snort rescue

Perfect - Reggie X OC

[A/N: Despite what this title of this fic is called it is anything but perfect! So this was a first attempt at writing some fluffy Reggie fic, I also went for an OC rather than a reader because it’s kind of my preferred style. It isn’t fully inspired by Ed Sheeran’s - Perfect however I did listen to it a lot whilst writing this fic! Also guys its like 3:30 am, I need some sleep. Without further ado.]

Word Count: 1979

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You Look Good In My Shirt

Hey guys! I had a lot of fun writing this one. I got a new huge man henely to use as PJs and got this idea. I hope y’all enjoy it.  Also I really recommend sleeping in a huge man henley. SO COMFY. Happy Wednesday!

Not my gif, is probably never my gif, props, thanks, and credit to the gif maker.

Warnings: language, as always.

Originally posted by jlstreck

When you had first heard that you would have the tower to yourself for a few days, you were pretty excited for the alone time. Clint, Sam, and Thor were going home, Tony was taking Pepper on a romantic weekend, and the others were going on a mission, leaving you to hold down the fort.

But three days passed and you were ready for them to come back. The tower was freaky with no one in it and it was way too quiet without the bickering, the bets, and the strategy discussions you were so used to hearing.

You also had nightmares. Yours were nothing compared to Bucky’s, but they were still scary and being alone in the tower seemed to make them worse.

You and Bucky had bonded over your similarity and had quickly become friends who were ready to swoop in and save each other when the night became too much to handle.

But for the past few days, your knight in shining left arm wasn’t there to protect you. And it didn’t take you very long to go to extreme measures in order to feel safe again.

Your first night alone, your nightmares wouldn’t stop, leaving you covered in sweat and completely exhausted. Desperate for some relief, an idea popped into your head.

You ran across the hallway, now a terrifying act because of the bloody scenes your brain just provided you, and opened the door to Bucky’s empty bedroom. His scent floating in the room immediately calmed you, reinforcing your brilliant idea.

You tore open the drawer of his dresser and pulled out the first shirt your fingers touched. You swiftly pulled it on over the pajama shirt you were already wearing and hustled back to your room after closing Bucky’s door behind you.

You left your beside lamp on and tucked yourself into bed. Only when you were safely under the covers did you feel the scent on his shirt swim around your body.

Its long sleeves were baggy around your arms and the shirt was so long the hem of it touched the middle of your thighs. You wrapped your limbs around the pillow next to you and nuzzled your face into your shoulder so you would smell the shirt with every inhale you took. It was like having him there.

Needless to say, you slept very well for the rest of the night. And the night after that.

By the third night, you just accepted the blue long sleeved Henley as your new pajama shirt.

That night, you decided to watch your favorite movie. No one on the team liked it, so you never got to watch it on movie nights. With no one else in the tower, now was the perfect time to indulge in a rom com.

Clad in your new PJ’s, you plopped down on the couch and right as the opening credits began to roll, you heard a familiar voice saying “Oh no. Not this one again.”

You spun around to see Tony peeking his head into the room, clearly refreshed from his romantic, relaxing weekend.

You watched the rest of the team file in behind him, giving you waves and hellos before heading to their bedrooms. Steve and Bucky did not head to their rooms right away, however.

“Oh, leave her alone to watch her movie, Tony.” Steve came to your rescue.

Tony snorted out a “Good night” and followed the others up to his room.

Steve and Bucky walked into the kitchen and as Steve opened the fridge he asked you, “So, (Y/N), how was your weekend alone?”

“It was fine. Very quiet.”

“Yeah I bet” He laughed after chugging down a glass of orange juice. He continued, “Well, I’m gonna head upstairs. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

You watched him walk out of the room until your eyes met Bucky’s. He was staring at you and after a few seconds of silence you asked, “What?”

“Is that my shirt?”

Shit, you thought.

“No.” You lied.


You nodded your head.

“Because it looks like my shirt.”

You were silent. How creepy were you, stealing his shirt and wearing it around the tower while he was gone? You hadn’t really thought about it until now.

He walked over to where you were sitting on the arm of the couch. “And it smells like my shirt.”

Your eyes fell to your shoes. “It’s your shirt” you broke. “I was having nightmares and wearing it helped and- I, I’m sorry, I swear, I’ll wash it and give it back tomorrow.” The words were flying out of your mouth, you were surprised he understood any of it.

“(Y/N), it’s okay! I’m just teasing ya, doll.” When you finally had the courage to look up at him you saw him laughing at you.

“I’m just surprised you didn’t take the red one.” He knew it was your favorite color.

You laughed and fell back onto the couch. Looking at him standing above you, you said “Wanna watch this with me?”

“Yeah, sure.” He walked around the couch and sat beside you, lifting your head to place it on his lap.

The next morning after you ate breakfast, you gathered your laundry together, including the borrowed shirt, and walked downstairs to throw the load in the washer.

When you returned to your room a few minutes later, you saw a folded red Henley sitting on your bed with a note attached to it. You picked up the shirt, the touch of your fingers releasing a familiar smell, and read the note.

“You look good in my shirt.”



@usannika @dontstopwiththelyin @whatsbetterthanfantasy @the-renaissance @anitavalija @yesiamdeliciouslycaffeinated @annieluc @hip5t3r-m3rmaaidd-biitchhh @blueswallow5

Fic Prompts: Strange Magic Monday

“This is a terrible idea,” said Bog.

“Well why didn’t you say so before?” Dawn asked indignantly.

“I did say so before!” the smuggler groaned.

Princess Marianne glanced between the two and raised an eyebrow. “Well this is some rescue,” she snorted.

One More Shot

Description: The Reader doesn’t make a habit of drinking, but when she does she’s all in. Returning to the bunker, Team Free Will has to deal with a very drunk, very excited, and inordinately happy reader.

You don’t make a habit of drinking.

In fact, you almost always limit yourself to fruity cocktails and never hit the harder stuff. But tonight that isn’t the case.

You sit in the bunker’s library, bottle of tequila and a shot glass on the table in front of you. You never meant to have the whole bottle, really, you were going to take one shot and put everything away.

But when the hunt went badly, the boys went out, and the chair in the library was so damn comfy, you made the extremely intelligent and executive decision to keep drinking.

You’re staring at the empty bottle in annoyance when you hear the door to the bunker open. Vaguely you register that the boys are home, laughing, probably not much more sober than you are, and you have this unshakable burning desire to see Dean. Preferably shirtless, but you figure that’s optional.

“Deeeeaaaaan!” You call, drawing the word out a fair bit more than necessary. “Are you home?”

The voices grow louder and then Dean, Sam, and Cas step into the library. Sam is looking a little flushed but Dean and Cas seem no worse for wear. 

“Y/n?” Dean asks when he sees you. “What are you doing up? And how much tequila did you drink?”

You look down at the empty bottle in thought. “’S just one bottle, Dean,” you say with a giggle and a hiccup. “Hardly anything to get worked up over.” You slide out of your chair and stumble towards him. 

Sam chuckles a little at your inebriated state. “Apparently Y/n doesn’t hold her liquor very well.”

“Wanna know a secret?” You stage whisper to Dean, knocking into him and sending yourself reeling backward until he catches you.

“Uh, sure, why not?” he replies, trying to tug the bottle discreetly out of your hand.

You frown, losing your train of thought before shaking your head vehemently. “Nope nope nope, need more to drink first,” you decide. “Can’t tell until I get a drink.”

“How about water, Y/n?” Sam asks. 

“Water,” you say slowly, tapping the empty bottle against your cheek in thought. “Water sounds good. Sam, I want two shots of water.”

Cas’s brow furrows. “I did not realize water is considered to be alcoholic.”

Sam claps him on the shoulder. “It’s not, buddy, let’s go get her that water.”

“Hey, Dean,” you say when they’re gone. “You should take your shirt off.”

He snorts, rescuing the bottle from your viselike grip. “Not tonight, tipsy.”

“What if I said please?”

“Sorry, Y/n, but you don’t know what you’re asking,” he says with a shake of his head. “I don’t make moves on drunk women.”

You jab him in the chest, the movement slow and clumsy. “Yes you do. I know you do. I’ve seen you do it.”

He eyes you seriously. “I don’t make moves on drunk friends.”

You give a noncommittal grunt and catch him by the lapels of his jacket, attempting to undo the buttons on his shirt. He catches your hands and holds them flat against his chest.

“Do you feel that?” he asks, giving you pause.


“My heart beat." 

You leave your hands there for a moment before leaning forward and putting your head on his chest, listening closely. ”’S fast.“

His arm curves around you a little tighter and you feel him thread his fingers into your hair. "Exactly. Even when you’re drunk you make my heart pound.”

“Then take your shirt off,” you slur, not understanding what his problem is because your logic is flawless.

He sighs. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to take advantage of you. I want it to be real.” He holds you like that a little longer and when you slump bonelessly against him he realizes you’re asleep.

With a soft smile he scoops you up into his arms and carries you to your room, taking a moment to pull off your shoes before pulling the covers up around you. He stares at your sleeping form for a moment, stifling a laugh when you wrap your arms around your pillow and snuggle further into the blankets. He’s still standing there watching you when Sam comes into the room.

“She asleep?” Sam whispers.

“Yeah,” Dean nods. 

Sam lightly places a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin onto the bedside table. “Gonna have one hell of a hangover when she wakes up.”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees. Sam looks between the two of you for a moment, the corner of his mouth turning up into a knowing grin before silently backing out of the room and closing the door gently.

Dean takes a seat at your desk chair and stretches out a little. He wonders if you’re going to remember any of this in the morning.

And he knows he’s unwilling to let you forget.