infuriating when people try and say that bucky was happy for steve. that if he wasn't, "why wouldn't he have tried to stop him?" when based on canon bucky's self-worth was already abysmal, and one of the few people who had convinced him otherwise was his best friend. steve had almost died to jog bucky's memory, had went against the world govt to protect bucky, had told him 1000 times "til the end of the line" and bucky STILL had trouble trusting him. and endgame proved him right. because he woke up expecting his best friend since he was six years old to be there waiting for him, that they could finally get on with their lives together, just for steve to tell him "my happy ending doesn't include you". of course bucky wouldn't try to stop him. if someone essentially implied that you weren't worth it after all, would you? beg for someone who doesn’t want you? not to mention bucky has always put his feelings second to steve. steve has been his priority from day one. he wouldn't put himself between steve and his "happiness" no matter how much it hurt him. literally suffering in silence
note: this song has gone triple platinum in my house the last few days <3 luke hemmings u will always be famous TO ME
warnings: mentions of abuse and neglect (john winchester may you never live a peaceful day ever), heavy angst, if you're looking for a happy ending go somewhere else, typical spn storylines and violence, etc., not edited we die like men, intentional all lowercase
now i don't want to leave, it's a damn cold night, and i don't want to sleep, just tell me it's too late to drive
dean knew he shouldn’t have come. every bone in his body had told him to ignore the call, and he had, but when his brother’s phone rang, he knew something was wrong. his body felt numb as he carried himself to the small motel room table, pretending to be uninterested as sam nodded along to what was being said on the other side of the line.
“yeah,” sam muttered, eyeing dean, “i’ll let him know and we’ll be there soon.” sam had a rough understanding of your history with dean. he knew enough that if you were calling, there was a reason. you wouldn’t reach out unless there was quite literally no other option. and you definitely hadn’t ever been that desperate. not until now.
dean side-eyed him the entire way to your town. sam was waiting for dean to get mad, scream, turn up the radio, anything. the silence was letting dean fester. letting him sit in all the hurt and regret he had been running from for so long.
he didn’t blame you. not really. how could he when he knew you made your decision in his own best interest? dean knew when the door closed behind you, and he was left waiting for john to return, again, that he should’ve followed you out. he should’ve chased you, pulled you into him, and assured you that he wasn’t going anywhere, and he should’ve meant it.
over time, dean had realized that it wasn’t even really the hunting that made you leave. you never knew the full extent of what he did, just that he often had to disappear with his father. he knew he made that mistake with cassie and blew whatever chance he had at a semi-normal life with her, and he was not going to make that mistake again.
dean put in the effort to make the time he was there with you count, and to assure that even when he was away, you were on his mind. on one of the nights where dean laid awake, doing what he does best; hating himself, he realized that you left because of him. because of the way he allowed himself to be treated.
you had offered an escape. many times, actually. you cried, like really cried, begging to dean to get away from john. to stay with you and stop putting up with the abuse. that he didn’t need his father and that you two would figure it out. and you were halfway right. he didn’t need his father, but his father sure as hell needed him.
even when he would leave dean alone for weeks on end without so much as a phone call, john needed him. john needed dean as a reason to return home, as a reason to stay angry at yellow eyes, as a reason to keep going when all he wanted to do was give up.
even if he didn’t treat dean like he was worth holding on for.
dean wished he could turn back time, tell you that he finally sees, really sees, what you did. he can recognize now how john had hurt him, physically, mentally, and emotionally. yet, he still didn’t love himself enough to care. he didn’t love himself to condemn john’s actions. in dean’s eyes, he did what he had to. he taught dean the important stuff, and thats what mattered. he taught dean how to hunt and how important it was to take care of sammy. the two things that gave him his drive, his sense of purpose, his everything.
you were once a part of that list, but that was then and this is now.
now, you were a part of list of things that john winchester had ruined for his sons.
“are we going to talk about it?” sam broke the silence, aggravated with way dean was stewing his own hurt and confusion.
“there’s nothing to talk about,” dean shrugged, brushing sam off in a way sam was all too familiar with.
“dean,” sam huffed, growing more frustrated, “she called me.” he stressed. sam was away when dean had his chance with you, at stanford, living the life dean swore he had no interest in.
“only because i didn’t answer,” dean informed. sam was shocked, pausing momentarily to figure out how to reply. sam always assumed that if you called, dean would be there. there would be no hesitation, dean would be out the door and in the impala before sam could ask where he was going. sam had wished that would happen, briefly in the past.
but, clearly, he was wrong.
“why?” sam asked with that confused scowl he got when dean was being a difficult pain in the ass. dean shrugged, finally reaching forward to turn on the radio.
when they arrived at your home, dean couldn’t bring his legs to move. he wasn’t sure how long he sat in the front seat staring at your dainty apartment building. he wished he had a cover to use. he wished you were a stranger and he could play fbi and pretend there was no history here, no words unspoken. no regrets.
sam turned back to the car from where he was standing at the door to the building, glaring at dean. dean hadn’t noticed him leave the car, honestly.
despite this, dean huffed, pulling himself from the driver’s seat and pretended like each step towards you didn’t send a stabbing pain up his leg, settling into a ball of uncertainty and anxiety at the base of his back.
sam stood in front of dean, knocking delicately on your door. they’d arrived quite late. dean found solace in sam going in first, as if sam was protecting him for once.
the door creeped open slowly, and dean was glad you were careful about it. “sam,” you smiled up at him, letting your eyes soak in the way he’d aged over the years. you’d never seen him in person, but he still looked like the little boy dean would show you pictures of as he reminisced about being in locked in crappy motels and eating dry cereal three times a day. despite the fondness in dean’s voice as he would recall these moments, they always left a sour taste in your mouth. once again displaying the neglect they’d each received from their father. you hated the man, and that was ultimately drove dean away.
“hi,” sam smiled as he said your name, filled with glee to be meeting you for the first time. he truly hoped this would be good for dean. you were the only person dean had ever truly loved outside of his family, in sam’s opinion. the only partner he would ever talk about with a smile on his face, and a miniscule of regret in his tone.
your smile faltered, but your eyes had a small gleam in them as you turned your attention to dean. “hi, dean,” you pretty much whispered, further opening the door to let them in, but never really looking dean in the face. dean pressed his lips together and turned up the corners of them, in what he would call a smile, but anyone else would roll their eyes at the attempt.
“i didn’t mean to bother you guys,” you started as everyone settled into the living room. you were in your reading chair and the brothers took up your couch. you couldn’t help but wish this view was more familiar.
“i used to think you were crazy,” sam chuckled as you gestured to dean, “i mean, whispering to john about ghosts and werewolves and such on the phone. i was never sure to make of it, i chocked it up to some weirdo piece of media you guys were wayyy too involved with,” dean knew you were masking something with humor. a skill you both used in situations where you were uncomfortable, one he’d helped you master.
that was even more apparent when you shifted your gaze downwards and wiggled a little in your seat, “but i saw one. i think i saw one, i mean. it was odd,” you trailed off as you brought your gaze back up, meeting dean’s eyes for the first time since he’d arrived.
“what happened?” and he speaks, you thought. you chose to ignore the protective edge to dean’s voice and pulled your gaze away from him. he was here to help you and your friend, nothing more, nothing less.
“i was, um,” you shifted uncomfortably, again, “at my friend’s house. her brother had passed recently. i thought i was dreaming or something the first we saw him. he was normal, like he had been right before he passed. my friend thought it was cool, i mean, she had her brother back. but last time, just a few nights ago, it was different.”
“how?” dean’s deep voice carried, already knowing where this was going. spirits that stick around get angry. that’s a simple fact.
“he was like, mean, i guess? like things were being thrown at us and he screamed. it was so odd.”
“and you didn’t think something was wrong when you started seeing her dead brother?” sam deadpanned, asking the million dollar question. dean glared at him, not liking the tone he was speaking to you with. “c’mon man, if someone we cared about’s ghost started popping up, salting and burning their bones might not be the first thing on our minds, either,” dean hushed him.
your eyebrows furrowed, “what?” sam hit dean with a head tilt, one that said nice going, dude, without having to say anything.
“when there’s a spirit they’re usually attached to something that’s keep them from, um, moving on,” sam explained. “commonly, it is their bones. was your friend’s brother buried?” you shook your head, “they cremated him.”
“does your friend have something of his? something he cared about?” dean asked. “yeah, she kept a couple of his little league trophies. and his journal, even though she swore she’d never read it.”
sam and dean engaged in another non-verbal conversation before shifting their attention back to you. sam was the one who spoke, “i think we’re gonna need that journal.”
you weren’t sure exactly what went down in your friend’s bedroom while sam and dean were in there and you and her were sitting comfortably in the impala. you’d seen this beautiful car every time john would pull up to pick up dean, but had never seen the inside of it. it was nicer than you had pictured.
“you should be all set,” sam informed your friend, walking her back into her house. you leaned against the driver side door, pressing your arms to your side, drawing in all of the warmth you could.
dean, who was standing a respectable amount of steps away from you, also leaning against the side of the car, noticed your slight shiver. he moved without thinking, shrugging off his jacket and handing it to you. you glanced at him, puzzled by his action, but putting it on regardless. no words were exchanged.
you tried to ignore how comforting his scent was.
“let’s get you home,” dean mumbled as sam approached the car. you nodded, moving to climb in behind him.
“i’m gonna grab some food,” sam smiled at dean, pointing at the flickering lights of the diner a short walk away from where dean parked in front of your building. dean just nodded. then, he sped up his steps so he could catch up to you and walk you to your apartment.
“thank you,” you smiled at dean for the first time in years as you leaned against your door frame. dean shrugged, “it’s what we do.”
you nodded and a beat of silence passed between the two of you. it was comfortable, just for a moment. then, you remembered how sam was the one who answered your call.
“you ignored my call,” you observed, sadly. after everything, you had still thought dean would care about you, worry about you, even.
“yeah, i,” dean cleared his throat, contemplating what excuse to come up with. if he went with one, it would be the first time he ever truly lied to you. sure, he’d withheld information, but he had never flat out lied to you. so, he decided to go with the truth, “i was scared.”
dean winchester, admitting he was scared. someone call the presses. a world-changing admission had just been spoken.
“of?” you pressed, knowing you were towing the line. dean didn’t answer, just met your gaze with a stone-cold stare. one that told you everything you needed to know. he was scared those feelings hadn’t gone away. that he hadn’t buried them with the worst memories of his dad, his mother’s death, and his time spent in hell. he was scared that he couldn’t run from his past anymore, that he’d be slapped in face with what ifs and could’ve beens.
and, rightfully so.
dean could feel every fiber of his being screaming, no, crying out for you. crying out for you to hold him, to kiss him, to tell him all of the things he’d been through were over and done with and he is safe and he is home. all he wanted was to stay here with you. to be selfish for once in his fucking life and just stay. even if it was for just a night.
you were the one who cleared his throat, “it’s late, dean” please stay, it’s not smart to drive tired, he wished you’d add.
“yeah, i should go,” dean nodded, but made no effort to make his way to the stairs of your building.
after an intense battle in your mind, one between your rational side and your emotional side, one that you’d been fighting since you found dean’s phone number on a crusty sticky note in your desk drawer, you said, “you guys could stay here, the couch is pretty comfortable and it’s been a long night.”
dean’s eyes shifted to his shoes, a small smile crossing his face at your offer. everything he wanted and everything he knew he couldn’t have in one sentence. “no, we should get back.” he responded, nodding in the direction of his car. “more ghosts to get rid of.”
you nodded, “goodnight, dean.” he didn’t answer, just sent you a sad smile before turning towards the stairs.
i hang on every line. i'd do it all again. i guess i just feel better around you.
welcome to fluff central!! bestfriend!chris x fem!reader
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖“i’m overthinking your every move as usual, cracking your code”｡𖦹°‧ ༘
𖦹 genre: fluff !!!!!!!!! best friends to lovers ʚ♡ɞ
𖦹 word count: 547 𖧧
𖦹 a/n: muahahaha i’m like. only a little sorry about how sad the other one is but. here is my apologyᵕ̈ ̤̮
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌❀°✩⋆ʚ♡ɞ⋆✩°❀﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
it felt dangerously safe to lie in his arms.
any moment with him, really, made her heart flutter into her throat. her sentimental tendencies grew rosier every time they were together. each minute drew her in towards the idealism of a distant daydream. for once, she actually wished her best friend liked her more than that.
unfortunately, he was respectful.
they’d known each other since childhood, always picking out goofy outfits at the local thrift shop and getting burritos down the street afterwards. she knew which ice cream truck character he’d choose (spongebob) and he knew which monopoly piece she’d pick (the thimble). only those who have surpassed love and found themselves in a deeper bond could remember details like that.
which is why it terrified her so much more once she realized she was falling. honestly, it felt more like somersaulting down a steep, grassy hillside with infinite momentum. she chuckled to herself at the cartoonish image, eliciting a raspy “hmmm?” from the sleepy arms around her.
“oh.. was that out loud?” she mumbled bashfully, as reality tugged her back from imagination. she turned to look up at the boy sitting next to her on the couch, who nodded slowly. his half-lidded but steady eye contact would have made her collapse if she wasn’t already curled up against him. a vague pinkness crept along her cheeks, and she tried in vain to ignore the corners of his mouth curving into a smirk.
“what are you thinking about?” he asked softly, laying a gentle finger on the skin between her eyebrows. he knew the effect he had over her, but never allowed himself to act on it. the tragedy of losing each other always stopped them. her eyes wandered to the collar of his hoodie, which had slipped enough to let his collarbone taunt her, dare her, to move closer.
a brief moment of confidence begged to be set free, straining against her ribcage. her mouth opened slightly, but she couldn’t bear the possible aftershocks. settling on body language, her weight shifted toward him.
she melted into his neck, idly chewing on the sleeve of her sweatshirt. this particular sleeve had a heart-shaped patch sewn onto it, a playful gift from her best friend. she was known for letting her emotions show freely, unafraid to take up space. at the moment, though, she prayed her expression wouldn’t betray her.
the warmth of his lips just inches from her forehead was intoxicating. her skin craved the contact, and she mindlessly tilted her head upwards. her gaze met azure, interrupted by enviably long lashes. the delicate beauty of his features overwhelmed her, and a word escaped before she could catch it.
“you.”
his eyebrows flicked upwards and he felt his heart swell with something between relief and incredulity. the idea of someday had always held him in a death grip, and the image of a future together accompanied him on his pillow. refusing to fully let his guard down, he inhaled deeply and sighed into a lazy smile. “yeah? what about me?”
the smugness in his tone drove her wild. her gaze flickered between his eyes and lips, and she cautiously closed the distance between their faces. the arm that was wrapped around her shoulder pulled her into a tighter embrace.
i desperately wish i could fucking air dirty laundry about my fucking mum to people who interact with her irl without coming off like a major fucking freak. pisses me off because i know she’s talking absolute shit about me but noooooo i have to have a moral compass
