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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 3 months

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In Another Life

Pairing: Dean Winchester x f!reader, Dean POV

Summary: When Dean wakes up in another life with you, he begins to question your friendship and realizes that he has loved you all along. But how can he change that? (I’m so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Tropes: Angst, Fluff, Pregnancy Fluff, Mutual Pining

Word Count: 5.5K (I have an addiction don't judge me)

Warnings: I don’t think there’s any. I’ll say mention of gore, but for one second. Maybe one allusion to sex, but not really. Some swearing (once or twice). Dean might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Dean’s perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. This is my first time writing for Supernatural, so please be gentle. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics

Main Masterlist

*********************************************

Dean couldn’t remember what happened last night only that the bed beneath him felt like an old friend welcoming him home. The night before ghosted across his mind, hovering just out of reach, memories of a dream barely forming from a fog of uncertainty. He fades in and out of sleep in a mist that soothes his aching body.

“Dean?” A soft voice whispers.

Dean groans and squeezes his pillow tighter against his chest to avoid waking up. He didn’t care what time it was, all he knew was that he didn’t want to get out of bed.

“Leave me alone Sammy.” He grumbles into the pillow.

“Dean.” The voice says again, this time with a happy laugh that sounds nothing like Sam.

His eyes open, blinded by the sunlight that streams through the large windows on the other side of the bedroom.

Wait. Where am I?

“Dean we have to get up or we’ll be late for the party.”

Dean looks towards the voice and realizes that he’s not squeezing a pillow, it’s you. You’re facing him, hair fanning out over the pillow beneath your head, eyes wide and crinkled around the edges, smiling at him.

“Y/n?” Dean says it hesitantly, arms tightening around your waist.

“No no no. Don’t look at me like that. I will not be roped into staying in bed. We can’t be late for your mom’s birthday party and you promised you would come with me to pick up the cake.”

“But-“ Dean couldn’t remember how he got here, only that something feels wrong.

“No buts.” You giggle, before leaning forward and kissing him.

Dean freezes, confused, but the soft movement of your mouth against his erases any uncertainty. He eases his face forward nudging his nose into yours to deepen the kiss. Dean doesn’t know how he got here, but all he knows is how natural it feels to be here with you. Before he can stop himself he rolls you over your back, bringing a moan from you that vibrates though his skull. His fingertips blaze a trail along your hips.

“Easy there tiger.” You smile up at him. “You don’t want to crush Zeppelin.”

Dean’s confusion makes you laugh, before he finally looks down between you. “You’re pregnant.” He whispers, noting the protrusion of your abdomen.

“I mean I think so.” You laugh in a way that makes his heart jump and buckle.

Dean lays his hand down on the smooth skin where your shirt pushes up. Why can’t I remember this? He thinks to himself confused, searching for memories he can’t recall.

“I believe we’ve talked about it several times. And it was you who decided to stay up until 4 am painting the nursery.” Your hands gently brush his hair back out of his face. “You did such a good job baby.”

Dean reaches for the memory, but he can’t seem to

grasp it. “I did?”

“Mhmm. Look at you, you’re still covered in paint.” You smile wider picking up the hand that rests on your belly to show him the splashes of cream colored paint flecked along the back of his hand. And as you do he notices the ring on your left hand.

“Are we married?” Dean tries again to grasp for his memory but comes up empty handed. He strokes his thumb along the back of yours examining the ring.

I should remember that. How could I forget that we’re married?

“Feigning amnesia will not make me stay in bed with you. No matter how cute you are.” You gently lay your hand against his chest pushing him back so you can sit up in bed.

Dean can’t help but notice how beautiful and carefree you look. Hair catching fire in the light from the window, t-shirt brushing against the top of your thighs, and how you smile at him with so much love it makes something catch in his chest.

“Dean?” You suddenly look worried. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “I’m just tired I guess.”

His cell phone rings where it sits on the nightstand, drawing his gaze to the alarm clock and car magazine that sit on top of the dark wood.

“You better answer that. It’s probably Sam asking us where we are.” You kiss him on the cheek, before standing up and walking into the closet on the edge of the bedroom.

Dean watches you go, his eyes tracing your familiar figure as you leave the room, before reaching for his phone.

“Hey where are you guys? Jessica’s freaking out because you haven’t brought the cake.” Sam’s voice triggers another memory for Dean, but this one remains allusive.

“Sam?”

“Dean.”

“Um.”

“Dean are you hungover or something?”

“No. Sorry, just running a little late-“ Dean apologizes looking around the bedroom. It’s small, filled with light from the open window that shows a quaint backyard. The dresser on the wall opposite the bed has photos of him and you, photos of Sam and Jessica, and a photo of Mary and John Winchester. Dean’s eyes stop on the photo as a memory triggers at the back of his mind, but Sam interrupts the thought.

“Well come on. Dad’s not going to like it if you guys miss mom’s birthday-“

“Dad?” Deans memory spikes again and he sees his father sitting in the drivers seat humming along to a song on the radio. Another memory flashes, Dean and his father standing behind the impala with Sam looking into the trunk.

“Yes dad. Your boss. Our father. Dean are you okay? Y/n said that you were painting the nursery last night all by yourself. You could have told me. I would have come over to help-“

“I’m alright Sammy.”

But he doesn’t feel alright, something is definitely wrong.

“Okay well hurry up. I’ll see you when you get here.”

Dean hangs up the phone and sits on the end of the bed with it in his hand.

You walk back into the room wearing a green sundress. Your hair is soft again, falling over your shoulders in a way that makes Dean’s breath catch, effortlessly beautiful.

A memory of you wearing jeans and a leather jacket washes across his mind of you standing with him at the back of the Impala reaching in for a shotgun while he knocks your hand away.

“Dean?” You walk towards him, this time standing between his legs. You place your hands on his shoulders and he can’t help but turn to look at the wedding ring. “Are you sure you’re okay? Because if you’re not feeling well we don’t have to go today. I can call your dad. But I just thought your really wanted to go. You hate missing your mother’s birthday. It’s usually you that drags me out of bed.” You trail your hand against the side of his face with a worried expression, to turn his gaze back on you.

Someone deep in the back of his mind the expression triggers something and he sees a memory of you. Except you’re holding a machete in your right hand that drips blood on the floor but, the look of worry in your eyes the same.

Where could that be from?

“I don’t know.”

“Hey.” You whisper, sitting down in his lap and his arms can’t help but secure you there, burying his head in your shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I’m scared too.”

“What?” Dean raises his head from your shoulder

“We’ve talked about this. You’re going to be a great dad. And honestly we probably won’t know what we’re doing, but that’s how everyone starts.” Your fingertips drag through his hair in a soothing motion.

Dean tries again to grasp at earlier memories of this life, early memories of you, but all he sees are motel rooms. Motel rooms where you sleep on a pullout couch in a corner and where Sam sits at a small table shuffling through endless books and papers.

Why?

Dean can’t understand, because that life seems so different than this one. This one where you look softer and happier, where you share a bed and are married. He thinks about the other memories, where your smile is not as bright, where there’s a hardness to your face, but still just as beautiful. Another memory of him and you sitting in a bar drinking beer, another of you laughing at something he said and hitting him, and finally one of you reading in bed while Dean sits at a motel table and watches you softly turn the pages.

Deep down Dean knows in his bones that in those memories you and him are just friends, but he allows himself to indulge in your touch, enjoying the comfort that comes with being with you.

“It’s not about the baby.” Dean sighs. “I just can’t remember how we got here.”

“Here?”

“Married.” His arms tighten around your waist not wanting to let go. You’re the only thing he recognizes in all of this.

“Um well, my car broke down and I brought it to a mechanic shop where I met a devilishly handsome man with green eyes.” You smile at him. “Who refused to let me leave until he bought me dinner.”

Dean stares at you.

“Practically kidnapped me. But you were so charming I couldn’t resist.” You lean closer to whisper in his ear. “Not to mention sexy covered in grease and wearing a meatloaf t-shirt.” You kiss him before he can respond, and he loses himself in you. The way you hold him close, the way your fingers work up into his hair to secure him right where he wants to be, and the way you feel in his arms wipes away any uncertainty. “As much as I’d like to go back to bed with you, we’re going to be late.” You whisper against his lips.

And Dean allows himself to be dragged away.

*********************************************

“Did you remember to order the parts for that ‘76 Camaro right?” John Winchester asks Dean, but Dean’s not focused, he can’t focus on anything.

The drive over to his parents house was different. Instead of sitting on the opposite side of the front seat of the impala, you had sat in the middle, holding his hand and leaning against his shoulder, humming softly.

It made driving for Dean especially difficult. The memories of you in his car that came across his mind while he drove distracted him.

You in the backseat shouting something at Dean while he completely ignored you rolling his eyes, you sitting in the front seat with a map trying to direct him while Sam slept in the back, you singing to “The Eye of the Tiger” with him while Sam tried to close his ears, and finally you asleep in the front seat with Dean’s jacket draped over you. That last one stayed in his mind. He liked how you looked wrapped up in his jacket, breath fogging the glass window, while Dean tried his best to drive smooth and slow so you wouldn't wake.

But you in the front seat holding his hand and leaning against his shoulder while humming along to the music blew all of those memories out of the water. All Dean wanted to do was exist there and then.

When you both arrived at his parents home Dean tried not to be disappointed. Now he was too distracted watching you talk and laugh with Jessica and his mother across the room to listen to anything his father said.

“Dean are you listening?” His dad tries again.

“Huh?” The cold beer in Dean’s hand drips condensation against his skin. He turns to look back at his father.

Another memory of him momentarily distracts Dean, this one of John leaving Dean and Sam in a motel room so he can go hunting.

Did we ever go hunting? Dean tries to think of a time where they went out into the woods to shoot some deer, but comes up empty handed. A few memories of him and Sam toting guns rise to the surface, but he can't remember why they had them.

"You'll have to excuse Dean, he's still mentally painting the nursery." Sam snorts into his beer.

"Shut up."

"Don't tease him Sam. I'm sure that Jessica will have you turn your office into a nursery before you know it." You appear on Dean's left, raising his arm around you so you can lean into his side. Dean automatically tightens his arm around your shoulders.

"Don't joke about that y/n."

"Uh-huh. You can't hide in that big fancy law firm forever. She'll find you." You smile up at Dean in a way that makes his heart feel like its stopped beating.

Why can't I remember any of this life?

"She's right." Jessica comes over to kiss Sam on the cheek.

"I do not hide at the firm-" Sam rolls his eyes.

"You do."

Mary Winchester comes over. "Are you fighting at my birthday party?"

Dean's father puts his arm around his mother, pulling her into his chest with a smile he hides by taking a swig of beer.

"No mom, we're not-"

"Sounded like a fight to me." You whisper to Dean, and he can't help but smile at you.

"It's not a fight y/n!"

"Don't yell at my wife Sammy." Dean says before he can stop himself. He thinks about how natural it sounded coming out of his mouth.

His wife. You're his wife. He thinks and presses a kiss to the top of your head that makes you sigh into his chest.

"I'm not yelling at y/n."

"Sam we're just teasing you." Jessica laughs, placing her hand against his chest. Dean notices the ring on her own finger, and a memory of Jessica rises in the back of his head. Jessica standing in the darkness of an apartment, while Dean holds on to the front of Sam's shirt, her eyes wide and confused.

But it vanishes when you wince in his arms. Dean's eyes are drawn back down to you, worry spiking in his chest.

"I'm okay." You whisper. "Just think Zeppelin is hitting his limit."

"You guys go on home. I think that John has grilled Dean about the garage enough." Mary smiles, before taking a step forward to hug you. Dean is disappointed when you leave his arms, but smiles despite, watching you with his mother.

"Let the little linebacker get some rest." John hugs you.

"Of course. Thank you so much for letting us come. I'm sorry we were late." Dean watches the subtle blush of your cheeks as you apologize.

"I'm sure it's my son's fault." Mary moves to hug Dean.

As soon as she does Dean is overwhelmed by a surge of sadness as another memory of his mother rises in the back of his mind that he can't quite bring into focus.

"Mom?" Dean whispers.

"Hmm?" She looks up at him confused. "We'll see you on Tuesday for dinner. Okay?"

"Okay."

"We love you."

"I love you too mom." But something sticks in his chest when he says it.

“Don’t forget to order the parts.” John says shaking Dean’s hand.

“Sure.”

“Bye Jessica. Let me know if you need us to bring anything for Tuesday.” Dean watches you hug her and just for a moment Dean sees Sam holding a bouquet of flowers at a gravesite.

What is happening?

*********************************************

When Dean pulls the Impala into the driveway of your home something still feels wrong. After saying goodbye to everyone he still can’t shake the feeling that he forgot something. The radio plays "Black Dog" filling the silence as the car idles in front of the house.

“Dean!”

“What?” He turns to look at where you sit beside him in the front seat.

“Feel.” You grab one of his hands from the wheel and place it against your abdomen an excited smile gracing your cheeks. “Little future drummer."

The kicking against the palm of his hand makes Dean smile, leaning forward into where you sit beside him. Happiness breaks in his chest like the crest of a wave. He can't remember a moment in his life where he felt this happy, this much love for someone.

"Y/n?"

"Mhmm."

"I love you." Dean refuses to believe that he has said it to anyone else ever in his life, can't remember wanting to say it to anyone else, can't believe that he will ever want to say it to anyone else.

"I love you too."

He leans down to kiss you, hand still against your stomach, drawing you further into him to breathe you in. Everything else vanishes, just the feel of your soft lips against his, the tickle of your hair against his cheeks, and the pulse of his son's kicks against the palm of his hand.

But then it's all gone.

*********************************************

"Dean!" Sam's voice jars him into reality, his eyes opening to see his brother standing over him, one hand on his shoulder. "Dean are you okay?"

"What happened?" Dean sits up with a groan, ignoring the headache that throbs behind his eyes.

His eyes adjust to the dim light. He's in a long room where wooden tables sit every few feet covered in dust and machinery blanketed with old sheets. The musty smell fills his nose, replacing the smell of your shampoo that lingers under his nose from when you were in the front seat with him.

"Djinn ambushed you. Y/n and I got here as soon as we could."

"Y/n?" The memories of the dream strike him in the chest all over again, merging with memories of reality. "Where is Y/n?"

You enter the room out of breath, blood flecked across your cheeks and holding a baseball bat that drips a dark liquid onto the concrete floor. “It’s dead.”

"You sure?" Sam asks raising an eyebrow.

"There's enough brain matter on the floor in there for a zombie buffet." You shoulder the baseball bat. "So yeah, it's dead."

Dean’s eyes trace your body taking in the leather jacket and dark t-shirt his memory flashing to the green sundress and beautiful smile. You’re half-smiling, but Dean can see the hardness in your face again and understands where it comes from.

She wasn’t a hunter. He thinks of the dream version of you, where your hair fell in soft curls, but now it’s tied back in a ponytail. His eyes drop to your abdomen expecting more, but disappointment flicks in his heart. It wasn’t real.

“Dean are you okay?” You step closer to him. The smile has dropped now, replaced with a worried expression.

He flashes back to when you asked him that in the dream, when you sat on his lap and tangled your hands in his hair, sighing into his mouth as he kissed you.

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

He traces your face again but every time he does he only sees the other version of you, the version that’s in love with him, married to him. And he knows that here you are just his friend.

“Yeah.” He says again standing up. “Let’s get out of here.”

The ride back to the motel is silent. Dean doesn’t put on any music, too afraid that it’ll remind him of the memory of you and him in the front seat while his son kicked against his hand. Instead, all he can think of was how happy he was in the other life, how in love with you he was-

Dean knew that it wasn’t just a fantasy, that he really is in love with you, but now after seeing how everything could be, it weighed on his chest. Each time you looked at him he wanted to pull you close to him, hug you, kiss you, but he knew you would pull away. Because this version of you was not his.

“I’m going to go to that diner on the corner. You guys want something?” Sam looks around the room expectantly, but Dean doesn’t look up from the carpet.

“Sure.” Dean hears you respond. “Maybe just a burger and a piece of pie. Preferably apple but I'll take cherry if they have it."

“Okay. Dean?” Sam asks again.

Dean shakes his head. He can’t eat. Not now.

Sam hesitates at the door worried. “Are you sure?”

“I don’t want anything.” Dean snaps.

“Yeesh don’t bite my head off.” Sam throws you a shrug before leaving.

Dean is aware that it’s just the two of you now, the memory of the two of you in bed surfaces making him tighten his grip on the edge of the blanket beneath him.

“Dean?” You whisper.

“What?” His voice comes out harsher than he means it to.

“What’s wrong? You can tell me.”

“Nothing is wrong.” But he can’t look at you, not when he knows he'll look up and you won't be pregnant and not when the other version of you still has a hold of his heart.

“Dean you’re my best friend I know when something’s wrong. Plus you haven’t been able to look at me since you woke up and you never say no to food.”

“I’m fine.”

“Dean-“

“Just leave me alone damnit!” He snaps at you, able to raise his gaze from the floor for one second. Dean immediately feels bad, watching the pain in your eyes as he pushes you away. But he lowers his eyes to the carpet once more to avoid your gaze.

You sigh, but don’t get angry with him. “If you don’t want to tell me that’s fine. I'll just leave you alone then.”

And as soon as you leave to take a shower he feels the loss of you beside him.

He listens to the sound of the shower, feels the passing of time, but he does not move. The memories of the dream rise and fall, replacing the darkness of the hotel room with brilliant light. The memory of the sun catching your hair on fire as you laid next to him in bed tracing your fingertips along his jaw, the memory of you in the front seat of the Impala leaning against him and humming while you hold his hand, the memory of the party where he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you tightly into his chest, and finally the memory of the last kiss you shared in the front seat of the Impala each dance across his mind. He acutely feels the loss of your body against his, the loss of your lips, and finally the sound of your voice telling him you love him while his son kicked against his hand.

“Dean?”

He looks up at you. You look softer than you did. The blood is gone from your cheeks, your hair falls over your shoulders still wet from the shower, effortlessly beautiful, he decides. You’re wearing one of his old t-shirts that he gave you and a pair of sweatpants. It does something to him, watching you stand there in his shirt. It hangs past your waist like a dress, making you look smaller than you are. The smell of your shampoo wafts out of the bathroom, something familiar that makes his throat tight.

“You know when that Djinn got me a few months ago it threw me for a loop too.” You say softly leaning against the doorway of the bathroom. “Everything felt so real. It was hard to tell what was real and what wasn’t.”

Dean remembers when that happened. When you vanished out of the blue while checking out a case alone and he and Sam tore apart the small town looking for you. Dean remembers how worried he was, how desperate he was to find you.

I loved her then too. Dean realizes looking at you. How did I not know?

Dean remembers the aftermath, when you woke up and wouldn’t look at him. How your gaze was almost haunted and how he had to carry you out of there because you couldn’t move. He remembers you laying in bed and turning away from him and Sam when they had asked you what was wrong and the following day when you acted like nothing happened.

“What did it make you see?” Dean whispers, noting the way you shift back and forth on your feet. He hadn't seen you nervous before, seen you face down demons and vampires without batting an eye, but now you looked vulnerable.

You look down at your feet. “If I say it you can’t laugh.”

“I won’t.”

“Dean, I’m serious.”

“I promise I won’t laugh.” He watches the tension in your shoulders.

Why would she be afraid to tell me? We talk about everything.

“It was us.”

“What?” Shock tugs at his heart and for a second he thinks that he heard you wrong.

“It was us. We were married. We had 2 kids. My brother was still alive and my parents were talking to me again. I was happy there. It was hard to come back. Not that I’m not happy, but just that it’s hard to think you’ve lived a life that doesn’t exist. Especially one so different than all of this.” Dean watches you take in a deep breath, tapping your finger against your bicep, avoiding his eyes. “That was when I realized I was in love with you.”

Dean’s heart stops beating. “What did you just say-“

You look up and smile tightly. “It’s when I realized I was in love with you. That’s why I was so messed up. I didn't know how to-“

Sam chooses that exact moment to walk in loaded with bags of food. “What did I miss?”

“Nothing much.” Dean watches you easily shift your expression to hide what just happened, smiling at Sam as if you hadn’t said the one thing that Dean had been trying to say to you since he woke up. “Just trying to convince Dean to let me work on Baby. I think I’m wearing him down.”

Dean had never realized how much of a good liar you were until this moment, sure he had seen you pretend to be a government agent, but this was different.

“Like that’ll happen.” Sam hands you a bag of food before turning to look at Dean. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Dean watches you pull out the burger, stunned by your confession.

You place the burger next to him on the bed. “Eat this. It’ll help.”

“But-“ He looks up at you, wanting to finish the conversation.

“I promise I’m not that hungry Dean. I’d rather have the pie. Unless you’re going to fight me for it?” You smile raising an eyebrow.

Dean doesn’t understand why you’re acting like you didn’t just say you were in love with him. He gazes at you, searching your face. For a second he sees the mask slip, but before he can comment it’s gone.

“No I won’t.” He whispers.

“Good.” You turn to the made-up pull out couch and fold your legs underneath you with the slice of pie balanced on your knee, before reaching into your bag for a worn paper back.

Dean sits there watching you turn the pages. She loves me. The memory of you in his dream in the front seat of the Impala whispering it to him doesn’t hold the same weight because now all he can hear is you saying it here, now.

Dean can’t move. He wished Sam would leave again. He wished Sam would leave so he could bring you into his chest and kiss you, so he could tell you the one thing he wished he said ages ago.

But he doesn't. All he does is sit there and watch you read.

*********************************************

A few hours after Sam and you have fallen asleep Dean lays in his bed and stares up at the ceiling. He can hear your soft breaths against the pillow, the crinkle of the sheets as you move in your sleep. Usually he allowed himself to fall asleep listening to you, but tonight all it did was keep him awake. Each time he shut his eyes he saw the memory of you in bed with him burning against his eyelids and each time he shut his eyes he heard the real you telling him that you loved him.

Finally, he can't take it anymore.

Dean gets up and makes his way over to the pull-out couch, pausing once to move the paperback book out from under your head. It wasn't the first time that you'd fallen asleep reading, and Dean thought it was cute.

He slides into the bed behind you, gently touching your shoulder to wake you as quietly as possible.

"Hmm." You inhale softly.

"Y/n." Dean whispers.

He watches you turn towards him, eyes blinking in the darkness to rouse yourself from sleep. You hair is flared out over the pillows, eyes hazy. “Dean what are you-“

Dean moves his arm to your waist before pulling you flush into his chest, lips finding yours. The memories of the kiss in his dream are everywhere, but none of them compare to this. You sigh into his mouth, bringing your hands into his hair. Dean breathes you in. You still taste like apple pie, body soft against his, lips smooth and welcoming.

“I love you too.” He whispers against your mouth, eyes finding yours in the darkness of the hotel room.

Your smile breaks him. “It made you see us didn’t it?”

“How did you know?”

“The way you looked when you came out. The way you looked at me. I think it’s the same way I looked at you when I woke up." You brush back his hair and Dean can't help but lean forward into your touch. "What did it make you see?"

“We were married. You were pregnant and I was working at a garage. My parents were alive. Jessica was alive-“

“Oh Dean.” You cup his cheeks with a sorrowful expression, before brushing your lips against his. “I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter now.” Dean brings you into his chest, laying on his back so you can rest your head on his heart. His hand slowly traces up and down your spine. You both lie there for a few moments. The subtle beat of your heart soothing the sadness that rises with the memory of his mother and father. Your hand gently rests against his shirt, fingers curling into the soft fabric.

“I missed you.” He hears you whisper into his chest.

“What?” Dean doesn't understand. "Where did I go?"

“Not like that. I know that it sounds stupid, but we were so happy in the dream. It made me miss you, miss this.” He feels you rub your face into the front of his shirt.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Dean you’re my best friend. I didn’t want to lose any of this.” You prop yourself up look him in the eye. “I’m happy here with you and Sam. Y’all are my family and I didn’t want to jeopardize that just because I’m in love with you.”

“Did you think I would have made you leave if you told me that?” Dean can’t help but feel hurt. Sure it would have been awkward for a little bit, but I’d never do that to y/n.

“Not made me leave, more phase me out. It would have made all of this awkward and-“ He watches the weight settle on your shoulders as you press your forehead into the space between his collar bone and neck. “I’ve lost so many things. I didn’t want to lose you.”

Dean squeezes you to him. “You’re not going to lose me sweetheart.” He traces a fingertip under your chin to raise your face to his. “I love you. And even if I didn’t, you’re my family too. I wouldn’t make you leave just because it was a little awkward. We’ve all been through too much together for that.” Dean’s thumb rubs soft circles against your cheek.

“I love you too.” You whisper, the soft smile gracing your lips mirrors the memory from the dream, but this time it fills him with warmth and comfort, because this time he knows it’s real. It's not some Djinn messing with his head, it's you. You lean upwards to kiss him gently, while Dean weaves his hand through you hair to secure you to him.

But then you pull away, your smile slipping into a smirk. “So when you say family, are you saying you see me as a sister or a cousin? Because, I don’t know how things are in Kansas, but where I'm from, that's kind of a red flag.“

Dean sighs loudly. Before he rolls you over and pins you to the bed, pressing his lips against yours in a searing kiss.

“Oh. So as a sister-“ You joke.

“You are one of the most annoying people on the planet.”

“I know. It’s why you love me.” You trace his lips with your index finger, gazing up at him the same way the dream version of you did.

Dean feels warmth trail behind your touch. “One of the reasons at least.”

But just as he leans to kiss you again-

“If you guys don’t shut up I’m not going to get any sleep.” Sam grumbles from his bed. “I could have told you two idiots, that you loved one another and it would have taken five seconds.”

“You don’t have to eavesdrop-“ You say glaring over in the direction of Sam’s bed.

“Kinda hard not to when you guys are making out. LOUDLY. I might add.”

“Gonna have to get used to it Sammy.” Dean snorts, before pushing your hair back behind your ear and drawing your gaze back to his face.

“Next time you guys are getting your own room.” Sam continues. “That way I can get some sleep.”

“Doesn’t seem very economical.” You say, but you’re gazing up at Dean again with the smile that makes him feel like he’d swallowed the sun. “I love you.” Your voice is barely a whisper.

“I love you too.” Dean leans down once more to capture your lips against his, erasing all semblance of everything else, except the feel of your body beneath him and the warmth that surges with each breath as the dream of you becomes a reality.

*********************************************

Thank you so much for reading!

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester #supernatural #spn #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fluff #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #dean x reader #sam winchester

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leseraph · 1 month

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WHB EVENT SPOILERS

lucifer truly loved his brothers. the lives of thousands of angels were discarded by him like they were nothing, but with michael, he showed one final act of mercy

michael could never understand his brother's actions

gonna ramble a little here

during the event, it's revealed that god had already disappeared by the time luci descended into hell, which means that luci's statement of god merely being an "observer" of their actions applies to how god was even after spending time with solomon

thus, michael, who idolizes god, never saw his batshit crazy actions as wrong in any way, shape, or form. they were never reprimanded, so they naturally got accustomed into thinking that their actions were right and just

luci did little to nothing to share his views on the morality of their actions, which gave the seraphs all the affirmation they needed to keep on going

and after eons of doing the same thing, how can they be expected to just stop bc their brother did? to completely change the way they think just like that? to accept the fact that they, the highest beings they themselves acknowledge, had been wrong all this time?

it took luci years to figure it out on his own too. my guy did a lot of thinking. maybe even too much thinking. and at some point, he made the decision to act out on what he felt was right

judging from how michael and gabriel are now, i don't think they'll be seeing eye to eye with their brother anytime soon

raphael might be a bit different though. unlike his brothers' comics which were a bit on the lighter side, raphael's was this internal monologue that talked more abt his views of the world. we even got a quick look at his first meeting with solomon

he showed interest in mc as well in the chats after the christmas event. this makes me think that he might be more open to change compared to his other brothers (despite being just as messed up)

he might be the first to join luci in repenting too

michael's too blinded by his love for a god who may not have reciprocated the same love towards him, seeing as he takes the absolute nothingness that luci's serving and takes it as a full-blown compliment

it's hard to imagine he'll start reconsidering things

#whb #what in hell is bad #what in 'hell' is bad #what in “hell” is bad?#whb lucifer #whb michael #whb raphael #i got lost in the ramble honestly #just wanted to spew out what thoughts left were in my mind

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faetreides · 2 months

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going off your modern!coryo headcanons… i could imagine him getting really jealous when you are interacting with other men (even if it’s like a waiter or colleague) and he decides that he has to remind you who you belong to

No but fr he’s like this:

based on these hcs

send me coryo, luke, or anakin asks (this is a threat)

Coryo's all charming wide smiles because he's enjoying being able to spend time with his s/o until a male waiter comes to their table. He only takes you to the most upscale places in the city that, even if he has to fight you tooth and nail the whole way there. He will vomit in your new Marc Jacobs tote bag if you ask him to get you fettucine alfredo from Domino's one more time.

It's even worse if you're in a booth, because his hands will start to wander up your thigh until he's cupping your pussy through your panties under your skirt.

How fast his strokes are depends on how much he thinks the waiter's pushing it. He's had to call whatever restaurant you're going to ahead of time to ask that no male employees serve you. It slipped his mind this time, he won't make that mistake again. His internal evil monologue carries on as he spells out his name on your covered clit with his fingertips.

He’ll be across campus, and he swears that he can sense a guy trying to accompany you to class. His hairs on the back of his neck stand up and next thing you know, he’s standing like Slenderman behind you as he stares down the guy you’re with.

You have to awkwardly smile and tell the guy that you want your boyfriend to walk you to class instead to get Coryo to calm down. Even then, he's doing this corny gesture where he's slowly dragging his finger across his neck as the guy walks away.

His person suit is back in place by the time you turn around to level him with an unimpressed look.

"Sorry about that, baby. I guess some idiots just don't know when to back the fuck off." He croons, slinging an arm low across your waist and digging into your hip to self soothe.

He really wants to slap your ass as you walk through the door to your class when he notices that same guy looking over at you.

You manage to be quicker than his palm. Your butt under your pants is already a light pink from this morning.

Coryo always gets his coffee from his fleet of coffee machines that comprise his specially made coffee bar (that he made for you because the first time he ever saw you was when you were getting coffee at the campus coffee shop that you work at). However, he never fails to stop by your work on your break (he knows your schedule by heart, but he still wants you to text him as soon as you're available).

One of your male coworkers prepares his order while he talks with you. He doesn't think he's imagining the way your colleague's teeth are grinding together and how his eyes narrow every time his eyes flick towards your boyfriend.

Coryo has the steadiest hands in the world, they never do anything he doesn't want them to. That doesn't stop him from blaming the hot coffee soaking your coworker's uniform on him being shaky.

"Oops! My nerves are shit, I guess. Do you need a few bucks to for your shirt?"

He doesn't mean it.

None of that was as bad as three months ago. You and your boyfriend don't share many classes together but the ones you do are hard to focus in.

It happened in your Age of Augustus Latin class. You and Coryo usually sit together (for easy access) but you were unusually late coming back from the bathroom. Most of the seats were full and the only available ones were far apart from each other. Neither of you were pleased but you couldn't change it.

The boy next to you was a brunette that you guessed was on some kind of sports team due to his jersey that he hadn't changed out of. You didn't pay him any attention (you could feel the eyes burning holes into the side of your head) and leaned back as you listened to the lecture.

Halfway through the lecture, an arm was laid on the back on your chair with a yawn.

You could hear a pencil snapping in the near distance.

You shrugged the arm away and that only made the boy pop your personal space bubble to whisper in your ear, "Can I borrow a pencil?"

You shoved a spare one into his chest and turned your attention back to your professor.

The class went by with more ambiguous actions. You knew it was over when heavy footsteps were followed by a familiar hand wrapping around your forearm.

The drive to your apartment was a blur. Coryo's rings made impressions in your thigh as he ran several red lights. He told you that he didn't really care about that right now, his dad would take care of any ticket he'd get anyway.

Sooner rather than later you found yourself face down ass up in the king-sized bed you shared with your boyfriend.

Your boyfriend whose face was buried deep in your ass cheeks. He had them pulled apart so he could tongue your hole properly, pulling back to spit on it and smear his saliva around your rim. He wiggles the tip of his tongue around your walls before tongue fucking you like your asshole was the only hole he knew you had.

He gasped as he pulled away again to breathe, jiggling the massive globes of flesh in his big hands. He opened his mouth wide and let more spit drip from his tongue onto your winking hole.

"Damn, baby..." He breathed, jiggling your cheeks again and then doubling down on the marks he made earlier.

His palm felt warm as he reared it back and spanked your crack, "You think just any motherfucker would know what to do with this ass? You think they'd make out with your asshole like they'd try to do with your pussy?"

You couldn't speak through your moan as he thrusted one of his thumbs into your hole.

"You're so right, petal. No, they wouldn't." He said and took his thumb away from you, patting your butt when you whined at the loss, "So why don't you get up and come sit on my face?"

Your boyfriend was all laid out for you like a four coarse meal, shirt already discarded and his pants unbuttoned. He tapped his nose bridge and grinned with too many teeth, brushing aside the curls that fell over his eyes.

"Right here."

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writing-with-sophia · 3 months

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How to get into the mind of a character? Honestly this can be for your OWN character or a fictional character. I'm wanting to write for characters- headcanons and fanfictions- and I'm so afraid I'll write them so uncanny to how they actually are.

How to get into the mind of a character?

To get into the mind of a character, you have to understand that character, believe in that character, and even "live" the character's life. But we all know each individual is different, and we cannot live different lives. A normal person who grew up in peacetime cannot fully understand the hardships of a warrior, and a doctor cannot know the thoughts of a mafia boss.

So, how can writers create believable characters? How can they possibly offer a believable soldier, cop, detective, alcoholic, or any given character type if they themselves haven't lived as them? How can they possibly offer a believable character in a situation that they've never been in?

Here are some tips you can use to get into the minds of characters:

Tip 1: Observe real-life people

To create well-rounded characters, observe real people around you. Pay attention to their behaviors, mannerisms, speech patterns, and thought processes. Take note of how they express emotions, handle conflicts, and make decisions. Drawing from real-life observations can add depth and authenticity to your characters. You can also search for novels and movies with different themes, study how characters with different pasts, biographies, occupations, and personalities act, behave, gesture, and speak. The best way is to prepare a small notebook and a pen so you can carry it with you wherever you go.

Tip 2: Create a detailed character profile

Develop a detailed character profile that includes information such as their age, background, beliefs, values, goals, and fears. Consider their relationships with other characters and how these dynamics influence their thoughts and actions. Delve into the character's past and explore significant events that have shaped them. Consider their upbringing, traumas, successes, and failures. These can provide you with a roadmap for understanding the character's mindset.

Tip 3: Use internal monologues and journaling

Imagine the character's internal thoughts and dialogues with themselves. Consider what they might be thinking in different situations, their hopes, dreams, and fears. (And why do they dream of that? Why are they afraid of that thing? What in the past made them afraid? Always asking questions.) Writing internal monologues or journal entries from the character's perspective can help you delve into their mindset and gain insight into their unique voice.

Tip 4: Consider their external influences

Characters are influenced by their environment, culture, and society. Reflect on how external factors such as family, friends, societal norms, or even the story's setting impact their thoughts and behaviors. This will help you portray their worldview more accurately.

Tip 5: Study the source material

If you're writing about an existing character from a book, TV show, or movie, immerse yourself in the source material. Pay attention to their dialogue, actions, and interactions with other characters. Take note of their personality traits, motivations, and backstory. This will help you develop a strong foundation for understanding the character. For example, recently I suddenly became interested in Nightwing (do you know him? Nightwing from the Batman series!), and I wanted to write a few short stories about him. So I found all the comics and movies that featured Nightwing and watched them one by one. I don't take notes because I have a pretty good memory (especially for characters I like), but I still recommend taking notes on special things to note.

Tip 6: Practice free writing

Set aside time for free writing exercises where you write from the character's point of view. Allow your thoughts to flow without judgment or editing. Just write, write, and write. You can reread and make corrections after you're done. Remember to gather your posts in one place; otherwise, you'll lose or forget them (like me!).

Getting into the mind of a character is an ongoing process that requires continuous exploration and refinement. The more you invest in understanding your character's thoughts, feelings, and motivations, the more compelling and authentic your writing will become.

Additionally, you can read my articles on how to write an effective character here:

How to create a superbad villain

How to make a villain's appearance memorable

Basic questions for your character

Describing a villain's appearance in a natural way

Create an effectively past for character

Common character motivations

How to create a good main character

How to avoid the instance where a secondary character stands out more/ is more lovable?

Character flaws

Writing a good Anti-Hero

Character positive traits

How to write an elderly main character?

Protagonist who is a ballerina

How to write a believeable egotistical character

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puranami · 5 months

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✿ Omelette - The Morning After ✿

A/N: I did leave the original with a point to start a follow up if the mood struck, and people have been showing interest, so here we are... doing our best __φ(．．✿)

Summary: The morning after Sanji found you cooking an omelette in your underwear at an ungodly hour, you are no longer overtired and must deal with the fallout.

Content: Despite the scenario - it's all SFW and fluffy like dem eggs were. Even more pining with a nice side dish of denial, G/N reader ✿

(Part 1) - (Part 3)

"Oh my god..."

You cringe into your pillow, unsure of how you are supposed to face the day, and especially Sanji, after last night's omelette fuelled shenanigans. The entire thing had felt like a dream, and you would have gone on with the rest of your life believing that's what it was were it not for one glaring issue.

Sanji's nightshirt.

It was still comfortably wrapped around you, still with that sweet and musky scent that had enveloped you as you finally managed to sleep, and you couldn't help nuzzling into the sleeves with a contented sigh.

"No! Stop that!" you shouted internally, forcing yourself up in your hammock. "You do not have feelings for him, he does not have feelings for you; he was just being a good friend lending you his shirt because you were a dumbass who forgot to put on pants!"

You felt your chest tighten somewhat at your inner monologue. Maybe you did have a tiny bit of a crush, truly miniscule really, nothing to get yourself worked up about. You let out another small sigh, starting to fiddle with the top button, knowing you had to take it off and return it.

But you just couldn't bring yourself to.

Surely it'd be okay to hang onto it a little longer, right? It would be bad manners to hand back a dirty shirt, so you should definitely wash it first at the very least. And since you aren't due to do your laundry for a couple more days; maybe you can wear it at night in the meantime?

You let out an audible groan, flopping back down onto your pillow face first, hardly able to believe your own thoughts.

"Why am I being so weird about this?" The cycle of cringing into your pillow begins again.

A sudden knock at your door surprises you, and you nearly fall out of your hammock. The door opens a crack, not enough to see in or out of, and a familiar voice greets you.

"Just wanted to check in, darling, you're missing breakfast, and if you don't get there soon," Sanji trails off, not needing to elaborate on the eating habits of your captain. He gives you a moment to respond, but you can't find any of your words; you needed more time to overthink about how you were going to talk to him! You pull your blanket up over your head in a poor attempt to hide from the situation.

Thinking you were still asleep, and knowing that you were properly covered thanks to his actions during the night, he opens the door further and peeks his head in.

"Darling?"

He lets out a little laugh seeing your blanket covered form still in your hammock. Letting himself into the room fully he makes his way over to your little sanctuary, unaware of the utter panic contained within, before crouching down beside you. A gentle hand rocks you ever so slightly in an attempt to rouse you from your assumed slumber.

"It's time to wake up, love," he almost whispers.

You instinctively groan at the pet name, mentally cursing yourself for it immediately after - you can't pretend to be asleep anymore now. Resigning yourself to your fate, you slowly pull the blanket down a little, at least enough to look at him.

"Good morning, sunshine!" He beams, always happy for any time in your presence. "You're going to miss breakfast."

God damn this radiance in human form. You take a stabilising breath before reluctantly sitting up, allowing your blanket to fall down to your waist. Sanji couldn't help the cheeky little smirk that graced his face upon seeing his nightshirt; you could have easily taken it off once you got back to your quarters, but here it still was.

"What's the face for?" You grumble, poking his forehead and lightly pushing him back. Sanji giggled as he lost his balance, deciding it best to sit beside you instead of crouching. He leaned his arms on the side of the hammock and looked up at your pouting face, smiling at how cute you were.

"Comfy, sweet?" The amusement in his voice was painfully apparent as he gave the collar of the shirt a playful tug.

Burying your face into sleeve covered hands to hide the blush you felt forming, you let out an exasperated sigh, falling onto your back while muttering various curses, causing Sanji to let out a hearty laugh. As much as he was enjoying how flustered you were, he was cautious about pushing things too far; he wanted to win your affections, and too much teasing may undermine that for him. He gently pats the top of your head, making you jump slightly from the unexpected touch.

"You know, if you want to keep a hold of it, I wouldn't mind." You pull your hands down to look at him, eyes wide while still covering the lower half of your face. It was like he could see right through you, like he had heard your earlier thoughts about keeping it, at least for a couple more nights. What witchcraft was this!

"W-what? No! I..." you finally manage to blurt out, sitting up once more. Time to attempt some damage control and deny everything! "I appreciate that you were just helping me out, a-and I was gonna wash it before giving it back!" Sanji had taken to leaning on one of his hands, a lazy smile on his face, endlessly amused by this whole thing. He's never actually seen you in this state before - you're usually so composed.

"It's alright, love, I have other shirts," he shrugs. Throughout this entire exchange, you hadn't reacted to any of his terms of endearment like you usually do.

Maybe it was time to try his luck.

"You wear it much better than I do, anyway." Sanji flashes you a flirty wink, and you feel your resolve starting to crumble. In a last ditch attempt to salvage your carefully crafted aloof image you throw your blanket over him.

"Stop looking at me with your dumb face!"

The man is unfazed.

Giggling like an idiot he flips the blanket back over the hammock, keeping his hands up afterwards in surrender.

"Alright, alright, I yield." He lifts himself off of the floor, patting down the back of his suit trousers. "Breakfast has probably been demolished by now, so when you're ready, come to the kitchen, and I'll make something special for you." He graces you with one last signature golden smile, before heading out, pausing at your door momentarily.

"How does an omelette sound, love?" He can't help snickering, and your face flushes deep red.

"Out!!" You yell as you throw your pillow at him, which he easily bats away while laughing. Once he was gone and the door was shut you cursed; it felt like your heart was trying to escape the confines of your body, and the intensity was overwhelming.

You refused to admit it, but you were down bad for this beautiful menace.

To be continued? Oh no! Welp, looks like the oneshot I initially started with has turned into a little series :3c I really enjoy writing Sanji, can you tell?

#one piece imagine #one piece x reader #one piece x you #sanji x reader #sanji x you

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poryphoria · 14 days

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see madcom has genuinely got to be one of my favorite ways a story, or fictional world, has ever been told. krinkels has fucking MASTERED the art of environmental storytelling- i think my favorite example is Mag Agent Torture, a character who could easily just be a big baddie for Hank to fight, but bears some pretty grim implications about their own past & existence if you're really paying attention. it goes like

•they have weird spikes stuck in their head and a cool name

•oh, wait. those spikes kind of look like the ones auditor uses to punish dissenters, seen in the background of several episodes, don't they?

•then the torture focused Incident reveals in their internal monologue that "their disharmony is my pain", implying in some way that torture carries the burden of suffering for the entire agency

•oh. dissenter spikes and that knowledge in mind, and the name Torture. did something happen to this guy. Were they always like that? is auditor punishing them in some way?

like, idk. krinkels is just very good at knowing exactly what to elaborate on and what to leave nebulous- giving hofnarr & jeb proper backstories & explanations for how they got that way in mpn doesn't really end up removing any character agency or weight of the mystery behind their actions, it just characterizes them more thoroughly & makes them more compelling overall. meanwhile refusing to elaborate in a clear cut way on whatever the fuck is going on with Hank keeps them a nebulously terrifying force, just as they're perceived in-universe- i think if we ever did get a straight answer for why Hank is the way they are without it being vital info for the conclusion of the series, it'd just kind of fall flat and kill the wiggle room your mind has for working with them

some things in worldbuilding are more fun and interesting when they have more thorough explanations, and some of them aren't. it very heavily relies on the context and level of plot relevance of the information itself- you can't just spoonfeed everything to the audience, they have to be able to make their own takeaways of course! but you can drip-feed them in small enough increments about inconsequential enough things that it still ultimately gives them a rich and fascinating array of information to work with.

idk. madcom the animated series is primarily very good at this bc of it's lack of dialogue, but mpn dodged a HUGE bullet in destroying this method with the way the story is framed- ultimately it ends up being exactly like a very long, playable version of one of the animated "incidents", because of how inconsequential it ends up being to the main story. it gives us MASSIVE insight into how the world works and what goes on in the background of it, but is far enough removed from the main plot that we don't end up sitting through the characters literally just grabbing us by the shoulders and spoiling the entire mystery of the series through soliloquy.

i think it's cool!!! i think it's really fucking cool and really masterfully done!!! and its one of the many many reasons i adore this series as much as i do. Muah

#pory turgles #madcom #madness combat

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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 3 months

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Your Fault

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: Reader is pregnant and suffering from morning sickness, only to be comforted by Daryl. Takes place in Alexandria. (I'm so bad at summaries, please forgive me).

Tropes: Fluff, Pregnancy Fluff, Established Relationship

Warnings: I mean, I don't think there's any. If anything I'll say references to past smut, but not explicit at all. Mentions of vomiting.

Word Count: 1.5K

Note: This is written in a dialect style with Daryl's accent in mind so the misspellings are intentional. There is minimal use of (y/n). Any references to the reader besides the (y/n) is done using "your" or "you". I tried to proofread the best I could, but nobody's perfect. If you don't like, don't read, but if you do like you're my favorite!

Internal monologue is done in italics.

ENJOY!

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Daryl's hand is soft, tangling into the strands of your hair to pull it back from your face as you unleash the remnants of your dinner into the toilet with a loud groan. The brightly colored tile on the bathroom wall mocks you, each swirl of color illuminated by the fluorescent light above that hurts your sensitive eyes.

Who picks bright pink for bathroom tile?

You think with a groan as your stomach heaves again.

Daryl’s right hand rubs soothing circles into your back to let you know he's there.

“It’s alrigh. Jus get it all ou.” He mutters.

You had practically run him over when you ran to the bathroom, waving your arms to make him go away, not wanting to see you like this, but Daryl had ignored your half hearted attempts to push him away.

And even though you hadn’t wanted him to see you like this, it was easier. Daryl made everything easy, effortless, and most importantly made you feel loved, more loved than you had felt before all of this.

Your forehead presses against the cool lip of the toilet as you wipe the remnants of dinner off your chin and let out a shaky breath.

"Here." Daryl gently pulls you back from your position to wipe at your chin with a towel.

"Hmm." You lean into his touch with a sigh.

"Ya alrigh?"

"Ughh."

“Come on.” He pulls you against his chest, sitting back so his back is against the bathtub, folding his knees in front of him and dwarfing the already small bathroom.

Daryl looks almost exactly the same as he did when you first met and every time you look at him, you feel the exact same. Butterflies flapping against the walls of your stomach, heart surging up into your throat while pins and needles trace his well placed rough fingertips against your arm. Every touch feels like the first, every kiss sets you on fire, and you wouldn't change a second of it. Sometimes you think just how lucky you are that all this happened, because you can’t imagine your life without him. Admittedly a little selfish, but then you think of what your life would have been if none of this had happened.

Maybe you would still be in Atlanta finishing up your residency, still live in that apartment downtown, still have the same shifts, eat at the same restaurants- but then where would Daryl be?

Where else would you meet someone who got you so simply, who understood what you were thinking just with a quick glance. Who else would make you feel like you’d swallowed the sun when you found them looking at you?

And who else would you love as utterly and completely as you love him?

"This is your fault." You lean your head against his shoulder, stretching out your legs to knock your thigh against Daryl’s knee.

He was taller than you, broader and stronger in all the best ways. It was what drew you to him, well that and you thought that it was cute how shy he was, how he'd stumble a bit through his words when you first started talking and how the tips of his ears would flush pink when you smiled at him.

"My fault?" You can hear the smile in his voice. Daryl shifts his arm up over your shoulder to pull you closer into his chest, brushing his hand up and down your arm, letting you settle into him.

"Yes. It's your fault I'm pregnant." Your right hand runs over your stomach that has begun to protrude more in the past few months, a whirlwind to be sure, but a welcome one. The initial 30 days had been 30 days of agony while you tried to think of a way to tell Daryl that he was going to be a father. When you first started dating he had been hesitant to tell you about the raised pink scars on his back and chest- the ones you had seen when patching up a bullet wound that he had taken for you.

And when he finally told you what his father did to him, you couldn't help but fold him into you and hold him close.

The pregnancy wasn't a surprise to you, you'd been living together since you'd arrived at Alexandria and this was a happy accident. But nevertheless when you told Daryl he had left without so much as a word taking your heart with him. You had stayed in bed for what seemed like days, only to have him arrive 4 hours later with a bouquet of wildflowers and prenatal vitamins, where he found them you didn't know, all that mattered was that he was back and he was happy. Happier than you'd ever seen him.

Since then Daryl had been at your side almost constantly, the occasional run had intervened, when Rick himself had to drag Daryl away, but on each run Daryl always brought something back for you. Whether it be another book you could read together, one of the last candy bars to ever exist, or a knitted blanket to cover your shoulders when you dragged yourself into the bathroom at what seemed all hours of the day- like the exact one you had draped around yourself now. And when he wasn't on runs he was helping you with the small nursery, where a hand carved crib stood as another sign of Daryl’s love, the exact crib that made you burst into tears when he and Rick brought it into the house for the first time.

"Pretty sure we were both there." He rumbles with a smile.

"Logistics don't matter." Your eyes narrow.

"Pretty sure they do. Ya're the doc after all." Daryl's smirk makes a warm tingle travel down your spine, the same smirk that got you into this mess in the first place. "I also remember that ya were wearin my shirt-"

"Typical man blaming the woman for what she's wearing. I thought you were better than that."

His smirk grows. "More like what ya weren't wearin."

"My clothes were wet from the storm, I was trying to change-"

"Inta' my shirt!"

You lean away from him, feigning anger. "Oh you think you're so innocent? You came into the house soaked to the bone and no one should look as good as you do soaking wet." You accuse.

"Maybe you should have shut your eyes then." He shrugs.

"Shut up." Your hands fall against his chest, playfully pushing him away, but he grabs your wrists.

"Make me."

"Don't look at me like that." You groan shifting away from him. "That's what got us into this mess in the first place-" Your eyes search his face for a minute, taking in the familiar blue eyes and scruff that scratches against the smooth skin of your fingertips. "But at least we know it's a girl. No more Daryl Jr."

"We ain't gonna call 'im tha. And how do ya know it's a girl?"

"They say that if it's a girl you get sick more often.”

He snorts, pulling you back into his chest. "The way ya are going we might be havin' two."

"Shut up. Don't joke about that. One's enough, and this one is taking it's sweet time."

"Maybe jus' likes it in there."

You groan into his solid chest, feeling his muscles tense around you, familiar and welcome. "Everyone always talks about what a blessing it is to be pregnant, how you glow, blah blah blah. It's all propaganda! I feel like I'm smoldering. I'm fat, my feet hurt, I'm sick all the time-"

"Ya ain' fat y/n."

"Don't lie to me." You sit up to look him in the eye. "You made a promise to not lie to me."

"I ain' lying." He breathes.

You search his gaze, nostrils flaring as if you think you can smell the lie, but all you smell is Daryl. The hypnotic scent of cigarettes (that he refused to smoke around you), sweat, the heady smell of the woods and the smell of a thunderstorm before it hits, that clean smell of rain as it dribbles through the branches above before falling onto your skin.

"Ya're even more beautiful than the firs' day I met ya." Daryl's touch is feather light against your cheek, drawing you closer so he can press his forehead against yours. "Pretty sure ya get more beautiful every day. And if this is a girl-" His free hand drags across your belly, smiling as the baby kicks against his fingers. "She's gonna be beautiful jus' like ya."

You feel the blush drift up into the roots of your hair remembering the day you met. “That was a crazy day-“

“Because ya shot me.”

“It only skimmed your hair, don’t be a baby. And I thought you were a walker.”

“Las' time I checked my hair is on top of my head.”

“You were fine.” Your palms gently fall against the scruff of his cheeks. “I’m really glad I missed.”

“Me too."

******************************************

Thank you so much for reading!!

If you liked this fic, be sure to read the prequel “Meet Cute,” that shows the story of how Daryl and the Reader met!

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fluff #twd #the walking dead #twd daryl dixon #daryl x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl x y/n #twd fanfics

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