun to shoot Sam, Garth thrust himself between the brothers, raising his arms.

“Woah, woah, woah.”

“Garth, don’t.” Sam groans, scooting to a sitting position as he holds his stomach.

“No, he won’t kill me. His beef isn’t with me. You’re not gonna shoot me, are you, Dean?” He states with his hands raised in an attempt to show Dean that he wasn’t going to fight him. 

“Move.” Dean growls, raising his gun to Garth’s face. 

“Come on, Dean. You do not want to kill your brother. You..you’ve been protecting him your whole life. Don’t stop now.”

“He left me to rot in Purgatory!”

“All right. All right. Maybe he did. I don’t know. I wasn’t there. But I’m sure he had his reasons.”

“Just like you had your reasons for Benny.” Sam responds in between his attempts to breathe through the pain. Dean’s olive eyes follow your movements as you raise your hands, kneeling down to sit beside Sam on the floor. 

“Who?” Garth’s confused, he knows he’s missed a few chapters but he’s trying his damndest to help. 

“Benny has been more of a brother to me this past year than you’ve ever been! That’s right. Cass let me down. You let me down. Even Y/N let me down. The only person that hasn’t let me down is Benny.” That struck a nerve, a tinge of guilt settles in your stomach as your chest aches. You did your best to search for him. How had you let him down?

“I know you’re angry. But, man, you got to fight this thing. Do not do this! Just let it go. Come on, Dean.” For a split second, everyone took a collective sigh of relief when his posture faltered, almost like he was going to give in. However, the second you placed a concerned hand on Sam’s face to assess his bleeding nose, Dean’s expression darkens and he starts speaking again revealing a truth that no one, including himself, was expecting. 

 “It’s not just that you left me to die for a girl.” He’s clenching his teeth again, tone dangerous as he stares daggers at his brother. “It’s who you left me to die for. You’re supposed to know me better than anyone. You should’ve known that I am in love with her. Yet, the second I am out of the picture you steal her and play house. Goodbye, Sam.” Garth takes the opportunity to punch Dean, causing him to stumble and drop the penny. 

“Ow, God!” Garth cries, shaking his hand out as he bends over to cradle his wounded hand. Dean’s stunned, whether it be from the strike from Garth or from regaining control of himself you’re unsure. 

“Garth, don’t!” Sam shouts just as Garth snatches the penny from the place it had fallen on the ground. 

“It’s cool. It’s all good. I’m cool.”

Stay with Sam Talk to Dean

[isaacforalpha14]

Dean Route

   The motel room is charming; a quaint breakfast nook by the bay window, potted succulents in the window frame, a sizable television mounted the the pale yellow wall, plush carpets the color of beach sand, a teal overstuffed loveseat with canary yellow pillows, two king sized beds with ocean blue comforter sets, and a freshly remodeled bathroom with white tiles and a clear shower stall. It seems you’d hit the jackpot finding a cheap motel in the middle of a remodel. Sam’s annoyed, you sense it the minute you agreed with Dean on sharing a room. The manner in which his shoulders tensed and his jawline flexed, there’s a shadow of hope creeping into your brain that this won’t end in another argument with him. It’s strange, there’d been an undeniable amount of communication throughout the relationship but Dean shows up and that comes crumbling down. Now, there are arguments that just seem trivial, secrets being hidden and that strange tension that seems to loom over the Winchesters. It feels like the universe is testing the relationship or telling you that you’d made the wrong choice. Sam mumbles something along the lines of ‘I am going to get us dinner’ before he disappears with the keys to the Impala. Dean’s holding his hand against his ribcage as he sits on his motel bed. Dean always slept in the motel bed closest to the door, it was the instinctual need to be the protector, if someone or something came crashing through the door they’d have to go through him to get to you or Sam. His attention is on you; the way you lean against the loveseat watching Sam leave without even attempting to take you with him, solemn expression.

“He’s just pouting.” Dean attempts to ease your nerves, releasing a hiss through clenched teeth as he shrugs off his military style green jacket. “He’s never liked the tiebreakers. He used to say you always side with me.”

The atmosphere in the motel room is comfortable; the tension that radiated from Sam has dissipated, leaving the aura in the room to feel like the old times when Sam would leave to run errands and you’d stay behind to help piece Dean together. Zipping up the backpack by your boots, you held the first aid kit that your father had gifted you on your first hunt. He instructed you to always carry it with you and you have every day since. The mattress tousles as you sit beside Dean, you hesitate, thrown by the intruding idea that you could help him remove his shirt but refrain from doing so. Fingers plucking at the sleeve of his black cotton t-shirt in a nonverbal gesture for him to remove the article of clothing. “You don’t have to help me.” He murmurs in a quiet tone, swallowing the lump in his throat at the close proximity as the flesh of your arm brushes against his bare skin after he’s removed his shirt. 

“Dean.” The hint of a smile on the corner of your tongue dampened lips as you focus on searching the first aid kit for the alcohol wipes. “When have I ever let you patch yourself up?”

“Touche.” He replies in a hushed tone, falling silent as he watches the movements of your hands in their determination to search for something. His stomach feels hollow as he anticipates the feel of your warm hands on his bare skin. 

“This is gonna sting.” You warn, furrowing your brow in empathy as he sighs at the frigid sting of the alcohol wipes against his wound. The fluid movements of the alcohol pad are gentle and precise, afraid that if there were too much pressure applied or if the action were rushed it’d end up in additional pain. It’s when you retrieve the nylon threading that he braces himself, he’s had homemade sutures a thousand times before, the sharp sting of the needle puncturing the wounded flesh is always the worst at the beginning. “Are you ready?” You question with a sympathetic smile, he nods in acknowledgment, placing his hands on his jean clad knees as he releases a hefty breath. A tilt of his head and closing his eyes, he tries not to involuntarily twitch as the needle punctures his skin. The sudden warmth of your palm against his chest near his anti-possession tattoo makes him shiver, ignoring the pain as you sew the wound closed, his olive eyes are focused instead on the concentration and care in your eyes. You’re so close that he can  smell the scent of your shampoo melded with perfume. The scent is intoxicating and he has to refrain from leaning forward and burying his nose in your hair. Before he can linger in his intrusive thoughts for too much time, you’re snipping the end of the thread and tying a knot. He glances down at your handiwork, admiring the precision of the suture and noting in another life you could’ve been a doctor. 

“At least it didn’t get your tattoo.” You observe, fingertips brushing the delicate flesh below his collarbone as you trace the design in an absentminded action. There’s a sense of guilt that creeps into the pit of your stomach but it’s overshadowed by the lurch of excitement that causes butterflies to go soaring in your abdomen as you notice Dean’s muscles in his toned stomach clench at the touch. Something in the air shifts, electric tension crackling within your nerve endings, the scene feeling more intimate as his olive green eyes meet yours. He’s fighting an unwinnable war in his mind; his heart is screaming at him that you feel what he does, his mind telling him this is wrong, and his gut telling him to just kiss you. He places his forehead on yours, the affectionate gesture startling you at his vulnerability, nose brushing against yours, warm breath fanning over your lips. Heart hammering against your chest, your mind is chanting for you to remove yourself from the situation, you can’t do this, but there’s something in your heart that’s telling you this is where you belong. All it would take is Dean pursing his lips and they’d be on yours. Neither of you are moving away, it’s like a silent game of chicken to see who’d retreat first but both are too stubborn to give in. Dean’s throat bobs as he swallows, retreating from the compromising position as he leans back further to sit upright again. There’s disappointment in your expression, he catches it and it makes him wonder if you’d wanted him to kiss you. It’s a dangerous game to play. If he had kissed you; he’d never stop until you were his, it would hurt Sam. 

The motel room entrance releases a beep, Sam using the key card to come in just in time to witness you walking away from a shirtless Dean. His attention flickers to the sutures on his bare chest and it makes him release a sigh of relief but then he catches the longing in his brother’s eyes as you close the bathroom door and he’s hit with a realization. Sam never wanted to be that guy but he can't seem to help the jealous annoyance; he caught Dean watching you in the rear view mirror on several occasions throughout drives to hunts, the manner in which he smiled like a lovesick teen as you spoke made his stomach knot, the hushed conversation and giggling at the diners during lunches, the way Dean never minded when you ate food off of his plate, the way Dean always let you choose music in the car, the way Dean always just knew what you needed and how to make you feel better. The intimate scenes he’s witnessed over the years like what he walked into after Kevin disappeared, and now this. How could he have never noticed that his brother is in love with you? The real question that haunted him was if you love him too.

[isaacforalpha14]

Sam Route

   The motel room is charming; a quaint breakfast nook by the bay window, potted succulents in the window frame, a sizable television mounted the the pale yellow wall, plush carpets the color of beach sand, a teal overstuffed loveseat with canary yellow pillows, a king sized bed with an ocean blue comforter set, and a freshly remodeled bathroom with white tiles and a clear shower stall. It seems you’d hit the jackpot finding a cheap motel in the middle of a remodel. Sam places your luggage by the loveseat, the furniture piece appearing comically miniature beside his colossal frame.

“How about we clean up-” Sam suggests falling silent, wrapping his muscular arms around your shoulders as he leans down to press an affectionate kiss to your forehead before he continues. “Then we go to that diner at the corner and pick up dinner.”

“Samuel Winchester, are you trying to wine and dine me?” The flirtatious question makes him chuckle, the sound reverberating in his chest, as he shyly gives a subtle shrug. “Shouldn’t we see if Dean needs anything?” The question causes him to groan, setting his forehead on your shoulder before he presses a trail of warm open mouthed kisses up the column of your neck.

“Dean’s capable of taking care of himself.” He mumbles selfishly, heart leaping with delight at the hum of approval. “Besides, I just want to spend time with my girl, alone.”

“Is that what the bickering about rooms was about?”

“You noticed that, huh?”

“Of course.” You release an amused laugh, the whimsical sound making Sam smile in fondness. “That poor kid probably thought he was going to have to break-up a fight over available rooms.”

“It wasn’t that bad.” He chuckles, pinching your jean clad hip and laughing as you squeal and swat at his hands. “It was weird, right? He kept pushing for us all to stay together.”

“It’s not that weird. That’s what he’s used to, that was how we did things before he went to purgatory.”

“I remember.” He hooks his index fingers in the loops of your jeans, pulling you flush against him. “My favorite nights were when it was my turn to share the bed with you.” He buries his stubbled face in the crook of your neck, nuzzling the supple flesh before murmuring against your ear. “I really didn’t like having to share you.” Something about the confession sours the mood, an odd guilt churning within your chest. If only he knew that he kind of still was having to share you; your heart. 

“Can I ask you something?” Sam questions, feeling the tension that settles in the atmosphere. “Are we good?” 

“Of course we are.” You replied, running your fingers through his smooth chestnut hair as you avoided meeting his beautiful hazel eyes in fear of spilling the secret hiding within your heart. He’d always been a skilled listener, it was impossible for you to keep secrets from him. In a bizarre twist, your love of the Winchesters was the sole secret you’d been able to keep from him, but your resolve was dwindling. “Why do you ask?”

“I just-” He sighs, pulling away from you as he gnaws on his lower lip before taking your hand in his and playing with your fingers. “Something has felt off since Dean came back from purgatory. I just wanted to make sure that we’re okay and that you didn’t change your mind about us because we were thrown back into the grind.”

“Sam, I-” You stammer, unable to think of the correct words for the tsunami of conflicting emotions that’re crashing against your heart and mind in waves.

“Oh.” He murmurs, attempting to release your hand before you grasp at his jacket sleeve with your free hand in an attempt to stop him.

“No, that’s not what I mean.” You rush, groaning at yourself and the inability to form proper sentences. Sam’s silent, watching the struggle and conflicting emotions as your delicate features settle on a helpless expression of exhaustion.

 “It’s not you or anything you’ve done. I just have things-emotions-I am working through.”

“You can talk to me about it.” He tries before you shake your head and look up at him with warm tears blurring your vision.

“I am sorry if I made you feel like I don’t care.” You sniffle, and Sam feels guilty for bringing it up. He never wanted to upset you. He just wanted reassurance that he wasn’t going to lose you. He didn’t know if he could handle it. No, scratch that, he knows he couldn’t handle it. “I love you, Sam.”

“I love you too, honey.” He whispers with a sad smile, hugging you tightly as he cradles the back of your head against his chest. “Please don’t cry.”

“I am sorry.” You mumble against his chest, the apologies are muffled by his jacket but he still hears you in the silence.

“Everything’s okay, baby.” He whispers, pulling away to cradle your face in his palms, thumbs wiping away the warm tears. “I love you so much.” 

The conversation sparked something inside you; it was as if the fear of losing Sam had startled a sense of clarity. The love you have for Dean is not and can not be anything other than familial. You’re in love with Sam. Sam Winchester is your home.

[isaacforalpha14]

#118 Sam and Dean Winchester

A/N: This is the second part to #116. Don’t forget to choose Sam or Dean at the end for the remainder of this part! 

     Sam is conflicted; when the Impala pulled into a run down gas station in the middle of a vacant road, he took the opportunity to apologize for the argument at the house, it seemed like it had gone well enough as you accepted his apology with understanding and told him that everything was good. Hell, you’d even apologized for the lack of communication, the lie by omission when you hadn’t told him you continued to search for Dean and Castiel against his wishes, knowing that he’d be furious as you’d agreed to leave hunting behind with him. However, he couldn’t shake this nagging thought lingering in his brain, this feeling in his gut like a burdensome itch, telling him that something just wasn’t quite right.

There’s a comfortable silence in the atmosphere, warm breeze tousling smooth tresses of chestnut into Sam’s charming hazel eyes as his skilled hands dance across the keyboard of his laptop. Research has always been his department; in part due to his intelligence and his genuine interest in learning, which never bothered Dean since he had a lack of interest in reading, but it never cease to amaze you just how brilliant Sam is and it was heartwarming to witness the joy in his eyes as he recites what he’s learned. There’s an endearing furrow to his eyebrows, broad shoulders hunched as he leans over the computer with an intense focus on his handsome face. There’s admiration to the quiet sigh that interrupts the clacking of the keyboard, nimble fingers reaching out to brush the hair from his eyes with a subtle smitten smirk.

“Have I ever told you how adorable you look when you’re concentrating?” You question with a giggle, his concentration broken as he glances at you, expression lighter as he sends an enamored smile at you and he leans to sit straighter. He places an elbow on the glass tabletop, nestling his chin into the palm of his hand as he meets your eyes.

“I don’t think so, but I won’t stop you if you do.” He’s flirting, he couldn’t help himself, this flirtatious dynamic has always been a part of the friendship even before he’d poured his heart out to you. You mirror his position, breath mingling with his as your pinky brushes against the skin of his palm under his chin.

“The cutest.” You mumble, his attention drifting to the manner in which the words leave your lips. He’s grinning, leaning forward, reaching his hand out to cradle your face as he presses an affectionate kiss to your mouth. The kiss is slow; he’s savoring the way your ChapStick tastes, the warmth of your lips feeling like the sun in peak winter, a shiver running down his spine as his heart delighted in the affection.  This is what he’s been missing; the intimacy that’s been stolen by his brother’s presence. Moments like these made him feel like he’s on cloud nine, like his intrusive thoughts were just insecurities tainting the sole good thing he has in his life, but then Dean would return and he could feel something in the air shift. Almost like the electric tension in the atmosphere during a thunderstorm, and then you’d be gone. The air would feel suffocating and then it was like years prior when he was nothing but a best friend in love having to hold himself back. He sighs through his nose, slow in his movement as he ends the kiss and presses his forehead to yours.

“I love you.” He whispers, voice so gentle it were as if he was afraid the term of endearment would frighten you like a wild animal. He was anticipating the response, waiting on bated breath due to not  hearing the phrase since Dean’s return. Just as you were about to reciprocate the affection with the much needed affirmation, the chiming of the café entrance bell interrupted the silence and disrupted the moment, the stout footsteps of combat boots across the pavement causing you to shrink away from his palm on your face. You don’t notice the pitiful expression he sends you, a sense of guilt nestling in your abdomen as you retrieve your iced coffee from its spot and take a drink in an effort to avoid looking at Sam. It felt strange to be affectionate with Sam around Dean; you’re uncertain of whether that is due to your unresolved feelings for Dean or because you didn’t want to make him feel like the odd man out but it always made you feel a sense of guilt to be so abrupt in your need to cut affection off with Sam. The tension has returned, Sam can feel it as he sends an inquisitive glance between you and his brother.

“Have you found anything?” Dean’s rough voice interrupts the awkward silence, a curious expression on his face as he senses a weird tension in the air. He glances between you, wondering if you’d gotten into another argument in his absence, ignoring the malicious part of his jealousy that delights in the idea, he returns to his seat, instinctively scooting a bit closer to you. “Here.” He murmurs in your direction, placing a half of his sandwich on a napkin and handing you his plate. “Eat.”

“Thank you.” You murmur in return, sending him an adorable expression of satisfaction. Dean winks at you, grinning like the Cheshire cat before taking a bite of his sandwich. He ignores the skip of his heart within his chest and turns to meet his brother’s displeased expression. Sam ignores the envious annoyance in his chest, the burn igniting his insecurities again, before replying with a curt ‘Centreville’ and slamming his laptop closed. “Centreville, where?” You mumble, chewing your mouthful of sandwich, bypassing Sam’s attitude, chalking it up to the weird tension that’s been between Sam and Dean due to giving up hunting. Of course, it could also be because you didn’t tell him you love him.

“Michigan.” He responds, a subtle smile on his face as he regards you, a reassurance that his annoyance was not directed at you.

  “And why would Kevin be in Centreville, Michigan?” Dean asks, question muffled as he finishes his portion of his sandwich.

  “Because his high-school girlfriend goes to college there.” Sam’s looking at you, hazel eyes really looking, as if he could understand a connection strong enough to have an unyielding pull. The look causes a warm crimson flush to your cheeks as he winks at you with the quirk of a smile playing on his lips. The gesture alone makes you want to kiss him again. Dean sees the way you’re looking at each other and it makes him want to vomit. He rolls his eyes, balling up his napkin and throwing it on the table with more force than necessary.

  “That’s thin.”

“It’s the best lead we’ve got.” Sam responds, finally taking a moment to glance at his brother. They’re staring each other down; Dean’s chartreuse eyes flickering between you and Sam for a moment before he speaks again.

“Alright, let’s go find him.”

Everything went wrong; Kevin was found in Fairfield, Iowa living in a dilapidated church hiding in the shadows from Crowley. When the Winchesters arrived at the church doors, Kevin felt an amalgam of betrayal and annoyance with a hint of relief. After the usual series of hunter tests, when Kevin was convinced that no one in the group was anything supernatural, he verbally accosted the brothers for abandoning him to fend for himself and questioned their whereabouts. Then it all went downhill, Crowley showed up to wreak havoc and psychological warfare on Kevin by bringing his possessed girlfriend to the church with him. When he couldn’t get Kevin to comply, he snapped her neck, leaving Kevin distraught and feeling helpless. In an effort to feel some semblance of reassurance, Kevin insisted on seeing his mother, Linda. The brothers were convinced that it was a trap, Crowley would be anticipating the move, but due to Kevin’s determination, Dean caved and off you went to see Kevin’s mother.

It got even worse; in an uncomfortable conversation, the entire tale of Kevin’s journey was recounted to Linda. She insisted on coming along, after the necessary tattoo parlor trip, you’d hit the open road in search of the demon tablet. Unfortunately, it ended up in a kind of supernatural auction house led by a God. It was there that everything got out of control, Crowley had appealed to the auctioneer’s assistant, essentially rigging the auction in his favor. Linda ended up giving her soul for her son, her freshly tattooed anti-possession symbol burnt off, possessed by Crowley and almost murdered by Dean. In his anger at Dean and concern for his mother, Kevin disappeared again leaving you and the Winchesters reeling from the tremendous events.

“Are you alright?” Dean’s rough voice is quiet, callous hand delicate as he surveys the damage inflicted upon the softened skin of your face. There’s a sincere concern reflecting in his eyes, his attention flowing from the gash across your eyebrow and settling on the bruise forming between the bridge of your nose and the apple of your cheek. His thumb caresses the discolored skin, earning a subtle hiss as your fingers instinctively grasp his wrist and you pout. This kind of contact and worry has been commonplace over the years. However, there’s something different lingering in the air as you meet his olive irises, it feels intimate. He’s silent, stepping a fraction of an inch closer, attention falling to the pout of your lips as his thumb brushes the sensitive flesh. Swallowing the dryness in your throat, it feels impossible to breathe with the affectionate skin contact, the intoxicating scent of his cologne, and the manner in which he’s staring at you so-lovingly?

“Oh, thank god.” The exhausted statement of concern interrupts the moment, Dean’s heart plummeting to his stomach as he’s skillful in his retreat. Sam’s relieved to see you, concrete rubble and broken glass crunching under his boots as he throws his arms around you in a tight embrace. He hated that he’d been separated from you, it’s the sole thought that lingered in his mind throughout the fight against those demons. “You’re hurt.” The disappointed murmur is followed by Sam cradling your face in his palms, hazel eyes reflecting a sense of guilt and concern, his thumbs caressing your cheeks before he leans his forehead against yours. “If I would’ve been here-”

“I still would’ve gotten hurt. They’re demons, Sam. It’s okay, I’ve had worse.” You interrupt his self-deprecation knowing that he’d blame himself as your boyfriend, he fancies himself your protector, but you were a hunter before his lover, you could handle yourself. He closes the distance between your faces, kissing you softly, caressing the soft tendrils of hair behind your head as he pulls away. Dean’s doing his damndest to pretend he’s not here, he hated having to see this, the affection that he wanted with the person he wanted the most. His heart hurt. He wanted to be happy for you; he really did, but there have been moments shared, like the one from minutes ago, that nestled in his heart and his mind that convinced him that you must feel it too. The connection. The chemistry.

“Let’s head out, I need to wash the demon off.” Dean calls over his broad shoulder, holding his stomach as he hobbles to the doors, certain that he either has a bruised or broken rib along with the wound across his chest from being knifed by a demon.

The poor motel attendant stood there in confusion, tapping his nails on the wood check-in desk as he awaits an answer to his question. The Winchesters are bickering; the hushed argument perplexing the teen as the answer should’ve been simple. Dean responds with ‘one room’ the same time Sam answers ‘two rooms’ in defiance of his brother. Nobody had given it any thought as to how things would work now that you and Sam were a couple. Sam wanted privacy; he wanted to be able to keep some semblance of normalcy with you. Dean didn’t want to admit to his brother or himself that when it boils down to it, he couldn’t trust his brother to protect what’s most precious to him. He needed to be there to protect you.

Agree with Sam

Agree with Dean

[isaacforalpha14]

#117 Barry Allen and Cisco Ramon [Requested]

A/N: Fifth part is finally here! First part is #105, second is #107 and third is #111 and fourth is #114.

   There’s a dissonance of cheerful conversation, the hiss of specialized beverage equipment and the deafening chime from the brass countertop bell as an order is completed; the amalgam of sound a mere obscure mess of white noise, the soothing scent of coffee blended with a rich chocolate foam eliciting a sigh of delight. This has become routine; settling into your usual table near the rear exit, files strewn across the mahogany café table, mocha in hand as you wait for- there it is- the magnetism in the atmosphere as a neon yellow and maroon blur enters your peripheral vision and your files soar in the air for a moment before a playful scowl quirks your mouth. Barry Allen is standing in the queue; an adorably sheepish smile on his handsome face as he offers an apologetic expression and a subtle wave as a greeting. There’s a sudden gust of wind; hair tousled and blinking you release a forceful huff to blow the hair out of your vision just in time to see that the files had been laid in their previous spot  and a beautifully decorated donut lies beside your steaming mug.

Barry’s happy; he feels almost like you’re his. He’s been relishing the time he’s gotten to spend with you; the mornings at Jitters before work, the rushed lunch breaks, the movie marathons with take-out and the meaningful conversations at S.T.A.R labs during the second job. He feels guilt for the fleeting thought that if Cisco doesn’t come back, you could be his again. He loves Cisco like a brother. He's his best friend but he’s IN love with you and he’s not positive that he can ever let that love go. He wants you to be happy but he sees what’s happening, what happened, and the distance between you and his friend and he can’t help but feel like maybe the universe was correcting his mistake. You’re meant to be. At least, you were. He hopes that’s still the case but he’s afraid, if he’s selfish,  if he mentions it to you again, maybe you won't speak to him ever again. He can’t chance losing you completely. It would destroy him. 

“Hey.” A familiar voice interrupts the complacent silence, Barry’s expression darkens and his shoulders visibly tense. He instinctively raises an arm, shielding you from your boyfriend as he stands there with a crestfallen expression and his hands tucked in his jean pockets. “Can we talk?” Barry's hazel eyes meet yours in a protective gaze, a silent conversation almost pleading with you to be cautious. Cisco’s unstable. Barry’s mind just keep repeating the statement hoping that you’d receive the message telepathically, instead, you offer a subtle nod to indicate to him that it’s going to be alright and  his arm falls to his side in defeat and he excuses himself to a table a few feet away just in case you need him. “I uhm, I already apologized to the team.”

“Including Barry?” You reply with a hint of sarcasm, you already knew by Barry’s expression that Cisco hadn’t spoken to him. There’s a beat of silence, Cisco releases a defeated sigh trying desperately not to fight. He just wanted to make things right and he already felt guilt knowing that Joe had gotten hurt because of him.

“I’ll get to it.” He replies, setting his sleeved arms on the files before reaching a palm out in your direction. It was a peace offering, his affection, you knew him well enough to know that. You wanted to take his hand but a part of you didn’t completely trust that he wouldn’t have another outburst. There’s hesitation in your eyes, that fact hurt Cisco’s heart, he never wanted you to be fearful of him. Barry’s watching the exchange with baited breath, heart hammering against his rib cage as he awaits your decision. It feels like his heart stops the moment you reach out and place your hand in his. That’s it, I’ve lost, again. The thought makes a hollow feeling settle in the pit of his stomach as he takes a drink of his coffee, anything to avoid the pain ebbing in his chest. “I just wanted to apologize to my girl first.” Cisco murmurs, a quiet humorless chuckle interrupting the silence as he intertwines your fingers together, “I know I was wrong. We agreed to forgive Barry for Flashpoint. I shouldn’t have freaked out. I am sorry.  I just…I let the grief I feel for losing Dante get in my head. I blamed Barry. So, when I thought he was trying to take you away from me, I just-snapped.”

“I understand it’s hard, Cisco.” You whisper, squeezing his hand in a show of comfort. “Maybe-maybe now isn’t a good time for this.”

“Oh, yeah.” He glances at his watch. “You have work. Maybe during your lunch break we can-”

“No, I mean.” You swallow the dry lump in your throat, tears building in the corners of your eyes. “I mean maybe now isn’t a good time for us.”

“W-what?” He’s flabbergasted; in his mind, when he’d gone over this scenario dozens of times, this never occurred to him as an option.

“You’re still grieving Dante, now things are complicated because of Flashpoint.” You gnaw on your lower lip to keep it from quivering. The last thing you wanted was to cry in the middle of Jitters. “Maybe we should just pause this so no one else gets hurt.”

“It’s too late for that.” He whispers. He feels his blood run frigid, wishing he could take everything back and still be with you. He removes his hand from yours, feeling bile rise to the base of his throat as he stands. He opens his mouth to respond but nothing comes out and his mind is reeling. There’s a second of contemplation, you wished things could be different but you knew this was for the best. Not only was this to help Cisco but you were beginning to question your feelings due to the amount of time you’ve spent with Barry in his absence. Those feelings you harbored for the scarlet speedster never truly went away and you didn’t want to hurt anyone. Even if this is hurting Cisco, it would be worse if you got further involved just to realize you were still in love with Barry.

“I am so sorry, Cisco.” You murmur, desperate to keep the conversation going even if just for a second. Who knows if he’ll want to speak to you again after this.

“Y-yeah.” He stammers, nodding as he takes a step back, trying to remove himself from the horrible scene. “Me too.” Just like that, he's gone, just as sudden as he’d arrived.

[isaacforalpha14]

Imagine #116 Sam and Dean Winchester

A/N: This part is a bit shorter but it’ll pick up. The next part is gonna have a choice between a Sam route or a Dean route. I hope everyone enjoys! Let me know what you think! 

Dean is in hell; he made it through actual hell, he even made it through purgatory but this was harder. Sam seemed evasive when it pertained to you; he ignored when Dean had questioned your whereabouts, he ignored him when he questioned whether he’d kept in touch with you and he definitely ignored him when he questioned what the pair of you had been up to for the past year. Sam knew there'd been something going on with Dean before he went to purgatory and he held the sneaking suspicion it had to do with you. Man, he had no idea just how right he was. Knowing that not only had Sam been living a normal apple pie life but that he’d been doing so with you killed Dean inside. He’s standing in your living room, a picture of you and Sam kissing at a Farmer’s Market clutched within his hand and his chest is aching. He’s never held anything but love for his brother but in this moment he felt envy and hatred. He hated how happy the two of you looked in the photos on the fireplace mantle. It was supposed to be him.

Sam asked him to wait on the porch while he went inside to explain the situation to you. Wouldn’t you be happy to see him? Why does Sam need to break it to you? He wanted to protest and follow him in but his brother sent him a pitiful expression, his signature puppy eyes, and he couldn’t help but curse under his breath and relent. “I am home.” Sam’s muffled statement caused Dean’s brow to furrow in confusion, did he live with you? The more time he spent sitting on the porch, the more questions he seemed to have. 

“Hi honey.” Sam purrs in an affectionate coo, the living room was in complete darkness albeit for the warm glow of the movie playing on the television dancing across your softened features. He can see the tired expression on your face and he feels guilty that he’s about to destroy your serenity. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out. Maybe he could tell you tomorrow and Dean can sleep in the guest room? “Why don’t you head to bed, baby.” He suggested turning the hallway light on before re-entering the living room. “We can watch the rest of the movies tomorrow.” He can’t quite make out what your muffled protest is as you’d completely sunken into your blankets instead, he opts to remove you from the couch and carry you to bed. He takes his time; covering you up on your side of the bed, placing an affectionate kiss to your temple as you release a sleepy sigh and a mumbled ‘i love you’ before he exits the room to go retrieve Dean from the porch and show him to the guest bedroom. Maybe it was selfish, but Sam wasn’t looking forward to sharing you again; not with hunting or with Dean.

Now, here Dean is, standing in your living room at three am, since he couldn’t sleep without being awakened by nightmares, staring at the pictures hanging on the walls and lining the fireplace mantle of the pair of you and he hates how angry he feels. The relentless rage and jealousy trickling through his heart and creating a hollow feeling in his abdomen. His chest is aching and he can’t seem to breathe. Is this what heartbreak feels like? He couldn’t fathom this reality; he could deal with hell, demons, angels and the apocalypse but he couldn’t handle the fact he lost you. He couldn’t even really be angry with either of you because he’d never been honest about his true feelings for you. Now, he’d be destined to watch his brother being with the love of his life. How is he meant to do that? Can he do that?

Morning was interesting to say the least; you’d sprayed Dean with the faucet sprayer, the boiler had been blessed by a priest upon moving in, you’d stabbed him with a knife from your butcher’s block and just as you went to splash him with bleach, Sam entered the kitchen clad in nothing but a towel around his waist and stopped you before you threw it in his eyes. After Sam got dressed, and you finished buttoning Sam’s maroon plaid shirt that you were wearing, he decided to make breakfast for everyone as Dean filled you in on his year. It was horrifying to find out that Dean was locked up in purgatory with monsters, the constant fight for his life must have done a number on him emotionally and mentally.

“I hear congratulations are in order.” Dean muses, a hint of bitterness in his voice that he can’t shake as he takes a sip of his coffee. “You and Sammy, huh?” A sour lilt to his tone as he stabs at his eggs a little aggressively.

“Oh, uh, yeah.” You answer as a warm blush creeps up your neck and settles on your cheeks. Sam leans over and presses an affectionate kiss to your cheek before blowing on his coffee and taking a drink. “A year now.”

“That’s great.” He responds with a sarcastic smile, slamming his utensils down and drinking the remaining coffee in his mug. He throws the dishes in the sink and leaves the kitchen.

“He’s a little upset with us for giving up hunting.” Sam tries to justify the outburst, but he has a nagging feeling that there’s more to it than that. Dishes clattering in the sink interrupt the silence before he continues. “He thinks we gave up on him.” That had been the beginning of an awkward fight with Sam. Dean hadn’t meant to eavesdrop but the house was small, there was nowhere he could disappear to that he wouldn’t be able to hear the aggressive whispering turned to yelling. He could hear everything; the hurt in his brother’s voice, the apologies from your trembling mouth, but it was when he caught the hint of a sniffle that his heart ached. He just knew in his soul that you were crying and it tore him apart. He’s drinking his beer, digging in the shoebox of credit cards, driver’s licenses, badges and cell phones, when Sam emerges from the kitchen and a distant door slams shut.

“You’re being unfair.” Dean’s hoarse voice cautions, dialing the voicemail on a burner as he attempts to distract himself from his thoughts of you; crying in your room, warm tears rolling down your delicate flushed cheeks, nose rose hued from sniffling, the mental image was enough to make him itch.  

“Butt out, Dean.” Sam growls, thrusting himself into the floral print armchair across from the fireplace.

“I am just saying, you’re being too hard on her.”

“Dean.” Sam groans sitting straight, he releases a guilt ridden sigh, trembling hand running through his chestnut hair before he continues. “I was too harsh but it’s only because I don’t want to lose her.” He gnaws on his lower lip, sending a brief glance toward the hallway before continuing. “I am afraid of losing her. I am afraid that if we continued hunting she’d get seriously hurt or… look at what happens to people around us, Dean. We’ve lost so many people. I couldn’t handle that… not with her.” He hesitates, wondering if he should tell his brother of his revelation. “I want to ask her to marry me.”

“You, say what now?” Dean questions, blood freezing as he feels his throat go dry. 

“I want to marry her.” Sam confesses with a vulnerable expression before he leans forward and mumbles. “I’ve always loved her, since we were kids, but I never thought she’d feel the same way about me. I was happy being friends with her just to have her in my life but now, this last year, I’ve had something that I’ve never had. A normal life; and now that I’ve shared that with her, there’s nothing in this life that I want more than to spend the rest of it with her. Hunting or not hunting.”

“Listen, Sammy, we don’t have the luxury of having relationships like that.” Dean murmurs, he’s uncertain whether he’s saying it to be selfish, because he wants you to himself, or whether he truly believes it. The Winchesters are cursed in love. “This business is dangerous.”

“I know that, Dean.” Sam huffs, he’s offended by the insinuation that he’s not aware of the dangers of the lifestyle. It’s part of the reason he never wanted to be a hunter; you can’t have a normal life, a family, while living on the road with stolen credit cards, cheap motels and gas station food. “But Y/N grew up in the ‘life’ too. If anyone can understand that it’s her. Bobby gave us as normal of a life as he could, he did the same for her, maybe we could do the same.” 

“This is a dangerous game, Sam.” Dean warns, heart hammering against his ribcage as he stands and begins to pace with the burner in his palm. “Hope is a dangerous thing. Hope can drive a man insane.” 

“Don’t quote Shawshank Redemption to me, Dean.” Sam sighs, sending an incredulous look at his brother before voicing his concern. “You think it’s a bad idea.”

“Hell yeah, I do.” Dean agrees, halting near the fireplace before meeting his brother’s hazel eyes and feeling a sense of guilt swell in his chest. “Look, just think it through, okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll think it through.” Sam agrees, feeling an odd sense of tension in the atmosphere before he gestures to the burner in Dean’s hand to change the subject. Dean plays the voicemails, all from Kevin, before there’s another argument about how Kevin was their responsibility. 

[isaacforalpha14]

Imagine # 115 Sam and Dean Winchester

A/N: This has been in the works for a while. I absolutely have loved Supernatural since the show started. I love both Sam and Dean and it’s so hard to choose which is my favorite. So, this is a selfish write just to get me back into the swing of things. It’s going to be a mini-series. I am not sure how long it’ll be but there will be different things to choose from on how you get an ending for Sam or Dean. 

Pain; the emotion rippled throughout his system like a poison. Released from his heart in a bittersweet continuous trickle, infecting each nerve in his system as warm tears blurred his vision. Bobby Singer is dead; for real this time, no resurrections or ghostly visitations, just dead. To say it was difficult to let him go is an understatement; he thought he'd done it the first time yet as the vibrant flames enveloped the flask, contorting the metal into a liquid mound, it hurt just as much as when he watched the life leave his body in that hospital bed. Richard ‘Dick’ Roman, the leviathan leader extraordinaire, seared a target on his forehead the minute Bobby took his final breath. The Winchester brothers would never stop until the leviathan paid for his death. They’re distraught; torn into pieces by the death of a man that was closer to them than their own father. However, if there was anyone that felt this loss harder than Dean, it was definitely you; Bobby Singer’s only blood relative, his child. How could he ever fix this for you?

“I am so sorry.” Dean’s soothing baritone reaches your ears in a whisper, warm breath tickling the flesh of your tear stained cheek as his calloused fingertips brush a strand of hair behind your ear. He wraps your trembling frame in a sympathetic embrace, nuzzling his stubbled face into the softness of disheveled hair as your fingers clutch at his cotton shirt in tight fists. “I am here for you.” He places his forehead against yours, nudging you like a loving kitten before he continues. “I’ll always be here for you when you need me.” Dean’s body releases an involuntary shutter, goosebumps spreading across his limbs, thankfully hidden underneath his smoke gray button up, as your warm breath mingles with his due to the close proximity. He knows it’s terrible timing, he shouldn’t even be entertaining the idea, but he wants to tell you how he feels. He wants to be honest, to pour out his heart, in case the plan doesn’t work and this kills him. You had to feel something for him, right? 

“Y/N.” The somber tone of Sam Winchester’s voice interrupts the moment, pulling away from Dean, your lower lip quivers as you meet the younger man’s gaze. He’s heartbroken by the sight; the impish glisten to your beautiful eyes is replaced with sorrow, tear stains reflecting off of your soft cheekbones, supple lips quivering as you fight the sob from creeping up your throat. He furrows his brow in concern, opening his arms in a silent invitation to seek comfort from him. Dean coughs, ignoring the pang of sadness that causes his chest to ache the moment you crash into his younger brother’s arms and sob against his brown plaid shirt. He’s cradling your head in the palm of his hand, threading his fingers through the soft tendrils of hair as he gently shushes you, mumbling words of comfort into your ear that his brother can’t quite hear. 

Sam glanced over his shoulder, Dean’s tattered boots retreating up the cellar stairs without a word, his stout footsteps the sole interruption of your sniffles and sobs against Sam’s clothing. He knew something was bothering his older brother, obviously not just the loss of Bobby again, but something he wasn’t sharing. Maybe it was a mixture of grief and anger, he knew that Dean wanted revenge against Dick Roman but there was just a hint of something else that lingered in the air when he was around. He blinks away the thought, forcing himself to focus on the moment so he could be present for you. You needed him. “You want to go for a drive?” He offers in the faintest whisper, almost as if he raised his voice you’d shatter like delicate glass. 

“Y-Yeah.” You stammer, sniffling as your fingers clutch at the sleeve of the plaid rolled up to his elbow. “Can we get a coffee from town?” Your pitiful tone made his heart skip, a smitten smile quirking his mouth as he nodded and placed an affectionate kiss on your forehead. 

“Of course, we can, princess.” The nickname brought a sad smile to your face, butterflies tickling your abdomen as you grasp his much larger hand in yours, intertwining your fingers. There’s always been a place in your heart for the Winchester brothers, a magnetic connection you’ve shared with both of them, and yet, despite moments like these you could never be certain if either of them possess feelings for you on more than a platonic level. Neither had ever gone further than smitten glances and flirtatious banter. To say it’s difficult to love someone when you don’t know if they feel the same is an understatement, but it’s even worse when you’re in love with two people and you have no idea how either feels about you. 

Everything went wrong in the worst way, the ‘plan’ appeared to work but before there was even a chance at feeling satisfaction in the win, the happiness that might’ve been just disappeared. Kevin Tran had told you and Sam about Dick Roman’s ‘creamer’ that would wipe out thinner people. He made you guys promise to blow up the laboratory before leaving the building, you three had just burst through the lab doors when you spot Dick Roman with the specialized bone weapon in his neck; Dean standing before him watching as he gurgles and struggles to maintain his meat suit facade, Castiel standing behind him watching the scene as he prayed they’d succeeded and it’s when the sounds stop and a weird ripple pulses from Dick Roman that you knew something was about to go wrong. Sam’s breathing is labored as he begins to back away, broad frame pushing you back into Kevin as he tries to gesture for you to retreat.  The atmosphere around the monster’s silhouette begins to ripple in stronger waves, you were about to scream for Dean to back away when his concerned willow irises met yours, he mouths something you don't quite understand before Sam’s arms wrap around your body and he shields you from the sudden explosion. 

There’s Leviathan goo covering the entire lab, the tar blood dripping off the walls onto the pristine floors. Peeking around Sam’s broad shoulders, you can feel your stomach drop as you’re met with nothing. Dean and Castiel are just gone. You’re frozen in shock, ignoring the exchange between Sam and Kevin as the hunter tries to figure out what’s happened and Kevin just tries to urge you to leave. Crowley appears and you can feel yourself losing it, you’re trembling, mind racing, throat unable to form words as you purse your lips feeling the bile rise from the pit of your stomach. Just like that, Crowley exchanges a few select words with Sam before he snaps his fingers, Kevin disappears with a couple of demons and then he himself just vanishes. 

“Breathe, just breathe.” Sam’s soothing voice murmurs, warm palms cradling your cheeks as his charming hazel eyes meet yours in a concerned gaze. He knew about the panic attacks, Bobby had confided in him years ago about how you’d been on medication for anxiety ever since your mother’s death. Sam is no stranger to comforting others in times of distress but he’s never been present for an episode like this. He vaguely remembers reading about panic attacks, he’s desperately trying to wrack his brain for anything that could help you in this situation. He lands on distracting you; or maybe it was his subconscious urging him to finally be honest with you about how he’s always felt now that he had you and you alone. 

The sound of frazzled breathing dissipates, instead being replaced by a gasp as Sam’s delightful mouth meets yours in a tender and cautious kiss. With a subtle groan, your body instinctively relaxes, pressing yourself painfully close to his broad muscular frame as your fingers grasp at his chestnut hair and you find yourself kissing him in return with the feelings you’ve tried to hide over the years. Sam sighs through his nose, the kiss becoming more heated as he gets caught up in the moment. He’d definitely succeeded, you were distracted, but now so was he. The distant splat of leviathan dripping from the lab walls onto a surface somewhere in the room is what had brought you both back to reality. 

“We should... w-we should go.” Sam offers in a murmur, clearing his throat with a deep cough, warm pink hue brightening his cheekbones in the most adorable manner. “We can figure out what happened to them. Someone has to know something, right?”

Wrong; it’s been four strenuous months since that fateful night at Richard Roman Enterprises. There hasn’t been a sole indication that whatever happened to Castiel and Dean wasn’t- fatal or reversible. Sam found himself toeing the line between losing himself to the pain of his brother’s absence and the paralyzing need to keep a suffocatingly tight grip on you in fear of losing the only person he has left. Sam’s need to be protective seems to have worsened as his feelings for you became like a tsunami tide; his heart was lulled into the calm waters of the affection he’s held for you since he can remember, only to be devoured and swept into a chaos of domestic dreams and a relentless wave of love that crashed into his heart with no warning. He’s always been smitten with you, but now, he was hopelessly in love. He remembered the promise he made to Dean vividly, if anything happened to either of them then the other was to live a normal life. An apple pie life. He’s never considered the promise before but now, with you, everything is different. 

“C-Can I ask you something?” Sam clears his throat, rubbing the palms of his hands against his jean clad knees as you place a cold beer bottle on the battered motel coffee table, a dulled thud interrupting the tension filled silence. There’s something strange about his demeanor, something that spreads a hollow nerve in the pit of your stomach as you offer him an unsure nod. “Will you sit here with me, please?” His warm voice trembles, gesturing to the empty space on the sofa with his signature puppy eyes. 

“Sammy.” There’s a beat of silence as you gnaw on your lower lip and contemplate how to broach the remainder of your thought. “Is this about Dean? I-Is he..” 

“No.” He rushes, placing a comforting hand on your thigh as he meets your gaze. “I m-mean, I don’t know if he’s-” He pauses with a pained expression, before scooting closer to you and brushing his calloused fingers across the delicate flesh of your cheek, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Dean and I made a promise to each other. If anything were to happen to either of us, the other is to find a way to be happy. Move on and try to live a normal life.” There’s a coy smile that quirks his mouth, warmth creeping up his neck as he intertwines your fingers before continuing. “I want to do that with you.” 

“Give up hunting?” There’s confusion in your tone as your heart hammers against your chest. Were you hearing him right? Give up on helping people? Give up on Dean?

“No more hunting.” He swallows the nerves, heartbeat drumming in his ears as he hopes to God that you’ll agree. “Just me and you, we can settle down somewhere. We can find a house, a normal nine to five and maybe-maybe, i-in the future, we could get married?” It’s impossible to ignore the startled expression on your face, he’s uncertain whether it’s leaning toward a yes or a no, so he hopes pleading his case can sway you. “I am in love with you.” His confession is tender, voice so gentle that you feel a warmth spread through your chest as you meet his beautiful hazel eyes. “And I think that you know that. I’ve been in love with you since we were kids but I never thought you’d feel the same. So I kept it to myself, continued being the best friend that I could be to you and just enjoyed the time we spent together.” His massive hand squeezes your thigh, the other playing with your fingers as he continues. “Things have been teetering on the line between friendship and more with us since our kiss,” He hesitates, cradling your face as his thumb brushes your bottom lip. “I finally felt like you might’ve had feelings for me too. If I am wrong, and you don’t, if I am just reading too much into this, tell me now.” The sofa releases a squeak as he shifts his weight, leaning dangerously close as his forehead meets yours. 

"Sammy." The lighthearted giggle and dazzling smile caused Sam's heart to skip a beat, the contagious laughter coaxing an amused chuckle as he wrapped his lean muscular arms around your waist, pressing your back against his toned stomach. "We're never gonna make it to the lease signing if we don't choose a color." 

"I am content with whatever you choose." He mumbles in your ear. "I just want you to be happy, baby." 

"Samuel William Winchester, you promised." The adorable pout directed over your shoulder softened his expression, heart skipping as he met your gaze with a smitten smile. He released a sigh, reaching toward the paint chips in your hand and plucking the card with a gray hued blue. 

"This." He murmurs into your hair as he wraps his arms around you once more. "There, the promise fulfilled." 

"Thank you." It's almost impossible to keep from smiling, the terms of endearment still felt fresh and made your heart flutter. He's always called you princess but since that day in that stale half dilapidated motel when he expressed his love for you, he's really taken to calling you sweet names like babe, baby, love and honey. There was a sole instance that he'd called you sweetheart and something in you broke. He instantly noticed you tense and a sadness glistening in your watering eyes that broke his heart. He didn’t want to admit it then but he knew the reason; Dean. So he’d silently promised himself he would never call you that again. Sam never wanted to be the reason for your pain, even if it was unintentional.   

“Have you put any more thought into the lease time frames?” Sam questions, releasing you from his tight hold to push the shopping cart toward the next aisle. There’s hesitation in your response, he can sense the tension that looms in the air as the squeaking from the shopping cart wheels goes silent and he’s watching you with a curious tilt to his head. “Baby?” 

“Sorry.” You whisper, gnawing on your lower lip. There’s still no answer to his question and it’s starting to worry him that maybe you’d changed your mind altogether; you didn’t actually want this, want him. He leaves the shopping cart, fingers tugging the soft cotton sleeve of your peach cardigan as he urges you to come closer to him. The emotion reflecting in his hazel eyes causes you to frown and place the palms of your hands against his stubble covered cheeks. “I know that look, Winchester. Don’t do that. It’s nothing you did, I promise.” Pressing an affectionate kiss to your delicate fingers, he nods with a sigh of relief, ushering you to the shopping cart to continue the journey to the registers. “I was thinking about my dad and I just didn’t want to ruin our trip.” 

“It’s perfectly okay to miss him.” He responds with an empathetic smile in your direction before greeting the cashier and placing the items on the conveyor belt, fishing his wallet out of his jean pocket. “I miss him too.” The remainder of the shopping trip was silent, it wasn’t that you thought Sam would judge you for thinking of your father but you didn’t want to have to admit that you were afraid of returning home. That’s why you’d agreed to rent a house with Sam about two hours driving distance of Sioux Falls, South Dakota. There’s a piece of your heart that yearned to return home, like being on the junkyard property line would help you feel like a part of your father was still here with you. Yet, the wounds were still fresh and it was hard to grasp that he really is truly gone. 

“Are you okay, baby?” Sam’s concerned voice is barely heard over the rumbling of the Impala engine, his fingers interlacing with yours as he lifts your clasped hands to his mouth, pressing an affectionate kiss upon your knuckles. 

“Mhmm.” There’s a subtle squeak from the leather seats as you scoot closer to his massive frame, nuzzling into his side as you enjoy the ride to the place you’d be calling home for a while. The cassette tape peeking out of the radio catches your attention, there’s an uncomfortable knotting in the pit of your stomach, a pain you’d often get when you focused on reminders of Dean. Sam is humming, you’re uncertain of the song but it takes everything within yourself to keep from pushing the cassette tape in and turning the radio on. Neither of you have been able to bring yourself to turn it on since Dean’s been gone. Swallowing the sadness, you try again, as you have each day since their disappearance, to pray to Castiel. It still hurts each time that the prayer is answered with radio silence. Sam makes you that happiest you’ve been in a lifetime but with Castiel and Dean still missing it feels like pieces of your heart have just vanished. The most painful part of the ordeal is the unknown; are they in pain? Are they in danger? Are they dead?

Sam Winchester could never have envisioned this; feeling comfortable enough to let someone in wholeheartedly, to allow himself the pleasure of falling hopelessly in love and nourishing the dream of a happily ever after. This is everything he’s ever wanted; this is perfection. The morning sunlight radiates from the bedroom window, revitalizing warmth descending upon the bare and exposed flesh sprawled across the mattress. The muscles in the hunter’s tanned arm were roused as he twirled a strand of hair around his finger, the movement provoking a content sigh as your foot grazed his leg in a gesture of instinctual fondness. There’s sleep evident in his movement as he savored the astounding happiness that devours his heart, his enamored hazel eyes hypnotized by the serene expression on your face. You’re beautiful; he’s always thought so however in this intimate sense of domestic bliss, bare skin wrapped in the floral print sheets, conquered by peaceful slumber due to  the previous night's love making, he couldn't help himself from equating you to a goddess of celestial perfection. Aphrodite; in flesh and bone gracing him with the blessing of her presence. Then a realization hits him in the depths of his stomach as his heart skips; he’s ready. He wants this to be the rest of his life. This has been the best year of his life and everything in him is aching to spend the rest of it with you by his side. He’s going to propose. 

[isaacforalpha14]

The newest part for the Cisco and Barry story is so good!! I was legit on the edge of my seat the entire time. I accidentally read all the parts in one sitting and got hooked too. Haha Awesome job! 👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽

Thank you so much! I appreciate it! I am glad you're enjoying it! <3 Have a great day/night!

[isaacforalpha14]

Imagine #114 Barry Allen and Cisco Ramon [Requested]

A/N: Fourth part is finally here! First part is #105, second is #107 and third is #111.

S.T.A.R Laboratories is a nightmare; the suffocating tension within Team Flash is disorienting, the friction is bubbling to a dangerous level, the team is on the brink of imploding, and soon someone is bound to be scarred. 

There’s the peaceful strum of guitar strings accompanied by gentle humming, an exasperated sigh escaping Cisco’s pursed mouth as he hangs his head and his hands fall against the frigid tabletop, screwdriver in hand clattering against the steel. The distant sound of your whimsical laughter causes his heart to flutter as the monochrome images of his nightmares flicker behind his closed eyes; Barry’s enamored hazel-green eyes staring into yours so lovestricken that it makes his stomach lurch. An uncomfortably familiar set of floral sheets under his bare freckled shoulders as he props his stubbled cheek on his palm and smiles down at your peaceful expression. That beautiful smile, that until now, he’d known for himself, beaming up at him as you nuzzle Barry’s nose and kiss him sweetly. “I am in love with you, Barry Allen.” “And I am in love with you.” Cisco’s vision returns, opening his saddened eyes as he directs his void expression at the latest device he’s drowned himself in. He’d do anything to keep his distance from you, it pained him, but he needed to sort through his conflicting emotions and determine if his vibe was from another Earth, another timeline or, lord help him, if you were actually cheating on him. 

“That’s horrible. I am sorry, Iris.” The statement would’ve sounded sincere had it not been for the grin brightening your expression and the laughter on your tongue. It was no secret that there was a strange and painfully awkward tension of silent struggles in the air surrounding you, Cisco and Barry; so as your closest friend, Iris took it upon herself to entertain you with her horror stories of speed dating. “Maybe I’ll go with you next time.” 

“Nothing has gotten better with Cisco?” The question makes your chest ache, warm tears threatening to sting the corners of your eyes as you fight off the urge to cry. Everything falls silent as you shake your head, a disgruntled sigh falling from Iris’ mouth as she crosses her arms. “I love Cisco but I’ll rough him up if you want me to?” Her offer, however sweet, wouldn’t help the situation but it makes you giggle nonetheless. 

“It’s okay. I just...wish he’d break-up with me if that’s what he’s trying to do. It’d hurt less than not knowing.” She might’ve offered sage advice or a form of affectionate sympathy, you’d never know because as soon as she opened her mouth to speak she was cut off by a hoarse voice of solemn words. 

“You want me to break-up with you?” Iris wanted to tell Cisco to get lost; the frown on her face said it all, but instead she picked up her coffee offering you a soft smile before glaring at him on her way out of the cortex. It was a silent warning; don’t screw this up. “Talk to me, babe.” His tone is affectionate and gentle but his words wake the confusion and frustration from the two weeks of the cold shoulder and silence you received from him. 

“Now you wanna talk?” The edge to your voice made him frown and retract his hand as he’d reached out to touch you. “I don’t mean to be a bitch but I’ve been in the dark for two weeks, Cisco. I have no idea what I’ve done to you for you to phase me out like this. I thought things were going well.” You hesitate, leaning over the computers as you lower your voice. “We’d just told each other we loved each other for the first time and then you just blocked me out. Did you not mean to say it? Were you not ready? We tell each other everything.”

“Do we?” He snapped, releasing a huff as he ran his trembling hands through his soft black tendrils. He thought he was ready to have this discussion but now he realized, too late, that he should’ve waited until the wounds weren’t so fresh. Until the images of whatever it is he vibed didn’t feel so...real. 

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“What’s going on with you and Barry?” The accusation in his tone threw you off, faltering for a moment as your brows furrowed and your mind fought to keep up. 

“Me and Barry? What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean.” His statement elicits a shiver down your spine and goosebumps across your arms. He’s never been so harsh toward you before.

“No, I don’t. There is no me and Barry. You knew when we started dating that there’d been something between me and Barry almost two years ago. Everyone on Team Flash knew. You said you were okay with it. What changed?” 

“You lied to me. That’s what changed.”

“I’ve never lied to you, Cisco.”

“You said it wasn’t serious.” He whispers, warm tears blurring his vision as his chocolate brown eyes meet yours in a heartbroken gaze. “I vibed it and I can’t stop seeing it. You and him together, in your bed, the same bed that we’ve shared. You both saying you love each other.”

“What?” You question both bewildered as that has never happened and thrown off as he’d promised you he’d never vibe you. “If you’re implying what I think you’re implying, Barry and I have never had sex and we never got to that stage. We saw each other casually. I am not gonna lie and say I didn’t start to fall for him but he broke it off. He said that being the Flash was dangerous and he couldn’t put me in that position. He broke my heart and I moved on.” 

“I don’t understand.” He murmurs, swallowing the dryness in his throat and wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. “I very clearly, and heartbreakingly, saw it. I can’t stop seeing it.” His calloused hand reaches out carefully, fingertips brushing against the soft flesh of your hand as he intertwines your fingers. “It’s why I’ve avoided you. Every time I close my eyes, it’s all I can see. You telling him you love him, the way he’s looking at you as he tells you he loves you too.” 

“Cisco.” You sigh, placing your palms on his cheeks as you cradle his face. “It.” You press a warm slow kiss to his mouth. “Never.” Kiss. “Happened.” The last kiss is sensual and passionate, a moan rumbling deep in his throat as your tongue caresses his. He sets his forehead against yours as he pulls away, warm breath fanning over your lips as you nuzzle your nose against his. “I love you, Cisco.”

“I love you.” He whispers, biting his bottom lip before stealing another lingering kiss. “I am sorry. For ignoring you and for vibing you. It’s just, after that night at my apartment, I could see in your eyes that something was wrong. Something you weren’t telling me. So I vibed you, maybe I was scared you didn’t mean it or maybe I just thought I was helping. I didn’t really think it through, I just...did it. And I am sorry.” It felt like something clicked, a lingering guilt burning in your chest as you made eye contact with him. 

“There was something I wasn’t telling you. I wasn’t sure how to feel about it because I was so angry, confused and hurt.” You murmured, gnawing on your lower lip as you pulled away from your boyfriend. “Remember when we collectively decided we didn’t want to know what our lives were like before Flashpoint?”

“Yeah, we all agreed in the cortex after Iris lectured us.” He chuckles but the look you give him wipes the amusement from his face. “Why?”

“Barry.” You start, squeezing his hand as he instinctively tries to pull away. “He told me that uh, he and I were meant to be together. That we were supposed to be married.” 

“He said, I am sorry, what?” He snaps, shooting from his seat as he yanks his hand from your grasp and you almost topple from the desk chair. “Wha-I don’t understand. Why would he just say that?!” He’s pacing now, biting his nails as he begins to stomp back and forth. He’s growing angry, you can almost feel the aggression rolling from his body in waves. “You-You never would’ve asked. Why would he say that to you?”

“I don’t want to say.” You whisper, avoiding his gaze as you stare at the sneakers on your feet. You wanted to be honest, but this truth would fracture Team Flash in a way that may never be fixed. 

“Why did he say that.” It’s no longer a question but a repeated statement, he’s trying to be patient with you, he is but he can feel that you’re trying to protect Barry and it makes his insides boil. “Y/N, why.”

“Because he’s in love with me.” That truth tumbling from your trembling lips set forth a devastating domino effect; Cisco lunges for the computer in the center console, fingers banging against the keyboard with an aggressive determination. The shriek of the cortex alarm blaring causes you to cover your ears, the emergency lights flooding the room in a menacing maroon glow as the building is shut in darkness and Team Flash starts appearing in confusion and concern. You’re unsure of what everyone’s whereabouts were or how they’d all seemed to make it here in such haste but you were certain that this, whatever was about to transpire, was going to be even worse with everyone else here to witness it. There’s a familiar sound of a deep whoosh as the neon yellow lightning bursts through the doorway, panic on Barry’s expression as he searches for the threat. Cisco found enough restraint in himself, or maybe he just wanted his outburst to be heard, to shut the alarms off.

“What’s going-” Barry’s confusion is interrupted by a blast of energy barreling at him from Cisco’s balled fist, the force sending him flying across the room. There’s a deafening crack echoing throughout the cortex, plaster crumbling from the massive crater in the wall, there’s a pained groan from Barry as he releases a dry cough and settles on his hands and knees. 

“What the hell, Cisco?” Wally grumbles, the crunching of rubble under his sneaker soles as he helps his brother find his footing. He’s not given a chance to follow up as he’s interrupted by the desperate plea from your trembling mouth. Please, don’t. The request was lost in a broken whisper, the remaining members of the team exchanging perplexed glances before everyone was startled from the momentary silence. 

“What is your problem, Barry?!” Cisco’s rhetorical exclamation shook Barry from his bewildered state, he hadn’t a chance to  question his friend before guilt plummet into the depths of his stomach as he continued. “Why can’t you just let me be happy?” The atmosphere in the cortex thickens with a strange tension as a wave of distorted energy ripples around his silhouette. “Changing the timeline with no afterthought or concern for anyone else, getting my brother killed and now this,” He stammers, meeting your gaze before the rippling energy aura surrounding him grows. “I thought you were my best friend, Barry. I’ve always been on your side, but then I find out that you’re trying to steal away the only happiness I still have? It kills you, doesn’t it?” He prods, approaching the speedster with a few calculated side steps. “Knowing that you messed up. You had to change the timeline but you didn’t think that it’d change your relationship. She’s not yours here. She doesn’t love you here.” He’s almost nose to nose with his friend as he whispers. “She will never love you here, because she loves me. She’s mine here.” 

“Guys, maybe we should take a breather.” Caitlin’s delicate voice suggests frowning at the conflicted and troubled expressions on the remainder of Team Flash’s faces. There’s no response, the moment is interrupted by an electrical current rippling throughout the atmosphere followed by an abrupt wave of energy that knocks everyone to the floor. The following moments seem to pass in slow motion, the sensation of arms wrapping themselves around your frame adds to the confusion as you begin to blink away the haze and examine the surroundings. 

“Are you alright?” Barry’s winded voice whispers in distress, gloved palm wiping the shrapnel of glass fragments from your disheveled hair as he searches for any visible wounds. “Are you hurt?”

“I am alright.” You cough, fingertips instinctively touching the scratches across his porcelain cheeks. “Are you okay?”

“I am not worried about me.” He whispers back, fingers threading through your hair, cupping your cheek in an affectionate gesture as his thumb caresses the flesh subconsciously. Given the explosive argument, he shouldn’t have been doing this, anyone involved in a similar situation would distance themselves. Cisco is like a brother to him; so why couldn’t he let this go? Why couldn’t he let  you go? 

“Where’s Cisco?” Wally’s dazed voice questions, the crunching of shattered glass interrupting the silence as everyone attempts to compose themselves. The mention of your boyfriend’s name sours the moment, causing Barry to recoil from the interaction as he clears his throat and helps you stand carefully.

“He disappeared in a breach.” Barry’s response is interrupted by a startled gasp and a chorus of curses. Somewhere in the chaos, a shard of glass had lodged itself into Joe’s torso. No one knew the extent of the damage caused by the accident, only that the amount of blood staining the button up shirt he’d worn to work that day, it felt severe enough for everyone to hold a certain level of anger toward Cisco for the whole outburst. 

[fvckingavengers]

thank you to kumi, @jackmanhugh for this adorable header!

WHO IS BORED IN QUARANTINE? WHO WANTS TO GIVE WRITING A SHOT? WHO WANTS TO GET BACK INTO WRITING AFTER BEING ON HIATUS?

Whoever you are, whatever your story is, and whatever your writing skill level/experience may be - I’m challenging you to be productive and write something. You’re bored at home anyway with nothing to do and nothing to lose.

Below the cut is 50 song prompts. More than one writer can use the same prompt. There will be 1 list for smut. 1 list for angst. If you choose from the smut list, you can still absolutely make it angsty if you so choose. If you choose from the angst list, you can still absolutely make it smutty if you so choose.

Characters I’m most inclined to read about: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier, Sam Wilson, Tony Stark, Thor Odinson, Clint Barton, Loki Laufeyson, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester.

Rules:

Must be following yours truly.

To enter, send a message to my inbox with the number of the prompt you wish to write. Please refrain from using messenger in regards to entering the challenge.

Tag my blog when you post your finished product AND feel free to send a link through messenger - my notifications can be wonky sometimes and I definitely wanna read your work!

Reblog this post and share with your followers so that they can join in on the fun!

Use the ‘Read More’ button and use warnings for your work. It’s a courtesy and your followers will appreciate it.

BONUS: follow me on instagram - I follow back :)

There are no restrictions as far as the content of your writing goes. Any kind of AUs. Whatever kinks you want to write about - go for it. Just give warnings. Your fic / one shot can be 500 or 100k+ words. Do you, boo. There is NO deadline for this challenge. IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS, FEEL FREE TO MESSAGE ME.

Laur’s Master List

PROMPTS LISTED BELOW THE CUT.

Keep reading

[isaacforalpha14]

Imagine #113 Wally West (Requested)

The atmosphere in the Waverider’s galley is brimming with the sound of pleasant laughter and murmured discussion; Ray Palmer’s deep voice cheerful as he recounted his earliest mission as a Legend. There’s a lapse of silence, a wisp of steam billowing from the sweltering mug of coffee cradled within your palms, puckered lips blowing on the surface before you take a cautious sip. It takes a second, too late, for you to realize that Ray had asked you a question, scrutinizing your features with an anxiousness glistening in his welcoming chocolate brown eyes. A heated blush crept up your neck, embarrassed that you hadn’t heard a word, a choked cough escaping your mouth as you blink away the shame and respond with a cheerful ‘yeah’ in hopes that your answer would suffice.

“Great.” Ray’s handsome face brightened by your response and he presses a chaste kiss to your cheek before his stout footsteps disappear in a boisterous rush. His statuesque figure reappeared in the doorway of the galley, his cheeks a bright pink as he speaks softly. “I didn’t actually think you’d agree so I’ll need a couple hours to prepare. Meet me in the cargo bay at noon.” His statement leaves you wondering just what exactly you’d signed up for; shrugging your shoulders you lean over your mug of coffee before someone startles you from your thoughts.

“Date with Ray, huh?” Zari’s inquisitive voice sobers you to what just happened. Ray asked you out and you said yes? “I didn’t think you liked him like that.”

“W-What?!” You stammer, panicked by her statement as your mind reels trying to grasp what had just transpired.

“Calm down.” She chuckles at your expression, spoon tapping the rim of her porcelain mug. “I am just kidding.” She sips at her coffee, humming as the warmth awakens her mind and the caffeine hits her system. “Besides, Wally would kill Ray.” There’s an awkward silence that settles in the atmosphere, Zari’s mentally cursing herself for speaking on emotions that were not hers to divulge. She hesitates, watching as you gnaw on your bottom lip and lose your focus to wandering thoughts. The perfect opportunity to make an exit. Slipping out of the room, she sighs in relief as she avoids further discussion successfully and disappears toward the crew quarters.

The implications of Zari’s words were catastrophic for any constructive thoughts or productive behavior; turns out, you’d signed yourself up for helping Ray calibrate his Atom suit, Nate normally does it but he and Amaya took the jumpship on a ‘date day’ the previous night and wouldn’t return until tomorrow morning. Ray felt terrible for injuring you; you were preoccupied with Zari’s statement, revisiting each interaction you’ve had with Wally since you met him, you’re propelled from your thoughts by a strike to the face.

“Oh my god! I am so sorry.” He apologizes, reaching out toward you as your hands cover your injured nose, blood seeping from between your fingers. “Gideon, get the med bay ready.”

“Right away, Dr. Palmer.” Gideon’s melodic voice responds as the frigid fingertips of his suit gloves made contact with your elbow, Ray is quick to guide you through the halls and in the direction of the med bay.

“Y/N?” Wally’s concerned voice calls as he catches sight of Ray sweeping by with a firm grip on your arm as the med bay doors hiss open. A gust of wind blows through the halls, lightening sparking in the room just as Ray helps you into a seat. “What happened?”

“We were just calibrating my suit.” Ray responds in a rush, his voice thick with guilt. “I didn’t mean to.”

“You did this?!” Wally’s cappuccino irises were alight with a protective anger, eyebrows furrowed as he glares in his teammate’s direction. A groan interrupted the tense silence, the shuffling of leather catching both men’s attention as you shifted in the med bay seat and Gideon’s soft voice alerted everyone that she’d begin scanning your injuries. “Get away from Y/N, Ray.” Wally growls through clenched teeth, the static in the air made the hairs on your arms stand as he zipped from the doorway to stand between you and Ray.

“C’mon, Wally.” Ray started with a hesitant and sad smile. “I’d never do this on purpose. It was an accident.”

“I don’t care.” The speedster dismissed as he turned his back on him and reached for your hand in an effort to  comfort you. Ray mutters another apology, disappearing behind the closing doors, leaving Gideon to tend to your wounds as he retreated in the direction of his lab. If it hadn’t been for the sedative that Gideon injected into your neck, you would’ve scolded Wally for his outburst. Nothing that happened had been intentional, he had no reason to snap at Ray like that. As the sedative took effect, you could feel Wally squeeze your hand as he reached over with his other, fingertips brushing hair from your face as he mumbled that he’d be with you the whole time. He’d never leave you.

“R-Ray?” The hoarse sound of your voice startled Wally from his thoughts, a mixture of bitterness and concern clashing against the forefront of his mind as he scoot to the edge of his seat. When you repeat his name, it took a massive amount of self-control to keep his composure. Ray is supposed to be his friend; how could he try to get close to you knowing how he feels about you? “I-Is Ray doing okay?”

“He’s fine.” Wally grumbles, shaking his head as he stands from his seat, searching your dazed expression for any wounds or discomfort. “Are you okay?”

“Wally.” The exasperated sigh fell on deaf ears as he placed a palm against your cheek with a worried furrow of his brow, thumb caressing the delicate flesh as he asks Gideon to check on you. “I am fine.” The gesture elicit a skip of your heart, the dreams you had of Wally West while unconscious were not helping your nerves at the moment. Curse Zari and her unsolicited statements.

“I’ve healed the bruises and cauterized the punctured veins.” Gideon informs interrupting the silence before continuing. “It appears that Y/N is perfectly healthy now. I’d still advise fluid and rest for a few days.”

“Thank you, Gideon.” Wally’s voice is soft, just above a whisper as he releases a grateful sigh, he’s silent as he finds himself lost in thought. The internal fight is an altercation that he’s had with himself on countless occasions; to take a risk or remain stagnant. He’s threading his fingers in your hair as he pats your head in an affectionate manner, the moment interrupted as Gideon speaks.

“Sorry to interrupt Mr. West but Dr. Palmer asked that I inform him when Y/N wakes. Shall I inform him now?” The AI’s words cause Wally’s expression to darken as he removes his hand from your head and scowls. He doesn’t wait for you to answer, instead taking it upon himself to answer with a rough ‘no’ as he stands from his seat and starts pacing the room.

“Wally, what is going on with you?” The question is filled with confusion, his bursts of aggression are creating an emotional whiplash that’s  beginning to pain you in the worst way. “You know you can talk to me.”

“You sure you don’t wanna talk to Ray?” There’s venom in his words, he scowls and continues pacing the room before a knowing smirk quirks your mouth. There’s a beat of silence as you decide the best route to handle his newfound jealousy of your friendship. Ray would never replace Wally.

“Wally, you’re my best friend. Ray and I-”

“I don’t want to hear about you and Ray.” He growls running a hand over his head in aggravation as the dam he’d built around his heart came crumbling down. “I can’t.” He mumbles, rubbing his arm as you notice the warm tears glistening in his eyes.

“Wally.” You whisper standing from your seat, gnawing on your lower lip as you reach out for his hand. Intertwining your fingers together, you ignore the skip in your chest as you continue. “Ray is my friend. You’re my best friend. He’ll never take your spot in my life.”

“I don’t think I can do this anymore.” He’s slowly removing his hand from yours, clearing his throat as he’s already decided to spill his heart out. “I am sorry that I snapped. I didn’t mean to be so-” He pinches the bridge of his nose and wipes at his eyes.

“Mean?”

“I was gonna say direct.” He sighs, swallowing the dryness in his throat as he avoids meeting your gaze. “There are a thousand different ways that I’ve thought of this moment playing out. This...this never crossed my mind so I never prepared myself.” He hesitates, you contemplate whether or not to speak. You’re not sure if it’d be appropriate to question him or deter his train of thought. Instead, you remain silent and watch him intently. “You have meant so much to me since the moment I met you; there was this instant connection between us, it was electric. It felt like you just...no one’s ever understood me the way that you do. The closer we got, the more we learned about each other, the harder I fell. I was afraid to say anything but I can’t be afraid anymore. I need to say this to move on...I am in love with you.”

Wally’s speech reverberates within your eardrums, the emotions stealing the air from your lungs as the meaningful revelation begins to seep in. Wally West is in love with you. Countless questions torrent against the forefront of your mind at once, this level of disorientation was making your head reel and heart beat so aggressively it might escape its bone cage. It takes a moment to register the forceful gust of wind that interrupts the silence, the sparks that electrify the atmosphere as you remain in the massive room alone. There’s a strange smolder at the core of your abdomen, mind wandering as you gnaw on your bottom lip and contemplate on how to handle the situation. You love Wally West; there’s no denying that truth, but what if he’s just caught up in his jealousy of your friendship with Ray. What if he’s mistaken lust for love? If you allowed him into the mortar walls you’d meticulously built around your heart, allowing yourself to be truly vulnerable with him and he changed his mind; it would completely destroy you. Fear has a way of debilitating the urge to take risks, losing your best friend and enduring heartbreak was a tremendous hindrance.

The tension in the atmosphere was suffocating; the following missions were awkward after Wally’s confession, no one on the Waverider were aware of the circumstances of the strain between you and no one felt it was their place to intervene or provoke you. The tensions escalate to an explosion after a mission where you’d been required to flirt with the target; Wally’s boots echo against the frigid steel of the Waverider’s ramp as the team mutters about another successful mission, there’s a bitter scowl etched into his handsome face as he straightens his posture and growled through clenched teeth.

“Can I talk to you?” Wally snaps, his aggressive posture startling everyone as the group falls silent and the resentful hint to his tone makes your blood run cold. He doesn’t allow you a chance to reply to his request as his strong fingers grasp your bicep and he’s dragging you into the Captain’s office as the doors release a harrowing hiss behind you. “Why are you doing this to me? I thought we were friends.”

“I am sorry?” There’s a clear inflection in your voice that indicates your confusion of the situation and his words. Neither of you have spoken since the confession, you felt it was better to steer clear until he realized he was mistaken about his feelings. No one would get hurt that way; you wouldn’t get hurt that way.

“I get it, okay. You don’t have feelings for me but do you have to rub it in my face?!” The muscles in his jaw flexed as he growls and crosses his arms. “Do you think that hurting me is going to make my feelings go away?”

“What-what are you talking about?”

“We have other members of the team that can be a distraction, but you keep volunteering. The flirting, the touching and the dates. Then today, did you really have to sleep with him?! I heard what he said to his friends! I get that you don’t love me, I can’t force you to but I figured since you were my friend that you’d at least let me down easy. That you’d care about me enough to be more discreet.”

“First of all, Wally.” You bite, pointing a finger in his direction with hurt and aggression in your gaze. “I don’t sleep around, it’s not my style and you know that. Second, being a distraction is part of the job description for anyone that we feel can get it done. Just because you don’t agree with it doesn’t mean that it won’t happen. You don’t get to dictate what I do and don’t do. You’re unbelievable. Even as stubborn and pigheaded as you’re being, I still can’t be mad at you.”

“Because you feel sorry for me? Well don’t-”

“Because I love you!” You snap, releasing a disgruntled huff before realizing what had just happened. He’s stunned into silence, giving you the opportunity to back out of the room, walking through the separating group of your friends as they pretend to not have overheard the argument.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Wally hollars; standing in the doorway of the Captain’s office as he ignores the interested gazes of his friends. “When I told you I loved you, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I was afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Having my heart broken.” You murmur over your shoulder, ignoring everyone as you walk toward the crew quarters in an attempt to catch your bearings. You close your eyes, releasing a sigh as you hear the electrical zap of Wally speeding to follow. “I don’t want to talk about it, Wally.”

“Then just listen.” He’s nervous as he stands before you, reaching for your hands with a cautious smile quirking his mouth and a desperate gleam in his welcoming brown eyes. “I would never hurt you. I’ll always put you, your heart and your life above my own. Whether we be friends or lovers, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I was afraid too, that was why I’d never admitted my feelings for you before but there’s a point in time where taking a chance is worth the risk. Me admitting my feelings for you was worth the risk either way because you’d either feel the same or it’d allow me the closure to move on. I know you’re afraid to get your heart broken, but I would never do that. I’ll protect it with everything that I have if you just gave me a chance.” He opens his mouth to say something else when he’s silenced by the feeling of your warm soft mouth against his.

“I love you, Wally West.” You whisper, breath hot against his lips. “I am sorry that I was too afraid to tell you sooner. I just didn’t want to admit how I felt and have you change your mind.”

“I’d never change my mind about wanting to be with you.” He murmurs nuding his nose against yours. “You’re everything I could ever want.”

“Is it too late to ask you to be my boyfriend?”

“Never.” He chuckles lowly, pressing his mouth against yours firmly. “I’ll always say yes.”

[isaacforalpha14]

then can you do a barry allen imagine where him and the reader are dating and he keeps missing dates because of him being the flash and she has a new guy friend that she’s been hanging out with (just friends!!) and one day there hanging out in her apartment and barry sees them and gets super jealous and him and the reader get into a little argument (not like screaming at each other but she gives him a lot of sass and attitude) but it’s ends in cuteness and fluff please?

Posted, hope you enjoy. :) 

[isaacforalpha14]

Imagine #112 Barry Allen (Requested)

A/N: I did change the location but kept the request otherwise intact. I hope you enjoy it! 

Being in a relationship with Barry Allen is difficult on the best of days; seeing as he’s a crime scene investigator for the CCPD, his career has the tendency of being both emotionally and physically exhausting. Unfortunately, his night job as the Flash is what seems to interrupt any hope of spending time together. There were evenings, much like tonight, where you’d made arrangements for some romantic quality time with your boyfriend. However, just as many evenings prior, the plans were thrust into the void as Central City found itself in need of their hero. 

The night’s plans evolved into a binge on Netflix, a half empty bottle of wine and Chinese take-out; at least, that’s what it would have been if your co-worker, and close friend, Brandon , hadn’t sent you a text with an invitation to dinner. An Italian restaurant, Giovanni’s, had opened its doors across from CC Jitters two weeks prior; it was meant to be the destination of the night’s festivities with Barry but instead served as another night dining with your friend as you would vent about the heightened tensions piling up in your relationship. It was beginning to take a stressful toll on you, and it was refreshing having an outside perspective that wasn’t bias. Team Flash, your friends that had become family, would always, even if subconsciously, take Barry’s side.

“How’re you doing?” Brandon’s concerned voice questioned, taking a sip of his chilled water as his glacial blue eyes scrutinized your expression over the rim of his glass. He knew that the constant dismissal of dates, unanswered text messages and ignored calls were getting to you. It’d get to anyone.

“Just disappointed.” You shrug, picking at the thread of the fabric napkin strewn beside your drink. “Work has been taking a lot of his time lately.” He’s gnawing on his bottom lip, refraining from releasing a disgruntled scoff. He’d never fully understand just how important his ‘job’ is because that wasn’t your secret to tell, so naturally, he assumed that Barry was an arrogant flake.

“You know what I am going to say.” He murmurs, frowning as he busies himself with reading the menu to keep from meeting your gaze. “You’re way too understanding for your own good. He needs to step up or let go.”

There’s a tense silence lingering at the table, the quiet conversations of those around you sounding like white noise as you contemplate his words. There’s a part of you that’s started to believe that; you’ve been thinking of the future more often, wondering if being wife to ‘the Flash’ was something that you could see yourself being able to handle. The constant fear of him not returning from a fight with the newest threat, him perpetually busy with saving the world and never having time for you. What if you got pregnant? Would you be able to handle the responsibility of explaining to your children why their father wasn’t around much? Would you be up to the task of essentially being a single parent most of the time? Before you’re able to reply, the boisterous crash of a car soaring into the air and crumpling like tin foil caught everyone’s attention. ‘It’s the Flash!’ an excited shout interrupted the momentary silence as blurs of yellow lightning reflected in the restaurant windows. 

“Another day, another superhero fight.” Brandon chuckles, shaking his head as he’s distracted by the notification chime on his cell phone. It takes an overwhelming amount of self-restraint to keep from joining the group of customers with their faces pressed against the frigid glass of the building. “Listen,” Brandon starts, his cell phone screen darkening as he continues his thought. “I know you love Barry, but as your best friend, I have to say that it breaks my heart to see you so disappointed all the time. There’s only so many times someone can let you down before it starts feeling one-sided, you know?” 

“Sorry, I am late.” Barry’s winded voice interrupts the conversation, a scowl on his handsome face as he catches sight of his seat already having an occupant. “Brandon.”

“Barry.” He responds coldly, stuffing his cell phone in his jacket pocket as he sends you a pointed glance. 

“I thought you weren’t gonna make it.” Barry catches the hint of hurt in your voice and it makes him flinch. He knew you’d be upset, that seemed to be a recurring  emotion simmering in your eyes lately but he didn’t think that once again, Brandon would be taking his place. “We might be able to ask a waiter for another chair.” You start surveying the area for an employee before a warm hand is placed on your forearm. Brandon offers you a kind smile as he squeezes your arm warmly, the wood chair screeching as it slides against the tiled floor as he stands. 

“He can sit in my chair.” Brandon offers with a hint of bitterness, he squints at Barry for a moment before leaning over the table and smoothing your hair down affectionately. “Call me if you need me, okay?” 

“I think I’ve got it from here.” Barry retorts with a bite to his tone, silently challenging your friend as he plops in his seat and crosses his arms over his chest. “Thanks though.” 

“Barry.” You chastise, displeased with his attitude. “I’ll text you, Brandon.” He leaves with a wave and there’s a tense silence in his absence; there’s a magnetism in the atmosphere that has you feeling warm, a simmering anger bubbling behind Barry’s hazel-green irises as electricity sparks behind the white of his eyes. “Barry.” You whisper harshly, catching his attention as you lean across the table. “What is going on with you? Your eyes are electric.” 

“I am just annoyed, I guess.” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he rubs his eyes. “Every time I turn around Brandon’s there, hovering with that smug face.” 

“What are you talking about?”

“He’s always quick to hang out with you when I am not around and I know he hates me.” He continues, ignoring your question as he continues to vent. “I know he’s your friend but I think he has feelings for you. He’s trying to edge me out. Take my place.” 

“That’s not true.” You scoff in offense as you stare at him incredulously. “I don’t like where you’re going with this, Barry, and no one can ‘edge you out’ when you aren’t around.” 

“Are you kidding?!” He whisper shouts, leaning his elbows on the table as he lowers his voice. “You know that I wish I could be with you, always.” He attempts to grasp your hands but you remove them from the table. 

“But you’re not.” You murmur, meeting his hurt expression. “I am not going to sit at home alone because you’re too busy for me. I am allowed to have friends.” 

“Iris and Caitlin-”

“Are your friends.” You interrupt, raising your eyebrow at him as he shakes his head with a scowl. “You know that I love them but I have my own friends too.”

“Does it have to be someone that wants to be your boyfriend?” He sneers, leaning back into his seat as he crosses his arms against his chest again. 

“Are you honestly jealous, Barry?” You can’t help the chuckle that escapes your pursed lips, gnawing on your bottom lip as Barry furrows his brow and pouts in an adorable fashion. 

“Of course I am!” He huffs, throwing his arms in the air as he settles his hands in his chestnut hair and rubs his head in frustration. “Look at you, you’re perfect and I don’t want to lose you.” 

“You aren’t gonna lose me.” You sigh as your heart swells in your chest. You round the table, wrapping your arms around his neck as you plop into his lap. “We may have some...issues, but I love you and I know you try your best.” You set your forehead against his, nudging his nose with yours as he squeezes you against him. 

“I love you and I am sorry.” He murmurs, pressing a sweet kiss against your lips before cupping your cheek and nuzzling your nose. “I’ll try better, I don’t want you to feel alone.” He rubs his thumb against your cheekbone, releasing a defeated sigh as he continues. “This is my problem. I am insecure because I have everything I’ve ever wanted with you and I am so afraid of losing it.”

“You’re so sweet.” You sniffle, pressing a hard kiss to his mouth. This is why you stayed; despite the future being so unsure and the relationship being beyond difficult, you love Barry with everything that you have and you know he loves you too. 

[isaacforalpha14]

“Voodoo” by Nick Jonas (Bucky Barnes Imagine)

Warning: There’s maybe an Endgame spoiler. I am not positive if it could be slight or not? So just to be safe if you haven’t seen it, don’t read this! 

A/N: This is for fvckingavengers writing challenge. (xvampyraxhavocx is my person blog, so I posted this here.) Read her writing, it’s amazing! Give her all of the love! @fvckingavengers

James Buchanan Barnes is a fool. He releases a bitter chortle, smooth Wakandan vibranium tucking a stray strand of darkened chestnut hair behind his ear, powder blue irises fixated on the scene in the Avengers’ kitchen. “Buck, you know I’d never let anything happen to her.” Steve’s heartfelt promise reverberate in his ears, accompanied by the pulse of his rising blood pressure, as he watches the way Steve’s fingers wipe the batter from your delicate cheek with a smitten glisten to his eyes. He trusted Steve, he’s always trusted him; he’s his best friend, his brother. Unfortunately, as your melodic giggle shakes him from his thoughts, he can’t help the bubbling jealousy simmering in his abdomen. With a disgruntled huff, he swallows the dry lump in his throat and stalks into the kitchen to break up the sickening scene. 

“‘Mornin’.” He doesn’t recognize the rough voice that escapes his chapped lips but he shakes the feeling off as he snatches the half empty pot of coffee from it’s place on the hotpad. He’s gripping the handle so hard that it releases a strained creak as he pours the steaming liquid into the ‘Grumpy Cat’ mug you got him as a gift for his last birthday. Steve clears his throat, swallowing the guilt that smolders in his chest as he notices the whiteknuckled grip his best friend has on his favorite mug. 

“Good mornin’, Buck.” Your greeting is cheerful and it causes a subconscious smile to quirk his mouth. A magnetic current ripples down his spine as you press an affectionate kiss to his stubbled cheek before returning to your bowl of batter.

“Buck.” Steve greets with a pleasant smile, ignoring the ache in his chest at your action. James takes a careful drink of his steaming coffee, resting his flesh arm around your waist before setting his chin on your shoulder childishly. 

“What’re you up to, doll?” He questions, a smug sense of satisfaction settling in his stomach as he’s alerted to Steve retreating from the kitchen. 

“Makin’ cupcakes for Peter’s school bake sale.” You respond bashfully, ignoring the burning of your cheeks as you shy away from his embrace. “I told him I’d help out. Apparently his aunt May isn’t a very good baker.” He nods his head, a complacent silence settling in the kitchen before he hops onto the counter, setting his mug on the marble countertop between his legs and stares at the amber liquid. He watches the steam escape the cup in billowed vines, swallowing the nerves as he contemplates speaking his mind. He wants to ask a million questions, but he’s unsure of whether the answers are his business anymore. Ever since Thanos’ defeat and the return of most of the Avengers, he didn’t know where the relationship stood. 

Before the snap, there’d been something romantic between you but neither had placed a label on the connection. James wanted nothing more than to ask you to be his, to claim you for himself, but he was well aware that he had issues to work out. There were endless problems with which he’d have to endure for the rest of his life and a part of him would never agree that he’s worthy of receiving love from someone so perfect. James loves you; that there was no denying but how could you ever love him? As much as he hated to admit it, you and Steve would be perfect together. Steve Rogers is the definition of pure; he’s selfless, kind, compassionate and brave. In his mind, Steve could give you everything that he couldn’t; a family, safety, happiness. 

“Bucky.” He was shaken from his thoughts, glacial blue eyes meeting your concerned expression. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He replies attempting to soothe your anxiety, but he sees that his words have fallen on deaf ears as you wipe your hands off on a dish towel and stand between his legs. “I am fine, really.”

“James.” The assertiveness in your tone made him squirm, your hands cradling his bearded cheeks as you met his gaze. “What’s wrong?” Just like that, he’s drawn back into this invisible magnetism that makes it impossible for him to care about anything other than you. Whether you knew or not, your claws had sank into him so deep that he’d never be himself again without you. You’d nestled under his skin, fundamentally changing him on every possible level. He was a better man, in his opinion, but he’d never be what you needed.Despite this fact, he always found himself coming back to you. He couldn’t help himself. 

“I love you.” He murmured in a breathless tone, freezing as he came to his senses and his confession registered in his mind. “I a-am so s-so-”

“I love you too.” You whispered, gnawing on your bottom lip as you refrained from giggling at his mortified expression. “I’ve loved you since I met you, Bucky.” As the words left your mouth, his body reacted on it’s own accord; strong hands grasping the nape of your neck as he crashed his lips against yours in a heated kiss. The passionate gesture knocked the air from your lungs, heart hammering against your ribcage, and just as quickly as he’d confessed, he jerked away. He slid off the counter, mug shattering against the ground as he darted away from you with a furrowed brow. “D-Did I do something wrong?”

“I shouldn’t have done that.” He replied, ignoring your question as he ran a hand through his hair. “I c-can’t.”

“It’s okay, Buck.” You chuckle, approaching him as you reach out to grasp his hand. 

“No.” He yanks his arm away, swallowing as he stumbles back. “I am not good.”

“What do you mean?” You’re both confused and hurt by his words. How could he ever think he wasn’t good?

“Steve, he’s perfect for you. He can give you what I can’t.” His perfect blue eyes blur with unshed tears as he struggles to keep his composure. “I am a monster.”

“Buck.” He could hear the waver in your voice, the tremble of your bottom lip making his heart crumble as you rush to him and wrap your arms around his torso. You bury your face in his chest, squeezing his athletic frame as hard as you can as you mumble into his shirt. “That wasn’t you. That isn’t who you are. You are a good man.”

“I am not good enough for you.” He whispered against your hair, wrapping his arms around you as he attempts to comfort you to the best of his ability. “As much as I want to be selfish, I can’t keep coming back to you.”

“I love you, James.” You murmur, looking up at him with tear glistening eyes. “I care about Steve, but I don’t love him. I could never love him, not the way I love you. Please, never leave me. Not again.”

[isaacforalpha14]

is this blog still active?

Yeah, I've recently been working a lot and been promoted so I just haven't had much time to update. I am gonna be posting a couple of imagines I've been working on within this next week.