#jared x reader

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Angel!Reader

Summary: Sam found something good and innocent in his dark life... Now he wants to destroy it, but not in a bad way.

Word Count: 2,327

Tags/Warnings: 18+, smut, fingering, dirty talk, established relationship, corrupción kink, lost of virginity

╰┈➤ Fight... Flight... FREEZE

Jensen Ackles x reader (platonic) Jared Padalecki x reader (platonic) Summary: You, Jensen and Jared were just trying to get a few drinks after set. Unfortunately, the peaceful night became a story all of you will remember and tell others. Warnings: violence/physical assault/bar fight/injury/panic/anxiety symptoms

The music from the downstairs bar was a dull thump through the floorboards as you settled into the booth across from Jared and Jensen. The upstairs section of the bar was quieter, more relaxed—exactly what the three of you needed after the week you'd had on set.

"I'm just saying," Jared was arguing, gesturing with his beer, "if we have to do that cemetery scene one more time, I'm going to actually become a ghost."

Jensen snorted. "That was your own fault. You kept stepping on the—"

"The ground was uneven!"

"It was a cemetery. Of course it was uneven."

You grinned, taking a sip of your drink and letting their familiar banter wash over you. It had been a brutal week of shooting. You'd been pulling fourteen-hour days in the props department, and today had involved a particularly complicated fight sequence that required endless takes and adjustments. By the time they'd wrapped, your feet were screaming and your brain felt like mush.

This had become something of a tradition—after particularly harsh shoots, Jared and Jensen would invite you out to decompress. Sometimes it was food, sometimes drinks, always good company. You'd been hesitant at first, not wanting to intrude on their friendship, but they'd made it clear you were wanted. Welcomed.

"You both did great today, by the way," you said, meaning it. "That fight choreography was insane. I don't know how many times Bob made you run that sequence."

"Seventeen," Jared said immediately. "I counted."

"Only because you kept messing up the turn," Jensen teased.

"I did not! The timing was off on the—"

"You messed up the turn."

You laughed, settling back in the booth. The upstairs bar was pleasantly uncrowded for a Friday night—just a few other groups scattered around, the bartender chatting with regulars at the bar, the warm lighting making everything feel cozy and safe. Through the windows, you could see the Vancouver night settling in, street lights flickering on.

"So I was thinking," Jared continued, apparently ready to move past the turn controversy, "we should probably start planning something for when we wrap this season. Like a trip or—"

His words were cut off by a sudden commotion from the stairwell. Raised voices, aggressive and slurred with alcohol. You all glanced over as a group of men—seven or eight of them—came spilling up from the downstairs bar. They were clearly drunk, stumbling slightly, voices loud and hostile.

"There you are!" one of them shouted, pointing directly at your table. He was stocky with a shaved head, his face flushed red with anger and alcohol. "Thought you could hide up here?"

Jensen's hand moved to the table, body language immediately shifting to alert. "I think you've got the wrong—"

"Don't give me that shit!" The man was advancing now, his friends spreading out behind him like a pack. "You invite us to meet up, then ditch us downstairs? Think that's funny?"

"Seriously, man, we don't know what you're talking about." Jared was already sliding out of the booth, hands up in a placating gesture, putting himself between you and the approaching group. "We just came up here for some quiet drinks. We haven't been downstairs all night."

You felt your heart start to pound. This couldn't be happening. Not here, not in what should have been a safe, relaxing evening.

"We've been waiting for an hour!" another one of them snarled, younger than the leader, with wild eyes that suggested more than just alcohol in his system. "You texted us to meet at The Cobalt!"

"We didn't text anyone," Jensen said, his voice firm but still trying for calm and reasonable. He'd stood up too, and you noticed how he'd positioned himself slightly in front of you as well. "Look, whoever you're supposed to meet, it's not us. We don't even know you."

The bartender had noticed the commotion now, was reaching for the phone. But the drunk guys were past the point of listening to reason. They'd convinced themselves that Jared and Jensen were whoever had stood them up, and alcohol had turned disappointment into aggression.

"Bullshit!" the leader spat. "You match the description. Two tall guys, upstairs at The Cobalt. That's what the text said."

"There are probably a dozen pairs of tall guys in Vancouver on a Friday night," Jared tried, but his voice was getting tighter. You could see him assessing the situation, counting the odds, his body coiling with tension.

You should move. Should get up, get out of the booth, get ready to run or help or do something. But your body had other ideas.

The first punch came fast—the leader swinging at Jensen, who barely ducked in time. And then everything exploded into chaos.

Your body made the decision before your brain could catch up. While Jared and Jensen moved with surprising efficiency—all that boxing training for the show paying off in the worst possible way—you just... stopped.

Move. Move. MOVE.

But you couldn't.

Your hands were frozen on the table, your legs locked in place in the booth. You couldn't even make yourself slide out, couldn't make yourself run or hide or help. The world seemed to slow down and speed up simultaneously. You watched as Jensen blocked a punch and countered with one of his own. Watched as Jared grabbed one of the attackers and shoved him back into his friends. The sounds were too loud—grunting, shouting, the impact of fists on flesh, glass breaking as someone stumbled into a nearby table.

It was nothing like the choreographed fights you helped set up on set. Those were precise, controlled, safe. This was raw and violent and terrifying.

People were screaming. The bartender was yelling that he'd called the police. Other patrons were scrambling away from the violence, giving the fight a wide berth. And you just sat there, frozen in the booth like a statue.

"Get out of here!" Jensen shouted in your direction, his voice sharp with urgency even as he blocked another punch. "Go!"

But you couldn't. Your brain was screaming at your body to move, but there was a complete disconnect. You could see everything happening, could process it intellectually, but you couldn't make yourself do anything about it. The booth that had felt cozy minutes ago now felt like a trap, but you couldn't even make yourself slide out of it.

This is your fault. Move. Help them. Do something.

Two of the attackers had broken away from the main scuffle, moving toward you. Maybe they thought you were an easier target. Maybe they were just drunk and angry and looking for anyone to hit.

"Hey!" Jared's voice cut through the noise, sharp with warning. He'd seen them moving toward you.

You saw them coming. Watched them advance. And still couldn't move. Couldn't even raise your arms to protect yourself. Your body had completely betrayed you.

The first one reached you, grabbing your shoulder and yanking you forward out of the booth. The sudden motion broke through your paralysis just enough for you to stumble, but not enough to actually coordinate movement. You went down hard, crashing into the floor between the booth and the next table. Pain exploded through your shoulder where you'd been grabbed, then your palms as they scraped against the sticky bar floor.

"Get away from them!" Jared's voice was louder than you'd ever heard it, filled with a fury that never made it into his usual gentle demeanor. Through blurred vision, you saw him physically throw one of the guys away from him and turn toward you with single-minded determination.

But the second attacker had followed you down. You tried to curl up, to protect yourself, but your movements were sluggish, uncoordinated. You felt a kick connect with your ribs, heard yourself make a sound that might have been a cry or a gasp.

Then Jared was there, grabbing your attacker by the back of his shirt and hauling him away with enough force that the guy crashed into a chair. "Touch them again and I will end you," Jared snarled, and there was something in his voice that made even a drunk, aggressive asshole think twice.

Jensen was still dealing with three guys at once, his movements precise and controlled despite the chaos. You could hear the impact of his punches, see the way he was systematically breaking down their numbers. The boxing training was evident in every move—he wasn't just flailing, he was fighting smart.

But there were too many of them.

"Stay down," Jared's voice said above you, gentler now but still tight with adrenaline and fury. "Just stay down."

Like you could do anything else. Shame burned through you, hot and acidic. Your friends were fighting for their lives, and you were useless. Completely useless. You'd just made yourself a target, a distraction, a liability.

You heard more scuffling, more impacts. Someone—one of the attackers—crashed into the booth you'd been sitting in moments ago. Glass shattered. Someone was cursing viciously.

And then sirens. Blessed, beautiful sirens getting closer.

The effect was immediate. The attackers, drunk and aggressive as they were, weren't stupid enough to stick around for the police. They scattered like cockroaches, stumbling toward the stairs, shouting confused accusations and threats as they fled.

"Yeah, you better run!" Jensen called after them, his voice rough and breathless.

Then there were hands on your shoulders—gentle this time, familiar.

"Hey, hey, you okay?" Jared's face swam into view above you, concern etched into every feature. There was blood trickling from his nose, and his knuckles were already swelling and discolored. "Talk to me. Are you hurt?"

"I couldn't—" Your voice came out shaky, humiliatingly weak. Your ribs were screaming where you'd been kicked, and your shoulder felt like it was on fire. "I couldn't move."

"It's okay." Jensen was there too, kneeling beside you despite the way he was cradling his right hand against his chest. There was a cut above his eyebrow, already swelling, and his bottom lip was split. "You're okay. We've got you."

"I just froze," you whispered, shame burning in your chest hotter than the pain. Tears were threatening, hot and unwelcome behind your eyes. "I didn't help. I just sat there. I made it worse. You had to protect me instead of—"

"Stop." Jensen's voice was firm but not unkind. He helped you sit up slowly, both of them supporting you, checking you over with the careful attention usually reserved for stunt safety checks. "You think we're judging you for a normal human reaction to getting jumped by eight drunk assholes?"

"You didn't freeze." The words came out bitter, self-recriminating. "You both fought. You protected me. And I just—I was a liability. I distracted you. Jared, you could have been hurt worse because you had to come get me."

The bartender appeared, phone still in hand. "Police are almost here. Ambulance too. Are you guys okay? I'm so sorry, those guys came up from downstairs, I didn't realize they were looking for trouble—"

"It's not your fault," Jared said, though his eyes never left you. "They thought we were someone else. Wrong place, wrong time."

"Wrong tall guys," Jensen added, attempting levity despite the situation.

You tried to stand, but your ribs protested sharply. Jensen's hand immediately steadied you.

"Easy. Just breathe. Where does it hurt?"

"Ribs. Shoulder. Hands." Everything, really. But worse than the physical pain was the crushing weight of shame and guilt. "I should have helped. Should have done something."

"You survived," Jared said quietly, his hand gentle on your uninjured shoulder. "That's what matters."

But it didn't feel like enough. They'd been fighting off eight guys, and you'd just made it harder for them.

⛧

The police arrived within minutes, followed closely by paramedics. The bar erupted into a flurry of activity—statements being taken, the bartender pulling up security footage, witnesses offering their accounts. The paramedics tried to separate the three of you to check injuries, but Jensen refused.

"I'm staying with them," he said firmly, nodding toward you. "They got kicked, might have broken ribs."

"Sir, you need treatment too—"

"After I know they're okay."

The paramedic—a woman named Sarah with kind eyes and efficient hands—seemed to recognize a losing battle. She focused on you first, gently probing your ribs and shoulder while asking questions about pain levels and range of motion.

Every touch hurt, but the physical pain was manageable compared to the emotional anguish of watching Jared with another paramedic, seeing the way they were examining his hand with concern. Jensen hovering nearby, his own injuries being tended to by a third paramedic who'd given up on separating you all.

"Ribs don't feel broken," Sarah said after a thorough examination, "but you're going to have some spectacular bruising. The shoulder's going to be bad too—deep tissue bruising from the grab. Your palms need cleaning and dressing. We should take you in for X-rays to be sure about the ribs."

You nodded numbly, only half-listening. You were watching Jared, watching the paramedic manipulate his hand, seeing him wince despite his best efforts to hide it.

"That hand's definitely broken," you heard the paramedic tell him. "Needs X-rays and proper setting."

Your stomach dropped. Broken. Because he'd been fighting off attackers who'd gotten to you because you'd frozen like a useless lump.

"Stop that," Jensen said quietly beside you.

"Stop what?"

"I can literally see you blaming yourself. Stop." His green eyes met yours, intense even with the developing black eye and the butterfly bandages the paramedic was applying to his eyebrow. "This isn't on you."

"He broke his hand—"

"Fighting off assholes who attacked us," Jensen interrupted. "Not because of you. Because of them."

The police officers approached, asking for statements. You tried to explain what happened, but your memory felt fuzzy, disconnected. Jared took over, his natural charm working even through the pain and adrenaline. He explained about the case of mistaken identity, how the guys had come up from downstairs convinced that he and Jensen were people who'd stood them up.

"We've had reports about a group downstairs causing problems," one officer said, reviewing his notes. "Sounds like they were texting with someone about meeting up, and when that fell through, they decided you two matched the description well enough."

"Lucky us," Jensen muttered.

"Can you describe them?" the officer asked.

You tried, but your description was frustratingly vague. The leader with the shaved head, the younger one with wild eyes, mostly white guys of average height and build. You'd been so focused on your own paralysis that you hadn't really observed them clearly.

Jared and Jensen filled in more details, though neither seemed particularly invested in pressing charges. They just wanted it over.

The paramedics strongly recommended hospital visits for all three of you. Jared's hand needed X-rays. Your ribs needed confirmation that they weren't fractured. Jensen's various cuts and bruises needed proper cleaning and assessment.

The trip to the emergency room was surreal. The three of you ended up in connected exam rooms, close enough to call out to each other but separated by curtains. You could hear Jared being taken away for X-rays, his good-natured griping about the hospital gown making you smile despite everything.

Jensen refused to go to his own exam room until you were settled.

"Mr. Ackles, you really need to let us clean those cuts," the nurse said with exasperation.

"Five minutes," he negotiated. "Just let me make sure they're settled."

He sat on the edge of your exam bed, looking exhausted and battered but still stubbornly present. The adrenaline was wearing off now, leaving both of you shaky and drained.

"How are you really doing?" he asked quietly.

"Physically? Sore. Everything else?" You shook your head. "I keep replaying it. Keep thinking about all the things I should have done differently."

"Yeah, I figured." He was quiet for a moment, then: "You know what I did the first time I ever got in a real fight?"

You looked at him, surprised by the question.

"I was seventeen, back in Texas. Got jumped outside a movie theater by some guys who decided they didn't like the way I looked at them or something equally stupid." He grimaced at the memory, then winced as the expression pulled at his split lip. "My buddy Marcus was with me, and he started throwing hands immediately. And me? I just stood there. Couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't do anything. Just froze up completely."

"What happened?"

"Marcus pulled me out of it, got us both out of there. And then I spent the next week beating myself up about it, feeling like the world's biggest coward." His eyes met yours. "Until my dad sat me down and explained that freeze is just as valid a response as fight or flight. It's not a character flaw. It's biology."

"But you didn't freeze tonight."

"Because I've been in situations since then. Because I've had months of boxing training for this show. Because I knew you and Jared were there and that kicked my protective instincts into gear." He paused. "But that first time? I was exactly where you are now. Feeling useless and scared and ashamed."

"It doesn't help that I made it worse," you said quietly. "You had to split your focus. Jared had to leave the main fight to protect me. If I'd just been able to move, to help or even just get out of the way—"

"Then what? You think two of us could've taken eight drunk guys without breaking a sweat?" Jensen shook his head. "We got lucky. Our training helped, yeah, but mostly we got lucky that they were sloppy and drunk and the cops showed up fast. This could have gone a lot worse for all of us, and that's on those assholes, not on you."

You wanted to believe him. Wanted to let go of the guilt sitting like a stone in your chest.

"Mr. Ackles," the nurse appeared again, more insistent this time. "Now, please."

"Okay, okay." He stood up carefully. "I'll be right next door if you need anything. And I mean anything—you call out, I'm coming over, stitches or no stitches."

True to his word, throughout the examination and X-rays (which confirmed no broken ribs, just severe bruising), you could hear Jensen's voice from the next room, alternating between charming the medical staff and calling out to check on you.

"You doing okay in there?"

"Yeah," you called back. "You?"

"Living the dream. Getting stitched up like Frankenstein's monster."

Despite everything, you smiled.

⛧

By the time you were all released, it was nearly four in the morning. Jared emerged from radiology with a proper cast on his right hand, looking exhausted but alert. Jensen had fresh stitches above his eyebrow and strict instructions about concussion watch. You had wrapped ribs, a heavily bandaged shoulder, and a prescription for pain medication that you knew you'd need.

"My place is closest," Jared said as you all stood in the hospital parking lot, none of you quite ready to separate. "You guys should crash there. I don't think any of us should be alone right now."

It was a sentiment you desperately shared. The thought of going back to your empty apartment, of being alone with the replay of the night's events, made anxiety spike in your chest.

"Yeah," Jensen agreed immediately. "Good call."

The taxi ride to Jared's apartment was quiet, all three of you too exhausted for conversation. You ended up in the middle of the back seat, Jensen on one side and Jared on the other, their presence both comforting and a reminder of your failure to protect them.

Jared's apartment was warm and welcoming, a stark contrast to the sterile hospital and the violent bar. He immediately started fussing with tea—"It's what my mom does after something stressful"—while Jensen raided the kitchen for food.

"Stress eating is a valid coping mechanism," Jensen declared, emerging with chips, cookies, and what looked like leftover Chinese food.

You settled carefully on Jared's couch, your ribs protesting every movement. The exhaustion was bone-deep, but you knew sleep wouldn't come easily. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw those men advancing, felt the paralysis taking hold, heard the sounds of the fight.

"Can't sleep?" Jared asked softly, appearing with mugs of chamomile tea. He was moving stiffly, trying to do everything one-handed, and the sight of that cast made guilt twist in your stomach.

"Not yet," you admitted.

"Yeah, me neither." He settled into the armchair, wincing as he adjusted his position. "Adrenaline's still too high."

Jensen claimed the other end of the couch, close enough that his presence was grounding. He'd grabbed a bag of frozen peas for his eye, looking ridiculous and somehow making it work.

"So," he said after a moment of loaded silence, "we gonna talk about it, or we gonna pretend to watch TV until we all pass out?"

"Both?" you suggested weakly.

"Both works."

Jared found some mindless late-night comedy, but none of you were really watching. The silence between bits was heavy with unspoken thoughts.

"I keep thinking about what could have happened," you finally said, the words spilling out. "What if there had been more of them? What if you'd been hurt worse? What if Jared's hand—" Your voice cracked. "What if it doesn't heal right? What if this affects your career?"

"Whoa, slow down," Jared interrupted gently. "My hand's going to heal. Bones do that. The doctor said it was a clean break, should be fine in six weeks."

"Six weeks that you can't work properly. Six weeks that they'll have to work around you in filming. All because you were protecting my useless ass." The tears you'd been holding back started to fall. "I just sat there in that booth. I watched them coming and I couldn't even make myself slide out. I just... froze."

"That wasn't a choice," Jensen said firmly. "You know that, right? That wasn't you deciding to be useless. That was a trauma response that you had zero control over."

"I've taken self-defense classes," you argued, shame making your voice sharp. "I know how to throw a punch, how to break a hold, how to handle myself. But when it actually mattered, my body just shut down. I couldn't access any of that training."

"Because training in a gym with safety mats and controlled scenarios is completely different from being attacked by eight drunk guys in a bar," Jared pointed out. "Your nervous system didn't see a training exercise. It saw a legitimate threat and made a decision about how to keep you alive."

"By making me a target? By forcing you both to split your attention?" You shook your head. "That's not survival. That's liability."

"Okay, first of all," Jensen set down his bag of peas and turned to face you fully, "you are not a liability. Second, we didn't get hurt because of you. We got hurt because some drunk idiots decided to attack us. That's on them, period."

"But Jared had to leave the main fight—"

"And I'd do it again in a heartbeat," Jared interrupted. "You're my friend. Someone was hurting you. Of course I went after them. That's not your fault. That's me making a choice about who matters to me."

The conviction in his voice made something in your chest crack. The tears came harder now, messy and cathartic.

"I hate that I couldn't help you," you sobbed. "You're my friends. You were in danger. And I just... I couldn't move. I couldn't do anything. I just made it worse."

"You know what I saw?" Jared asked softly. "I saw someone who was terrified but didn't run away. Even frozen, even scared, you stayed. And when they grabbed you, when you went down, you were still there. You didn't abandon us."

"I literally couldn't move to abandon you."

"But when those guys first showed up, before the freeze took hold, you could have run," Jensen pointed out. "You could have bolted for the bathroom or the stairs or anywhere else. But you didn't. You stayed close to us."

You hadn't thought about it that way. In the moment before the first punch was thrown, there had been that split second where flight was still an option. But you'd stayed.

"That doesn't make up for freezing during the actual fight," you argued, but with less conviction.

"Doesn't need to," Jared said. "You're not on trial here. There's nothing to make up for. You experienced a traumatic event, and your body responded the way it was wired to respond. End of story."

"Except it's not the end, because you both got hurt protecting me."

Jensen sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Okay, new rule. Every time you blame yourself for something that was clearly the fault of eight drunk assholes, you have to eat one of these chips."

He held up the bag with mock seriousness.

"That's a stupid rule," you said through your tears.

"Then stop blaming yourself and I won't have to enforce it."

Despite everything, you felt a weak laugh bubble up. Only Jensen would try to address trauma with junk food.

"Look," Jared said, his voice gentle, "I know you're going to keep replaying this. I know the shame is going to be persistent. But I need you to try to hear this: freezing is a normal trauma response. It kept humans alive for thousands of years. Sometimes playing dead is the right call. Sometimes staying still means the predator loses interest. Your body didn't betray you—it tried to save you."

"Even if it picked the wrong response?" you asked quietly.

"There is no wrong response in survival," Jensen said. "There's just whatever gets you through. And you got through. We all did."

You cried until you had no tears left, until you were just hiccupping and exhausted, slumped against the couch cushions while Jared and Jensen maintained their steady, grounding presence. They didn't try to stop you or tell you everything was fine. They just let you feel it, let you process it, held space for your fear and shame without judgment.

When you finally pulled back, wiping your face with your uninjured hand, you felt wrung out but somehow lighter.

"Sorry," you croaked. "That was—"

"Needed," Jared finished. "That was needed. Don't apologize."

"You want more tea?" Jensen asked. "Or maybe some of this lo mein? It's only slightly questionable."

Despite everything, you laughed. "Lo mein sounds good."

The rest of the early morning passed in quiet conversation and bad TV. They told you stories about their own moments of fear and failure. Jensen elaborated on his first fight story, admitting he'd had nightmares about it for months. Jared talked about a panic attack he'd had before a major stunt, how he'd nearly backed out until his stunt coordinator had talked him through it.

"Point is," Jensen said around a mouthful of cold Chinese food, "we're all human. We all have moments where our brains or bodies don't do what we want them to. Doesn't make us failures. Just makes us people."

"People who are currently eating questionable lo mein at four in the morning," Jared added.

"The best kind of people," Jensen confirmed.

As the sky outside started to lighten with the approach of dawn, you felt sleep finally tugging at you. Your ribs ached, your shoulder throbbed, and you knew the emotional aftermath would be something you'd be dealing with for a long time. But surrounded by your friends, their steady presence a reminder that you weren't alone, the weight of shame had eased from crushing to merely heavy.

"Get some sleep," Jared said, his own eyes drooping. "We'll deal with everything else later."

"Production's going to freak out," you mumbled, already half-asleep.

"Let them," Jensen said dismissively. "We'll handle it. Right now, just rest."

You didn't remember falling asleep, but when you woke up several hours later, you were covered with a soft blanket. Jared was crashed in the armchair, his casted hand resting on a pillow. Jensen was sprawled on the other end of the couch, the bag of peas long since thawed and abandoned on the coffee table.

Your ribs protested when you shifted, and you could feel every bruise from the night before. But you were alive. You were safe. And your friends didn't think any less of you for freezing.

Since I published Dean Winchester as a Girl Dad, I've been dying to publish this one. Feedback helps me stay motivated, I'd love if you left your opinions down in the comment section and/or reblog. Pleaseee.

Main Masterlist

He reads every book he can get his hands on before she’s even born - The Conscious Parent, Gentle Sleep Training, even one on toddler nutrition that you catch him annotating like it’s lore.

When you tease him about it, he smiles sheepishly and says, “Well, I figured someone should know what they’re doing.”

He’s there for every appointment, every late-night craving, every ache. If you so much as wince, he’s already Googling it - “just to be safe.” If you didn't yet, you learn quickly that Sam’s love is silent protection disguised as curiosity.

When she’s born, he goes very still. Doesn’t cry. Doesn’t speak. Probably doesn't even breathe. Just stares like the entire world suddenly condensed into seven pounds of purpose. Then, quietly, he says, “Hi, peanut. I’m your dad.” And for the first time in a long time, you see peace settle over him like a dawn light.

A/N: writer’s block is a bitch. But at least after what feels like a thousand years of terrible, terrible efforts, I finally wrote something semi-decent, right?

I'll definitely have to edit this later.

“Autumn came, with wind and gold…”

Sam just wants to stay home. Maybe that’s boring. Maybe, as young as he’s supposed to be, he should be out there partying and having fun. But Sam feels older than he truly is, he’s tired and at times, barely keeping up with the expectations placed upon his shoulders. And maybe that’s why your hands feel so good on those shoulders, rubbing softly as he sat at the kitchen table.

“You need cinnamon rolls,” you said softly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Cinnamon rolls and coffee.”

So he didn’t go out. Sam stayed home with you and learned how to make cinnamon rolls. He stole icing when you weren’t looking, sipped on cup after cup of black coffee, and finally laid on the couch with you. An arm wrapped around your waist kept you close to him, your head on his heart as a movie played on the old TV set. The Iron Giant. One of his favorite movies ever and you always watched it with him.

Jared loves the beach. Even when it’s cold and dark, even when the wind is bitter and all the world is shut safely away. He could stay out there for hours and, luckily, you seem to feel the same way. So when he came bursting through the side door, wearing his old blue hoodie (because you’d stolen his black one) and grinning you looked up from the couch.

“Jared? What are you doing here?”

“Just missed you, honey” Jared replied, pulling you into a kiss. “You busy?”

“I am until tonight, my aunt needs me to babysit. I was about to head over there.”

“Bonfire on the beach, tonight, just you and me. What do you think?”

“I think,” you smiled, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “that sounds perfect.”

So he drove you to your aunt’s house and kissed you goodbye. That night came quickly and you were his again before long. Blue flames flickered in the dark, the beach desolate besides the crackling of the flames and the beating of two hearts.

Paul loves the woods, especially in autumn. When he was a kid, most of what he did when he wasn’t st home or school was wander the woods. But the Cold Ones had ruined it for him for a long time...the woods had stopped being a place of beauty but a place full of monsters. And he’d had little time to wander anymore, forced to patrol night after night.

But the war was over.

He was safe and so were you. And slowly, the beauty of the forest began to return, calling out to him again. Not as a wolf but as a man, young and in love. Paul wanted to return to the woods and he wanted to wander with you. So he took your hand and walked into the woods with you one autumn afternoon.

No destination. No plan.

Just and you him.

Sunset slipped through the trees, setting the autumn leaves alight. Everything was golden, bright and burning as the sun set over the forest. You were golden, sunlight tangled in your hair and upon your lips, Paul finding himself lost as he looked at you. It wasn’t until you spoke his name that he came back down to earth, dark eyes so soft as he looked at you.

“Paul?” you said gently. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing...nothing’s wrong. Everything’s perfect.”

As a cold wind crept around you, Paul pulled you close and kissed you, chasing the cold away from your skin.

Jacob doesn’t sleep too well anymore. Nightmares. So it isn’t unusual for him to wake up in the early morning hours, when darkness has just begun to slip away and the world is painted that soft, murky blue. The moon has long since vanished from the sky, only a fair few stars still faintly flickering in the far distance. Heading out onto the porch, Jacob just sat in the darkness for a while, allowing the nightmares to slip away until he wasn’t shaking and couldn’t recall them anymore.

Noises moved softly through the home behind him.

Sock feet on the wooden floors, cupboards opening and closing, the beep-beep-beeping of the old coffee machine.

Sunlight broke through the sky, just of sliver of gold.

And with it came you, opening the screen door and closing it quietly behind you, careful not to wake Billy, who still slept in his bed. You were wrapped in an old quilt, which you shared with him, carrying two cups of coffee. A larger blue mug for him and the smaller white mug with little yellow roses for you. Cuddling up, you watched the sunrise set the forest alight, your head resting on his shoulder. In a little while, you’d both get up and start the mundane parts of the day he’d grown to love...making breakfast together, his dad and sister joining you at the kitchen table. Talking about the plans for the day and holding his hand beneath the table and just...being.

Being together. Being happy.

Maybe the nightmares will never go away but you’re not going anywhere either. You’re right here with him, sipping on coffee and watching sunlight dance through the trees, birdsong and autumn wind and heartbeats singing through the early morning.

Quil loves autumn more than anything! It’s his favorite season, Halloween is his favorite holiday, this is HIS season, baby. So don’t be surprised when he comes through the door one bright, sunny morning wearing an old flannel and jeans, glasses askew on his nose and arms full of brown paper bags that he promptly sets on the counter.

“Babe, check out what I got!”

Candy. Bags and bags and bags of candy, as well as some scary movies, but mostly candy of every kind, laughing as he pours out the lot proudly.

“Halloween isn’t for two months, Quil.”

“This isn’t for Halloween, this is for us,” he grins. “You, me, scary movies, all night on the couch, baby.”

So as night falls, you steal one of his band tees and make a giant blanket fort in the living room together, fairy lights strung up everywhere and stuffed animals scattered between blankets and pillows, your laptop settled on a little stack of books. Cuddling up, you eat candy and watch slashers and ghosts and all kinds of creepy things. Quil keeps stealing kisses, tasting sugar and sour skittles on his lips as you hide away all night together.

Embry just wants to hide away for awhile. He finds himself hiding more and more often lately, the weight of the world on his shoulders. The pack is good to him but his parentage and the secrecy of his parentage hangs over them all, causing something of a divide.

So he hides.

In the secluded beaches, in the forest, following trails only he knows...which was how he found his imprint in the end. As it turned out, you had grown up in Forks but visited La Push often enough to know those secluded places and secret trails too, meeting him there just a year ago now...and you were waiting for him there as he approached, sitting beneath the gnarled oak tree as you read a old, falling-apart paperback.

“Hey, you.”

The sound of his voice brought you out of your fantasy, meeting his gaze with a smile. Neither of you said much, not now...not as you walked through the autumn woods together, his hand in yours, the warmth of it chasing the autumn chill away.

Sunlight slipped through the trees, setting the forest alight, and the weight of the world slipped away from his shoulders as soon as you rested your head there.

Perfect...everything was perfect.

There was sunlight tangled in your hair and melting upon your lips like honey, golden and sweet. It glowed against his skin as Embry leaned low and close, fingertips ghosting over your lips for a moment, replaced with his lips as he kissed you, softly, sweetly.

You were perfect.

Leah takes long drives whenever she can. It’s peaceful, it’s calm. It’s quiet except for the music she likes to play.

No anger.

No hurt.

Nothing but music and the road ahead.

And lately she’s been doing it more and more often, needing the lonely road ahead of her. Rarely are other people invited to this, she prefers to be alone, but out of anybody, it just makes sense for her imprint to be one of the few people allowed to come. She never asks and neither do you, there’s no need for it.

There’s no need for words.

You look at her and you know, moving together in silence. She drives, you sit beside her, a hand resting on you thigh and the other on the wheel as she drives and drives and drives, leaving it all behind. She doesn’t know where she’s going, but what does that matter?

You’re here and, just for that, she’s happy.

So she’ll drive. And she’ll end up somewhere she’s never been before and just stay a while. Music will play softly, an Autumn breeze will slip in through the half-open windows and play with her dark hair. You’ll lean your head against her shoulder.

Sometimes the two of you talk about everything and sometimes you don’t. The only important detail is that you’re here and you love her and she loves you so, so much.

Seth loves all of the fun things there are to do in autumn! Walks in the woods, apple picking, baking (Sue has so many recipes she makes every autumn and Seth always helps her), bonfires, and especially harvest festivals. Forks throws one every year and they always drove to town for it, joining Charlie at the local diner afterwards and spending the night at his place before driving home in the morning.

The drive home was his favorite part.

Maybe it was the way the early morning sunrise melted through the trees, catching the changing leaves like wild fire and gold, a cold wind ripping suddenly through the air and sending a scattering of red and orange leaves across the sky.

Maybe it was his Dad’s dumb jokes and the way his mom still smelled of powdered sugar from the pancakes she’d made for everyone.

Maybe it was the fact that everything was different now and he’d never have those days back.

But different doesn’t always mean bad, does it? And even after everything that had happened, Seth was still happy for one thing that came out of it:

You.

Sue and Leah hadn’t wanted to go to the harvest festival this year and that was okay. Grief was a strange thing...some people weren’t ready for reminders and other people wanted reminders more than anything. Seth wanted to remember. He wanted to take you there and show you everything he’d grown up with, all the traditions and faded memories...the corn maze he’d always managed to get lost in (and his dad always had to come and get him), the best caramel apples he’d ever had sold by the little old lady over by the scarecrows, the photo booth and the pumpkin carving contest and everything else. You didn’t know him well before he imprinted on you and Seth wanted to change that.

Sitting by the exit of the corn maze together, you sat on the haystacks looking over the parking lot, watching families and couples going home.

It was cold.

-Warnings// ANGST (dean's a lil bit of a dick), TRIGGER WARNING- FORCED CHOKING

-lil summary/ lil bit of a enemies to lovers trope. AU universe- small mention of greys anatomy (very small).

AU DOCTOR DEAN X DOCTOR FEM READER

-Word count// 4.4k ( sorry i know its long! i got a lil carried away mb)

-MASTERLIST

(GIF FROM PINTEREST)

Working at Lebanon general hospital the past 3 years has been a dream, having spent 1 year as an intern now on your second year of residency. You were lucky though, your colleagues were all pretty amazing, your best friends were Charlie and Donna their two of the nurses who work on with you mostly, you were actually helping Dr Mills  to watch over two interns, Claire and Alex. Alex was very close to finishing her year and she'll soon be going into being a resident, getting to know them both over time you could tell, they were gonna fit in great.

It wasn't just the nurses you were close with, all the other doctors were incredible too, well all of them except… Dr Dean Winchester, you didn't understand his hatred for you, this time last year you guys were really close, there was flirting back and forth, he had actually asked you on a date, and while you had said yes, you had to cancel day of because your brother was rushed to hospital in Seattle Washington due to a severe accident, you'd called deans cells, left a message apologising up and down, asked to reschedule till you get back. You never received a response in any way, well unless you count him acting like a complete dick to you since you got back. But that couldn't have been it, you had a very reasonable excuse to cancel, you had even called out of work for a month to stay in Seattle and care for your brother.

you've asked the others if they knew why he was suddenly so horrible to you, you've gone as far to ask his own brother, but even Sam didn't know what his problem was. It's not like you cared that much, he wasn't the same guy you once knew, and you've made peace with that, but recently he's been getting more and more on your nerves, he makes little comments about you when he knows your'e walking by him, he'll ignore you when you ask questions regarding patients or he'll just say "go bother Dr Singer with your crap" to completely dismiss you

It's been a week of his attitude getting worse and worse and at this point you were about to blow, one more thing, just one more damn thing and you'd give him a piece of your mind

Though after 2 days of Dean being slightly less of an asshole, going as far as answering on of your questions, sure it was a one word answer, but it was still an answer. It was like he heard your internal warning to back the hell off. But as life loved to remind you, good things can only last long

It was Wednesday morning and you were running late to work, your car had broken down on the way, engine failure the tow truck driver told you, so you had to call a cab which of course took over 20 minutes to come in the morning rush. You were running 15 minutes late by the time you ran in through the door, barreling down the hallway you spotted a man walk into the elevator "wait please!" You called down to him, 5 more seconds and you'd be there, you just hoped this guy had the heart to hold it

Though that hope soon washed away when he turned and looked up, Dean of course, you watched as the smirk ran over his stupidly perfect lips as he pushed the button to close the doors.

You were seething now, running to the stairwell, you couldn't let that bastard get the win here, you ran up 3 flights of stairs as fast as you physically could, your chest was staring to hurt you were that out of breath. It all worked out though, by the time you exited the stairwell the elevator dinged and you watched that smug bastard walk out

You were storming up to him before you could even stop yourself "are you kidding me Winchester!? What the hells your problem with me? You really hate my guts that much you couldn't even hold the elevator door for me?!" He opened his mouth to talk but you weren't done, not yet " I've already had the morning from hell, and now I'm gonna get my pay check docked an hour cause I'm 30 minutes late, which is really gonna suck considering I need every fucking penny to fix my stupid car, so you know what Dean, thank you, thank you so much for ruining my week." Your cracking slightly with every other word

"Look Y/N, i-" he tried before you short your hand up to stop him "I really don't want to know what you have to say. Just leave me the hell alone" you finished turning on your heel to storm away. You found Charlie and Donna at the check in desk looking over a patients file "hey, we were starting to think you were playing hookie" Charlie said with a small laugh as she noticed you coming closer "yeah, it's been a really rough morning" you mumbled, taking your bag off and putting it in your locker in the next room, "goodness you look upset, c'mon honey, tell us what happened?" Donna noticed your red rimmed eyes immediately

"Dean Winchester happened, well actually that's not fair. First my car crapped itself and my cab took forever, and then he closed the elevator door in my face while I pleaded with him to keep it open, so yeah, he sucks, my life sucks, everything sucks" Donna put her hand on your back in comfort "it'll be okay, you know Dr Singer, he'll understand today was out of your control, and as for Dean? I'm looking at him right now and I can tell he feels extremely guilty, he won't stop looking at ya, so what your gonna do is hold your head up high and wash today off your back cause we need happy you today, especially the patients, Mrs Richards was asking about you today" you smiled at the mention

"she said she misses and I quote 'Where's Dr Smiles'" you couldn't help but laugh at the name "she did not"

"She did I swear- didn't she Charlie?" Donna urged the red head to back her up "okay I'd better go down and check in on her" you knew talking to the girls would uplift you, you just didn't realise it would have turned the worst day into a much better one so fast, and a visit to your favourite patient would really cheer you up, Beverly Richard’s, an elderly women who's broken shoulder got her admitted to the hospital, where you and Dr Novak had later found a tumour in her breast, since then she's loved you both, you specifically, she said you reminded her of her daughter who moved away to Europe 17 years ago.

"I'll go down and see her now, thanks girls" Donna and Charlie waved you off with a smile "get to work honey" Donna called behind you, waving you down the hallway.

Just as you rounded the corner to Mrs Richard's room you were stopped by Dr Singer,the current chief medical officer of Lebanon general hospital, "Y/N, just the Doctor I was hoping to find" you pursued your lips together in anticipation, ready for his scolding of your lateness. Thankfully it didn't come

"A man was just admitted he's about mid 60's, old veteran and he's been admitted for a fall, his brother said he feel down the stairs of a baseball stadium and has been slurring sentences. He's scheduled for a CT scan but it's not for an hour, can you go in and check him over maybe help Claire take some test samples?" He finished with a nod to the younger intern who was currently fumbling with a chart

" ‘Course Dr Singer, I'll take care of it" he patted you on the shoulder "thanks Y/N knew I could count on ya"

"Good morning Mr Morgan, my name is Dr Y//L/N and this is Claire, we're just gonna give you a little check up, and take a few samples while we wait for your Scan. How are feeling now?" you smiled at the grumpy looking man who just rolled his eyes at your words "waheber" you looked at Claire who has panic written all over face, she was still new to all of this, she wasn't used to the grumpier patients just yet, but you know better than most people, she'd soon get over that.

"Alright, so I'm just going to flash this light into your eyes, just so I can check your pupil dilation, Claire you're gonna take notes for me, okay?" Claire nodded quickly "perfect, Mr Morgan, I'm just gonna have you follow the light, if at any point you feel pain please let me know immediately" you began moving the flashlight, left, right, up and down. His eyes followed but you noticed prominent differences in each eye

"Claire, right pupil is quite a bit larger than left, but left is more bloodshot. I suspect a ruptured vein in the eye but that needs to be confirmed, left eye also struggled going up and down" you whispered to her away from the patient. "Claire, as much as I hate saying this, can you do me favour and page Dr Winchester- Dean not Sam, I'll need his help with double checking the rupture diagnosis. I just want to be absolutely sure before proceeding with diagnosing anything". Claire nodded pulling out her pager "of course Dr Y/L/N"

"I'm just gonna take a vial of blood now, this won't hurt, you'll only feel a little pinch" you weren't looking at the man now, just focusing on preparing the needle. You walked over and started to prep his arm. Neither of you noticed the man's face growing hard, his eyes wild and angry, "okay Claire, you just observe here now how I do this and later tod-" you were cut off abruptly as a strong hand wrapped around your neck, cutting off your oxygen, the needle now dropping loudly to the floor, Claire screamed jumping back before he could grab her too, she looked around for some kind of help as you struggled against him

Your nails clawed down his arms, trying to pry his grip from your neck "you're gonna kill her. stop!" Claire cried out not knowing what to other than scream for help, thankfully Dean was already on his way having gotten the page, he ran down the hall way to the sounds of screaming. Running into the room only to see a crazed patient manhandling you, your face red was bright red, eyes rolling to the back of your head. He didn't think twice before springing in to action

He ran forward pulling the man back harshly, trying to losing his grip and put his attention to him "let her go and take a swing at someone your own damn size!" The man's wild eyes board into deans, though he listened.

Throwing you to the ground, your body hit the ground, your head slamming against the food tiles. You could batley feel the blood that poured from your head now. Claire rushed to make sure you were okay, you couldn't answer her though, your focus was all on Dean, what little focus you had left that is, watching as Dean had the man in a head lock he yelled to Claire to grab Sam and benny to come and help him "what the hell is happening?" Sam asked rushing in to help his brother, benny quickly in tow "questions later! I need you to sedate the bastard I can't hold him all day" Dean groaned, his jaw was clenched tight, using every muscle he had to hold the man at bay.

It was taking everything in him not to beat the crap out of him for doing this to you. He kept his gaze away from you, knowing if he saw what state you were in he’d snap, and even the brute force of his brother and friend wouldn’t be enough to pull him off him.

Benny was able to get the sedation in his system, while the brothers held him down. “Alright seriously what happened in here?” Sam questioned breathing heavy from the incident “h-he just went crazy! Y/N was about to take a blood sample and it was like a switch went off. He just grabbed her and wouldn’t let go” Claire struggled to get out her shaking hands trying to clean the blood that ran from your forehead

Sam and benny took notice in her fragile state quickly “hey cher, how bout me and Sam take you down to Jody?” Claire started shaking her head not wanting to leave you alone “benny’s right Claire, this was a really traumatic situation, you need to take a breather. Y/N will be okay, Dean will take care of her, right Dean” he didn’t have to ask, Dean was already moving to take your weight from Claire, allowing you to rest against him

“I’ve got her don’t worry. Make sure and report this to the chief, tell him the patient needs to be restrained while under our care from here on out.” Dean didn’t stay to listen to a response, too busy leading you out and towards an empty room “it’s alright sweetheart, I’ve gotcha” a he whispered, but you could barley hear him, hell you could hardly walk at this point. Dean took notice in your stumbling against him and lifted you into his arms, bridal style, your head lolled to his chest as the tears just silently flowed out of you at this point, “almost there sweetheart” Dean whispered against the top of your head.

Finally finding an empty room, Dean laid you down on the bed, wrapped a blanket around you, he grabbed some gauze and alcohol to wipe the blood that still oozed from the wound, his green eyes laser focused on it. “You’re gonna need a couple stitches honey, it’ll only be a few so you won’t feel much, I’m still gonna numb the area just to be safe, okay?” You could barely muster up a nod, but he knew you didn’t mind, even if you couldn’t say it.

If you’ve have told yourself this morning that Dean Winchester, the man who’d been treating you like garbage for a little under a year now, was currently stitching your forehead with the most delicate hands, whilst looking at you in a way only someone who cared about you would. You couldn’t read this guy, he likes you, he hates you, and now he’s worried about you? If you weren’t terrified to be alone right now you’d probably have told him to leave after this mornings mishap, but as you said, you were terrified of being alone, even if that means enduring time with someone you knows hates you.

Bobby was walking in the door not 30 minutes later, “Y/N how’re you feeling?” He asked, stroking your arm in comfort “I’m fine. Just a little banged up” you croaked out, your voice horse and sore “you’re a little more than banged up darlin’. Listen I’m gonna send you home for the rest of the week- and before you say you can’t afford it, you don’t have to worry about that, trust me” Bobby said with a wink, that only meant one thing, you were getting your pay check, no matter what.

“Can anyone come take you home? You can’t drive for at least 72 hours” you sighed and shook your head “my cars I the shop anyway, I’ll just call a cab” your voice cracked through the room “I can take her home” both of you turned to look at Dean in shock “that’s right, you’re finishing up now in a few hours aren’t ya?” Dean nodded “sure am, after my back to back double. I can take her home” you didn’t know how to feel, why was he being so nice all of a sudden

“Perfect, you take Y/N home at 4pm, I’ll get donna to check in on her till then, and I’ll write up the incident report” you tapped his arm to gain his attention once more “what happened Bobby? Why’d he react like that?” He sighed and looked down “it was PTSD from his army days, he told us he blacked out and doesn’t remember any of it. Well that’s what I made out, he’s still slurring mostly. You won’t have to see him again, so don’t you worry, Gabriel and Michael have taken over his care” you nodded, you didn’t want to talk about it anymore, you just wanted some kind of explanation for what happened.

“Here ya go, I put on the heaters to warm you up, I’m just gonna run in for your medication, feel free to change the music” you nodded curtly as he closed the door, still not completely comfortable with being alone. You really wished you’d listens to your friend and got a damn guard dog right about now.

Now you had to go back home to an empty apartment, terrified some crazed lunatic is gonna jump out and finish what he started.

You flinched when the door opened again, having not seen Dean come back from the store, “gotcha this, thought it might soothe your throat a bit” he told you, handing you a plain ice cream cone “I’d have gotten the works on it but I know with that kind of trauma to the pharynx it would just irritate it more, so plain it is for now” he tried to joke, but you were so far away in your own head, you barley registered his words, all you could muster was a small “thank you”.

Soon Dean was pulling up outside your house, turning the car off he rushed out to your door “home sweet home” he said helping you out of the car “I guess” you muttered, still in a daze. Dean could see how distant you were, he just didn’t know if it was just trauma after what happened or if the argument this morning was mixing through “hey, are you gonna be okay?” Dean lead you through the front door, leaving your bag and keys but the side table “I- yeah, could you uh just check and make sure no one’s here. Please” Dean hated seeing you plead like that, tears threatened to fall as your voice shook

“Yeah of course I can, you take seat and I’ll be right back”. You sat on the couch trying to hold back your tears, you didn’t know you could ever recover from this. Maybe you should look into different line of work-

“I’ve looked everywhere, even under the bed, there’s nothing in her-” he cut himself off noticing your state on the couch, he rushed over to sit next to you “hey, it’s gonna be okay, i - C’mer” he pulled you into a hug, letting you sob into his shoulder while he rubbed your back “”look I have the week off too, how about we spend it together?” He suggested making you cry harder, mumbling into his chest “why would you want to do that? You hate me” dean sighed quietly “I don’t hate you Y/N” you pulled back from his embrace

“what?” You couldn’t believe what he said, surely you had to have misheard him, you did have a head injury after all. “I don’t hate you, I could never hate you” nope definitely didn’t misunderstand him, you couldn’t help the bubble of anger growing in your chest now “if you don’t have me, then what the hell is your problem? You have treated me like crap for no reason-” he cut you off defensively “no reason?! You stood me up! Sure I handled it wrong, I let my anger into work and yes I was a dick to you, but you humiliated me, I was too embarrassed to ever see you again so put up a wall and when you came back to work acting like nothing happened it killed me, if I hated you, I would never have cared about you after” Dean finished

You were crushed, all these months of childish remarks, brushing you off, even closing elevator doors in your face was for a stupid misunderstanding “I never stood you up Dean. I called you, I left a message. You’re the one who never called me back. I would have been there but, my brother he had an accident and I had to be there for him, I’m all he has. That’s why I wasn’t in work again for a while. I had to stay with him till he was back on his feet.” Dean looked down sheepishly, too embarrassed to look you in the eye now

“I never got that message. I swear I would have understood if I’d gotten it” he was pulling his phone out now, showing his voicemails from the year to double check “look, nothing. I don’t understand” you were looking at your own phone now going through your contacts “this is your number right” you clicked his name to show him “that’s my old number from like 6 years ago, I don’t think I even knew you then” you were confused now “I messaged Charlie that night for your number cause I didn’t have it yet. She must have sent your old one…” he was laughing now, you couldn’t help but follow suit

“Well that sucks, guess this whole mess could have been prevented if I hadn’t been such a jerk and just talked to you” his eyes were locked to yours now, “yeah I guess it could have been” his smile grew looking at you “I know I’ve been a world class jack ass, but we both have the week off, how about I take you on an actual date this time, I’ll even put my actual number in your phone myself just incase?” Your ego wanted you to say no but your heart was much louder than your ego, and it was screaming for you to say yes

“I’d like that, but how about we do something small first? I don’t really want to stay here alone, how about we get pizza and ice cream, watch a few movies you could spend the night if you wanted of course?” Dean smirked at your idea “I’d love that sweetheart, I’d just have to go to my place and get some spare clothes, you wanna come or stay here?” You screwed your eyebrows up at him, well as much as you could with your stitches “after today, I’d be lucky to go to the bathroom myself” Dean frowned at your small attempt to joke “you know nothings gonna happen to you like that again right?” Shrugging your shoulders you tried to brush off his words “I don’t know, I think I might look into other job opportunities… today was just crazy, I mean had you not come in when you had who knows what could have happened” his jaw clenched at the memory

“You’re one of the best doctors in the place, we wouldn’t be able to function without you. Please don’t leave” you smiled up at him “you guys would crash and burn without me” “without question” he cut in “ I just need to ease my way back into it, maybe a handsome doctor who saved my life today could help with that”

“Whatever you need, I’ll be there” leaning in to press’s kiss to his stubbly cheek you thanked him, you saw the pink rise in his cheeks when you pulled away. You couldn’t help but take pride in making Dean Winchester blush like that, the guy who was willing to kick a patients ass today for putting you in harms way, you were already leaning forward before you could second guess yourself, close enough you could feel his breath on your lips, you waited giving him time to pull away

He didn’t pull away though, instead he closed the gap, pressing his plump lips against yours. You couldn’t help but smirk against his lips, so this was what it was like to kiss Dean Winchester, his smooth lips, the light stubble he had going on scratching your lips in just the right way and how he wrapped a hand around your waist, the other holding the side of your face so delicately, you almost wouldn’t have felt it. You pushed him back to lay against the couch, crawling into his lap to straddle his hips, he moved his hands down to your lower back, now holding you tightly against him

It continued like this for a few more minutes “wait, sweetheart, as much as I’m enjoying this, and believe me, I am. But we should stop, I want to take you on an actual date first, y’know sweep you off your feet, give you the night you deserve” your heart was beating so hard against your chest your surprised he didn’t hear it “that’s the sweetest thing I think anyone has ever said to me” you confessed, pressing a quick kiss to his lips once more “you’d better get used to it baby, this only one part of the Dean Winchester experience” you leaned to his ear now “well I really hope the Dean Winchester experience includes sweeping me off my feet tonight, and I mean literally and figuratively” he chucked darkly at your words

“Damn sweetheart, you’re making it really hard to stop right now” you only smirked at his words “good, that was my intention, now we’d better get going to get your things, I want to get my pizza soon, near death experiences sure do make you hungry” laughing Dean helps you up to stand “alright, let’s go, get me packed and get my favourite patient some food”.

This day started off in hell, and now, tonight, you felt like you were in heaven. Dean Winchester, laying on the couch with you, in a plain black shirt and a pair of plaid pajama pants, watching your favorite movie, feeding you a slice of pepperoni pizza with one hand while his other wrapped around your shoulders, life couldn’t possibly get any better now.

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two posts in one week? who am i? anyways please enjoy :))))))))

also how are we loving the boys season 5?? is it jus me or has Jensen gotten even hotter??? like how?

Pairing: Jared x reader

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Write now I'm only writing for Superjail it's in my head and it won't come out (NO SMUT IDK HOW TO WRITE THAT 😭😭)

It might not be very accurate to the character I will warn

I hate the Twins but I'll still write them

I don't know how Tumblr works so it'll take me a second to write

Anyways ask away