Description: Dean has a bad experience and confides in Y/N.
Pairing: Dean x Reader
Warnings: angst, mentions of Dean being taken advantage of/raped (proceed with caution), a little bit of fluff
A/n: alright, so I know this one is kinda fucked up, but I really wanted to explore the possibility of Dean being taken advantage of. He’s seen as a really strong character, but seeing him in this light proves that no matter who you are, or what gender you are, something like that can happen, and has happened. Men can be victims, too. Don’t forget it.
I walked into the kitchen to find Sam sitting at the table.
“Hey, Sammy, do you have any idea what’s going on with Dean?”
He shrugged. “No. He hasn’t really done much at all in the last week.”
“I know. I tried to talk to him but he won’t open the door. I’m getting worried.”
A great southern expression we haven’t really heard Bitty use is ill. To be in a bad mood or irritable. Especially for no particular reason.
So Bitty is baking up a storm in the Haus kitchen and Jack skypes him for their nightly talk. He sees the chaos of the kitchen, with pies everywhere and asks if Bitty is ok? Bitty of course replies that he is just ill today and needs to bake it out of his system. Jack, being unfamiliar with this southernism, is concerned about his boyfriends health and wellbeing and gently suggests maybe he should be resting instead? Or taking some medicine? Is there anything he can do?
It takes Bitty a minute to realize what Jack is talking about and he turns around in the middle of taking yet another pie out of the oven with his first smile of the day on his face.
I could not pass up writing something and including that line. Thanks, Colin! So here you have some Thanksgiving fluff. Read on ff.net, instead.
“Hey wanna swing by the store with me? David forgot parsley and mushrooms for Thanksgiving dinner and my mom is having a cow.” Emma asked.
Killian looked at her confused. “Thanks who?”
“Oh, Thanksgiving. When the first settlers came to America they had a feast with the Native Americans here in autumn and eventually it became a holiday. That’s the short version of it, I’m sure you could ask Henry for the more detailed story, they cover it every year in school. But it’s kind of evolved to a holiday that you spend with family and eat lot of foods.” Emma explained.
“Sounds…interesting?” Killian offered.
“It is. There’s a joke about spending hours and hours prepping and cooking food and then the entire meal is over in just a few minutes, but it’s really the truth. My mom is making a ton of food for four adults, a teenager and a baby, but she refuses to make less. You umm, might want to find some less tight pants for the holiday though. It’s all about over-indulging.”
“You think my pants are too tight love?” He asked grinning and twisting to look around at his back side. “I thought they fit quite well. At least, from the admiring glances you think I don’t see.”
Her cheeks flushed. “I do not check out your ass, pirate! But hey if you wanna stuff yourself with food and then be all uncomfortable in tight pants, go for it buddy.”
He caught her wrist, pulling her in close so his lips just grazed her ear, grinning at the shudder she failed to hide. “Whatever you need to tell yourself love. But perhaps we should go to the store as not to keep your mother waiting any longer?”
“Let’s go.” She growled.
“Oh thank you so much!” Mary-Margaret exclaimed as Emma and Killian entered the loft, grocery bags swinging from Killian’s hook.
“I also bought some wine, I thought we might need it.” Emma said.
From across the room her father snorted until his wife fixed him with a glare.
“Is there anything we can assist you with?” Killian asked, ignoring the horrified look from Emma.
Mary-Margaret paused for a moment, eyes glancing around the kitchen. Food was in various states of prep and cooking. “Yes, why don’t the two of you make the apple pie.”
“I, I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” Emma said, looking fearfully at the stack of apples.
“Oh come on love, it can’t be that difficult.” Killian chided her.
“He’s right Emma. I know this family has…issues with apples, but a simple apple pie recipe I’ve made since I was a child is nothing to fear. It’s my mothers own recipe if that makes you feel better.” Mary-Margaret explained.
“Fine.” Emma said sullenly. She was really not interested in subjecting Killian to her atrocious culinary skills just yet. The longer she spent in Storybrooke the more her fake cooking memories from New York slipped away. At this point she wasn’t convinced she could make toast with the man watching her.
“Emma you’ll need to peel, core and thinly slice those apples. Killian, the dough is in the fridge but it needs to be rolled out. You can assist Emma with the apples first though.” Mary-Margaret said with a smile.
Surprisingly, the apple peeling, coring and slicing went rather easily with no mishaps. Killian speared each apple in the core to hold it steady as she sliced each into quarters then thinner slices. Once she had sat down the knife, his lips grazed her ear. “I knew you could do it.”
She rolled her eyes at him, brushing off the compliment. “Don’t these need sugar or something?” She asked her mother.
“Yes, ½ cup of white sugar, 1 tablespoon cinnamon and a splash of vanilla. Oh and a squeeze of lemon juice to keep them from browning.” Her mother replied. “Then put them in a colander over the sink to let them drain. If they’re too wet the pie crust will get soggy.”
“Come on pirate, now you need to do your part.” Emma pulled him over to the fridge and handed him a plastic wrapped disc of dough.
“Flour that!” Her mother reminded her.
Counter lightly floured, he unwrapped the dough and expertly took the rolling pin from Emma and began to roll the dough out in a circular fashion.
“Really?” Emma asked.
“While the memory is vague, love, I do remember my mother making pies. Liam and I were always tasked with rolling out the dough.” He explained.
Mary-Margaret walked by, nodding her approval at the dough and apples before placing a pie pan in front of them. “Crimp the edges, add the apples to the top. I already have strips of dough on the other side of the counter to use as a lattice crust.”
Emma watched in awe as Killian deftly placed the dough over the pie plate and expertly crimped the edges. “Are you doing the lattice top too?” She asked him.
“No, we’re doing it together.” He said, motioning for her to add the apples to the pie.
Ten minutes later a pie that Emma thought was store quality sat on the counter. Her mother grinned. “Beautiful pie! Now you’ll both be here at twelve tomorrow, yes?”
“Only if I can get back to the station and get some work done.” Emma teased her mother.
“Bye then!” Her mother waved them out the door.
“You weren’t kidding.” He said quietly to Emma. “That is enough food for a small army.”
“Told ya. Regretting your pants?” She teased him.
“Not at the moment, but perhaps if I do indulge you can assist me in removing them.” He winked, grinning at how quickly her face flushed.
“Be good!” She hissed.
“Always.” He replied taking her arm to pull her over to the wide array of foods sitting on the table. “Care to explain what all of this is?”
She began pointing. “That’s stuffing, it’s bread, celery, onions, seasonings, a very classic dish. You know what mashed potatoes and gravy are. That’s cranberry sauce. It’s kind of tart but a classic that you have to have at the table. That’s sweet potato casserole, it’s sweet potatoes topped with brown sugar and marshmallows so it’s really sweet. Almost dessert like. The stuff in the orange dish is green bean casserole. It’s green beans and mushrooms in a sauce with a crunchy onion topping. Pumpkin pie and then the apple pie we made. The turkey is in the oven.”
Mary-Margaret walked up to them with a large tray of nuts, cheeses and pickles. “Appetizers. I don’t intended to let you get hungry. The turkey still needs another thirty minutes in the oven plus time to rest before I can carve it.”
About an hour later everyone was seated at the dining room table, plates overflowing with food.
“We’re going to say what we’re thankful for, right?” Henry asked.
“Of course!” His grandmother replied. “Why don’t you go first.”
“I’m thankful for being back in Storybrooke with all of my memories, my family and that my x-box finally arrived.” Henry said.
David was next. “I’m thankful that we all get to spend this holiday together, finally.”
Mary-Margaret went next. “I’m thankful for both of my amazing children.”
“Umm, I’m thankful for just being here with all of you. This year has been the craziest of them all and I’m just happy we’re all together.” She said, turning to look at Killian.
His eyes met hers briefly before looking to her parents. “I’m thankful that you have invited me to join you for this meal.” Turning to Henry he said, “That I have acquired such a great sailing mate.” Looking back at Emma, he said softly, “You. Simply you.”
Emma felt her cheeks flame having no idea how to respond to him.
“Let’s eat, I’m starving!” Henry announced, saving her from the moment.
Hours later, the plates had been cleared, leftovers put away and only the desserts remained. Emma was sitting next to Killian on the couch, his arm around her, her head resting on his chest. She smiled to herself, remembering the last time they were in this position. “This is even kinda nice when I’m not freezing.” She joked.
She felt his chest shake gently with a laugh. “Perhaps we could try it more often.”
“Yeah.” She said, lacing her fingers with his.
“Thank you for showing me the traditions of this holiday, love.” He said brushing a kiss to her temple.