#Chuck Stanford | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thepowerofswayze · 1 day

Text

demonstration

originally on ao3

based on this post by @fantasylandloser

pairing: art donaldson (challengers, 2024) / afab reader [gender not specified]

word count: 1.9K

warnings & info: 18+, afab reader, college era art AHHH, friends to lovers, first time together, mostly smut, oral sex (reader receiving), art is a munch obviously, reader wears a bra and skirt

summary: Catching Art up on your adventures gets hard when he doesn't get your explanations, or your hand puppet examples. Looks like you just have to show him exactly what went down. Based on this post that i could not stop thinking about. :))

☆

“Oh my god, fuck you!”

Art chuckled from where he stood, watching as you tossed the t-shirt he’d balled up and chucked at you back in his direction. It fell harmlessly to the floor a foot from him, and you glared at him as he snickered, picking it up and putting it away.

You were visiting Art, your close friend from high school, at Stanford. At that moment, you happened to be explaining how an interaction at a party at your university had gone a couple weeks before. Art never really liked listening to you talk about guys- hence, the shirt thrown directly at your face when you’d started describing this particular frat boy to him in detail- but he’d given up complaining a while ago. It was either that or be honest about why he hated it so much, and that was never going to happen. So, he tidied up his room as you explained the lead up, the flirting, the stumbling up the stairs. He fell back parallel to you on the bed as you got to the “good part”, his head by your legs and an arm over his eyes, like he could block out the imagery.

“Anyway, I didn’t think it was a big deal at first, like when we were flirting, but then I was on him, kinda like-” You took a moment to sit up straight, grinning as art groaned and propped himself up on his elbows to see you better. He watched you attempt to mimic the position with your hands, your left hand being the guy you were talking about, your right being you.

To Art, it just looked like you were mashing your hands together. He looked up from your hands to see you raising your eyebrows at him, as if to ask if he was following. “Huh?” He said.

With an exasperated sigh and without another thought, you pushed yourself up on your knees and waddled over to him, swinging a leg over his body and hovering just over his torso. For a moment, Art just watched, bewildered, as you steadied yourself with your hands on either side of his head. He let himself fall back from his elbows, hands sliding up your hips and settling at your waist, catching momentarily on the fabric of your skirt. His fingers peeked just under the hem of your shirt. Your skin tingled where he touched you.

“... Like this,” you said finally, blinking at him for a moment. “Well, uh.” You moved your hands to his chest instead, careful not to push too hard (though with the muscle he’d acquired since he’d started playing tennis for Stanford, you were sure it bothered him much less than you thought). “More like this, I guess.”

Art nodded, quickly licking his lips before asking, “Then?”

You tried not to look at his mouth. “What?”

“Then what did you do?”

It finally hit you then: what the fuck were you doing, climbing all over your best friend to ‘show him’ how you and some guy had been fooling around a couple weeks ago? That would just mean fooling around with him, obviously. That wasn’t really the plan.

But, it was too late for your common sense to kick in now. There you were, your hips hovering over his, not quite touching yet. You watched his eyes dart down to your lips, then drag slowly back up to meet your gaze. You couldn’t wait here and think about what you’d gotten yourself into and how this would change your friendship forever, though you got the feeling he’d let you take as long as you wanted.

Then what did you do?

You steeled yourself, biting your lip and watching his lips part slightly as he tracked the action with his eyes. Then you took that moment to fully sit on his lap.

You could feel his chest expand beneath your hands with his sharp inhale, his eyes snapping down to your hips, then back up to your face.

“This,” you murmured. You’d intended for it to come out cocky, maybe even a little seductive, but you could hear the breathlessness in your own voice. You were trying your best to ignore the growing pressure where your hips met his, though really, it was hopeless.

Art’s ears were burning a bright shade of pink. The urge to gently nip at them crossed your mind, just for a moment. He cleared his throat. “Then?” His voice was almost a whisper, chest rising and falling unevenly with his nervous breathing. The way he was looking at you, like he wasn’t sure you were real…

Fuck.

You leaned forward, trying not to let your breath stutter at the friction caused by the movement, until your lips hovered just over his. Then you kissed him.

You pressed your lips together gently, lingering for a moment before pulling back by centimeters. His lips chased yours, his grip on your waist tightening ever so slightly, and you were right back on him, lips falling open against each other. A soft sound escaped him as your hips shifted against his, along with a contented sigh from you. You repeated the motion, reveling in the low groan he let out, followed by your name murmured into your mouth.

Art’s lips were soft. And he’d shaved recently, you thought, hands cupping his face. The smooth skin of his cheeks was a stark contrast to the calloused hands he was now raking over your thighs, your skirt pushed up around your hips. You broke away from his lips, kissing down his neck instead, listening to the noises he made whenever you left a mark, whenever you ground against him just right. “Shit,” he gasped. “You’re- You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” You left another kiss just below his ear, before murmuring, “What is it?”

You could feel him all but shudder beneath you. “Fuck,” he groaned, then your name, before he looked you in the eye. You resisted the urge to dive right back in. “Let me eat you out,” he said, suddenly determined, though still flushed and dazed. “Please.”

All you could say was “What?” because, surely, this was one big dream.

“Please.” His hands hadn’t stilled, still rubbing shapes into your thighs, his hips rolling up against yours. “Can I?”

Your entire body was on fire. “Okay, yeah. Yes.”

He wasted no time flipping the both of you over, laying you against the bed so he could kiss down your neck. You barely had a moment to process, your hands moving to tangle in his hair, one of his knees slotted between your legs. He tugged at the bottom of your shirt, prompting you to lift yourself slightly and help him get it off. Your bra came next. “You, too,” you murmured, pulling at his shirt and making him chuckle. He reached behind his head, tugging it off in one swift movement and abandoning it beside your shirt and bra on his freshly cleared floor.

One of his hands slid down your chest from your shoulders, enclosing one of your breasts, the thumb circling your nipple. You bit your lip and sighed, pulling him down for another kiss by the back of his neck.

Art let his hand trail from your chest down the sides of your stomach, then slotted his palm right between your legs, over your underwear. You gasped quietly, pulling away long enough for him to return his lips to your neck, your shoulders, your collar bone. You murmured a couple choice words as he started to move his palm, rubbing at your clit through the fabric. The dulled sensation was almost enough on its own, paired with the kisses he left against your chest. “Arthur,” you whined, tugging at his hair. “Don’t fucking tease me.”

A grin overtook his face at the use of his name, his hands only slowing down, tracing torturously slow circles over you. Art only snickered at your glare before hooking his fingers into the waist band of your underwear, pulling it down and leaving you in your skirt pushed up to your waist. He watched you carefully as he slid further down so that his head was between your legs. His finger only traced a line from your clit to the bottom of your hole before whatever restraint he had was gone, and his mouth was on you.

Art’s tongue flattened against you, the warmth and friction making your head fall back as your eyes fell closed. “Fuck,” you moaned, hands threading into his hair as he answered with an equally obscene noise, muffled against you. ‘Hungry’ didn’t even begin to describe him, his mouth falling into a vague rhythm, eyes closed blissfully, whining into your pussy like it was doing him just as much good as it was you.

You thought about asking him to finger you while he worked, but his tongue prodded at your entrance and almost immediately, words escaped you. You brought one hand up to your face, clasping it over your mouth to muffle your moans, but Art stopped suddenly, watching your face. You whined your confusion, and he reached out to tug at your hand. “I wanna hear you. Let me.”

You blinked at him, chest heaving, and murmured “Alright,” before watching his head dive right back between your thighs, one hand still intertwined with yours. You had no choice but to moan unabashedly, your other hand busy pulling at his hair. His free hand was wrapped around the outside of your thigh, pushing it in towards his head, so tightly you were sure it couldn’t be comfortable. But there he was, continuing to move his tongue against you like there was nothing else he’d rather do, whining and whimpering like you were his first meal in weeks. “Fuck, Art,” you cried, barely keeping your eyes open so you could watch him move. “You’re gonna make me cum.”

He groaned at that, relenting the pressure of your thighs against his head just long enough to reply: “That’s it, baby, please.” If he had anything else to say, he couldn’t keep himself off of you long enough to finish, already pushing your thighs back against his head, nose bumping against your clit as he bobbed up and down.

It seemed like that was all it took, really. You squeezed his hand and his head embarrassingly tight as you felt yourself tip over the edge, head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut. Art kept up his rhythm as you cried out his name, your hips rolling against his face. He didn’t stop even when you’d come down, chest heaving, until you basically pushed him off, desperate for a moment of relief.

He kept a hand on your thigh, the other untangling from yours to push his blonde hair out of his eyes and look at you. He was breathing as hard as you were, you noticed. His mouth hung open as he panted, the entire bottom half of his face coated in saliva and your arousal. Fuck, he was pretty like this. “‘S good?”

You shook your head, beckoning him toward you and pulling him down by the back of his neck when he was close enough. “You’re unbelievable,” you murmured, lips against his almost before you were even done speaking. You didn’t mind the stickiness. You pulled back to look at him, then glanced down to the tent in his pants. “Lemme return the favor.”

Art let out a breathless chuckle. “I don’t think I’m gonna last that long,” he said, somewhat embarrassed. “Not if you’re the one touching me. Not after this.” He gestured to the shine still on his face, to your thighs beneath him. Your face burned, and your smile was so wide that your cheeks hurt.

You shrugged. “Lemme try anyway,” you said, before bringing his ear down to your lips, nipping at the lobe gently. “Please?”

He couldn’t say no to you.

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hug-your-face · 8 months

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Image: Resistbot campaign to stop KOSA, crossed out with red lines.

This post used to be (Spring 2023) a plea to use ResistBot to try to stop the Kids Online Safety Act.

As of Feb 2024, I've removed that content, because at this point stopping KOSA not the fight to fight. KOSA may pass as-is or it may go for another round of revisions but either way there's too much momentum for it to be simply killed.

A political analyst at the Stanford Internet Observatory says that "Much of the concern with the bill comes from reading between the lines with fears about how the legislation would be enforced or used to advance political agendas."

So stop trying to stop KOSA.

You don't try to dodge a punch that's already grazing your nose. You're gonna take that hit. You have to "roll" with that punch to minimize its effect.

GIF: Mohammad Ali "rolls" with a punch that connects to minimize its impact

The time to DODGE a punch is when you see the punch COMING.

GIF: Chuck Norris winds up to punch us in the face, but we can clearly see he's about to do it. Best get out of the way.

You know what's coming?

That's right. THE ELECTION.

COPPA already exists. Some form of KOSA is going to exist. What matters to you, your internet, LGBTQ+ kids, is going to be how these laws are enforced.

And how that happens is going to be REALLY FUCKING DIFFERENT depending on whether the Biden Administration is in office, or if the Trump-Or-Worse Administration is in office.

Please:

Donate to some close Progressive candidates running for Senate seats.

Make sure you're still registered and still on the rolls to vote, NO LATER than 30 days prior to the election

Volunteer to help get out the vote (you don't have to call people! you can text!)

Talk gently with your "not going to vote as a protest" friends. Remind them that in a first-past-the-post race the only vote that matters are the ones cast; votes withheld do nothing; and the Republican crazies are all planning to vote regardless of their differences

And VOTE BLUE THIS FALL.

#KOSA #stop kosa #kosa bill #kosa act #censorship #internet #srsly folks -- horse gone barn door and all that

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pink-sparkly-witch · 6 months

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Just Like This

Summary: Working a second job in a bar to help pay for Sammy’s education, Dean finds a kindred spirit in bar manager Y/N. When a drunk Douchebag gets too handsy with her, Dean quickly jumps to her defence but faces harsh consequences.

Pairing: Bartender!Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Rating: Teen

Bingo Square: Getting Fired for @j3bingo

Warnings: tw: sexual assault (groping), fluff, angst, fighting, minor violence, Chuck is a complete and utter asshole in this, getting fired, quitting in solidarity, first kiss, friends to lovers

Word Count: 3k

A/N: Okay, it feels like an age since I’ve written anything that’s just pure floof. I hope you enjoy this fluffy, protective, besotted Dean fic. Please be kind. I’ve had my angst hat on for a long time, and though this was really refreshing, it’s also a little daunting!

My Masterlist AO3 Ko-Fi

Consider reblogging to spread this far and wide around this Hellsite, or leave a comment. It really does fuel a creative’s muse. If you’re too shy or too cool for people to know you read fanfic and you don’t want it showing on your blog, you can submit an anonymous ask or drop me a DM 💖

It wasn’t the best job in the world, but as part-time work went, Dean knew it could be a hell of a lot worse than this. He worked with his dad in the garage during the day and worked four nights a week and two shifts at the weekend in Shurley’s Sports Bar. His wages and tips went to his dad to help pay for Sammy’s education. Sure, the kid had a full ride to Stanford; however, he still needed to pay for accommodation after freshman year and the thousands of books he needed for his coursework. And at least this way, his dad didn’t put himself in an early grave by working all the hours God gave him. Lord knows he’d done enough of that when they were kids.

Shurley’s was a decent bar. It had a prime location between the University of Kansas campus and downtown, so it always has a steady stream of customers. It quietened during the summer when the students went home or on their travels, but the locals still made trade steady enough. The owner, Chuck, was a bit of a dick, but he barely showed his face around the place, and the other staff were decent, making it a great place to work.

“Hey, Dean,” Y/N said as she came out of the back office. Y/N was the bar manager and a great girl. They had a lot in common; both lost their mothers when they were young and looked after their younger siblings while their fathers worked three jobs to try and make ends meet. Y/N’d had to drop out of college when her father took unexpectedly sick, having to take care of him and her little sister. Now that her father had passed and her sister had a full ride to another prestigious college, Harvard, Y/N lived in the tiny apartment above the bakery where she worked four days a week and in the bar four nights a week and every Saturday night. The rest of the time, she studied part-time to finish her college education and sent every spare cent she had to her sister in Boston.

“Hey, Y/N,” he smiled at her. She was pretty, too, and Dean wasn’t afraid to admit that he had a massive crush on her. Not that anything would ever happen because she was her, and he was… well, he wasn’t good enough for a girl like that. “How are ya, sweetheart?”

“I’m good, Dean. How are you? Oh! Did you manage to get Sam’s apartment sorted?” Y/N asked, and he smiled that she’d remember such a thing.

“Yeah, it’s all good now. We managed to get the rest of the deposit together,” Dean said. “Thanks for the extra shifts, by the way.”

“Don’t mention it,” Y/N smiled. “I still can’t believe landlords can actually do that,” Y/N shook her head as she headed behind the bar and started filling the refrigerators with bottles of beer and wine to prepare for the busy Friday night shift.

“Yeah, us either. But it’s done, and he has somewhere to live,” Dean said as he put the last menus and condiment buckets on the tables. “What needs to be done next, boss?” he asked, smirking when Y/N chuckled. She hated being called that, but he seemed to be the only one she didn’t scold for it.

“I could use a hand changing over the barrels if you’ve got time?” she said, breaking up the cardboard that the bottles had been housed in.

“Sure thing, sweetheart.” Dean headed into the storeroom and started shifting the beer barrels behind the bar as Y/N continued putting bottles in the fridges and replacing the almost empty spirit bottles with full ones to accommodate the busiest night of the year: Friday night football and Freshers Week.

The bar was packed with customers, the warm, sunny weather drawing even more of them in than usual, and of course, Chuck had decided tonight was a good night to show face and ‘help’, putting the staff on edge. Dean had gone with the head down and get on with it attitude, glad it was three deep at the bar so he had an excuse not to have to entertain Chuck for very long.

Y/N had been running around after Chuck all night, finding this paperwork and that invoice and the employee payroll for the past six weeks. Eventually, when he couldn’t possibly ask for anything more, she’d escaped the office, having brazenly told her boss that she was needed front of house to help serve customers.

“I swear,” she’d said as she tied her little black server’s apron around her waist, “It’s like he fucking knew tonight would be the busiest night but still came to check months old paperwork! God, that man is insufferable!”

It wasn’t often that Y/N showed her annoyance, and Dean couldn’t help but think it was cute. Though, admittedly, that could be his crush talking, her furrowed brow and tiny pout were adorable.

“What can I do to help?” he asked as she took her place behind the bar.

“I should be asking you that question!” she giggled. “What do you need me to do?”

“We could do with someone collecting and cleaning the empty glasses, if you wouldn’t mind?” he responded, smiling as she picked up a basket, cleaning spray, and a cloth before he’d finished his sentence.

“You got it,” she winked and headed onto the floor to clear and wipe the tables down. And that, Dean thought, is what makes a good boss. Someone who works with the team to achieve the same goal. Someone who isn’t afraid of stepping in to help by doing the most mundane tasks that are below their pay grade.

Y/N was a breath of fresh air for him in so many ways. She was bubbly and caring, and no matter what was thrown her way, she responded with an air of calmness and dignity that he admired.

“Hey, man. What can I get ya?” Dean asked the next patron, finally taking his eyes off the girl slowly taking over his every thought.

“Be careful,” Dean said as Y/N headed back onto the floor to clear more glasses and tables. “It’s getting rowdy out there. You know what those college boys can be like.”

“Thanks, Dean,” she smiled. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

He knew she would be. He’d seen her handling every kind of drunk customer. Still, he’d watch her closely because he was more worried than usual. The crowd tonight seemed even more enthused thanks to the local sports team playing. It still surprised him how often the female staff got touched inappropriately and had the most vulgar things said to them by too drunk and far too confident men. More than once Dean had had to step in and stop something from going too far, and he’d do it as many times as he needed to for Y/N or any of the other female staff.

Y/N managed to get around most of the bar unscathed, but there was a particularly boisterous table of men who only frequented the bar when the Chiefs played. Dean had been watching them all night because they seemed to have forgotten their age and tried to out-drink their much younger counterparts. They’d already run their mouths off to the bar staff, and now one of them in particular had their beady eye on Y/N as she moved from table to table, collecting empty glasses and bottles.

Swapping her tray out for an empty one, Y/N made her way over to their table, and the second she got close enough, the balding guy with the beady eye was quick to rear his hand back and smack her ass. Dean’s hackles rose, and he was on high alert as he watched her give the douchebag a piece of her mind. But he didn’t stop. Douchebag wrapped his arms around her waist and tried pulling her onto his lap. All the while, his douchebag little friends laughed and cheered him on like he’d won a fucking prize.

Dean saw red as he ran around the bar and strode purposely over to the group of middle-aged men amid a mid-life crisis and pulled Y/N from his hold, dragging her behind him to protect her.

“The lady told you to leave her alone. I suggest you do that,” Dean fumed, only getting angrier at Douchebag’s smirk.

“Oh, ladies and gentlemen, we have a jealous boyfriend trying to protect his girl! You know, if she were my girlfriend, I wouldn’t let her out the house wearing something so…” he paused as he leered up and down Y/N’s body, “revealing.”

“Listen, asshole, you don’t want to piss me off right now. Why don’t you and your buddies call it a night and go home? You’ve clearly had too much to drink, and we don’t take kindly to people assaulting our staff here,” Dean’s jaw was clenched, but he’d somehow managed to keep his voice steady.

“Sorry, man,” Douchebag smirked as he stood. “Just can’t help myself when I see a pretty girl showing off half her body like a Goddamn little tease. She’s asking for it, really.”

That was the last straw, and as Douchebag made one final (and unfortunately successful) attempt to get his hands on Y/N, Dean pulled his fist back and punched him square on the nose. The resounding crack as Dean broke the guy’s nose was satisfying, as were the synchronised grimacing ‘oohs’ that the audience this little corner of the bar had attracted.

“You broke my nose, asshole!” Douchebag spluttered. “I’m reporting you for assault!”

“You do that,” Y/N said, “and I’ll have you arrested, too. This whole bar and the CCTV saw you grope me twice and clearly saw me trying to get you off me! What he did,” she pointed at Dean, “was save me from being sexually assaulted!”

“Come on, man,” one of Douchebag’s friends said, patting him on the back. “Let’s get you to the hospital. It’s not worth it.”

“Damn straight it’s not!” Dean yelled. “Any way you spin this, he doesn’t win, so get the hell out and don’t come back!”

Tail between their legs, Douchebag and his friends left the bar. The second the door shut behind them, Dean was next to Y/N, checking her for injuries.

“I’m fine, Dean,” she insisted, but her eyes told a different story. The encounter had shaken her up, and Dean wanted to fix it, needed to fix it.

“No, sweetheart, you’re not. You’re–” Dean began but was interrupted by the shrill voice of Chuck.

“Winchester, my office, now! You too, Y/N.”

Seeing Y/N sitting beside him on the other side of the desk was strange. This was where she did all the paperwork, payroll, ordering, and invoicing, so to see Chuck on her chair was disconcerting. And not good.

“I don’t know what was going on out there–” Chuck began, and Dean scoffed in disbelief.

“You’re bar manager was sexually assaulted by a customer. That’s what happened!” Dean sat forward on his chair, raising his voice. He only calmed when Y/N placed her hand on his forearm.

Chuck pursed his lips at his outburst and continued speaking as if Dean hadn’t interrupted.

“I don’t know what happened, but whatever it was, sexual assault or not,” Chuck looked pointedly at Y/N before he continued. “It’s no excuse for my staff to behave violently.”

“You have got to be kidding me!” Dean fumed. “That… scumbag… touched her ass and her breasts and tried to force her into his lap! You see those bruises, right?” he asked as he pointed to the dark purple fingerprint marks on her arms.

“Inappropriate comments, slurs, even touching, is to be expected when you work in a bar–” Chuck was interrupted again, this time by Y/N.

“There are no touching policies in every strip club in the country for a reason, Chuck! You cannot expect it to be any different in a fratboy sports bar! No one should go to work expecting that being sexually assaulted is okay!”

“For God’s sake, Y/N! So what a guy touched your ass and tits! You should be flattered!”

“It was sexual assault, Chuck! That guy,” Y/N pointed behind her in the general direction of the bar, “touched me without permission, and I could have him charged! You too with how you’re behaving!”

“Oh, stop being so dramatic! I feel sorry for your boyfriend if this is how prudish you are!”

“Hey, that is–” Dean interjected, but Chuck kept talking.

“Dean, you’re fired. I cannot, and will not, allow a violent brute to work in my bar.”

“You can’t do that!” Y/N protested.

“Watch it, or you’ll be gone, too!” Chuck threatened, but Dean knew it was an empty one with her. He needed her too much. The bar would burn to the ground without her in charge.

“No need. I quit. Effective immediately. I cannot, and will not,” Y/N glared at Chuck as she repeated his words to him, “work in a place where I’m expected to be sexually harassed and assaulted and ignore it. I cannot, and will not, work for a man who fires a good person for helping someone in need.”

Standing, Y/N took off her apron and name tag and threw them on the desk. She unhooked the keys from her belt and pulled the cash box towards her, opening it and pulling out two brown envelopes, handing one to Dean and putting the other in her pocket. Once she’d locked the cash box, she tossed her keys down on the cheap metal desk with a satisfying clang.

“Really? You’re going to quit over him?” Chuck scoffed.

“Yes. Dean is worth a thousand shitty bar jobs like this one, and I’d choose him over any of them in a heartbeat,” Y/N said with her head held high. “I hope you know you’ve just lost your two best workers on the busiest night of the year. Come on, Dean. Let’s get out of this shithole.”

Dean didn’t protest. He stood up, smirked at Chuck because he just couldn’t help himself, and followed Y/N out of the bar and onto the street.

“Sweetheart, you didn’t need to do that. I’m a big boy, and I can look after myself,” Dean said after walking in silence for a few minutes.

“I know you can, and yes, I did. That was unfair and undeserved. Especially because it was my fault,” Y/N responded.

“Hey, don’t ever… it wasn’t your fault. Things like that are never the woman’s fault, you know that, right?” Dean couldn’t believe she’d ever think something like that would be her own doing.

“I know, but if I’d listened to you and let Marcus clear tables instead of me, none of this would’ve happened.”

“No. I won’t hear it. You didn’t ask to be groped by a balding douchebag going through a mid-life crisis, sweetheart. Don’t ever apologise for someone else’s wrongdoing,” he reassured her.

“So, what do we do now? We both kinda needed that job,” Y/N chuckled, but it held no humour.

“Well, I might know a guy who owns a wine bar downtown. A classy establishment, so the tips are better. And we’d be treated right,” Dean said, thinking of the bar Cas had tried to get him to work in for months.

“You have a buddy with a bar, and you chose to stay working in that shithole?” Y/N asked in disbelief. “Why? What would possess you to stay there? Willingly?”

“It wasn’t all bad,” Dean smirked. This wasn’t where he envisioned this conversation going–if it ever happened at all, that is–but the perfect opportunity had presented itself and he’d never forgive himself if he didn’t take it. “I got to see you almost every day.”

“Come on! You did not stay there for me!” Y/N scoffed, and Dean shrugged his shoulders, his lips tugging upwards in a shy smile.

“I did, actually. Can’t think of anyone better to spend so much time with.”

“Dean Winchester,” she grinned. “Are you flirting with me?” The teasing tone in her words was one he’d never heard before, and he liked it.

“Do you want me to be flirting with you?” he’d asked, needing to hear her say it before he did something stupid because he’d misread the signals.

“Yeah… I think I do,” Y/N giggled, stepping closer to him, bumping their arms together as they stepped in sync down the sidewalk.

“Yeah?” he asked, checking again because, quite frankly, she was her and he was him.

“Yeah.”

Dean stopped walking and gently grabbed her forearm to stop her from walking ahead. Feeling brave, Dean placed his hands on her cheeks and dipped his head, slowly lowering his lips to hers. Every inch closer he got, he switched his gaze between her lips and her eyes, making sure this was what she wanted.

When there was no hesitation and nowhere else to go, he closed his eyes and pressed his lips to hers. They were as soft as they always looked, softer even, and tasted as sweet as he’d imagined they would.

Y/N pressed herself closer to him with a low hum and slid her arms up his chest, resting one hand on his pec and the other curling around his neck. Dean licked her bottom lip, encouraging her to open her mouth and let him deepen their kiss.

He failed to hold back a groan when his tongue met hers, the feeling so much better than anything his mind could’ve conjured up. Dean couldn’t remember how long he’d wanted this, and now that it was happening, he knew he’d do whatever he could to keep her in his arms, just like this.

Tags: @acitygrownwillow @akshi8278 @ashbatz @candy-coated-misery0731 @chriszgirl92 @deans-baby-momma @deans-spinster-witch @deansbbyx @deanwanddamons @duncanhillscoffeecups @foxyjwls007 @giggles1026 @globetrotter28 @hobby27 @hoboal87 @impala67rollingthroughtown @iprobablyshipit91 @jackles010378 @jamerlynn @jc-winchester @k-slla @kazsrm67 @kmc1989 @lacilou @ladysparkles78 @leigh70 @lyarr24 @maliburenee @michecolegate @mrsjenniferwinchester @nancymcl @negans-lucille-tblr @nelachu2423 @octoberclidan @perpetualabsurdity @roseblue373 @sandlee44 @sexyvixen7 @snackles87 @spnbaby-67 @spnwoman @stixnstripesworld @stoneyggirl2 @suckitands33 @synmorite @tristanrosspada-ackles @twinkleinadiamondsky @waters-2567 @winchestergirl1720

#j3bingo #just like this #au dean winchester x reader #bartender!dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #au dean winchester #dean winchester #dean winchester fluff #fluff

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ckret2 · 6 months

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Chapter 26 of human Bill doing his best to arm-twist his captors into doing anything he wants, featuring: the gang going to the mall, where Bill tries on some of the most ridiculous outfits known to mankind, to Mabel's delight and Stan & Dipper's despair.

(please click on the second image, you can't imagine how long it took to make those two patterns. (Okay you probably can, it was a couple hours.))

####

Bill said, "Well, you can tell Stanford that if he's got a problem with my drinking, I'd like to see him try to get a good night's sleep in an alien body without some kind of sedative! I've got a fresh new liver, three little cans of cider a day won't kill me before one of us finds a way to get me out of this body!"

Exasperated, Mabel said, "Why do I have to tell him? Just talk to each other."

"You think I don't want to? He's the one who's put two doors, an elevator, and a trick vending machine between him and me."

Mabel supposed that was true. "Okay, fine. More importantly: what do you think of going shopping?"

Bill shrugged. "Sure. I'll take any opportunity to go outside. It'll be a good test run for other trips."

Mabel frowned, clearly disappointed by the reaction. "That's it? I thought you'd be more excited. You can finally get more clothing!"

"How much clothing do I need?" He gestured down at himself, wearing his hoodie and a borrowed skirt. "I'm not naked, what more do you want from me?"

"To like your clothing!"

"Oh, right. I keep forgetting you have a whole thing about people other than you being happy."

Mabel socked his arm. "Do you just not care about clothes? I didn't expect you to be like Dipper about it."

Eugh. "It's not that I don't like fashion in general," Bill said, eager to distance himself from the household wet blanket. "I have very strong opinions on other people's fashion! It's just..."

It was just that he didn't relish the idea of standing in front of a mirror, partially nude, staring at the bone-caged skin prison he was locked inside.

He still put towels over the bathroom mirror when he showered.

"Well," he said, "isn't the whole point of fashion self-expression? And my self can't be expressed in this body." He tugged on the collar of his hoodie, "This is as close as it's gonna get."

"Does clothing have to express your self? Can't it just look really cool?" Mabel asked.

Bill considered that. "I do like looking really cool."

Maybe he didn't have to see it as dressing himself. Treat it like inflicting his design whims upon a helpless human puppet. He'd done that before, he liked doing that. He was lucky, at least, that as far as puppets went, this was an incredibly good-looking one. Aside from the neck.

"Do I have to wear that, though?" Bill skeptically eyed the knit garment held in Mabel's hands.

"Yep! Grunkle Ford's orders! It's to make sure you don't talk to people."

"Can I put it on over my hoodie?"

"As heartwarming as it is that you love it so much: no, you've gotta take it off."

"How come?"

"It's safer this way! Your hoodie might freak people out."

"Freak them out how?"

####

Soos trudged into the kitchen at 3 a.m., yawning, and turned on the lights.

The Bill Cipher, triangular and angular, gold-bricked and one-eyed, hovered in the air.

Soos screamed. "He's back! Everyone watch out! You stay away from my family, you—" Soos picked up the nearest weapon and chucked it at Bill.

The spatula bounced harmlessly off his chest and clattered to the floor. Bill took his hood off. "Wow. Thanks for getting my hopes up, Questiony."

"Oh, whoops. Sorry 'bout that. At a quick glance, that hoodie makes you look a lot like... you." Soos looked Bill up and down again. "Hey. How come you're standing on the kitchen table in the middle of the night?"

"Eh." Bill shrugged. "It passes the time."

####

"Sometimes I curse your species's overactive pattern-detection instincts." Bill snatched Mabel's offering out of her hand and trudged to the bathroom to change.

He emerged a moment later wearing the tank top Mabel had knit for him, and tugged out the hem to examine it. She'd cross-stitched on the chest: "STAY BACK! I BITE SALES PEOPLE!"

"I'd be pretty insulted," Bill said, "if this wasn't the funniest thing I've ever worn."

####

Stan pulled the old Diablo near the porch to minimize the amount of time Bill would spend in open air between confinement in the shack and in a vehicle; then waited leaning against the car, glowering at the ground like the world's surliest chauffeur (he'd even put on his suit), for Dipper and Mabel to escort the prisoner outside.

The second Bill stepped off of the porch, he looked up in amazement. "What is that?"

Dipper and Mabel looked at Bill's face, then in the direction he was looking. He was staring straight into the sun without squinting. Mabel said, "The... sun?"

"No, not the sun! I mean the—" Bill gestured toward the sun. "Whatever it's doing."

Mabel looked skyward again. She didn't see anything else Bill could be referring to. "Shining?"

"I know what sunshine is!"

"Then what are you asking about!"

Bill studied the sky a moment longer. Finally, he said, "Guess I don't know what sunshine feels like! It's been a long time since I've been naked in the sun."

Stan's head snapped up to stare at Bill. Bill was still completely clothed.

After another few seconds, arms outstretched, staring in blank-faced wide-eyed wonder at the sky, Bill concluded, "I think I'm photosynthesizing again."

This time Dipper looked over. And, Bill was still completely human—a species notoriously well-known for not photosynthesizing. "'Again'?"

Bill didn't respond. Instead, with a shrill cackle that startled the nearby birds out of the trees, he took off at a full sprint.

"Hey!" Dipper tore after him. Stan tensed up, but then grunted, leaned back against his car, and waited for Bill to trip.

Bill's run was the awkward bouncing gait of a moon astronaut on fast forward: someone who at some point had definitely learned how to run, but clearly wasn't used to doing it in this body on this world. He switched to an odd sideways crab-walk gallop—which was, surprisingly, faster—and then attempted, and failed, a cartwheel. Dipper dove for Bill, Stan laughed at them both, and Mabel shouted encouragement at Bill from the porch; Bill hopped back up just before Dipper could catch him.

He attempted a second cartwheel but was caught in the middle by an invisible force jerking his wrist. He yelped and tumbled to the ground. "I think I twisted my arm!" He sounded way too giddy about this.

Mabel looked down at her own wrist and the chain bracelet. She wasn't being actively pulled toward Bill; but nevertheless she couldn't pull her wrist any further away from him. "It worked."

"Of course it did!" Breathing heavily, Bill got to his feet and leaned backward on his heels, using the tension of the bracelet around his wrist to keep from falling. "What, did you ever doubt me?"

"Yes," Stan said. "Always," Dipper said. "Every time you open your mouth," Mabel said.

"You're all haters."

Mabel took a flying leap off of the porch. Bill toppled on his back again.

Once they were all loaded in the car—Dipper in the front glaring in the rear view mirror, Mabel and Bill in the back with Bill making faces at the mirror—Stan said, "Okay. I'm not getting you anything nice, because you're not worth it."

"Aww. And after I made you almost five grand?"

Dipper's jaw dropped. "He what?! When did—"

Raising his voice, Stan went on, "So we're going to Shop Thrifty. Any complaints?"

Bill said, "You don't wanna go there."

Stan turned to give him a dark look.

"You don't," Bill said. "They were robbed this weekend. Security's gonna be high."

"No they weren't, you can't know that. You're making that up. I'm calling your bluff."

Dipper cleared his throat. "Actually... yeah, they were robbed. I've been investigating the possibility that it might've been..." At the sight of Bill's keen gaze in the rear view mirror, Dipper trailed off into mumbles.

Bill waited a second longer to ensure Dipper was properly cowed; then said, "See? You can trust me! But if you want to go to the thrift shop..."

"Ha." Stan drummed his fingers on the steering wheel; then reluctantly said, "I guess we could go to the mall—"

Mabel pumped her fists in the air. "THE MALL!"

"Yes! Finally!" Bill dragged his hands down his face in relief. "Civilization! Other people!"

"Hey!" Stan turned around to point threateningly at Bill. Bill held up his hands to block the accusatory finger. "This still isn't a social trip. Talk to anyone and we're going back to the car."

"I know, I know. I just wanna look at people. That's all!" Bill said. "You know that feeling when you come out of a couple weeks in the hole? When you're grateful just to see anybody?"

Stan's frown deepened; but he didn't say anything. He just turned around, ignored Dipper's curious look, and started driving.

Mabel and Bill high-fived.

####

As the car pulled into a parking spot, Mabel handed Bill a pair of mirrored sunglasses with one lens popped out. Bill rolled his (yellow, slitted) eye, but he switched his eyepatch over to the lensless side of the sunglasses and put them on. "Nobody'll notice my eyes. They only look inhuman at certain angles."

"We're being extra cautious," Mabel said.

"If you're gonna make me wear shades any time I'm in public, can I at least pick a pair I like while I'm here?"

Mabel said, "Sure!" at the same time Stan said, "Not a chance." Dipper looked between the two of them, and said, "I'm with Stan."

"I wasn't taking a vote." Bill leaned forward to shove Dipper's hat over his eyes, and followed Mabel out of the car before Dipper could retaliate.

Bill's grin got a little wider and his gait a little bouncier the closer they got to the mall, until he was practically skipping through the automatic doors. "Look at this place! I can't remember the last time I visited a bazaar this booming in person! Two stories, even! Wow!"

Dipper and Mabel exchanged a glance. Gravity Malls was, by far, the smallest mall either of them had ever visited. You could see from one end of it to the other in a straight shot, and the anchor store was just a more popular chain's discount outlet location. Dipper muttered, "He's trying too hard to talk up the place."

Mabel giggled. "Maybe he's easily impressed."

Bill evidently didn't care. He was too busy taking in the sight of all the stores and all the people who didn't hate his guts (or, at least, didn't know they did). He chipperly said, "Hey there!" as he wove around a haggard teenage kiosk salesman.

"Hello?" Snapping into sales mode, the kiosk kid said, "Are you interested in genuine gold-plated signet rings? We have rings with dragons, eagles, Chinese characters, American flags, football teams..."

Bill did a u-turn without slowing down. "Boy, am I! You got any secret societies?"

Stan wrapped an arm around Bill's shoulders—"No, you're not interested."—and dragged him away. He lowered his voice. "What happened to no talking to anyone?"

Bill laughed. "Sorry, I got excited!"

"Uh-huh. Get 'excited' one more time, and I'll assume you're 'forgetting' the rules on purpose and we're going home."

Bill stopped laughing. "Okay, fine." He trudged alongside Stan, sulking.

####

Stan tried to direct them toward the discount outlet store; Bill looked wistfully at Edgy On Purpose; Mabel overruled them both by grabbing Bill's hand and bodily dragging him to the coolest store in the mall: 18th Century, the place where the almost-and-barely college kids shopped, and Mabel's newest fashion avatars now that she'd had a year to explore "teenage" fashion and had gotten over it. "You can tell it's for college kids, because they also sell bedsheets and inflatable furniture," she explained as they entered, just before abandoning Bill with Stan as she ran off to start collecting clothing on Bill's behalf. Bill and Stan side-eyed each other, and Bill drifted off toward the small home goods section.

"Ooh, Dipper look." Mabel pointed at a sales rack. "Out-of-season prom dresses! Those are the fanciest dresses!" She dove in eagerly, checking the size tags.

Dipper hovered behind her, hands stuffed deep in his pockets, trying to stand far enough away that it didn't look like he was an active participant in this shopping trip but not so far away that people might start wondering why a thirteen-year-old boy was in the dress section by himself. "Are you shopping for B—for Goldie, or for yourself?"

"For Goldie, obviously! He likes having a triangular silhouette, he needs dresses!"

"Does he want dresses?"

Mabel made a vague I dunno sound. "I haven't asked him yet."

"Maybe you should?"

"It's fine, I'm going to! He can tell me when he catches up!" Mabel pulled out a sequin-studded dress that looked like it had been constructed out of fluorescent pink peacock feathers. She paused. "Okay, it's not exactly his style, but do you think he might try it on anyway?"

Dipper groaned. "Mabel, he's a guy, he's not gonna try on a dress. He wears top hats and bow ties, remember?"

"I know, but... just for fun...?"

Dipper shook his head. Mabel sighed.

Bill rounded a rack of clothing, using a curtain rod he'd claimed out of the home goods section like it was a cane. "Hey, star girl. I know we're here on a focused mission, buuut do you think we could spare a minute to try something just for fun..." He trailed off as he and Mabel simultaneously realized they were both holding a pink peacock dress. Bill's face lit up. "Where have you been all my life?"

"Shut up! How are you this cool!"

"Where's the dressing room."

They took off for the back of the store, Bill tripping over a whole clothing rack as he went.

Dipper watched them uncomfortably, decided he didn't want to follow, and picked his way to the front of the store, where Stan was leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed tightly and a sour look on his face. Dipper asked, "Does it worry you how well Mabel and Goldie..."

"Ohhh yeah."

####

Bill swung open the dressing room door. "Well? Whaddaya think?" He fanned out the feathers as best he could with his hands.

"It's so beautiful," Mabel said.

"It's hideous," Stan said.

"It's kinda baggy around the shoulders and chest," Dipper said.

Bill shrugged. "I've got the shoulder span of a snake and the hips of a sumo wrestler, what do you expect?"

"It's okay, I can tailor anything we get," said Mabel, who had never tailored anything in her life but was sure she had a book on it in Piedmont.

"Tailor nothing," Stan said, "we're not getting this! What, are you crazy?"

Bill said, "Obviously."

Stan gestured at him. "What in the world would you wear this for?"

"Who cares? It looks cool and this body is merely a meat armature to drape coolness upon." Bill stepped back into the dressing room to eye the dress in the mirror. "Color's a little uniform, though. I'd need some accessories to break it up."

"I think you're right," Mabel said, stroking her chin. "You know what color goes best with hot pink?"

Simultaneously, she and Bill said, "Lime green," then cracked up and pointed at each other excitedly.

Stan and Dipper exchanged a tired look.

####

"How about this one?" Bill looked at Stan and Dipper, who were standing guard while Mabel searched for more clothes. "It's obviously the best shirt in the store, but is it me?" Bill was wearing a loose Hawaiian shirt covered in bright multicolored triangles with animal skin patterns—leopard, zebra, tiger, checkers—and a pair of black jeans that fit his hips but consequently drowned his ankles. "Trick question. It's me all over!" He laughed. His laughter petered out. "It's... it's more me than I am. Wow."

Dipper and Stan didn't laugh. "I'm a Hawaiian shirt kind of man," Stan said, "but if the choice was between that thing and going naked, I'd go naked."

"Keep your nudist fantasies to yourself, Stanley." Bill studied his reflection again. "The shirt's great, but they make the pants look dull. I need something that coordinates with it. But what..."

Mabel returned while Bill was musing on his shirt. She wordlessly held out the pair of cheetah/tiger print rainbow leggings she'd been retrieving. It matched the shirt perfectly, in the sense that they both had so many colors on them that inevitably some of those colors were accidentally the same.

Bill accepted the leggings with an expression close to awe. "You're a fashion genius," he said. "Are you sure you don't want your own planet?"

"Not from you," Mabel said.

And for a moment, Bill actually almost looked hurt.

####

Bill held up several shirts thoughtfully. The first was an eye-searing abomination; the second was a retina-burning nightmare; and the third was about the same, but it was covered in smiley faces, and somehow that made it worse.

"I feel like they'd all have the right psychological effect on my enemies," Bill said, "but all three is a little redundant, isn't it?"

Not looking, Stan asked, "Is the effect you're trying to have boring your enemies to death? Because it's working."

Bill scowled. He chucked all three at Stan's face. "Fine! Stick them in the 'maybe' pile, I'll narrow them down later." By this point, the "maybe" pile in Stan's arms was almost too big for him to carry.

"My willingness to indulge Mabel is losing to my annoyance at indulging you," Stan said. "I thought this was going to be a quick trip."

"Yeah, well, I'm kinda getting into it."

"Well, would you get out of it and dress like a normal person?"

"Okay, fine. I'll try on something subtle—"

"Goldie!" Mabel ran up waving a ruby red jacket over her head. "Look what I found in the clearance bin! Glittery vinyl!"

Bill's eyes widened.

Reverently, Mabel said, "It looks like a 50's diner booth."

"Is the picture on the back a—?"

"Yeah, it's a puking kangaroo."

Bill snatched the jacket from her hands. "I'll try something subtle after this."

Stan groaned. "I'm gonna stretch my legs." He dropped the "maybe" pile on the floor. "Dipper, make sure the demon doesn't try to end the world while I'm gone."

Dipper resigned himself to the fact that this shopping trip was never going to end, and curled up on the floor to wait to die.

####

"Now, this is a keeper," Bill said, examining the summer dress in the mirror. With Stan gone, Bill had a moment of leisure to properly inspect the way the fabric moved and draped. He was using the opportunity to grab the skirt and twirl it like a three-year-old who'd never worn a dress before. "It really speaks to me."

Mabel asked, "Is it because it's covered in—?"

"It's because it's covered in yellow triangles. I know what I like!" He spun around to see how the skirt flared out, tripped and fell over—"I meant to do that!"—and heaved himself back upright with his curtain rod cane. "I'm fine, shoo." He waved off Mabel's attempt to help, and brushed off the dress. "Too bad it looks weird with pants. I'd prefer my legs covered, but dresses are the only thing most human stores carry that flatter my shape, so what're you gonna do."

"What about more leggings?" Mabel asked.

"Do they have any black ones that don't look like cheap spandex?"

"I think I saw some that look like jeans!"

"It'll do. Good thinking, star girl."

"Any time, triangle... guy." Mabel paused. "Hey... just out of curiosity—since I don't think we ever really covered this, since you're an alien and all—aaare you a guy or a girl?"

"I'm a triangle! C'mon, you already know that."

Mabel opened her mouth to protest that Bill hadn't answered her question; hesitated as she realized that maybe, in fact, he had; and instead asked, "Is a triangle more like a guy or a girl?"

Bill paused as he gave the question a moment of contemplation; and then he said, "No, not really."

Dipper, who'd been using the "maybe" clothing pile as a pillow and pretending to ignore everything Bill did, finally gave in to the urge to glance over curiously.

Mabel concluded a triangle must be either in the exact middle of the scale, or else outside of it completely. "Oh! Okay."

Bill elbowed Mabel and said, "Keep this bit between you and me," blithely ignoring the fact that Dipper was totally within earshot and now seething about being ignored in return. "But if anyone else on this planet asks, I'll usually imply I'm a 'man,'" he put the word in finger quotes, as though he wasn't wholly convinced that "men" really existed, "but—that's strictly for business."

"Business?"

"You know, work stuff," Bill said dismissively. "It makes things easier. See, for the last few millennia, most humans have taken a male's suggestions a bit more seriously than a female's, even when the entity they're talking to is an all-knowing extra-dimensional divine alien angelic muse. Crazy, right?" He said this like he was imparting some great secret he'd figured out by himself.

"Ugh, yeah," Mabel groaned. "Sexism."

"Sexism," Bill sighed, as if he had any dog in this fight at all and wasn't just pretending he could commiserate with his only local friend. "So I figure I can get things done faster as a Bill than a Jill. But honestly? Your local gender system doesn't make any more difference to me than it would to you if somebody asked how many sides you have."

Mabel considered the matter of her hypothetical sides. "I feel like I'd have seven sides."

"Oho! I stand corrected." Bill laughed. "I would've pegged you as a pentagon. I'll remember that."

Mabel had no idea what information she'd just conveyed to Bill, but she felt like he was impressed she had an answer at all.

####

"How about this one?"

"I love it. It's so mysterious," Mabel said.

Stan said, "I thought you were gonna try on something subtle?"

"What's more subtle than camo! That's the whole point of it!"

Dipper said, "You're not wearing camo."

Bill looked down at his galaxy print tank top, galaxy print button up, galaxy print skirt, galaxy print leggings, and galaxy print sneakers. "I guess what counts as camouflage depends on the context."

"Wh—" Dipper blinked at Bill in disbelief. "In what context could this possibly qualify as camouflage?"

"Is that a trick question?"

Drily, Stan asked, "You got travel plans taking you to outer space anytime soon, pal?"

Bill's shoulders slumped.

"Now put on something you might actually wear," Stan said.

####

Bill opened the dressing room door with four sets of basic black leggings and pants, a couple shorts, and several plain tops in various shades of gold and yellow. "Okay, done."

"Not gonna model each of these for us?" Stan asked.

"Do you want me to?"

"No."

"Fine! You kids don't need to weigh in on these—they're not as fun as the other outfits you were busy unappreciating." Bill shoved the whole pile against Stan's chest, burying the "maybe" outfits he'd insisted he would narrow down. "Okay, let's go."

Stan scowled. "How many outfits did we agree to get you?"

"You didn't." Bill headed to the front of the store.

Mabel started to follow him, paused, glanced back at Stan, and said, "Maybe you can just... toss some of it back on the racks?"

"Maybe you can toss most of it," Dipper said. "How much does he really need, like two shirts and two pants?"

Mabel laughed. "Shut up, that's what you wear!"

Stan rolled his eyes, but headed to the front of the store with an armload of clothing.

The cashier smiled as Bill approached, read his "I BITE SALES PEOPLE" shirt, and quickly turned her attention to Stan. "Hi! Did you find everything you needed?"

"Yeah, and then some," he grumbled, shooting a look at Bill and Mabel. He dumped the pile of clothing on the counter with a heavy groan proportionate to the emotional weight of carrying Bill Cipher's shopping, and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Where'd I put my wallet?"

As the cashier scanned the clothes, took off the security tags, and stuffed them into bags, Stan alternated between snatching up the bags to sling them over his arms—looking grumpier with each one—and searching for his wallet. "I'm sure I put... ah-ha!" He withdrew it triumphantly. "There! I know I've got a twenty in here somewhere."

The cashier immediately stopped scanning to give Stan a perplexed look. Hopefully, she asked, "Will you be paying for the rest by card?"

"What do you mean, 'the rest'? How much could this stuff—?" Stan grabbed the price tag on one of the shirts, squinted at it, and grabbed his chest. "Holy moly! For one shirt? This is robbery!"

Mabel winced. "I guess it's a little bit pricier than the thrift shop, but it's not that bad—is it?"

"Not that bad?! For prices like this, it'd be cheaper to get a boat ticket to Taiwan and rob the sweatshop where they sew this stuff! Forget it!" He started sliding bags off his arms and tossing them back on the counter. "Keep them! We're not shopping here!"

"But Grunkle Stan!" Mabel grabbed his coat. "We just found a bunch of stuff that's perfect for Goldie! Please?"

"Do you think I care? He'd be wearing potato sacks if I had my way! We'll go to the outlet store, those are the prices he deserves."

Dipper groaned. "Do we have to do this whole thing all over again?" He and Mabel both looked pleadingly at Bill, waiting for him to protest the return of his carefully-curated wardrobe of tacky golden horrors.

Bill shrugged. "If he didn't bring enough money to the mall, there's nothing we can do about it now."

"Hey! This isn't on me! If it wasn't for you, we'd be at the Shop Thrifty right now!"

Bill scoffed. "Come on, Stanley. It's the 2010's. Even at a thrift store, how far do you think a Jackson's gonna carry you?"

"I think it'd get me a sock I could cram in your mouth, how do you like that?" Stan tossed the last bag on the counter, told the dismayed cashier, "And he looked ugly in everything he picked out, anyway," and stomped toward the door.

"I'm so sorry," Mabel said to the cashier, and hurried after Stan with Dipper. "But Grunkle Stan, we found so many nice things here! We could at least get a couple shirts or leggings..."

"Hey," Bill said. "It's okay, kid."

Mabel shut her mouth, but she didn't look happy about it.

The party trailed behind Stan past a couple of stores, before Bill sped up to walk alongside him and asked, "Well? What's our haul?"

Stan grunted. "What?"

A slow, sly grin spread across Bill's face. "Come on. You can fool the humans, but you can't fool me. What's our haul?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Bill raised a brow.

Stan only lasted a couple of seconds before he cracked a mischievous smile as well. "Oh, did you mean this haul?" He rummaged in his pockets and pulled out a pair of leggings. And then another pair. And then, from his other pocket, a Hawaiian shirt. And—

Mabel gasped. "Grunkle Stan," she hissed. "You didn't!"

"Aw, man." Dipper smacked his forehead. "So all that was an act?"

—and three pairs of socks out of his jacket sleeve, and a dress from his inner coat pocket, and— "Yeeep. I've still got it."

Mabel and Dipper exchanged an exasperated look.

"And you were gonna hit the thrift store." Bill lifted his sunglasses so Stan could see him roll his eye.

"Hey, they've usually got less security than the mall. It's a safer score."

"Cheaper, too."

"You shut up! I'd like to see you do as well."

A bright smile snapped across Bill's face. "Would you! Then get a load of this—" He showed off the front and back of one empty hand, then the other; curled one into a fist; pushed his fingers into the fist and plucked out a corner of fabric; and then, like a magician revealing a long line of scarves tied at the corners, pulled out one garment after another, shirts and skirts and pants. Mabel buried her face in her hands. Dipper looked around like he expected mall security to run up and immediately arrest them all. Bill said, "What'd we lift, almost half the stuff I picked? Neither of us managed to get the kangaroo jacket, did we."

"How did you..." Stan trailed off, jaw dropped.

Bill smugly stuffed the clothing back under his tank top. "All that, and... these." Bill lifted one foot and wiggled it, showing off the yellow foam clogs he'd changed into.

"You just walked out with those on?"

"Sure! You'd be amazed what you can do in plain sight—as long as you don't call attention to it."

"Where the heck are your sandals?"

"Not my problem." Bill gestured vaguely back toward 18th Century with his curtain rod cane. "From the lost-and-found they came, to the lost-and-found they shall return."

Stan, having had his attention called to the curtain rod cane, snatched it out of Bill's hand with a muttered "No weapons," and tossed it in a nearby trash can. Bill watched it go with an expression of miffed resignation. Stan said, "Okay, but how'd you get the security tags off all of those?"

And Bill's grin was back. "Maybe I'll show you—if you show me how you got all that clothing out of those bags into your pockets."

"I thought you were watching."

"My eye is better than my physical coordination. Give me a couple pointers and I'll give you a couple."

Stan looked doubtful. "I just saw you hide half a suitcase under a tank top. I don't think you need any more help with..."

"I'll sweeten the deal," Bill said. "I'm not really a clogs guy. You set me up to walk out with a pair of proper dress shoes, and I'll help you grab a couple rings from that booth at the door?"

Stan scowled. Bill grinned wider. "Come ooon. I know you were eyeing those rings too."

"If we get caught and you throw me under the bus, I'm dragging you down with me."

"I wouldn't dream of it! I don't think either of us can afford to show up on the police's radar, do you?"

"All right, fine. You've got yourself a deal, Cipher."

Mabel silently slid her cell phone over to Dipper so he could text Soos and Ford about this unsettling development.

####

(Thanks for reading!! As always, if you made it this far I deeply appreciate any thoughts & comments you want to share! Stay tuned next week for the unsettling development to get Even Worse.)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #gravity falls #gravity falls fanart #gravity falls fic #my writing #my art #fanart #bill goldilocks cipher

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butch--dean · 10 months

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Thinking about Dean during the Stanford era just before everything went down going to see Brokeback Mountain in theaters. He heard whispers about it but would deny that he knew anything about it if anyone had been around to ask. One night he sneaks into a theatre in a mid-sized town (not so big that it would be busy, not so small that he would stand out). He buys tickets for a different film and sneaks into a late-night showing, and makes sure to sit in the back so he can avoid the judgmental gaze of other patrons (they're not judging you, Dean, they're here for the same reason you are).

Thinking about Dean watching the slow-building yearning and the casual displays of intimacy and affection between Jack and Ennis during their summer ranching. Thinking about how they both go on to get married and have kids but continue to feel so deeply dissatisfied with their lives. Thinking about their reunion 4 years later and a kiss so frenzied that it bruised their noses. Thinking about twenty years of back-and-forth, of yearning for something one of them is too afraid of have. Thinking about the heartbreak of “I wish I knew how to quit you” and “sometimes I miss you so much I can’t hardly stand it” and "it's because of you, Jack, that I'm like this," and "there ain't ever enough time." Thinking about Dean silently breaking down during Ennis' call to Jack's widow, and again when he enters the closet of his lover's childhood bedroom to find a relic of their relationship, hidden away in a dark corner. Private. Loved.

When Dean left the theatre, he was a changed person - heartbroken for something that, in that very moment, he couldn't name within himself. I think that he carries the story with him throughout the series. Eventually, he is able to name that heartbreak - of loving someone so completely but never being able to say it. Of fearing what others would do if they knew, of having someone but never allowing yourself to actually have it.

Of course he sees the comparisons to be made between Cas and him. He sees what his insistence in believing in Cas, even when his gut tells him otherwise, means. He understands what is being left unspoken in long, drawn out gazes and crooked smiles. He knows that their post-death hugs and late nights spent chatting with each other while watching the old westerns that Dean loves mean so much more than they pretend.

I think that over the years, Dean would return to the film and re-mourn the loss of Jack. Over and over, on nights when Sam is out late researching in an archive and Dean knows he has a few hours alone. He has a torrented copy (because he can't risk the physical evidence being found, even after settling into the bunker). I think that Charlie probably downloaded for him, because of course - she knew. Maybe she slipped it in a batch of movies Dean requested from her, with a few of her own added in for good measure. He regrets never having the chance to thank her for that.

After Cas dies and goes to the empty, Dean hangs the jacket with the bloody handprint on the inside of his dresser door. He stands there and thinks about Ennis finding his and Jack's bloody shirts intertwined in a hidden spot in the back of his closet, together, after his death. Dean stands, staring at the jacket, heartbroken. He thinks about loving and losing and never-really-having. Of letting yourself bask in the sun, shining on your face. If he can't have Cas, he wishes that the universe, or Chuck, or whatever, had at least seen fit to have left him with Cas's trench coat to protect on the inside of his stained jacket. But it (or he) didn't, all he has left is the relic of his not-lover's handprint, marked in blood.

#hi this has been sitting in my drafts for several months and Jenna watching brokeback made me pull it back out #anyway I still have a lot of feelings about Dean and this movie #brokebacknatural #supernatural #destiel #my stuff #my writing

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profoundbondfanfic · 10 months

Note

Dunno if y’all take requests but I’d love a list of vintage destiel reccs, like canon or canon divergent season 4/season 5.

We do take requests! I'm sorry it took a while to come up with this list but here are a few of our favorites from early seasons.

A Different Kind of Falling by Lyrial [Explicit, 72k words]

“I will do it then,” Castiel said with confidence that he did not truly possess. “I will pretend to be a hunter and gain the trust of Dean Winchester so that we may locate Michael’s grace and restore him. I might not be as familiar with humanity as Balthazar is, but I am still a master tactician. I am certain that deceiving a few humans will be well within my capabilities.” As the humans would say, famous last words. (Dean is the fallen archangel Michael. Castiel is sent on a mission to restore him to his angelic self. Things get complicated, however, when Castiel finds himself falling for Dean.)

A Different Kind of Monster by roadtonowhere (lastoryx), xfancyfranart [Explicit, 89k words]

Something in Bodie, California is luring truckers to their deaths and Dean’s on his way to take it out. It’s the first time Bobby’s given him a case and, with Sam at Stanford and his dad off chasing demons, he's finally hunting monsters on his own. When an accidental encounter puts an as-of-yet-unknown monster in the passenger seat of his car, Dean decides to ice him, taking his dad's old adage to heart: a monster is always a monster. Unfortunately, Dean can’t seem to figure out what kind of monster "Castiel" is and he certainly can’t shake him.

Faith Healer by punkascas (earlwyn) [Explicit, 75k words]

Dean hates faith healers. Scam artists and power-hungry dicks, all of them. But with Sam nearing the end of his rope and desperate for a way to keep their father’s last words from being true, Dean has no choice but to turn to the enigmatic and irascible Castiel, more tattooed junkie than spiritual leader, in hopes of finding a way to cure Sam. Yet Castiel hides dangerous secrets, and Dean soon learns they have more to worry about than just Yellow Eyes and Sam’s growing demonic abilities. War is coming. Canon divergent after 2.10.

Good One's Gonna Be by remmyme [Explicit, 37k words]

Castiel Novak receives a rather alarming text message from an unknown number, and what started as a simple misdial quickly turns into the greatest friendship Castiel has ever known. But Dean has many secrets, dangerous truths about the life he lives, and would like to tell Castiel exactly none of them. A (slightly) AU, (mostly) text fic, S3 fix-it romance (of sorts).

Holy!Dean verse by bunnymaccool [Explicit, 120k words]

Dean Winchester has grown used to God dicking around in his life the last couple years. But this crap? This takes the CAKE ... or pie, rather. Now he's been thrown a whole new curve-ball. The kind that has ended the Civil War in Heaven ... but resulted in Raphael taking over, and hunting for Dean's ass on a silver platter. Not to mention dealing with Balthazar acting like a self-righteous prick, Sam having some big damn epiphany on his big brother's sexuality, and Cas eying him up like he's the world's juiciest cheeseburger. All that mixed with the chance to fix it all and set everything to rights ... but only if Dean is willing to sacrifice himself. Again. Seriously, if he ever meets that bastard God he's gonna- ... oh hey, Chuck! What are you doing here?

On Falling by kettleknight [Mature, 34k words]

After saving Dean from Hell, Castiel is tasked with convincing him to say "yes" to Michael should the apocalypse come to pass. But the time to complete this mission is quickly running out, and his superiors are expecting an answer soon. Desperate for a solution, Castiel asks his vessel for help and is forced to make a decision: help the apocalypse follow through, or crash head-first into humanity and damn the consequences.

Profoundly Different by amireal, tiamatv [Explicit, 190k words]

"Castiel?" Sam calls out, carefully. Both of them lower their guns but don’t put them away, yet: there’s no sign of a struggle, but the guy did just break out of an insane asylum by squishing an orderly. With a bureau that he shouldn't have been able to move. "We're not gonna hurt you. We're here to help. My name is Sam. This is my brother, Dean." There's a loud silence. Dean can hear the wind rustling through the structure. A deep voice suddenly speaks up. It’s coarse and raspy and sounds like it hurts coming out; he’s never heard anything like it. It sends shivers down Dean's spine. "Dean?” the man asks. “Dean Winchester?" (A Season 4 AU: what if the fallen angel Dean and Sam ran into was Castiel, not Anna?)

See the World in Green and Blue by parenthetical [Explicit, 8k words]

Castiel spends a day learning what it's like to be human.

So Says The Sword by komodobits [Explicit, 85k words]

The briefing was simple: ‘Stand guard over the Michael Sword until the battle is ready to commence. Await further instructions.’ Castiel doesn’t mind working security duty; he was briefed shortly after the initial salvation of the Sword from the pit, and again before taking up his position. He knows what to do. However, it’s easy to forget that the green room isn’t real. Time moves differently there, the space ever-changing to make a prison of mountains, cathedrals, salt flats, orchards, and whatever Castiel was led to believe about Heaven’s greatest weapon—Dean Winchester is something entirely unexpected.

Strandlines by aeli_kindara [Explicit, 40k words]

It’s September 18, 2008. Castiel is being deployed to rescue Dean Winchester from Hell. He lands in Dean Winchester’s motel room in 2003. Things go from there.

The Girlfriend Experience by rageprufrock [Explicit, 15k words]

While it's not like Dean hasn't had a couple of truly regrettable hit-and-runs in his sexual history, this is probably the saddest fucking thing that has ever happened to him.

Thursday’s Child by strangeandcharm [Explicit, 114k words]

Thursday's child has far to go.

You can also check our time travel tag. We've reviewed some fics that play around with them going back in time. Here are a few:

a turn of the earth by microcomets [Mature, 95k words]

adam bites the apple by sicsempertyrannis [Teen, 11k words]

Crazy Diamonds by pantheon_of_discord [Explicit, 25k words]

Face to Face with the Skies by quiddative [Explicit,42k words]

Like a Comet in the Sky, I'll Follow You Across the Universe by super_skam310 [Explicit, 107k words]

the weight of water by eddiegirl [Explicit, 46k words]

#asks #group rec #early seasons #time travel

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noaasanctuaries · 5 months

Text

🥁 Drum roll, please! 🥁

We would like to introduce you to the winners of the 2023 Get Into Your Sanctuary Photo Contest.

Sanctuary Life

1st: Douglas Hoffman in Hawaiian Islands Humpback Whale National Marine Sanctuary

2nd: Jean Zuo in Monterey Bay National Marine Sanctuary

3rd: Douglas Croft in Greater Farallones National Marine Sanctuary

Sanctuary Recreation

1st: Chuck Graham in Channel Islands National Marine Sanctuary

2nd: Daniel Eidsmoe in Florida Keys National Marine Sanctuary

3rd: Bryan Dort in Thunder Bay National Marine Sanctuary

Sanctuary Views

1st: Bruce Sudweeks in Monterey Bay National Marine Sanctuary

2nd: Martin McClure in Greater Farallones National Marine Sanctuary

3rd: Courtney Stanford in Olympic Coast National Marine Sanctuary

Sanctuaries at Home

1st: Laurie Santoro

2nd: Tina Morrison

3rd: Jenn Fletcher

Sanctuaries Around the World

1st: María Rodríguez-Salinas

2nd: Lawrence Alex Wu

3rd: Kayvon Malek

Congratulations to all the outstanding photographers who entered our 2023 Get Into Your Sanctuary Photo Contest. Don’t forget to check out the winners and honorable mentions on our results page:

Stay tuned over the next few weeks as we feature each winner in our #EarthIsBlue campaign!

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what-if-i-just-did · 5 months

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Season 16 wishlist because I'm a clown and I can dream:

-The finale was fake

-Saving Cas from the Empty

-DESTIEL, CANON, PROPERLY. KISSES ON THE LIPS AND ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIP.

-Body swap episode between Sam & Dean

-Human!impala episode with John Barrowman as Baby

-Genderswap episode, sam and dean incredibly off-put, Cas going about as usual

-Reverse!FrenchMistake!!!! Misha, Jared and Jensen in the spnverse!

-Beach episode. no case, just them chillin'

-Jack as God dropping in on the bunker every once in a while

-Sam being the new Bobby, running things from the Bunker like he was during the Micheal!Dean period

-Sam and Eileen get married, Dean jokes about the time Sam married Becky

-Cas being treated like the main character he is aka being in every single episode

-The Mixtape. Where tf is the Mixtape.

- Time travel to season 1/2, maybe even pre-series?

-Cas's winggggs show us the wings!!!

-SuperWhoLock crossover ep? Pretty please? (Never gonna happen)

-Some type of crossover. Maybe even Scoobynatural reunion?

-I would say "fake dating episode" but idk how the heck they'd fit that into the narrative

-No overarching plotline. They fix the Chuck problem within the first 3 episodes and the rest is just individual cases/things

-Domestic destiel. Breakfast and movie nights and snuggles

-Dean Winchester officially coming out as bisexual to Sam

-What ended up happening to Dean's leather jacket? I want some symbolism of finally letting go of that as finally letting go of J*hn W*nchester and Dean allowing himself to live a happy life

-John Winchester acknowledged as an abusive parent and general shithead!!!

-Flashbacks to and stories about Stanford-era Sam & Dean!!! We learn how lonely Dean really was, and Jessica actually becomes a slightly fleshed out character; we learn her major, how she & Sam met, etc

-Everyone ends up happy

-DOES NOT END ON A CLIFFHANGER

#supernatural #spn #destiel #spn season 16 #spn s16 #chuck won theory

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t00muchheart · 2 months

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As I do when I am hyperfixating on something, I have read a LOT of supernatural fanfiction in the last few months, and I get a lot of the titles I read from other peoples’ recommendations or collections on ao3, so I figured I’d share some of my favorites in case anyone else is looking for recs :)

AUs:

Spirit of the West by teen_dean

This is a shock to literally no one who follows me because I regularly bring it up, but it honestly is one of the best things I’ve ever read. The 90s horse girl AU of your dreams (or, if you haven’t dreamed of one, that you never knew you needed). The storytelling is immaculate, the symbolism rich, and it only improves on re-reading

And this, your living kiss by opal_bullets

Poet Dean AU featuring genuinely beautiful comments on language and writing and how we encounter stories and words and what they can do, and also some honestly incredible poetry

where there is darkness by quiettewandering

Lighthouse keepers AU! this one is a bit mysterious and I did scream into a pillow after finishing it. If you know the story of the Flannan Isles lighthouse keepers, it is loosely inspired by that.

Phantasma by thisisapaige

Messy Dean, my beloved. Messy, Stanford-Era Dean, my beloved. Dean breaks off from John and buys a haunted house, and things sort of escalate.

For All You Young Hockey Players Out There, Pay Attention by thursdaysfallenangel

I don’t even watch hockey, but this AU kind of made me want to start. Rivals to friends to lovers all while dealing with the homophobia in the NHL

time has come today series by teen_dean

Team Free Will brings in teen Dean Winchester to help with a case, parallel worlds come into play; every version of Dean Winchester falls in love with Castiel & all the good stuff like that

What Baking Can Do by cowlovely

Baker & Dad Dean fic and Doctor Cas? What more could you ask for?

Everyone’s a Critic by Englandwouldfall

Food Critic Cas and Chef Dean meet in a truly unfortunate way. This is worth it for Cas’s reviews alone, but also the Dean-Gabriel dynamic

FROTUS by kathscradle

A President Cas, Restaurant Owner Dean romance that was honestly just a good time

Fix-Its:

take the bones, begin anew by JustStandingHere

This was one of the first fics I read and it is sort of peak disaster™ Dean Winchester. I love a good “I fixed up a house for you and didn’t realize it meant I was in love” fic and this one is iconic

i want to do with you (what spring does with cherry trees) by sobsicles

I ugly cry every time I read this fic. It is a run of Cas and Dean’s relationship in seasons 13-15 and has Dean making a friend and it hurts but also it’s so good. Maybe my favorite Sam line of any fic comes from this fic ("If he thinks what you two do is friendship, then I must just be some guy he happens to speak to sometimes.”)

break the skin (to break the barriers) by sobsicles

Dean gets tattoos, and as he does, he tells the tattoo artist his life story. This is a post-15x19 fic told from an outside perspective and it is so well-done

Dumbassery, Denial, Doing by sobsicles

Listen tbh this list could be dominated by sobsicles and so I am showing restraint by only including three of their works. Their Dean characterization is everything to me and this fic really highlights Dean growing to understand himself better when given the freedom to

Revisions by bizarrestars

THEE what if Dean and Cas got together earlier and Chuck just wrote it out? fic.

a turn of the earth by microcomets

I love a work that explores pre-series Dean, and this one is great. Basically, think what-if later seasons Cas and pre-series Dean met (Strandlines by aeli_kindara is another good example of this premise, but in Strandlines, it is pre-series Cas as well as pre-series Dean).

psalm 40:2 by unicornpoe

On a similar note, psalm 40:2 is a great pre-series Dean, future-Cas fic. I am a bi Dean believer but this fic did sway me toward the gay Dean camp because it’s simply so good.

You Belong Among the Wildflowers by ImYourHoneyBee

Dean fixing his relationship with Jack? You got it. Dean trying to work through losing Cas? Yep. Dean getting Cas back by being stubborn? It’s there.

Who You Gonna Call? by saintedcastiel

Dean has a ghost following him around as he tries to start a life post-series, and for a while, he can’t figure out what’s happening. I love nothing more than Dean telling people he and Cas were married because he doesn’t know how else to explain and this fic delivers so hard

quilts by fleeceframe

A “Cas didn’t confess before getting taken to the Empty” fic. Soft things all around

Miscellaneous:

Fathers & Daughters by sinnabonka

On a different note, this is one of my favorite Claire fics. It looks at Claire’s relationship with Cas and the impossibility of it, and it’s so artfully done.

Bus Loop Madness by batz_in_blue

Literally just a “what if everyone lived, Jack was a toddler, and they all picked him up from school?” AU. I audibly laughed while reading this, and it’s an essential pick-me-up from the heavier fics.

More of my favorite sobsicles fics include: gorging myself on you, still can’t get full (insatiable), and he’s back (with a mind of his own), six hundred sundays (and many more), oh sooner or later it all comes down to faith, things happen (they do, they do, and they do), according to all known laws of life, and profoundly bonded (by law)

Also, honorable mentions to Ninety One Whiskey, which is such a good fic, and Make a Believer Outta Me, which is a Hocus Pocus AU that is honestly just a fun time.

#spn #supernatural #dean winchester #castiel #cas #destiel #deancas #casdean #claire novak #jack kline #supernatural fanfiction #fic recs

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cowboysandpilots · 1 year

Text

Retirement

Warnings: Sibling incest (but you know that if you're in the wincest tag 😏) Smut 18+

Pairings: Sam/Dean

Word Count: 3525

This was written as a commission for @outofnowhere82 I appreciate you so much and I hope you enjoy ❤️

✨ Request your own commission ✨

——

When he suggests to Dean that they should think about retirement after they’re sure that Chuck is really gone, Sam never thought that Dean would go for it, and he never took into account how bored they would both be. Dean made him promise that either of them could choose to get back into hunting if they wanted, but even though retirement was incredibly dull, Sam refused to be the first one to cave. He never wanted to admit that maybe spending their lives hunting wasn't so bad. It turns out that Sam loved spending his every waking minute of his life with Dean. At first, it had been out of necessity as Sam had lost his mom and his girlfriend, and his dad was missing. He couldn’t just leave Dean to do everything by himself, and he had nothing keeping him at Stanford anymore. That felt like a lifetime ago, and sure, both men had other relationships, but the one constant in their lives was each other. Still is. They’ve lost so many people over the years, that’s what being a hunter is, and they know they can only count on each other.

The only constant in Sam’s life has been Dean; there was no question that they would retire together. The only worry that Sam had was that Dean would get bored and make them go back to hunting. As bored as Sam was, he knew that continuing to hunt in their 40s was not feasible. It was just too physical and dangerous, and Sam couldn’t risk losing Dean after everything they had survived. He would do anything he could to keep Dean from hunting, if only for his own safety. He lets the man eat as much bacon and drink as much beer as he wants because he wants Dean to be happy with something else other than hunting. He wants Dean to be happy with everything. He wants Dean to be happy with him. He’s almost positive that Dean is happy with him; this is the most relaxed he’s seen his brother in years, and now, he works on his cars for fun and not just to get out his anger.

There was one thing that Sam didn't really think about, not until Dean brought it up one night while they were watching some old western movie that Sam tolerated only for Dean. They were both leaning back in their individual recliners, beers in their hand, when suddenly Dean looked over at him. “Y’know, I never really wanted to retire, but I have to admit, this is pretty great, Sammy.” Dean’s still-perfect teeth flash at him as he tips the glass bottle in his direction.

Sam is taken aback; first, he doesn’t expect Dean to interrupt a cowboy movie to say something like that, and second, he doesn’t think that even if Dean realizes he is correct, the stubborn man will never admit it. “Yeah?” Sam questions because he is getting older and always worried he may actually go crazy someday.

“Yeah. Only thing missing is the sex.” Dean says it so casually, and Sam almost spits out the swig of beer he had taken. He manages to swallow but coughs a few times, and Dean’s hand comes up to slap at his back. “God, I was just kidding, man.” Dean snorts. “Well… not really, but don’t worry. You won’t have to hear about it.”

God, Sam wishes that he could hear about it; more than that, he wishes he could be in it. After all those years of hearing Dean talk about his exploits in considerably explicit detail and feeling the sick jealousy curl in his stomach, he wishes he would speak up and tell Dean what he wants. He can’t. He won’t. He and Dean are finally in a good spot, the best spot they’ve ever been. Comfortable and safe. What if Sam admitted his twisted feelings and things went south? What if Dean called him a freak and told him to get the hell out? Sam doesn’t think he could take that. “Yeah, I uh… it’s fine.” Sam mumbled when he finally caught his breath again. “I mean, you can tell me if you want, I know you have no one else.” It’s meant to tease, but Sam doesn't think his tone quite reaches it. Dean laughs anyway.

“I used to before I got stuck with you.”

Sam would be hurt if he didn't look over and see the dopey smile that slid onto Dean’s lips. Was he reading into this? “You had plenty of people you could tell while you were ‘stuck with me’.” He uses air quotes and rolls his eyes. They were never stuck with one another; they always chose each other.

“Who was I gonna talk to at that time, Sammy?” Dean snorts. “Bobby? Jo? I don’t think so.” He adds a little chuckle to the end of that, but they both know that each of their hearts cracks a little bit when they remember their long-gone friends.

“Who are you gonna talk to now?” Sam smirks. He hated to think about it, but they really had fewer people to talk to now than they started with. Part of him still wanted Dean to tell him about all the times he had sex. He could picture himself in the girl's spot while Dean was talking and use it to his advantage after they went to sleep like he used to. It wasn’t the best idea he had, and it used to rip his heart out, but it worked for him, and even though he had his own stories; Meg, Ruby, Eeileen, he always came back to Dean. He always wanted Dean.

“You’re right.” Dean chuckles. “I guess you’re shit outta luck, Sammy. You’ll have to hear about it.”

Sam didn't mind, and he didn’t feign as if he did. He was too busy thinking about how he might be able to introduce his thoughts to Dean without completely losing him. Unbeknownst to Sam, Dean was thinking the same thing, trying to scope out Sam’s reactions to what he was saying and if he could suggest something without having Sam freak out. He knew Sam had experimented in University; the younger man had let that little gem slip out after a night of drinks stronger than beer. A man had started to put the moves on Sam, and when he didn't immediately rebuff the advances, Dean got curious. He asked, and Sam answered. It was all very simple, lips loose from alcohol, but it was something that Dean had never forgotten, a little piece of Sammy trivia that stuck in the back of his brain. The thought also made Dean extremely jealous. Sam had the freedom to explore that part of himself while he had to keep it pushed down and ignored for fear that his dad might catch on at any moment. Well, their dad was gone now, they had almost no responsibilities, and all of the freedom Sam offered made him want to just go for it, to give in for once in his life. Since Sam seemed to have no reaction to having to hear about everything, he decided to push further. “You should too, y’know. Have a little fun of your own.”

Sam snorts. “Yeah, I’m not as good at the one-night stands as you are.” That was true; Sam always got way too attached and invested. He had too many feelings and wasn't as good at repressing them as his brother. That was something else Dean was jealous of.

He pushes a little more. “I didn’t say it had to be a one-night stand. We’re retired now, right? We deserve to have something a little more stable, don’t you think?”

“We deserve it?”

Dean freezes. That had been a slip of the tongue, but he might as well roll with it now. “Yeah, I mean, uh….” He rubs a hand over his mouth. “All we got’s each other, right? It’s so much work to go out there and try to find someone else when we’re right here… together.”

There it was. Dean put it out, and Sam could actually feel the pressure on his chest. It was all on him to make the next move. “That’s true.” That is all Sam can get out. It sounds choked like he might cough again, but he doesn’t; he just swallows thickly.

“Plus…” Dean is smirking now, and his eyes have a glint that makes Sam’s stomach tight. “I bet I’m a thousand times better than any of those people you’ve been with before.”

Sam resists the urge to roll his eyes because he’s actually sure that Dean is right; he’s heard the stories, and now that man in those stories wanted him, and he wasn’t going to pass on the opportunity. He leaned out over the side of his recliner and slid his hand around the back of his big brother's neck to kiss him, hard. The courage it takes Sam to kiss him, even though he knows that Dean wants to kiss him back, is immeasurable, and he can feel his heart pound against his chest.

Despite their awkward position, Dean can’t help the small moan that makes its way from between their joined lips. When Sam finally pulls away, Dean is the first to speak. “Good, now that we got that out of the way…”

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” Sam chuckles breathlessly.

“Probably the same amount of time as me.” Dean is just as breathless, but Sam doesn’t respond; he carefully climbs out of his own recliner and into Dean’s, rocking as he leans forward to kiss the older man again.

Dean lets this go on for a few more minutes, but ultimately he gently pushes Sam back, just as breathless as the first kiss. “You know, I'm not 20 anymore, and neither are you. we should probably move this party to the bedroom, you know... if you want to.” As if he didn't know that Sam wanted this just as much as he did. The kisses Sam was giving were enough of a hint.

Once again, Sam doesn't answer; he just climbs back off of Dean and turns to smirk at him before he disappears into their never-before and soon-to-be-turned-shared bedroom. The move makes Dean roll his eyes, but he follows him without complaints, abandoning his half-drunk beer. The only person that could make Dean leave a beer behind is Sam. He’ll come back to it later, anyway.

The sight that Dean meets when he gets to what is usually only his room is one that he’s quite familiar with in a different context. They’re both used to seeing each other naked after years of sharing motel rooms growing up, but this was somehow different, somehow better. In the time that it had taken Dean to make his way in there, Sam had stripped down and now was lying in the middle of Dean’s bed with a half-hard cock. He takes a minute to look over his brother slowly, look at his overly large body and lick his lips in anticipation.

“So, do you normally just stand there and stare at the girls you’re about to fuck?”

“Are you normally such a smart ass to the people you’re about to fuck?” Dean retorts, and it’s not lost on either of them that he didn’t use gendered terms for Sam, who watches him while he strips out of his clothes.

When Dean is done taking his tip and apparently pulling off his clothes as slowly as he can, not that Sam is complaining, he steps forward and puts one knee on the bed, leaning forward. Sam completes the move by bending forward and pulling Dean into another deep kiss, something that is quickly becoming one of his favourite things. The older man doesn’t wait for Sam to be done kissing before blindly reaching into his bedside table for the lube; he’s always been good at multitasking. It’s only when he pops the cap open that Sam pulls away, a little breathless. There’s some unspoken rule, something in Sam that doesn’t make him question Dean spreading the lube on his own fingers. Sam is going to bottom. He’s fine with that, it wouldn’t be his first time, and he has a feeling that for Dean, it would be.

Sam takes the initiative to turn himself over and tries to make it easier for Dean to finger him, but Dean is quick to stop him, tapping the clean, dry part of his hand on Sam’s hip. He turns his head to the side, looking back at Dean as best he can with a little frown.

“Wanna see you,” Dean says quietly with a little smile.

Sam can’t argue with that. He turns back over to look up at Dean while Dean hikes his legs up, moving his hand underneath Sam and slowly pushing a finger into him. The intrusion makes him grunt softly. It’s been a while since he’s done this, and it’s always a different feeling. Of course, Dean checks in with him, always ensuring he’s okay even though he’s not a kid anymore. Sam is already a little breathless when he gives Dean the nod to keep going. Dean adds a second finger into Sam and both of their breaths hitch. Sam, from the slight stretch and Dean, from the beauty of Sam below him. This is why he watched to see Sam. Jaw slack and eyes hooded, his brother is beautiful. Dean can’t take his eyes away from Sam while he scissors his fingers inside the younger man. The way Sam moans when Dean curls his fingers upwards and hits his prostate makes them both glad that the bunker is in the middle of nowhere. He lets his eyes flutter closed; he doesn’t need them open to see Dean’s self-satisfied smirk. “Fuck, I can take another one.”

“I'm sure that you can.” Sam can hear in his voice that Dean is still smirking, but he doesn't add another finger which makes Sam huff.

“So, are you going to give me one?”

“I'm thinking about it.” Of course, Dean would use this time to be a controlling asshole.

“Well, think faster.”

Dean chuckles lowly. “Needy, aren’t you?” He doesn’t even wait to stop talking before pushing a third finger into Sam, making the man moan again, and god, that sound is beautiful. It doesn't take long for Dean to slowly pull his fingers back out of Sam, ignoring the way that his baby brother whines in disapproval.

“Easy, Sammy, I’ll give you what you want.”

Sam doesn't speak right away, but he wonders if this is how Dean talks to all those girls he's been with, if he knows exactly what they need and gives it to them. Sam wants Dean to give it to him too, but he won’t make it that easy. “And what is it that I want?” He challenges, just to see if Dean really knows.

Dean didn’t need to reply; the entire time that he had been teasing Sam, he’d been using his left hand to slick up his own cock. It had been challenging to keep his face neutral and bite back his own noises of pleasure to keep Sam in the dark. He looks down at his brother with dark eyes while he lines himself up with Sam’s hole and slowly pushes the tip in. The head catches a bit on the edges of Sam’s opening, and Dean stops to shudder while Sam tries to push him deeper.

Sam reaches up to touch Dean wherever he can, raking his blunt fingernails down Dean’s arm leaving fast-fading little white lines. He’s seen it before, he’s no Dean, but he’s no stranger to sex, but somehow it’s even more fascinating when it’s his brother. He does it once more, just to see those lines again, but he ends up clutching Dean’s wrist while the man shoves his entire length into Sam, making them both groan out as Sam arches his back.

Staying still for a moment, Dean presses the pads of his fingers into the meaty flesh of Sam’s thigh before he pulls the younger man’s legs up to rest on his shoulders. It’s easier this way to pound into Sam the way he wants to. He moves his hands to Sam’s hips and squeezes until he’s sure the man is going to bruise and watches as the moans and groans spill out of his baby brother’s open mouth. Despite being in their forties now, Dean is surprised by his ability to keep up the pace. Despite his heavy breathing, the only other sounds that fill the room are gasping moans and skin slapping against skin.

Dean leans forward to get right over Sam, momentarily caught off guard by how flexible the younger man is. He doesn't think about it too much because what he really wants to do is lock his lips with Sam’s again, dropping his head to push their faces together. Sam doesn’t seem able to kiss back, even when Dean stops his thrusting to try and help. They're mostly just panting against each other with open mouths, but Dean doesn't mind; it's hot in its own right, especially when Sam takes the initiative and licks into Dean's open mouth. Now that he doesn’t need his hands to hold up Sam’s legs, he gets those fingers into his brother’s hair. Dean loves his long locks as much as he gives Sam shit for how much he needs a haircut. In a moment of very good or very bad judgment, Dean gets a fistful of that beautiful hair tight and down at the root; he tugs hard enough to pull Sam’s head back.

Sam is sure that before this, Dean had absolutely no idea how much he loved having his hair pulled, but he isn’t entirely in his head right now, and it's hard to hold back the almost porn-like groan that he lets out. He doesn't even have time to blush or explain that he didn't mean to make that noise because Dean is already thrusting again, pulling Sam's hair simultaneously. Their noses are so pressed together, and they're basically just breathing in each other's faces, but even with the beer breath Sam only pulls him closer, hand on the back of his older brother’s neck.

Dean is barely thrusting anymore, just rocking back and forward while he stays flush against Sam, but neither of the men mind. The spongey head of Dean’s cock is pressed right up against Sam’s already bruised and swollen prostate, and the way Sam keeps clenching tight around Dean makes him whine softly. Neither of them wants to be further away from the other, perfectly content to stay skin against skin. He keeps thrusting for a few more minutes before he moves one of his hands to wrap around Sam’s red and leaking, clearly neglected cock.

“Dean, fuck.” Sam moans out, arching his hips into the touch.

Dean can’t help but chuckle, “What the hell do you think I’m doing, Sammy?”

If Sam wasn’t so close, he’d give it right back or at least roll his eyes, but Dean runs his thumb over the weeping tip, making him moan again as his cock twitches in Dean’s calloused hand. “Shit, m’so close.”

“Cum for me, baby.” It comes out of Dean’s mouth so quietly that neither of the men is convinced he actually says it, even though it’s what sends Sam over the edge, moaning out softly as his body spasms underneath Dean and thick white ropes of cum spurt over his own stomach and Dean’s hand.

Now that he knows Sam is satisfied, Dean no longer holds back. He pulls away from Sam so he can pull out and slam back in at a bruising pace. The only sounds that Sam makes now are desperate whines as he’s sensitive after he’s finished; however, he would never tell Dean to stop; he wants to feel his brother cum inside of him. If he could find his words at all, he might even beg for it.

“You’re perfect, Sammy. Gonna fill you up.”

Sam whines again because, yes, he wants that. He doesn’t even care that his ass and hips are most definitely going to be bruised after this. He blindly reaches and scrapes at Dean, locking his ankles behind Dean’s neck. Dean keeps himself fucking relentlessly into Sam until he cums, with a grunt of his brother's name and falling gently into him. They lay like that for a few minutes before Dean is careful about slipping his spent cock out of Sam, never pulling away. He lets Sam keep his head on his chest while Dean runs his fingers through Sam’s hair. Neither of them talks for a long while, catching their breaths and enjoying the closeness that only comes after being physical with someone.

“I guess I don’t need anyone else after all.” Dean smiles, pressing a kiss to the top of Sam’s head, not for the last time.

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