Research

Research

Pairing: Sam Winchester x reader

Word Count: 701

Summary: Sam and the reader are doing research, and Dean plays matchmaker.

Warnings: N/A

A/N: Happy birthday to our one and only Sam Winchester, who turns 33 today <3

“It’s just another haunting,” you announced as you relaxed against the back of the couch. You were sitting cross-legged with your laptop on your lap, leaning heavily against Sam’s shoulder. Sam was sitting next to you and you had taken it upon yourself to make him into a gigantic human pillow. You yawned and turned to stifle it in the flannel material of Sam’s red plaid shirt, and then you reached out and rubbed your eyes.

“I’ve been sitting here for nearly five hours, I’m beat,” you said, resting your head on Sam’s shoulder.

“You did a great job though,” Sam said. The praise got to you and you felt a blush rise to your cheeks. You averted your gaze from the laptop screen, on which it was still fixed, and by pure luck it met Dean’s from across the room. Dean was sitting on a chair near the table, eating his pie and taking a break from the endless hours of research, but he was looking at you and Sam with a bright, teasing, spark in his eyes.

“Yeah, she did great, didn’t she, Sammy?” Dean asked his brother with a small smirk. You found the whole situation weird as Sam had been the first to congratulate you on a job well done.

Had you been looking up, you would have seen a blush colour Sam’s cheeks as he chanced a glance at you before glaring at his brother, a scowl on his features.

“Yes,” he grumbled, returning to his laptop and his own extra research.

It was half an hour later that you got up to stretch your sore limbs and grab a bite of something from the small kitchen of the motel room. Dean and Sam were both sitting in their chair and place on the sofa respectively, but the older Winchester immediately leaned forward and directed a smirk at his brother, who had shifted a little on the couch.

“Missing the cuddles already?” he asked teasingly, and this time you actually saw Sam blush and tell his brother to shut up. Suddenly feeling more eager to finish your toast and head back to Sam, you ate the rest of your dinner in almost one bit before heading back to Sam, curling up on the couch ever so slightly closer to him than you had been before.

Dean’s smirk could only widen at that. “I guess someone else is missing the cuddles too,” he said, the teasing glint still in his eyes as he chuckled softly.

The blush that coloured your cheeks was dark, and it only darkened when you leaned your head down to hide your face in Sam’s shirt.

“Over-eager, are we?” Dean’s voice sounded again, and the tease in it wasn’t helping at all.

“What’s your problem, Dean?” Sam finally managed to ask, trying and failing to fight down a blush.

“I don’t have a problem,” Dean quickly replied. “But you two obviously do. You’re so blind you just refuse to see what’s in front of you,” he said, motioning at both you and Sam. “You like each other. A lot. You’re welcome,” with that, he got up and stalked out of the motel room while you were just left staring incredulously at Sam.

Sam was the one courageous enough to speak up. “Is what Dean said true?” he asked cautiously, and you could only nod because yes, what Dean had said was one hundred percent correct.

“You?” you asked back in a small voice, scared of what the answer might be.

But you got no reply, at least none in spoken words. Instead, he leaned closer to you, cupping your cheek with his hand as he pulled you in for a slow, gentle kiss that left your lips tingling and your stomach tightening with excitement and nerves. You ran your hand through his hair and pushed him back so that he was on the back on the couch and you were kissing him with kisses that because increasingly rough.

Your breath was taken away as his hands ran up and down your sides and his lips continued to attack yours. It was magical. It was perfect. It was exactly what you’d always dreamed of.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHRIS EVANS!

Steven Grant Rogers was born on July 4, 1918, to Sarah and Joseph Rogers in Brooklyn, New York City.

Anywhere you go, let me go too; That’s all I ask of you

For Orlando. For my home. For peace.

Wherever You Are

Pairing: Tenth Doctor x reader

Word Count: 604

Summary: The Doctor is acting unusually shy, and it’s up to the reader to find out why.

Warnings: Fluff

A/N: Happy birthday to David Tennant! <3

The Doctor is a lot of things, but shy is not one of them. He’s brave and intelligent and daring, but under no circumstances is he shy, unless he’s acting. He does that often to get you both out of trouble, but timid is not one of the words one would use to describe him, and they would be absolutely right not to use it.

Thing is, right now, he’s very obviously shy. He’s fiddling with his Sonic Screwdriver and occasionally muttering to himself and avoiding your inquisitive and curious gaze like the plague.

Still, that doesn’t stop you from staring at him.

Well, to be precise, staring at his suit-jacket-covered back as he tinkers around with stuff in the control room of the TARDIS, refusing to let you see his face -which is flushed red by now, and you have no idea why- and not uttering a word or making a sound.

All in all, his behaviour is very un-Doctor-like, and it shows no sign of changing anytime soon unless you do something.

“Doctor,” you call out at some point, and he is so startled by the sound of your voice that he turns around, dropping his Sonic Screwdriver as he does so.

“Y-yes, Y/n?” The Doctor stutters, which also is very weird for him.

You decide to tackle the problem head-on and not sugarcoat things.

“Is everything okay?” you ask him, an expression of concern on your face, the worry probably evident in your voice too.

“Um…” he falters, thinking of what to say next. “Why do you ask that?” he finally decides on answering your question with an inquiry of his own.

Sighing and rolling your eyes, you smile at him. “I’m glad you asked that, actually, because you have given me lots of reasons to think that you are not okay. First off, you’ve been ignoring me for the biggest part of the day without an explanation, and you’ve been acting nervous and… I think you were blushing at some point, too,” you explain, and his nervousness returns full force.

“Well… you’re right. I am a bit off today, but I have a very, very good reason for being like this,” he says, assuming a matter-of-fact tone and straightening up.

“I want to take you out on a date,” he states confidently, only a small hesitation in which he licks his lips betraying his nervousness.

“What do you say? Will it be a yes or a no?” he asks, seeming a bit like an impatiently expectant child.

You are taken aback by his unusual request, but it doesn’t seem bad to you and, well, if he really means it then that would explain why he was acting weirdly before.

“A date? What kind of a date?” you ask, just to clarify, because you can never be one hundred percent sure when it comes to the Doctor and the bizarre things he asks you to do. You, of course, want it to be the kind of date two people who like each other quite a lot go on, but, as you said, one can never be sure with the Doctor.

He blushes again.

“Well… I was thinking the more romantic kind of date, somewhere nice and cosy like, say, the Titanic before it sank or the Earth’s moon, or another planet entirely,” the Doctor suggests, and you can’t say no. You don’t want to, either. You want to say yes, yes, yes.

“Yes,” you finally reply, smiling at him. “Though doesn’t the Titanic sound a bit extreme? We might be tempted to save people if we make friends with them, and that would disturb the time stream, right?” you ask, and he nods, excited at the fact that you have learned the rules of time.

“You’re right. I wasn’t thinking properly. Where do you want to go?” he asks again, apparently very excited at the prospect of the date.

You chuckle and blush, rather excited yourself.

“Um… well, let’s just go wherever you want. The universe is huge, and you know it better than I do,” you say, and he nods.

“Right!” he says, walking up closer to you and pulling you into a hug.

“Of course!” he exclaims then, pulling back from the hug, but pressing his lips to yours in an excited kiss that sends tingles running through your body.

You can only stare at him as he runs around, pulling levers and pushing buttons, and soon the TARDIS is wheezing, signalling its departure.

“Where are we going?” you ask, smiling radiantly at him, glad to be met with the usual bright, a bit crazy, look in his eyes.

“To my favourite place in the entire universe,” he says with a grin.

“Where’s that?” you ask, and he pulls you closer to kiss you once again.

“Wherever you are.”