iamthemagicks:
“What are you doing here?” Lisa asks with a sigh, Dean lingering just outside her door. No swagger this time, no cheshire grin and wet, pink lips. He looks lost; like he has been driving for hours, only stopped here by chance, and accident.
She rubs her stomach, the material of her shirt starting stretch out over her expanding belly. Not a lot, not yet; but there’s a definite curve, obvious. Dean has been MIA since she told him four weeks ago, when she still looked normal. No evidence of their bendy weekend besides her need to vomit. She never expected to see him again. She gave him the out.
He clears his throat, looks down at the ground. Wet pavement, his sneakers kicking at some gravel into puddle. “I wanna be here,” he says. Sounds lost too, his voice empty of that confidence he generally oozes.
Another sigh and she rubs her temples; she’s been getting migraines lately, and craving Cheetos at all hours of the night. “I don’t need anything from you, Dean,” she says and it looks like he’s hurt by it. “I mean…” she clarifies. “I don’t want you sticking around because of some silly moral obligation.” She stands proud as she folds her arms. Her mother did it basically alone, so can she.
“No.” He steps over the threshold, just into the apartment, encompassing almost all of her personal space. The smell of him is enough to make her knees go weak, to make the space between her legs ache for him. Leather and gun powder. Cologne and rain. She thinks she could cry, with Dean Winchester on her porch, looking as sad as he does, as lonely.
He puts his hands on her hips and pulls her in, tight. Like he’ll never let go, like she’s the only thing keeping him attached to this earth. He breathes in her hair, reaches around to rest his hands at the small over back. “I wanna be here,” he whispers, like it’s a secret.
Loosely, she rests her arms over his shoulders, lets him hold her tight. “If that’s what you want,” she manages to say, though she wants to laugh and cry at the same time, be giddy and wonderful. But she keeps calm, because this could snap at any second.
Dean pulls back a bit and looks her in the eye, really looks her dead on. But it’s only a second before he takes a hand from her hip and slips it under the material of her shirt to curve his hand around her stomach, his palms cold and fingers wet. And he answers, with positive awe in his voice. “I want this.”
(via iamthemagicks)
iamthemagicks:
Dean struggles with the chain of the porch swing, but it’s tangled and rusted at the hooks attached to the awning. Stuck there for years, after the wood of the old swing wasted away from whether and never being sat in, not after Bobby’s wife Karen, had been killed. But Sam liked it, sitting out there to read, he knows Lisa would like it too.
They’re here in South Dakota for Easter; John having to pawn off Sam on Bobby for the long week. There was yelling about it, and Sam even cried a little bit. Sam doesn’t ask for much, just for Dad and Dean to be around once in a while, long enough for a big meal. So they could just be a damn family every now and then, a normal family.
So Bobby’s in the kitchen checking on the ham that’s been in the oven since last night and Sam is doing homework somewhere. Probably in the panic room, where there is no cell phone reception, and no one is going to bother him until dinner.
Dean is banned from the kitchen because he keeps stealing food. Bobby threatened him with a shotgun. They don’t do the holiday thing often; Thanksgiving is usually a dinner at a giant buffet, Christmas some ginger bread cookies and eggnog. It’s been less frequent as Sam and Dean have grown, but Sam craves it. To be a normal kid still. And hell if Dean won’t try and give it to him.
He gives the chains a final tug and they come loose. He leans on the door frame a minute, catching his breath, inhaling that wonderful scent of real food, not something in the microwave. Then there is fingers in his hair, a kiss on his neck.
“You’re hair is getting long,” Lisa says.
“Yeah.” He ruffles it. Hasn’t had much time for it; should have just asked Dad to shave it all down.
She twirls her fingers along some strands tickling his neck. He stifles a groan as she scratches his scalp. “Want me to cut it?”
“You know how?”
“Sure.”
In the second-floor bathroom, Lisa sets him on the closed lid of the toilet, drapes an old towel over his shoulders. “Not gonna give me a mullet are you?” He ask.
She shrugs but is smiling and starts trimming away at his bangs. But he leans forward, pressing the tip of his nose the the round of her belly, his lips against her navel through the thick material of her shirt. She’s gettin’ bigger every day it seems, only a few more weeks left.
She sighs, threading her fingers through the uncut strands of his hair. “I can’t fix it with you like this.”
“Leave it.”
He palms at her side where the baby kicks, presses his mouth to her again.
iamthemagicks:
“What are you doing here?” Lisa asks with a sigh, Dean lingering just outside her door. No swagger this time, no cheshire grin and wet, pink lips. He looks lost; like he has been driving for hours, only stopped here by chance, and accident.
She rubs her stomach, the material of her shirt starting stretch out over her expanding belly. Not a lot, not yet; but there’s a definite curve, obvious. Dean has been MIA since she told him four weeks ago, when she still looked normal. No evidence of their bendy weekend besides her need to vomit. She never expected to see him again. She gave him the out.
He clears his throat, looks down at the ground. Wet pavement, his sneakers kicking at some gravel into puddle. “I wanna be here,” he says. Sounds lost too, his voice empty of that confidence he generally oozes.
Another sigh and she rubs her temples; she’s been getting migraines lately, and craving Cheetos at all hours of the night. “I don’t need anything from you, Dean,” she says and it looks like he’s hurt by it. “I mean…” she clarifies. “I don’t want you sticking around because of some silly moral obligation.” She stands proud as she folds her arms. Her mother did it basically alone, so can she.
“No.” He steps over the threshold, just into the apartment, encompassing almost all of her personal space. The smell of him is enough to make her knees go weak, to make the space between her legs ache for him. Leather and gun powder. Cologne and rain. She thinks she could cry, with Dean Winchester on her porch, looking as sad as he does, as lonely.
He puts his hands on her hips and pulls her in, tight. Like he’ll never let go, like she’s the only thing keeping him attached to this earth. He breathes in her hair, reaches around to rest his hands at the small over back. “I wanna be here,” he whispers, like it’s a secret.
Loosely, she rests her arms over his shoulders, lets him hold her tight. “If that’s what you want,” she manages to say, though she wants to laugh and cry at the same time, be giddy and wonderful. But she keeps calm, because this could snap at any second.
Dean pulls back a bit and looks her in the eye, really looks her dead on. But it’s only a second before he takes a hand from her hip and slips it under the material of her shirt to curve his hand around her stomach, his palms cold and fingers wet. And he answers, with positive awe in his voice. “I want this.”
Meet the Winchesters
Dean/Lisa
PG, utter fluff.
Summary: Lisa makes Dean take her to Bobby’s for Christmas so she can meet the family.
-
“This is stupid,” Dean announced for the tenth time on their trip. He grips the wheel tight as they pull into the entrance of Bobby’s salvage yard.
“It is not,” Lisa answers shifting in the seat. She’s kicked off her shoes and has her feet pressed against the dashboard. “Stop saying that.”
“We don’t gotta do this, Lise,” he groans and slows down the car. He doesn’t do this meet the parents bullshit. Parents never liked him anyway, so what was the point?
“I mean, this is you and me, and the kid.” He reaches over to rub at her stomach which he can’t really feel through her two layers of shirts. She’s not really showing right now anyway. Just a tiny bump he notices when she’s naked.
She sighs and lolls her head on the seat. “I want to know the family that my baby is coming from. Don’t act like such a child.”
He grunts and keeps the car going up to the front. Dad isn’t here yet; good. Just Bobby and Sam.
Lisa’s been asking for weeks to meet his beloved little brother, his father. After he proved to her that ghosts and demons were real, she was even more adamant about it. He’d all ready showed her pictures and she awed at how beautiful his mother was.
Dean stops the car, parking behind Bobby’s rusted bucket of a buick. “I’m not nervous, why are you?” she asks, leaning down to the floor to pick up her shoes.
“Because…” he rubs the back of his neck. He all ready knows he’s not good enough for her, never will be. And he’s surprised she hasn’t kicked him to the curb after the whole demon incident (but hey, she demanded proof). Dad still isn’t happy about the situation, that Dean takes off almost every time after a hunt, to go see her. “I just…dont’ think we have to do this to you know, be together or whatever.”
She gives an almost sympathetic smile before leaning over to kiss him, holding his chin. “It’s Christmas, Dean. You’re supposed to be with your family.”
That’s part of the reason, he’s figured. Her parents are off on a cruise this year, leaving Lisa and her sister Haylie to fend for themselves. Haylie has her own boyfriend upstate somewhere. A log cabin, some roast or whatever. She doesn’t want to be alone either.
She gets out of the car and reaches into the back to grab her little suitcase. The one with the long handle and wheels. It catches a bit as she walks on without him across the gravel to the front door. Dean watches a second, expecting her to turn around and run at the the run-down site that he sometimes calls home. She’s half-way up the stairs when she pauses and leans forward a bit, a hand on the rickety railing, and looks like she’s gonna throw up.
Dean gets out of the car without his duffel and trots up to her, putting a hand on her back. “You okay?”
She sighs. “Yeah, just a little pain, it’s fine.”
“You’re sure?”
“Promise.” She keeps walking. Dean follows her up and to the front door. They don’t knock, Dean opens the door for her.
Read More
So Dad’s not exactly thrilled when Dean tells him that he got some girl pregnant. John’s words, not Dean’s. Sam sits at the rickety table that sits in the kitchenette of the house they’ve been renting for two months. He’s pretending to be doing his homework, but Dean knows his little brother is eavesdropping. Of course John’s pretty loud, and they’re only three feet from each other.
Dean stands there, motionless, just listening to his father rant, trying to avoid that gaze of disappointment. Not that Dean’s not used to it, but right now it feels more like a kick to the nuts rather than a kick to the stomach.
“Jesus Dean, I know you got an appetite, but fuck, I taught you to be careful.” John runs his hands through his hair.
“I was…” But there were a few times they didn’t. There was too much need, want. Most of the time he pulled out. Lisa was something else though. He had to be a part of her, in her. Dean shrugs. “I mean…sometimes this happens. I guess…” still can’t look up.
John snorts and shakes his head. “You even sure it’s yours? I mean that kinda girl-“
Dean snaps to attention, his shoulders squared, his spine straight. “She ain’t that kinda girl. She’s…she’s a good person. She said she didn’t even need me.”
“Well, good.”
“No, Dad. I wanna…” he loses his confidence real fast when John steps forward in his space. His father’s never hit him, but yeah, Dean was careless. “I gotta take responsibility, right?”
His father sighs and backs away. Heavy steps, heavy breaths. “Does she know what you do?”
“No, sir.”
“You going to tell her?”
He shrugs. “Not unless I have to.”
John nods. “Fine,” he decides quickly. “Fine. You’re right. But you got responsibilities to this family first. Sammy and me. And we got a job to do.”
He swallows. “Yes, sir.”
John grabs the keys from a bowl by the front door. “I’m gonna go to Terry’s, see Father Jim.” He walks out the door without another word and slams it on his way out.
All the clenched muscles in Dean’s body ease; he lets out his held breath, finally blinks again. He heads back to bedroom that he and Sam share, and Sam follows.
“Don’t listen to him,” Sam says. Dean starts packing a duffle.
“About what?”
“Having to be here first. I can take care of myself.”
He pauses to look at his brother in the doorway. Almost as tall as he is now, probably be even taller in a year. “I…we got a job, Sammy.”
“And you got a kid.” Sam tosses Dean a wad of rolled up cash.
“What’s this?”
“Enough gas to get you there and back and maybe get her flowers or something.”
“Sam-“
“Just do it.” He runs his hands through his floppy hair. “Dad will be back in like an hour.”
Dean’s spine stiffens at the sound of the apartment door unlocking. He sits up and Lisa walks through the door. “Hey,” she says. He can tell that she is surprised he’s still there, just where she left him, like he promised.
“Hey,” he says back, setting his feet on the floor. “How was work?”
“Good.” She takes off her sneakers at the door, drops her bag. “Sorry I had to leave, but they really needed the coverage.”
He smirks and shakes his head. “Naw, it’s fine.”
“Find a way to entertain yourself?”
He shrugged. “TV.”
“Ah.” She smiles and pulls off her jacket. She’s wearing her yoga gear; stretchy pants and a loose t-shirt. No bra though, her tits perky and pressed against the material. She crosses the room and sits in his lap, like she belongs there. “Why don’t we order a pizza?” He makes a face and she laughs. He had finished the pizza they ordered two days ago. “Chinese?”
“Yeah, sounds good.”
He nibbles on her neck as she orders, licks the sweat right off her collar bone. She clicks off the phone and lowers her mouth to his. “Twenty minutes or less,” she purrs, rolling her hips. He’s hard all ready, the pressure on his dick fucking wonderful. “Think you can beat that?”
A chuckle from his throat and he attempts to flip them, but she weighs him down. “Ah, ah.” She bites his ear, hard, and he bucks up with a soft yelp. “Gonna do what I say, big boy?”
His mouth curves at the thought of this game. “Yes ma’am.”
“Good.” Another roll of the hips and she leans back a bit. “Take off your shirt.”
Dean struggles with the chain of the porch swing, but it’s tangled and rusted at the hooks attached to the awning. Stuck there for years, after the wood of the old swing wasted away from whether and never being sat in, not after Bobby’s wife Karen, had been killed. But Sam liked it, sitting out there to read, he knows Lisa would like it too.
They’re here in South Dakota for Easter; John having to pawn off Sam on Bobby for the long week. There was yelling about it, and Sam even cried a little bit. Sam doesn’t ask for much, just for Dad and Dean to be around once in a while, long enough for a big meal. So they could just be a damn family every now and then, a normal family.
So Bobby’s in the kitchen checking on the ham that’s been in the oven since last night and Sam is doing homework somewhere. Probably in the panic room, where there is no cell phone reception, and no one is going to bother him until dinner.
Dean is banned from the kitchen because he keeps stealing food. Bobby threatened him with a shotgun. They don’t do the holiday thing often; Thanksgiving is usually a dinner at a giant buffet, Christmas some ginger bread cookies and eggnog. It’s been less frequent as Sam and Dean have grown, but Sam craves it. To be a normal kid still. And hell if Dean won’t try and give it to him.
He gives the chains a final tug and they come loose. He leans on the door frame a minute, catching his breath, inhaling that wonderful scent of real food, not something in the microwave. Then there is fingers in his hair, a kiss on his neck.
“You’re hair is getting long,” Lisa says.
“Yeah.” He ruffles it. Hasn’t had much time for it; should have just asked Dad to shave it all down.
She twirls her fingers along some strands tickling his neck. He stifles a groan as she scratches his scalp. “Want me to cut it?”
“You know how?”
“Sure.”
In the second-floor bathroom, Lisa sets him on the closed lid of the toilet, drapes an old towel over his shoulders. “Not gonna give me a mullet are you?” He ask.
She shrugs but is smiling and starts trimming away at his bangs. But he leans forward, pressing the tip of his nose the the round of her belly, his lips against her navel through the thick material of her shirt. She’s gettin’ bigger every day it seems, only a few more weeks left.
She sighs, threading her fingers through the uncut strands of his hair. “I can’t fix it with you like this.”
“Leave it.”
He palms at her side where the baby kicks, presses his mouth to her again.
“What are you doing here?” Lisa asks with a sigh, Dean lingering just outside her door. No swagger this time, no cheshire grin and wet, pink lips. He looks lost; like he has been driving for hours, only stopped here by chance, and accident.
She rubs her stomach, the material of her shirt starting stretch out over her expanding belly. Not a lot, not yet; but there’s a definite curve, obvious. Dean has been MIA since she told him four weeks ago, when she still looked normal. No evidence of their bendy weekend besides her need to vomit. She never expected to see him again. She gave him the out.
He clears his throat, looks down at the ground. Wet pavement, his sneakers kicking at some gravel into puddle. “I wanna be here,” he says. Sounds lost too, his voice empty of that confidence he generally oozes.
Another sigh and she rubs her temples; she’s been getting migraines lately, and craving Cheetos at all hours of the night. “I don’t need anything from you, Dean,” she says and it looks like he’s hurt by it. “I mean…” she clarifies. “I don’t want you sticking around because of some silly moral obligation.” She stands proud as she folds her arms. Her mother did it basically alone, so can she.
“No.” He steps over the threshold, just into the apartment, encompassing almost all of her personal space. The smell of him is enough to make her knees go weak, to make the space between her legs ache for him. Leather and gun powder. Cologne and rain. She thinks she could cry, with Dean Winchester on her porch, looking as sad as he does, as lonely.
He puts his hands on her hips and pulls her in, tight. Like he’ll never let go, like she’s the only thing keeping him attached to this earth. He breathes in her hair, reaches around to rest his hands at the small over back. “I wanna be here,” he whispers, like it’s a secret.
Loosely, she rests her arms over his shoulders, lets him hold her tight. “If that’s what you want,” she manages to say, though she wants to laugh and cry at the same time, be giddy and wonderful. But she keeps calm, because this could snap at any second.
Dean pulls back a bit and looks her in the eye, really looks her dead on. But it’s only a second before he takes a hand from her hip and slips it under the material of her shirt to curve his hand around her stomach, his palms cold and fingers wet. And he answers, with positive awe in his voice. “I want this.”
Dean’s just finished getting dressed when the phone rings. He grabs it, answers with a deep voice, “Winchester.”
“Dean?” It’s Sam.
“Sammy?” He sits up, ready to bolt out the door. “What’s wrong?”
He sighs. “Nothing. I was just…I’m bored I wanted to see how it was going.”
“You’re bored?”
“Dad’s off…some where. We got the thing and I’m just sitting here in the motel.”
Dean breathes relief and eases back on the bed. Lisa is in the shower, the door to the bathroom open a crack. He hears her singing, smells her fruity body wash.
“So, where are you?” Sam asks.
“Huh?”
“Five states, five days,” Sam mocks. “You started in Pennsylvania right?”
“Yeah.”
“How many girls?” Sam laughs.
Dean smirks. “Gentleman don’t kiss and tell, Sammy.”
In the background, on Sam’s end, Dean hears John come through the door and bark orders. “Gotta go,” Sam says. “See you in a few days.”
“Yeah.”
-click-
Dean holds the phone against his mouth. All the thinking he’s been doing, of staying here with her, or at the very least, coming back every few weeks, any time there was a break. Be in her bed, her arms. But Sam can’t even last three days with John’s company, how can Dean just leave him there?
“Dean?” Lisa calls. The shower still runs.
“Yeah?” He gets out of bed and walks to her. She pokes her head outside of the shower; her eyes travel from his bare feet to his eyes.
She smiles sweetly. “Take off your clothes.”
Another smirk. “Yes ma’am.”
Like, he knows about Ben, Ben is his son, and Dean does return to her every chance he gets. Yeah, he still sometimes sleeps with other women, but Lisa doesn’t ask and he doesn’t tell, because at the end of the hunt, he comes home to her.
Because I found this Jensen Ackles Fansite and I’m looking through all the Dark Angel caps and keep getting all these ficlet inspirations. Also I kind of want to start watching the show, just based on him. Is the show actually enjoyable?
Ben Braeden/Team Free Will 2.0 Fics
Dean and Lisa, the Bendy Weekend.
9091:
“I’m always all right.”
“Dean!” Lisa gasps coming into the locker room. She hasn’t seen him in four months. Two postcards, a text message. She was starting to let go. It was a great weekend…mostly. “What…what are you doing here?”
“Told ya I’d be back.” He smirks and steps forward, pressing against her. Instinctively she runs her hand up his neck, scratches a bit to clutch his hair. It’s a little longer. He smells the same; gun oil and leather that goes straight between her legs. She mmms into his mouth and he grabs her ass.
She giggles. “Whoa, cowboy.” She presses kisses along his chin. “I work here.”
“Exactly.” He waggles his eyebrows at her. “Wouldn’t that be fun? Anyone could walk in.” His mouth moves down her neck, over her ear and Jesus she wants him to fuck her right now, and that’s what he’s thinking too, pushing her against the locker. She can feel how hard he is, just under his jeans.
“I really need the money…” she breathes. Really can’t afford to be fired now. “But.” She touches his wet mouth and he kisses her fingers. Fuck. “I’ve got some chocolate syrup at home, and I am starving.”
He squeezes her ass so hard, she thinks that he’s just going to ignore her plea and fuck her right now. She knows that he can feel she’s gone commando.
“Baby,” he growls. “Fuck I missed you.”
“Me too.” Another kiss, some more groping. She laughs and pushes him away. She grabs her bags and ushers her out of the locker room. As they walk down the sidewalk he steps close, putting an arm around her shoulder and bending down to kiss the top of her head.
“Really missed you, Lis,” he confesses. His hand snakes down to grab hers. Her heart flutters and she does her breathing and squeezes his hand. He smiles,wide and toothy, childlike.
Dean clasps his hands around hers, looking down at their entwined fingers. She’s still pressed against the wall of the pool, his hips pressed on hers. Those legs, God her legs, curled at his waist. A small smile graces his face. He feels giddy and stupid.
“What?” she asks softly. In between the sex, the dirty things she says, the way she bends his body in ways he didn’t think possible, when they breathe and move as one entity, she’s quite and loving. Sweet.
“I don’t wanna go,” he confesses, then looks up at her. Her smile is like the rain and her eyes are the sun.
“You don’t have to.” She perks up, tilts her head. “Really. I’m…I’m having so much fun.”
He thinks of Dad and Sammy. Of the people he’s supposed to help, the job he’s gotta do. “Me too,” he says back. “But…I gotta.”
This was only supposed to be one night. Not a damn four-day weekend. He wants to keep her, wants to stay with her so damn bad. He’d give it all up to wake up in that bed in the loft style apartment. Smell bread every morning, watch her doing her yoga before class. Hell be there when she got home from class. He could get a job, a real job. At a mechanic, at a bar.
But what would Sam do? How would Dad be able to work without him.
Lisa shivers and pulls Dean closer. “Freezing,” she whispers.
“Yeah.” He puts his head on her chin, inhales the heaviness of chlorine mixed with sweat and the pink-flowery scent of her shampoo. He holds her tight, arms around her waist, their bodies wet and slick and fitting perfect together. In this crummy pool, under moonlight, fuck probably with people watching, but he doesn’t care and he doesn’t think she does either.
(Source: 9091)
“Ain’t you a little young to be in here?” Dean smirks and sits close to her. Their knees touch.
She laughs, bright and throws her head back. He traces the shape of her neck, the thick vein that pulses with her heart beating. Then she leans in real close and whispers. “Aren’t you?”
He purses his lips with a nod and sips his beer. “Shh…don’t wanna blow our cover.”
“Of course not.” She winks and sips her drink. Rubs her knee against his.
He looks her over again, from her legs that go on ‘til Sunday, her slim waist, curved. Her tits pressing so tight against the pink of her tank. He swallows and takes a long, long sip from his beer.
“So.” She sets down her bottle and rungs a finger along the seam in his jeans, along his inner thigh. “Aren’t you going to ask my name?”
He gulps. “I’m Dean,” he says. “What’s your name?”
She laughs again. “Lisa. Come on.” She squeezes his thigh. “I have real drinks back at my place.”
(Source: 9091)