#yourmomxx
Note
Emily Prentiss(chief or not cheif) X Fem!Reader have been secretly married for several years, (if emily is cheif they’ve been dating since she was an agent and then married when she was a cheif and if not obviously the opposite). No ike knows or expects emily to be in a relationship because she doesn’t say anything until one day she forgets her badge and lunch at home so her wife brings her stuff and the whole place is shocked ? bonus if tara or someone flirts with her
a/n: ooh, I love me some secret relationship trope! Unfortunately, I'm still only on season 5/6 of Criminal Minds, so I just kept Emily as an Agent and not as Chief, if that's alright (Tara is in it, though ;)). I hope you like this, anon!
— ❝ɪɴ ᴛʜɪs ᴛᴇᴀᴍ, ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡs ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ. Tʜᴇʀᴇ’s ɴᴏ ᴘʀɪᴠᴀᴄʏ. Mʏ ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴᴀʟ ʟɪfᴇ ɪs ᴏɴᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢ ʟᴇss ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴄᴀɴ ᴘʀᴏfɪʟᴇ.❞ —
-Jennifer Jareau
Emily Prentiss was a private person. She prided herself in it.
I mean try it, hiding something from an entire office of educated professionals in degrees on how to read the most subtle shifts in a persons behavior and building a view based on that information.
Of course, let’s not forget, there’s the general rule, or rather, interdict, of profiling the other members of your team. But sometimes, you can’t help yourself.
Emily had noticed it in herself more times than she would like to admit.
Sometimes, it happened as easy as breathing, a natural trail of thought that let loose when she caught on about something or the people around her. She tried to undermine it as quickly as possible whenever she realized she was doing it, though.
It’s not the fact that she didn’t trust them.
No, that was never the thing, those people were like her second family. Or her first even, maybe.
But after spending almost every waking hour of the past years of her life around them, there were some things that she would rather keep for herself.
Leave them be in their own bubble that was just ‘Emily Prentiss’.
And when she talked about ‘things’, then she was actually talking about you.
The team could find out about her pregnancy, about her resentment towards the church. They could know that she had a phase at fourteen where she liked licorice and hasn’t been able to eat it since those dreadful seven months, or that she still hated her father for being emotionally unavailable and leaving her to deal with her mother on her own; they could know that.
But they couldn’t know about you. Never you.
This is wasn’t an issue of trust, again.
Trust was never in the mix when she made the decision, every morning before work, to lay off her wedding ring and keep it safe on a small chain in her back pocket.
But you were her safe place. A rock, a tow, something for her to hold on to, the only thing that was in no way connected to her work place.
Emily loved you, she did so much, and she’d known it after the first time she saw you smile, and accepted it during the first time she kissed you.
And hiding you, keeping you safe from all of this, was her way of shedding off the horrors and traumas of her job when she came home at night, completely tune out whatever she had experienced mere hours before, and dive back into you.
Your shared house, shared bed, shared sheets, shared kitchen, shared table.
Not talking about you, or even admitting you existed, while she worked and saw the worst sides of what humanity had to offer, drew a distinct line between her life with you and the life she led at work.
Call it a personal protective shield.
So, no, she would never, ever tell them.
“No. For God’s - No.”
Which is why, when Emily Prentiss walked into the bureau that morning, and realized her credentials weren’t in their designated pocket, and also her bag was empty of her lunch box, she knew that she was doomed.
Emily knew about your caring side. The loving, mothering, always everyone's shoulder to cry on-side.
Hell, if she was being honest, it was one of the reasons she started falling so hard for you so easily.
In that moment, though? God, how she wished she would have chosen a narcissist.
(Not literally, though. She'd profiled guys like that before. They really weren't wife- or husband material.)
You had just been on your way out of the house when you had seen your wife's dark lunch box still residing on the counter top where you had prepared it for her an hour ago.
After a quick look at the time on your phone screen, you had short-handedly decided to slightly delay your trip to the pharmacy for some mundane refills, and drop by Emily's office to bring her her lunch.
After all, you knew how busy she could get, and how her focused state had the power to drown out every other basic need her body had.
If you wouldn't make lunch for her, she wouldn't have the time, or the head, to think of buying something for herself, you knew that.
One would think that was clear after almost an entire year of marriage.
The thought alone brought a smile to your face.
You grabbed your car key off the counter and hurried your way out the door, closed it behind you, halted for a moment - and slowly backed up inside again.
You eyed the black case next to the key bowl suspiciously.
"That wasn't there yesterday," You muttered to yourself.
Cautiously, because when your wife worked in the FBI, anything was possible, you reached for the leather-bound case and drew it closer to you.
When you opened it, the tension immediately left your shoulders. You shook your head sighing at the sight of your wife's passport picture and the huge, dark blue letters FBI showing themselves to you.
"Oh, Emily, what am I gonna do with you?"
When you left the house then, it was final.
Hopefully.
"What's up with you, you seem stressed out?"
Emily did her best not to flinch in her already tense state when JJ came up next to her.
She managed her best, reassuring smile and pressed her sweating palms into the side of her jeans.
"Oh, it's nothing," She lied. "Just thought I lost something."
JJ raised an eyebrow. "Alright," She muttered. "If you say so."
Then, she crashed a light brown paper file into Emily's chest.
"This just came in from El Paso, three homicides so far. I'll inform the rest of the team and we'll meet in the briefing room in ten."
Emily couldn't do more than nod, and just managed to grab the file before it slipped to the floor when JJ left.
She wasn't usually like this. She was good at keeping her head in the game.
But right now, the fact that her credentials were missing wasn't exactly stressing her out, because she knew that you would bring them to her as soon as you realized that she had forgotten them at home.
Emily was stressed out because she knew you would bring them to her.
What she didn't know, was, however she should act and how the team would possibly take it.
The elevator you entered took a tremendous amount of time to realize which floor you wanted to go to, and even longer to slide the doors closed and jerking to a start.
You would think that in an official federal office building, the mechanics could be more advanced.
Then again, counting the many times Emily complained about the budget allocation of the bureau when she tought you weren't listening, maybe you shouldn't be all that surprised.
The doors slid closed when the thought suddenly hit you.
You were about to enter your wife's office. Which you had never been to, not once in your life and only knew the address of because goddamn, was it hard to miss.
The building that was probably the only thing that Emily had wanted to keep you out of for as long as she could.
And you came here for a lunch box.
Emily knew you knew. You had talked to her about it, she had answered your questions on why she always got fussy when you asked her how you could finally meet her team, and you had understood, every time, but this?
She couldn't just ask you to actively lie about your relationship in front of most of - all of - her friends, could she?
The last time she had checked your location, it had already shown you in close vacinity to the BAU building. She could figure what was ahead.
Was she about to deny a relationship?
“Can I help you?”
This office had way too many doors, in your opinion, and way too few signs telling you where to find what.
The greeting voice made you look up, and you automatically shifted into your politeness to strangers-mode, upon seeing a woman come up to you, wearing a two-piece and her hair in loose curls.
A very pretty woman, you had to admit.
"My name's Tara Lewis," She introduced herself, "Who are you looking for, sweetheart?"
You quickly waved her off. “Oh, I don’t work here.”
Tara tipped her head, eyes not so subtly shifting up and down your appearance.
“I figured as much, I would have remembered a face like yours.”
You managed an awkward laugh.
Emily had once, in good fun, told you you were easily caught off guard by people showing genuine interest in you all of a sudden.
You hated when she was right.
Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.
Just over Tara Lewis' shoulder, you were suddenly able to spot the dark hair that indicated Emily Prentiss approaching from behind her.
You nodded in her direction in recognition, as she came to a halt next to Tara Lewis.
"I'm a friend of Emily's," You lied, and by God, you did it so neatly, Emily was questioning if she had maybe already dragged you down without realizing.
"She texted me that she forgot her lunch and her badge, and since we're close to each other, she asked me to get it for her."
That polite smile was still present on your face, and your voice pitched slightly higher than usual.
You threw Emily small looks in-between, unspotted by the usual eye, but she noticed them.
You were telling her to go along, to play the game, string it all a bit further until it turned into a web that could either wrap around and suffocate her, or catch her when she stumbled.
And she probably should.
Because you made it easy. You had made it so easy for her, laid it out like a red carpet for her to walk on, the lie, that could keep her sanctuary safe-
"I'm married."
In the midst of talking to Tara, your words died in your throat and your mouth stopped, hanging open.
Tara herself whipped her head around so fast, it was a question if she was breaking her neck, eyes ripped wide open in complete and utter schock.
It was quiet. In-between the three of you, a needle dropping would have echoed like the loudest drum.
"Say what now?" Tara didn’t take her eyes off Emily for a moment.
Slowly, movement seemed to re-enter your muscles and your eyes widened at the absolute extent of what had just happened.
"What are you doing?" You hushed at Emily.
Your wife's gaze - who you loved dearly, but in situations like these, could just hold by the shoulders and shake, shake, shake - tumbled between you and her co-worker, and you could almost decipher the exact moment she graciously invited the 'fuck it'-attitude.
Emily's shoulders dropped.
"I'm married," She repeated. Calm, collected, and slow.
All of the things you were totally not feeling right now.
"This is Y/N." Emily stepped next to you and held you gently by your wrist. "My wife."
And if the English Dictionary had demonstrating pictures next to each word, Tara Lewis' face right now would be pinned under 'bafflement'.
It took a moment, actually it took a few, for the Doctor to collect herself again.
She straightened her shoulders, cleared her throat, and shook herself out, as if to remove any unnecessary consideration that kept her from thinking clearly.
"Who knows about this?" It was her first question.
Where your shoulders were ever so slightly touching, you could feel Emily's body stay tense.
"Not really anyone," She admitted.
"Why didn't you tell us?"
Emily shook her head. "Y/N is my personal life," She cleared. "I spend almost every awake minute with you people. I wanted something to myself."
As subtly as you could, you leaned your body the slightest bit closer to her. It wasn't visible to the lazy eye, but Emily could feel it.
She squeezed your wrist.
You were comfort to her.
Tara's eyes flew between the two of you, contemplating, observing.
Then, from one moment to another, her lips broke into a blinding grin.
"A wife," She repeated. Emily ripped her eyes open to interpret her friend that she should keep her voice down.
"Good for you," Tara smiled.
Emily visibly relaxed. A breath she had been holding escaped her lungs soundly.
"Let's just be clear," She told Tara, "This is still my thing." She gestured to you. "My marriage is still my thing. I don't need the entire team on me like vultures, profiling my love life like they do everything else."
Tara nodded earnestly. Her small curls were bumping up and down. She pulled her fingers across her lips and pretented to turn a key in the corner of her mouth.
"My lips are sealed." She threw the imaginary key far, far behind the office desks. "Lovergirl."
Emily ignored her and turned to you.
Your fingers lingered around hers in the movement.
"Thank you," She breathed out quietly. A soft smile played around your lips as you looked into her eyes, recognizing that specific gentleness that you knew she only gifted you with.
"Anytime."
You placed her lunch box in her hands. "It's rice with some peas and corn." Emily smiled. "You're the best."
"And, before I forget-" You pulled out the badge from your bag, but instead of giving it to Emily directly, you opened her suit jacket and found the inner pocket, safely storing the credentials where you knew she kept them every day.
You smoothed out the jacket when you were done.
"There you go."
Emily didn't even know what to say. That warm feeling, that she felt in her entire body every time she looked at you, realized who you were and who you were to her, it made itself known in this moment right now.
Right here, in the middle of her workspace.
And with all the horrors she'd see, it was probably the most content she had felt in this place in a while.
"You are so amazing." The words didn't come close to what she was feeling.
But the way your eyebrows loosened, and your lips slightly parted, she knew you understood.
"This is so sweet, and I hate to be that person, but Prentiss, we have a case to get to."
Emily cleared her throat, being ripped from whatever that moment had been, and reminded on what ground she was standing right now.
"Right," She said. She opened her arms and leaned in to pull you into a hug.
A hug, not a kiss on the cheek.
She wasn't that far yet.
"It's okay." The feeling of your breathed words tickled near her ear. "I understand."
Emily squeezed you a bit tighter.
"Get home safe."
You slowly broke away from the embrace.
"I will," You promised.
Tara mouthed a quick 'I'm so sorry' in your direction. You laughed and waved her a goodbye, before you headed for the elavator again, and she got on her way to follow after Emily, who had already made her way to where JJ had ordered them a few minutes ago.
Tara endured until the top step.
"Oh.my.God. I can't believe it!" She almost squealed as they made their way next to each other to the briefing room.
"Look at us, sharing secrets now. Ah." She shook out her shoulders. "I feel like this is a pyjama party in junior year all over again. Amazing."
Emily couldn't do anything else than grin at Tara's antics.
Suddenly, her pocket vibrated with a short tune, and Emily pulled out her phone to check her display.
It was a message from you. Emily smiled softly as she read it.
Have a good day, my sun. Will hopefully see you tonight<3
"A message from boo?" Tara mocked, and tried to peak over Emily's shoulder.
Emily quickly shut off the display, stuffed her phone back into her backpocket and continued walking.
"I don't know what you're talking about!"
But the lovesick smile didn't leave Emily's face for the rest of the way to the briefing room, partly because she was so caught up in her thoughts about the specific feeling of your skin, that she didn't even notice she was wearing it.
#emily prentiss#requested#answered#yourmomxx#emily prentiss x reader#emily prentiss imagine#emily prentiss x you#emily prentiss x fem!reader#criminal minds#criminal minds imagine#criminal minds x reader#female reader#emily prentiss fluff
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New Cooliver Fic Alert 🚨!
Today was like Christmas for Cooliver shippers on AO3, not only we got this brand new fic but also 3 other ongoing fics were updated!
There’s this new fic by finny_likes_reading! I loved it.
Bestie @yourmomxx updated her amazing fic:
And this awesome fic by alex_ball also updated! 🙌
#american housewife#oliver otto#cooliver#cooper bradford#coopoliver#cooper x oliver#oliver x cooper#fanfic#American Housewife fanfic#Cooliver fanfic#Coopoliver fanfic#cooliver fanfiction#ao3#ao3fic#ao3 Cooliver#ficsnships recommends#yourmomxx#finny_likes_reading#alex_ball
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PART 1 - RECOMMENDATIONS
FORMULA 1 RECOMMENDATIONS (SMAU’S):
- big reputation (charles leclerc) @astonmartinii
- bite the hand (max verstappen) @astonmartinii
- bucket hat almighty (lando norris) @lorarri
- i remember it all too well (lewis hamilton) @leclercsainzz
- say don’t go / invisible stings / lacy @piastriswag
- illicit affairs (lewis hamilton) @jesssssssssica
- salute to me, im your american queen (charles leclerc) @solaireverie
- tis the dilf season (jenson button) @beiasluv
- no 1 fan (george russell) @princepiastri
- i almost do / being again / slut (logan & daniel) @maddiericciardostroll
- everything is papaya (lando & mason) @dannyricsmirrorball
- 1989 (daniel ricciardo) @dannyricsmirrorball
- angels talking (lando norris) @yourmomxx
- i only day cowboys (daniel ricciardo) @lorarri
- mr & mrs (max verstappen) @lewisvinga
- illicit affairs / pt2 / pt 3 (lando & tom blyth) @leclercsainzz
- just propose goddamnit (lando norris) @povlnfour
- stop and think for a second (max verstappen) @lorarri
- ex’s and oh’s (f1 drivers) @lorarri
- heaven knows (lando norris) @folkloresthings
- ballads of lovebirds and puppy dogs (lando norris) @astonmartinii
- is it over now? (charles leclerc) @rhaenella
- everyone wants to be loved (charles leclerc & mason mount) @livin4mybabes
- i want sweet revenge and i want him again / you were my summer love (pierre gasly) @love-belle
- all i want is you (charles leclerc) @cl6teen
FAN-FICTIONS:
- a different light (max verstappen) @userlando
- love is just a word (pierre & carlos) @oyesmendes
- back at it again (charles leclerc) @libraryofloveletters
- what we know (charles leclerc) @cherry-leclerc
- the folklore love triangle (lewis & carlos) @jesssssssssica
- wild nights (charles leclerc) @dilemmaontwolegs
- love of my life (daniel ricciardo) @theweasleytwinsownmyjuicyass
- you belong with me (lando norris) @theweasleytwinsownmyjuicyass
- changed like midnight (max verstappen) @leclercsbunny
- down the aisle (charles leclerc) @writingstoraes
- 90 days (charles leclerc) @writingstoraes
- you gotta move, or move on (charles leclerc) @absolutelynotmate-archive
- my english love affair (lando norris) @ln444
- live fast, die young (carlos sainz) @ch3rryknots
- i can take it (charles leclerc) @ch3rryknots
- congratulations (charles leclerc) @cartierre
- my tears ricochet (lance stroll) @magnummagnussen
- the only one (lando norris) @mirohlayo
- strawberry wine / everywhere, everything (daniel ricciardo) @formulaforza
- every goddam inch of your skin is mine (lando norris) @amaranthineghost
- where do we go now? (pierre gasly) @oconso
- when you’re ready (carlos sainz) @formulaforza
- all eyes on her (daniel ricciardo) @thef1diary
- cardinal sins (daniel ricciardo) @monzamash
- love will always show @vetteltea
- green eyes / brown eyes (charles & carlos) @vetteltea
#daniel ricciardo#daniel ricciardo x reader#carlos sainz#lando norris#f1 instagram au#formula 1#f1#recommendations#charles lecrelc#lewis hamilton#formula one#f1 recommendations#formula 1 recommendations
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Sam Winchester: Fic Recs (August - 2023)
This month I've read a lot of fantastic stories. Congratulations to all the authors who wrote these incredible stories!
Most of the stories posted here weren't published this month, but they're my favorite stories I've read this month.
1 - I Bet On Losing Dogs: By @slvtwh0re
The reader is hit by a spell that makes her feel a lot of pain, Sam is there to make sure she's okay.
Info: One Shot - 1700 Words
Warnings: "pain, crying, near-death experience" - Warnings described by the creator.
2 - 12x06 Celebrating the Life of Asa Fox: By @imagining-supernatural
Info: One shot - 1078 Words
3 - All Work, No Play: By @idreamofhazel
What happens when you see Sam shirtless and can't control your feelings?
Info: One shot - 1700 Words
Warnings: "Just fluff" - Warnings described by the creator.
4 - “You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”: By @sharonisantisocialimagines
Info: One shot - 1466 Words
5 - Doctors Orders /Part 2: By @plus-size-reader
"Ketch kidnapping you and brainwashing you, along with Mary, in an attempt to use you against the boys."
Info: One shot (2 parts) - 2650 Words
Warnings: "None" - Warnings and summary described by the creator.
6 - All this time...: By @thinkinghardhardlythinking
"Sam and Y/N have been best friends since they first met when they were 15 years old. Now, Sam needs her help with a case and old feelings start to flare."
Info: Serie - 4 chapters
Warnings: "Angst and fluff and in the last part only, smut (you can just not read that part if smut is not for you, or go straight to it if it’s all you want)" - Warnings and summary described by the creator.
7 - The Perfect Date: By @queen-of-deans-booty
"You, Sam, and Dean have been through a lot and with Amara surfacing as a very serious threat, Sam just wants the perfect date for you to show you how much he loves you."
Info: One shot - 1469 Words
Warnings: "just some fluffy sammy" - Warnings and summary described by the creator.
8 - Car’s outside (but I don’t wanna go tonight): By @yourmomxx
"Sam feels bad because he’s always away on hunts. you reassure him."
Info: One shot - 1300 Words
Warnings: "Angst, fluff, insecure Sam" - Warnings and summary described by the creator.
9 - We're Endgame: By @kaleldobrev
"Although you’ve been out of the hunting game for years, Dean manages to suck you back in when you are recruited in pretending to date Sam for a case"
Info: One shot - 2900 Words
Warnings: "Fluff, Angst, Mutual Pining" - Warnings and summary described by the creator.
10 - Rainfall: By @67chevy-imagine
"A glimpse of how deep Sam’s affections truly are."
Info: One shot - 2521 Words.
#sam winchester#sam winchester x reader#supernatural x reader#supernatural#sam winchesterxreader#sammy#fic rec#recs
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sam winchester recs
tic tac toe | au, series | @percywinchester27 (literally one of my favorite series ever)
a lot like 'us' | au, series | @percywinchester27
linger | imagine, fluff | @girl-next-door-writes
i swear | one shot, flangst | @empyreanwritings
ice cold | two shot, flangst | @deanandidrinkcoffee
stay with me | one shot, flangst | @deanandidrinkcoffee
anguish | drabble, fluff | @narcissisticmf
i love you, i love you | imagine, flangst | @kitkatscabinet
we could stay | imagine, fluff | @imaginesfordifferentfandoms
stanford sweatpants | drabble, fluff | @nt-multi-fandom
crowned | au, one shot, flangst | @imagineteamfreewill
cuddling with sam would include | headcanon, fluff | @alexsoenomel
just another breakdown | imagine, angst | @impala-dreamer
sleepy studies | imagine, fluff | @bambinovak
closer than friends | one shot, fluff | @stylesparker
car's outside | imagine, flangst (comfort!) | @yourmomxx
returned | imagine, angsty flangst | @talesmaniac89
every inch | imagine, flangst | @bamby0304
dark days | imagine, flangst | @chloelucia13
action and words | imagine, fluff | @crispychrissy
my rock | imagine, comfort flangst | @team-free-will-oneshots
playing house | two shot, fluff | @uncouth-the-fifth
bait | one shot, fluff (brief angst) | @sams-sass
it's all coming back to me now | one shot, flangst | @sams-sass
the comforts of home | one shot, flangst | @zepskies
i can't lose you | one shot, flangst | @octoberclidan
you need to rest | imagine, fluff | @wraith-posts
hold your breath | imagine, fluff | @deanswhiskey
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Need More Fanfics ? Part.2
Marvel
Killer (Kate Bishop x reader) by @upat4amwiththemoon
Clint's Stray (Kate Bishop x reader) by @maximoffsmuse
Never Let Go (Kate Bishop x reader) by @lightupthemoon
Unpacking (Carol Danvers x reader) by @yelenasdiary
Care Bear (Carol Danvers x reader) by @captains-simp
Home For Christmas (Bucky Barnes x reader) by @onceuponastory
In Every Lifetime (Bucky Barnes x reader) by @wkemeup
Bi (Bucky Barnes x daughter!reader) by @alyswritings
Criminal Minds
Starry Night (Emily Prentiss x reader) by @criminalmindswhore
Secret Santa (Emily Prentiss x reader) by @max-the-d0g
I Guess Sometimes We All Get Just What We Wanted (Emily Prentiss x reader) by @bi-bard
Showing The Bird (Spencer Reid x daughter!reader) by @letarasstuff
Sneaking Out (Derek Morgan x daughter!reader) by @rachaelswrites
Top Gun
My Heart Will Go On (Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x reader), Titanic AU by @averagewriter-inthedark (⚠️TW : deaths and light smut, Minors do not interact as the author wishes!)
Driving Home From Christmas (Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x reader) by @callsign-phoenix
Outer Banks
Thunder = Luke (JJ Maybanks x sister!reader) by @alyswritings (⚠️TW : mention of abuse)
Supernatural
Those Christmas Lights (Light Up The Street) (Dean Winchester x child!reader) by @yourmomxx
I'll Always Cath You (Dean Winchester x sister!reader) by @winchesters-favorite-girl
Stranger Things
Fall For You (Chrissy Cunningham x reader) by @tommiruewrites
Say You Want Me Too (Robin Buckley x reader) by @sparklingsin
Come Into The Water (Robin Buckley x reader) by deactivated account
Bridgerton
Angel In The Sky (Benedict Bridgerton x reader) by @inkedobsidian
Enchantment (Benedict Bridgerton x reader) by deactivated account
#masterpieces by other creators#criminal minds oneshot#emily prentiss x reader#top gun one shot#bradley bradshaw x reader#marvel one shot#kate bishop x reader#outer banks one shot#jj maybank x reader#bucky barnes x reader#supernatural one shot#dean winchester x reader#spencer reid x reader#stranger things one shot#chrissy cunningham x reader#robin buckley x reader#bridgerton one shot#benedict bridgerton x reader#derek morgan x reader
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Marked Man
Inspired by this: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/yourmomxx/692655977966747648?source=share
Red Hood screamed through the neighborhood, grumbling to himself the entire way. This should be his favorite part of the day, dusk was falling casting a warm glow over the city and it was late enough in the year that they were past the oppressive heat but not far enough into it to be freezing, and he had just secured the Outlaws’ next, very lucrative mission. Perfect riding conditions. Normally. But not today.
Granted, it wasn’t winter, but it was fucking close and speeding through the streets of Brooklyn with no shirt in the crisp autumn chill was far from refreshing right now. He really really wished his potential clients would stop keeping his shirts after they searched him. Searching him he understood but keeping his shirt and jacket after was just petty and definitely getting added to their fucking fee. As well as a pain in the ass fee, or rather pain in the chest, because his nipples were so cold in the biting wind, they were pretty damn close to falling off.
Now he just needed to get back to their temporary base and take a long, burning hot shower, possibly followed by wrapping himself up in an extra fluffy blanket and reading for the rest of the night. He parked his bike in a safe spot he’d scouted earlier and made his way to the roof of a building a few buildings away from the base. He was just about to jump to the next building’s roof when a sound caused him to pause and spin toward it, gun drawn.
Marinette barely had time to fully turn toward the sound that had disrupted her well-deserved moment of solitude before a man had a gun pointed at her face. She blinked at it a few times before craning her head slightly to give the man behind it a flat look. It had already been a long day. Dealing with real estate agents was somehow more draining than dealing with fabric vendors and she just found out the apartment she thought she had secured in Metropolis was somehow sold out from under her. Which meant she had less than two weeks to find a new apartment before her current lease was up and her landlord threw her stuff on the curb. And now, she had to deal with this.
This was supposed to be her moment to recover, her moment to calm down and think through her options before looking for new housing. And yet somehow here she was, looking down the barrel of a gun. Red Hood’s gun, or at least she was pretty sure it was Red Hood. She was not amused.
Seeing Red Hood on her roof, pointing a gun at her, was not how she expected her already terrible day to end. Let alone for him to do it shirtless. Well, she did think there was a likelihood it would end that way, but she didn’t expect to be awake when she saw it or for him to have pants on. But unfortunately, this wasn’t a dream. It was reality and Red Hood, former crime boss, definition of danger, and legendary bad boy… IDEA! Legendary bad idea! Was standing on her roof in his helmet and pants on but no shirt.
Her eyes quickly glided over his wide, well-defined chest, making a conscious effort not to leer like she wanted to at the staggeringly impressive muscles that were somehow even more impressive than her dreams had anticipated. But her eyes traced over the tattoos covering his shoulder with more care, trying to decipher their meaning and memorize the pattern.
And all of it openly available for viewing, but still with his helmet on, you know, for privacy’s sake. It was one of the most ridiculous things she had seen. The laughter bubbled out before she could stop it and once it started, she couldn’t stop. She was wrong before, she was amused. Very. “Wha… what happened to you?”
“I fought Firefly,” he lied quickly and lowered his gun, securing it back in his thigh holster, a motion Marinette followed with rapt attention. It was almost enough to divert her attention. Almost.
“Awfully… precise destruction,” she choked out, motioning toward his chest.
“Yes, it was,” he growled, accompanying it with a glare and waiting for her to cower. She might not be able to see the glare under his helmet, but his body language should have made his threat clear. He stared at her waiting for her to show the appropriate amount of fear, the amount he had come to expect, the amount befitting his reputation. When she didn’t, he continued to stare but this time, trying to figure out why she wasn’t cowering. He was scary. People were scared of him. What happened to her that she wasn’t?
Instead of cowering, her laughter increased. She doubled over from the force of the laughter. “You know,” she finally eked out as she wiped a tear from her eye, “I was having a bad day until now. This made my day a lot better.”
“Glad I could help,” he snapped bitterly. She grinned at him amusement dancing in her eyes in a way that had Jason staring at her for an entirely different reason than he had been earlier. He huffed and shook his head, but quickly returned his eyes to her, waiting for her next move.
He didn’t have to wait long. She smiled even wider, nodded to him, and made her way toward the rooftop door. She turned around, still walking but now backwards so she could keep looking at him. “I mean it,” she pointed at him dramatically, “you made my week. You're my favorite Avenger now.” She winked at him and disappeared through the door.
“I'm not… Avengers aren't rea… I'm not an Avenger!” he finally managed to sputter out.
“Favorite,” she called back, her voice carrying through the open door, “even more than Captain America.”
Jason grumbled but finished closing the rooftop door for her. He continued to stare at it for a few more moments, his hand still resting on it, before shaking himself out of it. “Captain America,” he scoffed. He looked down at his chest and flexed, the movement making his pectorals and shoulder tattoos dance as the solid, bulky muscle moved smoothly beneath them. “A lot fucking better than Captain fucking America, thank you very much. And cooler too.” He looked back at the door for a few seconds, his eyes narrowing in annoyance. “Fucking smarter while we’re at it,” he added louder as if she could hear it.
He dropped his hand and made his way to the edge of the building. “Captain America,” he scoffed again.
He gave her a few minutes to make sure she wasn’t going to come back out before jumping to the next building and making his way to his base, suddenly much less cold than he had been a few minutes before.
The mission quickly became his favorite. Not because it was a particularly good mission. In fact, it was a clusterfuck of a mission in which the client taking his shirt and favorite jacket was the best part. No, what made it his favorite was that Marinette was on her roof almost every time he returned from a stakeout or questioning or even when he went out for dinner and just happened to come home via her roof.
And each time, they talked longer into the night to the point that Artemis had threatened if he didn’t focus on their mission, she would kick his ass so hard, he wouldn’t be able to walk, let alone climb up to the rooftop to see her in the first place. And he had to admit that perhaps they had a point because he knew he’d said more than he intended to during those conversations. Personal things. Identifying things. Potentially dangerous things, not only for them but for Marinette as well.
But each time he saw Marinette, the threat completely flew out of his head and the only thing he could focus on was her. Her and her uniquely brilliant eyes and her never-ending myriad of smiles, each one more beautiful than the last, especially when she congratulated him each day on making it home with all his clothes or teased him about which Avenger he worked with that day, which he found annoying, absolutely not cute.
He had never cursed his helmet as much as he did during those talks. He seriously considered going back to wearing a domino mask under his helmet despite how much shit he knew he’d get from his brothers about being dramatic for doing it and despite it making stakeouts incredibly difficult because of the multiple layers of lenses. Not to mention, it was just uncomfortable.
But it might be worth it to be able to take off his helmet while talking to Marinette. And not because she teased him about how his helmet looked, which she did… frequently. Rather because it hid his face while he was talking to her, hiding his emotions and responses, another fact she pointed out from time to time, with her eyes wide and earnest and he was sure sparkling even brighter than he could see through his helmet, not that the domino mask would help with that issue. And maybe a little bit because it covered his lips, making using them with Marinette for anything other than talking impossible.
The worst part of the mission though, even more so than his motorcycle getting destroyed and his shirt actually catching fire in some kind of karmic joke, was that the last bit of the mission required him to unexpectedly be gone for the last three nights of it, meaning he couldn’t see Marinette or let her know he would be gone. And when he got back, she wasn’t there anymore, either waiting on the roof or even in the building.
He knew she was leaving. He may or may not have helped make sure she found a good apartment in a safe neighborhood at a significantly reduced price than the landlord had been asking for before, but he thought they had more time. The only redeeming factor was that at least he knew where she was and could find her after he wrapped everything up and maybe try to explain himself to her. He just had to figure out how to do it without seeming like a stalker.
The first step in his plan was to find out a bit more about her from her new employer, again not in a stalker way, just friends talking. And it just so happened that Jason was more than well-acquainted with him and in need of a gym to work out in after Bizarro accidentally destroyed the gym in their permanent base.
He timed his workout so he would be getting done about the time Tim usually arrived for their family dinner and set up a trigger at the door to notify him when he came in. He had barely pulled his tank on and grab a towel before it went off, significantly earlier than Tim usually was. Jason furrowed his brow but decided to investigate. The sound of familiar laughter echoed down the hallway, causing his brow to furrow even deeper.
“I know.” He heard Tim tell the other person. “It’s depressing as Hell, but the finest depressing money can buy.”
He rounded the corner just in time to see Marinette roll her eyes but huff out a laugh. He froze for a moment, caught utterly off guard. He wasn’t expecting to see her yet, but the sight of her had the same effect it always did. All other thoughts flew out of his head and the only thing he could see were her smile and her eyes, which he was right, did sparkle more brilliantly than his helmet let him see.
“This idiot is my brother Jason Todd,” Tim announced loudly. He ripped the towel out of Jason’s hand and snapped it at him. “Jason, this is Marinette.”
Jason yanked his towel back and hastily tried to cover his shoulder with it as quickly and inconspicuously as possible, angling the right side of his body away from her so she wouldn’t see the tattoos. If he covered them quickly enough, perhaps she wouldn’t recognize his tattoos. Maybe it was dark enough on that roof that she didn’t see? It had been a few weeks, maybe she’d forgotten what they looked like. That was an option, right? He cringed internally. It was dark that night, but not that night.
Marinette quirked her head to the side as her mind raced trying to remember why his tattoos seemed so familiar. Her eyes widened in sudden realization and snapped to Jason. “Oh my God,” she gasped. Breath was suddenly harder. She gaped for air, causing her to start coughing. She turned to Tim. “Water?”
“Water! Right! I’ll just…” he motioned toward the hallway. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
She waited until Tim was out of the room and they could no longer hear his footprints before turned on Jason. She stalked up to him and shoved his shoulder. “What is wrong with you?” she demanded just above a whisper.
“Look, I don’t even know you, Ma… Ma’am,” Jason scoffed in what he hoped was a convincing voice, his face set in a facsimile of an appropriately affronted expression for someone accosted by a stranger. He held up his hands placatingly as he backed up slightly to give himself some space as if the distance might make the tattoos she couldn’t see anyway under his towel, more difficult to make out.
Marinette gave him a flat look. “Don’t you?” She lunged to rip the towel off, but he moved just out of her reach with an indignant grunt. He did it a few more times as she lunged at him, or rather his towel, over and over again until finally she reached out to shove him in the stomach instead. He whipped his hand down to block her, concentrating on exerting enough force to stop her but not hurt her. She was a civilian after all. But the movement and change in focus caused him to let go of his towel, allowing it to fall lightly to the floor, leaving his shoulder uncovered.
“Really?” She let out a grunt of aggravation and hit him again. “We’re not even in New York anymore and you’re still somehow spilling secrets. Big ones. Ones I don’t need to know.”
“Hey, it's not my fault!” Jason huffed in annoyance. She had clearly figured out who he was but wasn’t as happy as he would have hoped she would be. He had hoped when she found out who he was that she would be happy about it, perhaps want to continue their conversations, but this time with a bit more physical contact mixed in, perhaps involving lips. But that did not appear to be her view on the matter.
“Not your fault!” she groaned and swiped to hit him again, only missing him by a few centimeters. She glowered at him for denying her the satisfaction. “What kind of an idiot gets such distinctive and large tattoos as a hero? A non-magical hero who can't glamor the appearance away?”
“I believe you meant impressive,” he crowed with more confidence than he felt. Confidence that quickly petered out when Marinette scoffed. He looked down at his arms and moved them around self-consciously. “I wasn’t expecting anybody other than family to be here,” he groused back defensively. “And usually my suit covers it.”
“Well, you were wrong, weren’t you,” she hissed back. “And what happens when someone damages your suit, and the tattoos get exposed? Or you go out without the part of your suit that covers the tattoo?”
“It wasn’t my choice,” he glowered coldly.
“Accidents usually aren’t.” She crossed her arms and looked away, a movement Jason unintentionally mimicked until he looked at her out of the corner of his eye and noted the similarity. He immediately dropped his arms, twitching slightly as he tried to figure out where to place them to look the most appealing… intimidating! He meant intimidating.
“What happens if someone else sees it? Someone who would use the information to hurt you. It’s like you want to get attacked,” she huffed, still not making eye contact.
He blinked and slowly looked back at her, a sly grin pulling at the corners of his lips. “It almost sounds like you’re worried about me, Pixie.”
Marinette huffed again and looked further away pointedly. “I’m just worried about the Avengers. Compromising you compromises them.”
Jason snorted but didn’t challenge her. “Uh huh,” he scoffed, smirk widening.
She pouted and rose her chin even further away pointedly until her face was almost past her shoulder. After a few moments, she let out a light scoff and shook her head. “I cannot believe you’re Tim’s brother.”
“I cannot believe you’re here,” he mused.
Marinette turned to face him and quirked her head to the side. “Why? Hoping to be rid of me?” She opened her eyes wide but her voice had a teasing lilt.
Jason whipped his head to Marinette so quickly she was surprised none of his joints cracked. “What? No!” His voice boomed out, echoing down the hall. He snapped his mouth shut quickly and looked down for a moment before continuing. “I just meant I wasn’t expecting to see you hanging out with my family.”
“And that’s… all?” She took a step closer to him, craning her neck to meet his eyes.
He returned her gaze, his eyes softening. “Maybe not all, no,” he admitted. “I may have been planning on asking Tim about WE’s latest hire before I happened to pass by your new place’s roof every night until you showed up on it.”
“Hmmm.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Creepy.”
“It's not like I was going to ask him to do a background check" which he knew Tim had done, but he was going to try to avoid that and focus on what he'd discovered personally about her instead. “And I was only going to stop by if you came to the roof and I was going to stop coming if you seemed like you weren’t interested.”
“Uh huh,” she scoffed. A sly look suddenly creeped onto her face, a mischievous smile appearing on her lips. “So… I’m assuming your family hasn’t heard about how we met…”
Jason’s head jerked toward her. He had hoped she hadn’t figured out anyone else but judging by that comment, he was pretty sure that hope was out the window, and he did not need his family knowing he’d accidentally exposed all of them. “No…” he started cautiously, but when he saw the smirk on her lips his eyes widened realizing she meant something far worse than that. He pointed his finger at her warningly. “No, no, no…”
Marinette’s smirk widened and she inched closer to him. “Why so shy? It’s what made you my favorite Avenger.”
Jason groaned. “I told you Avengers aren’t real. Here in the real world, we have the Justice League, which I’m not a member of either. I’m a mercenary. I handle things before the Justice League needs to get involved.”
“So… you’re more of a Prevenger then?” she asked innocently. Her eyes widened in innocence, but her lips were still quirked into a smirk.
Jason stared at her for a few moments, just blinking in uncertainty on how to respond to that. “What the fuc…”
“Yeah,” she looked away toward the hallway, “you’re more of a Revenger,” she nodded solemnly as if coming to a conclusion. She flicked her eyes to him from the corner of her eyes, pursing her lips in order to keep her smirk from widening.
“Reveng…” he stared at her aghast. He scoffed and pursed his lips, narrowing his eyes at her and pointing a finger at her. “That was terrible. Absolutely terrible. You don’t get to talk anymore.”
Marinette grinned and turned fully toward him. “How are you going to stop me?”
Jason raised an eyebrow before wrapping a hand around her neck and pulling her toward him as he leaned toward her. He stopped just before crashing their lips together and flicked his eyes up to meet hers in silent question. She nodded almost imperceptibly. Jason felt it more than saw it.
His lips were on hers instantly, hungrily indulging the way he’d wanted to for weeks now that he was finally free of the helmet with her. His hand squeezed her hip, pulling it flush against his, his other hand finding it’s way into her hair. Marinette wrapped her hands around his shoulders, using them as leverage to raise herself up to deepen the kiss.
“I got the water,” Tim announced loudly as he rushed into the room. “Sorry it took so long. The kitchen is like a mile aw…” He stopped short, gaping at Jason manhandling his new employee. Marinette tried to jump away but Jason held her close. “Oh God, she's not going to end up being a…” he trailed off unsure how to finish that in front of Marinette.
“She knows I'm Red Hood,” Jason said, not taking his eyes or hands off Marinette.
“…a villain,” Tim finished without missing a beat.
Marinette blinked at him and returned her attention to Jason. “How many villains have you dated?”
“Not many,” Jason assured her at the same time Tim answered,”Too many,”
Tim narrowed his eyes as Jason’s words registered with him. “Is this why you were asking me about Red Hood?”
Jason raised an eyebrow at her, lips set in a smug smirk. “Asking Tim about me? Kind of creepy, don’t you think?”
“Shut up,” Marinette huffed and buried her face in his chest.
“Make me,” Jason challenged, tightening his arms around her.
Marinette grinned and wound her arms around his neck. “Gladly,” she whispered before pressing her lips to his in a much sweeter and slower kiss than the first one.
“Ew,” Tim groaned. “Jason, please stop groping my friend. Marinette, stop pawing my broth… You know what? I don’t have to witness this,” he objected. He waited for some kind of reaction from either Marinette or Jason but seeing none he huffed loudly and looked down at the glass in his hand. “I’m going to need something stronger than this. Don’t mind me,” he called over his shoulder as he left the room.
“Did you hear anything?” Marinette asked, pulling just far enough away from Jason’s lips to speak.
“Nope,” Jason smirked against her lips before capturing her lips again.
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car’s outside (but I don’t wanna go tonight)
sam winchester x reader
summary: sam feels bad because he’s always away on hunts. you reassure him
warnings: angst, fluff, insecure sam
word count: 1.3k
requested by @fuiabarcelos
Sam came home when the hand of the clock showed way past midnight. You would like to say you noticed, but you didn’t. Like every other night, you had waited up until late for your boyfriend to return, but as much as you missed him, you had to fall asleep at some point.
Sam was quiet when he entered the bedroom. For a moment, when he saw you, he just froze and leaned against the threshold. The lack of moonlight was no obstacle for him to make out your figure under the bedsheets, curled up toward his side of the bed, leaving space as if he was there.
Sam was careful when he lifted the covers and slid under them, like a silent breeze drifting through a window.
He shuffled closer to the warmth of your body, wrapping one arm around you. In sleep, you let out a noise and scooted closer to him, pressing against his side and resting the palm of your hand over your heartbeat, just as the two of you always did.
Just like he had never left.
You weren’t an early bird. Usually, Sam was. He went out for runs, or just left bed early to get more of his day, but whenever he was home with you – which seemed to be a lot fewer times lately – you tried your best to let him sleep in.
He barely got four hours of rest anyway while he was with Dean, so whenever you could, you let him take as much time as possible. Sam always claimed to have a sort of inner clock that woke him up at ungodly times anyways, but whenever he shared a bed with you, that clock seemed to be muted.
You were preparing breakfast when Sam came down the stairs. It didn’t matter what time it was, because you were two grown adults living in your own place, and you could very well decide at what time of day to eat what, thank you very much.
Some eggs and bacon were sizzling in the pan, as two strong arms wrapped around your waist from behind. You felt the soft tickle of Sam’s breath against your skin, and the start of a stubble, while he pressed light, whispered kisses over your naked shoulder.
“Sorry I stayed away longer than I said I would,” Sam apologized softly next to your ear, voice still rough and drunken from sleep.
You blindly raised a hand to his head behind you and began scratching his scalp. Sam hummed into the crook of your neck.
“It’s okay baby,” you reassured him quietly.
“Hm, ‘s not,” Sam mumbled. Without a warning, his hold around your body tightened, and he lifted you up, twirling you around and placing you down on top of the kitchen isle. You yelped in surprise, naked thighs unsuccessfully shying away from the cold stone plate.
The freezing feeling was fast forgotten, when Sam dashed forward, hands supported on either side of your body, pressing his lips into yours.
A surprised grunt slipped past your lips when you pushed your mouth back into his. Sam’s lips felt chapped, and dry, maybe a bit bloody. They felt like the best kiss you’d ever gotten.
“Sam, the eggs are going to burn.” You protested when he pulled back to gasp for air.
Gaze fixated on you, Sam reached behind him, grabbed the dial, and swiftly turned it from a 6 to a 0. He smiled up at you, pure mischief blinking in his eyes.
“You’re insufferable,” You said, but the grin on your lips took away all the power behind it. Sam merely hummed and leaned in closer to you again. You met him halfway.
This kiss was softer, slower. An appreciation of the other’s presence and basking in it, rather than the kiss of reunion from before. You didn’t mind.
Sam had always felt perfectly shaped for you, in any way one could imagine. From the first day, he had known your lips like he had mesmerized them from an earlier life, and when he shared a bed with you, his arms hugged your body in just the way to make you feel harbored.
“How was the hunt?” You whispered. Sam’s head was resting in the crook of your neck again, as you pressed your cheek into his hair and carded your fingers through the dark strands.
Sam grunted. “I’ll never get used to you so casually asking that.”
A soft laugh escaped your throat.
Sam shifted and looked at you. “It was good,” He answered. “Missed you, though.”
He pecked your lips. You pouted. “I missed you too, baby.”
Something dark crossed Sam’s face. The corners of his mouth fell.
“You know, it’s days like these I wish I wouldn’t have to do this,” He admitted to you.
You nodded in understanding. “I know.”
Sam furrowed his eyebrows. “How can you live with this so easily? With me? I would’ve kicked myself out months ago.”
Your thumb softly smoothed out the worried line of his eyebrow. “Sam, what you and Dean do out there is so important,” You remind him. “You save people. And you love doing it.”
Sam shook his head, unconvinced. “Why are you being so understanding about this? Why can’t we fight, and you can you just yell at me to stay?”
“Would you?”
Sam didn’t answer, just averted your eyes at the question.
“Exactly.” You smiled softly. “Sam, I know I couldn’t keep you from this. And that’s why I would never ask you to give it up. I would never make you choose.”
“But it’s not how this should be. How we should be. I.” He touched his forehead softly against yours.
“Always one foot out the door. It’s not what you deserve.”
“Maybe not. But I know how much it means to you. Being out there, saving people, being with your brother. And I would never keep you from that.” You added.
Sam’s eyes flashed with an offer. “Then come with me.”
You softly shook your head. “You know you can’t ask that of me.”
He bowed his head again. “I know, I-“ He sighed. “I’m sorry.”
You tilted his chin up to look at you. His eyes were liquid, glistening in the dim light of your kitchen like warm copper. “Hey. You didn’t let me finish before.”
Your thumbs caressed his cheek, your hands holding up his head. “Maybe it is not what I deserve. But it is what I want.” You leaned closer to him. “You are what I want, Sam Winchester.”
Sam leaned his forehead against yours. “You are what I’ll always want.”
For a moment, you closed your eyes. You felt your breathing through the silence of the kitchen, the rising and sinking of your chest, and how it accommodated to move the same as Sam’s.
You felt the beating of a heartbeat. You couldn’t say if it was Sam’s, or yours. They beat the same.
“What did I do to deserve you?” He whispered. You grinned.
“You bring me souvenirs from every town you go in.”
“That’s nothing.”
You lean back and look at him. “For me, it’s everything.”
Sam’s eyes dart in-between yours, and the look that burned in them was so sincere, it almost made his heart ache. Dean had called you a witch once, Sam just called it love.
He wrapped you into another kiss.
You spent a lot of time kissing that morning.
The eggs were already cooled down by the time you served them, and the bacon was no longer crispy, but it didn’t matter. Sam was too captivated by being back home with you, to pay that much mind to the food anyway.
#sam winchester x reader#sam winchester imagine#sam winchester angst#sam winchester fluff#sam winchester#supernatural#supernatural imagine#supernatural x reader#gn reader#cw supernatural#requested#yourmomxx#car’s outside
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Family Line
father of mine masterlist
summary: the hunt for the monster starts. We find out what happened all those years ago between Dean and his daughter.
warnings: canon violence, child abandonment, swear words, angst, daddy issues, character death, descriptions of blood, descriptions of murder, this is written like an episode of Supernatural
word count: 8,5k
a/n: we did it, guys! this is the last part of the father-of-mine series. I’m really sorry about the late upload, but I do hope it was worth the wait! This might be the ending of this series, but not quite the ending of the story … thank you all so much for sticking around and supporting this story, sequels and prequels about dean and his daughter will definitely come!
pt1 pt2 pt3
Sioux Falls 2007
It was late at night, and in Bobby Singer’s Junkyard, the lights were still on. Accompanying the chirping tunes of the cicadas, a fading pop song from somewhere in the ‘70s was trailing out the windows.
On the small wooden table in the kitchen, Dean and Sam Winchester had spread out a multitude of lore books found in Bobby’s bookshelf, some worn out, some torn, and Sam was currently leaned over a particularly ugly-written paragraph dedicated to the magical use of a pan’s flute.
“Dean, I can hear you being silent.” Sam raised his head to look his older brother in the eye. “What is it?”
Dean shrugged, threw a look at the numerous variations of old books about supernatural creatures laid out in front of them, then at his little brother.
“You’re overworking yourself, Sammy,” Dean pointed out. The keyboard clicked as he typed something on the laptop.
“Dean, we’ve been over this,” Sam said. “I’m just trying to find a way for you to not die. You can’t exactly blame me for that.”
“Yes, exactly, we’ve been over it,” Dean countered. “And I told you there’s no way around it. I made a deal, that’s it. Period, no refunds.”
Sam clenched his jaw. “Well, I don’t want that to be it.” He muttered under his breath.
Dean opened his mouth to say something, but stopped himself when they heard the sound of tiny footsteps over the floor.
Dean perked up and turned his head.
“Hey, my little love.”
A while ago, the soft tone in his brother’s words would have caught Sam completely off guard. By now, he was already getting used to the way Dean’s eyes had a different look in them – one of pure love – and he spoke with a softness as if his words alone should wrap their recipient up in satin cloth.
Sam turned around to look at who Dean was talking to, and was not surprised to see a small girl trutting towards them, little legs still uncoordinated after only just waking up. Her small fists were rubbing her squinted eyes, the light in the living room must be blinding her.
Y/N made her way over to Dean and made grabby hands up at him.
Dean chuckled and picked his daughter up under her arms, placing her carefully on his thigh as she nuzzled into his dark flannel shirt.
Sam smiled at the contrast of Dean’s shirt, and her bright yellow children’s nightgown with the washed out Led Zeppelin-logo printed on.
Dean’s big hand was rubbing circles on her back, as he craned his neck to bow it down to her.
“What are you doing awake so late, sweetheart?” He hushed.
Y/N nuzzled her nose into his neck. “’d a bad dream,” she mumbled.
Sam could see the emotion cross over his brother’s face for a brief second as he made eye contact with him.
They both knew that this could – would – happen. That little girl had been through so much already, at her young age, had seen and lost things no child should ever see or lose.
They both had known that nightmares would probably eventually start haunting her, but yet, they had still not been prepared for when it was the time.
Dean didn’t know what he should be feeling, his daughter had had a nightmare, and all he wanted was to wrap his arms around her, keep her there, and kill everything in her way to becoming happy.
But he knew he couldn’t do that. And that’s why he wanted to, so much more.
“Really?” He asked instead, hand not leaving her back. “Do you want to tell me what it was about?”
“Everybody was leaving me,” Y/N sniffled, small fist rubbing her nose. “You, Auntie Ellen, Jo, Uncle Sam, Grandpa Bobby.” Another sniffle.
“I was all alone.”
Dean felt like sobbing. A heavy weight had latched itself on his heart. Oh, his little girl. How much he loved her.
“Sweetheart, it was just a bad dream,” he promised to her. “We are not going to leave you alone, I swear.”
Y/N pulled her face from the crook of his neck and looked up at him with red rimmed eyes.
“Pinky promise?” She asked.
Dean lifted his free hand and linked his pinky finger with hers. “Pinky promise,” he said.
Something told him he had made a mistake. But he couldn’t care right now.
Still, he felt like a liar.
“Now,” he said, a conspiratorial tone in his words, “What do you say we get you back to bed and I stay until you fall asleep, hm? How does that sound?”
Y/N didn’t fuss long about it, she just nodded her head and nuzzled closer to him.
Dean understood the silent command, and lifted her into his arms as he stood up. “Alright. Let’s go.”
Sam looked after them as they disappeared up the stairs. Now alone, he turned his attention back to his research. Why he was reading everything about the dog Cerberus right now, he couldn’t quite decipher, but he was grasping onto every straw.
A few minutes passed by, and Dean was still not back. Another few, another few.
Sam frowned as he looked at the clock on the wall. 5.13 in the evening. Sam realized now that the clock was broken.
Curtly, he stood up from the table and climbed the stairs to the bedrooms.
The door to Y/N’s room was open, hiding the colored sign she had written her name on (with Dean’s help) to inform everyone of her territory.
Careful to be quiet, Sam stepped closer to the threshold, peeking into the dark room. A dim night light in the form of a crescent moon was burning on the nightstand. In the bed laid a small bundle of blankets and stuffed animals, which Sam could only guess was Y/N.
Next to her, holding the girl in his arms, Sam spotted Dean, probably holding on for dear life on the edge of the narrow bed.
Sam smiled at them.
Through the silence, a soft, hummed melody reached Sam’s ears, and he perked up.
He knew that song from somewhere, he just couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
Na-na na na. Nana na-a.
Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Dude, are you singing her Smells like Teen Spirit?”
Dean looked at him, grinning. “Yeah. It’s a classic.” As if it was the most obvious thing in the world and Sam was the stupid one.
“I mean, look at her,” he said, his gaze shifting to his daughter again. “She’s gonna be a badass one day. Right? One day, you’re gonna be as badass and cool as your daddy.”
Oh yeah, that girl was out like a light.
Sam just shook his head chuckling. “All right, I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”
Dean didn’t answer him, but he knew he heard him.
A few minutes after Sam had left, currently sitting at the kitchen table again, starting a new chapter of the same book, Dean came downstairs.
Wordlessly, he took his seat across from Sam, and pulled one of the lore books closer to him.
And though he had an idea where his brother’s new sense of determination came from, Sam didn’t say a word when Dean started reading.
༺｡° ୨❀୧ °｡༻
Now
When you called, for a brief second Sam was worried that Dean was gonna crash the car. The way his face morphed into shock, concern and then anger, while he was talking to you on the phone had his little brother worried.
After you hung up, Sam pretended not to notice the way Dean pushed further into the gas pedal.
The first rays of the morning sunlight made their way over the hills, when Sam and Dean arrived at the Group Home. Dean didn’t bother with a neat parking maneuver, and just turned the motor off, then made his way with fast steps over to the castle.
Sam trailed behind.
They had no problem entering the building, Maria had given them an official key card for their investigations. Dean stormed down the hallways with a fast step, as if he had memorized the entire way by heart.
Sam wouldn’t blame him.
You were sitting on your bed when they came in. Or more, cowering there.
Sam was all too familiar with the look of disturbed terror in your eyes, even when you firmly avoided looking at either of them.
“Y/N?” Dean moved a step forward, stretching his hand out towards you as if to soothingly touch your shoulder, but hesitated in his movement and pulled away.
Sam threw him a worried look that Dean didn’t seem to catch.
“What happened?”
Your fingers were continuously drumming against your knee pulled close to your chest.
“’d a bad dream,” you mumbled. Sam could hear the fear in your voice. Dean sat down in your chair opposite the bed.
“When I woke up, there was …” You swallowed and hardly squinted your eyes. “I don’t know what it was. Looked like two yellow … eyes.”
Sam couldn’t help the disgusted twist his face made at the word. He couldn’t imagine waking up to something like this.
Dean exchanged a look with him. Your story confirmed their theory even more.
On the bed, you had gone quiet again. Your fingers were still drumming an uneven pattern on your skin.
This didn’t make sense. This didn’t make sense. She was dead, Cass was dead. Roy was dead. Dean Winchester was here. He left you, and now he was here, but not for you, no, but for Roy. They were all dead.
And you were next.
“Have you ever heard of an alp?” Your head snapped up as Dean’s question pulled you out of your spiraling thoughts.
“An Alp?” Your eyebrows furrowed. “I mean - yes, I came across that lore when I was still taking German literature.”
“You took German Literature?” Dean regretted his question as soon as he asked it.
“Yes,” you answered, but something had shifted in your tone. It was low and pressed. Shit. He knew he should’ve just kept his mouth shut. Sam felt like smacking his brother across the head.
“So you know what they are?” He asked instead, and you shrugged, looking at your feet again.
“Yes, well, I know that the Germans believed that an Alp would sit on their chests while they slept, and it would feed on their good dreams - plaguing the sleeping person with terrible nightmares. That’s why they used to have shortened beds, because if they weren’t lying down, the alp couldn’t sit on their chest.”
While you talked, realization hit you like a brick. Or more like a huge wave, rather, if the feeling of being violently ripped of all air was anything to go by.
“Oh my God,” You breathed out. “Cass and Roy both had nightmares before they died.” You looked between Dean and Sam with shock-widened eyes. “This Alp thing was the reason for all of this, right? I’m gonna die, aren’t I?”
“Not if we have a say in it.” Dean’s jaw remained stoically clenched as he spoke his promise.
“What did you dream about?” Sam asked.
You ducked your head even further into yourself and picked at the skin next to your nails. “’s it important?”
“It could be.”
You took a deep breath and bit the inside of your cheek. “Same as Roy,” you simply said. “Worst day of my life.”
And, okay. Sam didn’t get into college for being slow, he knew exactly what day that was. And judging by the brief flicker of emotion crossing over Dean’s face, he knew, too.
But he didn’t address it and only cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. “Look, if it really is an Alp – which it probably is – then we already know how to get rid of it.”
“We would lure it into a trap. You know, get us some … bait and then just –“ Dean symbolically dragged a finger across his throat.
You raised your eyebrows in concern. “And how do you think that’s gonna work?”
Admittedly, this hadn’t been your smartest moment, but given the circumstances you were in, you figured you could be forgiven.
Sam dipped his head. “That’s where you come in.”
“You can always say no,” Dean carefully offered. “If you don’t want to do it.”
You lifted your chin in the air. “This thing is the reason two of my best friends are dead,” you said. “I want to pay back the favor.”
Sam nodded. “Alright then.”
“So you guys got a plan?” You asked.
Sam and Dean exchanged a look and Dean sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, we do.”
—
It was loud in the cafeteria. It always was. Today, though, you were especially aware of it, because most of the noise was heavily directed towards you.
Or rather, about you, which had just the same effect in your opinion.
You had barely entered the big room and had already felt a few dozen eyes fixated on you. The whispering had started when you got closer to the buffet, and the occasional double-take and looking-fast-away-when-she-is-looking had continued when you had sat down.
Of course, how else should it be, you had been given the rehearsed “My condolences” or “I’m so sorry for your loss”.
Long story short, to you it felt like the day of Roy’s death all over again.
Except this time, they were serving pasta, and not chicken with rice.
It was days like these (which, in your opinion, had been happening far too often over the past few weeks), that made you hate this place even more. It’s not like you had had a reason for that before, the supervisors were nice, so were the helping staff and, of course, Maria.
Maria, who had taken you under her wing from the first day you arrived here. She had acted like a mother towards you, the one you had never had, no matter how hostile you had acted towards her.
Still, as you grew older, the whole thing felt simply more washed out and sickening.
Maybe this really was just a side effect of puberty, as your gynecologist had said.
As you let your gaze travel over the many familiar faces, you couldn’t help but notice that Finn wasn’t under any of them.
Finn, your beloved Finn. You then suddenly remembered the text conversation the two of you had had the other night. Before, well – everything. You still needed to stay true to that.
Silently, you made a note to yourself in your head, to drop by his room straight after lu-
A broad silhouette squeezing into the seat opposite you blocked your view over the hall, and your eyebrows shot up as you realized who it was.
“Uhm, hello?” You asked as Dean folded his hands on the table.
“You told everyone I was dead?” He asked, purposely skimming over your question.
You frowned and opened the small package of parmesan. “Well, aren’t you? About six times?”
Dean frowned and you caught him counting something under his breath with his fingers.
You shook your head, making a point of ignoring him and poured sauce over the dry spaghetti.
“That’s not even my point.”
“What, you’re saying you didn’t barge into the middle of my lunch – after the night I had – to scold me over the inaccuracy of your death rate?” You clicked your tongue. “Surprise.”
Dean apparently didn’t deem it necessary to address your sarcastic tone. That, or he knew just how much he deserved it, which you were fine with, either way.
“Look,” he started, and Jesus, this was going to be serious. “I wanted to talk to you about what happened last night.”
Confused, you tilted your head.
“I mean about the dream,” Dean quickly added. “I mean, we both know what it was about, and I just …” He cut himself off, cleared his throat, and let out a short breath that was probably supposed to be failed attempt at a laugh.
“I’m not a big … talking guy, you know? But I just … I always told myself, if I ever had kids, that I would be different then. That …” He stopped again.
“I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry.”
You scoffed. “You’re a bit late for that,” you spat. “I mean, it’s been what, almost a decade? ‘Sorry’ travels far, but not that many years.”
“I know that,” Dean said, “But I want you to know, that-“
“Well, I don’t want to know!” You interrupted him. Maybe too loud, if the simultaneous turn of heads was anything to go by. “I don’t want you to tell me anything. No excuses, no explanations, I want, and I need absolutely nothing from you, you understand?”
Dean bit the inside of his cheek.
“Believe me, I do.” He said. “But still-“
“No!” The dishes clattered as you slammed your hand on the table. “Dean, you don’t understand! You just left me here, at this orphanage –“
“It’s a group home.”
“Same thing, Dean!” You snapped. “Just a fancier word.”
Dean carefully pulled his hand away from the table, folding it with his other in his lap. You could feel him watching you, but you consequently avoided his gaze.
“Look, I’m not gonna have this conversation right now,” You decided. “I am going to go talk to my best friend, and when I go to sleep, I’ll try not to get killed! So goodbye.”
And with that, you picked up your still full lunch-tray, dumped it on one of the cleaning wagons, and made your way out of the cafeteria.
You never turned around to see Dean looking after you.
༺｡° ୨❀୧ °｡༻
St. George, Louisiana 2012
Dean Winchester was standing by a window. Through the clean glass he had a clear view of green gardens, well-kept flowers and trees leaning in the soft breeze of the wind.
Further away, he spotted the tall hedge walls of something that had to be a garden maze.
“I hope you know just how grateful I am for what you and your brother did for me.”
The voice of Maria Whitlock lifted Dean out of his thoughts, and he turned around to face the older woman.
She spoke in a soothing tone, one that reminded him of a mother he never had, but learned to long for.
Dean nodded. “That’s our job.”
Maria gave him a look and tilted her head. He was standing in her office, a neatly tidied room with a shelf for books and files, and a rather expensive looking desk. Very clean as well.
“What you decided to do was probably very hard,” she continued. “But I can assure you, in most cases, it turns out to be the better option for both parties.”
He didn’t like the way she talked about his plan like it was a good thing, when it wasn’t. It didn’t make him a good person for doing it.
“I’m sure, Dean, that there will be a lovely family out there who will take care of her –“
“No, no, no, that’s not what I meant.” He quickly interrupted her. It was the first time in here he had spoken more than for words. “I don’t … I don’t want someone else to take her in.”
Maria raised her skeptical eyebrows at him. “Do I understand correctly, Dean?” She asked. “You want her to just - stay here?” And her tone was implying exactly what she held of that idea.
“Look, I know how that sounds.”
“I really hope you do.”
“But my job doesn’t allow me to properly take care of her. When Bobby was still - well, she stayed with him, and we visited her from time to time.”
Maria nodded. “I understand. But what you have to understand, is, that this will surely not be easy for her. Whereas many of the elder children indeed do live here, the younger ones are usually adopted by a foster family who can take care of them. Who can love them,” she added.
Dean looked out the window again.
“I understand that,” He said. “But this is how I want it.”
He couldn’t see Maria behind him, as he was turned away from her, but he could well sense the way her observing, maybe judging gaze was burning between his shoulder blades.
“Well, then.” She sighed.
And as Dean watched the flowers dance in the wind, listening to Maria shuffling through her papers, he couldn’t help but think that this might be one of the most selfish decisions he has ever made.
—
Soft wind was tugging at Dean’s hair. Somewhere in the distance he was aware of the rippling water of a small fountain.
Dean tried to not actively think of what he was doing here. Of the consequences his actions would inevitably cause. He knew he wouldn’t be able to bear it.
Y/N’s hand was holding his in a strong grip, as they walked up to Maria and he greeted her.
Maria leaned down to be on eye level with his daughter and smiled at her.
“Hello Y/N, it’s very nice to meet you. Your Dad has told me so much about you! I’m sure you’ll settle in here just nicely.”
Dean crouched down and placed both his arms on Y/N’s for her to look at him. She had been eyeing Maria and the castle suspiciously.
“Look at me, sweetheart,” he started. “Maria is really, really nice. And because Uncle Sam and I have to work so much, she is going to take very good care of you.”
Y/N averted his eyes and stared at her shoes. Then, sh burst forward, slung her small arms around Dean’s neck and buried her face in his chest.
“I wanna go with you,” she mumbled into his jacket. Dean sighed. With a heavy heart, be broke out of the embrace. “I promise I’m old enough, I want to go with you!” She pleaded again. With every word, Dean’s heart shattered just a bit more.
“Look, you remember when you stayed with Grandpa Bobby for a while when me and Uncle Sammy had to work?” She nodded, sniffling.
“This is gonna be just like that. I promise.”
Y/N sniffled again. Then she held out her hand to him. “Pinky promise?”
I promise that we’ll be fine.
I promise that we’d never just leave you alone.
I promise that Grandpa Bobby will be alright.
Dean pulled Y/N into his chest again. He breathed in deep, as if that would somehow help him savor this moment, savor her to be engraved in his brain to never forget. His little girl, the only thing good and pure in his life.
“Have fun, sweetheart,” he said when they broke apart again.
He stood up, and even though he wasn’t that old, everything in his body hurt at the movement.
“But I don’t know anyone here!” Y/N said again. It has been her go-to argument the entire car ride to the castle.
“I want to go with you and Uncle Sam!”
“Y/N!” The sharpness in Dean’s tone felt like it was cutting him. “I said you can’t.”
Her bottom lip started to tremble, before a big tear rolled down her cheek. Then another one, and another one, until she was full-on sobbing.
“Please, Dad!” She cried, and Dean’s heart shattered.
Behind her, Maria put a caring hand on her shoulder.
“Come on, sweetie, say goodbye to your dad.”
Y/N violently shook her hand off her body. “No! No, I don’t want to go with you! I want to stay with my dad!”
Maria and Dean exchanged a look. In her eyes, he recognized something that told him to change his mind.
It took everything in Dean to turn around and walk away.
He fixated his eyes on his car a few feet away from him. He wasn’t walking very fast, but with the weight that felt tied to his feet, it was the best he could do.
Behind him, Y/N kept crying. And as she was pleading and pleading, for him to come back, for him to stay, the feeling of realization started heavily sinking in, that he was really waking away.
Not only from this situation, from his daughters cries, but from her. From his child.
His feet felt even heavier.
When he reached the car door and opened it, he didn’t feel anything. Everything happened in a haze. He vaguely registered starting the car and pressing his foot on the gas pedal.
His daughter’s sobs were still replaying over and over in his mind like the sounds of a broken vinyl, as the naked road flew by the dirty windows.
Sam didn’t address the single tear that rolled down his brother’s cheek. And Dean just kept driving.
༺｡° ୨❀୧ °｡༻
Now
Since forever on, you had never been quite good with your emotions. Portraying them, talking about them, feeling them.
It was an obstacle.
Looking back at it, you figured it was probably somehow running in your family, the whole being emotionally unavailable thing.
Could that be inherited? According to your biology teacher, yes, but you didn’t know how well you believed that.
Nevertheless, as you knocked on the cold door that was the entrance to your - only left – best friend’s room, emotions welled up in your throat as choking as a tidal wave clashing its weight over your head.
It was dark in there. The curtains had been pulled closed and the thick material wouldn’t let a flicker of daylight in the room.
A smell hung over the entire place, of stale air and leftover food, and the sensation of hopelessness. Finn was sitting on the edge of his bed, a dark silhouette staring crooked at his hands in his lap, only illuminated by the weak light of the bedside lamp.
Without properly acknowledging him, you took quick strides to the other side of the room, and without further ado, ripped his curtains open.
The sun was already lowering down the horizon again, but the leftover light was still enough to turn the dark silhouettes in the bedroom into concrete shapes, of dirty plates, glasses, and clothes scattered all over the floor.
From his place on the bed, Finn groaned lowly, like a small bear being awaken from hibernation.
He rubbed a hand over his eyes as you sat down next to him. The bed dipped under your weight and you moved over a few study sheets that laid on his duvet.
“Hey,” you said.
Finn dropped his hands into his lap again and turned his tired gaze on you.
“Hey,” he said back.
“You wanna talk about it?”
Finn’s eyes tiredly scanned the room around him, the mess it was in, and then shook his head.
“Nah.”
“Alright.” You weren’t, really, but that conversation could wait until another time.
“How you holdin’ up?”
Finn tilted his head to you in a way that said ‘Ain’t it obvious?’ and you shrugged in response. “Stupid question, got it.”
Finn sighed.
There was a silence building between the two of you that you didn’t like. You kept yourself from fidgeting impatiently on the sheets.
“I just-“ Finn cut himself off and ruffled his hand through his hair. “Ever since – well, yesterday – I’ve been thinking about …”
He broke off again, blinking with his face towards the ceiling to avoid the falling of tears.
“Y/N, the last thing I said to her, was – we fought.” Finn’s confession was almost a whimper as he looked at you, awaiting your reaction.
Your heart broke at the look in his eyes, so clouded full with guilt and self-loathing, you almost didn’t recognize him.
“Oh, Finn, she loved you.” You sighed, and placed a gentle yet firm hand on his arm. “She knew what you were going through, what we were all going through. And trust me, she never, not for a second, held it against you. That was one moment out of almost ten years we all spent together. It didn’t mean anything, not in the long run.”
Finn sniffed and rubbed his nose, diverting his gaze to his hands again.
“Finn, she didn’t die hating you.” You put emphasis on every word as much as you could, because you wanted him to hear you, to understand, to believe. You didn’t want to let him wallow in his own self-destructing thoughts about something that wasn’t even true, not in the slightest bit.
Finn just hummed, but didn’t meet your eyes, just kept them trained on his lap. You sighed and let your hand slowly slide from his arm.
For a while, it was quiet again.
“My father is here,” you then blurted out.
Finn’s eyebrows shot up. “The one that died?”
“Yeah.” You weighed your head. “In my defense, I thought he died too, until he showed up in a fancy suit, investigating my best friend’s murder.”
The typical phrase of ‘seeing gears turning in someone’s head’ was the only way you would describe what you were seeing displayed on Finn’s face right now, just before the realization hit him.
“Wait, your father’s one of the hot FBI agents?”
You pursed your lips and nodded.
Finn blinked in disbelief.
“Wow,” He breathed out.
“Yup.” You said, popping the ‘p’. “Just got a lot less hot, huh?”
Finn raised his hands in surrender and shook his head. “For my own safety, I’m really not gonna answer that.”
You let out a laugh and playfully shoved him with your shoulder.
“Idiot.”
Finn grinned. “You love me.”
You hummed. “You’re right, I really do.”
A long while later, the door closed behind you again with a click.
Finn had to promise you to get in touch with you if he felt the need to, and to at least try and keep his room in order. After a brief conversation of how his view of himself and his ‘need to call you’ was very different from yours, you had hugged him and decided to leave.
Before you had walked out, your hand had rested on the handle, and you had turned around to Finn, not quite looking him in the eye.
“You know I love you too, right?” You had said. “No matter what happens.”
Finn frowned, but if he got suspicious, he didn’t mention it. “I know. Same here.”
You swallowed and nodded.
Then you left the room.
Now you were standing outside of his door, gaze drifting into the distance, and the same weight that had been lifted off your shoulders replaced by another one, just as heavy.
Funny, how, even if indirectly, saying your Goodbyes, made the lingering presence of death looming over you like a dark shadow much more real. If only one thing went wrong tonight, then-
You shook your head at the thought. No, Sam and Dean were going to take care of it, they promised. You had to put their trust into them with this.
But if tonight really was it, then you were content with the feeling that the last conversation you had, had been with Finnegan Beckett.
The walk back to your room stretched longer than usual.
--
Sooner than you would like it to, the sun disappeared behind the hills and night reigned over the land.
Sam and Dean were standing in your room, rehearsing their – honestly, pretty vague – plan with you, making sure you knew exactly how everything would go down. To be fair, you didn’t really play a big part in the whole thing, but it was nice having some sort of reassurance.
“Alright, so you know what to do?” Sam questioned once again.
Slowly, you nodded your head. “Lay still and look pretty,” you joked. “And try not to get killed.”
“Leave that last part to us,” said Dean. “You don’t have to worry about anything. By the time you wake up, everything will be over.”
You nodded.
You had seen it in Dean’s eyes, that he wasn’t all in with the idea of using you as bait, but you had done it nevertheless.
You weren’t a little child anymore, especially not his, he wasn’t going to decide what you wanted or not wanted to risk.
You took a deep breath that lifted your shoulders and huffed it back out. You were going to do this. It was easy.
—
Like hell it was.
Whoever told you you had the easiest part of the plan had been fucking lying to you. Turns out, sleeping is way harder with the knowledge of probable death hanging over your head like a dark cloud.
Every time your eyes slipped closed, a glimpse of doubt squeezed its way into your mind. What if Sam and Dean didn’t make it? What if everything went wrong? What if, in the end, you did die?
The sheets were already pooling crumbled by your feet when you slipped out of consciousness.
--
The mass of hot bodies pressing together and towering over you was clamming. A figure was running away from you, you were chasing after it. You smelt old leather and gunpowder. It made you feel comforted. You wanted more of it.
Gravel clattered underneath your boots as you got out of the car on your own, like all the big girls would.
“Look, Daddy!” But Daddy wasn’t there.
“Come on, I’ll help you.” There she was again, the nice girl with the black hair. She held out her hand and you went to grab it, her warm presence looming you in, and then the floor opened up under your feet and you were falling into nothingness.
--
Your heart pounded rapidly in your chest, as you startled awake in your bed, feeling your lungs tighten up and making it hard to breathe.
Your panicked gaze flew to the door of your room – wide open, the light of the hall casting a dim shadow into the room.
“Wha- Sam! Dean!” Hastily, you pulled the covers off your body and hurried out the door. Something must have gone wrong, terribly, terribly wrong.
You followed the sound of footsteps and scuffle down the hallway, turned the lights on where it had gone off at a few junctions.
Your breathing was still shallow, but you pushed through that and your still dazing mind, adrenaline pumping through your veins with every step you took.
Rapidly turning around another corner, you almost stumbled over the long legs of Sam’s body on the floor. You came to an abrupt halt and kneeled worried next to him.
“Sam? Oh my God, are you-“
Sam groaned and moved his head, eyes still pressed shut. “’s strong,” he babbled, and you tried your hardest to understand what he was saying.
By the way he was slurring his words, you had well reason to think he had suffered a concussion.
“It’s alright, stay here,” you ordered him, as he tried to sit up.
Only then, you first noticed the struggling noises a few feet away from you, and lifted your eyes away from Sam to check where they were coming from.
What you saw almost made your heart drop into your stomach.
Not that far away from you, maybe a few armlengths, was Dean, laying on the floor on his back just like his brother. But he was wrestling with something sitting on his chest, something small and hairy, hunchbacked like an old witch but only with the size of a cat.
The thing, which had to be the Alp, had long, bony limbs, and was fighting tooth and nail, hissing, biting and scratching, against Dean.
It reminded you of a gremlin, of sorts.
In your head, you heard Roy’s voice scold you, “There’s a distinct difference between all supernatural creatures. Elves don’t equal fairies, and gremlins don’t equal goblins, because while gremlins are fuzzy and cute in the beginning and only bad later when they turn, goblins have always been known for harassing humans.”
Alright, so no gremlin then.
Near you, Dean was still rolling around on the floor, fighting for the upper hand with the Alp.
Your heart sped up as you realized that something had to be wrong. Because why wasn’t he just killing it?
--
“So how do you kill it?”
Sam pulled something out of his duffel bag and turned it in his hands, the dim light of your lamp reflecting on the material. “Silver dagger dipped in vampire blood.” He spoke.
“Wait – vampires bleed?”
Dean scoffed. “This isn’t Twilight, kiddo. Yes, vampires bleed.”
You shrugged and inspected the phial he had laid into your hand. “I was thinking more of Fear Street, but alright.”
Dean ignored that he didn’t know what that was, but made a mental note to look it up later.
Sam stuffed the dagger back into his arsenal.
“You don’t have to worry about that part, though,” He assured you. “That’s what we’re here for.”
Dean nodded. “He’s right. You just dream sweet, and we’ll handle the rest. Fool-proof.”
You nodded, passing Dean the blood back. You could only hope they were right.
--
The shining silver of the dagger caught your eye. It had most likely been scattered away from Dean and landed near a wall, far out of his reach.
You took quick steps over to pick it up, Dean’s struggling grunts making you alert, and probably the reason why you didn’t think about what you did next, you just did it.
The silver dagger felt light in your hands, coated in the dark fluid of what had to be vampire blood. The blade reflected the clinical white light from the hallway as you lifted it up over your head, and, using the strength of both your hands, pushed it with force into the monster’s upper torso.
The squelching sound it made, as it penetrated bristly fur, skin, and organs, would later make you feel repulsed and gagging, sort of like nails scratching on a blackboard, but in this moment, you just clenched the dagger tighter and pushed it further into the monster’s chest.
The screech it let out could not be compared to any animalistic sounds you had ever heard before. In a swift move, you pulled the weapon out of the Alp’s body, and the small creature slumped to the floor right next to Dean.
You waited for a second. Two, three panting breaths. Dean was the first to move. He put a hand somewhere where the thing’s neck should be.
Then, swallowing in-between his hard breaths, he nodded. “Done,” was all he said. But it was enough for a sigh of relief to leave your tired lungs, and you sunk to the ground right next to him.
Looking closer at its lifeless body, the Alp had more similarity with one of those dead, stuffed animals that hunters hung in their houses as trophies. But maybe that was just rigor mortis.
Through your haze, you barely registered Dean clapping a firm hand on your shoulder. You turned your head to look at him, eyes suddenly feeling heavy as the adrenaline was wearing off. Like sucking air out of a balloon.
“You did good today, kid.” He said, and though you were tired, in his eyes you could see that he meant it. It filled your chest with a warmth that hadn’t been at home in there since … God knows when, and it made you smile.
Near you, Sam staggered closer, still holding his hurting ribs, and tilted his head as he squinted his eyes at the lifeless Alp before you.
“Is it just me or does it … look like a cat?”
You and Dean both looked over at him, and then at the dead monster on the floor.
“Looks more like a gremlin-goblin hybrid,” You panted. “A gromblin.”
Sam threw you a look of pure confusion, while Dean was grinning proudly. You smiled back. It felt honest.
And very likely, it was.
--
It was quiet again.
From the fight and struggles a few days ago was no trace left, as you stood by your desk and sorted through some old photographs you had replaced on your wall.
The pictures you were sorting through mostly showed you, Finn, Roy and Cass together.
At school, at the movies, going out to eat.
You sighed and plucked some tape from the back of another one.
Right at that moment, a knock sounded from your door. Without even looking up from Cass and Roy smiling at you, holding a stray cat, you let out a “Come in,” at the person on the other side of the door.
The familiar sound of the hinges creaking signified the opening and closing of the door. And then, Dean Winchester was standing in your room.
“Uhm …” He was rubbing his neck awkwardly, as you looked at him expectantly.
“Hey. What’s up?” You asked, and put the photographs in a drawer.
Dean took a deep breath and looked at you. He wasn’t wearing the same casual clothes as he had been that terrible night, but had settled on his FBI suit again. Maybe for effect.
“Look, I was just-“ Dean fumbled for a second and then took a seat on the small chair that was standing around. “We should talk. This time for real.”
You tilted your head, and avoided looking at him.
Dean didn’t wait for any response, he simply kept talking. Maye rambling.
“I know I already tried, but it wasn’t my best, so I …” He sighed.
“I never explained anything to you. why things went down how they did. Y/N, please look at me.”
You had sat down in your deskchair, pulling your legs to your chest and now did your best to fix your eyes on Dean.
“What we do, the hunting … it’s no way to grow up for a child. I know how that is. And I never, ever, wanted that for you. I already had plans to end things sooner than they did, but then ..” He shook his head. “Didn’t work out. So, when Bobby died, I saw no other chance than to get you somewhere else. And I took that chance to just … remove you from my life, as hard as it was.”
“But I promise you, Y/N, it was all just to keep you safe. I never would’ve done it if there had been another way. And I wanted you to know that.”
Dean stood on his feet again and placed the chair back on its original spot. You looked away as he reached for the door handle, to get out of your life, again.
“So you’re just gonna leave? Again?” Your words were accusing and they were meant to be that way, but still you almost felt bad, as Dean dropped his hand by his side and let out a sigh.
“Like I said, it was for the best. Still is, in my opinion.”
“What, to remove me from your life again?” You jumped out of your chair, fury burning in your eyes and voice growing louder with every word you spoke.
“Y/N, you don’t get it-“
“No, you don’t get it!” You jelled at him. What was burning in your eyes were now more tears than anger, but it didn’t matter.
“For years, I’ve been trying to … to figure out what I did wrong. For years, I’ve been trying to do better, every day, I wanted to be better, because I thought —. I thought that if I had good grades, and if I started working out, and if I was always on my best behavior … I thought that you would come and get me. But somehow you never did. And I just … I don’t understand, I want you to tell me, what did I do wrong, what made you leave, because I swear, I’ll change. I’ll change, and I’ll work on it, just please…” A begging undertone accompanied your tear-choked words. “Don’t leave me here again.”
Wordlessly, Dean quickly crossed the room and put his arms around you. it took you a second to realize what was even happening, before you clung to his suit jacket, digging all your strength into it, as if the fabric was the only think that kept you from drowning in black water.
You felt the shadow of warmth, as Dean turned his head to press a featherlight kiss into your hair.
“I regret having to leave you.” He murmured next to your ear. “But what I do not regret is keeping you safe. Even if that meant leaving you.”
You sniffled, and pulled away from him. Dean’s own face wasn’t full of fresh tear stains, but still you could see the sincerity and something like sadness on his features.
You wiped your cheeks to clean them off the drying liquids.
“I’m older now,” You said, and Dean scoffed, already knowing where this was headed. “No, please, listen to me! I’m older, I can make my own choices, take my own risks. You saw how great I was a few days ago!”
“Yes, but that was one monster!” Dean countered. “Out there, there are hundreds of those things. We don’t get enough sleep, no nice food, not even nice beds! Trust me, Y/N, compared to this-“ he gestured around your room, “what we do has nothing on it.”
You shook your head. “But you’re together when you do it. You and Sam. And I just want that, I want to be with you.”
Dean sighed and took a step back.
“Please, Dean, I’m begging you!” You urged. “You said you never wanted to come back here, but now you had to, I mean – don’t you think that’s some sort of … sign or something?”
“I don’t believe in signs.”
“Well, screw signs, I’m here!” You pointed to yourself. Your voice was desperate, but so were you.
“I am here, and I want you to take me with you.” And in a whisper, you repeated, “Please, Dean, this time – let me come with you.”
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then, Dean heavily sighed and pulled the chair closer to him to sit down.
--
The church bells were tolling a loud, fast tune. It was ironic, you thought, and you didn’t know if you should cry or laugh about it.
You watched as two dark caskets were lowered down into the earth, into two separate 6-feet deep holes right next to each other.
The gravestones had not yet been prepared, but you didn’t exactly need those anyway. If the huge pictures were any indicator on who was getting buried here.
This was your last time saying Goodbye. To Cass and to Roy, and, unfortunately, to the last one remaining.
Funerals weren’t for the dead, you had once read somewhere, they were for the living, for those seeking closure in their desperate times of grief.
You had thought it to be bullshit, what difference would a burial make in a journey of overcoming the loss of someone so important?
But, as you threw a full hand of dark earth onto each of the dark caskets, you somehow understood. It was one weight less.
They were still here, some part of them. Something you could always come back to, they hadn’t just vanished off the back off the earth. That thought was, indeed, comforting.
Damn life lessons that are right.
“Hey,” you suddenly heard a voice next to you, and were a bit surprised to see Finn standing there.
You had been too lost in your own thoughts to even notice him approaching. The lack of sleep probably didn’t help your attention skills much, either.
“Hey,” you answered.
“Look, I need to tell you something,” you started, just at the same time as Finn said, “I know what you wanna say.”
Both of you let out quiet laughs.
“You first,” He said.
You took a deep breath and avoided looking at him, scanning the gravestones before you as if you had known everyone buried under them personally.
“Sam and Dean,” you started, “I mean, they’ve been here for a while and honestly, I never even thought I’d see them again. So I never really thought about what would happen if they would just – show up, you know?”
Interesting, Peter Gravill only lived to be 57 years old.
“But now they’re here, and I just-“
“I get it.” Finn suddenly interrupted you. Your head whirled around so fast you were afraid you were gonna get whiplash.
At your confused look, he added, “I mean, if my parents suddenly showed up on my doorstep and gave me the option of going with them –“ he shrugged his shoulders. “-I would most definitely take it.”
Before you could even think about it, you already lunged forwards and wrapped your arms around his body, burying your face in his neck and holding him tightly.
The hot feeling of tears burned behind your eyes, but you managed to put them away. You pulled Finn even closer.
“Everything’s gonna be alright, kid.”
“You’re still younger than me.”
“I don’t care. I love you.”
“I love you too, Y/N.”
The hug lasted endless, but endless went by way too quickly. You fixed Finn’s suit jacket, apologized for the tear- and make-up stains you had gotten on the expensive material, and waved him a last Goodbye.
Down by the parking lot, a black car was already waiting for you, two adult men leaning against it. They had been watching the entire thing go down from a safe distance, not wanting to interfere in either the funeral, or the emotional Goodbyes.
Sam tried not to think about what laid ahead of them, or behind them, as his niece walked towards them, away from the graves of her best friends, and leaving the only one that was still alive, behind.
His niece. How long hadn’t he said that title, let alone thought it.
He liked the familiarity of it. The rightness.
Dean opened a creaking car door for you, as you reached them.
“You ready?” He asked.
Sam could see your shoulders tighten, as you lifted your chin, and looked his brother straight in the eye.
“Yeah.”
Dean nodded, and you got in the backseat. He slammed the car door closed behind you. With one last look at his younger brother, Dean rounded Baby and took his place as the driver, Sam claiming shotgun.
Behind them, you leaned your head against the window as the engine roared and you drove off.
The car smelt like leather and gunpowder. It made you feel comforted.
And in the backseat of an old 1967 Chevy Impala, listening to the music that was a mix of Metallica, Kansas and Billy Joel, you slept the best night’s sleep you had had in weeks.
taglist:
@psycho-magnotheric-slime , @openmindedperson2200 , @emily-roberts
#Spotify#father of mine#yourmomxx#family line#dean winchester au#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester angst#dean winchester fluff#dean winchester fic#dean winchester imagine#dean winchester x child!reader#dean winchester x you#dean winchester fanfiction#dean winchester#jensen ackles#jensen ackles imagine#jensen ackles x reader#female reader#dean winchester x daughter!reader#dean winchester x female!reader#supernatural
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Sweet Child O’ Mine
father of mine masterlist
summary: It’s time for Dean to face what he has been so afraid of the entire time. Meanwhile, the monster that has already taken one young man’s life, is on its way to claim the next one
warnings: canon violence, child abandonment, swear words, angst, daddy issues, character death, throwing up, this is written like an episode of Supernatural
word count: 11,2k (whoops)
disclaimer: What I know about Group Homes is what I know from my country (and Google), so I apologize if I made any mistakes
pt1 pt2 pt3
@psycho-magnotheric-slime
Now
The cafeteria was loud. The mixed noise of talking children and clattering dishes and cutlery filled the air, creating a yet bearable loudness.
You were sat at one of the light blue tables, across from you your best friends Cassandra Claire and Finnegan Beckett.
Cass and Finn.
She was lowly cursing at the paper straw in her apple juice box and a few strands of her black bangs slipped into her view. The wolf cut, which had been so present a few months ago, was now already grown out and even the shortest strands of Cass’s hair were reaching her shoulders.
Finn seemed caught up in his own world as he carefully laid out little figures and symbols with his french fries. He still had a few, slightly red acne spots lingering on his skin, amongst freckles covering his nose and cheeks. His hair was flaming red, just as Roy’s had been, but other than him Finn usually hid the tousled locks under a cap.
Roy. The news of his death had hit the three of you hard. You had been a friendgroup of four, Roy and Finn, and Cass and you.
Almost a week ago you had been eating lunch at this exact table, the seat to your right had been taken, laughing about terrible jokes, bickering, and not even considering it all to end as soon as it did.
And especially how it did.
Roy’s body was still lying at the morgue. The authorities had kept it there for ‘further investigation purposes’ as they had said, so no funeral had been possible yet.
Of course, the adults had introduced all of you to helping hotlines and offered their own support in case anyone wanted to talk about their feelings and their grief in the safeness of a closed room.
Not that one of you took that into consideration.
The only way you three were coping with the whole situation was through joking around and pretending none of it ever happened. Which was fine.
You and Cass had sometimes talked in the darkness of your rooms, careful and short conversations while sleeping over because neither of you wanted to spend the night alone.
But other than that? Zero. And it was alright that way. The right moment would come.
Maybe.
“Aha!” Cass suddenly yelled out triumphantly, and startled Finn out of admiring his artwork.
You looked up at her from half-heartedly poking around in your own food, as she proudly held up the apple juice that was now pierced with what looked like the abused version of a thin straw.
You gave a small clap. “Bravo” and she grinned at you before turning to Finn.
Well done, Cassie,” he sarcastically said. “You won the hard fight against the opening of a box of apple juice.”
Cass pouted and took a sip. “You don’t appreciate my victories enough, Finn. And don't call me that. Cassie.” She dramatically shuddered at the nickname.
“I’m mentally unstable, not five.”
Finn examined her perfectly done eyeliner and makeup with skeptically raised eyebrows. “You don’t look mentally unstable to me,” he remarked.
Cass gasped. “Excuse me? Prejudices??” She exclaimed.
“You see that?” She asked, frantically pointing at her face. “See how perfect my makeup is today? That's not a good thing, dumbass! Perfect makeup means that I am absolutely mentally fucked!”
You nodded supportively, and Finn just raised his eyebrows, before he dedicated his attention back to poking around in his food.
“Don't you think that's kind of ironic?” He pointed out, and Cass simply ignored him, except for the tiny eye roll she gave.
“Guys, I need your help deciding what color I'm going to dye my hair next,” she changed the topic instead and desperately ran her hands through her hair.
Finn’s head whipped around, back to his friend. “You're honestly thinking about dying your hair right now?” He asked incredulously.
She groaned and threw him a look.
“No, Finnegan, I am not actively thinking about dying my hair, but I sense a mental breakdown coming and if I'm going to absolutely lose my shit and take it out on my hair, I want the result to look good. Otherwise, we are met with that weird yellow-green-combination again.” Cass let her body shudder dramatically.
“I liked the yellow-green-combination,” you interjected.
Cass reached over the table to lay her hand above yours and looked up at you with sweet eyes. “Thanks, hun.”
“I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal out of it,” mumbled Finn, his mouth stuffed full of fries. “Just leave them black.”
“I don’t think you quite understood how a mental breakdown works, man,” you said.
Finn shrugged and dipped a frie into his ketchup. “Whatever.”
You looked at Cass. “I’ll go shopping with you soon and then we will choose a color together,” you promised.
“Thanks,” she said and eyed Finn, “at least someone who cares if I ruin my good looks or not.”
But Finn didn’t hear her, or maybe he just ignored what she was saying. Because he changed the topic.
“Did the FBI agents get a hold of you guys yet?” He suddenly asked.
Your eyebrows shot up in confusion. “The what?”
“The FBI agents,” Finn repeated.
“Why, thank you, I got that part, but what is the FBI doing here?”
Cass just shrugged her shoulders. “Apparently they are here investigating Roy's murder.”
“What, they think someone murdered him?” You asked in disbelief.
“Well, he will not have crushed his ribs all on his own now, will he?” Finn drew a heart shape with the remaining ketchup on the plate.
“It's better than the state police,” retorted Cass, “who still think that it was some kind of ... animal attack.”
You snorted. “Yeah, right, because a bear sneaking into a castle, pushing down on someone's chest and then just leaving seems so plausible.”
Your friends raised their eyebrows in agreement.
“What did they ask you guys?” You closed your waterbottle and absentmindedly started cleaning up your plate.
Cass shrugged and leaned back in her chair with crossed arms. “Not much, the usual, I guess,” she answered, “Wanted me to tell them some things about Roy, his behavior lately, who would have wanted to hurt him…” She trailed off.
“Same here. Routine stuff,” Finn said. Then he leaned a bit closer and lowered his voice.
“To be honest, I don't really care why they're here, they are both incredibly handsome.”
“Finn!” You and Cassandra exclaimed at the same time.
“What?!” The boy widened his arms in defense. “Let me enjoy the one good thing that came from Roy's death.”
Cass shoved him in response. “God, you are a manwhore!” She grumbled.
Finn rubbed his arm with an offended pout on his lips and you giggled. “Geez, we must seem so fucked up, our best friend got murdered and here we are, joking about his death.” You shook your head lightly.
“It's what he would have wanted.” Cass scooted a bit closer on her seat and took both yours and Finn’s hand in acted solemnity.
“If I die,” she vowed, “you are now officially allowed to joke about my death as much as you want. On any occasion.”
“Sick!” You called out and Cass smirked.
“Can we please get back to the part where she said if?” Finn pointed out.
Cass rolled her eyes and pulled back.
“I'm a witch, after all,” she reminded him with a threatening silken voice that had a tone of mockery. “And one day, I will figure out the secret of necromancy, just you wait.”
Finn scoffed and grinned. “Right, you with your crystals, and your smokey sticks and your herbs and tarot cards.”
He wiggled his fingers in front of her face. “That's some real serious stuff you got there, Cass.”
She pushed him away. “Yeah, keep making fun of it. We'll see who has the last laugh when I turn immortal and outlive all of you idiots.”
Finn shook his head. He looked at you and pointed his forefinger to his temple, moving it in circles to indicate what he held of her words.
You shook your head grinning, and Cass, who noticed the interaction, promptly took Finn’s sugar-glazed donut and dumped it in his untouched mayonnaise.
"Ew! Jesus, Cass, you are disgusting!" Finn yelled as he stared at the disaster.
She just shrugged and was quick to eat her own food before he would get any ideas.
For a while, it was quiet. You continued cleaning and sorting your lunch plate, while Cass ate and Finn and her did not speak a word to each other.
It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, though, just a break from conversation.
Eventually, Cass was the one to break it.
“So, uhm, did you guys, like - I mean, have you been thinking about Roy, too? Or, like, dreaming or something?” With every word her voice got more quiet until it was only a low mumble, drifting apart in the busy noise around.
But still everything she said managed to pierce through the air and directly into your heart.
“Why would you bring that up?” Finn asked through gritted teeth, he almost sounded mad.
Cass avoided eye contact with both of you and pressed the palms of her hands against her forehead, as if to stop it from giving her incredible pain.
“I’ve been having those horrible nightmares, since it happened,” she sighed in despair.
“It’s the same thing over and over again. I see something going into his room, but when I try to open the door, it’s locked. And I hit it, and I scream, but there’s just no sound coming out of my mouth. And when the door finally opens, there he is, lying on the bed, just-”
A heavy clatter interrupted her monologue and made you flinch. Finn had thrown his fork onto his dinner plate.
“Didn’t ask about fucking details, Cassandra,” he hissed lowly, stood up and walked away with his tray in hand.
Cass looked after him as he left and put her head in her hands with a groan.
“I didn’t mean to upset him,” she mumbled into the fabric of her sleeve.
“I know,” you said. She raised her head. You gave her a sympathetic smile.
“D’you think he hates me now?”
You shook your head no. “He’s just grieving. We all are. He will get himself together again, promise.”
For a second, her lips quirked up in a small smile.
“Come on,” you said then and swung your leg over the bench, standing up. “We’ve been sitting here for far too long anyways.”
You took your tray and Cass was quick to follow you and put the dirty dishes away.
“I didn’t have any, by the way.” Confused, she looked at you.
“Nightmares,” you added.
Cass nodded. “Yeah, didn’t think so.” She shrugged. “Guess I’ll deal with this the same way I deal with everything: completely and utterly alone.”
You jokingly shoved her at her theatrics, and she grinned. “Shut up. I’ll be damned if I let you deal with any of this on your own. Got me?”
She laid a hand upon her heart and the other on your shoulder. “You’re so sweet,” she said. “And I suppose that also includes helping me study for my biology exam which I have definitely already studied for?”
You pulled back and inhaled sharply, pretending to think. “Ah ma’am, I am afraid this feature is not included in your subscription. We apologize for any discomfort this may bring.”
“It brings a great deal of discomfort!” Cass exclaimed while you two walked the hallway to your rooms.
“You can write me an email-complaint,” you joked. “No guarantees though. You’ve had like two weeks to study for that one.”
“I know, I know, but it’s so endlessly boring and complicated!” she cried.
You shrugged. “There’s a reason I didn’t take the AP class.”
“And I will forever envy you for it.”
You stopped when you reached the two doors to your bedrooms that laid right across of each other.
“Then,” you said and bowed lightly, “farewell my friend. May your head not explode while rehearsing for the terribly difficult school subject that is AP biology.”
She flipped you off and disappeared into her room. Laughing to yourself, you opened the door and slipped into your own.
༺ ｡ ° ୨❀୧ ° ｡ ༻
Central Nebraska 2007
The past few hunting days had been rough. Sam and Dean had driven from one case to the next without a break, been beaten up by an entire pack of werewolves and hunted down a loose chupacabra outside of its usual territory.
Dean was beyond exhausted. His muscles ached, his head was pounding, and the lack of sleep was weighing his limbs down. He was practically dragging himself over the gravel path, before he swung open the door to Harvelle’s Roadhouse.
The air that hit them from inside was stuffy, warm, and smelt like sweat and alcohol. Low but loud enough music fell into an uncoordinated melody with loud chatter and the clinking of glass.
Dean felt like he had never experienced something more beautiful, after the weeks he’s had.
“Deeeeeannnn!”
He heard the excited cry of his name before he saw where it came from. He spotted a bright sundress on a small girl, and out of instinct crouched down as she sped towards him.
With a grunt, Dean picked her up in his arms mid sprint and lifted her up. Behind him, Sam closed the door again as Dean made his way over to the bar with little Y/N on his hip.
“How is my favorite girl today?” He asked her and she grinned at him.
“I’m good! I missed you,” she added.
Dean’s chest clammed with how much he loved her.
“Well, I’m back now, ready to give you allllll my attention. Come on, show me those fangs.” He nodded his head at her chin at his request, and Y/N drew her lips back and bared her teeth to him.
Dean held the hand that wasn’t holding her in front of his eyes and pretended to be blinded. “Wow, those are clean! I can’t even see anything.”
With a giggle, Y/N closed her mouth again and Dean blinked hard a few times.
“I brush them extra hard. Ask Auntie Ellen.”
Dean nodded. “I totally believe you. Every werewolf would be jealous of those teeth. Oh, did I say werewolf? I meant vampire, of course.”
Dean shook his head at himself, and Y/N beamed up at him with the brightest shining eyes he had ever seen.
“Good to see you again, boys,” Ellen greeted them and pulled out two glasses. “The usual?”
Sam and Dean nodded. Ellen started pouring. When Sam took his drink, he pointed somewhere in the back of the bar and said, “I’ll go have a talk with Ash.” Then he was gone.
Dean placed Y/N on one of the bar stools and took his seat next to her.
“Dean, can you play Operation with me?” Y/N asked him, and Dean stilled in his movement to take a sip of his drink. He opened his mouth to answer her, but Ellen was faster.
“Baby, let Dean rest for a bit. I’m sure these past few days haven’t been all sugar and cakes for him. Maybe later, alright?”
Y/N pouted a bit, but then shrugged and shuffled off the barstool. “Okay,” she said, and disappeared between the people, probably to the private rooms.
Dean looked after her and then turned back to Ellen with a thankful look on his face.
“Can’t believe that game is still so popular. I mean, I used to play with that in my childhood,” he said, and took a sip from his drink. The alcohol burned a bit down his throat, but it was exactly what he needed right now. Dean closed his eyes and sighed appreciatively.
“Really glad you’re back,” Ellen then told him honestly, as she opened up a beer for herself and folded her arms on the counter. “She’s been asking me nothing else than ‘When will Dean come back’ for the past few weeks. I can’t hear that sentence anymore.”
Dean chuckled and she took a sip.
“Yeah,” he dragged, and threw a look in the direction that Y/N had disappeared in. Ellen tilted her head and gave him a look he couldn’t quite read.
“You’re really good with her, ya know?” She twirled the bottle loosely on the counter. Dean avoided her inquiring gaze and looked into the liquor in his glass instead. He vaguely saw his reflection in it.
“’ve always been good with kids, I guess.” He shrugged it off.
Ellen hummed. Dean didn’t know what to make of it. He looked up at her again.
“For what it’s worth, she makes it really easy,” he said. Ellen raised her eyebrows. “To lo- to like her, I mean. She’s a great kid. You did good with her.”
Ellen sighed. “Yeah, I like to think I did. Wasn’t always easy.”
Dean nodded. A bit after they had met, Ellen had vaguely told him how she got to Y/N. How someone had just dumped the little girl, barely one year old, on her doorstep. No note, only a name and date of birth, and a blanket in the basket she had been put in.
When he had first heard the story, Dean’s hand had cramped around his beer bottle so hard his knuckles had turned white.
Stories like this about kids always got to him. But about this one? Hell, the lengths he would go to protect that little girl. She had made her way into his heart so easily, no preparation or caution, just boosted right into it with her bright smile and those happy eyes.
And Dean had never spent a day not wanting to know her.
Sometimes, when he thought about it, he thought about how easy it was. To love a kid. She wasn’t even his, but every time he had to say goodbye to her for God knows how long again, his heart broke a little more.
And he thought about how it was that easy, and how yet, somehow his father had not managed it. Had left his children alone, abandoned, in ran down motel rooms, without any contact for days and sometimes weeks. How he had felt absent, even when he was physically present, and how Dean could never do enough to feel enough for him.
It made him ache, but he had promised himself to never make anyone else feel this way. And maybe, just maybe, this little wonder he had come across was supposed to be his salvation.
“Dean, I have to tell you something.”
Somehow, the way Ellen said it, made Dean stiffen. A strange mixture of regret and hurt crossed her exes.
“It’s about your daddy,” she added.
“And about Y/N.”
༺ ｡ ° ୨❀୧ ° ｡ ༻
Now
If Sam had tried to read the different emotions that were crossing his older brother’s face right now, he would have given up as soon as he had started.
But one thing was certain, they were many, and probably none of them were good.
They stood in front of the wooden door to their last room.
Your room, to be exact.
And they stood there for the second time today, to be exact.
Maria had pointed them the numbers of the bedrooms where Roy Kendall’s friends lived, they had paid each of them a visit and asked them questions about the deceased.
None of those interrogations had proven to be useful to them, though.
Also, funny enough, it turns out that Cassandra Claire and Y/N Winchester’s room happened to lay just across the hallway from each other.
But when Sam offered to move on to her after finishing Cassandra’s questioning, Dean had not-so-smoothly avoided his question and decided he was in desperate need of some lunch.
Which is why, now, they were standing here, staring at the old wooden door with filled stomachs and angel Castiel in tow - who had decided to join them after all.
Said angel now leaned in closer to Sam and not so silently whispered, “Is he- frozen? Shall I wake him?”
Dean snorted and shook his head, as if Castiel’s words had actually woken him up from the sort of trance he had been trapped in.
“I’m fine,” he grumbled, still talking into the direction of the - apparently very intimidating – wooden door.
Sam raised his eyebrows, fully aware that his brother couldn’t see him. “Well then,” he said, extending his hand to the door. “Knock.”
Dean threw a murdering look over his shoulder at his little brother and took a deep breath in, shook his shoulders.
Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He knew this had to be difficult for Dean, but he also wanted to get all of this over with. He could think of more fun things than spending his entire day in an orphanage, investigating a murder. Also, his suit was starting to get itchy.
The sound of Dean knocking at the door felt like a salvation. “Agents Shield and Stark and …” He threw Cas a look, “… Miller. We’re here to ask you some questions about the death of Roy Kendall.”
For a second, it was quiet. Then, “It’s open.”
The voice from inside made a chill run down Sam’s spine. He couldn’t imagine what his brother felt. But even if Dean was falling apart inside, he didn’t let his face show any of it.
Dean’s heart twisted with the door handle, as he pushed the door open and entered into the room. After him, Sam and Castiel entered, and Dean closed the door behind them again.
The room wasn’t big, but it had been decorated to be comfortable. In the middle of the wall to their right, a twin-sized bed with unified colors was placed, a small bedside table next to it.
To their left was a tall wardrobe that almost reached the ceiling, and under the window on the wall opposite them stood a nice desk.
And there, shuffling through some papers, stood a young teenage girl, with her back turned to them.
“Sorry about the mess, I-“ Dean’s heart skipped a beat as you turned around.
You hadn’t changed, not a bit, but had grown so much. The roundness in your features, like with all children, had gone away as you grew older. You had changed your hair, and your voice was different, but it was so unmistakably you that Dean needed a second to catch himself.
He feared his feet would buckle under him, as you looked at him with wide open eyes, those eyes that he remembered looked so much like your mother’s.
You felt your whole world tumble around you as you looked at them. At him. Your heart was speeding in your chest, a feeling spreading in your stomach as if you had been sucker punched.
This couldn’t be real, there was no way. But then again, there was no reason why it wouldn’t be. There were more epic scenarios you could have come up with to reunite with your … family. And nevertheless, you had stopped having dreams like that a long time ago. You had given up on hoping a day like this would come.
But now it was here, apparently, and it was so unspectacular, it was almost funny.
They walked in here, after years, in fancy suits and badges, wanting to know about- what exactly was it they wanted to know about?
You cleared your throat and took a deep breath, gathering yourself.
“What are you doing here?” Compared to the chaos inside of you, your voice sounded calm and collected, almost devoid of any emotion, and a part of you was proud.
Sam cleared his throat. You noticed he looked older.
Well, no shit. But more … drawn, from his experience. Trauma, maybe. You hadn’t been aware of much when you were a child, but that their work took a toll on them, that had been unmistaken.
And Sam’s eyes held a story that seemed as tragic as it seemed muddled.
“We heard about Roy Kendall’s death,” he answered.
Your eyebrows shot up to your hairline. They had heard about Roy. Did that mean they were here to-
“And we’re here to find out what killed him.”
What?
“What?”
“Yeah, we, uh-“ Sam shifted his weight awkwardly, “We don’t think it was a … natural death.”
“Well, no shit.” Roy’s chest had been cracked open. You were no coroner, but even you knew that couldn’t exactly be filed under the case of natural deaths.
Now, Dean took a small step forward, trying his best to hold eye contact with you, and your shoulders subconsciously stiffened.
“Y/N-,” he started.
“Dean,” you shot back.
And that wort was like a punch in his guts. Dean felt physically sick. But how could he expect any different really?
You noticed him stumbling slightly at the word, a look of hurt crossing over his face.
Good, you thought.
A part of you wanted to hit him in the chest, scream at him until your voice was raw, Why did you do this? Why did you leave me? When did you stop loving me?
But in the end, you didn’t.
You would rather die than give him the satisfaction of breaking down.
Why you thought he would feel satisfaction at your hurt, you didn’t know.
“So, Roy,” you simply said, something to break the pressing silence in the room.
Sam nodded. “Yes, exactly. We, uhm –“ He pointed to the third man you had never seen before, “and Castiel, we wanted to ask you a few things about him.”
You glanced at the guy in the trenchcoat, who raised his hand to do an awkward little wave. “Nice to meet you.”
“Too,” you said.
There was a silence again, until Dean took the floor. “So, he was one of your friends?” He asked, “That Roy kid?”
People had been doing it for days, yet something about them talking about one of your best friends in the past tense made your stomach turn with uneasiness.
You hummed in agreement.
“We’re sorry for your loss,” Sam said.
“Stick it,” you bit back, and crossed your arms in front of your chest. Sam and Dean exchanged a look.
“Did your friend mention anything … out of the ordinary happen, before he was killed?” The third guy, with the trenchcoat and the weird name which you had already forgotten, asked.
You clenched your jaw and something about the way Dean pressed his eyes shut in exasperation made you believe that this guy’s bluntness was something quite common.
“No,” you simply said. Trenchcoat frowned.
“Are you sure?” Sam asked, taking a slight step forward.
“Yes, I am. Roy never said anything about anything strange that would be in any way valuable to your case.”
“What do you mean by that?” Dean questioned.
You shrugged. “What I said.”
“Y/N, any information you can give us about Roy’s behavior before he died is extremely important and could really help us,” Sam urged.
Something about the way your name slipped off his tongue, with that sense of familiarity and normal, made your skin itch.
You took a deep breath and cleared your throat. “Well, I mean - he just mentioned that he was having those … terrible nightmares all of a sudden.” You shrugged. “Like I said, nothing that would be worth writing down.”
Sam did it anyways.
Dean tilted his head and looked at you quizzically. “Why would you think his nightmares were unusual? I mean, everyone has bad dreams from time to time.”
You shifted your weight uncomfortably. “Yeah, I know, but it’s just …” You paused. This was stupid. “It’s stupid, really, but – Roy doesn’t usually dream.”
Didn’t, you corrected in your head, but the word didn’t make it past your lips.
Sam and Dean looked at each other.
“And it was just strange, because he was having these nightmares frequently, or rather this nightmare, because it was always the exact same,” you keep rambling on.
“What was it about?” Dean asked.
You swept your hand across your forehead. “I don’t know, he wouldn’t talk much about it. Just said that it was like the worst day of his life replaying over and over.”
Dean nodded. Sam frowned in interest.
“Do you know what that was? The worst day of his life?”
You shrugged. “The day he lost his parents, probably,” you said. “The entire house burnt down right in front of him. He made it out, they didn’t.”
Your voice was quiet and pressed, still feeling bad about sharing such an intimate part of Roy’s history with those … strangers. A nagging part in the back of your mind kept telling you he wouldn’t – couldn’t – mind anymore.
Sam’s pen kept scraping over his notebook, and Dean threw a glimpse over his brother’s shoulder. As you watched them, your gaze fell on trenchcoat-guy, who was still positioned in the corner of your room, just a few steps behind them.
He was observing you with interest, blue eyes staring back into yours as if he was looking directly at your soul. Something like a chill ran down your spine.
The man tilted his head, as you diverted your attention back to Dean and Sam. His brows were furrowed.
Cas recognized you. He didn’t know where from, but you looked so weirdly … familiar. Your features, the shape of your face. They way you talked and moved.
“Your boyfriend is staring at me weirdly,” you mentioned to Dean, as you caught the man’s gaze again.
Dean turned his head and looked at him, then back to you. “Yeah, he tends to do that.”
You lifted your eyebrows and made an ‘Ah’ sound. Trenchcoat was getting weirder by the second. But at least the guy had stopped his creepy staring. For now.
“Look, I don’t want you guys here. But I understand that your presence is necessary in order to catch whatever it is that’s killing my friends. So, you just do your thing, look around a bit, kill something, and then leave. Both of you.”
With a look at the third guy in the trenchcoat, you added, “Three.”
Dean avoided your eyes, but Sam nodded jerkily and cleared his throat again. “Yeah, we uh … we understand that.”
He straightened his coat and turned to leave the room. “Thank you for your help for now, really. We’ll get in touch if we need anything else.”
You nodded simply, even though you didn’t exactly know what to make of that idea.
As Sam and trenchcoat-guy made their way to leave the room, Dean took a small step towards you and pulled something out of his suit jacket.
“And if there’s anything else you might remember or see, you can always give us a call.” You stared at the small paper he had handed to you. With dark blue pen, a phone number was sloppily scribbled on it. The edges of the paper were uneven, it had probably been ripped off a bigger sheet.
You pursed your lips and nodded.
“Yeah.” You didn’t know what else to say. Thank you wasn’t really in the cards right now. Dean cleared his throat and stepped back with a nod. Then, they left the room one by one.
“Have a nice day,” Sam said.
“You, too.” The answer came automatically. The door closed behind them with a click, and you were alone again.
The small paper suddenly felt incredibly heavy in your hand.
—
When Dean stepped through the threshold and out into the hallway, he felt like a heavy weight had been lifted off his chest. He took a deep breath like a man starved.
The sick feeling in his stomach still lingered.
He didn’t even wait for the click of the closing door before he started making his way to the exit, trusting that his brother and Castiel would follow.
His fast steps echoed over the hallway, when suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder yank him around. Dean was staring into the eyes of his younger brother. He shook his arm to let Sam’s hand harshly fall off.
“What?”
Sam didn’t say anything, and Dean just glared at him. It was Castiel who spoke up first. His head was tilted, eyebrows scrunched, and a curious tone in his voice.
“She is your … daughter.” It wasn’t a question. Cas had figured out the root of all of Dean’s hesitation – to come here, to stay here, to investigate. All because of one person, that he knew was so close to Dean Winchester, but yet way too far than two people with their natural bond should be.
“What gave it away?” Dean turned to Cas. His tone was bitter. “The attitude or the way she hates my guts?”
Castiel looked him up and down.
“She is so similar to you,” he stated matter-of-factly, completely ignoring Dean’s sarcastic response.
Dean exchanged an annoyed look with his little brother, who simply shrugged.
“All right, now that we’ve cleared that up,” Dean gruffed and made his way down the hallway again, “Let’s go.”
He trusted that the others followed him quietly.
When they reached the gravel path that led from the small castle to their car, Sam picked up his pace to catch up with his older brother. “Dean, I’ve been thinking.”
The man scoffed. “Oh, don’t hurt yourself like that, Sammy.”
“I’m serious.” Sam halted next to his brother and pulled him to a stop with a firm hand on his shoulder. “And I think, maybe… we should sit this one out.”
The way Sam said the last bit was careful, and Dean tilted his head as he turned to his younger brother. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m just saying, maybe this case is too personal for us, Dean. Maybe we should let some other hunter take care of it.”
Dean shook his head. “No way. This is the first time in years that I get to see my daughter, I will not just throw this away.” He lifted his index finger to point it at his brother.
“Well, what exactly is it that you want to do, Dean? It’s not like the two of you have the strongest father-daughter bond!” Sam scoffed and his arms in the air.
Dean started walking towards the impala again. “I know, and that’s why I want to make things right with her.”
“What for, Dean? Just so we leave her here, again?”
"I don’t know!” Dean whirled around in fury as he yelled the words. He slumped his shoulders.
“I don’t know, okay?” He said, his voice was smaller now. “Look, let’s just … let’s finish this case. Give me some time to figure things out and then we will decide.” Dean peeled himself out of his suit jacket and tossed it in the backseat of the impala. He slammed the door. “But first, let’s save some lives.”
Sam shook his head. “Alright. Whatever you say.” He matched Dean as he opened the door to the back and tossed his jacket on the leather seats.
“By the way, where’s Cas?”
Sam threw a look around them. He was right, the angel was nowhere to be found. He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe he zapped to the motel again.”
Dean frowned as he pulled open the front door. The hinges squealed. “We need to have a serious talk with him about that. Can’t have him disappearing on me the entire time.”
Sam frowned. Dean meant them, right? Couldn’t have him disappearing on them the entire time. Us.
Right?
Sam decided to shrug his brother’s strange comment off for now and got in the passenger’s seat.
“We have to go there anyways. Do some research,” he said.
Dean hummed and started the car. Sam could about assume what that meant. The gravel gnarled under the Impala’s tires as they drove off.
—
Back alone in your room again, you sat on your desk chair as your playlist of favorite songs blasted through your headphones. Dark ink started covering your thighs, where you were drawing on them with your pen as you had placed them on the surface of the desk.
The past few minutes, your mind had been insanely occupied with processing what the actual fuck had just happened. Because. Well. What the actual fuck had just happened?
When they had knocked on your door, you had expected the normal questioning, something that Cass and Finn had been talking about anyways.
When you turned around, just to stare at the face of Dean Winchester, your mind had gone fully devoid of every thought ever formed.
The typical “heart slipping into your pants.”
It felt as if you had worked on autopilot, not even coherently remembering what you had said to them. Had your reaction been an appropriate one? After years of imagining this exact scenario, in all ways and forms it could’ve played out, you not being able to form a simple sentence had not been one of them.
In afterthought, maybe you should’ve punched Dean.
Maybe that would’ve been the appropriate response.
The sharp sound of a knock at your door made you startle. You pulled your headphones off your ears and turned the music off. Those things were great, but in all those years they had never quite managed to overpower the sounds around you.
Maybe that was why you were still allowed to wear them all the time.
“Who’s there?” You asked loudly into the room.
“Me.”
Your eyebrows furrowed. The fuck? How was there not a single normal person knocking on your bedroom door today?
“Who is me?” You asked again.
The door opened just the tiniest bit, creaking in the process, and through peeked the head of the third man that had accompanied Sam and Dean earlier.
Trenchcoat guy.
“It’s me,” he repeated.
You frowned. “Uhm - come in?” You invited him and lifted your feet off the table.
Trenchcoat guy carefully shuffled in through the gap in the door until he stood in your room, awkwardly, and his stiff posture made him look so out of place, it was almost funny.
When he didn’t seem to plan on doing anything more than eyeing the bookshelf on the other wall, you decided to speak up.
“I’m sorry, but I think I forgot your name.”
Slowly, he turned his attention back to you, as if he had now just remembered that you were there. “I’m Castiel,” he answered in a deep, gravelly voice.
You raised your eyebrows. “Ah. Right.” Another beat of silence. “Are you, like - Dean’s boyfriend or something?” You asked.
Castiel frowned and tilted his head. “Me and your father are not romantically involved in any way whatsoever,” he reassured you.
“Ah,” you said again. Then, “Did Dean send you?”
Castiel shook his head, almost offended at the implication. “After our … conversation, earlier, he figured you were not too enthusiastic to see him. That is why only I am here.”
You swallowed hard. No, that wasn’t true.
“He’s damn right.”
Castiel nodded.
Then it was quiet again. “Is there … anything you need?” You dragged out, unsure of what he was planning to do in here exactly.
“Well, no, not specifically, I just - wanted to talk to you,” Castiel said, though he seemed not too secure about his purpose himself. “About your father.”
“Dean,” you corrected, but were sure Castiel didn’t miss how your shoulders stiffened at it. The man in the trenchcoat frowned and dipped his head lightly.
“Yes, your father.” He repeated.
You shook your head. “He’s not my father. He’s just Dean.”
“As I understand it, you were conceived through him and your mother having sexual intercourse, therefore-“
“Okay! Thank you,” you interrupted him and raised your hand to sign stop. “What do you want?”
Castiel took a few steps closer to you, keeping his gaze fixed on the floor as he seemed to look for the right words.
“I fear your father- Dean,” he corrected himself with a look in your direction, “does feel very bad about what happened between you and him.”
You pursed your lips. “So? Did he tell you that?”
Castiel looked sheepish. “No,” he answered honestly, “But I know your- him. Just because he does not like to talk about his feelings does not mean that he does not feel them.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Let me ask you something, Castiel,” you said. He nodded. “Anything.”
“Do you know at all what happened? Between me and him?”
Again, Castiel looked away. You did not know this man. You did not know what his history with Dean was, or with Sam. But you knew that he knew nothing.
“No.” That one word confirmed it.
You bit the inside of your cheek.
“Then - excuse my choice of words - but you have no room to talk. And if Dean wants to tell me something, he can always do that himself. In person. He’s here anyway.”
Castiel nodded. “Alright.”
It was silent again, between you and him, until Castiel took in a sharp breath and leaned forward into something close to a bow.
“I’m sure they await me,” he explained. “Goodbye, Y/N.” He then turned around to open the door, but paused mid his action.
“You do look a lot like him, you know?” He said.
That’s it.
“Out,” you ordered him harshly and Castiel walked through the door, closing it behind him.
—
You had, in fact, ended up helping Cass study for her upcoming exam. Well, what means help, you had asked her questions and she had to answer them correctly - which worked expectedly not so well.
“I can just play the dead friend card,” she had joked, but you knew that she was actually actively considering it.
In that moment though, you had just skipped over her remark and continued asking her about the digestive system of a Baird’s beaked whale.
It was already late at night when the two of you finally hugged goodbye.
“Thank you so much,” she said. “You helped a lot. I’ll forget it all until tomorrow morning, but I do appreciate your effort.”
You smiled at her. “Don’t worry, you’ll nail it. Or at least not fail.”
She laughed. “You think too highly of me, Y/N.”
For a few moments, nobody said a word. “I never asked you,” Cass eventually started, “are you okay?”
You took a deep breath and shifted your weight. “Considering the circumstances, I guess. You?”
“Same thing,” she said. You laid your head back and stared at the ceiling. “It still feels weird only being three people,” you realized.
“Yeah,” Cass agreed quietly.
A few beats of silence passed, until you got yourself back together and shook your body as if to shake off your grief.
“But whatever,” you sighed. “Can’t change that now, can we?”
You looked at Cass and she hummed with a dull shrug, seeming lost in her own thoughts.
She absentmindedly opened her bedroom door, but just as she wanted to disappear into the room, you grabbed her arm to stop her for a second.
“By the way, about your nightmares,” you said, “maybe you can take some pills against that, if it gets too much. Unregulated sleep is probably worse than no sleep.”
Cass managed a tired smile. “Will try, thanks. Goodnight babes, love you,” she threw you a kiss.
“Love you too, good night,” you said back and smiled at her, waiting until she closed the door to enter your own room.
—
You didn’t know what woke you up. The glowing numbers of the digital clock on your nightstand showed it to be somewhere around half past three. Really not your usual wake-up time.
Just as you rolled around in your sheets to get your missing hours of sleep in, you heard strange shuffling outside your door. Perking up, you realized it sounded like the overlapping chatter of voices, and shoes pounding over the smooth floor.
Yeah, no way you would be going back to sleep now.
Especially not with the uncomfortable feeling that had settled into your stomach.
Stumbling a bit, your joints not quite awake yet, you trutted over to your door and creaked it open slightly.
The white light burned your eyes at the start, as you slipped out of your room and were met with the sight of multiple people fussing around not that far away.
The uneasy feeling only got worse, as you realized two things at once: The people were first responders, firefighters, to be exact. And they were all gathered around the open door across the hallway to yours.
Cass.
You moved on autopilot, as your feet carried you closer to the scene, eyes not leaving the gaping black hole that was the entrance to your best friend’s room.
“What happened?” You asked the closest paramedic next to you, a young man with brown hair and dark gear. It didn’t help much, because his voice faded out into the back of your head, as movement began to settle over the group.
The paramedic gestured his hands, as he talked to you, though that was not at all what had grabbed your attention.
You could only look at her, as she was lying sprawled out on the stretcher that was being wheeled out of her bedroom.
Cass.
But it wasn’t Cass, it couldn’t be. Dark grey plastic was wrapped around her body, covering her features as one of the firefighters that pushed the gurney zipped the material closed.
A body bag.
You felt bile rise into your throat.
Who put a seventeen-year-old in a body bag?
She wasn’t supposed to be there. What was she doing in there.
She had a biology exam tomorrow. She was supposed to join you at breakfast. In just a few hours. She was supposed to still lay in her bed and sleep, fast and sound.
Lay in her bed. Not on a moving gurney. Her bed.
You had laid in that bed. Just a few hours before.
The exam.
Breakfast.
Dark grey plastic.
Body Bag. A body. Dead. A dead body.
Dead. Dead. Gone.
Gone. Gone. Gone. Dead.
Like a distant echo, you still vaguely registered the young paramedic talking to you; he came to an abrupt stop when you bent over and threw up on his shoes.
༺ ｡ ° ୨❀୧ ° ｡ ༻
Sioux Falls 2009
The soft music that sounded through Grandpa Bobby’s old house reminded you of Auntie Ellen’s Roadhouse.
It made you a bit homesick, but for a while now, whenever you asked Dad if you could go there again, he just shook his head and said that it wasn’t possible.
That’s also the reason why you’d been living with Grandpa Bobby for very long now, he had told you.
Auntie Ellen and Jo came to visit sometimes, but it wasn’t the same. But you saw Dad much more often, and you liked that. You missed him whenever he went out and saved people.
Grandpa Bobby had told you that it was very important, what Dad and Uncle Sam did. That’s why you never complained when they stayed away for long.
Grandpa Bobby said they saved lives. Like firemen, he said. Or Sheriff Jody.
Auntie Ellen and Jo came over for a visit today. Dad had said that they were here to help him and Uncle Sam take care of something, that’s why they had to leave later.
Jo was playing your favorite boardgame with you. You had missed her. She was still very pretty. You knew your Dad thought that too.
“Alright,” Dad said, walking through the threshold that connected Grandpa Bobby’s workroom and the dinner table where you and Jo were currently playing. “It’s time to get this little Lady to sleep.”
You pouted at him.
“But Dad, I still want to stay up and play with Jo!”
Dad raised his eyebrows and threw a pointing look at his watch.
“It is already way past your bedtime, kiddo. And I heard tomorrow is a big school day?”
He was right. Tomorrow, you started your first singing lessons with all your bestest friends. Not all of them as best friends as Jo was, though.
Your shoulders slumped.
“Can I at least say Goodbye to you?”
Dean’s gaze went soft as he looked at you. He knew how hard this was for you, how he left all the time and came back for only such short periods. But he wanted to make this a better world for you to grow up in. And when all of this was over, and it would be tonight, hopefully, then he would allow himself to settle down and spend all the time he could give with you.
“Of course you can, my little love.”
Dad crouched down and lifted you up into his arms.
“Dean, Jo!” Came Auntie Ellen’s voice from the study, “We’re ready!”
Dad threw you a mysterious look as he stepped into Grandpa Bobby’s workspace, where he and Auntie Ellen and Uncle Sam already stood lined up.
You noticed the camera set up on a strange construction.
Auntie Ellen and Uncle Sam smiled when they saw you.
“You don’t mind a small addition, do you, Ellen?” Dad asked, and Auntie Ellen shook her head.
“Of course not!” She smiled, and made space for you and Dad to stand next to her. He was still carrying you in his arms, supporting your weight with his hip.
“Alright, on the count of three, all smile in the camera!” Uncle Sam said.
“One, two, three!”
You giggled when Dad tickled your stomach. You wanted to see the picture right now, but Grandpa Bobby had told you it would take a while to develop.
Enveloped in bear hugs from Auntie Ellen, Jo, Uncle Sam and Dad, to say goodbye to them, you finally agreed to go to bed.
“Dad?” You asked him, as he went to close the door behind him. Dad turned around and looked at you, snuggled into the warm blanket with your favorite stuffed animal under your arm.
“You’ll come back soon, right?”
Dad smiled at your words. “Of course I will, sweetheart. And Uncle Sam, and Auntie Ellen, and Jo. All of us.”
“You promise?”
Dad pressed a kiss into your hair.
“Don’t worry about that, baby. Sleep well.”
Even years later, Dean Winchester still carried an old photograph in his wallet, of a brunette mother, a blonde daughter, a father figure, and two brothers.
Though, one of them wasn’t looking at the camera, but rather at the small child he held on his side, his hand on her stomach as she blindingly smiled a carefree smile into the camera.
His own was dreamy as he watched her, and yes, for that moment, he dared to say, maybe even carefree as well.
༺ ｡ ° ୨❀୧ ° ｡ ༻
Now
Cass’s room was never quiet. Whether she was blasting music or playing guitar, singing her soul out in the shower or watching a move obnoxiously louder than it had to be.
Cass’s room was never quiet. Especially not as it was now.
The silver streams of light reaching through the window made her bedroom almost look so soft and inviting, as you stood there, observing, not quite in the hallway but not exactly in the room either.
It was macabre, what you saw. Not because the room looked so terrible, no, because it looked so … normal.
None of the bookshelves were tumbled over, or paper sprawled all across the floor.
The loose decoration items weren’t lying disheveled everywhere. No signs of a fight. A physical one.
The bed wasn’t made. Cass never did that.
The room looked so normal.
It looked so right.
So why wasn’t she?
“Y/N, sweetheart,” The sound of the familiar, comforting voice of Maria Whitlock reached your ears and made you slowly turn around.
Even through the blur of unshed tears in your eyes, you could make out the two familiar figures standing behind her.
“There’s someone here to talk to you.”
You blinked away the tears and caught Dean’s gaze, and for the first time since you had seen him again, his features looked so soft and merciful, towards you, it had the power to almost shatter your heart.
And you hated yourself for how much you wanted to be comforted by him, be held in his arms like the small child that once had been, only seeking safety with her-
“What are you doing here?” The question came out harsher than you had expected it to, almost an accusation. But neither Sam nor Dean did flinch at your tone.
“We wanted to talk to you.”
“Why?” It was obvious why. They knew, you knew, they knew you knew.
“I think you know about what,” Sam said, the softness in his voice grazing your stuttering heartbeat like a soft breeze.
Dean gestured in the direction of your room.
“In private.”
You didn’t want to speak alone to them. Then again, for the past almost-decade, it had been everything you could’ve wished for.
As you settled onto your bed, both Sam and Dean taking it upon themselves to find chairs to be comfortable, you felt like a small child again.
Looking at Dean, there was a familiarity that you needed, it was grounding, and you hated that it was. His presence, which had felt like home, and like safety for so long, being everything that you craved these past few days made your skin itch, because he still felt so right.
And you still felt so safe with him.
In a matter of seconds, you stood there and turned from a young woman into a small child, that wanted to throw herself in his arms and let him tell her that everything would turn out to be alright, because he was there, and he would look out for you. No matter what happened between the two of you, that had not changed, and you didn’t know what to think about it.
Sam was the first one to clear his throat. Of course he was.
“How are you feeling?”
Half-heartedly, because that was all you could muster right now, you raised an eyebrow at him. At least he had the decency to look a bit ashamed of his question.
“We’re sorry for your loss.”
Surprised, you turned your head to look at Dean. His green eyes were soft with sincerity.
“I don’t know how much she meant to you.” He glanced at Sam. “But I can imagine.”
You swallowed hard and looked back at your fumbling fingers again.
“Yeah, she was – she was great.” Your voice broke mid-sentence and you sniffled.
You cleared your throat. “Uhm, but – anyways, that’s not why you’re here. Am I right?”
Sam and Dean exchanged a look, that could be regret as much as it could be pity, and then turned back to you.
“We’re sorry. But if we want to catch whatever is doing this, we need to have all the information,” Sam apologized.
You nodded. You already knew what they were going to ask, so you saved their time and jumped straight to the answers.
“There was nothing – unusual.” You rubbed your eyes. “She was okay just yesterday, she was- I helped her studying biology, we-“ You interrupted yourself.
Sam threw you another pitying look.
“Is there a chance she might’ve had nightmares too? You know, like Roy,” Dean asked you.
You threw your hand in the air. “Yeah, I guess,” you said. “Didn’t really think that much into it. You know, considering what happened.”
Dean bit the inside of his cheeks and gulped. “Right.”
It was quiet again. The brothers looked at each other one last time, before Sam stood up and fixed his suit jacket.
“Alright. We’re gonna leave you now.”
Please don’t.
You nodded.
Sam stretched his hand out to reach for you, but hesitated mid-air and pulled his arm back again.
“Whenever you need something,” Dean said meaningfully, before he stepped out the door, “Call us.” Call me.
You hummed absently.
The click of the lock drowned the bedroom in a deafening silence again.
—
Night came sooner than you thought it would. Sleep didn’t.
You thought, with the exhaustion that had been dragging down your bones all day long, it would only be a matter of time until exhaustion claimed you.
Without thinking about it, you grabbed your phone from your nightstand and opened up your chat with Finn.
With a sting in your heart, you realized that the last text conversation the two of you had had, had been more than a week ago.
Before all of this started.
Your keyboard clicked as you typed out the message.
hey
The answer came almost instantly.
Hey
can’t sleep either?
No
Your thumbs hovered over the buttons as you thought of what to type next.
I’m sorry we didn’t talk the entire day
It’s okay
It’s not like I came to see you either
would it be terrible to ask how you’re feeling?
Everyone’s been asking that
Oh, how you knew.
But to be honest
I don’t know
First Roy now Cass
Hasn’t reached my brain tbh
Feels more like a dream and I could wake up any second
I know what you mean
You paused for a moment, before you decided to send out the next text.
I’m still waiting for her to waltz into my room at 6 in the morning because she wants to get some mini donuts at breakfast before they’re all gone
You could practically hear the snickering laugh of Finn’s, as the icon told you he was typing out his next message.
Or letting my Alexa play the most random songs
I swear to God I’ve heard less sexual content in actual porn than that one Nicki Minaj song
first of all, it was cardi b, you pig, and
second that song is legendary
she was right to show it to you
A short while, you didn’t get an answer and you were almost afraid that Finn had either fallen asleep or that you had said something inappropriate, when the familiar ding made your screen light up.
We can catch up tomorrow
You know, maybe it would help us both
I know we haven’t been the same since all of this started, but I would really like us to be
Now more than ever
A heavy tug clamped around your heart at his words
you’re right
let’s talk tomorrow
Alright
Goodnight Y/N
good night finn
Sleep didn’t come in the first second after you plugged your phone on the charger, or even after you turned around to face the other wall.
But, as you laid on your back and felt the comforting arms of exhaustion grab after you, you had a feeling that it would’ve been worse if you had not talked to Finn.
—
Meanwhile, in the motel, Dean was slamming his third book this evening shut and tossed it onto the ever-growing pile of “absolute useless crap that nobody needed and was a total waste of time”. The name had been his idea.
Sam didn’t even look up as his brother stood up with a screeching from the wooden floor as he slid the chair back, and started pacing around the room.
“I hate this,” he mumbled under his breath.
“How is it even possible that, everywhere we look, there isn’t even the smallest hint at what we might be chasing?”
Demonstratively, he picks up a book from the pile they brought back from the library, and lets it fall on the desk again.
“Not to mention that we’re completely wasting our time here reading through this absolute crap, and we’ve got jack squat!”
The paper rustled as Sam turned another page.
“I already told you, Dean,” he muttered, eyes still concentrated on the faded ink of the book. “There was nothing online, so we had to go old-school.”
Dean kept muttering under his breath. “This is ridiculous.”
Sam rolled his eyes and placed a new book where his brother had been sitting a few minutes ago.
“If you want it to go faster and we can catch this thing, sit down and get to reading. Research doesn’t do itself.”
Dean was still cursing under his breath when he reached the second chapter.
—
The loud chatter of multiple conversations, accompanied by faint music playing in the background and the occasional clinking of glasses or beer bottles was an all too familiar mix of noises for you.
The light in the Roadhouse bar was still a warm-toned white, and the men and women all towered over you in lengths. Immediately, the feeling of home engulfed you.
You were looking around, searching for the familiar set of colorful crayons, where had your Auntie Ellen put them? You were bored and wanted to draw a pretty picture of the horse you had seen this morning.
Squeezing through the people, they all made way for you when they realized who wanted to get past them, you tried calling out for Auntie Ellen or Jo, but no tone left your throat.
A panicked feeling settled in your stomach.
Then, you spotted a tall figure just a few feet away from you. They were wearing a cool leather jacket and had their back turned to you.
You made your way over to them. You didn’t know why, but somehow you knew that this stranger could help you.
When you had almost reached them, they suddenly started moving and walked away. You wanted to cry after them, but you still couldn’t speak.
You moved your legs as fast as you could, running after them, but the people in the bar suddenly got more and more, always shoving and not making room for you anymore.
The person still hadn’t shown you their face, you could only see their back as you fought to get to them. Then, they walked through the door out of the Roadhouse.
With one last push, and a protesting yell that didn’t leave your throat, you rushed after them into the light.
With a creak, the Impala’s door swung open, and you shuffled your feet out of the car until they hit the gravel.
Dad had offered to open the door for you, but you were a big girl already, you could get out of the car on your own.
When you turned around to ask him what you were doing here, you faltered.
The Impala was gone. So was Dad. And Uncle Sam. You looked around, but they were nowhere to be found. Your breathing quickened as you realized that you were alone, somewhere you didn’t know, on stoney ground with only your bunny slippers. You didn’t even have your favorite stuffed animal with you!
“Hey, let’s go,” you suddenly heard a voice say, and turned around to see a girl with black hair stand in front of you.
Suddenly, as you had just been looking up to her, the two of you were now eye to eye. She just stared at you.
A name popped into your head.
Cass.
That’s weird. You knew a Cass. And then it hit you.
Your best friend. Roy, Finn, Cassandra. Sam and Dean.
But Cass was dead. She couldn’t be here. Looking around, you noticed that the scenery around you was blurry by the edges.
Weren’t you standing on a pathway just now? Why were you in a cafeteria?
This wasn’t real, none of it. It was a dream.
Harsh dread clawed itself into your heart like iced water. You had to get out of here. How did you get out of a dream?
You knew it, you had done this before, with your nightmares. You had to die.
You moved your feet, tried running away, but the floor wouldn’t budge, no matter how hard you tried, you didn’t move an inch, it’s like you were stuck.
You began to panic. This couldn’t be, there had to be a way for you to get out.
The next thing you knew, you lost the ground beneath your feet, and everything was black. You were falling.
You felt your organs being lifted by the air pressing you up, felt your heart pump so hard you were afraid it would jump out of your chest.
There was nothing around, only darkness, only empty.
No, no, no.
You wanted to scream, but your vocal cords were cut. Not a sound escaped your lips.
You had to get out, if there was nothing around you, how could you die?
You screamed without a sound.
If this was your dream, why couldn’t you just shape it the way you wanted?
The next thing you knew, there was light around you, and you were running again.
“Dean, look at this.” Sam slammed a massive book under Dean’s nose, dangerously close to Dean’s freshly filled coffee. Reflexive, Dean pulled the cup a few inches away.
Sam placed his finger on one of the open pages of the book. “Here,” he said. “I think this could be it.” Dean leaned forward to read.
You had landed on a road, a highway, judging by the many cars around you. This time, you actually managed to run somewhere, even if a lot slower than you usually would. Like treading through water.
It felt like you were chasing something, but you didn’t know what it was.
“If this is really it,” Dean said, when he finished reading, “Then we have a big problem.”
You did your best to remember your original plan. Right now, you were on a stripe of green next to the busy road. You had to change that.
Sam nodded heavily. “We need to get to Saint George’s immediately.”
Sam grabbed his jacket, but Dean didn’t move an inch, still staring at the handwritten words on the old paper in front of him.
You used all your strength to tread to the left, where cars were rushing from both sides over the street.
“This thing basically feeds off of bad experiences, right?”
Sam nods.
It was a red car that did it. You saw it coming as you made a beeline over the highway. As you noticed the headlights speeding towards you, for a split second you asked yourself, “What if this isn’t a dream. What if this is real.” You didn’t feel the impact when the car hit you.
“Then that means-“ Dean’s head shot up so fast Sam feared his brother would get whiplash.
“Y/N,” Dean breathed out.
Your heart was still beating rapidly in your chest when you officially woke up. The memory of the nightmare was still rushing through your minds, pictures playing behind your eyelids.
You had a hard time breathing, your chest felt as if it was carrying a hard weight that caged in your lungs.
You forced open your eyes to get yourself a glass of water. You were met with two yellow glowing orbs staring right back at you, merely inches away from your face in the darkness of the room.
You couldn’t stop the terrified scream that erupted from your throat.
oooh guys, only one chapter to go! what are we thinking? do you have any ideas on what the monster could be? and what do we think about cass and finn? comments & reblogs are always appreciated, see y’all in the next part!
#dean winchester fic#dean winchester x child!reader#dean winchester#dean winchester x daughter!reader#dean winchester angst#dean winchester fluff#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester imagine#dean winchester x female!reader#dean winchester x you#supernatural imagine#supernatural#father of mine#sweet child o mine#yourmomxx
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Hotch X plus size reader? I need some self-representation and don’t have enough energy to write myself yet.
a/n: anon, I got you! I threw in some insecurity/reassurance, because you said you wanted representation and if it’s not about that topic, I always try to angle my writing in a way that it fits for (women) of all body types and races..thank you for your request, I hope you like this!!
Aaron knew that something was wrong when you didn’t throw in commenting remarks while you were curled up by his side, you both slouching on the couch in the living room, watching The Nanny.
He didn’t say anything about it, he let you be, thought you might have just had an exhausting day at work and weren’t currently in the mood or condition to interact with anyone.
He knew those days.
Aaron knew, that if there was something obviously bothering you, you would tell him about it, you always did.
But when Cece and Niles started going at it on the TV screen, verbally slapping each other around without ever so much as raising a finger and even his mouth broke into a slight grin, and you still weren’t reacting to any of it, he wondered.
Without saying anything, Aaron reached for the remote and put the TV on mute. It was only when the continuous background noise suddenly stopped, that you looked up from where you had been intensely focused on fidgeting your fingers, and furrowed your eyebrows in question.
“Why did you turn off the sound?” You asked him, voice smaller than usual, although he was sure you thought you were great at concealing that something was bothering you.
Aaron signed and adjusted himself in-between the cushions. He made sure you stayed tucked into his side, though.
He nudged your head with his nose. “Tell me,” he murmured lowly, “what’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?”
You bit the inside of your cheek and did your best to avoid his eyes.
“I fucking hate profilers, you know that?” You grumbled. Aaron’s chest shivered as he let out a quiet laugh.
“So,” His free hand grabbed for your chin and tilted it to focus on him, his thumb slowly smoothing out your eyebrows. “Tell me. You know I will listen.”
You sighed. Honestly, there was no point in denying it anymore. You knew how your boyfriend valued the subject of communication in your relationship, and also now that he knew that something was plaguing your thoughts, there was really no way to escape.
You had really thought you’d done a good job at hiding it, that something obviously had you troubled.
But apparently not well enough for Aaron.
You always asked yourself if his job was the reason why he was able to see through your facade that easy, or if your facade was simply that easy to see through.
“Look, it’s just-“ You picked up the habit of fidgeting your fingers again, “-I know I shouldn’t even think like that, because it’s childish, and stupid, and pathetic, and -“
“Hey, hey, hey.” Aaron pulled you closer into him. “Don’t talk about yourself like that. You hear me? Whatever you feel, it cannot be either of those things, because it is your feeling, and as such, it is valid. Do you understand me?”
You couldn’t do more than nod. The question of how you deserved someone as kind as him made the knot in your throat only grow tighter.
Your hands were much easier to look at than his face. You felt like a sinner confessing.
“It’s just that-“ You started, embarrassment and self-consciousness weighing heavy on your chest, “I’ve been thinking, for a while now. And when we go out, with your friends, and I see someone like Emily Prentiss, who could probably run a ten mile sprint right now if I asked her to, or JJ, who had a child and still looks like she could get hired by every second modeling agency, I-“
You blinked away tears, but even though the hot fluids didn’t run down your cheeks, the way your voice trembled and broke was enough evidence that they were there.
“And when I’m alone with my mind at night, or literally any time, I start to think about it, and I think, I never could be them. And I ask myself, why would you be here, and why would you stay with me, with someone like me, if you had women like them as an option? And I know that’s not fair to you, but even everytime I watch TV, I am reminded that I am not one of those stereotypically pretty women, and it just messes with me so, so much.”
Now, the tears were flowing. Big, salty drops were trickling down your cheeks, taking chunks of mascara down with them.
You didn’t care in that moment.
Aaron just held you closer.
It felt good, to cry, for the first time in a long time. It was cliché, but it felt relieving.
Aaron waited. He was good at doing that, and you appreciated it.
It took a short while for your sniffles to die down, and for you to shakily accept the tissue that your boyfriend was handing you, but you managed.
Aaron brushed a stray tear off your cheek and pressed a barely there kiss on the top of your head.
“Are you ready to listen to me, sweetheart?” He asked.
You took a deep breath.
“Because if you want to continue making points on how Hollywood makes biased casting choices, then I’m fine with that, too.”
You couldn’t help the shaky chuckle escaping your throat at his words.
When you didn’t make a move to say anything, your boyfriend slowly pushed a strand of hair behind your ear and let his thumb trace soft patterns on where it rested on your shoulder.
"I want to reassure you that there is nothing, and I mean nothing, that you have to worry about. Not when it comes to your appearance, my co-workers, women I see on the street, or, most importantly, my feelings for you."
You opened your mouth, but Aaron forestalled you.
"I know that you didn't mean to tell me you doubted me, but I want to tell you anyways. Y/N, what I want is to grow old with you. To spend every last minute of my day coming home to you, having you in my arms. Looks wither, and therefore would never be the reason for me to fall in love with you or perceive you as beautiful merely on them."
“Yes, but the way someone looks is the first way one notices about them, if they want to or not!”
Aaron shook his head.
“No, the first thing I noticed about you was that you ran into me and spilled brewing hot coffee all over my suit,” Aaron corrected you. “And then continued to pay the bill for my coffee for a whole month after that, even though I told you it was fine.”
You dipped your head in thought. It’s true, you had done that. Every time you’d come into the small coffee shop, the barista had already known to bill your coffee, and Aaron’s on top of it.
Until someday, you both walked in at the same time, together.
“Do you hear me?” Aaron continued, “I don’t mean to invalidate the way you feel, but I want you to understand, that, from me, you have nothing to worry about. Because, after a long day, or days, of work with Prentiss, and with JJ, it is you I come home to, and happily so. It is you who I will get down on my knee for at a beautiful, private beach on a day when it’s neither to warm nor to cold, because I know it is exactly what you want. It’s you who I want to fall asleep next to, and wake up next to again, and who I would skip a day of work for just so I could stay longer in bed with you. And I know I said looks don't matter to me, because don't get me wrong, they don't, but you are singlehandedly the most beautiful woman I have ever come across the entire time I have spent in this world. Now maybe call me biased, because I love you so much, but I don't care. Do you understand me?”
You craned your neck the slightest bit to look him in the eye, and his hey held so much sincerity and passion - for you - that you couldn’t do anything else than believe in what he said.
You sniffled slightly and nodded as an answer to him.
“I’m afraid I need to hear you say it,” Aaron said.
Another shaky nod. “I understand.”
“Good.” Aaron leaned closer and pressed a kiss to your lips, and your muscles slumped together at the comfort and the exhaustion, and a sigh escapes from your mouth into his even as he broke away.
“Now please, come on.” Aaron stood up from the couch and rested his hand on your cheek, lips leaned in close to yours as he whispered, “Let me show you how beautiful I think you are.” Another soft kiss.
“Until you believe me.”
—
“Here’s the file about the Colorado murders you wanted me to get you.” Without knocking, David Rossi strutted into Aaron Hotchner’s office, because it’s simply what he always did.
Aaron barely raised his head to shoot him a brief thanks as he dropped a beige folder on his desk.
Rossi was almost out the door, when Hotch spoke up again and stopped him.
“Dave, do you happen to know how far our authority range reaches?”
David Rossi stopped in his tracks, one eyebrow raised suspiciously at his friend’s odd question.
“I don’t think we’ll get the President to destroy his big, red button,” He responded, “But the answer to that question really depends on what you’re asking for.”
Hotch dipped his head slowly. “Well, let’s say, maybe … Hollywood?”
#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner#aaron hotch hotchner#aaron hotch x reader#aaron hotch imagine#aaron hotchner imagine#criminal minds imagine#criminal minds x reader#aaron hotch fanfiction#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner x y/n#aaron hotchner x female reader#aaron hotchner x plus size reader#requested#yourmomxx
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hii, i saw you were asking for some cm requests and i always have cm on my mind so, i was wondering if you could do something with a nurse!reader and spencer or hotch?? maybe just both of them coming home after a long day (a 12 hr shift for reader, probably a closed case for him) and domestic-y cosy comfort vibes. maybe some late night talks that don’t really make sense or lead to anything
thank u!! 🫶🫶 (as always with every request, no pressure)
a/n: oh, that’s such a sweet request, I just had to do it for both of them! I hope you like what I did with it, I love domestic vibes
ᴬᴬᴿᴼᴺ
Sharing a home with Aaron Hotchner was a difficult thing to manage. Maybe, because the two of you weren’t home as much as a regular person would mostly be, but maybe because you had always been the proud owner of the ability to care - sometimes too much - about other people, and Aaron tended to go as far as to care not enough for himself.
So, after you both moved in together, it became sort of an unspoken contest between the two of you of who came home first, because it would inevitably set the tone for the rest of the night.
Aaron liked to spoil you senselessly when he came home before you, cuddling with you, making sure you relax, drink enough water, the whole deal.
And if you arrived home first, then, well - you did the things for him that he definitely missed out while he was away on a case.
You were standing near the stove, frying small slices of potatoes when the significant sound of turning keys and the front door opening rang through the halls.
When Aaron noticed your shoes standing out front, and the smell of freshly cooked food, a sigh escaped his lips that came close to a chuckle.
You just turned off the heat, when two strong arms were wrapped around you from behind, the feeling of soft lips pressing against the back of your head.
The warmth of a strong body was pressed against your backside. A content sigh slipped past your lips.
Everything safe and secure, you turned in Aaron’s hold and pecked his lips in a greeting kiss.
“Hello, handsome,” you smiled up at him. “Fancy seeing you again.”
Aaron let out a low grumble, corners of his mouth twitching upwards before he leaned down and kissed you again.
The feeling of him against you, in whatever way, was something you’d missed for the past three days that he had been away in - Nevada? Colorado? You didn’t know anymore.
“Hey.” The word came as a gentle murmur past Aaron’a lips as he broke away from you.
His eyes trailed over your shoulder and he craned his neck a bit.
“Are those fried potato slices?”
You nodded and pointed toward a bowl on the counter.
“With self made ranch, jalapeños and leek.” You dipped your head.
“Well, the jalapeños and the leek aren’t self made, but you know what I mean.”
Aaron smiled at you. “Yes, I do.” He kissed you again. God, it was so nice having him back.
Eating dinner with Aaron was also something that you had missed dearly, you did every time.
You would sit opposite each other on the old, but modern wooden table, and share stories about the recent cases you had worked, or patients you had treated, and you would spill the occasional - every single detail - about new gossip at work to your boyfriend.
Aaron didn’t always tell you everything about the cases he’s worked while he was away.
Some things simply were classified, some he just didn’t want you to be a part of, not in any way.
The warm light of the kitchen lamp illuminated his cheekbones beautifully.
Occasionally, the one or the other car would drive by the house.
Aaron dropped his go-bag on the floor next to your shared bed and pulled himself out of his work clothes to get ready for a shower.
You bent down to sort through the stuffed things of his duffle.
“These are all worn, right?” You asked him.
Aaron looked up at your question, but was as quick to wave you off.
“You don’t have to do that now, sweetheart,” He argued.
“You shower, and I’ll just do the simplest things in that time. Alright?”
Aaron weighed his head, and, after a few seconds of inner conflicting, agreed. “Alright. Thank you,” he said, and made his way to the bathroom.
You carefully sorted through his belongings, mentally patting yourself on the shoulder for choosing a partner that was as neat and organized as Aaron was, because that way, you didn’t have to inevitably wash and iron every single one of his shirts whenever he came home from work.
You pulled a dark t shirt from the bottom of the bag and folded it up. It was a simple cut, one-colored.
You held your nose against the fabric. It smelled like Aaron’s perfume, as probably the whole batch of clothes from the bag did, but not like it had been worn by him all that often.
Short-handedly, you changed out of your Pyjama top and pulled Aaron’s shirt over your head instead.
You smiled as you adjusted the soft material. It was a much better option, anyway.
You were tossing the dirty pieces in the laundry basket just as Aaron came into the room again, sweatpants and a tshirt on, rubbing his black hair dry with a small towel.
He halted in his movements when he noticed what you were wearing. A tilt of his lips, almost like a smirk grew visible on his face.
He stepped the few feet closer to you and drew you into a loving kiss. All his feelings were poured into the small point were your lips met his, were you both were connected, for the break of a lifetime, but as beautiful it could last eternally.
He didn't distance himself much from you, your noises were still touching, and you could feel the wavering in his breath as he spoke.
"Looks comfortable, what you're wearing there."
You smiled quietly.
Aaron drew the towel over his hair one last time, before folding it and tossing it over the heating neatly.
You were already waiting for him under the warm covers when he crawled into bed.
His head sinking onto the pillow, Aaron closed his eyes and drew out a long sigh. "This feels good," He whispered.
Your fingers found their way into his hair naturally, combing through the short strands carefully.
Aaron didn't open his eyes, but you felt the light push as he leaned into your touch.
"Missed this bed," He murmured. And he looked at you.
"Missed you."
You leaned forward and brushed your lips with his. The sheets rustled.
"I missed you, too."
You fell asleep that night, warmed by the heavy down blanket, fingers resting against the stubbly jaw of the man you loved, feet tangled together somewhere under the sheets, basking in everything that was Aaron Hotchner.
ˁᴾᴱᴺᶜᴱᴿ
The warm breath of Spencer was slowly ghosting over your skin, where his head was tucked safely in your neck.
You felt his even breathing rhythm as his chest lifted up and down under your fingertips, which drew nonsense patterns over his light blue shirt.
Spencer and you had gotten home around the same time tonight, as much of a rare occurence that was.
The cold stone of the kitchen counter under your naked thighs was a nice cool in contrast to your heated skin.
When Spencer had entered the apartment, before the door had even clicked shut behind him, he had made his way over to you and pulled himself into you.
He had not let you go since.
The fingers of your one hand found themselves tangled in his dark curls.
Spencer was still leaning his weight against you, thumbs circling over the short sweatpants covering your hips, and tickling the sensitive skin there.
"Did you not sleep well, baby?" You hushed into his ear.
The only response to your question were indecipherable mumbles that Spencer gave from himself.
He had not been home for the past five days, being away on a case in another state kept him from that.
You knew about the way your boyfriend had difficulties with rest, sleep did not come easily to someone plagued by the images that he was every day on the job.
Your hand strayed down to his neck as Spencer ever so slightly leaned away, just the smallest bit to have your features in his view.
"I strongly dislike hotel beds," He clarified.
You hummed softly, straightening out his wrinkled brow with the tip of your thumb.
"Maybe we should get you those melatonin gummies at the store if you have more trouble sleeping, baby."
Spencer scrunched his nose, bottom lip circling into another frown.
"Can't you just heal me back to sleep?" He grumbled.
The soft shiver of a chuckle left your throat.
When Spencer was tired, he got grumpy. But not old man grumpy, more five year old child who didn't get his sweets-grumpy.
Pouty, if you want.
Though you would endure him either way, old man grumpy or child grumpy, out of the two options, you did prefer this one.
You ran your hands up and down his upper arms. “You know it doesn’t work like that, baby.”
Spencer groaned lowly into your neck.
You sighed and leaned slightly back, your hands immediately coming up to support your boyfriend’s head as if it would fall off from its sheer weight.
Maybe, with the way that Spencer wasn’t about to tense one muscle, it would.
You cupped his cheeks and stared lovingly into your boyfriend’s sleepy, dark brown eyes.
“Come on,” you urged him quietly.
“Let’s get this off of you,” Your fingers slid to the buttons of his shirt. “-and get you to sleep.”
Spencer whined. You grinned and shook your head.
You kept unbuttoning him slowly, until you reached the lowest one.
Your hands, warmed up by your boyfriend’s body, slid under the thin material and over his bare skin.
There was a tenderness in your touch, when you slipped the shirt off his shoulders. Spencer just stood there and let you work.
He didn’t take his eyes off you once.
But you didn’t see that.
“Come on,” you repeated, hushed, thumb slowly stroking over his slightly parted lips.
“Let’s go to sleep. I know you need it.”
Spencer’s eyes slid closed.
He nodded.
You leaned forward and touched his mouth with yours slowly, softly.
Spencer sighed. You felt his breath tickle the lower half of your face.
His hand was gripped in yours as you led him to the bedroom.
When Spencer shuffled to the bathroom, you let him.
He couldn’t go a day without cleaning his teeth. There was no way he would fall asleep, you had learned that a while ago.
You pulled your silk nightgown out from under the covers, and, for your part, changed your clothes.
When it was a few minutes later and Spencer still hadn’t come back from the bathroom, you threw a look to check in on him.
Your boyfriend was standing over the sink, head bowed and hair ruffled, toothbrush stroking over his teeth in slow, tired motions.
Slowly, you came up behind him and wrapped yourself carefully around his body.
Your fingertips were gliding over the skin of his chest like feathery touches, your lips breathed kisses along his upper back.
You felt Spencer’s muscles shiver when you trailed lower, feeling the hem of his pants and opening them.
You let them slide off his legs and pool on the heated floors.
Spencer lightly bended over to wash out his mouth. Water still dripping from his chin, he turned around to face you.
You were gazing up at him.
Spencer leaned his forehead against yours. You closed your eyes in content.
Spencer hummed lowly.
You breathed out. “Yeah,” you said.
You let your hand slide down his lower arm and grabbed his hand in yours. Spencer followed you when you somehow pulled him into the bedroom.
He noticed too late that he'd been cold, only when the warmth of the thick blanket wrapped around him, he realized.
He felt a radiate of heat close to him, you had slipped under the covers as well. Spencer automatically drew closer to you, and the comfort you had to spare.
It was a routine, a studied motion, when he cuddled up to your chest, and your hands found his hair again, and his thumb stroked over the naked skin where his hand had slipped beneath the material of your nightgown.
There was nothing sexual to it, just his touch, that was grounding you as well as reminding him that you were real and that you were here, and that you liked to be.
Spencer liked to think that the way you were scratching at the roots of his hair, that it dimmed his migraines.
He was a man of logic, of course, so, in theory, it wasn't really possible.
But that was maybe the one situation where his logical mind had surrendered to his emotional one without putting up much of a fight.
Your soft and carefull voice glid over his ears like the softest lullaby.
You were telling him about your day.
About work, about the nice employee at the coffee shop, at the young daughter you got to reunite with her injured daddy.
Spencer liked when you told him about your day. In-between his life of death, and destruction and manipulation, he enjoyed hearing about the good that happened to the bad he witnessed.
It was an anchor, a proof of what the world had to offer that were not brutally murdered victims.
He didn't notice when he fell asleep, carried away by the tunes of your words, at some point you just felt the heavings of his chest turn more slow and even.
You didn't stop talking, though. Not until the muscles in your jaw weighed heavy, and the words didn't come as smoothly anymore, and you, as well, drifted away into the dark, but comforting arms of slumber.
You would wake up the next day with your back pressed against Spencer's chest, his arm slung tightly over your middle, and nose buried in your bed-tousled hair.
And you would smile as you felt him before you had even opened your eyes, and turn in his arms and kiss him softly good morning.
And you would love it just in the same way that you had the countless mornings that had been before.
#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner x y/n#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid fluff#aaron hotchner fluff#criminal minds imagine#criminal minds#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds x you#answered#requested#yourmomxx#spencer reid x fem!reader#aaron hotchner x fem!reader#aaron hotchner x plus size reader#spencer reid x plus size reader
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Heyyy omg I saw you looking for criminal minds requests. Would it be possible to request something for derek morgan?? Maybe a protective derek where he's freaking out after hearing that reader is hurt (reader can be bau as well or just regular civillian, it's up to you) and ends up smothering her. Thankyouu so much 🥺💞
a/n: I totally could see Derek Morgan do this, honestly, this is so good. Anon, thank you for your request, I really hope you like how it turned out!
"Derek, seriously, I'm fine!"
"Uh-huh, sure. Tell that to the x-ray the doctor made of your double fractured ankle."
You tried really hard, you did, but at the end, couldn't resist the urge of rolling your eyes.
Derek - your dear, caring, passionate boyfriend, who you loved endlessly (most times) - had acted this way for the past few days. Four, to be exact, four and a half if one counted the day he spent in the hospital with you, not leaving your side even to get coffee.
It had been, a few days ago, that you had broken your ankle.
Fractured, twice.
It happened while you were coming down the stairs, you'd slipped on a patch of the sleek wood and tumbled down the remaining three quarters to the bottom.
It was the most stupid and idiotic way to break a bone, honestly, but it had happened to you either way.
You'd known Derek was out on a case, somewhere in Milwaukee, you honestly didn't remember all the town's names all that exactly, which is why you had satisfied yourself with only sending him a quick text after an ambulance had shuttled you to the nearest hospital.
The doctors had told you that you would be fine, just that they were pretty booked this time of year and your treatment could take longer than usual.
It's why you stayed the night.
When you had woken up the next day, mind still a bit foggy and ankle swollen and hurting more than it would any normal day, you had never expected to actually see your boyfriend earlier than that evening.
But you'd been wrong.
Because there he stood, Derek Morgan, in all his tight-henley, muscular glory, talking with one of the doctors who'd briefed you about your condition the day before, an invested look on his face, just a few feet outside your open hospital room door.
The clinical, white sheets rustled as you straigthened yourself up.
"Derek?" The soft call of his name made your boyfriend look up, just as the doctor stepped away.
A smile played around his lips as he made his way over to you. You were still baffled about his showing-up, when he leaned down and pressed a greeting kiss to your mouth.
"Hey, sweet thing," Derek mumbled.
With a grunt, he sat down in the worn-out, yellow cushion chair and regarded you with deep concern in his dark eyes.
"How are you feeling?"
You tilted your head.
"Like I fell down the stairs and double-broke my ankle not even twelve hours ago."
Derek's mouth left a soft chuckle. You grinned.
"What are you even doing here, I thought you had a case?"
He raised his hands in a defensive manner. "Whoah, now don't be too excited." There was no bite behind his words, or the eyeroll you gave him in response.
"I'm serious, baby," You said. "You didn't have to be here, I'm totally fine."
Derek leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. His gaze didn't leave yours.
"We closed the case about two hours after you sent me that text," He explained. "When I read what happened, I pushed everyone to pack their things just a bit faster than normal, we took the jet, and now I'm here." He opened his arms. "End of story."
You cocked an eyebrow. "How much faster?" You asked.
Derek weighed his head. "A lot faster."
You let out a laugh. "God, you are crazy," You breathed out, cheeks pushing your eyes closed with how wide you were smiling.
Derek reached out and took your hand into his, the warm weight laying comfortable in your palm.
"Only for you, mama."
His hand squeezed yours and you smiled.
Turns out that hospitals were the. worst.
At first the willingness with which all staff was tending you with, it felt like a blessing, for once not having to do the most mundane tasks by yourself - because honestly, who wouldn't want that? - but as time passed by, it all seemed to weigh down on you.
You were practically chained to a bed that wasn't yours, and therefore in no possibility as comfortable as the mattress you were used to. The clinical smell of sanitizer started burning in your nostrils, and your eyes felt blinded by the exact same shade of white that covered every wall, surface, and sheet in your sight.
You almost groaned when a white cast was put on your leg to stabilize it. Derek had just grinned at you and promised to bring Penelope over at some point, with a set of acrylics, glue, and rhinestones.
That's when it had started. The Doctor had told you to rest up for a while, don't put too much weight on your left foot where you had broken your ankle, and come in for regular check-ups.
You should've known then, that you were doomed. Because since you had left the hospital that afternoon four - three and a half - days ago, Derek had not once thought about leaving your side.
For anything.
Any. Thing.
He was being so sweet with it, of course, because Derek Morgan didn't know to be anything else, but over time, having this constant worry hung at you for tasks that should have been the simplest of everyday life was draining, and made you grow agitated.
If you needed to compare it, it felt like being sixteen and your parents checking in on you while you were at a friend's birthday party every hour on the clock, all over again.
You were standing in the kitchen right now, spatula in one hand, the other perched warningly at your hip, a pan on the stove ready to be heated up and a disapproving look on your face, staring down Derek Morgan who stood accross from you with his arms crossed and an almost stronger "Don't try me"-attitude than you had.
Almost.
"Baby," You said, slowly dragging out each syllable. "I understand and do appreciate your concern, but I am fully able to cook lunch."
"The doctor said not to put too much pressure on your foot," Derek shot back. He gestured towards the kitchen island. "Scurrying around for at least half an hour without a break is what I call 'too much pressure'."
The only pressure you were feeling right now was the exasperated groan that you fought back of pushing out your chest.
"I feel alright," You reassured him. "And if I really feel like it's too much, then I'll sit down and take a break."
Derek shook his head. "Will you, though?"
You sighed and put the spatula in an empty space on the kitchen island.
As smoothly as you could, you walked over to your boyfriend, supporting the weight on your unmoving leg by leaning your hand on the kitchenette, as you had discarded your crutch on the other side of the room.
Derek raised his eyebrow at that.
Finally reaching your boyfriend, you put your unoccupied hand on his cheek and let your thumb softly stroke over the stubbled skin.
Derek ever so slightly leaned into the touch.
"I'm just worried 'bout you," Derek murmured quietly.
You nodded slowly. "I know."
You did. And you understood. With all the death and hurt he saw, day by day, night after night, how could he not be?
"But baby, you gotta believe me when I tell you that I can take care of myself. That I know my limits." You gestured around vaguely. "That I can cook lunch for myself and my beautiful, kind boyfriend."
A hushed laugh escaped Derek's chest. His dark eyes found yours and the glimmer in them softened, turned a whirl of worry into a smooth tide.
"You just gotta watch out for you," Derek said. "I know you like to push yourself, don't like admitting defeat."
His hand came to rest on your forearm of the hand that was still tenderly lingering on his cheek. The soft tickle of his thumb drawing absentminded circles seeped through the thin layer of your clothing.
"But taking breaks is okay. There's a difference between being weak and just taking care of yourself."
Derek dipped his knees slightly when he noticed your gaze flashing to the floor, to catch your attention again.
"And I have never, not once in the time I've known you, known you to be weak. Alright, sweetheart?"
The warmth was radiating off his strong body, and infiltrating every single one of your concious senses. Unaware you were doing it, you leaned closer to him. The breeze of his cologne wrapped around you in pure comfort.
"Alright," You said. "Alright, I promise I'll take care."
Derek held your gaze. His fingers pushed a loose strand of hair away from your forehead. "That's all I wanted to hear."
The quick peck you pulled him in for by the neck quickly turned into an open-mouthed kiss, Derek's tongue circling yours for the briefest of moments, before finally gaining dominance.
You attempted to press further into him, but your hard time keeping balance wouldn't allow it.
He pressed one last, small kiss to your nose before backing away.
You smiled at him cheekily, still supporting yourself on the cold stone of the kitchenette, and laboriously turning around to finally get to make the food you'd fought so hard to be able to cook.
"At least let me work the stove."
"Derek!"
#derek morgan#derek morgan imagine#derek morgan x reader#derek morgan x female reader#derek morgan x fem!reader#derek morgan x you#derek morgan x y/n#derek morgan x plus size!reader#criminal minds#criminal minds imagine#criminal minds x you#yourmomxx#requested#answered#derek morgan fluff
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[the art of making a house a home]
JJ Maybank x male!reader (no pronouns)
or: most people in jj’s life tend to leave him behind in some way - not you though. never you.
warnings: (mentions of) child abuse, wounds, angst, jj doesn’t know what home is, smoking, weed, hurt/comfort
word count: 2.4k
a/n: I really like writing those kind of imagines, so I’ll probably do more of them in the future! but for now, have this angsty piece of literature
request
JJ took a big step out of the shower. He grabbed one of the towels hanging on the heater and wrapped it around his hips, the fabric feeling comfortably warm against his bare skin.
Opposite him hung a huge mirrored cabinet. The hot water had formed droplets of condensation on the surface, now hiding them behind a thin layer of bright mist.
In fact, this mist actually lingered throughout the bathroom.
Your bathroom, JJ suddenly thought. Your bathroom, your towel, your mirror. Your shower, your heater, your sink.
But somehow it might as well be his, or both of yours, as often as he found shelter and sanctuary with you, when he couldn't bear to be at home again.
Home. JJ involuntarily grimaced. Was that what it was? Were his father – Luke? - and the shabby house where they lived and where so many terrible things had happened to him, his home?
Not really.
He found the idea of the small apartment with the bright seat cushions on the couch and the light-colored curtains, an apartment where you would wait for him, where he could wake up next to you every morning, much more inviting. Much more homely.
He wiped the mirror once with the palm of his hand, clearing a condensation-free spot on the smooth surface.
Sometimes he wished it would be just as easy in his head.
Simply raise his hand and wipe away the wafts of fog with one movement, being finally able to see clearly again. Or at least a little clearer, when he took a closer look at the blurred area.
He supported himself with the heels of his hands on the bathroom sink that was fixed under the mirrored cabinet and looked at himself in the free surface with watchful eyes.
Thin strands of blond hair stood up from his head and hung over his face. The otherwise light-blonde surfer mane had taken on a dark color from the shower water. A few small drops of water still fell from some ends, landed cold on his bare upper body and left an irregular trail of water there.
Despite the blurred water vapor, JJ could clearly make out his figure and the individual moves.
Involuntarily his gaze wandered over his upper body. There was a yellowish discoloration where the towel ended and his defined abs began.
He gently ran his finger over it. Unlike a few days ago, that slight contact with the bruise no longer hurt. The swelling had gone down too, he noted with satisfaction.
Irregular, he could see circular, white scars that split on his forearms. Remnants of burns from cigarette butts to be extinguished.
He caught his gaze in the mirror. Blue-grey eyes stared back at him. They seemed lifeless to him, with the dark circles underneath and the heavy lids that suggested he hadn't had a comfortable night's sleep in days.
Which wasn't even necessarily wrong.
He rubbed his eyes with one hand. Now, when the adrenaline subsided, he felt exhaustion settling in his limbs.
As if automatically, his fingers wandered a little higher on his forehead, just below the hairline. He felt a slight bump in the tanned skin under his fingertips. He lifted his hair out of his face.
The scar wasn't big, probably less than an inch. It was almost directly parallel to his hairline and was therefore mostly hidden by the blond mane that fell over his forehead.
And yet sometimes he felt like it was yelling at him when he looked in the mirror.
The thin white line seemed to mock him. Again and again he found himself struggling to fix his hair at all times so that no one could see it, and only take off his caps with his head bowed when he did so.
It was a too constant reminder of the night his father - Luke? – came home drunk once again and hadn’t been satisfied with the meal his (eleven-year-old) son had cooked.
He had pushed him against the edge of a table that evening.
JJ told the doctors at the hospital that he had tripped over a fold in the carpet and injured himself on the table that way. The doctors bought it from him.
It would have been so easy for JJ to just tell them the truth. Screaming at the nurse, begging on his knees, how awful his father was to him, for someone to set him free.
But he hadn't. Luke hadn't even been to the hospital at the time.
Anger overwhelmed him. He banged his fist on the edge of the sink impulsively. Shit! Shit, shit, shit!
Shit Luke Maybank, shit American health care, shit doctors who should have checked further, and shit little eleven-year-old-JJ who didn't have the guts even then to stand up to his shit father.
He clenched his jaw as he felt a sting behind his eyes. No, he wouldn't cry, not now, not at all anymore. He had brought this on himself, he, and his damned cowardice.
JJ pressed the heels of his hands against his closed eyes. Something to counteract the headache that was coming.
He flinched when the bathroom door opened and caught his breath when he saw you standing there.
"Is everything okay? I heard-" You cut yourself off mid-sentence. JJ tensed when he saw where your eyes were going.
"Shit, JJ," you managed to ground out. He avoided looking at you.
He hated it - when you saw him like that, so wounded and vulnerable, and when your voice took on a pained tone and your sentences started with Shit, JJ.
JJ didn't look up. Skillfully, he just pretended that there was nothing there that seemed worth your attention and kept his gaze fixed on his arm. Just his skin, and the muscles beneath it.
He efficiently ignored how your gaze roamed his back, which had probably already formed red welts and bruises - consequences of the anger of Luke Maybank - his father? - and the one reason why he was standing in your bathroom right now and not lying somewhere in his bed.
There was a thump as you put the first aid kit down next to him.
He frowned at himself as he realized he hadn't even noticed you left the bathroom. Had he been too caught up in his head, had the mist blocked his view too much for him to notice?
You gestured for him to sit down and he complied. He was too tired to argue anyway.
JJ vaguely noticed you take a seat behind him on the bathroom floor and moments later he felt your fingers gently trace his back. He could only imagine what he looked like. Swollen welts and probably even little wounds, maybe crusted blood? He felt sick.
JJ fell into his thoughts. Into the deep nothing. From time to time he almost shied away from your fingers and the cold ointment, but caught himself again immediately.
You sat in silence. You hadn't said anything since discovering his wounds, and JJ himself found the thought of straining his vocal cords far too tedious.
The blond boy caught a glimpse of the mirror out of the corner of his eye, recognizing you.
Your facial features were concentrated on working on his wounds, but your eyes reflected the deep concern in them. JJ loathed that. Hated that you cared for him, cared for him when he didn't deserve it.
For a brief moment, nothing happened, then JJ felt your upper body cautiously leaning closer to his, and you placed a feather-light but honest kiss on his shoulder from behind.
JJ almost winced at the touch, tensing at the softness that lay within it. So gentle, in a way he wasn't used to even after a few months in a relationship with you.
You didn't blame him, you never had. You knew what was going on at JJ's house and why he showed up at your door pretty much every day, head hanging, muscles hurting and mind aching.
There were better days too, when he was almost glued to you, taking your hand, snuggling up to you every moment he could get his hands on.
But of course there were worse ones, like today, for example. Then he didn't talk much if at all, carrying on conversations more in his head than out loud.
But then you always gave him his space without ever leaving him completely lonely. And he was grateful to you for that.
“Come on, big guy. ‘S time we get you in bed." Your voice was hoarse next to his ear, yet so soft and warm he wanted to sink into it. He stood up slowly and you lifted your chin from his shoulder.
Obediently he trotted - or rather dragged himself - towards your bedroom (both of yours?). You just followed him without a word.
JJ liked your bedroom. The king size bed was placed in the middle of a medium sized room. A tall wardrobe stood against one wall and a door led to another room, the bathroom.
On the opposite wall, two curtained windows offered an almost perfect view of the open sea.
Over the months, JJ had found that knowing the ocean so close to him whenever he stayed at your place was immensely comforting, and how the sound of the crashing waves breaking on the beach lulled him to sleep.
You never told him how you didn't really like the salty cold of the sea air and only ever left the window open for your boyfriend.
Without a word, you handed JJ a hoodie – burgundy, no print. With slow movements he slipped the garment over himself, the soft fabric nestled comfortably against his tingling skin. He took fresh boxershorts from a drawer.
JJ took a deep breath. Your scent enveloped him. Coconut palms, perfume and cedar wood.
No cigarettes.
This had to be the sweater you never allowed yourself to smoke in, then. It was a - for him strange - habit of yours. You smoked regularly, and yet there were some areas, or items of clothing, where you absolutely forbade yourself and others to smoke.
How many times had you sent him into the kitchen so the stench of smoke wouldn't eat into your bedroom walls? Or on the terrace so that the kitchen would be able to "breathe" again?
JJ grinned to himself.
He glanced out the window where he could vaguely make out the light sand of the beach and the blue-pink sky as the sun slowly set behind.
He shuffled his way to your bed, where you were already waiting for him, lying on your back and one arm stretched out for him. JJ dropped ungracefully next to you.
He rested the back of his head on your shoulder, felt your body beneath him and stared at the white ceiling, lost in thought.
JJ also liked your bed.
He found it comfortable, with the wide mattress, which even springs back a little when you adjust to it, and that wasn’t saggy, as if Charlemagne had slept in it himself.
A not sagging mattress, JJ thought. Not worn out like at his place... at home? Inwardly he shook his head. Somehow, it still didn't feel right.
“Hey, JJ?” He suddenly heard you say. Your voice was quiet, maybe to not startle him.
“Mmm?” JJ hummed.
“Say something next time.”
JJ felt his stomach drop. He had known. He had known you were angry with him. That you were fed up with how he always came to you to cry to you about his tearful stories, how you always had to take care of him. JJ tensed. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest.
This would be it. You would tell him to stop being whiny and dramatic, to suck it up and behave like a man.
His hand cranked into the fabric of your shirt.
“Hey,” you softly said. “Hey, JJ!” Abruptly, you sat up and took his head into your hands. JJ hadn’t even realized that he was shaking up until now.
He avoided your gaze.
“Hey JJ, look at me.” Your tone was commanding yet gentle and JJ found himself doing exactly what you asked of him. Stupid welling tears that made his vision blurry.
“JJ, it’s alright,” you calmed him down. Your thumb was softly stroking his cheek. You noticed his breathing even out.
“JJ, I’m here for you,” you said, “But you’ve gotta talk to me. I want to help you but I can’t do that if you keep this from me. Do you hear me?”
For a second, JJ was confused. So you weren’t angry with him, or yelling, you were actually just … worried. Really simply only worried, for him.
He felt his head grow dizzy at the thought.
“J,” you repeated. “I want you to tell me you understand.” A bit of the fog in JJ’s mind cleared, as he looked into your eyes. Then, he slowly nodded.
A small smile started tugging at the corners of your lips. “Good. Now, come on.”
You used your thumb to wipe a loose tear off of JJ’s cheek, and laid down onto the bed again. JJ went back to his former position with his back laid on your side and his gaze fixed on the ceiling.
He was still processing this entire situation.
Well, of course, rationally speaking, there was no chance you would’ve gotten mad at him over this. After all, the bruises weren’t his fault, he had learned that by now.
But a single drop of doubt always managed to mix into his already uneasy mind, and had the habit of turning soft waves into torrential floods over just the right amount of time.
The hiss of a lighter snapped him out of his thoughts. He turned his neck towards you and could see you holding the orange flame to the end of a hand-rolled blunt.
JJ watched as your cheeks drew in with the hit and you took the joint back from your lips. The smoke that followed didn't bother him the slightest.
Then you held the smoldering joint in front of him. JJ frowned and looked up at you.
"The hoodie?" he asked confused. You just shrugged.
"Can be washed," was your short answer. A faint smile formed on JJ's lips and he snuggled a little closer to you, if that was even possible.
The tips of his hair tickled the base of your throat as you watched him take a deep drag on the joint. His cheeks hollowed out, and after a brief moment, holding the smoke in his lungs, he puffed it out in the air toward the window. Like that would make a difference, but you appreciated the thought.
You took the blunt out of his hand and, with some difficulty, stretched to put it out in the ashtray. You would check later whether it could still be used afterwards.
You turned your full attention back to JJ, who by now had rolled onto his side and was snuggled into your side like a little boy, his arm wrapped around your waist.
He buried his face in your tank top and relaxedly closed his eyes.
The sounds of the rushing sea came through the half-open window, the wind seemed to be stronger out on the sea. Here and there a few squabbling seagulls could be heard screeching to each other.
You carefully lifted the arm JJ was draped on and slowly brought it near the back of his head. Carefully and slowly you tangled your fingers in his blond locks and began massaging his scalp.
JJ made a sound, that could be close described to a purr and you dared to apply a little more pressure.
At your feet lay the duvet, crumpled at the end of the bed.
The summer night wasn't necessarily hot, but after all, JJ was wearing your hoodie and you had your boyfriend's body heat to keep you warm.
The blond boy moved his hand, which was on your hip, and slipped it under a fold of your tank top. He placed his hand at your side, just above the waistband of your pants. Automatically his thumb began to draw gentle circles on your skin.
He felt you breathe beneath him. His ear could dully hear the slow beating of your heart.
JJ's breathing also became shallower and more regular. He felt exhaustion catch up with him and sleep drew him to it with open arms.
On the edge of his consciousness he noticed how you pressed a gentle kiss on his hairline.
JJ sighed in content. And this, JJ thought, just before he finally fell asleep, is what home feels like.
@miofrommars
#gif by antoxx on weheartit#jj maybank x you#jj maybank#jj maybank x y/n#jj maybank x male!reader#jj maybank x pogue!reader#jj maybank fic#jj maybank x male reader#jj maybank imagine#jj maybank x reader#outerbanks x reader#outerbanks imagine#outer banks#requested#yourmomxx#the art of making a house a home
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GIRL CRUSH
❧ summary - you are in love with jj, but he only has eyes for someone else
❧warnings - signs of depression, disassociation and withdrawal, all the angst, unrequited feelings, this is written kind of abstract, I think?
❧word count - 4.7k
❧based on this request
songs ❧girl crush - harry styles ❧she - dodie ❧astronomy - conan gray
❧main masterlist
“Because what’s worse than knowing you want something, besides knowing you can never have it?”
― James Patterson, The Angel Experiment
Kiara Carrera was the most beautiful girl you had ever seen.
It was a fact almost as certain as the continous circling of the earth around the sun.
She was captivating, really, and it was such a strong pull toward her it almost confused you.
Her hair was dark, curls silky and defined, in a way that yours could never be. You wished, sometimes, you had her tan skin, smooth and soft, the object of all desires. The way she walked was enchanting, floating just the right amount in her step and never too harsh. You could drown in the deep brown of her dark eyes, expression of empathy and compassion, sincere in a way you only wished you could be.
You were in love with Kiara Carrera, because who couldn’t be, with her angel voice, and her confident attitude, and the way she smelled of flowers, and beach, and the rising sun on the first summer day.
Kiara Carrera had once in your presence been compared to a descendant of the Greek goddess Aphrodite, which, in all honesty, you couldn’t do anything else than agree to. You would know, you were one of her best friends, you spent almost every waking minute with her and the rest of the pogues, and yet you never grew tired of the spark she had that made her glowing golden.
The amount of guys you’d had walking up to you, to ask for her or about her, and how could you blame them, you understood. But you turned them away.
You would like to say it was merely for Kiara’s gain, because you didn’t want one of those not-serious screwboys in her near, but it wasn’t, you weren’t considerate like that, another trait that she had you forward in.
But Kiara Carrera, beauty incarnate, the princess of pogues, living evidence of relations between the rich and the poor side of the island, had only eyes for one specific person herself. A boy that made her smile in a way that made her forget the entire world around her, and also shake her head in exasperation when he talked sometimes.
The lucky guy’s name was JJ Maybank, and he was her best friend, and, in a way, also yours.
JJ admired Kiara. In that way, he was no different to the other guys that kissed the blessed ground she walked on. He loved the way she paced around the room when she was contemplating hard, or the way the wind from over the sea blew a stray curl in her face.
JJ Maybank was more than his love for Kiara Carrera, though. JJ was kindness, and consideration, and he was the overcome of a terrible childhood, and he was the love he held for his friends.
In that way, you couldn’t blame Kiara for being infatuated him. Because who wouldn’t be? Thinking about it like that, they fit for each other perfectly, like two pieces of the same puzzle.
There was no space for you in-between. There never had been.
It had become a tradition for you and JJ to meet up in-between lessons to talk about the most mundane things, gossiping about annoying teachers and getting at least one intelligent conversation for the hour.
It was mostly JJ doing the talking, though, oftentimes. You didn’t mind. Letting JJ’s voice wash over you like the silent lullaby of the waves on a windy day had turned into a necessary comfort you couldn’t imagine to miss.
You hadn’t enjoyed school for a while now. There were too many people cramped up on too little space for your liking, and everyone wanted to talk about everything, and it demanded your concentration on things you found yourself not caring about or interested in.
But you met deadlines, and you delivered the grades, so that meant you were alright.
If the breaks you spent in-between classes leaning on your locker, talking to JJ - or mostly listening to him - were what made things worse or better, you didn’t know. And even if you had caught yourself glancing at his quickly moving lips for far too long than a friend should every once in a while, then you didn’t allow yourself to think about it.
The cheaply painted, red metal was cold against your cheek, as you did your best to not bend over and throw up that sickening feeling that’s been sitting heavy on your chest the entire day.
It was Thursday. Maybe. Might be Friday. You didn’t really remember it all that much anymore, it all was blurred. JJ was talking about a party he went to, where he met someone who told him something, that’s what your mind managed to register.
JJ didn’t enjoy spending time with you anymore. It was clear to you, clearer than freshly polished glass windows.
He hasn’t said it like that, of course.
JJ would never, he was too nice.
But you weren’t Kiara, and JJ would much rather spend time with her than with you. You knew that, it was not hard to tell.
All at once, JJ suddenly stopped his rambling mid-sentence.
You didn’t need to see the way he glanced over your shoulder as he suddenly stood taller, or hear the silk voice travel down the hallway, calling out his name, to realize who had shown up.
You recognized it in the change of his eyes when he looked at her.
Kiara swerved a younger student as she headed straight up to JJ, hugging him, and greeting you with the most blinding and sincere smile you’d ever seen someone wear.
She made it so easy to love her that you felt terrible about wanting to hate her.
Those thoughts were changed when she looped her arm around JJ’s and fixed his hair.
JJ’s hair didn’t need fixing, that’s what you thought. He was beautiful when his blond strands were tousled, boyish, and it added up with the mischievous glint that swam in his eyes.
You were being unfair now, you knew that, Kiara wasn’t the bad guy here, she’d merely pushed a strand of JJ’s hair aside as she talked to him.
JJ’s skin was surely burning at the spot where her skin had touched his.
You knew yours was.
JJ’s voice would be different as well, when he spoke to Kiara.
It was light, in a way that you knew you could never make him sound, because you had no way to make him feel free, and careless, and cared for, not in a way you used to, when he was still only friends with her and you were allowed to be selfish enough to keep him to yourself.
The sickening feeling spread again. From your chest, down to your stomach and in your throat, quite like the exact opposite of the warmth that seeing JJ once had given you, and you almost laughed at the irony if you weren’t in so much pain.
JJ waved his hand at you. “Hey man, see you later, I told Kie I’d walk her to class.” You blinked.
Kie. He liked to call her that. A nickname. He’d never given a nickname to you.
You nodded. “Yeah no, sure. See ya.”
JJ disappeared into the crowd, Kiara somewhere next to him.
All of a sudden, you didn’t know if the world had been this blurry the entire time.
The next time it happened, was at the beach.
You were walking next to JJ on your right side, Kiara was occupying your left. You were on your way together to John B’s cabin to meet him and Pope there, and had decided to take the long route next to the raging sea.
Wind was carrying the smell of salt in your direction, and JJ’s tanktop was tugged around all over his body.
In hindsight, you should have known. In hindsight, if you had spun the thought only a bit further, you would have known that there would not be a way for this to work.
JJ and Kiara were two forces pulling each other near, nothing that only possessed human strength could put itself between them, it was no use, not even to try.
“And I mean, the Carsons got this huge boat-”
JJ gestured around with his hands when he talked. You leaned slightly away as to not get in the way of his movements.
Kiara was focused on him when JJ spoke. Her body subconsciously drifted nearer.
You leaned slightly away so she wouldn’t bump into you.
JJ made a joke.
Kiara laughed.
She doubled over and leaned into JJ. Her hand found his arm as she slapped him playfully. JJ tucked his head down. Blushing, probably.
This time, the sickening feeling started in your stomach and chest already.
They were walking together now, right next to each other. Their joy-bounced steps carried them further than yours, weighed down by longing, and caring, and guilt, and you fell back.
The only thing you could do was follow their already vanishing footsteps in the sand.
When you arrived at the cabin, and Kiara and JJ greeted your friends a whole lot of feet before you did, John B raised his eyebrows at you, questioning.
You ignored his suspicious look.
Pope seemed to hold you just the tiniest bit closer when he hugged you.
The feeling spread out to your head.
The last time it happened was at a party.
One, that, in your defense, you did not even intend to show up to. It was a house party, which was unusual enough as it was, which pogue was there you could meet that had enough space in their house to throw a party and enough determination to clean it all up afterwards?
But, apparently, John Laren had moved new on the island, and wanted to make his presence known as of that event. Where middle-aged people brought casseroles, cupcakes or batches of brownies, eighteen year-olds threw massive parties with drugs and alcohol for everyone that was underage and younger.
As mentioned, you hadn't planned to go. In your current condition, a party was really the last thing on your mind.
Unfortunately for you, though, you had not calculated Pope Heyward into that idea.
That prick.
"Yes, I'm coming!"
You rushed to your front door, almost tumbling over that goddamn couch leg that you had wanted to rip off for years now, and quickly swung open the thick hardwood, before the person on the other side could get a chance to pound against it as if their life depended on it again.
"Geez!"
Before you were even able to realize who stood before you, Pope had already shoved you by the chest, and into the house again.
The door slammed close again.
“You are going to that party.”
Your mind wasn’t working right now.
“What are you- Hey, come back!”
But Pope had already made his way up the stairs. You turned and ran after him.
By the time you arrived on the upper floor, Pope was already standing in your room, ready to open the closet doors. You jumped forward and slammed then closed, guarding them with your arms spread like something sacred.
“Slow down,” you said. Pope rewarded you with an impatient look.
“What are you doing here?”
“You know what i’m doing here,” Pope shot back, no hesitation.
You withstood the urge to roll your eyes.
“I’m not going to John Stewart’s,” you clarified.
Pope did roll his eyes.
“His name is John Laren,” he corrected you. “John Stewart is on reality tv.”
He grabbed you by the shoulders, and easily maneuvered your non-resisting body to the edge of your bed.
“And you are going,” He stated. He pressed you into the mattress.
“Now sit down and be quiet, and let me pick out something for you to wear.”
Pope whirled around and ripped the closet doors open. He began rummaging though the different shirts and pants that were hung up inside.
“I don’t understand why you so desperately want me to go,” You said, swerving right to ditch an orange shirt that came flying at you just in time.
“Because,” Pope drew out the word slowly, as he concentrated on a black tank top in his hands, “you’re sulking.”
He walked over and thrusted the top into your grip.
“And when you’re sulking, I’m sulking,” he continued. “We’re twinning.”
“But we’re not-“ Pope raised a warning eyebrow. You raised your hands in defeat.
“Alright, alright.”
Pope patted your cheek.
“That’s my boy.”
A second of hesitation, but Pope sighed and the mattress dipped as he sat down next to you.
"Look, man," He started, hesitantly. "I like to think that you don't think I'm stupid."
You raised your eyebrows. Pope continued.
"And, considering I don't need glasses, unlike - some of us-" He took a deep breath.
"Man, I see the way you look at Kiara."
Your eyebrows shot up to your hairline.
The way you looked at- "What?" You stuttered out, not even trying to hide how baffled you were.
Pope shook his head. "My bad, I should have worded that differently. I mean the way you look at Kiara, when she is around JJ."
Oh.
Oh.
Ah.
Your body felt slow. This made way more sense.
You didn't even notice how you were slowly turning away to not have to look Pope in the eye.
"Hey, I'm sorry, I didn't-" Pope scoffed. More at himself than you, really.
"I know we have that rule. No pogue on pogue macking? But seriously, man, I should be the first person who knows what it feels like to be in love with their best friend. And honestly? I can't blame you."
You felt a comforting pressure on your shoulder when Pope placed his hand there.
"I want you to know I'm not judging you. Don't feel bad about ... what you're feeling. You know?"
You loudly breathed in, not even knowing what to say. What could there be to say?
Pope stood up again. His hand slid off your shoulder slowly. He didn't hold your silence against you. You silently thanked him for it.
"Look, that's the whole reason I want you to go to this party. You need to loosen up a little, drink away your thoughts, get some groove in."
Pope demonstrated his words by shaking his whole body from one side to another like a dancing snake.
The corners of your mouth cracked into a smile at that. Pope saw it as a win, turned back to your closet again, grinning.
You sighed, suddenly reminded of why he was here in the first place.
"What would I even be doing there?"
Pope shrugged, still rummaging through all your clothes, not caring about any mess. "Go out. Have fun. Have some drinks. Have some boys, have some girls, whatever you're feeling tonight."
You ignored him. "Are JJ and Kiara going to be there?"
"No," Pope answered shortly and pulled out cargo pants from the closet. "They both have plans."
"Together?"
Pope threw the pants at you. "Here you go. Put it on, fifteen minutes, downstairs." He waved himself off. "Actually ten, you're not a teenage girl. Let's go!"
And just like that, he was out the door. You regarded the clothes in your hands skeptically, the black tank top and dark green cargo pants, and couldn't help but notice, how Pope had not answered your question.
Jason Lawrence was a Pogue, whose lifestyle drifted more toward the direction of Kook. There had been a few of them over time, the line between too poor and too rich wavering, and they were trapezing on it.
Whether John Lance invited all entirety of the cut to show off, or to really just throw himself a good old welcome party, remained unclear.
In all honesty, you didn't really care that much. The only reason you were here was because of Pope, and the second he dared to take his eyes off you for more than five minutes, you would be gone like the wind.
Multicolored lights flashed over the ceiling like the spotlights in a club. Most people that were running around with red solo cups in their hands, you recognized - from bonfires or other house parties.
In a way, the entire cut was just like a really big neighbourhood.
Your eyes searched over the crowd of people, desperately looking for a quiet space next to a wall, hopefully, and you politely denied a blond girl with just the necessary amount of covering-up clothing, when she offered you a drink.
"Come on, man, at least pretend like you're having fun!"
Pope appeared next to you out of the blue, and if the loud music hadn't swallowed his equally yelled words, you would have flinched.
You shot your friend a grim look.
"That would be lying, and I don't like lying."
A sharp pain erupted in your chest when Pope stabbed his finger right above your sternum.
"See, I know that's a lie," He said. "Because I know you like lying, I saw you lying often, so what you just said -" He raised his poking finger, "-'t was a lie."
You leaned closer to him and furrowed your eyebrows.
"Dude, are you drunk already?" You asked loudly.
"We've barely been here for half an hour!"
Pope shrugged, shoulders and hips moving to the rhythm in a way that was definitely not correct by beat.
"Chester from the mini bar did a mix for me!" He explained, hand shooting out to point you in the direction where he had come from.
You raised your eyebrows. Chester from the mini bar might have mixed Pope's stuff a bit too well. That lightweight couldn't hold his own on a normal day with a beer.
You smelled the cup in his hand and couldn't fight off the way your face twisted in disgust.
"Dude, what is in there?" You took the cup out of Pope's hand, which was relatively easy, he wasn't all there with his hand anyways.
Pope drew his eyebrows together and pulled his lips into a pout.
"I was drinking that," He complained. You shook your finger in front of his face.
"I think you've had enough, honestly."
"Give that-" Pope burst forward and grabbed for your hand holding the drink, but you pulled it out of his reach just at the right time and raised your hand in the air the highest you could.
Additionally, you raised yourself on the tips of your toes.
Pope tried to stretch himself, but it didn't budge, so he shorthandedly pressed his thumb into the crook of your elbow hard, forcing you to bend your arm down.
Your friend let out a victorious laugh as he reached for the cup that was now almost on eye-level with him, when you made a not thought-through decision on the spot, raised the cup to your lips and downed its contents in one sip.
The liquid went down your throat like cold fire.
Your entire inside squirmed, and your face twisted into a grimace of pure disgust.
"Hey!" Pope threw his hands in the air.
"You're drinking, man! You're having funnnn!"
You wouldn't have put it like that, maybe. But when Pope grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you with him, through the crowds of people and to the shining neon letters that said MINI BAR, you just followed him.
You were having fun. It was almost an hour later, or maybe two, might have just been a half, you didn't really know. Or care.
The solo cup you were sipping held your fourth drink tonight, or your sixth, or your third, you had absolutely no idea.
All you knew was that it burned in your throat like any good liquor should, and that it made you feel good in a way you hadn't felt for weeks now.
The way you weren't quite in full control of your limbs was a side effect you chose to ignore.
The air was vibrating. All colors were more saturated than the first time you came in, they flickered behind your eyelids even when you weren't looking.
Hot bodies of multiple people crowded together, somewhere a table was playing beer pong, while the music roared through your blood stream and pushed arenaline with it.
It felt good. You felt good.
Why hadn't you done this much sooner, Pope was right. And alcohol was great. Like, actually.
The tunes drew you in. Masses of people, it felt, were moving in the same way, all together.
You closed your eyes, and just let it go.
No thinking about the right way to move your lips, the sweat slowly dripping down the back of your neck, or how the alcohol in the cup wasn't quenching your thirst, just worsening it.
It didn't matter. It was as if the music had manifested itself physically, and was moving all of your senses totally on its own.
You felt light, a feeling you had missed over the last few months.
Your chest was free, you could breathe.
The air was full of euphoria, it tasted of glee.
Suddenly, there was a sound that stood out, something that didn't fit the atmosphere.
You blinked your eyes open just the slightest bit.
There, just a few feet away from you, you made out a familiar arrangement of blond strands - some dark, others lightened by the burning sun out on the waves of the sea.
It was a magnetic pull, you couldn't do anything against it if you wanted to. You hadn't really been in posession of your own body since you had taken that drink from Pope.
"JJ!" You heard yourself call out.
Your friend turned around to you, and God, his eyes were beautiful. The string of colorful lights was perfectly illuminating the small streak of skin that was laid free beneath the unbuttoned top of his shirt, a brown one, lazily tucked into casual jeans.
He looked good.
And would you love to blame that thought on your currently dosed state.
So you did.
Your hand slapped on the place of his shoulder, just where his neck met his chest.
"What are you doing here?" You asked, loudly to overcome the sound of the music. "Thought you had plans."
JJ grinned. You mimicked it. Pope had once told you about the mirroring statistic with people one liked. You thought it was bullshit.
"Made a last minute change!" JJ yelled back, and even in your current condition you noticed how his gaze flickered, searching for something that wasn't you in the crowd of people.
"Me and Kie made a stop here before ending our date!"
You blinked.
“Huh?”
You were quite sure JJ repeated his same answer to you. But you didn’t really know, because your ears felt stuffed.
Me and Kie made a stop before ending our date.
Me and Kie. Our date.
You stumbled back.
John B had dunked your head in cold water once to sober you up. This was worse.
Your chest felt heavy, pressed together in a camp handle.
Your hand dropped from JJ's shoulder. He didn't notice. His eyes kept scanning the crowd.
You backed away. You needed space, just some way for your chest to expand and let air into your lungs.
Your back hit another wall of bodies. Everything was so tight around you.
The air didn't feel euphoric anymore, it felt stuffed, and thin, and heavy.
You needed to get out of here.
Stumbling, tumbling and tripping, eyes always focused downwards, you pushed past one person after the other.
You didn't know where you exactly were going, but when you reached a wall, there had to be a door somewhere too, right?
You got lucky. A tall boy was pushed into you and made you almost fall over, but the way you leaned into a different direction drew your attention to a large gate not too far away.
You gathered your last bit of lasting strength in your legs and pushed yourself out of the house, out of the stuffed room, into the cold air of the night, and the smell of sea salt rather than the salt of sweat.
You left the lights behind you. You just kept going. You needed to get some distance between you and that house.
You ran until you reached the shore; quite literally.
The hard wood of the dock creaked under every step you took further out, until you reached the ending.
Tied down ships were softly tuckering on the wooden stakes.
Rather laboriously, you leaned down to sit on the edge of the not fenced trail. You brushed some dirt off your palms, and hugged your knees to your chest.
Almost every last drop of drunkness you had felt just a few minutes earlier, had vanished.
There were no chattering voices around you, nor the hard bass of a remixed 2000's pop song. Just the small, almost not there, rush of the rustling waves.
An occasional drop signified fish swimming to the surface and diving down again.
Some frogs were quacking in the tall blades of grass.
You pressed your knees closer to your body.
Through your lungs, you inhaled the warm summer air. It would soon be morning.
Something directed your thoughts to the song 'Memory' from Cats.
"And soon it will be morning".
The background noise around you didn't change.
You hated how weary you felt, how heavy your heart. From one sentence, how your night was taken in one's hand, and crushed right in-between his fingers, without him even realizing the splinters digging into his palms.
You hated how much power you had given him over you, a man, a boy, who had no interest in you besides the one of a good friend, which was fine, you should be fine with that.
But for some reason, you weren't, in the same way that you weren't altruistic, and not a girl with dark hair and curls and tan skin, the way that you just weren't Kiara Carrera.
Who were you to blame JJ for the way you couldn't grow up and grow out of your feelings.
"Touch me, it's so easy to leave me".
A soft creak behind you caught your attention.
You didn't turn around.
There was no danger to be expected from the people on the Cut. Not that you knew of.
You told yourself that was the reason you stayed.
Not the fact that you didn't care, if the approaching footsteps were danger or not.
A body, clad in a dark brown shirt and jeans plopped down a few feet to your right.
You almost retched when the smell of distinct perfume reached your nose.
"What happened, man?" JJ asked loudly. "You just ... left, back there. We didn't know where you were." He chuckled. You could hear it in his voice, the way he was still rest-drunk. "Thought you found yourself a nice lady and decided we weren't enough fun, if you know what I mean."
You stayed silent.
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw JJ looking at your side.
You heard him sigh.
"Man, I'm serious. If something's wrong, you can talk to me. I'm always there for you, you know that."
You bit the inside of your cheek.
Was it fair to let him fidget, like a fish on a rod? As far as you knew, JJ hadn't done anything wrong, not actively.
You stared out the sea.
"I don't like you with Kiara." Your voice was raw and rough. You slightly cleared your throat.
The light breeze made the reeds rustle in a whisper.
JJ sighed and rubbed a hand over his face frantically.
"I know, man," He murmured. "No pogue on pogue macking, I get it. I broke the rule."
You hummed. Behind the horizon, the sky colored brighter.
"Maybe it's that, yeah." You still didn't turn your head.
The night ended and greeted the day, the blood rushing through your ears drowning out any other noise around you.
You pushed down the shiver that threatened to shake your body when the wind picked up.
“But maybe it’s just because I am so terrifyingly in love with you.”
Behind the reeds and over the smooth water, the sun rose slowly above the Banks, a burning orange flare of light.
“I believe in love and lust and sex and romance. I don't want everything to add up to some perfect equation. I want mess and chaos. I want someone to go crazy out of his mind for me. I want to feel passion and heat and sweat and madness. I want valenties and cupids and all of that crap. I WANT IT ALL”
― Barbra Streisand
#jj maybank x you#jj maybank imagine#jj maybank x reader#jj maybank#jj maybank x male!reader#male!reader#girl crush#yourmomxx#outerbanks imagine#outerbanks x reader#rudy pankow imagine
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➵ pogue on pogue macking - madelyn cline x fem!singer!reader | social media au (1)
a/n: I’ve always wanted to do a social media au and honestly this was so fun to make! also, please know that all those pictures are from pinterest and because of that, in no way a measure on the reader’s looks!! I always try to make my works as inclusive as possible for everyone so even more people can enjoy them <3
yourinstagram
liked by sabrinacarpenter, luizakns and 1.998.037 others
yourinstagram thank you so much charleston, for being an amazing crowd and providing me with one of the most fun nights on this tour! love you all so much, hope to see you again soon🧡
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emilyshortcake no because you don’t understand, I wanted to go there so badly but I found out too late and all tickets were already sold😭please be back
↳ reidsgirlfriend @/emilyshortcake I literally sat outside the stadium the entire night because you could hear the concert all the way out there💀
itsbrutalouthere mother mothering
oliviarodrigo 🔥🔥
ynnn please come to italy!!
tunafish got the opportunity to see this live and I will never be the same person again
madelyncline
liked by chasestokes, drewstarkey and 1.284.573 others
madelyncline did a bit of a photodump there🤭
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jessiejay how can someone look so good in a casual photo dump?
ynisbabe excuse me?? is that @/yourinstagram that I see?
↳ emilyshortcake no because I thought that too omg
lisawithz them cheekbones DAMN girl
dreamworksworkofdreams A Y/N CONCERT IS THIS REAL I AM FREAKING OUT
madisonbaileybabe 😍❤️
lechair mads is a fellow yn-fan oh my god😍😍
urfellowsapphic slide 3 is literally only another reason to love her
yourinstagram
liked by madelyncline, jackchampion and 1.968.428 others
yourinstagram I am sooo proud to announce that my second album, “daughter of revenge” is now out on all music streaming platforms! As some of you might know, I went through some rough patches in my childhood and adolescence, but I managed to overcome them all and now I am standing here, and I made it, and this is exactly what this album is all about! thank you so much for all your support, because without you, none of this would have ever been possible!
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therealobama I JUST LISTENED TO IT AND I AM ASCENDING OH MY GOD
ynisbabe the declaration of independence < this
emilyshortcake ihumuyd chain⤵️
↳ hannahliv I HOPE YOU NEVER FALL IN LOVE AGAIN
↳ janagp I HOPE YOU’LL BE YOURSELF AND LOSE YOUR FRIENDS
↳ bella_ltn I HOPE THEY CALL YOU OUT FOR SHIT YOU SAID
↳ jjmay I HOPE YOU’RE MISERABLE UNTIL YOU’RE DEAD
suesilvesterforpresident BABE WAKE UP NEW Y/N Y/L/N ALBUM JUST DROPPED
sabrinacarpenter so proud of you hon, keep up the good work!
↳ yourusername @/sabrinacarpenter my twin😩🙏
pussinboots no because the chorus of dying on the inside literally had me dying on the inside
↳ suesilvesterforpresident “Beauty is a knife I’ve been holding by the blade, swallowing my pride so i won’t eat anything” - like no, I don’t need my heart anyway, thanks for asking❤️🩹
↳ dwbabe FR
♔꙳⋆ twitter ꙳⋆
♔꙳⋆ instagram ꙳⋆
celebritynews
liked by ynnn, leah_with_an_h and 87.632 others
celebritynews singer-songwriter y/n y/l/n and actress Madelyn Cline spotted hanging out together, as they leave a coffee shop in our favorite city, new orleans
Follow for more updates❤️
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emiliakm any originals fans here?
↳ lassyinatessi @/emiliakn always🙋♀️
howdoyouspellpink y/n and mads? literally my two worlds colliding omg
turtleneck they look like gossip besties I love it
toadondaroad they’re honestly both so hot of course they’re hanging out
melani.31 oh to get coffee with them😩🙏
ikissedagirl no because that’s literally right around the corner from my apartment?
↳ andilikedit @/ikissedagirl please tell me if you see them, I will cry
madelyncline
liked by madisonbaileybabe, yourusername and 1.738.959 others
madelyncline my two moods when with whiskey
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hannah._. omg mads😭
madisonbaileybabe so proud of you babe!!
yourusername I just watched glass onion and i cannot stop thinking about it, @/madelyncline any idea why that is?
↳ madelyncline @/yourusername wouldn’t have anything to do with a girl named after a delicious alcohol now, would it?
↳ addyourusername excuse me???
↳ leafme what. is. going. on??
↳ yourusername @/madelyncline can argue about calling whiskey delicious - the alcohol, that is😉
↳ carolinacreek MA’AM
semmily ARIANA (y/n) WHAT ARE U DOING HERE
madelynclinebabe literally the prettiest girl
♔꙳⋆ twitter ꙳⋆
pt2.
#social media au#madelyn cline imagine#madelyn cline x reader#female reader#madelyn cline#wlw post#yourmomxx#twitter au#instagram au#madelyn cline x fem!reader#singer!reader#sarah cameron#outerbanks imagine#outerbanks x reader#outer banks#whiskey#glass onion#knives out
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