SUPERNATURAL FIC RECS

this is home

Jensen Ackles x Actress!Reader / Pedro Pascal x Actress!Reader <platonic>

not saying anything about anyone. this idea materialized and went with it.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

Jensen had barely stepped into the terminal before the chaos began.

Flashes. Voices. Pens. Phones.

“Jensen! Over here!”

“Jensen! Just one shot, man!”

“Can you sign this, Jensen?”

He gave his trademark half-grin, the one that made crowds light up, and started signing with an ease that only came from years of practice. Photos, posters, a few weird objects. He didn't ask questions. Just kept it moving, just like always.

TMZ was in the mix, too, and so were a few of those guys with binders full of photos they’d resell online. Jensen didn’t love it, but he handled them the same way he handled everything else in public — smooth and unbothered. Or at least, looking that way.

“Where’s Y/N today?” someone called.

He didn’t look up, just said, “She’s across the country shooting right now.”

“Oh, that’s with Pedro Pascal, right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jensen chuckled as he handed back a marker. “Lucky bastard gets to hang with her all day.”

Laughter rippled around him. He leaned into the joke, let it deflect any of the sting. He was cool with Pedro. Friendly, even. It wasn’t weird.

Mostly.

Then someone from the crowd — guy with a beard, phone out — pushed closer.

“Hey Jensen, you seen the new photos from set?”

Still signing, Jensen blinked. “What photos?”

The guy turned his phone around.

Three photos.

The first: you and Pedro laughing with the director, looking like a couple of kids in the best kind of trouble.

The second: Pedro saying something that had you smiling so wide Jensen could practically hear the laugh that went with it.

The third one hit a little lower. You, tucked under Pedro’s arm, head resting comfortably on his shoulder, the two of you watching something off-screen like you’d done it a hundred times before. Like it was natural. Like it belonged.

Jensen’s jaw ticked.

Barely.

He gave the phone back.

The guy raised an eyebrow. “What’s up with that, man?”

“Uh, nothing, man.” Jensen shrugged, light as air. “That’s common on set when two lead actors are playing each other’s love interest and they’re close friends like they are.”

Another signature. Another fake smile.

“You just have fun with it all and enjoy the ride. I know how much she likes working with the guy and how much fun she’s having on set. And that’s important, you know? Because other than the director, they’re the leaders on set — they set the tone for the rest of the cast and crew.”

He was answering without thinking now, defaulting to PR mode as the weight of the third photo stuck with him. How natural it looked. How comfortable you were in Pedro’s arms. How Jensen had never seen that particular smile when you were with him.

He wrapped things up quickly after that, making excuses about catching his flight, shaking hands, thanking the fans. Cool. Calm. Collected.

He stayed that way all the way to the gate.

All the way to his seat in first class.

All the way until the plane door sealed shut and he finally exhaled, jaw unclenching as he pulled out his phone.

He typed, erased, typed again.

Finally, he sent the message:

Need you to call me ASAP. Saw the new set pics.

He stared out the window.

Trying — and failing — not to replay the way your head rested on Pedro’s shoulder like it had every right to be there.

You were sitting in your trailer with your makeup half-done and your feet kicked up on the little sofa when your phone buzzed.

Jensen 💚: Need you to call me ASAP. Saw the new set pics.

Your stomach dropped.

You stared at the message for a second too long, rereading it like the words might change if you blinked hard enough.

You pulled up Instagram. Nothing on your feed yet. No tags. Then you checked Twitter — and there it was. A trending post. Your name. Pedro's. Someone had zoomed in on a few candid shots from set.

First one: You and Pedro laughing your asses off as the director waved her hands around. You remembered that moment — she’d made a joke about Pedro's "hero stance" being too dramatic, and Pedro had played it up even more. You’d doubled over laughing.

Second one: Pedro standing in front of you, making faces while the hair stylist adjusted your wig. You were grinning, wide and unfiltered.

Third one: …oh.

Oh.

You were leaning into him. Your head on his shoulder, his arms loose around you, like it was the most normal thing in the world. You looked calm. At peace. Comfortable. Too comfortable.

You swallowed hard.

Because yeah, it was normal on set. You’d spent weeks rehearsing together, shooting long days, figuring out the chemistry of your characters. You and Pedro got along — scarily well. He made you laugh when you needed it, offered you his coat between takes, always remembered to bring your favorite snack from the craft table.

But that photo. It didn’t look like friends. Not in the context of a trending topic. Not in the context of—

You clicked back to your messages.

No follow-up text.

You dialed him immediately, chewing at your thumbnail as it rang.

Once. Twice. Voicemail.

You hung up and called again.

No answer.

You hated this feeling — this wedge that had dropped between you from one image, one that wasn’t even about anything. But to him… it probably looked like something else. Something intimate.

Your trailer door creaked open and Pedro popped his head in. “Hey, we’re being called back in like, five—”

You must’ve looked pale or something, because he stopped short. “You okay?”

You nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Just… give me a minute?”

He hesitated. “Alright.” He lingered. “If this is about the photo stuff—”

You looked up sharply.

Pedro sighed, scratching the back of his neck. “Someone showed me on set. I didn’t think it’d blow up like this. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” you said quietly.

He gave you a small smile. “If he saw that third one, I get it. He’s probably just—y’know. Human.”

You nodded. “Yeah. He is.”

Pedro gave you one last look before closing the door behind him.

You stared at your phone again. The silence from Jensen felt louder than anything else.

You hated that one still frame — one unintentional, unguarded moment — could undo so much. Or make someone you love doubt what’s real.

You tried calling again.

Voicemail.

This time, you left one.

“Hey, babe. I just saw the photos. I know how that last one must’ve looked, and I’m sorry if it hurt you. It wasn’t anything, I swear. Pedro and I were waiting to shoot a scene, and I was freezing — I didn’t even realize someone took a picture. I should’ve texted you more from set, I know things have been hectic. But please don’t think for one second that you have anything to worry about. Okay? You’re it for me.”

You hesitated before hanging up.

Then, softer: “I miss you.”

Jensen had just leveled out in the air when he finally put his headphones in.

He didn’t open a movie. Didn’t scroll through music.

He played your voicemail.

It was quiet at first — your voice hushed, gentle. He closed his eyes.

“Hey, babe. I just saw the photos. I know how that last one must’ve looked, and I’m sorry if it hurt you…”

His jaw clenched. It didn’t hurt. I’m fine, he told himself, which was the first lie of the day.

It had hurt. Not in a full-on betrayal way — he trusted you. Of course he did. But that photo had snagged something in his chest and refused to let go. The way you looked with Pedro... relaxed, safe, like he was your home.

It was his shoulder you were supposed to lean on like that. Not someone else's.

“Pedro and I were waiting to shoot a scene, and I was freezing — I didn’t even realize someone took a picture…”

He knew. He knew. He’d been in this industry long enough to recognize what was real and what was camera bait. But still — your head on Pedro’s shoulder, his arms around you — it was too real-looking. It felt like something private, even if it wasn’t.

“I should’ve texted you more from set…”

Yeah, maybe. But he hadn’t exactly been blowing up your phone either. You’d both been busy, missing each other in that quiet, painful way people do when life gets loud.

“Please don’t think for one second that you have anything to worry about. Okay? You’re it for me.”

His throat tightened.

God, he missed you. Missed your laugh, your late-night ramblings, the way your hand always found his knee when you were curled up next to him. Missed your presence, like something about the world clicked into place when you were near.

“I miss you.”

He pulled out one earbud, let the quiet hum of the plane fill the silence. His eyes stayed on the seat in front of him, unfocused. He didn’t replay the message again — didn’t need to. Your voice was already echoing in his head.

He tapped out a reply before he could overthink it:

I miss you too. Let’s talk when I land, okay? We’ll talk.

He picked up the call on the first ring.

“Hey,” your voice came through, soft but steady.

“Hey,” he said back, eyes shut as he leaned against the seat. His voice was lower than usual, gravelly from holding too much in.

“I didn't want to wait.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

A pause.

“You okay?” you asked.

He let out a quiet breath, one hand scrubbing down his face. “Yeah. I mean, I wasn’t. But I’m better now.”

“That photo—”

“I know,” he cut in gently. “I know it’s nothing. I know how sets work. Hell, I’ve probably looked that cozy with co-stars more times than I can count.”

“Still… I hate that you saw it that way.”

“I didn’t want to,” he admitted, voice raw around the edges. “Didn’t want to feel that flash of… I don’t even know what it was. Just hit me out of nowhere.”

“It was cold. Pedro offered his jacket. I leaned. That was it.”

Jensen gave a humorless huff. “Pedro’s a good guy. I know that. I like him.”

“I know you do.”

“But seeing you in his arms like that—” he stopped, forcing his words to even out. “It looked like I’d been replaced.”

“You haven’t been,” you said, firm now. “Not even close.”

He stayed quiet, letting the weight of that truth settle between you.

“I’m sorry I didn’t check in more,” you continued. “We’ve both been running non-stop. And I know how much that messes with things.”

“I should’ve called too,” he said. “Should’ve made time. We’re both guilty.”

“You didn’t ask for pictures like that to be taken.”

“You didn’t ask to go viral for existing on a film set.”

That made you laugh — just a little — and he felt something in his chest loosen.

“I meant what I said in the voicemail,” you added. “You’re it for me, Jensen. Okay? Even when it’s cold. Even when I’m tired. Even when I’m a thousand miles away.”

He swallowed the lump forming in his throat.

“I needed to hear that,” he said quietly. “Because when I saw that photo… I didn’t feel like ‘it.’ I felt like the guy who got left behind.”

“You didn’t. You won’t be.”

He leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees, voice almost a whisper now. “Can we be better about this? You and me. Even when it’s crazy. Even when the press starts making shit up. Just… keep each other close?”

“I want that,” you said instantly. “I want us solid, no matter where we are.”

“Okay,” he said. Then softer: “Then we’ll do it.”

Another pause. A gentler one this time.

“Are you headed to the hotel?” you asked.

“Yeah. I’ll call you when I get there. Maybe FaceTime. I wanna see your face.”

“You’re not gonna make me show you I’m not cuddled up to Pedro again, are you?” you teased lightly.

He chuckled, finally — a real one. “Nah. But I’ll make you prove you still smile bigger when you see me.”

“You better believe I do.”

He leaned back in his seat again, a quiet smile on his lips as the overhead chime announced arrival.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you too,” you answered.

This time, it didn’t just feel like words.

It felt like coming home.

The hotel room was dim, lit mostly by the warm amber glow of the bedside lamp. Jensen tossed his duffel on the floor, kicked off his boots, and let out a groan as he flopped back onto the mattress.

He didn’t even bother with the TV. All he wanted to do was see your face.

He hit FaceTime, thumb hovering for just a second before he pressed “Call.”

It rang once. Twice.

Then you answered.

“Hi,” you said, appearing on his screen, wrapped in a hoodie — his hoodie, he realized — hair pulled back, eyes tired but warm.

He exhaled, a sound like something uncoiling inside him.

“There you are,” he murmured.

You smiled. A real one this time. “Here I am.”

He angled the phone so you could see him too, stretched out on the bed, shirt wrinkled from travel, hair a little messy from the flight.

“You look good,” you said quietly.

He huffed a small laugh. “I look like I just went twelve rounds with airport security.”

“Still,” you said. “You look like home.”

That did something to him. His chest ached in that gentle way it always did when you cut straight through his walls without even trying.

“I hated that we fought without actually fighting,” you said, voice softer now.

“We didn’t fight,” he replied. “We… stumbled.”

You nodded. “Well. Let’s not do that again.”

“Agreed.”

You were quiet for a moment, studying him through the screen like you were trying to memorize every detail. He could see the exhaustion in your eyes — long day, long week, maybe just missing him more than you’d let yourself admit until now.

“Hey,” he said gently. “You okay?”

“I am now.”

He swallowed. “I know that photo caught me off guard. But I trust you. Even when it stings. Even when I hate sharing you with the world.”

“You’re not sharing me,” you said. “Not really. The world gets pieces. You get all of me.”

His throat tightened. “That better not just be the sleep talking.”

“It’s not,” you whispered.

You just watched each other for a moment — no talking, no pressure. Just two people staring through a screen and wishing it were a window.

“You wanna stay on the call while you crash?” he asked eventually. “I’ll just leave you propped up. We don’t have to talk.”

You blinked. “Like fall asleep on FaceTime?”

“Yeah. Old school teen romance style.”

You smiled, curling deeper under your blanket. “That sounds perfect.”

He angled his phone against a pillow so you had a good view — just his face and that soft, sleepy look in his eyes. You did the same.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he said quietly.

“Goodnight, baby.”

He didn’t care how cheesy it was. Didn’t care about time zones or bad lighting or how far away you were.

Right now, he could see your face.

And for the first time in days, Jensen felt like everything might just be okay.

The soundstage was quiet for a rare moment — reset lights buzzing, crew shuffling softly, the buzz of production dulled under the weight of fatigue and late-afternoon haze. You stood near video village, holding a paper cup of now-cold coffee, eyes skimming the script pages you already knew by heart.

But your mind was somewhere else.

Back in that hotel room with Jensen’s face on your phone. Back in his voice, low and tired, but honest. Back in the look in his eyes when you told him, You’re not sharing me. The world gets pieces. You get all of me.

You knew what that had meant to him — how much it had taken for him to believe it. And still… how hard he was working to keep believing it.

Because Jensen had been burned. One too many times.

People didn’t always love him. They loved the version of him that opened doors. The famous name. The charming face. The connections. The spotlight. The screaming fans. His impeccable good looks.

But when the lights dimmed? When the camera stopped? That’s when the cracks formed. That’s when the sniping started. The cold shoulders. The slow unraveling of something that had never been sewn with kindness in the first place.

He’d told you about it one night, half a bottle of whiskey deep, voice rough and eyes downcast. How he stayed too long. How he kept trying to fix things, even when the only thing breaking was himself.

She made him feel small. Over time, piece by piece. Until he forgot what it was like to be seen with softness.

He didn’t realize it at the time — how much damage that kind of love could do. How deeply it could root itself in the way he saw the world.

He still caught himself, sometimes. When you fought — which wasn’t often — he’d sometimes shoot too fast. A sharp word. A subtle jab. His shoulders would go rigid like he was bracing for a war that wasn’t coming.

And you’d told him. Calm, clear, unmoving.

I love you, but I won’t let you treat me like that. That’s not love. That’s defense. And if you want to be in this with me, then that pattern ends now.

He’d listened. He’d heard you.

And he was trying. You saw it every time he paused to rethink his words. Every time he caught himself and took a breath instead of a verbal swing. Every time he looked at you like he was scared — not of you, but of losing you — and chose to trust instead.

You knew he was trying to be the kind of man who didn’t carry the weight of his past into the room with him.

You knew that meant more than any trending photo or paparazzi buzz ever could.

“Hey,” a familiar voice said gently.

You blinked out of your thoughts to see Pedro beside you, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, expression warm and easy.

“Hey,” you replied, offering a small smile.

He gave you a look. That subtle, careful kind — the kind only good friends know how to give.

“Everything good?” he asked, keeping his voice low. “After… y’know. All the TMZ drama?”

You let out a breath. “Yeah. We talked. He’s good. We’re good.”

Pedro nodded once. “I figured. He seemed like the type to pull it together once he had the facts.”

You glanced at him. “He’s trying. It’s not always easy for him.”

Pedro gave a soft, understanding smile. “No, I get that. People don’t always realize how much shit someone’s carrying until it spills out all over the place.”

You nodded slowly. “He’s been through a lot. Stuff he doesn’t always talk about. And when he does, it’s… heavy.”

Pedro leaned against the edge of the cart beside you, casual but attentive. “He’s lucky to have you.”

You tilted your head. “You think so?”

“I know so,” he said, with a small grin. “Because you love him in a way that makes him want to be better. I see it in the way you talk about him — and in the way you look over your shoulder every time your phone buzzes.”

You laughed under your breath, cheeks warming.

Pedro bumped your shoulder lightly. “He’s not the only lucky one, though. You’ve got someone who’s trying to unlearn the shit that broke him. That’s not nothing.”

You swallowed. “Yeah. It’s not.”

He nodded once more, then added, “And hey — for what it’s worth, if he ever forgets what he’s got in you… I’m right here with a very long speech about how dumb he’d be to mess it up.”

You grinned. “Thanks, Pascal. I’ll keep you on standby.”

“Always,” he said with a wink.

You didn’t hear the knock so much as feel it — a jolt of electricity straight through your chest.

You crossed the hotel room in three seconds flat, yanking open the door like something in you had been waiting for this moment all week.

And there he was.

Jensen.

Ball cap, hoodie, boots. Tired eyes and soft smile. You didn’t even say hello — just grabbed the front of his sweatshirt and pulled him in.

He dropped his bag somewhere behind him as the door closed, his hands already finding your waist, your back, your face. His touch was everywhere at once — not desperate, just sure.

You kissed him like you hadn’t seen him in years. Like this was the only language you remembered.

He kissed you back just the same.

When you finally pulled apart, breathless and slightly dizzy, Jensen rested his forehead against yours, voice low and rough.

“God, I missed you.”

You nodded, eyes still closed. “You feel like home.”

He huffed a soft laugh. “I feel like hell. That flight was brutal.”

“You still smell like your cologne,” you whispered, pressing your nose to his collar. “And a little like airplane.”

“You always this affectionate with guys who smell like recycled air?”

“Only the ones I love.”

He smiled into your hair, arms tightening around you. “That’s good. ‘Cause I was planning on staying.”

You tilted your head back to look at him. “For the night or for the week?”

He met your gaze. “As long as you’ll let me.”

The answer settled into your chest like sunlight.

You led him toward the bed, fingers laced with his, neither of you needing words to know what this meant. It wasn’t about sex. It was about presence. About closeness. About curling into each other like the answer to a question that’s lingered too long.

Later, after the clothes had been shed and the lights dimmed and the room had gone quiet except for the slow, even rhythm of breath, he pressed a kiss to your shoulder.

“I hate being apart from you,” he murmured.

You turned slightly, meeting his eyes in the dark. “Me too.”

“I don’t care where you are, what time it is — I just want you close.”

“You’ve got me,” you whispered, tracing your fingers along his jaw. “You always do.”

And when he kissed you again, it wasn’t just to prove a point. It was a promise.

The sun was starting to dip behind the soundstage, casting long shadows over the parking lot where the crew trucks sat humming, their sides splattered with dust and sunlight.

Pedro was leaning against one of them, sipping a bottle of water, still in costume — the desert wind teasing the edges of his scarf. He looked calm, unbothered. But his eyes tracked everything. They always did.

Jensen saw him before he said a word.

“Hey,” he called, jogging up the last few steps from the studio lot.

Pedro lifted his brows, amused. “Well look who actually exists in daylight.”

Jensen smirked. “Thought I’d swing by before you wrap up. Figured I owed you a face-to-face.”

Pedro nodded, uncapping his water again. “For what? You’re not about to punch me over a publicity still, are you?”

Jensen chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Nah. We got past all that. She and I talked. It’s good now.”

Pedro gave him a look — not skeptical, just curious. “You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

There was a beat. One of those heavy, unspoken pauses that says we’re about to get real, aren’t we?

Jensen crossed his arms and leaned against the truck beside Pedro, letting the silence settle before breaking it.

“I know you and she got close,” he said, not accusing — just honest. “I know how this kind of set brings people together. Long hours. Long scenes. Shared trailers and inside jokes.”

Pedro stayed quiet. Letting him talk.

“And I know,” Jensen continued, voice quieter now, “that you’ve never given me a reason not to trust you.”

Pedro tilted his head. “But?”

“No ‘but.’” Jensen looked at him. “Just wanted you to know I appreciate that. That line you never crossed? It means something.”

Pedro nodded once. “She made it easy. She never gave me a reason to question it either.”

“I know.”

Another quiet beat.

Then Pedro glanced over at him, tone lighter but sincere. “She’s good at making people feel like they matter. It’s… kinda her superpower.”

Jensen exhaled a small laugh. “Yeah. Tell me about it.”

Pedro took another sip, then added, “You’re good for her, too. I see it. She’s been lighter since you got here. Softer.”

“She softens me too,” Jensen admitted.

They stood like that for a moment — two men connected by proximity, friendship, and the same fierce care for one extraordinary woman.

Pedro gave a small smile. “No offense, but I’m glad it’s you.”

Jensen raised a brow. “Yeah?”

“I’ve seen her look at you,” Pedro said. “You’re her safe place. That’s rare. Don’t fuck it up.”

Jensen laughed, low and dry. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, man.”

Pedro shrugged with a grin. “Anytime.”

Jensen reached out, clapped his shoulder. “You ever need a beer and someone to complain to about LA traffic, I’m your guy.”

“Deal,” Pedro said, and the smile he gave was real.

They didn’t hug — neither of them were quite built for that level of mutual sentimentality — but something settled between them all the same. A kind of unspoken pact.

The woman they both cared about was safe. Loved. Understood.

And that was enough.

The car was warm and still.

Just highway lights flickering past, casting gold across the dash, the soft hum of tires on asphalt, and Jensen’s hand resting against your thigh — thumb brushing back and forth like it was muscle memory now.

You leaned your head against the window, eyes half-lidded from exhaustion, your body finally starting to unclench from the weeks of long shoots, late nights, and emotional tightropes. There wasn’t much left to say.

And you didn’t need there to be.

Jensen glanced over at you, his hat tipped back, the corner of his mouth tugging upward in that soft, private smile he only ever gave you when he thought no one else was looking.

“You falling asleep on me?”

“Mm. Just resting my eyes.”

He squeezed your thigh gently, his hand warm and grounding. “You’ve earned it.”

You smiled, tilting your head toward him. “So have you.”

He gave a low hum of agreement but kept his eyes on the road. “You good? Really?”

“I’m good,” you said, voice quiet. “Feels like everything’s settled. For now.”

Jensen nodded once. “I like ‘for now.’ ‘For now’ got me here with you.”

You reached over, letting your fingers thread with his. “You were always gonna end up here with me.”

He brought your joined hands to his lips, kissed the back of yours without breaking focus on the road.

Silence fell again — but the good kind. The kind filled with weightless comfort. With the sound of trust. Of belonging. Of us.

You watched him drive, your heart soft and slow in your chest.

His shoulders had relaxed since he got to set. His voice, less guarded. You could tell he’d let go of something. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was doubt. Maybe it was just that quiet ache of missing someone and finally getting to reach for them again.

Whatever it was, he was here now.

And so were you.

Home wasn’t a place. Not tonight. Home was this drive. His hand in yours. The hush between songs on the radio. The weight of his love, steady and sure, in the space between your heartbeats.

You turned your face toward the windshield, eyes slipping shut.

And you let him carry you the rest of the way home.

The sun was already too bright when you shuffled into the kitchen, hair a mess, wearing nothing but one of Jensen’s ancient shirts from a tour he couldn’t even remember doing. You found him exactly where you expected — leaned over the counter with a mug in one hand, and a suspiciously crumb-covered phone in the other.

“Is that my cinnamon muffin?” you asked, eyeing the demolished pastry on the plate beside him.

He didn’t look up. “Define yours.”

You blinked. “The one I wrote my name on. In Sharpie. With hearts.”

“Oh,” he said, finally glancing up. “That muffin.”

“Yeah, that muffin.”

Jensen took a very slow, very exaggerated bite. “Never saw it.”

You narrowed your eyes, crossing your arms. “You’re lucky I like you.”

He grinned, unapologetic. “You love me. It’s different.”

You stalked over and plucked the last bite out of his hand, popping it into your mouth before he could protest. His jaw dropped in playful betrayal.

“Hey!”

You smirked. “Shared property. That’s how love works, right?”

“Not when it comes to pastries,” he muttered, but he was smiling again — that crooked grin that made your stomach flutter even now.

You moved in closer, sliding your arms around his waist, pressing your forehead to his chest. “We’re really home.”

His hands settled on your hips, warm and steady. “Yeah. Finally.”

You looked up at him. “Do I have to go back to work next week?”

He leaned down, nose brushing yours. “I can call in a fake scandal if you want. Something juicy. Keep you off the hook for a while.”

You laughed. “What, like you broke up with me because I ate your muffin?”

“Or I’m cheating with the craft services girl,” he said dramatically. “We bonded over croissants. It’s been very emotional.”

“Tragic,” you said, fake-pouting. “Guess I’ll have to make you jealous by flirting with Pedro again.”

Jensen raised an eyebrow. “That man could charm a potted plant. You wouldn’t even have to try.”

You grinned. “Might make you appreciate my Sharpie muffins more.”

He shook his head, pulling you closer. “You could eat all my muffins and I’d still pick you every time.”

“Even the blueberry ones?”

He leaned down and kissed you slow. “Especially the blueberry ones.”

You melted into it, laughter catching between your lips.

Home wasn’t always quiet. Sometimes it was teasing and crumbs and half-drunk coffee.

Sometimes it was just this — his arms, your laughter, and a life you’d built one stolen muffin at a time.

『 roaring through time 』

꧁ paring: (dean winchester x fem!reader)

꧁ summary: trapped in the 1920s with no clear way home, dean and the reader find themselves tangled in a world of smoky speakeasies, dangerous secrets, and shifting timelines. but as the past pulls them in, so does something else—something neither of them is ready to face. time is slipping through their fingers, and if they’re not careful, they might lose more than just their way back.

꧁ warnings: eventual smut, jealous!dean, jealous!reader, slow burn!, cussing, men in the 1920s, smoking, drinking, gore, violence, idiots in love, best friends to lovers, prohibition, protective!dean, protective!reader, I will add more as I write.

꧁ word count: 32.3k

『 chapter index 』

꧁ chapter one

꧁ chapter two

꧁ chapter three

꧁ chapter four

꧁ chapter five ❤︎ smut

꧁ chapter six new!

This series will contain smut. I will put a warning when it comes time but I am not responsible for your reading consumption. (mdni) Minors do not interact with the chapter that contains smut.

『 sneak peak 』

The bunker was suddenly gone. You were standing in the middle of a street bustling with old-fashioned cars, the scent of cigarette smoke and perfume thick in the air.

Dean had grabbed your arm immediately, his grip tight as his body tensed like he was expecting a fight. “Tell me you’re seein’ what I’m seein’,” he muttered, his voice tight.

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering in your chest. The people around you were dressed like they’d walked straight out of The Great Gatsby. Men in suits and fedoras, women in beaded dresses, their lips painted a deep red. A streetcar rattled past, kicking up dust, and a newspaper boy hollered from the corner, “Extra, extra! Read all about it—Prohibition raids downtown!”

Your stomach dropped.

“Oh, hell no,” Dean muttered.

You turned to him, your own panic reflected in his wide green eyes. “Dean… I think we just got zapped into the 1920s.”

Dean let out a sharp breath, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You’ve gotta be freakin’ kidding me.”

author’s note: well, here’s another series I’m starting up! this was supposed to be a oneshot but then the ideas kept coming and coming until my oneshot had 16k words…yeah…ANYWAYS… get ready for speakeasy’s, dean in 1920s attire, and lots of tension!

If you would like to be tagged please fill out THIS form and I will add you to the list! ❤︎

my works

© maddie0101 do not copy or repost my works without my permission

tuesdays can go to hell

— based off of THIS request. I hope you like it nonny ! ❤︎

summary: trapped in a time loop, dean is forced to relive his worst nightmare—watching you die, again and again. will he find a way to break free, or is he doomed to suffer forever?

warnings: death, gore, angst, friends to lovers, based off of the tuesday episode!, slight jealousy, idiots in love, dean's personal hell, sad but has a happy ending!

word count: 9.7k (idk how to even defend myself anymore)

The first thing Dean hears is the soft crackle of static, followed by the unmistakable opening chords of Nirvana’s “Come As You Are”.

His eyes flutter open, still heavy with sleep, and he groans, squinting against the bright, unforgiving morning light that seeps through the motel blinds.

The music was pretty familiar, comforting, and somehow just right for the moment but he shifts to glance at the clock on the nightstand, blinking as his eyes struggle to focus.

It’s early, but the time catches him off guard. And It’s Tuesday.

Dean blinks a few times, his mind still foggy as he processes the day. Something feels a little off, but he can’t put his finger on it. He leans back against the pillow, rubbing his face with one hand as he tries to shake the sleepiness.

Meanwhile, you’re already up, moving around the room. You adjust your jacket, grab your stuff, and pour yourself a cup of coffee. You catch his confused look and raise an eyebrow, a smirk forming on your lips as you sip from your mug.

“You look like you’ve been run over by a truck,” you tease, your voice light and playful. “C’mon, it’s just Tuesday. You planning to sleep all day or are you gonna join the living?”

Dean grins, though it’s more of a lazy smile. “I’m alive, sweetheart. Just… took me a second to catch up with the day.” He pushes himself up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Alright, alright, I’m up. But if I’m gonna survive today, I need coffee.”

You hand him the mug in your hands, and he takes a long sip. “Mmm. Best part of waking up,” he mutters, giving you a look as he takes in the rest of the room. “You sure you’re not secretly a caffeine dealer?”

You laugh and shrug, not bothering to hide the amused grin on your face. “I don’t know, maybe I should start charging you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says, shaking his head as he stands up, stretching his arms over his head. “You’ve got me hooked, sweetheart.”

With one last playful glance, he walks over to his duffle bag, preparing to get dressed for the day.

You’re already halfway to the door, your voice carrying over your shoulder. “Hurry up, Winchester. That diner’s not gonna wait for us.”

Dean chuckles softly to himself, grabbing his clothes. “I’m coming, I’m coming. Don’t get all impatient on me now.”

──────────────────────

As the two of you step through the diner’s squeaky door, the bell above chimes loudly, announcing your arrival.

The familiar scent of sizzling bacon and fresh coffee immediately hits you, making your stomach growl in anticipation.

Dean glances around, eyes scanning the nearly empty diner, the soft hum of conversation and clinking silverware filling the space. The early morning light filters through the fogged windows, casting a warm glow on the checkered floors and faded booths.

He’s about to make a joke about the place when he spots a man at the bar, clearly struggling.

The guy’s hunched over the counter, his fingers tapping nervously on the wood as he stares at the menu, brows furrowed in confusion. He looks like he’s caught between wanting to make a decision and just giving up.

In front of him, a waitress in a bright yellow uniform stands with a pot of coffee in one hand, looking unamused. “Can’t stay unless you order something, Cal,” she says, her voice sharp but not unkind. She doesn’t budge, eyeing the man with an amused glint in her eye as if she’s seen this exact scene play out a hundred times. "You know the rules."

“Some coffee,” the man finally mutters, his voice a bit defeated as he nods to the waitress. You and Dean share a quick look, both of you amused by his indecision. But with that, you make your way to an empty booth, the worn seats creaking slightly as you slide in across from each other.

You let out a quiet sigh, feeling the weight of the morning start to settle in. Your eyes drift upward to the menu posted above the counter, the chalky letters barely legible under the dim lighting.

A small smirk plays on your lips as you nod toward the menu. “Hey, Tuesday. Pig ‘n a poke,” you say, your voice light, a hint of teasing beneath it.

Dean’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, his gaze following the motion of your finger as it points to the menu above. He scans the words slowly, his lips parting slightly. “What the hell’s that supposed to be?” he mutters under his breath. He glances back at you, the corners of his mouth twitching upward into a playful grin.

“Just sounds like something you’d like, Dean,” you shrug nonchalantly, your voice light and teasing.

But before you can say anything else, the same waitress from earlier approaches, her bright yellow uniform standing out in the dim diner light.

She stops at your table, notepad in hand, her pen poised and ready to take your order. “Are you kids ready?” she asks, her voice casual.

“Yes, ma’am,” you reply with a nod, your voice warm and friendly as you meet the waitress’s gaze.

“I’ll have the special, side of bacon, and a coffee.” You flash her a quick smile, then glance at Dean, a mischievous gleam in your eye. “And he’ll have the exact same thing.”

The waitress jots down your order with quick, practiced movements, her pen scratching against the paper as she nods in acknowledgment. She lifts her eyes from the notepad, offering you both a smile that’s a little brighter than necessary for the early morning.

“You got it,” she says, her tone light but efficient, before turning on her heel and walking off, her footsteps echoing.

“Ordering for me now, sweetheart?” Dean’s voice is laced with that familiar teasing tone, and he shoots you a smirk that makes your stomach do a little flip.

You roll your eyes, half exasperated, half amused by his constant subtle flirting.

“Of course,” you reply, your voice light as you meet his playful gaze. “I know what you like, and—” You pause, tilting your head and pointing up to the menu sign above. “That’s exactly what you would order.”

Dean’s lips curve into a soft smile as he shakes his head, clearly entertained by your confidence. His eyes linger on you for a moment longer than usual, something unspoken flashing behind them. You knew him so well, better than anyone ever had, and you were right. He would’ve ordered exactly that, no questions asked.

But there was more to it than just your perfect read of him. A swell of warmth fills his chest at the thought of how deeply you understood him, and for a brief moment, he can’t help but just stare at you—really look at you.

Your beauty wasn’t just in the way you looked, it was in the way you moved, the way you carried yourself with that quiet confidence, and the way your eyes sparkled whenever you teased him.

It left him breathless, like he was standing on the edge of something he couldn’t quite grasp.

Dean swallowed hard, his heart skipping a beat. He was a goner.

Completely head over heels in love with you, but the thought of telling you… it terrified him.

No, he couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t risk ruining what you had, the friendship he cherished more than anything.

What if you didn’t feel the same way? What if, in the end, he lost you completely?

Those doubts plagued his thoughts, gnawing at him constantly. They clung to him like a shadow, keeping him frozen in place, preventing him from taking a chance, preventing him from telling you how deeply he really felt. The fear of losing you was far worse than never knowing if you felt the same.

“Alright, I’ve got this,” you said, breaking Dean out of his thoughts as you pulled a crumpled newspaper clipping from your bag. You spread it out on the table in front of him. “Dexter Hasselback. He was passing through town last week when he disappeared.”

Dean tilted his head slightly, eyes scanning the text. “Last known location?”

You nodded, your finger tapping the paper. “His daughter said he was on his way to visit the Broward County Mystery Spot.”

You reached into your jacket pocket, pulling out a small pamphlet and handing it to him. Dean took it, unfolding the glossy paper with a slight frown. His eyes skimmed the words, then froze, his eyebrows arching as he read aloud, “‘Where the laws of physics have no meaning?’”

He glanced up at you, a look of confusion flickering across his face. You shrugged, just as confused. “No idea what that’s supposed to mean,” you admitted, a hint of a frown on your lips as you glanced at the pamphlet again.

Before you could continue, the waitress returned, her presence interrupting the moment. She gently placed your coffee in front of you, the scent of it rich and comforting.

You smiled at her, murmuring a quick thanks as she set Dean’s cup down in front of him.

But as she reached for the hot sauce sitting on her tray, her hand slipped, and the bottle fell with a sharp clatter. The cap popped off mid-air, and a fiery red stream of sauce splattered across the floor, splashing in all directions.

The waitress gasped, as she muttered "whoops. Crap. Sorry." She turned toward you and Dean and you awkwardly sent her a soft smile that it was fine.

──────────────────────

As you and Dean stepped out of the diner, the cool morning air hit your face, but your attention was still fixed on the newspaper clipping in your hands. You ran your eyes over it for what felt like the hundredth time, but your mind wasn’t fully on the words.

The golden retriever tied to the bike stand a few feet away yapped loudly, its bark echoing through the quiet street, but you barely registered it, too absorbed in the details of the case.

Dean, walking beside you, gave a quiet chuckle, his voice breaking through your thoughts. “You know, joints like this are only tourist traps, right?”

He gently took the clipping from your hands, sending you a teasing look before letting his eyes flick over the paper, clearly unimpressed. “I mean, balls rolling uphill, furniture nailed to the ceiling—sounds like a bad magic act. The only danger’s to your wallet.”

He rambled on, shaking his head, but you cut him off before he could say more. “Dean, I’m just saying, there are places in the world where holes literally open up and swallow people whole. The Bermuda Triangle, the Oregon Vortex—”

“Broward County Mystery Spot?” Dean interrupted with a raised eyebrow, his tone laced with sarcasm.

You rolled your eyes, irritated by his dismissal. “Well, sometimes these places are legit,” you shot back, trying to make him see that you weren’t just chasing shadows.

Dean’s chuckle faded, and his expression turned thoughtful, though his skepticism was still evident. “Alright, so if it is legit—and that’s a big ‘if’—what’s the lore? You got anything to back it up?”

“Well—” you began, but before you could finish your sentence, a blonde girl walked past, her shoulder brushing against Dean’s. The contact was accidental, but it was enough to make her pause, mumble an apology, and move on.

You both turned to watch her, and Dean’s eyes immediately slid over her form, an appreciative smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You couldn’t help but glare at the back of her head as she walked away, your stomach tightening in an unpleasant knot. The rush of jealousy hit you like a wave, sharp and sudden, a deep ache settling in your chest as you watched Dean check out another woman—just like that.

A bitter taste of frustration filled your mouth. You wanted to confess everything you’d been holding inside for so long. But the jealousy gnawed at you, a poison you couldn’t seem to shake off.

Every part of you wished more than anything to tell him how you truly felt, to stop pretending that it didn’t hurt when he looked at others like that. But you kept it all buried, just like always.

“The lore’s actually pretty freaking nuts,” you continued, determined to steer the conversation back to the hunt. You couldn’t let Dean’s skepticism cloud your focus just yet. “I mean, they say the magnetic fields at these spots are so strong, they can actually bend space-time. People who’ve visited? No one knows where they end up. It’s like they vanish into thin air.”

Dean chuckled under his breath, glancing at you as if you were indulging in some wild conspiracy. “Yeah, sounds a little X-Files to me,” he muttered, his eyes darting off as two guys across the street struggled with a piano.

The large, awkward instrument wouldn't fit through the narrow door of an apartment building, and you could hear one of the guys grunt in frustration.

“I told you it wouldn’t fit!” the first guy groaned, pushing against the heavy piano as if it would magically slide through the doorway.

“What do you want, a Pulitzer?” the second guy retorted, his voice edged with annoyance, sweat dripping down his face as he shoved the piano in vain.

Both you and Dean’s eyes narrowed at the sight, watching the whole debacle with a mix of confusion and mild disbelief. You shook your head slightly, refocusing your attention on Dean as the noise of the men’s arguments filled the space between you.

“All right, look,” you said, voice steady but determined, “I’m not saying this is some crazy phenomenon happening right now, but if it is… we’ve gotta check it out. See if we can do something about it.”

Dean sighed, but the determination in your voice didn’t go unnoticed. He shifted his weight, turning to face you with a resigned look. “All right, all right. We’ll go tonight, after they close. Get ourselves a nice, long look. You happy now, sweetheart?”

You nodded, finally feeling like you were getting somewhere. “I’ll take that as a yes,” you said with a small, satisfied grin, even as you noticed Dean’s reluctance.

──────────────────────

Later that night, the air in the mystery spot felt thick, charged with something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. The moment you and Dean walked inside, your eyes widened at the sight of the hallway.

The walls were painted in glowing green, swirling patterns that seemed to pulse in the dim light of your flashlight. It was disorienting, like stepping into some other world that didn’t make any sense at all.

The whole place was trippy, and you and Dean exchanged a look, a silent ‘what the hell’, before you both ventured deeper.

The strange feeling never left. The place was completely bizarre. As you and Dean walked around, your flashlights flickered over random objects that seemed more at home in a funhouse than a place you’d investigate.

But you kept going, trying to make sense of it all. It was a hunt, after all. Your eyes landed on an upside-down table nailed to the ceiling, and you blinked.

“What the hell?” you muttered, voice thick with disbelief, before you turned to look at Dean.

He was holding the EMF reader up, scanning for any sign of paranormal activity, but the machine was unresponsive. He shook his head slowly, frustration evident in his posture.

“Find anything?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Dean only sighed, the EMF reader basically dead in his hands. “Nope. Nothing. This place is a bust.”

Before you could say anything else, a voice sliced through the silence, sending both you and Dean into alert mode.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

You both spun on your heels, guns raised in an instant. Flashlights blazed into the darkness, landing on a man standing just a few feet away, his shotgun pointed directly at your chest.

Your heart hammered in your ribcage, panic surging through your veins as the cold steel of your gun felt heavy in your trembling hand.

Dean’s jaw clenched, a low growl of anger radiating from him at the sight of the man’s weapon trained on you. The protective instinct in him flared, but he forced himself to remain calm, to keep the situation from spiraling out of control.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Dean said, his voice low and steady as he slowly lifted his pistol to the side, showing the man he wasn’t a threat.

But you didn’t lower yours. You couldn’t—your heart was racing too fast, the fear clawing at your insides. You kept your eyes trained on the man, praying he wouldn’t make a move.

“You robbing me?” the man snarled, his eyes wild with panic.

Dean was quick to respond. “Look, nobody’s robbing you. Calm down.”

You slowly, cautiously, began to lower your gun a little, trying to ease the tension, but the moment your hand shifted, the man’s gaze snapped back to you. His shotgun followed, cold and unyielding.

“Don’t move!” he barked, his voice frantic, trembling with fear.

“I’m just putting my gun down,” you whispered, trying to sound as non-threatening as possible, but the man’s eyes were wide, and there was a desperation in them that sent a chill down your spine.

You didn’t even get a chance to say another word.

The blast of the shotgun was deafening, the sharp, violent sound tearing through the air like a thousand crashing waves. You barely had time to register the pain before the world turned into a nightmare, an explosion of searing agony ripping through your chest.

The force of it slammed you backwards, and you crumpled to the floor, your body crashing to the ground brutally. Blood poured from your wound, pooling beneath you.

And time seemed to slow at that moment. Dean’s world tilted, spinning in a cruel blur. His entire body went cold, the air around him thickening, heavy with the weight of the impossible. His eyes locked onto you—his world—falling. The blood, crimson and hot, blossomed across the floor in a haunting bloom.

His breath caught in his throat, and everything around him blurred, fading into a void of suffocating silence. His heart shattered in that moment, a jagged, gut-wrenching crack that he could feel in every fiber of his being.

“Y/N?!” His voice broke, desperate and raw, like he was reaching out to you from miles away. His pulse raced, his body screamed at him to do something, anything. He scrambled to his knees beside you, his hands trembling as they hovered over you, not knowing how to fix this.

His fingers shook violently as he touched you, the warmth of your blood staining his hands. The reality of what was happening started to sink in, and it felt like the earth itself was collapsing beneath his feet.

No, no, no…

Your breath came in shallow, painful gasps, each one a struggle, as if your lungs were fighting against the inevitable.

The pain was excruciating, unbearable, but what truly shattered Dean was the sight of you—his world—so vulnerable, so fragile in his arms. You were slipping away, fading right before his eyes, and he was powerless to stop it.

His heart twisted, the ache inside him growing unbearable as he watched the life drain from you. His face crumpled and his hands clutched at you as if he was holding on to the last shred of a dream.

He was crumbling in front of you, and the devastation was written all over him, his eyes wide with terror, his body trembling as he fought to keep it together. But in the face of this, how could he?

“Sweetheart… please, don’t do this to me,” Dean’s voice was a ragged whisper, thick with desperation. His words were a prayer, a plea to the universe that he didn’t even believe in.

He was choking on his own emotions, his breath coming in sharp, frantic bursts as he reached for your face. He traced the lines of your cheek with trembling fingers, trying to comfort you, even as the terror of losing you consumed him.

“I’m right here, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice cracking with every word, every plea. He could barely hold himself together as the tears began to spill, hot and fast, blurring his vision. “You can’t… you can’t leave me. Not like this. Please… don’t leave me.”

But you didn’t respond. You couldn’t. The words hung in the air between you like an unsung song, and the silence was deafening. Your body was so still, so quiet.

Your chest no longer rose and fell with shallow breaths. It was as if time itself had stopped, and everything that had ever mattered to Dean had shattered in an instant.

You were gone.

The words didn’t make sense. Gone. How could you be gone? No. This couldn’t be real.

Dean’s entire world collapsed inward in that moment. His chest constricted painfully, and with trembling hands, he shook you, pleading for you to wake up.

“Y/N?!” His voice was a hoarse rasp, jagged with the agony of disbelief. He clung to you, trying to force you to come back, but the emptiness of your gaze told him everything he needed to know.

The world around him fell apart in an instant. His soul felt like it had been ripped from his body, leaving him hollow. The tears came, unstoppable.

He pulled you closer, hugging you against his chest, holding you like he could somehow make this all go away. Dean's body shook violently as sobs wracked through him, each one tearing him apart from the inside out.

The world felt like it was slipping through his fingers, his grip on reality loosening with each second.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice breaking beyond recognition. The words were barely a whisper, but they held all the emotion, all the truth he had been too afraid to say. His heart shattered as he spoke them, the weight of everything unspoken crushing him beneath its intensity.

The tears streamed down his face as he rocked you in his arms like he could undo the damage, like he could somehow force reality to bend to his will.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t bring you back.

You were gone.

And Dean was left in the ruins of his heart, clinging to you in agony.

──────────────────────

Dean jolted awake with a sharp, ragged gasp, his heart thundering painfully in his chest. Sweat clung to his skin, his mind a jumbled mess of fragments and images, as if his body hadn’t quite caught up with reality.

A familiar tune filled the air, and his brows furrowed in confusion. The same song, Come As You Are, was playing, its melody sort of haunting and surreal.

His eyes snapped open, and he shot up, panic gripping his chest as he searched the room, his breathing shallow.

There you were, standing by the door, your jacket in hand, the soft light of the morning spilling over your figure like a gentle caress.

You turned towards him, raising an eyebrow as you adjusted your jacket, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “You look like you’ve been run over by a truck,” you teased, your voice light and effortlessly playful, like nothing was wrong. “C’mon, it’s just Tuesday. You planning to sleep all day or are you gonna join the living?”

Dean’s heart stopped dead in his chest. He felt as though the air had been sucked from the room. You were alive.

But he had just watched you die.

The images were so vivid, so real—the blood, the way your body had gone limp in his arms. The way the life had drained from your eyes, leaving him broken and empty. He could still hear your gasps, the soft, haunting whispers of your last breath.

He blinked rapidly, trying to shake the haunting memory from his mind. No, no. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. It had to be some twisted nightmare.

His body was frozen in disbelief, his heart still lodged somewhere deep in his throat. He rubbed his eyes, his hands trembling as he tried to process the impossible.

“I’m—I’m up,” Dean managed, his voice rough and unsteady, the weight of his words sinking in like lead. His gaze flickered over to you, watching the way you moved, so alive, so here.

The confusion twisted in his gut, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask the questions. Not yet.

You were already halfway to the door, your voice cutting through his spiraling thoughts. “Hurry up, Winchester. That diner’s not gonna wait for us.”

Dean’s heart thundered against his ribs, a mix of relief and terror knotting together inside him.

You were here. You were alive. But the image of you--bleeding out in his arms, wouldn’t leave him.

He couldn’t shake it, couldn’t erase it from his mind. He swallowed hard, trying to catch his breath, trying to steady himself.

You turned back, a knowing look in your eyes, and the soft glint of something unspoken passed between you two before you glanced away, your tone still playful, yet there was an undertone of something deeper.

Had you noticed? He couldn’t tell.

“Come on, Dean,” you coaxed, the easy familiarity of your voice pulling him back. “We’ve got breakfast to get to.”

Dean stared at you for a moment longer, his chest tight, his mind racing to catch up. With a shaky breath, he stood, forcing his legs to move. You were right—this was just Tuesday.

But as he followed you out of the room, the weight of the morning hung heavily on him. Everything felt off, as though reality was fraying at the edges, but for now, he had to trust that you were here. Alive.

And that, for some reason, was enough to keep him moving forward.

“You okay?” you asked gently, your voice soft as you studied Dean, noticing the subtle change in his demeanor. Something was off.

“Yeah…yeah,” Dean muttered, his voice distant, like he was still trying to shake off something heavy.

“Just… some dream,” he said, blinking rapidly as he rubbed his eyes, attempting to push away the lingering feeling of that strange nightmare that clung to him.

──────────────────────

"Drive safely now, Mr. Pickett." A man's voice cut through the oddly familiar little diner. Dean blinked again, noticing the Deja vu he was getting.

"Can't stay unless you order something, cal." The same waitress dressed in a yellow uniform stood infront of the guy trying to decide what to order. "You know the rules."

Dean's eyebrows furrowed as he glanced back, noting this exact thing happened yesterday. Almost to a T.

You and Dean sat at the same exact booth as the one in Dean's dream. You sigh before a small smirk plays on your lips as you nod toward the menu. “Hey, Tuesday. Pig ‘n a poke,” you say, your voice light, a hint of teasing beneath it.

Dean’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, his gaze following the motion of your finger as it points to the menu above. He scans the words slowly, his lips parting slightly. This feels oddly familiar.

"What's that supposed to be?" Dean questions, starting to feel uneasy with the way things are playing out exactly how they did in his dream.

“Just sounds like something you’d like, Dean,” you shrug nonchalantly, your voice light and teasing.

But before you can say anything else, the same waitress from earlier approaches. She stops at your table, notepad in hand, her pen poised and ready to take your order.

“Are you kids ready?” she asks, her voice casual.

“Yes, ma’am,” you reply with a nod, your voice warm and friendly as you meet the waitress’s gaze. “I’ll have the special, side of bacon, and a coffee.” You flash her a quick smile, then glance at Dean, a mischievous gleam in your eye. “And he’ll have the exact same thing.”

The waitress jots down your order with quick, practiced movements, her pen scratching against the paper as she nods in acknowledgment.

She lifts her eyes from the notepad, offering you both a smile that’s a little brighter than necessary for the early morning. “You got it,” she says, her tone light but efficient, before turning on her heel and walking off, her footsteps echoing.

Dean's stomach continues to churn at the exact event unfolding. This could just be Deja vu...could it? Dean swallows the lump in his throat as a slight awkward silence fills the air before you speak.

“Alright, I’ve got this,” you said, pulling the same crumpled newspaper clipping from your bag. You spread it out on the table in front of him. “Dexter Hasselback. He was passing through town last week when he disappeared.”

Dean stills at your exact words from the nightmare. His eyes flicker back and forth from the newspaper clipping, to the people around you in the diner, and then back to you. Noticing everything is exactly like his dream.

“Hey, you okay?” you asked softly, your voice carrying the weight of concern as you pulled Dean’s gaze back to you. Your brow furrowed, noticing the way he seemed distant, lost in thought. “You’ve been acting off.”

Dean blinked, as if he hadn’t quite realized you were speaking. He shifted his gaze back to you, his jaw tightening slightly. “You don’t…?” He trailed off, trying to find the right words, his brow furrowing deeper in confusion. “You don’t remember any of this?”

“Remember what?” You squinted, your concern growing as you tried to piece together what he was talking about. His words didn’t quite make sense.

“This,” Dean said, gesturing between the two of you and the diner around you. “Today. Like—like it’s happened before.”

“Do you mean like déjà vu?” you asked, still trying to wrap your head around it, watching as Dean’s eyes darted around the diner, his unease palpable.

“No, I mean like it’s really happened before.” Dean’s voice was low, almost shaky, as though he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

“Yeah, like déjà vu, Dean,” you said, your voice soft, but the confusion was still evident in your tone.

“No, forget about déjà vu. I’m asking if it feels like—” He paused, trying to find the words, his eyes narrowing as he looked around again, his anxiety rising. “If it feels like we’re living yesterday all over again…”

You leaned forward slightly, a frown deepening on your face. “Dean, are you okay? We’ve never been here before…” you said gently, your voice laced with concern. His restlessness was growing, and it was starting to make you nervous.

Dean sighed, frustration settling over him. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply as if he couldn’t explain what was happening inside his mind.

At that moment, the waitress arrived with your coffee, setting it down in front of you. “Coffee, black,” she said, her voice bright and cheerful.

You smiled at her, murmuring a soft “thanks” as she set Dean’s coffee down in front of him. But just as she reached for the bottle of hot sauce on her tray, her hand slipped, sending it tumbling toward the ground. Before it could crash, Dean’s hand shot out, catching it in a smooth, almost practiced motion.

“Thanks!” the waitress said with a surprised smile, clearly impressed by his reflexes.

Your eyes widened slightly at the quick reaction, but you couldn’t help but smile. “Nice reflexes, Winchester,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood, though the tension still hung between you two.

Dean gave a quick, distracted smile, but there was no hiding the haunted look in his eyes.

Something was very wrong, and whatever it was, he wasn't sure if he could shake it off.

──────────────────────

As you and Dean stepped out of the diner your attention was still fixed on the newspaper clipping in your hands. You ran your eyes over it for what felt like the hundredth time, but your mind wasn’t fully on the words.

The golden retriever tied to the bike stand a few feet away yapped loudly, its bark echoing through the quiet street, but you barely registered it, too absorbed in the details of the case.

Dean walked beside you, his mind racing as his gaze flicked back to the same golden retriever barking at you.

The same exact events, almost every single one—kept happening. His heart pounded, a sense of dread sinking deeper into his gut.

There was no way this was just déjà vu. It couldn’t be. This wasn’t some glitch in the matrix; it felt too real.

“Well—” you started, breaking the thick, uncomfortable silence that had settled between you two, but before you could finish, a blonde girl brushed past Dean. Her shoulder made brief, accidental contact with his, just enough to make her pause, mumble an apology, and move on without another word.

You both turned to watch her, and Dean’s eyes followed her, but not with the same intensity as before.

But this time, his attention shifted back to you, his gaze lingering on the faint frown tugging at the corner of your lips.

He hadn’t noticed it before, but now that he did, it struck him. Were you…jealous?

“The lore’s actually pretty nuts,” you quickly picked up the conversation, eager to shake off the thoughts swirling in your head. “I mean, they say the magnetic fields at these spots are so strong, they can actually bend space-time. People who’ve visited? No one knows where they end up. It’s like they vanish into thin air.”

Dean’s brow furrowed slightly. You had said that yesterday. Or had you? The words were too familiar, too painfully similar to the conversation he’d had with you before. He could almost hear the echoes of the same sentences repeating in his mind.

“Dean, are you even listening?” you asked, your voice tinged with concern, noticing how distant he seemed.

You tried to keep the conversation going, but the weight of his unease pressed on. “Is this about the whole déjà vu thing?” you pressed, glancing sideways at him.

Dean blinked, trying to focus. “Look, I know it sounds crazy, but I feel like I’m reliving almost the exact same moments,” he said, his voice tight with frustration.

And as if on cue, the same guys from the dream appeared in front of you.

“I told you it wouldn’t fit!” one of them groaned, pushing a heavy piano with all his might, as if trying to will it through the doorway. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his muscles straining with the effort.

“What do you want, a Pulitzer?” the second guy shot back, his voice laced with annoyance. The sight was almost surreal, like watching a bad rerun of the exact same scene.

You and Dean exchanged a look, eyes narrowing at the ridiculousness of the situation. But Dean didn’t seem to move, he stayed frozen, the sound of the men’s argument pulling him deeper into the feeling of déjà vu, like a door he couldn’t escape.

“Is it still happening?” you asked, your voice quiet, noticing the way Dean was staring, distant and unsettled. He only nodded in response.

“Yeah,” he muttered, his voice strained. “It’s like… look, we were at the Mystery Spot, and then—” His throat tightened, his words tripping over themselves as he tried to make sense of it. “And then… I woke up.”

His voice trailed off, and you tilted your head, noticing how his gaze wavered, as if trying to hold back something—something deeper.

You blinked, a slight catch in your breath. Was that… a tear?

The air between you thickened with the weight of unspoken things, and you whispered, your voice barely above a breath, “And then what?”

Dean swallowed hard, and for a brief moment, you could see the rawness in his eyes, the vulnerability that he didn’t often show. “I woke up, Y/N,” he repeated, his words breaking the silence. He didn’t elaborate, but the emptiness in his tone told you everything. The pain was still fresh.

You two kept walking in silence, but the tension between you was palpable. Then, with sudden urgency, Dean spoke up. “Wait a minute. The Mystery Spot. We’ve gotta check it out. Maybe it has something to do with this.”

You paused, looking at him skeptically. “Okay?” you asked, your voice laced with uncertainty. “We’ll go tonight after closing?”

Dean spun around to face you, halting both of you in your tracks. His eyes were wide, his urgency clear. “No.”

You raised an eyebrow, confusion and frustration swirling inside you. “Why not?”

Dean shifted uneasily, a forced smile pulling at his lips. “Uh…let’s just go now,” he said, almost too quickly, his voice strained. “Right now. Business hours… nice and crowded.”

Your brow furrowed even more. “My God, what the hell is wrong with you, Dean?” You couldn’t hide the irritation in your voice now, your hands resting firmly on your hips. Something was off. Something in his eyes told you that this was more than just a simple detour.

“Y/N…” he pleaded, his eyes softening with a desperation you didn’t fully understand.

You sighed, shaking your head in disbelief, but finally relented. “Okay, fine. We’ll go now,” you muttered, frustration laced in your tone as you walked past him and into the street.

Dean was only a few steps behind, but you didn’t realize how quickly things were about to unravel.

As you reached the crosswalk, a car sped by, and in an instant, you were struck. You flew backward, your body slamming into the pavement with a sickening thud.

Time seemed to freeze as Dean’s heart dropped into his stomach, the world around him going eerily still.

“Y/N!” he screamed, his voice filled with pure terror. His legs moved before his brain could even register, and he rushed to where you lay in a pool of your own blood on the concrete.

His breath hitched in his chest as he knelt down beside you, his hands shaking as he pulled you into his arms.

But when he looked down at you, his world stopped.

Your eyes were glossed over, and blood trickled from the corner of your mouth. Your body was limp in his arms, lifeless.

His heart shattered into a million pieces as he desperately pulled you closer.

You were gone.

Again.

──────────────────────

Dean woke up with a gasp, his heart thundering painfully in his chest. Sweat clung to his skin, and for a moment, he thought he was suffocating. His mind raced, trying to understand the dream, or was it a dream?

A familiar tune filled the air, its haunting melody wrapping around his thoughts like a chain. Come As You Are by Nirvana. The same damn song.

Dean shot up in panic, his breathing shallow and erratic, his eyes wide as he searched the room. The last time he’d woken up to that song, it had been the beginning of another hellish cycle. He’d hoped it was just a nightmare.

But no.

There you were, standing by the door, your jacket in hand, adjusting it as the soft morning light spilled across your figure. The room looked exactly the same—nothing had changed.

The exact same.

You turned toward him, an eyebrow arched in playful concern, a smirk tugging at your lips. “You look like you’ve been run over by a truck,” you teased, your voice light, effortlessly playful. As if nothing was wrong. “C’mon, it’s just Tuesday. You planning to sleep all day, or are you gonna join the living?”

Dean’s heart squeezed in his chest. Tuesday? Again?

A tremor ran through his body, and for a moment, his world tilted on its axis. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He felt… trapped.

His mind was swirling with confusion, his body heavy with exhaustion. The same damn Tuesday over and over again. The same damn morning, the same damn conversation, the same damn events.

His eyes flickered to the clock, then to the door.

You were already moving, oblivious to the torment flashing behind his eyes. Every time you walked through that door, he lost you.

Every single damn time. He couldn’t stop it, no matter how hard he tried.

He blinked hard, swallowing down the panic clawing up his throat. “I’m—I’m fine,” he stammered, forcing a breath through his chest. “I just—” His mind was so clouded with what felt like a thousand lives lived in the blink of an eye. He rubbed his face, trying to shake the feeling of déjà vu, but nothing felt real anymore.

You were already halfway to the door, completely oblivious to the storm brewing inside him. “Hurry up, Winchester,” you called back over your shoulder, your voice light. “That diner’s not gonna wait for us.”

Dean blinked again. You were alive, and yet every single time, no matter how hard he tried to stop it, the outcome remained the same.

You died. Every single time.

──────────────────────

One time, you were laughing at something stupid Dean had said, your voice light and carefree as you took a bite of your food.

Then, in the next instant, your face turned red, your eyes wide with panic. You gasped for air, your hands clawing at your throat as the food lodged there.

Dean froze, his own breath caught in his chest as he scrambled to help you. His hands were shaking as he tried to perform the Heimlich maneuver, but it was no use. Your eyes rolled back in your head, and just like that, you were gone.

And then...It was Tuesday.

Again.

──────────────────────

Another time, it was a piano. You had been walking next to him, talking about the case.

Dean barely heard you, his mind a mess of frustration and confusion. But when the piano fell, seemingly out of nowhere, he turned in slow motion, his chest seizing with dread as it plummeted toward you.

He screamed your name, but it was too late.

The piano crashed down onto you, pinning you beneath its weight. Blood pooled around your head, and Dean’s knees buckled as he fell beside you. His hands trembled as he tried to lift the heavy instrument off your broken body, but it was impossible.

You were gone. Again.

Then, the song blared again.

──────────────────────

Time after time, the same scene played out. Getting shot at the mystery spot. A car accident. A falling shelf. Choking. Getting smashed by a piano. A malfunctioning electrical wire that shot sparks and ignited an explosion....Each time, you died in some random, unpreventable way.

It happened over and over again. And every time, it was the same gut-wrenching devastation.

Dean was always powerless.

He screamed your name, his voice raw, desperate, as if somehow that could stop the inevitable. His heart shattered all over again as he knelt beside you, cradling your lifeless body in his arms.

But It was like he was trapped in his own personal hell, forced to relive the same agony over and over.

The crushing weight of loss never lessened, and each death was a new wound, a deeper scar, shredding him to pieces.

──────────────────────

By the hundredth Tuesday, Dean was just… done.

He was tired of the same damn day playing over and over again. Tired of watching you die in every possible way, shot, choked, crushed, electrocuted. It was all random, all brutal, and it never got easier.

Every time he wanted to say something, wanted to tell you how he felt, wanted to kiss you, but damn it—but he couldn’t.

Not when you wouldn’t remember. Not when he’d lose you again in the next loop. It was like being stuck in a nightmare that never ended.

He couldn’t keep doing this. He couldn’t keep watching you die over and over again and pretending like he was fine.

So when that damn song started blasting through the radio again, the one that used to be comforting but now just felt like torture—Dean lost it.

He glared at the radio, his patience snapping. Without thinking, he slammed his hand down on it, cutting off the music that had started to drive him crazy.

──────────────────────

Dean sat in the booth, his gaze hard and distant. He wasn’t paying attention to the endless chatter around him, his mind racing a mile a minute.

You were still trying to wrap your head around what he’d told you. “So, you’re caught in a time loop?” You asked, skepticism lacing your voice. The whole thing sounded insane, even for you.

“Eat your breakfast.” Dean’s tone was rough, his eyes briefly flicking over to you before turning back to whatever caught his attention in the diner.

You raised an eyebrow at his sharpness, confused. “What the hell is up with you?” you muttered under your breath, but he didn’t react. You sighed and rolled your eyes, shaking your head.

Dean, meanwhile, kept his eyes locked on the man in the suit who had been in the diner every damn day. The same guy who always showed up, always ordered the same thing, and always left at the exact same time. But this time, Dean had had enough.

Without another word, he slid out of the booth and followed the man, his frustration bubbling over.

“The hell, Dean?” You grumbled, quickly tossing cash on the table and shoving your wallet back into your jacket before darting after him. “Where are you going?”

Dean didn’t respond, and by the time you reached the door, he was already outside, chasing the guy down.

You didn’t even have to break your stride to catch up. Just as you were about to reach him, Dean shoved the suited man hard against a chain-link fence, the impact making the man grunt in surprise.

“Hey!” the man yelped, but Dean didn’t let up. His anger was clear, his jaw clenched tight as he kept the man pinned.

And then, you saw it. Dean’s eyes—dark and icy, full of raw fury. It sent a shiver rolling down your spine.

“I know who you are, you son of a bitch,” Dean growled, pushing harder into the man’s chest, making him wince. “Or should I say what you are?” He cocked his head, his voice low and menacing.

“Dean—” You started, trying to get his attention, but he didn’t budge.

“Oh my god, please don’t kill me!” The man stammered, sweat dotting his forehead.

“Dean, stop!” You reached out to grab his arm, but he didn’t move. He was focused, laser-focused on this guy.

“It took me a hell of a long time,” Dean muttered, his hand tightening around the man’s collar. “But I got it.”

The man’s eyes widened. “What?” His voice shook, but Dean just smirked in response.

“It’s your M.O.,” Dean continued, his words coming out slow, deliberate. “Going after pompous jerks, giving them their just desserts. Your kind loves that, huh?”

The man squirmed under Dean’s grip, fear flashing across his face. “Yeah, sure, okay. Just put the stake down,” he begged, his voice almost a whimper.

Dean’s hand clenched around the stake, and you finally noticed it—how tightly he was holding it, how dangerous this situation was.

“Dean, maybe you should—”

“No!” Dean snapped, his voice seething with rage. “There’s only one creature powerful enough to do what you’re doing. Making reality out of nothing, sticking people in time loops… You’d have to be a god. You’d have to be a trickster.”

“Mister, my name is Ed Coleman. My wife’s name is Amelia. I’ve got two kids! I sell ad space! For crying out loud, just let me go!” The man was practically crying now, but Dean wasn’t hearing it.

“Don’t lie to me!” Dean yelled, his grip tightening until the man was choking. “I know what you are! We’ve killed one of your kind before!”

Before you could say another word to try and calm Dean down, the man’s face morphed—changed entirely into a face you knew all too well.

“Actually, bucko,” the trickster’s voice was unmistakable, and Dean’s grip loosened slightly. “You didn’t.” The trickster grinned, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he looked between you and Dean.

Dean’s anger only deepened. “Why are you doing this?” he demanded, pushing the trickster harder against the fence, his voice dropping to a dangerous level.

The trickster just smirked, unfazed. “You’re joking, right? You Winchesters tried to kill me last time. Why wouldn’t I do this?” He shrugged as if it was all just a game.

You stepped up beside them, unable to hold back anymore. “What about Hasselback? Huh? What’d you do to him?”

The trickster’s eyes flickered to you, then back to Dean. “That putz? He didn’t believe in wormholes, so I dropped him in one.” The trickster laughed, his expression wicked as he glanced between the two of you. “And then, you two showed up. I made you the second you hit town.”

“So, this is fun for you?” Dean’s voice was cold, his eyes narrowing. “Killing Y/N over and over again?”

The trickster raised an eyebrow, looking utterly unconcerned. “One? Yeah, it’s fun,” he smirked, “and two? This isn’t even about killing her. This joke? Is on you, Dean. Watching the woman you’re in love with die… every day… forever.”

Your heart stopped. The words hit like a ton of bricks. Dean didn’t confirm it, but his silence said everything.

You looked at him, your breath caught in your throat. Was it true? Was he really in love with you? Was this some sick game?

Dean’s face contorted into pure rage, and his fist clenched around the stake. “You son of a bitch,” he growled, his voice a deadly whisper.

“Tell me, how long will it take you to realize—” The trickster started, but Dean cut him off.

“I kill you, this all ends. Now.” Dean’s voice was like gravel, low and dangerous. He shoved the stake harder against the trickster’s stomach, a threat hanging in the air.

“Whoa, okay! Alright,” the trickster groaned, raising his hands. “Look, I was just playing around. Fine, fine, you’re out of it. Tomorrow, you’ll wake up and it’ll be Wednesday. I swear.”

“Lying piece of shit,” Dean muttered under his breath, not buying it.

“If I am…” The trickster tilted his head, still smirking. “You know where to find me. I’ll be at the diner. Having pancakes.”

Dean shook his head, his jaw set tight. “No. It’s easier just to kill you.”

“Sorry, kiddo, can’t have that,” the trickster taunted, his eyes flicking to you. “Nice to see you alive and well, doll.”

Before you could even say anything or Dean could react, the trickster snapped his fingers.

──────────────────────

Dean’s eyes snapped open, but this time it wasn’t Nirvana blasting from the radio. It was Night Moves, that old classic, crackling through the speakers.

He jolted upright, blinking against the confusion as his eyes darted to the radio. Instead of reading ‘Tuesday,’ it flashed Wednesday. His heart skipped a beat.

He quickly scanned the room and there you were, in the kitchen, pouring yourself a cup of coffee, your back to him as you hummed along to the tune.

“You gonna sleep all day?” you teased, giggling to yourself as you set the pot down and took a sip from the mug.

Dean rubbed his face, still processing, but he couldn’t help but grin at you. “No Nirvana?” he asked, his voice sounding way too groggy for his liking.

You raised an eyebrow, looking at him over your mug. “Yeah, I know. This station sucks, but hey at least Night Moves is playing,” you laughed.

But Dean’s brain was running a hundred miles an hour.

Wednesday. It's Wednesday.

His heart fluttered with excitement and relief. He blinked, looking around again as if he expected everything to change, to make sense.

“Wait, hold on,” Dean muttered, his voice a little shaky. “What do you remember?” Slowly, he pushed himself up from the bed, rubbing his hand through his hair.

You looked at him over the rim of your cup, a bit confused by his urgency. “I remember you losing it yesterday, almost going insane, and then… running into the Trickster…” You trailed off, your voice faltering slightly as you remembered his words.

Dean’s stomach dropped. His mind clicked into place, memories of the Trickster’s taunting words rushing back to him.

He hadn’t thought about what you’d overheard until now, and suddenly, he found himself pushing. “What all do you remember? You know… what the Trickster said?” Dean’s voice was tight as he slowly made his way toward you, his throat tight with nerves.

You shifted uncomfortably, your cheeks turning an unexpected shade of red. “Oh, uh… nothing much, really,” you muttered, trying to brush it off.

But as you turned your head, hoping Dean wouldn’t notice, he was already right in front of you. He saw everything. Every tiny movement, every little change in your face.

Dean was too close now, his voice soft but firm. “I know you heard him, Y/N.” His eyes flickered over the side of your face, almost as if he could see right through you. Then, with a tenderness you hadn’t expected, his hand reached up to gently turn your face toward him, his finger barely grazing your skin.

Your breath caught in your throat at the touch. It felt so… intimate. So delicate. Your pulse was racing, and for a second, you wondered if he could feel it, too.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your racing heart. “Is it true?” you whispered, barely able to get the words out.

Dean’s own heart was pounding in his chest, the sound of it loud in his ears.

This was it. The moment he’d been waiting for, the moment he’d told himself he would seize after all those damn Tuesdays of watching you die over and over again.

And now, he wasn’t going to let it slip through his fingers.

You remembered. You were safe. And he wasn’t going to wait another second.

So he didn’t say a word. Instead, Dean cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing over your skin as he leaned in. Without hesitation, his lips met yours. The kiss was soft, gentle, but it hit you like a lightning bolt.

Every nerve in your body lit up, sparking with something you couldn’t quite explain, a warmth spreading through you that you hoped would never end.

The world around you seemed to disappear as you melted into the kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, needing him to be even closer than he already was.

Every inch of you seemed to hum with the connection, the warmth, the intensity. His lips were soft but insistent against yours, igniting something deep inside you that you never knew you were capable of feeling.

Dean’s hands were gentle as they cupped your face, his fingers trembling slightly, like he couldn’t believe this was finally happening.

The kiss deepened, and you couldn’t tell where your heartbeat ended and his began, but it felt like everything you’d been waiting for, everything you’d been holding back, was finally spilling out. As the kiss lingered, your lungs screamed for air, but you didn’t want to break it. You didn’t want this moment to end.

But eventually, you pulled back, both of you breathless, faces flushed, hearts pounding in unison. You didn’t move far—just enough to look up at him, your arms still wrapped around his neck, fingers playing with the collar of his shirt.

Dean’s gaze softened, but there was a storm of emotions swirling in his eyes, ones you couldn’t quite name.

He swallowed hard, his voice low but steady. "I love you,” he confessed, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “I’ve been in love with you for so damn long, and fuck, I’ve been terrified of losing you, terrified of not being able to say it, but now… after everything… I can’t keep it in anymore. I can’t pretend it didn't kill me watching you die over and over again. I just can’t…”

His breath hitched, and you could see the weight of his words pressing down on him. But it was the truth. And somehow, with the weight of it in the air between you, you felt the same truth flicker in your chest.

You smiled softly, your heart aching with the same confession you’d been holding inside for far too long. “I love you too, Dean,” you whispered, your voice shaky but sure. “I always have.”

Dean’s expression softened, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. His lips curled into a half-smile, a mixture of disbelief and pure relief flooding his face. “Yeah?” he asked, his voice low, rough around the edges.

You nodded, your chest swelling with the emotion that had been quietly building for so long. “Yeah,” you repeated, more confidently this time, as you pressed your forehead to his.

And Dean closed his eyes for a moment, the weight of everything lifting, but only slightly. He pulled you closer again, his hands running through your hair, gently tugging you back into another kiss.

But this time, it was different, softer, sweeter, filled with everything that had been left unsaid for so long.

And as you kissed him again, Dean knew, deep down, that nothing would ever be the same.

You weren’t stuck in a time loop anymore.

The future was unknown, but for the first time in a long time, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was you, the one who held his heart in your hands, and the one who he'd never let go of again.

author’s note:

hi, nonny! I hope you like this one! I know it was a bit sad but figured the happy ending was worth it :)…I honestly had the idea pop into my head after watching that same episode the other week and thought it would be interesting to switch things up a bit. sorry for the wait! I had been working on this for a little bit and wanted to make it perfect :)

hope you guys enjoyed! ❤︎

— requests are open.ᐟᅟ please read request rules.ᐟᅟ

tags:

@freeluigihesbae @aylacavebear @supernotnatural2005 @bettystonewell @lieutenantchaos @bejeweledinterludes @ambiguous-avery @star-yawnznn @exansation @darkrose064 @megara0224 @saturnsooya @miss-marmalade @xo-zeze @kamisobsessed @megara0224 (lmk if I’ve missed anyone or if you’d like to be taken off the list)

If you would like to be tagged please fill out THIS form and I will add you to the list! ❤︎

my works

© maddie0101 do not copy or repost my works without my permission

Chapter List for Get Off The Highway

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus Size Reader

Warnings/tags: Enemies to lovers trope, 18+ contains smut (not sure about that one, never wrote it before), pining, angst, fluff, childhood trauma, eldest daughter syndrome

[Starts season 8] You have been hunting the supernatural for a few years now. You got into it by accident. A camping night gone wrong when you were in college. You had barely escaped but some of your friends had not. And since then, you had despised camping, you were terrified of Wendigos, and you jumped right into the hunting world. In need of help during a vampire case, you turned to fellow hunter; Garth Fitzgerald; and asked for help. He sent it to you in the form of the infamous Winchester brothers. And one seems to have a problem with you. You just can’t figure out why.

List of Chapters

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11 (Coming Soon)

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Masterlist!

WELCOME TO MY MASTERLIST! Here are my works linked in chronological order of posting date. If there is smut there is a tag with it. For series; there is usually smut worked into the parts but not necessarily in each part. Enjoy my fics and let me know what you think!

Wake Me Up 1 2 3 

Waiting For a Girl Like You 1 2 3

I Won’t Give Up (smut!)

Perdition 1 2 3 (smut!)

Longing 1 2

Hot Summer Nights (smut!)

Echoes of My Everything  (wing kink)

Young and Beautiful (smut!)

Rhiannon (smut!)

Sticky (smut!)

“It Is Fate Misnamed” Masterlist

Professor Novak Masterpage

Al Dente 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Not Anymore (smut) Casifer!

Mine Now (smut) Casifer!

Come Back (Alpha!Cas x Omega!Reader)

You’re Done (dom!Cas)

What Is and What Should Never Be (endverse!cas smut)

Best I Ever Had

Shooters Masterlist

Adele Series:

  Million Years Ago

  Can’t Let Go

Waiting For A Girl Like You 1 2

Something Funny? (Smut!)

Next to Me (Smut!)

What Goes Around Comes Around (smut!) Kink List #77

Round Two? (smut!) Kink List #13

Feel You (smut!)

Are You When Harry Met Sally’ing Me?

Day Off

She’s Like Texas

Going to California (smut!) Kink List #16

Snakes (smut!)

Open Arms (smut!)

Can’t You See 1 2 3 (smutty)

Wine Tasting (smut!)

Feel Like Makin’ Love

Sunburn (smut!)

Wish You Were Here (smut and angst, its a doozy)

Wish You Were Here; Prequel (I’m so sorry, smut and angst)

Wish You Were Here; Epilogue

A+ (smut!)

This Is My Jam (Au!Dean smut!)

Surprise (smut!)

Laundry Day (smut!)

“I know,” (smut!)

Can You Count To 10? (smut)

Two Is Better Than One (smutty threesome with Sam too!)

A Study in Tattoos Masterlist

Where Will It Lead Us? (smut!)

“It Is Fate Misnamed” Masterlist

Stay or Leave (smut and angst! ala me)

Silver Fox (smut!)

Cherry Pie (smut!)

Bad Moon Rising 1 2 3 4

Skyfall

Heaven’s Door

All That I Do 1 2 3 4

What Is and What Should Never Be (endverse!Dean smut)

Divine Grind (smut!)

Innocent

Tried

Terror in the Woods

Never Listen

Everything

Just Another Girl

Texas and Tennessee Series

Texas and Tennessee

Union- Pacific Line

Breathless Love

Other Side of Lonesome

TRUTH HURTS SERIES MASTER PAGE!

  Adele Series

    All I Ask

CoWritten by ilostmyshoe-79

Red 1 2 3 4 5

40 Days Masterlist

Take Your Time 1 2 3 4 (Smut)

Always the Sister 1 2 (Smut)

Lovin’, Touchin’, Squeezin’ (Smut!)

I Don’t Want To Miss a Thing (smut!) 

Photograph (smut and angst, another doozy!)

Gravity (be forewarned) Missing Scenes: Before

Can You Count to 10…12? (smut!)

Two Is Better Than One  (smutty threesome with Dean too!)

Beast of Burden (smut!) 

Snakes; Part 2 (smut!)

Al Dente 2  3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 

Art and Mummy Curses (smut!)

Not the Only One Part 1 Part2

Daddy Lessons 1 2

Flip Flops

 Adele Series

When We Were Young

Why Do You Love Me?

Sweet, Like Honey (smutty AU!Benny!)

Lady (smut!)

Trysts

Can’t Get Enough of Your Love (smut!)

Gadreel x Reader

Silver, Blue, and Gold (smut!)

Chuck x Reader

You Found Me (smut)

Fun Friend Fics

Whip Cream (TFW bakery!au)

Christmas in July Special fics!

Trim the Tree! (Dean x Reader)(smut!)

Gift Wrap (Sam x Reader)(smut!)

Mistletoe (Gabe x Reader)

Silent Night (Cas x Reader) (smut!) 

Random Drabble Fics

End of May (Charlie feels; implied Dean x Reader)

Elysha and Jess BAE Series

What A Catch

Bacon Pancakes

good idea — sirius black

Trying to get over your feelings for Sirius, you decide to bring a date to Professor Slughorn's Christmas party this year. But Sirius seems oddly angry about it… friends to lovers, jealous!sirius ♥

"You're bringing him? As a date?" 

To be honest, Sirius doesn't know why he's so irritated by this. Every year he gets invited, and every year he doesn't go to Slughorn's Christmas party because, frankly, it sounds boring as hell—a bunch of stuffed shirts bragging about themselves while stuffing their faces with party food—but now…now all of a sudden, he's feeling downright offended that you'd bring a date and not him.

It's stupid. But that doesn't change the fact that he's furious about it.

You look at him uncertainly, a little frown pulling your eyebrows together. Sirius kind of wants to smooth it out with his thumb, but that's probably not a good idea.

"Um...yeah?" you say, and your voice tilts up at the end like it's a question, and Sirius doesn't know if you're asking him or yourself, but he does not like it. "I mean, Slughorn said we could bring a plus-one, so... I'm bringing Ollie."

"Ollie," he repeats, derision dripping from the word like the name itself is rotten. Then, because he's bitter and a bit of an asshole, he adds, in the most disparaging tone he can muster, "Seriously? Ollie? The guy who once nearly exploded a classroom because he couldn't transfigure a knife and fork properly?"

Sirius didn't think your frown could get any deeper, but apparently it can, and now he feels kind of bad for putting it there. 

But then you scowl and cross your arms, and your lovely blue dress tugs at your lovely hips, which draws his eyes to your thighs and forces him to look away and think about Quidditch and essays on different varieties of unicorn blood and exploding potions.

"He wasn't going to explode anything," you snap. "The cauldron had a hairline crack. All he did was—you know what, I gotta go!"

You brush past him, and Sirius smells that delicious, honeyed fragrance you always wear, and he just…he just…

His hand snaps out and grabs your arm.

You stop, glancing back at him, and Sirius would normally never manhandle you like this, but now that he's doing it, he doesn't want to let go. You look so angry, though; your chest heaving with your quick breaths, your skin warm under his fingers, soft and plush.

But you've obviously had enough of whatever this is, because you raise your eyebrows and say flatly, "Let me go."

It feels like his hand doesn't want to obey him. "Sorry," he mutters, and it's sincere, but he doesn't release you. "I'm sorry. Just...what's so great about Ollie?"

"I like him."

"No you don't."

"What?"

Sirius blinks, trying to figure out what's coming out of his mouth. He just...he doesn't like this. The mere idea of you going out with Ollie makes his skin crawl. Not because he likes you or anything, no. You're pretty, yeah. And funny, and smart, and when he first met you, being your friend was the last thing on his mind, sure, but then he got to know you, and—fine. Maybe he does like you a little bit more than he probably should.

But you're way too good for him. You're certainly way too good for Ollie. 

"Ollie sucks," Sirius says. It's not an eloquent statement, but it's a true one. "He's boring. He's an asshole. You're..."

His words trail off as he stares at you. His eyes fall to your lips, lipstick-red and soft-looking and parted in surprise, and they're just right there, and maybe he could just…just once…

"I'm what?"

He kisses you. He can't help himself.

Sirius has kissed a lot of girls, but this...this is different.

One hand is still holding your arm, but the other comes up to touch your cheek, trace your jaw, skim down the side of your neck, feeling the way your pulse is pounding beneath your skin and under his fingertips as his mouth moves over yours. Your lips are soft, the little noise you make in the back of your throat even softer, and he wants to hear it again.

And again. And again.

Sirius breaks the kiss first.

You stare at him. Pupils blown wide. Lips red and glistening. "You kissed me."

Sirius brushes his thumb over your bottom lip.

"I did."

"You...did?" Now you're sounding breathless. Like you can't quite catch your breath.

"I did." Sirius moves in closer, crowding you against the wall yet not quite touching you. "You didn't stop me."

For a moment, your gaze drops to his lips, and Sirius feels a surge of triumph. "What—what was that for?"

His fingers tangle in your hair, tilting your head back. You smell like flowers. Like honey. Like something he wants to devour.

"Don't go to the party with Ollie."

It was, apparently, not the right thing to say.

You duck under his arm, and Sirius is so surprised, he doesn't manage to stop you from escaping.

"Don't kiss me just because you want to sabotage my date," you say, and boy, you sound angry. "Especially don't kiss me and then not tell me why."

"I wanted to kiss you."

"That's your excuse?"

"Is it not a good one?" 

Sirius is feeling slightly out of his depth here. He thought the kiss would be pretty self-explanatory. But apparently not. This hallway, with its tapestries and old portraits and suits of armor and half-dressed witches, is beginning to feel stifling.

He tries a different tactic. "I think about kissing you a lot."

"Stop."

"It's true."

If looks could kill, Sirius would be ashes on the ground right now.

"The first time I thought about it was after Potions," he says, pressing his advantage. You're listening, at least. And you haven't turned to leave yet. That has to mean something. "When you spilled that solution all over yourself and started laughing about it. You have the best laugh."

"Seriously—"

He steps closer. "And your mouth...fuck, it drives me crazy."

"Don't—"

He backs you up against the wall again. Now, he's touching you, one hand on your waist, feeling the way your body curves so nicely beneath his palm, the other splayed on the wall next to your head.

"Take Ollie to the party," he says. "See if I care. But you're going to spend the whole time thinking about this."

He leans in close, then pauses, mouth inches from yours, your breath mingling together. He feels you swallow, watches the way your pupils dilate.

Then, before he can change his mind, he dips his head and kisses you again. 

Harder this time. 

Less tentative. 

He wants to remember this kiss.

"Was that a good excuse?" he whispers when he pulls away.

Your mouth works soundlessly for a moment, eyes glazed, cheeks flushed, chest heaving. Sirius wants to hear you say something, but the words aren't coming, so he tilts your chin up with his thumb and leans in.

"Are you thinking about it now?"

Your lips part, soft and silken, and you exhale a small puff of breath. "I hate you."

"You don't hate me," he says, his mouth still almost touching yours. You taste like honeyed tea. Like a cozy summer afternoon spent lounging on the grass. He could live in this feeling forever. He could die in it. "You're thinking about me. You're thinking about this. My hand on your waist."

He squeezes, digging his fingers into the flesh of your hip.

"My lips on your neck."

He kisses the skin under your ear, then drags his mouth down the side of your neck until he reaches the curve where your shoulder begins. 

You make a soft sound; a moan, a sigh. Sirius can't really tell. But, fuck, does he want to hear it again.

He pulls away and waits for you to look at him, to really look at him. Your eyes are so lovely. And your face...he wants to memorize it.

"Don't take Ollie to the party." Sirius slides his hand down your arm until his fingers lace with yours. "Take me."

Well...it certainly feels like a good idea.

Mobile Masterlist

Dean x Reader Series

Drunk Last Night: Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 (conclusion)

There and Back Again (AU w/ resurrected John Winchester): Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 coming eventually

The Arrangement (rich!Dean AU): Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 (the gala) - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15 - Part 16 (conclusion) - Epilogue - Epilogue 2

Hold On, I’m Coming (Firefighter!Dean AU): Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 (Conclusion) Sequel: Part 1 - Part 2

Dust (Modern Cowboy!Dean AU): Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 (conclusion) - Epilogue

Dean x Reader One-Shots & Drabbles

Sleep Without You  

Mistaken Identity

Weiterlesen

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Series - Babylon the Great

There's something wrong with you that's not wrong with other people. You're a hunter, and a damn good one, but you might be a monster.

There might be something in you that needs to be put down. Something broken that can't be fixed.

It's why you've had one rule your whole life. The only thing your father has ever made clear is that, no matter what, you need to stay away from John Winchester. He can't even know you exist, or he'll kill you and never blink.

And when your paths cross a hunt, you should've run, but you didn't. You couldn't. Because you looked at Dean Winchester, and something changed inside of you. Something called you to him, and you can't figure out what it was, but you know it's strong. And you know that, whatever Dean's doing to you, you don't really care to fight it. Things are broken in you, just as much is broken in him, and you fit perfectly together in a way you'll never be able to describe.

But it's more complicated than that, though. The world pulls you and Dean apart again and again.

And you find your way back, again and again.

Mini-Series - Willing to Break

With the Mark of Cain getting out of hand, you and Sam convince Dean to try something different. A spell that won't fix the Mark, but will change it. Make Dean crave good things, things he likes, instead of death and blood.

It doesn't exactly go according to plan.

Mini-Series - Death On A Holiday

This day has happened before. So did the one before it. And the one after it. You're sure of it.

Small things change, but it's always the same, and it always resets the same way, and you can't find a way out.

It's perfect torture, and you don't think there's a way out.

One-Shots

To Need Somebody - After a hunt goes poorly, Dean retreats down a well-tread path of self-loathing

I Could Have You - Dean is hit with a lust spell, and it doesn't seem to only be effecting him. No one's really sure why, and Dean refuses to give in to the curse, so you'll just ride this out.

Falling Into Me - You're a virgin, and it's really not a big deal. Everyone was a virgin once. You're just a virgin longer. Maybe forever, because nobody really seems to be willing to solve that problem for you. You've never told Sam and Dean, and you don't have any intention to. Ever. But when a hunt goes wrong, Dean finds out. And he might have been keeping something from you as well.

Hold You Tight In My Mind - You and Dean have an agreement. Best friends who have sex, no strings attached. But when a case goes south, you learn a few things about Dean, specifically his thoughts on the arrangement.

Still You Want Me - Request! Dean's fought the worst evil in the world, but only one thing has really managed to scare him. His pregnant wife.

Every Day That You Want - You have big news for Dean. News you have to tell him, wether he likes it or not. You really hope he likes it, though.

Just Giving In - You're under a very annoying truth curse. The kind of truth curse that will kill you if one very specific, Dean-related truth isn't told. But apparently no one's allowed to just die in peace anymore.

I'll Crawl Home - You don't know who these men are, but they seem to know you. Your body seems to like the Handsome one a lot. But the more you manage to remember, the more lost you feel.

What You Do - This isn't a sex curse. It feel like a sex curse, and looks like a sex curse, but it's not. It has a similar cure to a sex curse, but it's not. And Dean can't fix this. But the asshole is still going to try.

No More - Request! Some scars don't really fade. They just fester and rot, remaining unattended in your body because you can't really remember how to heal them. And Dean can't fix this for you. But he can give you somewhere safe to fix yourself.

Where Do You End Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt.3 - Request! You and Dean have found yourself in a body swap situation, and your bodies keep trying to do what they always do.

I Can Be A Virtue - You're so careful about keeping your emotions in check with Dean. You make rules, and keep score, and hold yourself together. But something always has to give.

Only I Can See - Request! Dean knows you. He knows you better than anyone, better than you know you, better than he knows himself. He'd lay down his life for you in a heartbeat, and knows you'd do the same, even if it's not in the same way. But something's… different.

In Sweetness - Request! Preparation for hunts and battles where the fate of the world hinges on his shoulders are easy. Preparation for a baby might be the most complex thing Dean's ever done.

The Heat Grows - Request! It's unfair that Dean can look this good just sitting in traffic. That he can be doing nothing at all and you'll crave him more than oxygen. It's amazing that you can prove that to him, though.

The Flood Brings Clearer Days - Request! You're not cursed. You don't feel anything wrong. If anything, you feel better, because there's a weight lifted off your tongue that lets you say whatever you want. And most of what you want is Dean.

There Comes A Breaking Point - Request! Sam drinks a truth potion, and you and Dean have to deal with the consequences, and very painful and beautiful revelations.

No Love Lost Series Masterlist

Read on A03! - Listen to the Playlist!

Main Masterlist - Soldier Boy Masterlist

Rating/Warnings: 18+ for canon-typical violence, swearing, mental health issues, mentions of rape/non-con, and sexual content.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff.

Series Summary

Three years ago you were normal, the only demons you had to fight were your own, and you the most you knew of Vought and the Boys were what you saw on TV. But then you met Homelander at a stupid party, and woke up the next morning in a cell.

After almost two and a half years of you being Homelander's little project, Soldier Boy was woken up only go rouge and be put back under. Somewhere in there, you escaped. And before Queen Maeve went underground, she told William Butcher about the Anomaly, a powerful supe who recently escaped Vought captivity and may have an agenda against Homelander.

One month later, the Boys found you.

You spend the next five months helping them best you can, though your control over your powers is weak and your fear of Homelander makes you useless in combat. But you get an idea. A stupid, dangerous idea that turns you into Soldier Boy's keeper, giving him a second chance to take down Homelander, you hanging over his shoulder, a threat should he want to go nuclear again. It's exhausting and frustrating, and you might kill him and yourself as soon as this is over, but you said whatever it takes.

And this is what it takes.

Author's Note

This story is non-canon compliant, with the two main differences being;

1) Butcher doesn't have brain cancer, because I said so.

2) All of Gen V didn't take place, because I don't want to deal with the whole supe-plauge thing. Also that's too many characters to keep track of squad.

Because of this, the story will start in a similar setting as s4e5, but with different events leading up to it, and will deal with similar themes and have similar events to the rest of s4, but at an inconsistent rate. If you have any questions about other, smaller changes I have made, feel free to ask!

Navigation Key

❤️‍🔥 = Smut

🚩 = Additional Warnings

Chapter List

Chapter 1 - Where Winning Looks Like Losing Chapter 2 - A New Kind of Tension Chapter 3 - You've Torn Your Dress 🚩 Chapter 4 - You Might Be The Same As Me Chapter 5 - Popped, Cool, and Ready to Go Chapter 6 - I've Been Searching for a Fortified Defense Chapter 7 - The Blinding Ultra-Violence 🚩 Chapter 8 - I Just Find My Way Back ❤️‍🔥🚩 Chapter 9 - Can't Cover It Up ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 10 - Lead Me To The Ark ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 11 - The Wolves or The Ocean Rocks Chapter 12 - While My Blood's Still Flowing Chapter 13 - The Terror of Knowing Chapter 14 - Choke on Sun Chapter 15 - I Found A Martyr ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 16 - Let It Flood ❤️‍🔥 🚩 Chapter 17 - Make My Chest Stir Chapter 18 - Something In The Static ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 19 - Don't Look Back 🚩 Chapter 20 - Forget to Fall Down Chapter 21 - Some Things You Just Can't Speak About ❤️‍🔥 🚩 Chapter 22 - I Stayed In The Darkness With You Chapter 23 - Wherever You're Going ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 24 - You'll Never Be Alone ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 25 - All I Know ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 26 - I’ve Loved Everything About You That Hurts ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 27 - Just A Shot Away 🚩 Chapter 28 - Something That I'm Supposed to Be ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 29 - All My Bets On You Chapter 30 - Every Demon Wants His Pound of Flesh 🚩 Chapter 31 - I'd Do It All Again ❤️‍🔥

More Than You Could Ever Know - A No Love Lost Christmas Special

Part 1 - The Boys start Secret Santa, Ben pretends to do his job. ❤️‍🔥 Part 2 - Ben and Ryan go shopping, and you all try to find a tree. Part 3 - You and Ben have a Christmas Eve date. Many gifts are opened.

Bonus Footage (Standalone Chapters)

Dying’s Up to Me - A Prologue. Takes place 6ish months before Chapter 1. 🚩 They're Never Gonna Find You A Home - Request! Everyone adjusts to your life with the Boys. Takes place 5ish months before Chapter 1. 🚩 Back to Here - Request! They get horny at the dining table, and Butcher takes it personally. Takes place in Chapter 14. It's So Simple - You make Ben do icebreakers. He's a little bitch about it. Takes place in Chapter 14. Just Your Time - You give Ben internet lessons. Takes place in Chapter 14. As Much As I Do - Request! Ben finds you dancing, is immediately very normal about it. Takes place after Chapter 14 and around Chapter 15. Calling Your Name - Ben's first birthday awake isn't great. Takes place in Chapter 19. ❤️‍🔥 I Skip My Pride - You share some music with Ben over text. Takes place in Chapter 22. The Only Place That I Call Home - It's team game night, and everyone is sick of you and Ben's shit. Takes place in Chapter 24. ❤️‍🔥 Can't Help Myself - Request! Ben has a breeding kink, and you're incredibly horny, so it works. Takes place in around Chapter 24 and Chapter 25. ❤️‍🔥 Anywhere Else Is Hollow - A halloween special episode! Takes place in Chapter 25. It Was Smiling Down - A Ryan pov Chapter. Takes place between Chapter 26 and Chapter 27. A Call To Motion - Request! There's a lot of things you're good at. Sex with Ben is one of them. Takes places in Chapter 28.❤️‍🔥 I Want You Only - You and Ben go shopping. Takes place in Chapter 28 ❤️‍🔥 I’ll Hold Your Hand - Request! You get your period, and Ben has to do his job and take care of that. Takes place post series.

Found Footage (Post-Series Chapters)

Just Too Important - You and Ben head to Costco. Takes place about two months post-series. Dreams of Love - Request! You and Ben have to babysit. Takes place ten months post-series. Setting In A Honeymoon - You and Ben finally get a honeymoon. Takes place about a year post-series. The Best Thing - Request! You, Ben, and Ryan get a cat.

You Call It Madness But I Call It Love

Pairing: Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Tropes: Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn

Song Inspiration For The Series: You Call It Madness But I Call It Love By Russ Columbo

Series Playlist (Spotify)🥀

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy.  This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters fluctuate between past and present, beginning in 1934. SPOILERS FOR THE BOYS S3

Chapter 1: You Shouldn't Have Answered the Door

Chapter 2: Late Night Visitor

Chapter 3: Summer Has to End Someday

Chapter 4: It's My Party and I'll Eat Cake If I Want To

Chapter 5: The Man, The Myth, The Legend

Chapter 6: Batter Up

Chapter 7: Are We Old Friends Or Old Enemies?

Chapter 8: Jealousy Doesn't Look Good On Anybody Except...

Chapter 9: Wedding Bells or Gong of Destruction?

Chapter 10: How Did It End Up Like This?

Chapter 11: I Can't Think With You Yelling At Me!

Chapter 12: My Heart Is Beating For You Constantly

Chapter 13: You Made A Plaything Out of Romance

Chapter 14: You're All I'm Dreaming Of

Chapter 15: What Do You Know About Love?

Chapter 16: Please Come Back To Me

Chapter 17: How Could I Ever Forget?

Chapter 18: First Impressions Are Often Correct

Chapter 19: I Know Who You Are

Chapter 20: You Were There

Chapter 21: Try To Understand

Chapter 22: I May Be Right Or I May Be Crazy

Chapter 23: Extreme Makeover Backyard Edition

Chapter 24: What The Past Held

Chapter 25: Are Family Reunions Always This Awkward?

Chapter 26: I Hate You, I Love You

Chapter 27: Take Me Back To The Beginning

Epilogue: True Love Is Hard To Find

Last Updated: 10/08/2024 (Series Complete)

One Shots:

Guess Who's Coming To Dinner?: All you wanted was for Ben to have a nice Thanksgiving, but when your daughter brings her new boyfriend over, all hell brakes loose!

[Extras]

Chapter 7.5: The Only Escape (Unused)

Happy Halloween! (Takes Place After Main Series)

If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series let me know :)

Taglist:

@roseblue373 @anundyingfidelity @cheynovak @cassiecasluciluce @muhahaha303

@deans-spinster-witch @kayleighmeister @demodemo909 @fruitfacess @bobbobbobinogs

@bughill126 @simplyfixated  @tiredstrangerr @freefallthoughts @onlyangel-444

@lov3vivian @mxltifxnd0m @mayafatimakhan @marvel-mistress @my-obsession-spn

@lifeonawhim  @liuope @brynanna @carpenterswife

@xxannyxx

 @babyinatrench-coat1 @the-gentle-spirit @valryomen @cassieriddle713 @shaggzthatsnottheworm

 @lil-soup @ej13928 @topstory21 @boywivlove

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@vivre-dans-la-nuit @megara0224 @daisy-the-quake @thesilmarillionblog @samanddeaninatrenchcoat

@livya99 @peachhiz @tinydancer40 @tinystarfishgalaxy

@jvanilly

@lunaticgurly @i-am-typing @52ndstreeet

@anna6307

@pixviee @soldiergrimes @ladysparkles78 @ahoytothestorm

@octoazzy @modiddys-blog @marmie-noir @practicallylivesonline @impala67stellawinchester

@everlove @dangerousgardenchild

(Photos on mood board from Pinterest)