Tag fluff

The Pain of Return

Aebli Leave a comment

There’s a case in your hometown, but when you arrive nothing looks the same.

Pairing: None

Warnings: Angst, sense of lost time, childhood stolen angst, plot without point, fluffy ending (oops)

Word Count: 1965

Note: I wrote this around my visit to my former hometown this weekend, but I’ve tried to leave it vague and open for other towns. Happy (or un-happy) SPN Angst Day!

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Taking a deep breath, you opened your eyes and stretched. Sam and Dean were in the front of Baby talking low about the case.

The case. The one in your childhood hometown.

You shot up, looking out the windows for anything familiar.

“We’re still a few miles from the state line,” Dean piped up. “You haven’t missed it.

“Ah, but have we passed the peach butt yet?” You giggled as the both looked back at you; Dean through the mirror and Sam turning sharply in his seat. “I guess not.”

“The what?” Sam asked.

“The Peach Butt. I think it’s a water tower, or used to be, but its painted like a giant peach. Even has a leaf and the little nob at the bottom. The area is known for their fruit. And fireworks. But mostly the giant peach. It’ll mean I’m almost home.”

The peach crested over the hill a little while later. Both of the boys were amused at the water tower and you taking pictures with your phone. Almost fifteen years had passed since you last saw it, when your family moved south, and it still looked just as freshly painted and bright as ever. Then the highway dipped, and the peach disappeared from sight. Within another twenty minutes, the exits for your childhood county zoomed into view.

But as Dean pulled up the ramp, everything went wrong.

There was the Waffle House, and the hotel, and the Cracker Barrel. Gone was the family-run Italian restaurant that had the best cannoli’s in the world and the little pet shop where you got your first fish. There were over twenty new business squeezed into a strip mall over what used to be the park.

“Where do I turn?” Dean asked, breaking through the rising panic in your chest.

“There should be a ‘Scott Road’ on your left. That will take you through a small town before we get to ‘Hickory Grove Road’ and the straight shot to the case.”

Sam pointed the sign out to Dean. Memories stuttered in your mind as the trees that used to grow there were replaced by a budding neighborhood, many still under construction. After a few minutes, Dean slowed Baby to a stop. The road came to a dead end with a bright orange construction sign. You stayed silent as Sam typed the address into his GPS and shared it with Dean as he turned Baby around.

Your heart throbbed in your chest. Heavy, chest-rattling thumps that felt like they were pushing molasses through your veins. Air shuddered out of your lungs in short bursts and long silent sighs. Sam kept glancing back at you. Instead of looking back at him, you watched the town roll by your window different in almost every way. Just when you thought you were completely lost, a landmark would roll by and you knew where you were.

When had everything changed?

The landmarks became more frequent as Dean drove further out of the town and into the country. Out there, you saw more boarded up windows and crumbling buildings than replacements. Then things got really familiar.

“Dean, stop the car.”

“What?”

“Stop the car. Let me drive.”

You slid into the front seat next to him at the next red light. It was cramped with all three of you shoulder to shoulder but you weren’t focused on that at the moment.

At the salon go straight. Pass the soccer field. Pass the rusted sculptures. Follow the curve to the church. Turn left on the gravel road.

“Where is it?” you mumbled under your breath. Baby jumped and tilted over the gravel. Dean growled as pebbles bounced off the doors. With a curse, you made a sudden U-turn in some random driveway that wasn’t there before. “Where is it!” you shouted, slapping your hand against the wheel.

“Where’s what?” Sam looked at his phone and the road. “There’s nothing back here.”

“That’s the problem,” you muttered. Dean cursed as you slammed on the breaks. Then you were off like a shot.

“Y/N! Wait!” Dean moved Baby to one side of the road, then followed you with Sam to the open field. When they caught up you were sitting in a tree looking over the expanse of green. “What are you doing? What were you looking for?” Dean demanded.

“My house.” Your voice was soft but hoarse. “It was right here. I used to climb this tree all the time. Nearly broke my arm dozens of times.” You shifted against the bark. The swell in the limbs where you now sat was smaller than you remembered. The whole thing felt lower to the ground. “Why is my tree here but not my house?” The question hung in the air unanswered.

Sam checked his watch and nudged Dean, who nodded back.

“Y/N, we have to get to the crime scene. We’ll come back. I promise.”

You nodded. But you didn’t move. Not until the green of the field was replaced with the green of Dean’s eyes. You never thought how similar they would be.

“Sweetheart, we have to go.” He took you hand and gently tugged on it till you hoped off the tree.

You were silent as Dean pulled up to another new neighborhood. The show house was surrounded in police tape still, and a news crew stood out front.

“I thought everything happened… three days ago?” Sam asked.

“I did too.” Dean straightened his tie and led the march over. He was the first to duck under the tape after you all showed your fake badges. Sam broke off to find the commanding officer, and Dean wandered over to listen to the news crew. That left you standing alone. You usually went to check out the scene first, but your feet wouldn’t move.

“Y/N?” A voice said behind you. “Y/N Y/L/N?” You turned around and saw an aged version of a familiar face.

“Mz. Cindi?” You couldn’t help but let a smile break out over your face. She used to baby-sit you when your parents wanted a night out. You ducked back under the tape to give her a hug.

“Oh sweetie, it’s so good to see you! Let me look at you.” She held you at arm length but still had to tilt up her head to look at you. You were taller than her in sixth grade. “A FBI agent. I’m so proud of you. Obviously, this terrible business brings you to town, but I’m sure you’ve heard enough of that already. How’s the family?”

“Oh, uh. My parents are…” Murdered. “…they died.” Vampires. “Car accident. I was away at college.” I was home. The vamps kidnapped me and bled me for days. “Other than that, I’ve been all right.”

“My poor child.” She wrapped her short arms around your waist, then jumped back with a start. “Oh goodness. Did you drive by…”

“My house, or lack of? Yeah. What happened?”

“The family living there didn’t keep it as well as your parents. It became mold infested; poisoned the people living there. The mailman saw their bodies through the window. Just terrible. It had to come down, so the city had the volunteer fire department burn it down for practice. That was seven years ago. But most of the trees are still there.”

Seven years. Odd.

“Now this house was infested with hornets. The town seems intent on dying before the corporations can get out here. Oh, who’s your tall drink of water?”

You looked over your shoulder and saw Dean walking over. “Dean? He’s my partner. Well, one of them. The other one is talking to the chief.”

“Ah,” she whispered knowingly, “but which one is yours?” You rolled your eyes as she giggled.

“Dean, this is Mz. Cindi. She used to watch after me.”

“Pleasure to meet you, ma’am. Hate to steal Y/N away from you, but we need her inside.” He walked away after you nodded.

Mz. Cindi gave your hand a squeeze. “Don’t worry about the change dear. It’s the way of the world. And there’s always a little pain when you go back home and it doesn’t look the same as before. But after you and your boys solve this, don’t wait another fifteen years to show up. There are still good people around, and we miss you. You’ll have to tell us about the world some time since you’re one of the few that made it out.”

“I’ll do that. Is your number the same?”

“Hasn’t changed in over thirty years. I’ll talk to you later, sweetie.” She gave you one last hug, then let you walk back to the house.

Dean started filling you in on the case. The surviving son came back and got hit by a second wave of hornets. But his voice sounded far away.

Change is the way of the world.

“Y/N!” Dean snapped his fingers in front of your face. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just thinking.”

You passed on the information about your old house after Sam joined you two inside. The timing was too perfect a number. Sam did research, and Dean cleaned his guns. You walked out to the train tracks and reminded walking the rails with your friends after school. And wondered whether any of them had moved out too. There was still a lump in your throat when Dean called you with the plan. You swallowed it and got to work. Bones to salt and burn. Ghost of the town legend to put to rest. It should have felt good, saving everyone. It should have felt like the world started turning again.

Instead, it felt like it was heavier on your shoulders.

No other families would be hurt. No more children would wake up one morning and find their family dead. Not like you had. But it didn’t feel like enough. All the lives you saved couldn’t get back the memories corrupted by the last few days. They couldn’t fix how lost you felt in a town that you used to know so well. You were almost welcomed leaving at this point.

“Do you want to get out and take pictures?” Dean broke through your brooding. He hissed as gravel bounced of the car again as he pulled to a stop in front of the field.

“Not really. Let’s just go home.” You turned your head to face inside the car.

Sam cleared his throat. “Y/N, hate to be that guy, but you know you’ll regret it. Come on.” His door creaked and his shoes made the gravel crunch. Your side of the car was shadowed before he opened your door. “Come on. I’ll take the pictures if you won’t.”

You snorted with a grin. “No, you’ll take them wrong.” Sam stepped out of the way and you stepped out. You took a deep breath before taking that last step between gravel and grass. If you’d left the shutter sound on, your phone would have driven Dean crazy. The dozens of pictures were silent instead.

Sam’s hand enveloped yours. “Go sit where you were yesterday.” He crouched a little and took your picture as you sat in your spot. “Dean, go away!” he grumbled. Dean shot back a determined “no” and placed his warm hands on your shoulders before tickling your neck. He laughed openly as you squealed.

“Come over here, moose-man. And bring your selfie-stick arms.” You giggled as Sam shot you a disgruntled look, but he posed and smiled all the same.

“I bet I can race you to the top of this tree,” Dean said several pictures later.

“Honey, you couldn’t make it half-way.” You gave him a shove that sent him sprawling into the grass, then climbed as fast as you could before Dean could catch up to you.

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Your Mother is Going to Kill Me

Aebli Leave a comment

Dean learns how his son reacts to struggles and has to think of a way to keep them both out of trouble, even on Fathers’ Day.

Pairing: Domestic!Dean x Reader (Y/N)

Warnings: heart melting fluff, implied smut

Word Count: ~650

Note: I love reading Father!Dean fics, and wanted to try writing one. Let me know how you liked it with a comment (even if it’s just a keyboard smash), like and/or reblog.

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As the knocking on the door intensified, Dean cracked open his eyes to look at the clock. He groaned. Who the hell is awake at 7 on a Sunday? Behind the knocking, he heard rustling in the kitchen downstairs. Everyone. That’s who. He rolled over and pulled the blankets over his head. “It’s too early!” he grumbled loudly.

The hinges creaked as the door opened. A few seconds later a small body flew onto the bed and landed on Dean’s chest.

“Wake up! It’s Father’s Day! Happy Father’s Day, daddy!”

“Good morning to you too, Bobby.” Dean grunted as Bobby bounced one more time before getting off his chest.

“I got you a present.” Bobby held out a small box haphazardly wrapped in blue paper. He watched almost patiently as Dean ripped off the paper. “It’s a derby car! My scout troupe hasn’t given them out yet, but Mommy said you’d want time with me for Father’s Day and I asked my leader for the car early, I was thinking we could paint it red. I already sketched out a bit, wanna see?”

“Hang on there…” Dean sighed as Bobby dumped out the contents of the box onto the bed. He couldn’t help but smile as Bobby pointed out his penciled plans and chattered opinions for flames or stripes. “That all sounds great, buddy. We can make final decisions on paint when we get there. For now, let’s put everything back in the box and we can see what you mother’s doing for breakfast. “

Bobby panicked as they counted everything off. “Where’s the fourth wheel? How could I lose it? Son of a-“

“Hey! Watch your language. Where’d you learn that anyways?”

Bobby looked up sheepishly. “You said it the other day when you tripped over my firetruck. Saying it seemed to calm you down, so…”

Dena pinched the bridge of his nose. “Your mother’s gonna kill me. Okay, here’s the deal,” he said, giving the derby box back to his son, “we can buy another set if we can’t find the fourth wheel. Then we’ll have three back-ups.” He dropped his voice, “and if Mommy asks about your new vocabulary you’re not going to use, say you learned it from Uncle Sammy. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Bobby grinned.

“What are you two up to?” you asked, walking in from leaning on the doorframe. You laughed when they both said “nothing” in unison, unconvincingly. “Right, now scoot over.” You slid into the bed behind Bobby, kissing Dean over his head.

“Hey! You’re squishing me. Get a room!”

“You’re in our room, little mister.” You reached out and tickled Bobby from one angle as Dean tickled him from another till Bobby’s squeals were high enough to shatter glass. “And where’d you learn that sass?”

Bobby looked at Dean, then back at you. “Frooooom… Uncle Sammy.”

“That’s my boy,” Dean said, giving Bobby’s hair a ruffle. His proud smile dropped away into a confused shrug.

“Sure you did,” you hummed. “Breakfast is out. You might want to get there before your Dad eats all the bacon.”

Bobby was off like a shot.

Dean rolled over you and kissed your forehead and down your neck. He rolled his hips and hardening length against you.

You shivered. “You wanting to make a brother for Bobby?”

Dean growled. “I was thinking a sister as brilliant and beautiful as her mother, but I’m more focused on the creative process at the moment.”

You pressed a finger over his lips as he dipped for another kiss. “Unless you want a small interruption, might I suggest we wait till after breakfast?”

“It’s not too early to traumatize Bobby.”

You booped his nose. “If you can wait for a little bit, Sam’s coming over to pick him up. Then we’ll have all day.” You giggled as Dean’s face lit up. “Happy Father’s Day, Mr. Winchester.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Winchester.”

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Hey Bartender

Aebli Leave a comment

Sometimes a hero doesn’t have to dodge bullets or round up a gang of thugs. Sometimes a hero is just a good listener.

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Reader (Y/N)

Warnings: Drinking (alcohol, with minimal control)

Word Count: 800+

Note: I had the Lady Antebellum song stuck in my head, and this came out. It kinda inspired the fic, but it does not make an appearance. Please enjoy and let me know how you like it by commenting, liking, and/or reblogging. My requests and tag lists are open! 

Alcohol gif below the cut:

The shot glass clattered and rolled until you were able to catch it and flip it over. Your vision wasn’t blurry yet, but there were still two to go.

A loud voice cut through the din of the crowded bar. “If you weren’t alone, I’d say you were having a party.” A man that you had never seen before in your life sat on the stool next to you. Tall blonde, with a smile too big for his small face. Asshole. “What are we celebrating?”

“Nothing,” you said, shooting back the second glass. “I’m not interested, I’m not going home with you, and you’re not going home with me. Douchebags who hit on women who obviously want to be alone are not my type. So back off.” You swallowed the third glass with a shudder as the man left. He muttered a list of profane nicknames for you till he was distracted by a bachelorette party. You flipped the glasses back over for a refill and waved down the bar. “Hey, bartender. Another trio, please.”

He hesitated with a worried look. “Do you want to try a stiffer drink? Something you can take slow?”

“I don’t want slow. Slow is not the way of the world, so I’ve finally learned. Thanks anyway.”

“There’s a story there. Why don’t you tell me?” He looked about as tired as you felt. It seemed he had his own restless night. Often, by the darkness of the shadows under his eyes.

“Why should I tell you? You probably hear a hundred sob stories a shift.”

He chuckled. “I do. But that doesn’t make them any less real or painful to the storyteller. How about we make a deal? I get off in ten. You tell me your story, and I ask my replacement to whip you up the drink you need to lay you out quick. Sound good?” When you hesitated, he added the perfect stipulation to push the deal over. “And the drink will be on the house.”

“Sure. See you in ten.”

He nodded and turned to walk away, but came back in a second. “My name’s Richard by the way. But my friends call me Dick.”

“Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you.”

You watched him work for this next ten minutes like he was a Nascar race. He moved quickly enough for it. He flirted his way up and down the bar with whomever he liked, and quickly served those he didn’t. If someone was being annoying about getting another round, he ignored them. One guy figured it out and waited patiently till Dick got to him. Other drunken deadbeats had to wait until his replacement showed up.

“Let’s sit in the corner booth,” he said after collecting his tips. “It’s quieter and we won’t be disturbed.” He grabbed a pitcher of water and two glasses, then led the way. He sat close enough to hear you, but far enough away to not intrude on your space.

“What about my drink?”

“You need to hydrate first,” he said, pouring you a glass. “Besides, I won’t know what you need till I hear your story.”

He was a good listener. He nodded and hummed in all the right places. His brow would furrow when he was supposed to be angry, and he would mirror your profanities. Other than that, he didn’t say a word as you poured out your life’s story. Maybe it was the booze or the late hour, but you told him things you never dared to say out loud. Even to yourself. Every dream shattered, every crack in your heart, every tearful fear for the future.

You hadn’t realized you were crying until he reached up and smoothed a tear away with his thumb. Next thing you knew, you were running your fingers over his lips, wondering what they would taste like. With a snap, you pulled them back.

“I’m sorry. The shots finally kicked in.”

“It’s alright, Y/N. Do you mind if I call you a cab?”

When it pulled up to the curb, Dick held the door open and waited for you to get in. The alcohol swirling in your blood gave you another kick of courage.

“Do you want to come with?”

Dick blushed. “Not this time. The next time you come in ready to drink away a rough time, we can skip the booze. Right now you need to sleep.”

“Thanks, Dick.” You moved to sit down, bur popped back up. “Hey, I didn’t get that special drink.”

“I’ll hold it on your tab as the Grayson special. I’ll make myself the next time you come in. Bad day or not. I promise.”

That man is a hero. And gorgeous to boot. As the cab pulled away, you saw him continue to watch the cab until it rounded a corner. Yeah. You would be back. After a bartender prescribed sleep.

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More Than Usual

Aebli Leave a comment

Prompt: “My request is this: DeanxReader where the reader has Endometriosis but she’s hiding it from Dean but one day on a hunt when it gets bad she collapses and finally has to tell him and lots of fluff and so on and she explains how painful it is and he helps her and is supportive. I hope it’s something you’ll want to write! I’m trying to bring awareness to the disease.” – @destielshipper222

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Y/N)

Warnings: period stuff (to the extreme), angsty beginning, eventual fluff, mild language

Word Count: 1500+

Quick Background: Endometriosis is when uterus tissue grows where it shouldn’t be. It can cause cysts and fusing of the uterus to other organs. The tissue reacts to the menstruation cycle and leads to interior bleeding because the broken-down tissue has nowhere to go. This leads to intense pain before/during periods and during everyday life. It affects millions of women around the world and is often waved off by doctors as “normal pain.”

Note: I had no idea this disease affected so many women before doing a little research for this fic. I’m not a huge blog yet, but I hope this gets the word out there. Incredibly painful period pains are not normal, so if any of this sounds familiar you might want to consider talking to someone.

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You hoped to finish the case before it hit. You hoped it would hold off for a few more hours. You hoped the monster couldn’t sense the pain you were in. It was unlikely it wouldn’t. Vampires had a way of seeking out such things.

“You ready?” Dean asked, handing you a machete from the trunk.

“Yeah.” A jab inside your abdomen made you steady yourself on Baby, playing it off as casual leaning.

“What’s wrong with you?” His brow instantly furrowed. That’s how he was every month. So far, you’d been able to hide the truth from him.

“Just cramps. It’s a good thing I’m the bait. Sam, do you have any other info?”

“He seems to be a loner, maybe trying to start a new pack. Another casualty of the British Men of Letters probably.”

You grunted as another pain shot through you. “Then let’s get this show on the road.”

The three of you avoided the main drive towards the house. You signaled the boys when you saw the vamp walking around inside. Sam broke off to find the back door. You and Dean made your way to the front, crouching under the window sills. Dean mouthed “be careful” when you found the door was unlocked.

At the center staircase, he went left, you went right. The vamp had wandered into another part of the house, leaving the picturesque country living room empty. You ignored the dust fairies swirling in the sunlight, choosing instead to focus on the next doorway. It was getting harder to hold the blade up high enough to hit anything. Wave after wave of pain surged through you as your cramps hit near peak intensity. As usual, the morning meds weren’t doing much. Between the cold sweat and the pounding heart, you were sure the vamp would find you soon enough. The goal was to distract him enough to take him out, but your sight was beginning to tunnel to five feet in front of you. You never saw the fist coming.

The vamp sent you sprawling and your machete clattering under the couch. He pinned your arms to either side with his knees and clamped his hands over your mouth, hovering just above sitting on your chest.

“Well hello there. I didn’t think I was expecting visitors, but you’ll do.” He leaned down and took a long sniff up the side of your face. “Hmm. There’s something wrong with your blood, love. You know, one little bite will fix all that.”

“Ngho Phank Wu,” you mumbled through his fingers. You kicked your legs, hoping to get the boys’ attention.

“Don’t worry. Your friends will be down shortly, but with a new stamina I’m sure you’ll appreciate.” He laughed openly as you struggled beneath him, intent on signaling Dean before he or Sam went upstairs.

“Hey, douche bag!”

The vamp looked up just in time to be beheaded. You were sprayed with blood and yelled to Dean, “there’s more upstairs!” He dashed off, leaving you to gather yourself and follow him.

Only you couldn’t.

The cramps controlled your body now. Your skin felt like it was vibrating. You could hear your breaths coming out in short bursts. The air that should have been coming in was nowhere to be found. Ceiling turned into wall and turned into floor as you curled into a ball praying, willing the agony to go away. Dean came thundering down the stairs covered in blood and proud of himself. Then he saw you.

“Y/N!” He kneeled by your side and cradled your head in his lap. “What’s wrong? Did he turn you?”

“No,” you gasped out before curling up again.

“I’m taking you to a hospital, now.”

“No. We’re covered in blood. Too many questions. Just get me to the car and my bag.” His face hovering over you upside down was the last thing you saw before blacking out.

The tree line breezed by in brilliant shades of green.

“Hang on, Y/N. We left your bag at the motel. Just, hang in there. Please.”

You mentally compared his irises to the trees before fading out again.

When you woke up Dean was sitting next to you with your meds and a glass of water. You felt warm and appreciated that he had dressed you in your usual sleeping clothes.

“Steady,” he murmured while he propped you up. You took the pills and the water, swallowing both in turn and not looking at him. You could feel him practically buzzing with questions, but he waited for you to finish the glass. You sat up further on the bed and realized he had also found your heating pad. He sat against the headboard next to you and put his arm around your shoulders. “How are you feeling?”

“No worse than usual.” You found a stain on the wall to focus on when his eyebrows shot up.

“What was that, Y/N? That can’t be usual!”

Unfortunately, it is. “Dean, I’ve been living with this for a while. It’s not something you get used to, per say, but there are ways to circumnavigate the pains.”

“Why didn’t you ask Cas to do something?”

You found a different spot on the wall. “We’re busy fighting things a lot bigger than my Endo.” Shit.

“Your what?”

“Endometriosis. It’s what my disease is called.”

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “The second Cas gets enough mojo back, we are zapping it away, no matter what. Deal?”

You curled into his chest as the meds kicked in, easing the pounding in your stomach. “Deal.”

Sleep was probably a few minutes away when there was a knock at the door. Dean leaped out of the bed and pulled out his wallet. “In the meantime, I ordered food.” He paid the pizza guy and turned to show you the pie with all your favorite toppings, even the ones he doesn’t like. “And when we’re ready for dessert, the motel office had an ice cream cooler.”

Pizza and ice cream. Your usual go-to cramp food. He’d been paying attention.

“What did I do to deserve you?”

Dean chuckled. “The real question is who did you piss off to get stuck with me?” He pulled the covers over his legs as he joined you in the bed. “Because you are stuck with me, sweetheart.” He took a slice and began to pick off the undesirables. “So, how long have you had endomet…metro… the thing?”

“Since I was about twelve. I was in class thinking they were normal pains, then I woke up in the nurse’s office. That was long before I started hunting. I learned how to deal with the pain in a normal life.” Your voice dropped off to barely a whisper, “I don’t know what I would’ve done if I’d been hunting alone and collapsed like that.”

“What do they feel like, if you don’t mind talking about it?”

“Like getting stabbed. And considering that I know how that feels, it’s accurate. It’s never just one jab though. It’s all day, and usually lasts the whole week.”

Dean leaned his forehead against the side of your head. “Shit, Y/N. I had no idea. Besides the food and the meds and the heating pad, what do you usually do to keep them at bay?”

You smiled. “Sleep usually. Focus on being research central for you and Sam. Some of the yoga Sam taught me helps, but I have to be willing to move in the first place.”

“Next time you need someone to motivate you to do yoga, I’ll join you. Only if we do it in the garage, where Sam can’t see!”

You giggled at the mental image of Den trying to hold tree pose and not fall over. You would definitely find the effort just to see that.

“Now what? Do you want to sleep?”

You shook your head. “Pizza was too good. But… can you…” you hovered between wanting to be pampered and not wanting to be a bother. “Can you get me some more water… please?” Out of nowhere, Dean handed you another glass. You peeked around him to the lamp table between the beds to see a small army of glasses filled with water. And one with what looked like whiskey.

Dean shrugged with a nervous grin. “You were out for a while. I may have panicked a little.” He smiled in full when you giggled. “Okay, what’s your usual next step?”

“Netflix.”

You were a sucker for Bollywood films, and “Bang Bang” was probably your favorite. Dean kept his mouth shut about having to read the movie, but he laughed more as the film pulled him in. Even your favorite songs weren’t enough to pull your focus back to the laptop screen. Dean was pressed close against you and steadying the tech on his knees. You slept perfectly that night curled into his chest. No sex, minimal pain, just cuddling into his warmth better than the best heating pad. Having him next to you, knowing what you were going through and being supportive, was more effective than any medical remedy.

Masterlist 

Dean/Supernatural Tags: 

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The Kissing Thief Part 3: Chocolate Kisses

Aebli Leave a comment

Valentine’s fluff between Dick Grayson and the Reader.

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Reader, appearances by Jason, Cass, Tim

Warnings: food mention, fire hazard, language, implied smut

Word Count: ~650

Note: Just a quick fic. I figured there would be plenty of smut out there, so I’m trying to write fluff this time. Leave a comment, like, and reblog to let me know how I did. Get ready for butterflies. 

Part 1: Mistlefoe       Part 2 : A Glitering Celebration

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As much as you loved the game, today was not the day that you wanted to play hide-and-seek. With your ankle now healed, Dick could hide anywhere in the city. You’d found him twice already, only to see him jump across another rooftop with his laugh to hide someplace else.

Bruce messaged you that it was Tim’s turn to patrol. You gratefully sighed and hoped on the bike before speeding back to the manor.

A Hershey kiss hung where your keys usually did.

You knew what he was doing. It was no secret what time of the year it was. You even knew where’d he be laid out, waiting for you. You giggled as you unwrapped the kiss. He could wait a minute.

After you changed out, you were a little unnerved when Jason snickered as you walked past. He didn’t look up from his phone when you shot him a look. Then you heard Cass screech. Running into the kitchen you were overrun with roses and balloons.

“Please tell me Dick’s gonna let you share?” she begged. Already she had a hand on a heart-shaped box, one of many that obliterated the table.

“Knock yourself out,” you chuckled. You grabbed the one box with a kiss taped to the top and left the rest for the family. As you unwrapped it, the tag on the top filled the foil. The usual blue writing was covered up with other text too small for you to read.

There was another kiss waiting for you in the library next to the magnifying glass. It’s tag said “use me,” making you giggle.

“I love your lips when they’re wet with wine

And red with a wild desire;

I love your eyes when the lovelight lies

Lit with a passionate fire.

I love your arms when the warm flesh

Touches mine in a fond embrace;

I love your hair when the strands enmesh

Your kisses against my face.”

You placed your hand on your heart. He was quoting, but it was still beautiful. You dug the first tag out of your pocket to see if there was a message there as well. “Lay me down where stars play, lay me down where my lover lays.” Not Robert Frost, but he got his point across.

Tim was back from his patrol. His brow scrunched in confusion when he saw you. “Y/N, I just heard you in your room?”

“Was my voice unnaturally high pitched?”

He thought for a moment before saying, “yeah. I thought maybe you’d caught a cold.” He thought for another second. “Were you not the one who screeched earlier over the coms?”

“Cass. There’s a table full of chocolate. You can have some if you…” he was gone before you could finish. With a labored sigh, you stood outside your door. You counted to twenty, just to see if he would ask you to come in. But he’s just as stubborn as you are.

The room was dark. You flipped the switch, but it did nothing. A single flame lit in the middle of your room. It hovered down and lit a candle. The flame spread till there were at least twenty candles lit surrounding your bed.

“Happy Valentine’s day Y/N,” Dick said from over your shoulder. He pulled you close and kissed your temple.

“If Alfred saw this, he’d never trust you with another…” Dick silenced you with another kiss. This one was deeper, made your heart swell, and ignited the heat beneath your stomach. You pulled him closer and found your stomach rubbing up against something hard. Dick let out a shuddered breath as you wiggled closer to him. “Dick, are you…”

He stepped back, letting you see the candle flames dance across his chest and over the red ribbon.

“Do you want to open your last present?”

Chocolate be damned; he knew exactly what you wanted.

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Consequences – Part 1: Ringside

Aebli Leave a comment
image

Y/N gets dragged to a boxing match by her friends where she meets Dean “Raisin’ Cain” Winchester. When asked out on a date, she says she’ll only go if he wins. Which is a serious problem.

Pairing: Boxer!Dean x Reader

Warnings: violence in the form of boxing

Word Count: 3100+

Note: I’m not a boxing expert, but I have watched a lot of fights from the greats to make this series. Find any Sugar Ray Robinson fight on YouTube and use it for background music if you’d like. I certainly used some to get in the zone. Feel free to leave comments on how you like or dislike it (with reasons why you dislike it) and guess where the story is going.

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The den didn’t look like much from the outside. The brick was chipping on the corners and several of the windows were boarded up. If there hadn’t been a line of patrons waiting at the door, Y/N would have thought it was abandoned.

She looked at her ticket stub again. Admit One: Winter Chicago Amateur Semi-Finals.

“Why are we here?” she asked Jo, her roommate.

“Because Claire got tickets from her friend who works concessions. She’s already inside and said to meet at the seats on the second row.” Jo spun, flaring her skirt and drawing the eye of several men standing around them.

“I feel overdressed.” Y/N looked down at her little black dress, wincing at the grand amount of tulle under the skirt. In reality, it was only a notch above what she wore around town, but she would have preferred to save this dress for a Sunday. “It’s just going to be a bunch of sweaty guys beating each other up. We could watch that any night at your mom’s bar.”

“Y/N,” Jo sighed, “try to enjoy this. The guys fighting tonight are going to look a lot better than the ones at the bar.” Jo leaned close and whispered, “and they’ll be wearing considerably less clothing.”

“Jo!”

A quick cheer resounded from the front of the line as the doors opened. Light poured out into the street, followed quickly by lively music. Barely twenty people had walked through the doors when the bet collectors were yelling the stats. Y/N and Jo showed their ticket to the bouncer and were nearly drowned in the rush to get in. They were separated, but Y/N walked over to a less populated part of the arena to catch her breath.

“You alright, sweetheart?” a voiced asked.

She turned and found herself face to chest with a man in a suit. Taking a step away, she looked up into the greenest eyes she’d ever seen. He watched her with concern, but something about him made him feel dangerous. Like he could easily overpower her in more ways than one.

“Yes. Thank you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get to my seat.” She turned to walk away.

“You might want to wait a few more minutes till the crowd dies down or you’ll get swamped again.” Y/N stopped to listen. It was still crowded. “And I would take a moment to breathe. Once you’re sitting down, it’s probably not going to smell good.”

“Wonderful,” she muttered under her breath. But she stayed all the same. If the smell of sweaty men could reach her up here, then it was going to be unbearable down there.

“I’m Dean. What’s your name?” he asked, holding out a hand. She shook it with her fingertips.

“Y/N. Pleased to meet you.” She turned to watch people find their seat, reminded of the movements of ants.

“Have you ever been to a fight before?” Dean asked.

“Are you writing a book?”

He raised his hands in defense. “Just wanted to get to know you, sweetheart.”

Y/N snickered, “I hope you don’t think you’ll get anything out of it.”

“Well now that you mention it…” Y/N turned to gape at him. He was serious. If he wasn’t so big she would have thought his boyish movements would have been cute. She almost missed his question while watching his tongue dart out to wet his lips. “Did you hear me?”

“Please?”

“What are your plans after the fight?”

“As far as I can see, nothing with you.” Y/N turned to walk away, she could handle the second-row problems better than this.

“Come on, princess. Being one of the boxers should get me somewhere.”

Y/N took a deep breath. He was big enough to be a boxer but didn’t seem to fully fit the type. Not to mention he wasn’t dressed for a fight.

“I’ll tell you what. You win your fight tonight and I might meet you after the prizefight. Otherwise, forget it.”

Y/N walked away from his grinning face and into the pit. Jo and Claire didn’t have time to ask questions as the first opponents arrived at the ring. Y/N was ready to forget Dean.

“Dean! Where’ve you been, boy?” Bobby Singer grabbed Dean by the lapels and tugged him into the prep room. “You need to get dressed before Uriel gets here.” They froze as someone knocked on the door. “Balls.”

Bobby opened the door for Uriel. Dean hated his sneering face, but he was second in command for the match-fixing ring.

“Take a dive in the fifth, Winchester, and stay there. Feel free to do what you want till then as long as it doesn’t keep Cole from taking you out.”

“That’s not what we agreed, Uriel,” Bobby snarled, “Dean’s supposed to go to the big prize match in March.”

“He will. We had to add a week into the schedule so a special guest could meet you there. You’ll get a rematch next week, and then you’ll be on your way as planned.” Uriel laughed, a sound everyone found akin to nails on a chalkboard.

“You’d better not screw me. Not like you did to Cas with Bartholomew.” Dean stayed back, but his fists were tight enough to turn his knuckles white.

“Yeah, wasn’t that a bite? He made the distance till the tenth, though.” Uriel chuckled.

“It was torture,” Bobby spat.

Uriel stepped forward till he loomed over Bobby. “I wouldn’t focus on the past if I were you. Those who look back too much tend to get lost in the future.” He nodded at Dean and walked out, shouting over his shoulder, “the fifth, Winchester.”

They stood in silence, both seething. But it was the life they were in, one that they more or less chose. Sometimes they joked that God himself couldn’t stop them from deciding who lived and who died. They saved that for nights even darker than this.

“One of these days someone’s going to feed him a knuckle sandwich,” Dean growled.

Bobby nodded in agreement. “But it’s not gonna be you. And it’s not gonna be tonight. You’ve got too much riding on your family for you to rebel. It’d take the whole house of players to end this.”

“Or getting caught,” Dean mumbled.

“Bite your tongue boy! If they get caught, we get caught. And then all their attack dogs will get stuck in the same cage as us. We wouldn’t last the night.” Bobby sighed. Dean looked at him from the corner of his eyes. He was getting old, and the stress of the maintaining the fixes was taking its toll. Bobby shook himself with a grunt. “You need to change quick if you want to catch Sam before his fight.”

Dean shed his jackets while Bobby hunted out the shorts and gloves. He’d signed on to do whatever Uriel told him, but the image of the pretty girl from earlier mixed with the shame of being a fixed boxer made him question how tonight was really going to turn out.

Y/N jumped as the bell rang, ending the match. The ref announced the scores, awarding the win to the tall man with long hair. She halfway wondered how he could see his opponent.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer started, “these ring officials have been appointed by the Illinois State Boxing Commission.” He rattled off several names, she couldn’t remember if they were different from the match before, but they did look a little grimmer. “This is the feature presentation of the light heavyweight not exceeding 175 pounds. From Fort Benning, Georgia, wearing the black trunks with the white stripe and weighing 170 pounds: Cole “Avenger” Trenton.”

A quick cheer rang through the arena. The announcer waited for it to die down before continuing.

“And from Lawrence, Kansas, wearing the white trunks with the black stripes and weighing 175 pounds: Dean “Raisin’ Cain” Winchester.”

Y/N nearly fell out of her seat. It was the man she’d met earlier. And he was the title fight! She covered her face with her hands as Dean looked around the crowd before finding her. He smiled and winked, making her blush. She hoped he was too far away to see it.

“And ladies and gentlemen here is referee Balthazar Smith with instructions for both contestants. And ladies and gentlemen, no smoking, please.”

The referee stepped up to the mike and waited for Dean and Cole to meet. Their coaches stayed close, massaging their shoulders, and probably holding them back based on the daggers they were shooting. “You boys received your instruction from the Illinois Boxing Commission. I want a clean break at all times; careful of your kidney punches and your rabbit punches. In case of a knock-down, I want you to go to your furthest corner and stay there ‘til I tell you to come out fighting. Also, in case of a knock-down, you must take an eight-count. It that understood?” Dean a Cole nodded. “Shake hands and come out fighting.”

The boxers separated and went to their respective corners. Their managers took their robes and gave them mouth guards. The row in front of the girls was filled with men from the press. Y/N had been listening to the man directly in front of her all night as he announced the fight for a small radio program. He kept using terms she didn’t always recognize, but sometimes he’d clarify for visiting listeners. She hoped Dean wouldn’t get hurt.

Bobby held Dean back as he bounced and shadow boxed. “I know you don’t want to, but do what Uriel says. Next week you’ll get the rematch, and then we’ll be onto the big time.” Dean nodded and danced towards the center as the bell rang.

“Ladies and gentlemen, that was the opening bell for this scheduled ten rounder, and Raisin’ Cain Winchester, who won the championship last year, is on his way to defend his title against a younger opponent in the semi-finals. Cole the Avenger is fighting in memory of his father, who died due to boxing injuries.”

He labeled several punches and moves as the men started to swing at one another. “Trenton, who is very effective inside, very good at body punching, and Winchester who is obviously good at long range… with that snappy left jab… and the right cross.”

Dean cinched Cole’s arms to his sides, preventing further body punches. Already they were both sweating, and Dean’s grip was slipping. The referee came over and broke them apart. They separated, but Cole chased Dean into a retreat. Dean fired out a jab, which Cole returned. They traded punches, uppercuts, and several different types of blows that Y/N had learned that night.

“That right hand to Winchester was just a trifle short. If Winchester keeps dancing around the ring like he is, he might tire before he can knock some wind out of Trenton. But there can be no doubt that both men came here tonight to fight. A short minute remaining in round one.”

To Y/N, the minute felt like ten as the men quickly exchanged blows faster than the reporter could call them. Cole landed a solid punch to Dean’s face, making him stagger back into the ropes.

“A little trickle from Winchester. Trenton is scoring repeatedly!”

The bell sounded as Dean pushed off. They ignored one another and went to their corners.

“And round one is over! Raisin’ Cain Winchester taking about as much punishment as I’ve ever seen him take in round one except for last year when Castiel Novak nearly punched him out of the ring. Winchester came back to win that fight. Novak fought and lost to Bartholomew in his next bout in a nearly murderous display. Winchester has had a total of 130 bouts, losing seven, two draws, and one technical knock-out trying to win the middleweight championship when he first started.”

The reporter continued to pass along Dean’s stats and Y/N couldn’t help but be slightly impressed. He was actually a good fighter. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to date a boxer. Not yet. There were still nine rounds to go to see if he could hold up his end of the bargain.

Rounds two, three, and four came and went with similar displays of prowess. Dean’s cut on his brow kept bleeding into his eye. Bobby kept patching it up and cleaning it the best that he could. Y/N learned that he had been a boxer back in the day, but an unsportsmanlike hit to his spine kept him out for several years. When he came back, he stuck to training others and found the Winchesters: Dean and Sam. He was a coach for both of them. Y/N wondered how his heart stayed in his chest on nights when they both fought.

“Trenton talking to Winchester constantly. And the eye of Dean Winchester is starting to smear a bit. Right on the right eyebrow.”

Cole swung out, catching Dean in the ribs, making him double over.

“Probably the best blow of the fight! Avenger Trenton overhand right swinging below to catch Winchester in the ribs.”

Dean swung wildly, missing Cole completely as he ducked. Dean backed away and tried to wipe the blood out of his eye, but missed seeing Cole’s left hook. He dropped like a stone, his head bouncing painfully against the canvas.

The world slowed down to single heartbeats. Patrons leaped to their feet like rocks in molasses. Bobby shook his head, refusing to watch. Y/N looked for his eyes, begging whoever would hear her to see the brilliant green instead of the blood over his closed lids. She gasped as they fluttered.

He found hers as well, latching onto them like a ship to a lighthouse during a storm.

The referee started to count.

One.

Two.

Three.

“To hell with this,” Dean mumbled.

Four.

He reached for a rope, using it to pull himself up. But knees don’t count. He knew he had to get to his feet.

Five.

Cole shouted at him, “stay down! Or you’ll be worse than done, Winchester.”

Six.

Dean managed to get one leg under him, but it wobbled too much to support him.

Seven.

Dean pulled again, straining against his bruised ribs to stand on his feet.

The crowd roared with delight.

“Dean Winchester was not down for the count yet, ladies and gentlemen! We’ve still got a match as long as he’s got any fight left in him.”

The bell rang, ending the fifth round. Cole looked pale and a little green around the gills. Dean nodded to him, taking the blame for the manager storm that was going to hit later.

They met again, but Cole let Dean do all the hitting, feigning exhaustion. Dean knew Cole’s fighting and his style. Cole was tired, especially now that Dean wasn’t pulling his punches.

“A slowly tiring Winchester, but Trenton slows as well. Not punching cleanly going into this round, missing. Winchester’s left hook was low, giving him a warning from ref Balthazar.”

Dean gave Cole four quick jabs to the torso, sending him stumbling into the ropes amid a chorus of cheers. He followed with three more to the head and face.

“Come on Dean! You’ve got ‘im!” Y/N screamed.

“Four clean blows into Trenton, and then three more. Winchester was hurting Trenton. He’s hurting him now. Jabs to the ribs and the face. Now a bolo. Trenton is round housing, missing Raisin’ Cain Winchester by a mile. Trenton’s left eye is swollen. Closing gradually. Damn! Pardon my language, ladies and gentlemen, Dean Winchester has spun Trenton around. He’s still standing, but blocking drunk. Ref Balthazar separates them again as Trenton leans on Winchester. Half a minute to go in the sixth round. Winchester set him up with those body blows, damaged his nose. He has Trenton on his feet asleep, holding on. The audience is standing and cheering.”

Dean kept jabbing. Cole wasn’t fighting back and he was a fellow pawn, but Dean was punching red. All those times when he had a win in the bag and Uriel told him to fall, or every time they promised him the prize fight, like tonight, but then took it away. He could hold himself up. They could take their schemes and schedules with them to hell.

“Trenton punching drunk as the bell rings, ending round six. The ringside doctor checking him out. If he doesn’t respond to the bell, the fight will be over. No! He’s up and ready to go. This is round seven, ladies and gentlemen. And Winchester is not holding back, not with the end so close.”

Y/N notices a flurry of movement to one side of the ring. The doctor is waving his arms till a large man nods. The bell rings, but Dean keeps going.

“Winchester doesn’t hear the bell. Ref Balthazar has to break them apart. But it’s too late! Down goes Trenton. The ref counts… and Dean Winchester has won by a knockout, ladies and gentlemen. For six rounds, Trenton gave better than he took. Then Winchester unleashed all of his best guns for the last round. Our score cards showing that Winchester was ahead sixty-three points to fifty-seven.”

The ref pulled Dean towards the middle as Cole’s coach and attendees pulled Cole’s body off the canvas. The announcer stepped on stage and grabbed the mic. “Attention ladies and gentlemen, the winner by knockout, in two minutes and fifteen seconds of the seventh round, and the defending winner of the Winter Chicago Amateur Semi-finals is Dean “Raisin’ Cain” Winchester. He will face his last opponent to defend his title for another year once dates have been determined.”

He raised Dean’s arm above their heads. Y/N joined the rest of the crowd with a standing applause and cheering.

“See! You enjoyed yourself.” Jo yelled above the din.

“Yeah. I guess I did. Thanks, Claire, for the tickets.”

Claire continued cheering, stopping for a split second to gasp out, “he’s coming this way.”

Y/N looked back at the ring to see Dean pushing his way through the managers. Aiming to meet him halfway, she headed to the chaos surrounding the canvas.

Bobby was shaking Dean. “What were you thinking?”

“Nothing,” Uriel’s voice said, breaking into the circle. “He wasn’t thinking at all.”

Dean stopped his struggle to face Uriel. “You want to duke it out here?” he challenged.

Uriel shook his head with a smirk. “No. But we will discuss this Winchester. Enjoy the light… while it lasts. And get that brow checked out; we wouldn’t want it to turn into something serious.”

Dean broke away, surging through the crowd. He bumped into the person he wanted to see most.

“Heya, sweetheart. You got plans?”

“I’m open to suggestions.”

Part 2: Caution