#definitely feel like sam wants to crash the car and get his teeth in his brother

[liber-what-ia]

The crooked kind (Part 9: Superposition) {Uncharted - Rafe Adler x Nathan Drake}

Summary: Rafe is a riddle to Nathan – a potentially dangerous one. And nothing calls to Nathan Drake like some good, old-fashioned danger. This time, though, his luck might be running out for real. (Or, some alternate version of what happened in – and after – Panama).

Warnings: language, psychological trauma, grief (warnings change according to the chapter).

Word count (current chapter): 4.3 k

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38081011/chapters/95921929 feel free to leave kudos if you enjoyed the read ♥

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Scotland welcomes them with gusts of fiery, rainy wind, and bone-chilling cold.

Nathan shudders in his summer clothes, drawing more than a puzzled look as they go through the airport. He definitely left Boston underprepared for an impromptu trip in the Highlands, and he didn’t exactly have the time to go window-shopping in Panama – or here in Inverness, for that matter, since Rafe seems determined to reach the cathedral right now, with no further stop for the night.

It’s a short walk from the airport’s exit to the jeep waiting for them, but Nathan still manages to get completely soaked. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s still wearing his Havana shirt with nothing but a denim jacket against the rain.

Sam’s jacket. The thought hammers at the back of his skull and it seems to be rooted there like a rusty nail.

He closes the car’s door more forcefully than he intends to, while Rafe secures their luggage in the trunk. The rain is lashing down outside, with literal waves of water horizontally crashing against the car. Even if it weren't already dark, he would struggle to see fifty feet ahead. They definitely picked the wrong time of year to visit Scotland.

Rafe climbs back into the jeep and quickly sits on the driver seat, to Nathan’s right – he offered to drive, but he just grunted something about being more used to driving on the opposite side.

He shakes off the rain in his hair and clearly holds back a sneeze, cursing under his breath. He’s not faring much better than him, clothing-wise, but he recovered a rain jacket on his plane – because of course he has a private plane, it must be an unwritten rule if you hit the over-seven-figures yearly income.

Apparently, though, he didn’t have any clothes to spare for him. Nathan honestly doesn’t want to know if it was just a mindless oversight or if he’s the ask-nothing-get-nothing kind of guy.

What he does know, is the blatant way he shut off any contact with him since they hopped on the plane. They basically crashed for a good part of the eleven-hour flight, trying to make up for lost sleep and downright exhaustion, so they really were in no condition to communicate – let alone indulge in other activities.

Then hefty turbulence hit them, keeping them awake as they neared the British Isles, and Rafe promptly disappeared into the plane’s private room, sliding the door behind him. He reemerged only when they had already landed, clipping a single line about the jeep waiting for them.

Nathan can’t figure out what has induced this complete three-sixty when they were close to fucking each other only this morning, but he has a nasty feeling about it. It’s as if he, as Rafe’s “contingency measure”, has fulfilled his purpose by bringing them both safe and sound in Scotland.

No need to “stay focused” now, he supposes. He clenches his teeth around that thought and crumbles the longing images that keep popping in the back of his mind along with it.

Rafe is avoiding him even now, to the meager extent that a car cabin allows him. He’s mostly busy with keeping an eye on the Highlands’ trackless expanse, fully concentrated on not driving them off a rocky scarp. From time to time, though, he shoots weird sideways glances at him, as if he’s double-checking something he thought to have seen.

Nathan is about to snap for good and ask what the big deal is, then the realization dawns on him like a blinding midnight sun in the middle of that rainy, cursed night. His breath gets stuck in his throat in a solid mass.

Right. He’s wearing Sam’s favorite jacket.

Of course, he would’ve been wearing it when he met Rafe – it was his trademark, he barely took a step without it. And of course, Nathan is still Sam’s brother, even now. They don't look that much alike but they literally grew up thick as thieves. Some of Sam’s mannerism is bound to have stuck with him, right?

Even if he’s not really aware of it – the way he gestures a lot, maybe, or some Bostonian slang he’s picked up as a side effect of teasing Sam about it, or the brisk, springy gait he keeps most of the times – Sully made fun of that sometimes, calling them Lanky and Shortie when they walked side by side.

Nathan would smile at the memory if it didn’t hurt so much. He pinches the jacket’s sleeve, picking at the hem. Of course, looking at him right now must be kind of like looking at Sam through a smoked piece of glass, especially in passing, especially in the rainy darkness, especially if he was supposed to be here with them in the first place.

Nathan lets a sigh slip out of his lips, fogging up the car’s window. It’s like he can’t even inhabit his own body anymore. Sam’s shadow is stitched on him and filters everything he sees, but it also filters his own appearance in the eyes of others.

He can see his own, ghostly reflection in the glass, among the running drops of water, and the windswept Scottish moorland just beyond it when the lightning fractures the sky every few seconds now. And he can see Sam, ever so faintly, overlapping his features – it’s the eyes, mostly, they’ve always had the same shiny, wonder-seeking look, even if in different colors and shapes.

Nathan wonders if Sam had picked something after him. He never noticed, anyway. It’s the first time he even thinks about it. He points his eyes to the road ahead, dispelling his own ghost – but Sam's is still stuck in his mind.

It’s the first time he thinks about a lot of things regarding his brother.

△

“Dare I ask what the problem is?”

Rafe doesn’t even blink, at that sudden outburst, after a good hour of driving – more like plodding on god-forsaken secondary routes. His knuckles grip the wheel more tightly; Nathan can’t tell if it’s due to his question or because they’re hitting a particularly badly kept road, all mud and stones and slippery gravel. It feels more like an uphill sheep track than a road, really – it’s definitely not a shortcut as Rafe seems to believe.

“We have a problem?” he throws right back at him, once the jeep's tires finally grip on solid asphalt again.

Nathan waits a few seconds, just to see if Rafe is genuinely asking or just beating around the bush. It’s always hard to tell with him, but the noisy and bumpy situation doesn’t help his case.

“You tell me. Have I become invisible and I didn’t notice?”

Rafe is so bold as to take his eyes off the road for a potentially fatal instant. There it is again, that bewildered look. As if he's seeing a ghost.

“No, you definitely haven’t,” he simply offers, whipping his eyes back on his task and sounding almost piqued by the very fact that he can still see him.

Nathan scowls in his direction. He’s definitely jerking him around, for whatever reason.

“So?” he prompts him again, and he knows he's pushing his buttons.

Rafe turns his head to him for a second and parts his mouth to answer when a sharp, dizzying hairpin turn abruptly comes up ahead. Rafe brakes out of pure instinct, causing the car to swerve out of control on the sleek road. They both gasp over the tires’ faint screech, feeling the gravity swaying them sideways, but Rafe manages to righten the wheel and keep the vehicle on track, avoiding crashing against the guardrail and into the cliff beyond it.

Nathan half-sees the angry ocean waves roaring far below, in tune with the pouring rain – and then they’re on the safe side again. Rafe rubs a hand on his face, checks there are no other immediate dangers up ahead, and glares at him as he finally answers:

“So, I say you don’t talk to the driver, and we get to Saint Dismas in one piece.”

Nathan, on another occasion, would’ve chuckled and said something witty about where he got his driving license in return. This time, though, he just shakes his head in annoyance, scoffing softly. He crosses his arms on his chest and closes his eyes, focusing on the rain pattering against the windshield and windows in an unrestful, yet oddly soothing rhythm.

He can sense the same, volatile feeling that took a hold of him back in the prison, when he didn't know if he wanted to push Rafe against a wall to fuck him or punch him. Only, now it's about ten million times worse. It latches on the underlying pain he's trying so hard to ignore and it stirs in his stomach, clouding his head with senseless, trivial thoughts.

Rafe is giving him the cold shoulder, alright.

How does this even matter now? But it does matter, because he still has his taste lingering in his mouth, and he can still feel his lips on him, the way they kissed and sucked away each and every thought poisoning his mind – that slow, longing kiss on the boat keeps repeating on loop in the darkroom of his memory, so vivid it churns his insides.

He still can't make a sense of it, but he wants more, and it's maybe the only good thing that's happened to him in the last day or so – the bliss of switching off his brain and not think.

And it's already wasting away. He ruined it, somehow, he lost it.

He hates himself for letting it have so much power on him, as far as to seem even remotely important in the face of what he's lost already. It's like being at war with his own body and mind at the same time, each screaming and raging at the other about how he should feel or what he should do right now.

Punch him and grab the wheel, kiss him and bite him, cry and scream and call for Sam, open the car door and jump outside, disappear, disappear, let him take you and kill your thoughts, kill your– just disappear, disappear.

Nathan slowly bends over until his forehead touches his knees, taking deep, even breaths. The patter of the rain and the roar of the engine are the only sounds he can hear, along with his temples throbbing against his skull.

He already feels so tired again.

△

Saint Dismas Cathedral is exactly the kind of place you wouldn’t want to see in the middle of a cold, stormy night.

The cathedral’s Gothic spires shoot towards the night sky, forming a gargantuan silhouette, reminiscent of some sort of marine monster that just emerged from the nearby sea. Nathan can vaguely make out the pointy arches and flying buttress along the walls’ perimeter, along with the crumbled bell tower, that looks like a bolt of lightning sawed it off.

Just cozy, huh? he can almost hear Sam’s voice as he blows out a puff of smoke. Only he can’t hear Sam’s real voice anymore, and it just sounds like a lifeless string of words in his head.

Saint Dismas screams of cheap horror movies and eerie legends about spirits and lost entities inhabiting its naves and aisles. It doesn’t make Nathan want to cross the threshold if not absolutely necessary – possibly in full daylight. He doesn’t think he’ll ever peacefully set foot into a church anyway, especially now.

The central rose window looms like a glowering eye over them, as far-away lightning flashes in its decorated frame, making it look alive, blinking in fury. It’s like it can smell his sins. Nathan tries not to look up, all the subdued worries and fears locked in his chest squirming and writhing to resurface.

The church seems to call to him, somehow, trying to lure him into its bowels, but he walks right past its entrance’s maw.

He follows Rafe’s steps across the slimy moss and scrubs surrounding the building. They move forward, mostly fumbling into the dark as their shoes plash into mud puddles, nearing the only source of artificial light – a single beam splitting the fine, silvery drizzle like a stadium floodlight.

Over the course of little more than twenty-four hours, Rafe managed to have a couple of trailers set up at the cathedral’s foot. A little tent encampment hosts the workers he shipped out to this remote region.

A man in an orange rain slicker and work boots emerges from one of the trailers, squints in their direction, and then welcomes them with a loud, Scottish-imbued turned out nice, hasn’t it? gesturing towards the pouring sky.

Rafe proceeds to join him under the small tarp gazebo between the trailers, and Nathan quickly follows, finally getting out of the rain. He’s completely drenched again, Sam’s jacket sticking to his exposed forearms and weighing down on him. He can already feel the first signs of a bad cold under his skin.

He doesn’t really pay much attention to Rafe’s and the other man’s exchange. He just gathers that the squad will be on their way tomorrow, leaving them two alone to investigate the cathedral until further help is required. He half-heartedly agrees: it’s only logical Rafe doesn’t want unnecessary people in the way when they’re searching for a treasure.  

Nathan rubs his knuckles against his eyes as the discussion drags on over logistics and supplies. He could just fall asleep on the spot, bone-tired as he is, and he is actually looking forward to spending the night in a proper bed for the first time in almost a week. Hopefully, he’s wrecked enough to just collapse and spare himself the nightmares.

The man in charge, whose name he didn’t quite catch, says something and hands him a key, pointing at the trailer behind him. Nathan slurs his okays and thank-yous and goodnights, trying not to look too much like a jetlagged moron. The man leaves and Nathan turns to Rafe to– he doesn’t really know, actually. 

Wish him goodnight? Ask why the hell he’s avoiding him like the plague? It doesn’t really matter, because Rafe precedes him with the talking:

“We meet up here tomorrow at eight, so we can start the first recon, and see where we’re supposed to look for starters.” He regards him with one of his steely looks, his eyes almost grey under the violent artificial light. “You up to it?”

The tinge of condescendence Nathan senses in his voice almost wipes out his exhaustion, flicking the switch to his anger. His hands twitch inside his pockets, and he might just be one step away from grabbing him by the collar again.

“If I’m up to it,” he almost spits out, glaring at him. “What do you think?”

Rafe doesn’t as much as acknowledge his provocation and just pulls a satisfied, cold half-smile.

“Well, good to hear. We don’t have time to waste,” he says, now back to the usual, sardonic lilt he had temporarily ditched.

He starts off to his trailer without another word, grimacing under the steady drizzle as he skids through the mud. Nathan just clamps his mouth shut, killing off the parting shot he can already feel on his lips – I'm not so invisible now that you need my ‘expertise’, huh?

He begrudgingly lets the whole thing die there. He’s so tired already, he can’t handle any more extra stress. And, honestly, he's not sure if starting a fight with Rafe might end up with the two of them rolling in the mud under the punches, or tangled in sheets again. He doesn't want to find out.

The trailer door shuts behind Rafe’s back with a thud.

“Well, fuck you too,” Nathan grinds through his teeth.

He promptly heads for the other trailer, supposedly identical to the other one on the outside as on the inside: two single beds facing each other along the walls, a small kitchenette in the back, a table with four stools pulled against the other wall, a microscopic bathroom just by the entrance. The two horizontal windows over the beds are narrow and thin, letting in just enough light to make out the furniture.

It’s better than a cell in Panama, at least.

As he kicks off his muddy shoes, he ponders for a second if he should whip up something to eat, but he doesn’t have the energy in him to even heat up something in the microwave, so he lets it be. He ate some doubtfully satiating snacks on the plane and that will have to do until morning.

On top of all the recent stress – if he can even call it with such an innocuous term – he is now completely jetlagged, and he’s been basically stumbling around until now, working on muscle memory to walk.

He puts Sam’s duffel bag in the farthest corner, throws his drenched jacket on the only chair’s backrest, and proceeds to peel off his likewise drenched clothes, leaving them in a damp heap on one of the stools. He shudders from head to toe in an all but reassuring way, his skin prickling under a wave of sudden heat.

He throws himself under the hot shower before he can catch his death of cold, but when he emerges from the steam he's left with the same problem: the ones he had on were his warmest clothes and right now he’s still freezing to the bones. He recovers a t-shirt and a clean pair of briefs from his bag, but they do a very poor job at keeping him warm. He turns his bag inside out, his teeth now almost clattering – as if he didn’t already do exactly that on the plane. The content doesn’t change – how surprising.

Of course he doesn’t have a single shred of winter clothing. Of course he hasn’t, they were in fucking tropical Panama. He shoves the bag against the wall in a fit of anger, utterly distraught by how cold he is, and how he just wants to collapse on the bed and sleep.

He eyes the rough wool covers on the bed's foot and grabs one to throw over his shoulders. He wonders if they can keep him warm enough through the night, but that’s a solid no. He’s bound to catch a fever if he as much as sticks an arm off the bed in his sleep.

He steals a glance at Sam’s jeans jacket, which probably spared him pneumonia on the way here, and feels his heart shrink to the size of an acorn. If Sam had the foresight to bring a warmer jacket to an equatorial country, then, maybe…

Fuck.

He stands up before he can think again and opens his brother’s bag. He pauses, taking a deep, shaky breath.

The colors are more muted in comparison to his own clothes, but the content is almost identical: linen shorts, t-shirts, a tank top, a couple of Hawaiian shirts, a Panama hat – of course he has a Panama hat.

That’s a real Panama hat, little brother, ‘cause we are in Panama! he all but yelled, when he bought that monstrosity at the airport’s gift shop right upon their arrival. A smile ghosts on Nathan’s lips, then dies away when he can’t bring himself to remember Sam’s barking, unique laugh.

He keeps timidly rummaging through the suitcase’s contents. All the clothes are wrinkled and hastily folded. He threw Sam’s stuff in there with no rhyme or reason, barely looking at what he was touching, feeling like he was looting their own room.

But he just couldn’t bear to leave it all there. He had to force the zipper close with his own weight, even though Sam is– had always been a light, organized traveler and it had probably fit to a T when he zipped it up in their flat back in Boston.

There’s a crumpled pack of cigarettes in one corner. A pair of dirty, unmatched socks knotted together. A couple of condoms peeping out from an inner pocket. A small can of hair gel. A mangled paperback book, The Tigers of Mompracem – pirates, always pirates – Nathan saw him reading on the plane. A small tin box of licorice candy. His journal, tucked away in the front pocket – he doesn’t even dare to touch it. A red glasses case.

He reaches for his wet shirt behind him, takes out Sam’s sunglasses from his pocket, and sets them into the case, clapping it shut with a flinch. He looks down at Sam's bag.

That’s his brother, right there. All that's left. Nathan forgets he’s freezing for a moment, bare knees pressed to the hard, icy floor, hands gone white and trembling. He feels like he’s looking at Sam’s corpse.

He doesn’t even know what they did with his actual–

Nausea rises in his chest as he suppresses that thought. He feels tears rimming his eyes again. He can’t bring himself to even imagine it.

Only then, does he catch something in the mess of clothes and personal effects: a paper tag with a price in balboas written on it. Nathan tugs at it, pulling a hoodie out of a small plastic bag along with it. He doesn’t remember finding something like that in their room. Sam must have put it in himself somewhere during their stay.

The light-beige fabric is discreetly imprinted in dark brown with an old map of Panama – meridians, latitudes, routes, and all. It looks like a pirate map. He smiles a little: that’s exactly the type of hoodie Sam would wear. That’s exactly the kind of nerdy hoodie Nathan would tease him about.

It still has the industrial, anonymous smell of newly bought clothes, as opposed to his jacket, still bearing the faint scent of smoke, hair gel, and licorice his brother always brought with him, the one imprinted in his nose even now.

They didn’t hug much, even though they were joined at the hip. But when they did, there was always this warmth about Sam, this protectiveness that made Nathan feel at home even when they didn’t have one. And his home smelled of smoke, hair gel, and licorice.

Nathan grips hard at the fabric, barely taming the surge of sorrow scratching at his throat. Then he tears the label away and puts the hoodie on without a second thought. It’s a bit loose on the shoulders and it comes down below his hip, but it does its job in keeping him warmer. It's as if Sam is still taking care of him, in some irrational way he doesn't dare to disprove. He's allowed to be irrational right now.

He makes to zip up the bag, when something else piques his interest: there’s a small object, right at the bottom of the plastic bag. His hand is quicker than his guilt as he reaches for it – that’s still Sam’s stuff, he shouldn’t be prying in it.

He looks at his palm, where a small, round metal compass sits in the dim light. Panama’s red and blue flag and stars decorate the lid, and a keyring is attached to it. He can’t see any price tag on it, only the sign a sticky label has been pulled away from the bottom. Nathan stares at it with more intensity than ever, the kind of which he has never reserved for even the most precious artifacts he’s happened to hold in his hands.

Was this meant for him? Was this the real reason for “scouting the streets” back there?

Sam used to do this kind of stuff, spoiling him like a child with all sorts of small tacky gifts and tourist trinkets he would get here and there on their journeys, solo or together. And now he won’t ever know if that’s for him or just a mindless purchase. He’s not the little brother anymore. He lets the compass fall back in the suitcase, lost in the mess he’s made of Sam’s belongings, and he lets the top fall close on it. It's only fabric, but it still sounds like a coffin closing up for good.

Nathan stands up, legs slightly buckling. He’s still very cold, but at least he’s not freezing anymore, and the covers should now be enough to stave off hypothermia. He resorts to sleeping as he is, in his hoodie and underwear, since he hasn’t a single clean pair of shorts left, and they won’t keep him that much warmer anyway.

He sinks under the covers, coiling up in a small alcove of warmth that quickly subdues his shivers, then pulls the hood over his head for good measure. He doesn’t feel sleepy, just merciless tired. He’s not hungry or thirsty either – he should be, that’s for sure.

He stares at the moonlight shining through the small trailer window on the other wall. The clouds have scattered now, grey and still heavy with rain. Pointy treetops sway in the steady wind blowing from the north, rattling at the gusts. The cathedral’s eye blinks in the distance. Nathan grits his teeth, glares at God or whatever entity beckoning to him from the distance.

Stop looking at me.

His eyes sharply focus on the foreground, on the windowpane. It gives back his own reflection, huddled in an oversize hoodie like a kid under the blankets. Beneath it, lies the empty bed. Only, he can conjure Sam’s frame lying there, specular to his own. He still can’t clearly make out his face. It’s blurred, foggy, it overlaps with his own, but he knows he’s staring with the same blank eyes he had when he last saw him. When he let him fall.

Nathan breathes shakily, blinking fast to disperse the tears he’s so sick of spilling. He stares back at Sam, with that boiling pit of anger and pain and confusion bubbling inside him.

Stop looking at me.

He finally finds the will to turn his back to his non-existent brother. He lets his eyelids droop, if only to shut out the light and that vision, and soon dozes off in a fidgety, nightmare-riddled half-sleep.

⪼ Next Chapter ⪻

#uncharted #fanfiction #fanfic #rafe x nathan #nathan x rafe #drakler #nathan drake #rafe adler #videogames #angst #slash #sensitive topics #a thief's end

[watermelonlipstick]

Distraction (Request)

This was a request for @sergeantsea​, who asked:

Hi angel!! I was wondering if you could write something with the reader slow dancing w Sam? Maybe they have to pretend to be together to do a mission? 

It was a total blast to write--SUCH a cute idea. I hope this is something like you were thinking.

Title: Distraction

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 1673

Summary: A misstep during a case requires a distraction and some quick thinking. 

Warnings: canon-appropriate threat of violence, mention of alcohol, fluffy fluff fluff, a little teaspoon of smut-adjacent action 😜

           You tried to make the quick strides across the room look purposeful rather than frantic and resisted the urge to check over your shoulder for whether the pair had followed you across the bar. It had been stupid to try to eavesdrop without the pretense of another conversation to cover, and when the vampires had both looked up at the same time, you were sure you were done for.

           “Look alive,” you hissed, grabbing Sam’s hand and yanking him up from the cracked leather stool he was leaning on. He had to stretch against your grip to rest his pool cue on the wall, giving an apologetic smile to the denim-clad guys he and Dean had been playing. Didn’t matter much, Dean could hustle the two of them by himself anyway.

           “What’s going on?” Sam muttered, low and serious as he caught up, trailing just barely behind you so that the words played against the back of your neck, the delicate heat of them along your skin already easing some of the panic you had been feeling.

           “I might’ve just gotten us made—don’t look,” you said with a smile you hoped would look flirtatious to a bystander, turning to curl a hand around the back of his neck as a safeguard to prevent his inevitable impulse to check it out.

           “Uh, okay. What’s the plan?”

           “Just two regular people in a regular bar doing some regular dancing.”

           You could feel Sam’s neck tense under your palm.

           “You know, I’m really not so good at—”

           “Sorry, you’re going to have to pretend unless you’ve got a better option. Smile, please,” you said through the gritted teeth behind your put-on smile, and Sam gave a tight-lipped facsimile as the song shifted, Lionel Richie singing “know it sounds funny but I just can’t stand the pain,” smooth as silk even over the dive’s old speakers . You took Sam’s hand and set it on your hip before floating your free fingers behind his neck. He followed suit somewhat tentatively, holding you with big paws as carefully as if you were some antique Christmas ornament.

           “Can I look yet?” he smiled down at you, grin only partly exasperated. You moved a misplaced lock of hair back to the right side of his loose part and tried not to flush at the way he deliberately closed his eyes while you did.

           One of your hands traced down the collar of his flannel, resting on his lapel and closing a few more inches between your waists. “Sure. Stocky guy in blue and a blond guy with a goatee.”

           Sam checked back from where you’d come under the pretense of tucking you under his chin. When he spoke it was like stepping into a hot shower, soothing warmth flowing over the crown of your head. “They’re definitely watching. You sure it’s only those two? They’re sitting with a bigger table and no one’s talking.”

           “Fuck. How many?”

           “Uh, how fast do you think you can get to the car?”

           “That bad? Spin me, I wanna see.”

           He obliged, slipping his hand into your lax grip on his neck and guiding your hips around a small spin that was just enough for you to see the overflowing booth the two had slid into, at least 7 or 8 angry-looking probably-vamps with eyes trained on you and Sam.

           When you turned back toward him, an easy, cheeky grin spread over his face as Sam slid an arm to your lower back and interlaced the fingers of his other hand with yours. “I didn’t realize you were this much trouble. What’d you do, spit in their beer?”

           “Very funny. Are they buying this?” You rested your palm on his shoulder, feeling the ripple of the muscles as his fingers spread out over your back.

           Sam chuckled and you felt the vibration of his chest into your forearms, starting to feel like a competition cheerleader with the plastered-on smile. “Gimme a sec, I don’t want to look suspicious.” He started incrementally rotating the two of you and you knew it was tactical, so he could see both Dean and the booth. Didn’t really help you either way, field of vision pretty much entirely blocked by the broad span of Sam’s chest. Knowing that he was trying to better his position signaled to you to get ready, and you held a deep breath in an effort to calm your racing heartbeat. He leaned back a touch. “You okay?”

           “Yeah, sorry. Just such a fucking rookie move, I feel like an idiot.”

           “Don’t sweat it. If it’s a rookie move, I must be a rookie too. And usually the warning Dean gives me for shit like this is yelling for me 6 punches in.”

           You snickered a little into the flannel of his shirt despite yourself. “Thanks.”

           The two of you swayed together through a chorus. “Come on Dean, you idiot, look up,” Sam murmured to himself. Dean was lining up a shot he could hit backwards with his eyes closed like he needed laser precision, blissful ignorance allowing him to concentrate only on hustling the guys he was playing for a couple hundred bucks and not the imminent danger. A few people got up from the booth and began making their way across the bar. You could see them in your peripheral vision and knew even if Dean miraculously glanced up now and got with the program lightning-fast you’d be in trouble based on sheer numbers alone.

           “You trust me?” he asked fervently.

           “Yeah, of course I—” you stammered, immediately cut off by the plush crash of Sam’s lips into yours, the deepened pressure of his hand sealing your torsos together. After the briefest stunned moment you got the picture, kissing Sam back cautiously. You let him pull you closer, relaxed into his arms and dragged the hand you had on his shoulder down to gently hold onto his lapel, feeling a little dizzy even through the relative chasteness of the kiss. He disentangled his fingers from yours and slid them to your neck, the tiny chill of each of his wintry fingertips sending goosebumps down your spine as he cradled your head. Hands on his collar, you didn’t even think to stop yourself when you wrapped the flannel up, pure instinct driving your motion. Sam wound through the hair at the back of your neck and those instincts betrayed you again, nipping at his bottom lip on reflex and slipping your tongue into his mouth, somehow sweet over the cheap beer you’d all been drinking throughout the night—perfect—and Sam was much less nervous than you would’ve thought when he took a sharp inhale in surprise but didn’t back down, met your escalation as readily as he supported your weight against him.

           And then you were well and truly in it, Sam’s hand hitching up the back of your tee as he reached for a better grip on you, your grabbing at his shirt popping open a button so you could feel the impossible heat off his chest and get towed under by it like a current, like a magnetic field, and you couldn’t stop, needed more and more, mind a fuchsia cloud of want totally void of intelligent thought or awareness of your surroundings even as you had been so panicked minutes before.

           The spell was broken by a wolf whistle from one of Dean’s opponents, and you broke apart with a lascivious pop of suction. Inches from you, Sam’s eyes were half lidded and kissed stupid, the pink of his lips feathered out to match the flush in his cheeks. You glanced toward the pool table to find the almost-hustled men leering at you and Sam from where they stood next to Dean, whose face had landed exactly halfway between stunned and disbelieving.

           Addressing his brother, Sam cleared his throat and breathed, “We were just—” looking back toward where the crew had been closing in and finding nothing, the group now playing some rowdy game and crawling all over each other to stay in the booth, not paying any attention to you or Sam. “We were, uh, just—” he tried again, still at a loss for words.

           “Get a room,” Dean teased, play-nauseated, eyebrows twisted so far up on his forehead you were surprised they weren’t pushing his hair back.

           “No, it wasn’t—”

           “In front of God and everybody,” he continued, roguish twinkle overcoming the surprise in his eyes. You could feel the heat rising in your face and hastily stepped back from Sam, yanking your shirt down the few inches it had risen. Sam seemed not to notice his open buttons as he froze, still facing Dean. “By all means, don’t let us stop you.” He supported his weight on his pool cue, face as clear a challenge as anything.

           Sam ruffled the back of his hair sheepishly and took the ribbing with tightened lips. “Yeah, okay. Ha-ha.”

           “I’m going to, uh, grab another beer. Do you want one?” you asked Sam quietly, hoping Dean and the pool players might lose interest.

           “Sure, yeah. I—ah, I’m gonna—” he stuttered, face screwing up in a silent, bashful “help me?” smile while his shoulders bunched around his neck. You started to giggle, nerves finally catching up to you, and bit your lip to hold your smile together.

           “Go finish your game?”

           Sam chuckled and nodded, looking at his feet.

           You took a deep breath. “Um, thanks for saving me back there. I won’t make the same mistake again, I promise.”

           He flicked his gaze up, grin split open at the side to show a few teeth as he ran his tongue over his molars, framed by an impossibly sliced dimple. “I—ah, I wouldn’t mind if you made that mistake again.”

-

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#sam #sam winchester #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester one shot #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam x reader #sam x you #sam winchester reader insert #sam reader insert #spn fic #spn oneshot #spn fluff #spn fanfiction #sam fluff #sam winchester fluff #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fluff #supernatural one shot #supernatural #sam winchester smut

[five-rivers]

Loved Chapter 5

Sort of wanted to do something more elaborate with this, but it just wasn't happening. Meh.

.

“But you aren’t really real, are you?”

Tucker’s question killed the mood fast than a bullet. Danny and Sam stared at him from their side of the blanket nest.

“You want to rephrase that?” asked Sam, glaring, arms crossed.

“Uh,” said Tucker, sweat starting to form on his upper lip. “I mean, clearly you’re real, just… maybe not entirely physical? You, it’s,” he made a sort of twisting gesture with one of his hands. “People who aren’t from here can’t see you. They can’t even touch you. That sort of implies that you’re not on the same level of reality as them.” He shrugged. “You call the other place the Dream, right? Maybe you’re in, like, a kind of daydream or something.”

Danny twisted a corner of a blanket in his hands. “No,” he said.

“Danny,” started Tucker.

“No,” repeated Danny. “I can’t—” He noticed he was breathing heavily, his eyes unfocused enough that he could see—No. “Tucker, I don’t—I don’t think I even have free will anymore.” No matter how much he Loved Clockwork and craved Love in return, no matter how glad he was that the dark future would never come to pass, that grated at times. “I need—” He gulped air.

(Before, if he was this panicked, his heart would be thundering in his chest. Now, it was far too quiet.)

Sam put a hand on his back, steadying. Tucker reached out, too, but hesitated, unsure.

“I need to be real,” he said. He needed to still exist, still be human, at least in part. He couldn’t lose that, too. No matter what else he might gain.

“You are real,” said Tucker. “I’m sorry, I—” He cursed lightly under his breath, “—I wasn’t thinking. It’s just… Maybe something you should think about. Maybe—Maybe you aren’t coming completely out of… I don’t know. Wherever you go.”

“Maybe,” said Danny, struggling to get his breathing back under control. “Maybe. I just. Not right now.”

“Okay,” said Tucker. “Yeah. What were we talking about before?”

“Who cares?” asked Sam. “Let’s watch a movie.”

“That sounds good,” said Danny.

.

Danny woke up first the next morning, which was somewhat unusual. Sam was definitely a night-owl, but Tucker woke up fairly early. He stepped over them, feet silent on the floor. Almost as if they weren’t really there.

He shook his head. Not now.

He went to the bathroom and took care of things slowly, deliberately, as if to impress upon his body that he was human.

Sam and Tucker still weren’t awake when he came back. Also, when he thought about it, the rest of the house was eerily silent as well.

No… There was music. Was that coming from outside? He closed his eyes to listen better and caught himself drifting off while standing.

That was abnormal. He knelt and shook Sam and Tucker’s shoulders. They didn’t stir.

Someone was here. And they were here without Danny knowing. That was bad. That was really bad.

He went to his parents’ room. They were asleep, too.

There was a nonzero possibility that he was the only one awake. (Assuming he had ever been awake in the first place and not, as Tucker put it, daydreaming.)

He went out, following the music. Music suggested Ember, but this didn’t seem to be her style. She preferred motion, energy, vibrance. This was quieter, subtler.

Then again, none of the others made sense.

(At least, Danny liked to pretend they didn’t.)

The music wasn’t louder outside, but it was clearer. The scent of something sweet floated on the air. Something warm. Like honey.

Was something buzzing?

Danny shook his head again, forcing himself back into awareness. Maybe he should try and figure out what was going on from inside the Dream. It wasn’t possible to fall asleep there. At least, Danny never had.

(Assuming he wasn’t always partially in the Dream, like Tucker said.)

On the other hand, it often helped to observe what was going on in the real world, on the surface of things, before diving. As messy as fights could be in the real world, winning them in the Dream was harder.

He forged on, periodically pinching himself. He wasn’t the only one on the streets, but he was the only one on the streets that wasn’t passed out. It looked like there had been some car crashes.

That’s when he saw her.

She stood in the middle of an intersection, looking away from him. She was built like a centaur, except the lower part of her body more closely resembled a massive deer than a horse. An elk, perhaps. Both her deer-portion and her human-portion had night-black skin, studded with white stars. Antlers curved and branched above her curly hair. A crown of red flowers sat on her head. She wore no other clothes.

Danny did not notice any of this at first. No, what first jumped out at him was the unmistakable chain of Love binding him to her and vice versa.

He’d never met anyone like this, so—

She turned to face Danny. But she didn’t have a face. She had a mask. A well-made mask that had both eye-holes and a mouth with lips that seemed to curve. It was also covered with pulsing, swirling, hypnotic patterns. Black and white chased each other across the mask, not respecting the mask’s physical curves.

Danny could feel his mind start to go fuzzy. Felt the ground go soft under him as he sank into the Dream. A distant part of him wanted to look away, but the rest of him could only blink slowly, captivated.

“Come,” she said in a fascinating combination of an out-loud voice and a True Voice, tugging lightly on the chain that attached Danny to her.

Danny complied, trotting out into the intersection. When he was most of the way there, she turned away again.

“Follow,” she ordered.

Danny did, vaguely noting how rapidly the sidewalks and concrete buildings of Amity Park flowed into smoothly rolling hills covered in grass and flowers. The air grew heavier. Hotter. The perfume of the flowers combined with the buzzing of the bees and the gentle music served to make Danny even drowsier than before.

Still, he could hardly nod off in this situation, walking behind her, Love connecting them.

Sluggishly, belatedly, a name came to mind. “Nocturne,” he said. The name tasted like milk and honey, like chamomile tea, like sleep. She stopped and inclined her head slightly towards him. “You’re different from before.”

“We haven’t met,” she said. Then she turned more fully, the lips on her mask curving into a smile. “Has our parent been showing you Dreams of me? Perhaps I looked more like this.” She changed, her body warping before Danny’s eyes to become an impossibly tall man completely covered in starry black robes. Except, of course, for his mask and curved, ram-like horns. “This is as good a place as any, I suppose.”

Danny nodded, not quite sure what he was agreeing to, and looked around. Amity Park was nowhere in sight. The hills were a little lumpy, as if the grass and moss were growing over oddly shaped rocks.

“Let’s sit,” said Nocturn, lowering himself elegantly to the ground.

Danny followed, movements clumsy and blurred by sleep. He blinked, and found his hands occupied by a large mug. He looked up at Nocturne. Had he given this to Danny, or…?

Nocturne smiled. Danny looked away, not feeling like getting caught in the hypnotic swirls of his mask again. There was something off about those rocks under the grass. Something about their shape…

Then he saw it and inhaled sharply through his teeth.

Bodies. They were bodies. Still breathing, but…

He looked back at Nocturne. He’d known Nocturne was being too nice to him. He was new to being other, but not new to being a younger sibling. Older siblings only acted like this when they had set up everything in their favor. When they wanted something.

Even knowing this, he struggled to keep his eyes open. Could he fall asleep in the Dream?

“What are you doing to them?” he asked. “How do I wake them up.”

Nocturne hummed. “I have an idea. Play a game with me, sibling, and I’ll tell you.”

“What kind of game?”

“You ask me a question, and for every answer I give you, I get something from you.”

“Like, an answer from me,” said Danny, trying to clarify his position, “or something else?”

Nocturne’s smile showed teeth.

“If I play this game,” said Danny, “I have to be able to say when it ends.” He didn’t want to be dancing around conversational pitfalls every time he interacted with Nocturne, after all. They were siblings.

(And though Love was not trust, it was Love. And Love was undeniable.)

“Of course,” agreed Nocturne, easily.

“Alright, then,” said Danny. He adjusted his grip on the mug.

The grass was crawling. He blinked, hard, and shook his head, dislodging two bees that had landed on his ear.

“How do I wake them up?” he asked.

“You can’t,” said Nocturne.

Danny paused, waiting for Nocturne to take what he wanted.

“You have other questions.”

“Aren’t you going to take something from me, for the question?”

“Yes, I am.”

Danny pursed his lips, realizing he had just wasted a question.

“If I can’t wake them, who or what can?”

“I could. Or they could wake themselves.”

Danny mulled over what that could mean. He had no idea where to start with the second part, but the first…

“What would I have to do, to get you to wake them?”

“You—”

The chain around Danny’s neck went taut, pulling him through the fabric of the Dream at breakneck speeds. He was in Clockwork, his sibling behind him.

You must not bully your sibling, my dear. I have enough love for both of you. You do not need to be jealous.

Danny swayed. Now that so much of the tension between him and Nocturne was gone, he was no longer able to use it to support his wakefulness.

Drink your milk, little Love. You’ll be able to find your friends.

Danny nodded sleepily and tipped the mug back. He didn’t remember what happened after that.

.

“Hundreds of Amity Park citizens are still in comas as health officials race to find the cause of the mysterious event. Some say that gas leaks are to…”

Danny tuned out the TV and glared at his cereal. He knew he had fallen asleep in the Dream and had done something, but the memory was beyond him. Maybe whatever it had been was beyond an even partially human mind.

Or whatever kind of mind Danny had.

His fingers twitched. He was going to go down again later today, to see if Clockwork would help him find everyone else. If they could be found at all. He didn’t want to. He was angry. Angry that this had happened, that it was still happening. Amity Park was his, and Nocturne had no right to try and steal and break and—

The terrible part, was that even though he was angry, his general desire to reach out to Nocturne, to lean on their Love… That had not diminished.

He looked forward to seeing them again.

The news continued to talk about the coma victims.

#danny phantom #eldritch abomination au #dannymay #dannymay day 13: daydream #dannymay 2021

[szchaql]

Total Opposite (part 5)

Paul Lahote x swan reader

Masterlist

After that day at the forest with Paul, i slowly start to get close with the others. Uncle Harry told me everything that i need to know and he assured me that I'll be safe with the Quileute and don't have to worry about anything.

Me and the Clearwaters still hangout together after school, despite Paul always want me to spend time with him. But i can't help it. We are just friends, and i'm not ready to step into another level.

Unfortunately, Seth and Leah phased not long after, surprised both Uncle Harry and Sue. Now, they are joining Sam's pack. Seth totally happy about his new ability, while Leah didn't take it well, get caught between Sam and Emily. I feel bad about her, so i tried to be there for her, cheer her up and make her feel comfortable enough on the pack.

Oh, by the way, Bella already told me everything about Cullens. She said that the one who saved me back then was Carlisle. But she never push me to meet them yet. "I just wanted you to know that not every vampires are bad. The one with red eyes eat people and you have to be carefull around them. But the golden eyes are safe. They are vegetarian. When you are ready, i'll let you meet them. Carlisle always asked me if you are okay now..." I tried to accept the fact that my sister close to a family of vampires and she's so fine with it. "I'll try to understand it, okay? I still need time.." she nod understandingly.

Who can imagine that only 2 days later i get attacked by a red hair vampire? Lucky me.

I'm driving my car after doing groceries. It still in the afternoon and usually it's totally okay. But, to my bad luck, someone or i can say a woman, with red hair standing in the middle of the road, making me break hard. My car turn around a few times before crashing into a tree. With a blurry views and heachaches, i barely see the red hair woman walk toward me and drag me out of the car. I groan in pain. She crunched down and look me straight into my eyes, her red eyes glowing. My breath hitch as the memories flowing into my head. I can't find my voice nor move my body as she reach down my throat, licking her lips. "Your blood smell so nice... like your sister. Maybe if i can't have your sister, i can have you as a dinner." She said, making me frightened.

Her mouth slowly reach my neck, as her tried to suck me up to death. I can't think about anything. Not even thinking about help or getting out of her. But before she can suck my blood, a loud growl coming from the trees, making the woman turn to see the creatures.

A big massive black wolf is growling at her, baring his teeth. Behind him, walk one by one a bunch of wolves. The red hed woman release me and stand up. She mutteted something under breath and run aways shortly being chased by the wolves. One wolf stand infront of me, then he crunch down, licks my face. With blurry views, i notice that the wolf is Paul, from his grey fur. Then, beside me there's sandy fur wolf, poking me on my hands, whining. Seth.

Not long after, both of them change back into human form, wearing a cut short jeans. Paul run into me, crunching down and pick me up bridal style. I groan in pain as he pick me up. "Hang in there, okay? Seth, call your mom. Let's meet up at Emily's." Seth nod and run into different path as me and Paul head back to Emily. I realised his hands are shaking while carrying me. I try to look up at him, seeing his hard face.

"I'm... fine...." i whispers, slowly find my voice. Paul tightening his grip. "No, you're not.. i nearly lose you..."

Soon after we arrive at Emily's. As Paul lay me down on the sofa, Emily has been busy taking a bowl of warm water and towel to clean up my wounds. Sue comes later with Seth, with some medical equipments on her hands. She quickly treated my wound and give me pain killers and some medicines.

"Luckily her wounds aren't deep. She just need some rest for a few days and she will be fine." She said after taking care of me. The boys and Leah already back in the middle of my treatment.

"(Y/n), you should stay here. I'll prepare the guest room for you. I'll call Charlie to let him know that you will stay us." Sam said.

"Will he be okay?" I'm not sure Dad will be okay with me staying with Sam and the others.

"I'll let him know that (y/n) will be staying with us. I'll take care of it." Sue suggest, since she also close with Dad. Sam nod in agreement.

Sue, Leah and Seth go home short after, Emily is preparing my room to stay, Paul and the guys are with me, sitting or standing close to me, like they are guarding me. "Just go home, guys.. i'll be safe here.." i said, feeling bad about them.

"Jared, Embry and Paul will be staying here. Jacob and Quil will guard your home. Victoria must be hunting Bella too." Sam said as the boys nod.

"(Y/n), the room is ready. Come on, let's move you so you can rest well." Emily walk down and Paul pick me up slowly, bridal style, and head up into the guest room. He lay me down softly on the bed and lay himself beside me, hugging me under his chin, securing me.

"I'm sorry... i couldn't protect you well.." he whispered, almost crying. I sigh softly. "It's not your fault. We didn't know that she hunt me too. It's okay. I'll be fine, don't worry."

"Still... with you having that traumatized moment, and with that red hair woman..." I pat his hand, which hug me tightly on my waist, snuggling more into his warmth. "Let's sleep okay? You are here now, with the others, and i finally can rest well.." i start to drift into darkness and soon sleep consume me.

~~

In a days where i'm healing, the packs start to have join power with the Cullens and train with them, when they heard about a new born army lead by Victoria. She targeted Bella for revenge to Cullen since they killed her mate, James. Classic.

"We will go for a war with the new borns in a few days." Sam said as the packs are having a lunch at Emily. Paul grip on my body tighten as i sit on him, eating lunch.

"How about Bella?" I asked.

"She will be with Jacob and Edward, staying in the mountain, while the rest of us fighting the new born." Jared said as my eyes widen.

"What?! Are you serious?! What the hell?!" My usual calm attitude, snap as i heard about it. The others flinch at my sudden attitude, shock that i snap like that. "Edward and Jacob didn't fight?! What the hell is that! That's not fair."

"(Y/n)... calm down... maybe they have another strategy.." Paul, shockingly, the one who calm me down. I huff and continue to eat my lunch.

"It's fine, (y/n).. maybe Edward try to hide your sister scent or lure Victoria to him.... we don't know.. just believe that everything will be okay." Sam try to assured me.

"Still.. if one of you get hurt, i'll definitely kill her myself." I murmured, gulping down my lunch.

Paul laugh softly, kissing my side head. "I never knew you can be this fierce.."

"You better not know, Paul... but she really can kill people if she's mad..." Seth murmured, knowing very well about me. "Better not make her angry if you don't want to die.." the guys laugh loudly. And that we start to enjoy our lunch before the war.

Emily, Kim and I are waiting impatiently for the packs to come back from the war. We silently pray that all of them are okay and not hurt. But when Seth running hurriedly toward us, we knew that something must happened.

"Jake's hurt. He's at Billy's waiting for Carlisle to help him."

Me and Emily hurriedly go to Billy's while Kim had to come home. As we arrive at Billy's, i immediately go to Paul and hug him tightly. Part of me relief that he's okay, and part of me because i'm scared about Jacob. Paul hug me back tightly and kiss my head. "I'm fine... everything will be fine.. Jake will be fine..." He keeps saying it.

Carlisle arrive later, and hurriedly get inside the house with Sam. Short after, Jake's scream fill the air. I flinch and burried my head into Paul's arm, hugging him by the waist tightly. Seth, who stand beside me, rub my hand, try to calm me down. While Paul, hugging me and with his hands close my ears so i don't really heard Jake's scream.

The sound of car engine approaching us take our attention. Bella's truck is parking and she hurriedly walk toward us. I glare at my sister, want to yell at her, but Paul held me down. "It's been going on a while, doc rebreaking his bone so it can heal properly." Jared said.

"Why did he had to butt in? I could take him." Leah said with so much guilt on her voice. I know it's not her fault.

"Oh, give it a rest, Leah." Paul snap. I tighten my grip on his waist, try to just drop it.

Soon, the scream died down and Carlisle walk out with Sam. "He's fine. I give him a medicine and his body temperature will burn it off soon." He said as Billy sigh in relief. I sigh and slowly loosen my grip on Paul, looking at the others. "He is searching for you, Bella." I glare at my sister. Why must her? How about Billy?

"Thankyou." Billy offer his hand to Carlisle which he return. Then he is off, back home maybe.

Bella glance at Billy as he nod, approving, and Bella get inside the house. I huff, annoyingly. Paul rub my back slowly. "She's so annoying..." i murmured.

"Calm down, (y/n)... it's not partly Bella's fault..." Seth said.

I raise my eyebrows. "Really? To me it still her fault.. because she's having a relationship with vampires that it end up like this." I snap with so much venom.

"(Y/n), dear.. calm down.." Sue said, softly, and Billy just smile.

I groan and freeing myself from Paul's grip. "I'll go back to Emily's.. i don't want to say something that i'll regret."

Sam nod understandingly. "Paul, go with her. Emily, you too. We can handle this." He said.

So the three of us back to Emily's to call it a day. As Emily prepare something for Sam to eat, me and Paul are laying down on the bed, in each other arms.

What happened this few weeks with the new born army make my relationship with Paul go further. We complete each other out, and i feel more safe with him and the packs. "I'm glad that i got imprinted by you.. i could never imagine if i'm not.. what will happened to me if you guys didn't save me from Victoria. I'm thinking about my Dad, but having Uncle Billy and Uncle Harry being with him make me calmer. But, Bella.. huh.. even if i want her happiness, but this are so stupid.. having a happy relationship with vampires.. i can't imagine it. And this is what happened..."

Paul look down at me, who lying on his arms, hugging his waist tightly. "Me too... if i didn't met you and imprinted on you, maybe i'll never change and always be the bad guy. But you change me to a better man. I never imagine thay i'll be the one who calm you down.." he chuckle. "I'm gratefull that our ancestor pick you to become my imprint. I could never ask for more. Just you by my side is enough for me."

We, enjoying each other warmth, talking so much about our relationship and life ahead. The bond is deeper now. And i'm ready to take this into another level. "Are you sure? I won't push you if you are not ready yet.."

"I'm ready, Paul... besides it just a boyfriend and girlfriend thing.." i shrug.

"So, will you be my girlfriend, (y/n) Swan?" He asked, smile widely. I look up at him. "Of course. Why do you still ask if you already know the answer?"

"Just want to make it more formal?" We both laugh and enjoying the night. Slowly drifting into sleep as tiredness hit both of us.

#paul lahote imagine #paul lahote x reader #paul lahote #twilight imagine #twilight #new moon #eclipse #sam uley #jacob black #jared cameron #quil ateara #embry call #seth clearwater #leah clearwater

[chemist-ana]

Chapter 14 The Flight— Sams POV

Book: The Nanny Affair

Characters: Sam, Ana Schuyler (MC), Mason and Mickey, Sofia

Pairing: Sam Dalton (male) x Ana Schuyler (MC)

Rating: 18+

Content Warning: NSFW, Sexual Language, Adult Language, Sexual Situations

A/N Shit starts to hit the fan for these two, I know that book 2 already started, but I have had some requests for this series to continue. I know Sam is in a weird place- and the next chapter I am going to really delve into his mind. Keeping this one a little light yall.

Summary: In the cold light of day, will you and Ana be able to face the consequences of your actions?

Word Count: 3919

Tag List:  @txemrn @secretaryunpaid @pixie88 @thefrenchiemama @sfb123 @mainstreetreader @shewillreadyou @choicesficwriterscreations @chrissythadon @somersetmummy @jerzwriter @shannonwrote @khoicesbyk @lady-calypso @melalicious8383 @chrissythadon

The car ride to the private terminal of JFK is long… and loaded with tension. I continue to glance at Ana who is studiously avoiding my gaze and has been for the entire week leading up to this trip. Her legs are curved up with a pair of high-heeled boots, a light floral sundress, complimenting her olive skin. Effortlessly beautiful...

We pull up on the tarmac and Carter opens our door. The boys jump out of the car, and Ana and I follow close behind, taking the stairs up into one of the  Dalton Enterprises jets.

“Dibs on the top bunk!” Mason calls out as he runs down the aisle towards the boy’s room in the back of the jet.

“No fair!” Mickey chases after him.

“There are bedrooms on this thing?” I hear Ana murmur to herself.

“Yes, ma’am. We’re equipped with every amenity you could possibly imagine.” Ana jumps in surprise as Ellie, my flight attendant, answers her.

“Really? Even a full-body massage?” Her lips spread.

I bite the inside of my cheek to hide my boylike grin as Ellie answers her. I will give you a full body massage.

“Thank you, Ellie. That will be all for now.” I tell her with a smile.

“Very good. I’ll go check on the boys. Push the call button if you need me.” She gives me a nod, and walks towards the back of the plane, disappearing from view.

Ana finally glances my way and I catch her eye, offering her a small smile as I sit down in one of the leather chairs.

“You look wonderful today. New outfit?”

She blushes but doesn't break her eye contact. “You know what they say… new country, new me.”

“I hope everything about you hasn’t changed… although I do like the new look.” She searches my eyes.

“Thank you.” She says as she sits down in a chair across the aisle from me, turning her gaze out of the window.

I let my eyes roam across her body before turning to the New York Times that is sitting on the table in front of me. I unfold it, desperate to alleviate even a little bit of the tension between us. If that means I need to give you space… I can try. I watch out of the corner of my eye as she opens up some sleazy tabloid magazine. I watch her eyes narrow as she becomes engrossed in a story, a line forming between her brow.

“What has you so absorbed over there?” I ask, breaking the silence. I wonder if that issue has our photo in it?

“Oh, nothing. Just some mindless reading.”

“I’m not sure there is such a thing.”

She turns her face towards me. “Sam, you’re talking to me now?”

I bite my tongue to stop a grin. “Last I checked, you were the one avoiding me. I’ve tried to talk to you several times over the last few days…”

“I wasn’t avoiding you. I was busy getting ready for our trip.” Her tone was defensive as a hot color rose on her cheeks. Her eyes narrowed.

“I know. That's why I let it slide. But now that we’re stuck together for a while… Let’s just say, I asked Ellie to make sure the boys are otherwise occupied for the first leg of our journey.”

The scoffs. “What if I don't want to talk to you?”

“That’s certainly your prerogative. I won’t force you, Ana.” I keep my voice even.

She lifts the magazine to block me out and I shake my head slightly, turning my attention back to the newspaper.

“Ohmygod! Sam, have you seen this?”

That beautiful photo of you and me together in the gossip mags? Of course, I have… I have had dozens of news alerts since that night.

“I told you that you were a big hit that night. Even the press thinks so.”

“It’s a good thing they didn’t let cameras inside the gala. That could’ve been embarrassing.”

“Would it have been so bad? I’m not embarrassed about anything that happened that night.” It probably would have been bad for my image… but maybe it's the exact kick in the ass I need.

“... Aren’t you?” She gives me an incredulous look as she raises a sculpted brow.

“Absolutely not. I may regret how some things were handled after the fact… but nothing that happened that night. Or the night after, for that matter.” Even though I definitely acted like it… and continue to act like it. I haven’t given you a reason to believe a word I fucking say.

“Sam…”

I take a breath, standing up, and moving to the seat next to her before I can stop myself. I place my hand on hers, the familiar spark that has been present from the moment I first touched her, crackles between us. Her eyes roam my face and settle on my lips.

“... Ana?” I warn as heat starts to spread in my veins. I watch as her eyes darken and her tongue darts out to lick at her bottom lip. She reaches up and wraps her hands around the back of my neck, pulling my lips to within millimeters of hers.

“I want you.” She whispers

“If this is a trick to distract me from our talk-”

“It’s not. I just need you inside me.” She whimpers, cutting me off, her voice laden with desire. Her words send a shockwave through my body as I whisper a quiet curse and bring her lips to mine. I need to be inside of you. I coax her lips open with my tongue as we settle back into our seats. I tap my hand blindly, searching for the blanket I know is draped around the back of my chair. I grip the soft fabric when I find it, pulling it over our laps, sliding my hands under it, and running my fingers up the inside of the soft skin of her thighs. My lips drop to the delicate curve of her throat, eliciting a moan from her lips.

My fingers travel further up until I reach the apex of her thighs, my thumb pressing against her nub through the lace fabric of her panties. Her breathing gets shallow as I feel her body begin to tense. Without breaking our heated kiss she stands and sits on top of my lap, straddling my hips, effectively pinning my hand between her legs.

“That’s better.” She murmurs against my lips.

“So much for our security blanket.” I tease.

“Do you mind?” She asks me, leaning back slightly so she can see my eyes.

“Definitely not. The view is better like this.” I stare longingly across the curves of her body before I lean forward and pepper kisses along the exposed skin of her chest. “I just want you to be comfortable.”

She wraps her arms around my neck and grinds her hips into my hardened desire, she quivers at the contact.

“Oh, I am.” She purrs. She snakes her hand down and makes contact with my hard cock. I suck in a breath through my teeth at the sensation. “Is all this for me?” She smiles as she watches my expression of pleasure that is obvious on my face.

“Only you.” I answer, my voice husky.

She briefly halts her movement to unzip my jeans, reaching into my boxers to make direct contact with her soft palm. The sensation has me pumping my hips in time with her firm strokes, sending a moan falling from my lips.

“Mmm, I love that sound. But you’d better keep it down…” She teases, as her lips explore the planes of my cheek, her hips and hand still rubbing against me.

“Is that a challenge?” I growl at her. I slide my fingers past the delicate fabric and dip two fingers inside of her moist cunt. She bites her lip as her gaze grows dark and her body writhes. Her head falls back as she moans. “I bet I can make you come first…” I whisper into her ear, loving the way her body responds to my touch.

She slides her hand out of my jeans, leaning back slightly on my lap. Her eyes never leaving mine, she brings her palm up to her mouth, running her hand along her tongue. Her name falls from my lips as she sends waves of desire through my body. She reaches her hand back down, pumping harder and faster than she did before. I can’t help the moans that are escaping my lips as she works my cock like a pro. I close my eyes as I give into the sensation, my breathing growing ragged.

Desperate to watch her come undone, I focus my thoughts into adding another finger into her pooling wetness, using my thumb to press firmly against her clit. I reach my other hand up under her dress, finding and pinching her nipple into a firm peak. She moans my name, a surrender.

“I won't come until you do…” I whisper against her cheek, her ragged breathing hot on my neck.

We continue to move faster against each other. Her movements send me impossibly deeper and higher as I near the edge of my own release.

“That’s it, Ana. Come for me.” I whisper into her ear as her moans fill my ears. I watch her mouth fall open as her forehead falls to my shoulder. She bites my shoulder, hard, as she muffles her moans. Her body convulses and tightens around my fingers as she goes crashing over the edge in her orgasm. The feel of her body coming at my command sends me soaring over the edge with her as my eyes close and my head falls back. I moan her name as we find our release, together. We stay intertwined together as our breathing slows, her head still resting on my shoulder.

A few minutes later, she lifts her emerald eyes to mine.

“Call it a tie?” She says as a playful smile crosses her face.

I can’t help but laugh as I press a soft kiss to her lips. “Fair enough. But watch yourself, or I might demand a rematch.” I help her retake her seat in the plush leather chair beside mine, and I take a moment to button up my jeans and straighten my shirt.

“So… about that talk.” Her voice sounds small.

A wave of guilt and regret wash over me as I glance over at Ana and her fingers are knotted on her lap.

“What’re we going to do?” She asks quietly.

“I don’t know. I shouldn’t have put you in such a terrible position.” I reach up and rub the back of my neck as my stomach drops.

“‘Terrible position’? Meaning… You’re still going to marry Sofia. Even after we...” Her voice sounds so sad… and I want to tear at the ache in my chest as the realization hits me. I have no choice…

“Yes. I… I have to.” My eyes search hers as I see them start to shine with unshed tears.

“You don’t have to do anything. You could grow up. Are you ever going to take responsibility for your part in all of this?” Her voice is angry now as her lips settle into a thin line.

“You’re right. I haven’t been stepping up like I should. But I’m trying to change that now. And this engagement… it’s my way of trying to take responsibility for the boys’ sakes.”

“The boys? What do they have to do with this?”  Her eyes widen.

“Everything. I don’t know what you’ve heard about me and Sofia, but the arrangement was our parents’ idea. A way to merge our families and companies.”

“Because it's the 19th century again?” She says with contempt.

“Something like that. But I’ve known Sofia forever, and I already married for love once… At the time, the engagement seemed like the right move.” I never thought I would meet another woman that would floor me the way you do.

“A way to secure a legacy for Mason and Mickey.” Her face drops at her realization.

“Exactly. After everything they’ve been through with their mom and previous nannies, I felt like they needed a stable, motherly presence in their lives. My dad is officially stepping down as CEO after the merger, and I’ll take over for him, as long as everything goes as expected. It was the perfect plan. But then…” I trail off as the words I long to say hurt too bad to say out loud… I met you.

“Then you met me.”

I nod as I watch her sink further into the chair.

“If I don’t marry Sofia, I’d lose everything. It'd be an easy decision if I only had myself to think about. But if Robin takes over the company, Mason and Mickey would lose everything too. And Dalton Enterprises… it’s their birthright.” It’s in their name, they are destined to run this company… if I can’t be there as their father, I need to give them the one thing I have worked so hard to give them.

“Sam, have you talked to your dad about this? Maybe if you just explain…”

My mind wanders back to the conversation I had with my father… “Women like your nanny are only good for one thing…”

I shake my head, controlling the grimace that threatens to cover my face. Time for a white lie…

“We have talked about it. As much as he likes you, he’s convinced Sofia is the better match. He won’t change his mind.”

She hesitates, her eyes focused on her hands before she takes a deep breath. “In that case, I think we should take a step back. You’re engaged. You're going to marry Sofia. Until that changes, we can't keep going the way we have been.”

My stomach sinks further as she turns her face towards mine. I hate being the one that has made you so sad…

“Of course… if that’s what you want, I’ll respect your wish. I suppose I should stay by sitting over there, huh?” I gesture to the other side of the plane and she gives me a small, sad smile.

“Yeah, that might be best.”

I stare at her for one more moment before retreating back to the other side of the jet. I see her turn and face the window out of the corner of my eye and I tip my head back onto the headrest. What am I doing, and why does this feel so wrong?

***

The flight passes by slowly as the tension lingers between Ana and me. When we finally land in Italy we make the long drive up to Sofia’s family villa that is nestled in the middle of wine country. I watch as Ana stares absentmindedly out of the window and my chest tightens.

“I’m so tired, I can barely think straight.” She frowns as she steps out of the SUV, shielding her eyes from the bright sun.

“Ana, you can take a nap while me and Mason go to the beach!” Mickey shouts as he jumps out.

“Nice try, Mickey, but there are other adults who can watch you while Ana rests.” I tousled his hair.

“Can’t blame a kid for trying…” He shrugs his shoulders.

“Dad, will you take us to the beach?” Mason asks with a smile.

“At some point, definitely. But we should check in with our hosts before we make any plans--”

“Is that my boo-bear I hear?” Sofia shouts as she emerges from the front door. I bite my tongue. God, I hate that nickname.

Sofia walks up and greets everyone with a kiss on each cheek.

“You’re finally here! Welcome to our humble abode.” She stretches her arms out and gestures to the estate. “Ana, that dress is divine. I was worried that… Never mind, you’ll fit right in.” Sofia glances quickly at Ana before turning her back and moving towards the door. “Come in, come in. It won’t do for the neighbors to see us standing outside all day.”

“But Aunt Sofia, there aren’t any other houses around…” Mason scrunches up his face in confusion, but Sofia just waves her hand dismissively as she continues walking away from us.

“I’ll just give you a quick tour so you don’t get lost-”

“Can we start with the pool?” Mickey shouts as he runs by her.

“Mickey! Wait for me!” Mason chases after him, pulling his suitcase behind him. They both stop beside the pool, opening their suitcases and digging around, removing every last piece of packed clothing from inside. I bite back a smile as I watch Sofia’s eyebrows furrow in annoyance.

“Ana, aren’t you going to do something about this?”

“Actually, as their future stepmom, maybe you should.” Ana shrugs her shoulders.

Sofia huffs and looks at Mason and Mickey.

“This oughta be good…” Ana whispers as she leans in close to me.

“I’m almost afraid to look.” I flash her a smile.

“You two, stop it right now and clean up this mess!” Sofia shouts at them as she places her hands on her hips.

“No thanks!” Mason doesn’t even look up from trying to find his swimsuit.

“Target acquired, Admiral Mason!” Mickey celebrates as he lifts a super soaker over his head in victory. Where the hell did that come from?

“How did they sneak that into their luggage?” Ana says with surprise.

Mickey quickly fills the water gun in the pool and points and shoots it all over Mason as he shouts.

“Boys! Enough!”

I jump slightly as Sofia shouts, her face twisted in anger. The boys turn towards Sofia, their fingers still pulling the trigger on the guns, sending a water stream shooting onto Sofia’s face.

This. Is. Priceless.

“Sorry!” Mickey shouts, immediately putting the water gun to his side.

“Alright, I think that’s enough. Boys, clean up your clothes right now.” Ana steps forward, clearly fighting back a laugh.

“Yes, Ana…” Mason looks down at the pile of clothes, kneeling down to put it all back inside of his suitcase.

“I really didn’t mean to spray you, Aunt Sofia. I was aiming for Mason.” Mickey looks at Sofia.

“...I accept your apology.” Sofia chimes as her face softens.

“Maybe we should let them blow off some steam after being cooped up in the place for so long.” Ana turns to me and I glance down at her.

“Good thinking. Let’s take this tour away from the pool…” I glance down at the boys who have their suitcases zipped and by their sides.

Sofia leads us to the back patio

“Wow. I could get used to this.” Ana says quietly as she places her hands on the railing, overlooking the rolling hills.

“It’s a stunning view.” I step up next to her.

“And it’s the perfect place to play hide-and-seek.” Mickey’s eyes grow wide as he looks around the rows of grapes in the vineyard.

“Not it!” Mason shouts as they start to run towards the rows of vines, but Sofia steps into their path causing both of them to slide to a stop.

“The vineyard is not for recreation. It’s a Russo subsidiary.” Her eyes are wide.

I roll my eyes.

“What does that mean?” Mickey looks up at her.

“It means little boys shouldn’t play hide-and-seek in it.” She crosses her arms across her chest.

“Sofia, be reasonable. The boys won’t hurt the vines, and they could use the chance to run around a bit.” I take a step towards her meeting her gaze.

“But these varieties take years to grow to fruition. One misstep and-”

I know you are worried about your dad, Sof. Let it go.

“Please, Aunt Sofia!” Mason shouts, bringing his hands together to plead.

“We promise we won’t touch any grapes!” Mickey widens his eyes.

“And if anything does happen, I’ll make sure your father knows it was my fault.”

“But nothing will. Sam and I will make sure of it.” Ana steps up by my side and I glance down at her quickly. Sofia looks between Ana and me.

“Very well. On one condition…”

“What?” Mason asks.

“...I’m not ‘it’ either!” Sofia smiles a genuine smile.

“You’re gonna play too? Not it!” Ana smiles as she dances backward from the group, putting space between herself and all of us.

“Not it!” I shout making my way towards the vines and look down at Mickey. His lips spread into a sly smile.

“Whatever, I’m the fastest anyway.”

“This planter will be home base. You can’t get tagged while you’re touching it.” Mason points to a pot on the patio.

“Yeah, yeah. But first… you all have to hide!” Mickey turns his back to the vines and closes his eyes as he starts counting. Everyone scatters to find a hiding spot. I head into the vines, finding a place between a trellis and I hear Mickey shout.

I sit quietly until I see Mickey pass by me. As soon as he is out of sight, I emerge from my hiding spot, making a straight shot to the planter. When I turn around I see Ana running towards me with Mickey hot on her heels.

“Come on, Ana! I’ve got you!”

“Not if I get you first!” Mickey shouts gaining on her.

I reach out and grab Ana’s hand, pulling her powerfully into my arms. Her chest rises and falls with her breath.

“Safe!” She giggles, the sound sending warmth surging through me.

“... For now. I’ll get you next time.” Mickey smiles.

“We’ll see about that.” Ana jests.

“Sofia and Mason are still out there… Unless you want them to win.” I look at Mickey.

“Never!” He shouts as he turns and runs back into the vines.

“Don’t you think Sofia might see?” Ana whispers.

I look down as I realize I still have my arms firmly around Ana’s body.

“Right, of course. Sorry.” I shake my head slightly as I let my arms fall to my side, but I don’t step back. She looks up at me and her emerald eyes shine in the bright sunlight.

“Thanks for saving me.” She clears her throat with a smile.

“Any time. I-”

I jump when a triumphant shout comes from the vines. I turn and see Sofia walking with Mickey and Mason towards the patio.

“I got Aunt Sofia!” Mickey raises his fist in the air.

“She was talking on her phone! I saw the whole thing!” Mason pushes his glasses up his nose.

“Nice one, Mickey.” Ana gives him a high five.

“I had to take the call! They didn’t know I was in the middle of a game.” Sofia’s eyes are wide as she comes to a stop and places her hands on her hips.

“Sounds like he got you fair and square, Sofia.” I give her a crooked smile and she sticks her tongue out at me.

“Which means that you’re it.” Ana cheers as she starts backing towards the vines.

“Very well.” Sofia closes her eyes and starts counting loudly. I turn and make my way back into the vineyard to hide. I glance over my shoulder and I see Ana watching me as I turn down a row. I flash her a wink. Follow me. But she doesn’t.

In fact, she avoids me for the rest of the day. My mind races as the reality of our situation really hit me. What are you going to do Dalton?

#ana dalton #choices fanfic writers creations #choices tna #choicestna #choices sam dalton #the nanny affair #sam dalton #sams pov #sam dalton x mc

[amispnrewatch]

SPN 1x06 “Skin”

Okay, I’m gonna try to type while I watch this time instead of forgetting this blog exists until the episode is almost over.

You can tell the footage for the previously on segment was saved on a VHS copy instead of the original film that the show was shot with because even in the HD iTunes version I have it looks low quality as fuck. And jumpy in the way that brings me back to my teens watching the WB all the damn time.

I love this song. WTF is this song. Shazam says “Good Deal” by Mommy and Daddy. I… have no comment, except that it sounds like everything I was listening to in college at the time this shit was airing.

Aaaaand not!Dean turns around to face the SWAT team after obviously torturing some woman. THAT is a cold open.

I wanna know what that car is in the background. It’s pretty. Maybe a convertible Impala? They have similar grills. This is not at all important.

Also, I love that with these higher definition versions of the episodes you can see that Sam’s email is lawboy and whatever dot com and that people in the fandom have started calling him Law Boy. It’s hilarious.

DEAN: Well, what exactly do you tell ‘em? You know, about where you’ve been, what you’ve been doin’?

SAM: I tell ‘em I’m on a road trip with my big brother. I tell ‘em I needed some time off after Jess.

DEAN: Oh, so you lie to ‘em.

SAM: No. I just don’t tell ‘em….everything.

DEAN: Yeah, that’s called lying. I mean, hey, man, I get it, tellin’ the truth is far worse.

SAM: So, what am I supposed to do, just cut everybody out of my life? (DEAN shrugs.) You’re serious?

DEAN: Look, it sucks, but in a job like this, you can’t get close to people, period.

Aaaaand now I have Dean and Cassie feelings again and we haven’t even gotten to her episode yet.

SAM: No, man, I know Zack. He’s no killer.

DEAN: Well, maybe you know Zack as well as he knows you.

Aaaaaand now I have Dean and Lee feelings and we’re nowhere near Lee’s episode in season 15.

YOU JUST BLEW THROUGH A STOP SIGN DEAN WTF.

Little Becky. Oi with the reusing of names.

Of course Sam made friends with a bunch of rich kids while he was at college in a desperate attempt to try to be normal.

SAM: You know, maybe we could see the crime scene. Zack’s house.

DEAN: We could.

REBECCA: Why? I mean, what could you do?

SAM: Well, me, not much. But Dean’s a cop. (DEAN laughs.)

DEAN: Detective, actually.

I love that Dean was like “how dare you call me that.”

Okay, after a bit of research, I totally want to take a day trip to Bisbee, Arizona, but it’s already in the 90s here in the desert and it’s not even May so that trip is going to have to wait until… winter or something. There is no way in hell I’m going deeper into the desert when the weather gets hotter.

It’s a historic mining town tourist trap looking place now which is exactly the kind of shit I love.

SAM: Bec, look, I know Zack didn’t do this. Now, we have to find a way to prove that he’s innocent.

I mean, not technically, technically you would 1) NOT FUCK WITH A MURDER INVESTIGATION YOU’RE NOT LEGALLY INVOLVED IN BECAUSE ANYTHING YOU FIND WOULD BE INADMISSABLE IN COURT 2) find evidence to provide a reasonable doubt for the jury that he did commit the crime. You know, like a lawyer would need to do, Law Boy.

DEAN: I just don’t think this is our kind of problem.

When I made my husband watch this show with me (he’s seen it all at least once now over the years) this is the recurring thing that drove him crazy.

You guys can’t even go in through the back door? Or shut the front door behind you? Really?

REBECCA: (tearfully) Well, there’s no sign of a break-in. They say that Emily let her attacker in.

Yeah, that doesn’t even really mean that she knew her attacker. Just that it was someone she let her guard down around or got in some other way. See: The Son of Sam and Nightstalker, etc.

Love the pinup magnet on the fridge. I’d throw shade at that, but I have a pinup magnet on my fridge too so… pot kettle and all that.

Okay, both people in the next couple are gorgeous.

And oh wow those special effects changing eyes… wow.

This poor couple. I feel so bad for them in this episode.

How… how are the police gonna explain the way he was able to beat himself over the head with a bat??? I…

I love that 5:30 in the morning on TV is clearly like… 10 AM.

Okay, this is a really unrelated point, but the graffiti on the dumpster here reminds me of the Teen Wolf fandoms use of the name Void!Stiles when Stiles Stilinski was possessed by a Nogitsune… I just spent way too long digging through YouTube and my Tumblr tags from back when those episodes were airing looking for a few specific videos and couldn’t find them. The TL;DR reason I bring it up here is goofball, bi-coded main character guy getting possessed by an entity set on destroying the people he loves. SOUNDS LIKE THIS EPISODE AND A WHOLE LOT OF SPN RIGHT. I love that all these monster hunting shows call out to each other.

This scene haunts me years later and I don’t even WATCH Teen Wolf. I just watched the fandom on Tumblr collectively lose it’s shit then tripped down a Hale Pack fanfiction rabbit hole.

ANYWAY

Back to Supernatural, a show that also treated its fan base, cast, and characters like garbage! Huzzah!

DEAN: Well, there’s another way to go—down. (They look down and notice a manhole.)

I’m gonna be mature and ignore the double entendre there…

But I love that Dean thinks of the world in 3D. Which sounds like a dumb statement to make, but this is honestly a good example of that in action.

SAM: I bet this runs right by Zack’s house, too.

Really Sam, sewers run by houses? SO WEIRD. I WOULD HAVE NEVER GUESSED.

DEAN: You know, I just had a sick thought. When the shapeshifter changes shape—maybe it sheds.

SAM: That is sick. (DEAN puts the bloody pile back on the ground.)

Guys, there is a WHOLE ASS EAR in that pile of yuck you’re looking at. I think it’s pretty safe to assume the shapeshifter indeed sheds its skin like a snake. A much… gooier snake.

Sam’s friend is rightfully pissed at him for fucking with the crime scene.

This is before the pearl gripped guns?! Wow. I never noticed that before.

Also, this whole episode gives me feelings.

++++

Cool. Tumblr mobile ate a whole section of my notes on this when it crashed for NO APPARENT REASON. Love that.

It always boggles my mind that actors can trust the people they’re working with enough to let people “tie” ropes around their neck or put them in actually dangerous positions in a scene.

SHAPESHIFTER: He’s sure got issues with you. You got to go to college. He had to stay home. I mean, I had to stay home. With Dad. You don’t think I had dreams of my own? But Dad needed me. Where the hell were you?

SAM: Where is my brother? (The shapeshifter leans in close to SAM.)

SHAPESHIFTER: I am your brother. See, deep down, I’m just jealous. You got friends. You could have a life. Me? I know I’m a freak. And sooner or later, everybody’s gonna leave me. (He backs away.)

SAM: What are you talkin’ about?

SHAPESHIFTER: You left. Hell, I did everything Dad asked me to, and he ditched me, too. No explanation, nothin’, just poof. Left me with your sorry ass. But, still, this life? It’s not without its perks. (He laughs.) I meet the nicest people. Like little Becky. You know, Dean would bang her if he had the chance. Let’s see what happens. (He smiles and covers SAM with a sheet.)

This exchange is just… so much. So many feelings. And I will forever (unless we magically get a fix-it fic mini season someday…) be SO MAD that none of this got resolved in that pointless, trash heap of a finale.

REBECCA: Okay, so, this thing—it can make itself look like anybody?

SHAPESHIFTER: That’s right. (She chuckles.)

REBECCA: Well, what is it, like a genetic freak? (The shapeshifter laughs.)

SHAPESHIFTER: Maybe. Evolution is about mutation, right? So, maybe this thing was born human but was different. Hideous and hated. Until he learned to become someone else. (REBECCA looks around, uncomfortable. The shapeshifter’s eyes glint silver, and he smiles.)

It always amazes me how much of this show is a pile of accidental queer allegories parading around in an ill-fitting toxic masculinity suit.

Vulcan mind meld! I love nerd!Dean. Also, I’m rewatching Star Trek: TOS with my husband, because that is what my life amounts to these days, rewatching comfort TV and flailing over the bits I love.

This post does a better job than I can do of pairing up screen caps with the dialogue of this next scene. SIX EPISODES IN. They’re dumping all of this character depth SIX EPISODES IN. FUCK THIS SHOW FOR NOT EMBRACING ITSELF.

Okay, I love that he screams back in her face after he threw the phone. It’s not something to laugh at because the situation is horrifying, but I can’t help laughing at it every time.

AND THE WAY THEY CUT THESE SCENES. Going from him winding his hand back to backslap her directly to him dropping the chains on the table to show how hard he must have hit her without actually making the actors hit each other. Good job editing department!

I… don’t understand the shifter’s motivation for killing people. If he can take over people’s identities without killing them, why kill them? Is it just because he’s a homicidal, rapist piece of shit? Cause that’s all it seems like.

How did the SWAT team even know she was being attacked? Why can the snipers aim no better than Storm Troopers?

Ugh, these kind of transformation body horror scenes are exactly why werewolf stories have never really appealed to me much. Like, I could do without watching your ribs move and teeth fall out, dude.

BUT.

THIS FUCKING SCENE.

I looked up the song that’s playing over shapeshifter!Dean being caught by the SWAT team and then going through the grotesque transformation. (And as far as I know, the iTunes version has the original music from the episodes.)

It’s a song called “Mary” by The Death Riders

Who's your mother, who's your mother here boy // Who's your mother, whos your mommy dear // Who's your father, who's your father here boy // Who's your father, who's your daddy dear

Silently screaming // Where everyone knows // Daddy's always watchin' // Where everywhere - everywhere I go

I don't wanna be a freak show pretty boy anymore // I don't wanna be a full time slave // I don't wanna be your midnight cowboy anymore // I just want to be Mary

This is… a fascinating choice. Here are the rest of the lyrics. The song as a whole has a weird incesty kinda vibe to it? Kinda like when SPN tries to straight-wash itself and misses the mark wildly. (Like Dean’s male siren episode.)

The midnight cowboy line reminded me of 12x11 and the bull riding scene with “Broomstick Cowboy” by Bobby Goldsboro playing over it

Dream on, little Broomstick Cowboy, // Dream while you can; // Of big green frogs, // And puppy dogs, // And castles in the sand.

For, all too soon you'll awaken; // Your toys will all be gone. // Your broomstick horse will ride away, // To find another home. // And you'll have grown into a man, // With cowboys of your own. // And then you'll have to go to war, // To try and save your home.

And then you'll have to learn to hate; // You'll have to learn to kill. // It's always been that way, my son; // I guess it always will.

Because, you know, why not add tons of feelings into the lyrics, right?

Props to the people who can embrace their rewatches and reclamations of the show with ease. Because every episode seems to remind me of how hollow and tragic Dean’s ending was and I just… struggle all over again.

Anyway, back to the episode so I can move on with my day.

REPORTER: An anonymous tip led police to a home in the Central West End, where a S.W.A.T team discovered a local woman bound and gagged. Her attacker, a white male, approximately twenty-four to thirty years of age, was discovered hiding in her home. (A sketch of DEAN appears on the screen.)

DEAN: Man! That’s not even a good picture. (SAM looks around cautiously.)

SAM: It’s good enough. (He walks away.)

DEAN: Man! (He follows SAM.)

(CUT TO: Alley. DEAN and SAM are walking. DEAN steps into a puddle.)

DEAN: Ugh, come on.

I love that we get two tiny little back-to-back vanity moments for Dean here. One commenting on the sketch artist rendition of him being broadcasted on the news and the other tripping in the puddle. There is literally someone running around the city trying to kill people while wearing Dean’s face, but Dean is still concerned with how he looks appears to others. He’s still concerned with keeping up his own performance. The shifter left him with just a t-shirt, so he doesn’t even have his usual comfort layers on and at any moment someone could spot him and call the police or try to kill him for assaulting Sam’s friend. His life is wildly out of control in that moment and the only thing he can try to focus on is his appearance (something semi-controllable) and finding the shifter before any of that other shit can happen.

One day I want to put together a like top 10 episodes focusing on / explaining each TFW character from the series. Like the kind of list you could show someone who’s never seen the show, but has OPINIONS about the characters (or who hasn’t seen the whole show and seen the growth they went through… you know, like the people responsible for the travesty of 15x20). This episode would be on that list. I’m not sure how I could manage to make a list of only 10 episodes to understand Dean Winchester by, but eh.

SAM: What are you gonna do to me?

SHAPESHIFTER: Oh, I’m not gonna do anything. Dean will, though.

SAM: They’ll never catch him.

SHAPESHIFTER: Oh, doesn’t matter. Murder in the first of his own brother? He’ll be hunted the rest of his life. (He picks up a sharp knife and examines it.)

Speaking of season 15 in general, this right here. This was Chuck’s villain story arc thesis statement. AND THEY DROPPED THE GODDAMN BALL WITH IT. I think that’s the thing that honestly pisses me off the most these days (about 5 1/2 months from when the finale aired) is that they tried making the whole thing a tragedy but did such an awful job with it that it just ended up like a deflating condom balloon at a dive bar concert. Disappointing and gross. The finale for season 14 set them up SO FUCKING WELL and it just… didn’t get there.

Becky’s parents are gonna be pissed at how torn up their house is after all this shit…

And you’re not shooting him when you first see him strangling Sam because…?????

I like that he took the necklace back. Also, is this kinda Dean death number .5 of the show? Like it wasn’t him but it was also kinda him. Eh.

At least they left the windshield on Baby this time. Reflections are better than tearing her apart.

#SPN 1x06 #amispnrewatch #reclaiming spn #performing!dean #lawboy #bi!dean #dean x cassie #dean x lee #stiles stilinski #void!stiles #teen wolf #dean deserved better

[supernatural-jackles]

The Arrangement

Title: The Arrangement

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 3,376

Warnings: Hunt Gone Wrong, SPN Level Angst, Anxiety, Mentions of Sex,  Tears, Cuddles, Fluff. 

Summary: After a hunt gone wrong, you take Dean up on the extremely useful  arrangement you both agreed on many years ago to help you get through the night. 

Squares Filled: Hurt/Comfort ( @spngenrebingo​)  Hunt Gone Wrong ( @spndeanbingo​)

A/N: Here is a lovely comfort fic for your Sunday evening! I hope y’all enjoy this one! It’s one of my favourites I've written in a while. This one was to cheer up my friend Help You Anon! Happy Reading!

 There were three things you were certain of in your life. One, monsters were most definitely real. Two, Bert and Ernie are gay. And three, you only have one person in the world that is solely made for you. Granted believing number one single handedly goes with number three and number two you know because Dean embedded in your head all those years ago. Either way, you knew them all to be true.

 You had been in the backseat of Dean’s ‘67 impala since you were twenty years old. Twenty and terrified of what had just happened right before your eyes. You were in the midst of studying for your midterm in the middle of the night. You had taken up the fourth couch in the library, not wanting to go back to your dorm room with your bitchy roommate still in there. You were about to fill up your cup of coffee when the lights flickered and the library went cold suddenly. You never believed in that sort of thing before. Not until you saw it with your own two eyes. An angry lady standing by the coffee station, blood dripping from her eyes as she stepped closer to you. You screamed and cried out, only to be thrown into the bookshelf. She almost finished you off when someone came rushing to you, slicing through her with what was a rod you used for a fireplace.

 Dean Winchester.

 You had been thrown pretty hard according to Dean. He helped you pack up your stuff before taking you to the hospital to get checked out. You had a minor concussion and needed about eight stitches for your arm that you didn’t even realize. He sat with you, making sure you were okay before he gave you what was now known as the talk.

 After that, you decided to join him on the road. Knowing what you know, you were never going to be able to live the same. You were going to be paranoid and vulnerable and you didn’t want to live your life scared. He offered to train you up and teach you what he knew about everything. You never looked back and most days, you didn’t regret it.

 In that time, Dean became your best friend. He was your mentor, your best friend, your partner in crime. That’s all it ever was. You knew each other like the back of your hand and it came in handy a lot of the time. You knew all his tells better than Sammy, and he knew all of yours. Somewhere along the line, it became the unspoken arrangement between the two of you. Eventually, the two of you came up with a check in system that seemed to work well for the arrangement. Purple means I’m not doing good and really need you right now. Black means sex. Green means I’m okay, I just don’t want to sleep alone tonight. Red means I need a distraction. White being I need to be alone for a little while. And blue, everything is okay.

 Over time, you became less and less about talking and more about taking what you need without asking permission for it. At first, it was a little awkward, but you grew into it quickly. After a rough hunt, you’d share a bed and curl into one another for that safety you needed. It started out that way. Some hunts were worse than others and needed special attention. Cuddling would sometimes turn into sex. Sometimes it was just sex. It was something that worked between you when nothing else did. When nothing else seemed to make it better. You found the comfort in his touch and the feel of his skin on yours. But it never went any further than that. You knew the life you lived. You knew it was short and dangerous. It was no life for love.

 You were on your way back from a hunt in Omaha. One of the hardest ones you had in awhile. Maybe it felt so bad because things had been looking up and this was a major set back. Or maybe it was the fact that things had gone so horribly wrong in the blink of an eye. All you knew was that you felt like a failure. Dean hadn’t said a word since the warehouse and for the first time in a really long time, Sam was pissed at both of you. It made for a really awkward ride home. Granted it was only three hours, but it felt like a lifetime.

 Dean pulled into the bunker’s garage just after midnight. Sam was the first one out, slamming the car door before stalking off into the bunker. Dean only got more angry as soon as the door slammed, following him back into the bunker, hot on his tail. You took a deep breath, kicking your door open to head in. You hated it when they fought. Every argument was the worst, more so when one of them stormed off without coming to terms with everything.

 You tiptoed into the library, both of their voices filling the bunker loud and clear. Hell, even if you were on the other side of the bunker you could hear them going at it. You swallowed hard, knowing full well that you didn’t want to get involved in it.

 “You knew full well what we were getting into and you still thought it was a good idea to go in just the three of us instead of waiting like I said we should have done,” Sam pointed out. His eyes narrowed at Dean as he stood on one side of the table.

 “None of us knew what we were walking into in there and you know it. None of us could have been ready, regardless of how many people we had,” Dean argued. “Besides that, who could have helped us Sam? Last I checked all we had was the three of us. Bobby is dead. Cas is MIA. Garth is a werewolf with a family to take care of. What, you want to call Rowena? Better yet, let’s take Jody and Donna, who have never handled demons before and have them play back up. What the fuck is your problem?”

 “My problem?” he scoffed. “My problem is this stupid macho ‘I can handle anything’ shit attitude you have when something doesn’t seem to be going our way. You give up at the first sign of trouble and jump into bed with her instead of having your head in the game. It’s shit like this that keeps happening and I’m sick and tired of losing, over and over again.”

 “We had one bad hunt,” you breathed out. “One in the last how many months?”

 “Sam, look. We’re all tired -”

 “Save it. I’m going to bed,” he scoffed, taking off out of the library and down the hall to his room. You let out a shaky breath, trying to gather your thoughts. Dean stood there with his hands on the back of the chair, trying to control his breathing. You knew this was going to go one of two ways. The chair was going to go flying into the wall, or he was going to walk over and pour himself a drink.

 “You okay?” he asked you, turning his head to look at you.

 “Yeah,” you nodded, your voice barely there. “I’m just gonna go shower.”

 “Don’t wait up,” he swallowed hard. His words made your heart sink in your chest. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, wondering if you should say something to him. Maybe that you lied when you said you were okay. He turned and headed over to pour himself a drink. There was no use. He had his mind set.

 You slowly wandered down the hall to your room. You knew you didn’t need a shower. You showered in the motel room to get all the blood off of you. If you scrubbed anymore, you’d start to bleed.

 You twisted the knob to your door, stepping inside before shutting it behind you. The room felt incredibly large. So much space for one person. You let out a shaky breath, closing your eyes to try and relax. Visions of the hunt came crawling back. The bodies hanging from the rafters in the warehouse. Families. Loved ones. Demons were evil, nasty sons of bitches. Now that Crowley wasn’t King of Hell, they thought they could do whatever they wanted. You were seconds too late and couldn’t exorcise the guy before he killed his vessel in the worst possible way. It was jobs like this that made you hate your job as a hunter. It was things like this that made you want to hang it up and never look back.

 You shook your head, trying to get the searing image out of your head. You opened up your drawer, grabbing a pair of comfortable pyjama pants and an oversized shirt. You could feel the heavy weight settling in your chest. Your hands were starting to shake. You knew you had about ten minutes, fifteen tops before everything came crashing down. Fifteen minutes to get yourself to safety.

 You slipped out of your room as soon as you got changed. Your feet took you quickly to Dean’s room. If he couldn’t be there, then at least the smell of him was. Your hand twisted the knob, kicking the door open as you took another deep breath. The light in his room was already on and much to your surprise, Dean was in his room, standing at the end of his bed in his sweats and his navy blue henley. You wasted no time. You were over at him in an instant, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into you. Seconds later, his arms slipped around your back, holding you close to him.

 You had no idea how much you needed it until you got it. The smell of his body wash filled your nose, and his warmth coursed through you like a good glass of top shelf whiskey. This was exactly what you needed to begin to process the events that happened. He was what you needed.

 “Colour?” he muttered into the crook of your neck.

 “Purple,” you stuttered, tightening your grip on his shoulders. “You?”

 “Purple,” he whispered. “And a little bit of red.”

 “What do you need me to do?” you asked him.

 “I just want to feel you for a while,” he admitted. “What do you need from me?”

 “Close proximity,” you swallowed hard.

 “Climb into bed and I’ll be right in,” he assured you. You didn’t want to let go of him. You were needy and clingy and you didn’t want the cool air to hit you as soon as you let go. You knew he was coming right back to you. You reluctantly released him, slowly making your way over to his bed. The memory foam mattress did wonders for your back. His sheets were soft and his pillows were comfortable. His bed was the greatest place in the world, and the only thing that made it worth sleeping in was the man next to you. It was just a plain bed without him.

 Dean flicked the light out and shut the door completely. You rested your head on the pillow, waiting for him to slip into the bed with you. You could feel the tightness growing once more. Dean was the only one who seemed to make that go away. That’s why you were so certain that he was the one made for you. He was the one who was there for you, no matter what time or what it was about. He got you like no one else did. He was your one.

 He slipped his arm around your waist tugging you close to him. He positioned himself close to you, his leg fitting between yours, half of his chest pressed to you. His hand traced up to your cheek before he leaned in, giving you a soft peck on the lips that had your heart aching for more. You took a deep breath, settling against him. Your arms wrapped around his back, feeling the warmth of his muscles beneath your palms.

 “You lied to me,” he said with a soft smile.

 “You were mad. I didn’t want to push you after Sam,” you said softly. “Regardless, I still came in here looking for you. If I didn’t find you, I would have come back to the library. Or I would have texted you purple.”

 “It was a losing battle tonight,” he breathed out. “We weren’t going to make a damn difference even if we had gotten there two days before that.”

 “How can you be so sure?” you questioned.

 “Call it a gut feeling. They know how to toy with us,” he started. “They like theatrics. Chances are, that meatsuit was deep fried extra crispy before we got there. He would have been a mess.”

 “Doesn’t take away what happened in there, Dean. It doesn’t take away the fact that I saw those poor lifeless bodies hanging there. All that blood. This job sucks so much sometimes,” you confessed. “And it’s terrifying to know that it could happen to you and Sam and take the two of you away from me. I don’t know what I’d do if that happened.”

 “We’re not going anywhere,” he assured you. “Even if Sam’s pissed at us right now.”

 “He’s cranky,” you shrugged. “He might be better in the morning.”

 “Yeah. Sleep usually helps him,” he nodded. “What about you? Are you going to be okay?”

 “I don’t know yet,” you swallowed hard. “I’m so on edge right now. My chest is tight, and I feel shaky. Like at any second, I’m going to have a panic attack and it’s only the start.”

 “So definitely purple for you,” he frowned.

 “I’m trying to be okay,” you mouthed, tears welling in your eyes. You felt a lump forming in your throat as you looked away from his gorgeous green eyes. You knew you would cave and everything would come crashing down.

 “I know you are,” he mumbled. “But it’s okay if you’re not. This life is hard, and it’s rough. We always get the short end of the stick. All we’ve got is each other to get us through the really bad stuff. And there is some really bad stuff.”

 “I hate the bad stuff,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “And not being able to save people.”

 “I know, sweetheart,” he said softly, brushing the back of his knuckle over your cheek.

 “Purple,” you sobbed out, burying your face in the crook of his neck. You tightened your arms around him, squeezing him hard, as if he was going to disappear before your eyes. You felt his arms shift, pulling you into him. You felt the tears running down the sides of your face and into your hair. Your nose was filling with snot and your bottom lip quivered. You felt it with your entire body. At the same time, you felt a bit of release. You were safe in his personal space, like he had this bubble around you that no one could penetrate but you. All the warding in the world there to protect the both of you from harm's way.

 “It’s okay,” he whispered. “Let it all out. I’ve got you.” Man, did you let it out. You quaked beneath him as the sobs shot through you. The tears kept on coming, sliding down the sides of your face and into your hair. Dean’s hold never let up. His body was warm and welcoming with every tear that fell. His breathing was even, giving you something to match yours to.

 Eventually your nose got stuffed up and the tears fell less and less. Your breathing began to even out. You nuzzled into Dean’s neck a little more, relishing in the warmth of him so close to you. You never wanted to let go of him. You didn’t want to feel that cold fill the space between you again.

 “Colour?” you whispered.

 “To be determined,” he answered. “How are you holding up now?”

 “Better. Crying helped,” you nodded.

 “It usually does for you,” he half smiled. “I’m proud of you. You’re good at letting go when you need to and asking for help.”

 “So are you, Winchester,” you said, clearing your throat. Your voice hoarse from the tears. “You don’t give yourself nearly enough credit for how good you are doing. I draw my strength from you on the bad days. The days where I feel like shit, you’re there to pull me out of my funk. You’re the bestest friend a girl could ask for.”

 “I got scared tonight,” he confessed. “When I saw that family and the way he was looking at you. For a split second, I thought he was going to target you and take you away from me. That’s why I charged at him and why I didn’t question what I was doing. It was reckless and stupid, but when it comes to you - I don’t want to go through the pain of losing you knowing I could have done something about it. I won’t.”

 “Then you have to know that I won’t go through it again either, Dean. How many times have I lost you? How many times has something gone wrong to take you away from me?”

 “Too many,” he answered. “But you can get out of this life. Settle down somewhere and do whatever it is you want to do. You have a world of options. I have you and I have Sammy. That’s my life. I won’t lose either of you if I can help it.”

 “See, that’s where you are wrong, Winchester,” you swallowed hard. “I have you and I have Sam. You know the reason why I’m still in this with you. I can’t do this alone. Hunter life or regular life. At least when I’m here with you, I have a family. I need you and I need Sam. End of story.”

 “You’re just saying that because I’ve ruined all other men for you,” he winked.

 “Shut up, loser,” you scoffed playfully. “You got an answer for me?”

 “Green. Just need you to sleep next to me tonight,” he breathed out.

 “Big spoon or little spoon?” you questioned.

 “I’ll be big tonight. You look like you could use some arms around you still,” he smiled. You nodded your head as your eyes flicked up to his gorgeous green orbs. In a moment of confidence, you arched your head up, capturing his lips with yours in a sweet kiss.

 “Night De,” you muttered, turning in his arms. He settled down behind you, wrapping his arm tightly around your middle. He rested his head against yours, making himself comfortable. You placed your hand on his, nuzzling into the pillow.

 “Night Y/N.”

 Your eyes fluttered shut as you found comfort in his arms. A small smile played on your lips at the feel of him pressed against your back. There was no one else in the world you’d rather be with right now than Dean. Not even Sam could replace this man’s spot in your heart.

 “Mmmh, plaid,” you muttered.

 “Plaid?” he asked, confusion evident in his voice.

 “Multiple colours,” you whispered. “It’s a new one for us. Unless you want to use kaleidoscope instead.”

 “Depends,” he paused. “What does this one mean?”

 “It means, in this fucked up world we live in, there is no one in the universe I’d rather have next to me than you,” you revealed. “All the colours and then some in one. It’s my way of saying that I love you, Dean Winchester.”

 “Well then, plaid it is,” he chuckled. “‘Cause I love you too.”

 “Mhh, good,” you yawned. “Besides, I’m fairly certain you’re my soulmate at this point.”

 “I know you’re mine,” he said, tightening his arms around you. “Made for each other.”

 “And now everytime I steal your shirt, you’ll know I love you,” you giggled.

 “Best arrangement we’ve ever come up with,” he breathed out. “Sweet dreams, pretty girl.”

 “Night handsome.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Did you like it? What was your favourite part? Share your thoughts with me via reblog, reply or send me an ask! Your response is what keeps me going! 

#Dean x Reader #Dean Winchester #Dean Winchester One Shot #Dean Winchester Imagine #Dean Winchester x Reader #Dean Winchester Fanfiction #Dean Winchester Fanfic #Dean one shot #Dean Imagine #Dean fanfic #Dean Drabble #Dean Winchester Drabble #Supernatural #Supernatural One Shot #Supernatural Imagine #Supernatural Fanfiction #Supernatural fanfic #Supernatural x Reader #SPN #SPN One Shot #SPN Imagine #SPN Fanfic #SPN Drabble #SPN Fanfiction #supernatural-jackles

[shakspeare]

faith is the ache

→ dean/cas fic → circa season four. it’s the emo soldier of god for me.  → this is 90% kink y’all, most definitely rated r.  → ao3 link here if you’d rather read there → first time destiel writer the renaissance rly hit hard

Cas and Dean’s first kiss is a battlefield kiss.

It’s raw and desperate and bloody, torn from Cas’s lips like salvation, a prayer. Dean’s never been a praying man, but if this is faith, he’s a goddamn saint. He can taste blood on Cas’s tongue, feel Cas’s breath through his ribs, rushed and angry and brutal.

This is faith.

Faith is the way his fingers feel like they’re about to break. Faith is the way he’s holding Cas to him the same way he’d hold onto his gun. Faith is Cas’s eyelashes, dark and wet, ghosting against his cheek. Faith is every stolen breath and broken bone, every stabbing pain, every gasp, every tear, every loss.

Faith is the ache.

The world burns red through his eyelids; he opens his eyes. Releases his angel.

“Sam!” he roars, spinning on his heel, staring into the fray. The woodland’s half on fire, some demon coughing up its guts at his feet. He slams his heel down on its throat, scanning the tree line.

“Sam!”

“Let’s move!” Sam’s spat out of the forest like a rocket, tearing over the waste ground between them. Dean doesn’t need telling twice. He hauls Cas to his feet and they run.

The forest blurs past them in shadow and ash. The night’s dark; freakishly so. No stars. A volley of sparks explodes in the air above their heads; they flinch, keep running. Things had gone wrong, gone very badly wrong. Dean stumbles on the broken earth, curses under his breath. It was a trap, that should’ve been obvious. He was off his game.

“Dean?” The angel’s voice is curious, not yet practised in concern. Dean jerks his head; keep moving.

“I’m fine,” he barks, and Cas turns, keeps going.

“Here!” Sam’s voice comes low through the trees, and Dean gives a sigh of relief. He thought they’d overshot by a mile, but the Impala is just visible in the darkness. Least something’s gone to plan. His heart’s hammering against his ribs and something feels really wrong there. Broken, he’s guessing. He drops into the driver’s seat, fumbles for the keys. Half a second to breathe, and then he’s gunning baby’s engine to freaking Timbuktu. He reaches out to yank the door shut, but Cas is there, suddenly, holding it still. He stares down at Dean, eyes wide, hair going every which way.

“I’ll lead them off,” he says, and his voice is rough and low. “I doubt we will go undisturbed.”

Dean blinks, Cas takes a step back—

“Wait, Cas!”

He tilts his head, frowns at Dean. Dean gives himself a shake; man, he’s losing it.

“Get in the car.” The angel looks at him almost pityingly.

“No, thank you. I’m much faster out of it.”

“I’m not offering you a lift, you goddamn hippie,” There’s something moving in the trees. He slides the key into the ignition, keeps his voice low.

“You going off alone, that’s exactly what they’ll be expecting.” Castiel hesitates, still staring at him.

“Get in the damn car!”

Cas slides into the backseat just as he guns the engine and the angels break the clearing; the Impala snarls and jerks forward over the rough earth, spraying up dirt and stone in her wake, and if he said that didn’t satisfy him to hell, he’d be lying. He yanks the steering wheel hard left, spinning them out onto the freeway, and in 30 seconds he’s put miles between them and their heavenly little tete a tete. Cars flicker past either side of them, and Dean’s eyes flick up to the rearview. Cas’s baby blues are fixed firmly on the road ahead, that little frown quirking his brow.

“So it was a trap,” Sam grimaces, running a finger down the gash in his arm.

“Woah, dude!” Dean exclaims. “Upholstery, blood; blood, upholstery!” Sam ignores him, reaching out a bloody finger and daubing some hokey symbol on the passenger side window.

“Angel proofing, dumb-ass. They won’t be able to find us.”

Angel proofing. Right. Dean grumbles under his breath. It’s not the worst idea in the world. The pain in his ribs flares and he winces.

Yeah, they need some off-radar time.

“Check the map,” he nods at the roadmap on the floor at Sam’s feet. “Find us somewhere to crash. My four hours is calling my name.” His eyes flick back up to the rearview. No reason why.

***

The nearest motel’s about an hour’s drive. Sam falls asleep in his seat; Dean flicks on the radio. Adrenaline’s coursing through him like a freight train; it always does, after a hunt. He flexes his fingers against the wheel, shifts in his seat. Feels good. Feels strong.

His lips are burning.

“You ok?” The words come out a little gruffer than he’d intended. He clears his throat, keeps his eyes fixed on the road. It’s just the polite thing to do. Ask. For a minute he thinks Cas might’ve angel-ed out, but then—

“I am uninjured.” Right. “Great.” He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, itching to do… something. He needs a drink. A sleazy bar. Pounding music.

“But I… feel strange.”

He can’t help it; he glances up at Cas’s reflection. Cas is gazing out at the night, frowning.

“Strange how?”

“I should have known it was a trap,” Cas murmurs. “There were warning signs. I failed to notice them. I failed to keep you safe.”

“Guilt. That’s called guilt, Cas.”

Cas sighs.

“It’s not a big deal, no one got hurt.” He ignores the stabbing pain in his side; he’s had worse. “Everyone make mistakes. It’s uh, human.”

Cas’s searching gaze meets his and he swallows, looks quickly back to the road. Jesus. A scattergun of images flicker past in his mind’s eye; Cas, bright-eyed, burning, in the split second before he kissed him; Cas, in the barn, sparks exploding in the air around him, hair lit up like some dollar store invocation of Jesus Christ; and another, something he’s not sure he’s ready to think about yet; Cas, with bruised lips, shirt collar open and staring at him like he’s seeing for the first time.

Yeah, he’s itching to do something, alright.

“Dean.”

He jerks out of his reverie, slides the steering wheel left a little, keeps them straight. Eyes on the road. Get it together. Right. He shifts a little in his seat, pretends like Cas’s gaze isn’t burning a hole in the back of his neck. His cock twitches in his jeans.

“Alright!” He clears his throat, reaches over to the radio. “If you’re gonna slum it on earth with the rest of us, you gotta live the whole experience. Guilt, shame, the whole nine yards. Now this,” he raises his voice over House of the Rising Sun, “this is a whole experience of it’s own.”

Cas frowns a little. Dean sighs, leans back in his seat. Resists the urge to shift his hips, let the denim friction graze his dick. Jesus Christ, there’s something in the air. He risks a glance at Cas again; he’s gazing out his window now, thank god, watching headlights flicker past.

Alright. It’s not like he hasn’t been with men before. It’s no big deal, right? Except — and this is the kicker — sucking some trucker off for twenty dollars is pretty fucking different. Isn’t it? His heart skips a little in his chest, imagines Cas looking down at him, Cas running deft fingers through his hair. Yeah, it’s different. Different like, there’s a part of him that wants to pull the car over and get on his knees right now. He remembers the heat of Cas pressing against his chest, rough and aching; remembers the sting of his angel blade, caught between them and digging into his side.

Is Cas thinking about it? Do angels get turned on?

He’s not even sure why he did it, why he stepped over the angel Cas had just gutted and wrapped his fist in Cas’s shirt. He remembers the last time he had sex; in that strip joint with some hooker — he’d barely started railing her when all hell broke loose and he and Cas had to book it out the back. Does this feel like that? His dick twitches at the memory; the chick buck naked and spreading her legs, widening her come-fuck-me eyes. He frowns, shifts, remembers the puzzled expression on Cas’s face before he kissed him.

Nah, this is different. He doesn’t know why — the chick was hot, Cas is hot, his dick’s sure as hell into both. But it is. It is different.

Cas is still silent in the backseat. What’s he thinking about? I feel strange. Probably still grappling with his newfound guilt, whatever that feels like for an angel. I failed to keep you safe. Dean snorts. Right. Safe. When has anyone ever worried about his safety before? He barely worries about it himself. His mind fritzes for a hot second; faceless men in truck stop bathrooms; this week’s monster, teeth bared and barrelling out of the darkness; dad, waking him up at three in the morning and thrusting a sawn-off into his hands.

Safe doesn’t figure. It just doesn’t. And if he slammed on the brakes and insisted the angel in the backseat fuck him in the next lay-by, there’d be nothing safe about that either. He shifts, presses his dick against the rough fabric of his jeans. A single streetlamp bursts overhead as they fly beneath it, and in the shower of sparks, he sees Cas, bright blue eyes, one hand gripping the back of Dean’s neck like he owns him.

They make it to the motel somewhere round two in the morning. Seeing Cas properly for the first time since he kissed him is a freaking test. It starts to rain as they haul their bags out the trunk, and Cas has done nothing to fix his shirt, where Dean had wrapped his fingers in his collar and claimed him just hours before. He looks a goddamn mess. Dean swallows, slams the car door, wonders if there’s a bar anywhere nearby. Cas maintains his angelic silence as they cross the lot, stumble into the motel reception. Sam stays awake just long enough to check in, scrawl a bunch of sigils on the window, and then collapse on his twin bed, shoes on, dead to the world.

Dean slings his duffel onto the vacant bed. He’d gotten a twin room on autopilot, hadn’t even thought about it. Now it feels weird. He clears his throat, gives himself a shake. Tries to ignore the ache in his throat. God, he needs a drink. Or something.

Cas is stood at the window, gazing out at the blinking neon sign. White Rose Motel.

“Uh, Cas— ” Cas turns, looks at him expectantly. “What are you, uh—”

He was going to ask what Cas was gonna do all night, going to ask if he wanted his own room, hell, maybe angels like their privacy, he doesn’t know. But Cas is gazing at him, throat exposed, and Christ, he doesn’t remember the last time he wanted to fuck someone this badly. Dean glances at Sammy, passed out on the bed, and clears his throat.

“Outside?”

Cas narrows his eyes a fraction, and then nods, the tiniest movement. He closes the space between them, and when he presses his hand to Dean’s shoulder, Dean’s knees almost give way.

***

The air vanishes, twists; rain glitters on the sidewalk; the night fills Dean’s lungs, and he can’t wait, can’t wait another goddamn second. His fists find Cas’s shirt and he seizes him, pulls him close; his head collides with the wall behind him; the pain in his ribs flares like an open wound, and he doesn’t give a damn, doesn’t give a damn about anything. He’s done thinking. Sex is sex, and he’s a freaking cowboy. He needs this.

He can taste Cas’s blood on his tongue, feel Cas's lips against his, rough and punishing and claiming. Mine, mine, mine, and oh god, he wants to die here. Suddenly, Cas’s hand locks onto his wrist like a vice, and he steps back; Dean’s eyes snap up to meet his; strange, blue—

There are unspoken questions in Cas’s eyes, in the persistent frown that quirks his brow. His grip tightens on Dean’s wrist, and he presses Dean back against the wall; he can feel the damp coming through his shirt, feel the rain, soft, on his forehead. Dean can’t remember the last time he was this turned on; he doesn’t want to stop, to think, he just wants Cas—

“Cas, please—” It falls unbidden from his lips, and in the silent seconds that follow it feels like heresy. He’s hard as hell, and the angel at his throat is looking at him like he wants to tear him apart, and god, if that doesn’t turn him on more. Dean finds his voice, chokes out a word.

“Please.”

Cas’s fingers wrap around Dean’s throat, and he can’t tell if he’s about to kiss him, or kill him, or both—

Then Cas kisses him and he moans; a prayer that’s snuffed out by the press of Cas’s mouth against his own and suddenly he’s desperate, starving; his hands find the back of Castiel’s neck and he holds him to him, panting, pressing into Cas’s kiss like he wants to die on the altar of his lips. He gasps into Cas’s mouth, inhaling liquor and salt and copper. Cas shifts against him, open palm against his chest and—

The pain in his ribs flares suddenly, sharp and hot.

“You lied,” Cas whispers. “You’re hurt.”

Dean nods, doesn’t know how he manages it, but he does.

“Ah— yeah. It’s nothing. It’s nothing, Cas.”

He doesn’t want this to be over, he can’t have this be over, not yet. Cas passes a hand over his ribs, gazing at Dean like he’s lost in thought. Dean winces as his hand slides across the break; he can’t help it. Cas’s eyes flicker silver.

“You should let me heal it.”

“Right. Yes. Okay, Cas. Heal it, please— and then—”

“Pray to me,” Cas murmurs.

“Wh— what?” 

His eyes are gleaming, hair lit up by the street-lamps, glittering with the fallen rain. He looks fucking otherworldly, divine. He loosens his grip on Dean’s throat, and suddenly he’s full of something Dean doesn’t recognise. All he knows is that he craves it, needs it, dark and bright and strong and holy.

When he falls to his knees, it doesn’t feel anything other than right. He doesn’t question it, doesn’t think. When Cas runs his fingers through his hair, tilts his chin up to the sky, the ache in his chest subsides. The rain continues to fall, and the cold is creeping into his bones, but he doesn’t care. This is different.

He prays. He wants to. He wants Cas to be his, and he wants to be Cas’s, forever. Cas whispers to him softly, voice almost lost in this hiss of the falling rain. He lets him drag his tongue over his cock, lets him taste it, kiss it, and then — once he’s asked and begged and prayed a hundred times — Cas answers his prayer, thrusts his cock between his lips. He tastes like ichor and iron and wine and his fingers wind a little tighter in Dean’s hair. Dean’s never wanted to please someone this badly in his goddamn life. He’s good at sucking cock, he knows he is, but for Cas, he wants to be better than good. He wants Cas to need him, to know him, to never leave him. He runs his tongue down the length of Cas’s cock, wraps his hand around the base. He drags his tongue over the head, slow and rough and teasing. He keeps his eyes on Cas’s. When his cock hits the back of his throat, Dean feels like he’s about to fucking ascend. When Cas pulls him to his feet it feels like rapture. His legs are shaking; he all but collapses against him, his angel, and then Cas’s lips find his and Cas holds him up, pressing softer kisses on him now, sweet and deft and silent.

“Good boy,” he murmurs, and Dean feels lightheaded.

“Yeah?” he manages to breathe, in between Cas’s soft, persistent kisses.

“Yes,” Cas murmurs simply. “That was good,” and Jesus Christ, why does hearing that drive him crazy? Cas’s hand finds the tear in Dean’s ribs, palm like an open flower, and there’s a moment, warmth, and the pain is gone. Dean moans into Cas’s kiss, keening, presses his hips against him. For a moment Cas pulls back; Dean’s left breathless, aching, Cas’s fingers tracing the line of his jaw. Then the air around them rents itself in two, and suddenly Cas’s lips are on him again, but the world is upside down; the wall is gone; the air is closer, drier—

He tries to right himself, get purchase, and realises he’s flat out, sheets beneath his head. Cas’s had is still at his jaw, gentle, kind, and he realises with a lurch that the angel is fucking straddling him. He gasps, pressing up into Cas’s kiss so hard he can feel the bruise it’s going to leave on his lips.

“Where—” he manages to breathe out, the last vestige of his dignity wondering where exactly they are, though right now he’s so turned on he’d gladly beg Cas to fuck him in front of a freaking bar full of people — his dick twitches in his pants at that thought and he thinks he notices Cas’s eyes darken — that’s a thought to explore at a later date —

“An unoccupied room. This motel is not popular,” Cas murmurs, his lips grazing the hollow of Dean’s throat. His hands find Dean’s, loosening his grip on him, and Dean whines in protest; he wants to pull him closer, find some goddamn friction, never let go.

“Quiet,” Cas murmurs. His hands slide along Dean’s wrists, guide them up over his head, press them into the mattress, and Dean’s breath comes out in a little stutter. Cas blinks at him with those fucking weird, cosmic eyes, and then he’s closer still, pressing little butterfly kisses to his neck. Dean tilts his head back to the stars and gasps. The ache in his chest feels like holy fire, and he forgets everything — god, girls, demons, devils. All he can be sure of are the hands on his wrists, the mouth at his throat, the blood on his tongue, the split in his lip.

“Dean,” Cas’s voice vibrates, soft, just by his ear. A shiver runs down his spine; his eyes flutter shut.

“Yeah?”

“Are you sure?” Cas’s weight shifts slightly; Dean opens his eyes.

Cas’s eyes are bright in the shadows; he’s tossed his coat aside. There’s still blood on his shirt, staining the white, patterning his throat. He can see it when Cas looks away, lifts his chin and gazes across the room He shifts beneath him, a little, til his cock is pressing into Cas’s thigh.

“What?”

“Are you sure?” Cas’s gaze meets his, and there’s no challenge, no threat. Dean’s stomach flips over when he recognises the glimmer in his eyes. There’s no challenge because it’s all possession. Quiet, unyielding, simple. As if it’s all there is.

He swallows. “Yes. I’m sure.”

There’s a split second where Cas doesn’t move, only blinks at him, and he grinds his hips up into Cas in frustration, voice coming out in a whine—

“Please.”

And then Cas’s kissing him like he’s about to die. The press of his body against Dean’s is like a blessing, something otherworldly and dangerous and close to god. Dean can’t think, can’t breathe, can only arch up into the angel at his throat and pray, a broken string of words and sounds and promises that tumble from his lips without thought. When Cas lets go his wrists, his hands tangle in Cas’s hair, trace the curve of his jaw, the hollow of his throat. Cas’s shirt is gone, and he jerks his own off over his head, rough and careless, and when Cas’s palm presses against the brand on his shoulder like it’s a prayer, a rite, some secret sacred invocation that only they know, only they will ever know, Dean loses his mind, desperate, aching—

Cas draws back for a split second. His hair is tousled, his skin like marble in the half light. Dean’s heart is hammering like it’s going to leap out of his chest; he gasps, breathes, collapses back onto the bed.

“Cas,” he whispers, hands restless, reaching. “Come back, come back, please.”

He feels Cas’s weight shift, move, and when he opens his eyes Cas is beside him, eyelashes ghosting against his cheek. His lips press softly against Dean’s jaw, just below his ear, and suddenly Dean’s eyes are wet, and he has no idea why. His hands find his belt; he slips free of his jeans, his pants. He knows what he wants, and he doesn’t want to stop, to think. The air is warm against his naked skin but he feels vulnerable, strange; he rolls towards Cas, shields himself against his body.

Cas catches his chin with the pad of his thumb; soft, tender. He traces the sides of his body with the tips of his fingers, and his eyes are dark, brilliant, and Dean’s trembling because this is different, this is different from any guy, any girl, anyone he’s ever been with before. No one has ever looked at him like this before. The way Cas touches him, it’s like he’s the one who’s divine.

Cas presses him gently onto his back with a kiss, reverent, and his hand drifts down, over his stomach, his hips, finds his cock. He drags his fingers along the length of it, slow, playful, and Dean whines into the kiss, pleading. Suddenly his dick is slick, wet, and he moans, twisting in Cas’s hand.

“How—” he gasps, and Cas’s voice is just a breath in his ear.

“I’m an angel, Dean.”

When Cas pushes his legs open, and slips between them — when he trails kisses down Dean’s stomach, runs his tongue down the crease where his thigh meets his hip — when he kisses Dean so hard he draws blood, and then slips his fingers into Dean’s mouth — Dean’s gone. He can feel his own cock leaking against his stomach, so exposed and vulnerable and untouched. He needs this, needs Cas to touch him, hold him, want him. He swears out loud when Cas’s spit slick fingers slide between his asscheeks, tease at his hole. He pushes into his touch, craving more, needing to feel—

And then Cas’s tongue grazes his cock, his thigh, his asshole, and he’s trembling, bucking on the bed beneath him; his hands find Cas’s shoulders and he grabs him, pleading, as Cas’s tongue, hot and wet and obscene, teases at his fluttering hole. Cas’s gaze flicks up to meet his, eyes glittering, lips bruised, the column of his throat stark in the half light, and Dean is suddenly hit by the fact that this is an angel, this is not a man, this is an angel, a soldier of god, a force of nature, divine and unknowable and sacred. Cas slips up over him and presses a kiss against his open mouth, presses his palm against his aching dick, and slowly, agonisingly, pushes his cock inside him.

Dean’s lost. His throat is tipped back to the stars, stars obscured by a plywood and mortar and brick. He rocks onto Cas’s cock, and Cas whispers in his ear; soft, calm, quiet, tender. He moves slowly, gently, like Dean is fragile, sacred. Like he matters. He presses kisses to his lips, his throat, his shoulders as he pushes deeper in, as Dean gasps and presses up to meet him, wanting, always wanting. His hand grips Dean’s cock, thumb flicking lazily over the head, smearing pre-come and Dean could swear he’s enjoying this, toying with him, making him wait. He whimpers beneath him, tries to arch his hips in time with Cas’s lazy, teasing thrusts.

Cas lowers his mouth to Dean’s ear, whispers, his voice rough.

“Wait.”

Dean can’t wait, can’t think about anything but the ache between his thighs, the gentle fingers teasing him, the fact Cas pushed in even further as he whispered wait, bottomed out, flush against Dean’s prostate and just holding him there, not moving. He shakes his head, protests, tries to grind into Cas’s palm, but Cas tuts, sighs, brushes his thumb across his lips.

“I told you to wait.”

“Please, Cas— I can’t wait, I— please—”

Cas’s eyes are bright, searching.

“What do you want?”

“You know, Cas— you—”

“I want you to say it.”

“Please— Cas, please—”

Cas’s gaze flicks down, over his throat, the expanse of his chest, his leaking cock. He shifts, and Dean moans beneath him. His hand comes to meet Dean’s jaw, dragging the pad of his thumb down over his lower lip, gazing as if he’s curious, thoughtful.

“I want you to say it.”

His voice is low and rough and it sends a shiver down Dean’s spine. He’s a mess; he needs this, like he doesn’t remember needing before; and the fact Cas wants him to say it is somehow even better, even more—

“I want you to fuck me. Please. Please.”

Cas doesn’t move, still watching him, as if lost in thought. He twitches his hand a little around Dean’s cock, rubs his thumb over his aching head, and something in Dean snaps, and the words tumble from his lips before he can stop them—

“I need you to fuck me, Cas, I need it, I’m begging you, I need it, I need you, I need you here, please, god, please, Cas, please, please, just fuck me, touch me, make me yours, I can’t—”

And then his words are cut off by Cas’s kiss, hard, rough, dominant; one hand on Dean’s throat, the other like a vice around his leaking cock, and he’s fucking him so hard Dean cries out, sound lost on Cas’s lips. Dean wraps his legs around him, pulls him closer, closer, closer, and Cas’s hand finds his shoulder, palm like fire against Dean’s brand. Dean’s hips stutter and he gasps, his cum hot and wet against his ribs. Cas’s mouth is at his throat, his lips, and then he pulls Dean toward him, Dean’s forehead pressed against him as he comes, head tipped back and moaning, eyes lidded, lips parted, dishevelled and messy and divine and his.

***

He falls asleep in his arms.

There is a split in his lip; Cas brushes it softly with his finger. His healing touch is light, deft.

He moves very little; he doesn’t want to wake Dean.

Sleep. It looks peaceful. The warring emotions that usually colour Dean’s brow have all but faded. For a brief moment, Cas considers closing his eyes; perhaps there is bliss in the wilful dulling of the senses.

But that would mean taking his eyes off Dean.

Anger — unfamiliar, strange — courses through him; he had failed last night. Failed to protect the man who sleeps, now, mercifully whole, in his arms.

He would not make the same mistake again.

Dean turns in his sleep, turns toward him, nestles into Cas’s chest. His eyelashes flutter against him, his breath warm on Cas’s skin.

Cas feels — peaceful. Anger, guilt, joy; the messy milieu of human emotion is startling and strange. But this is different.

He knows this. The ache in his chest, the fire that burns. Faith. It is, perhaps, the only thing he has ever truly known. And for millennia, he had never questioned where to place it.

Dean murmurs in his sleep, and Cas traces his fingers over his chest, sweet and gentle and slow. By morning, there are a hundred Enochian love letters patterned, invisible, onto Dean’s ribs.

The stars fade, and the sun rises, and Cas watches over Dean.

This is faith.

#destiel #deancas #destiel wedding #deancas wedding #dean winchester #cas #castiel #supernatural #bi dean #dean is bi #bi!dean #supernatural fic #spn fic #supernatural meta #destiel is canon #fic #mine

[fuckallthegood0nesweretaken]

New World CH. Seven

Title: Back on the Road

Words: 2256

Warnings: Mentions of character death(s), strong language

A/N: If you’d like to request something, send me an ask. I’d love to write for you!If you’d like to support me, buy me a Ko-Fi?

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New World Masterlist

Daryl Dixon Masterlist

The Walking Dead Masterlist

Masterlist

~~~~~~~

After driving what felt like hours, you were almost at the highway. Along the way, you had run into almost everyone else. Seemed like they had the same idea to head to the highway. Nobody stopped driving, but you were relieved to see Daryl had made it out okay.

 “[Y/n], do you see Rick? Carl?” Lori asked you. Straining your neck, you looked behind you at the car Glenn was driving.

 “No, I don’t.”

 “They must’ve taken the other car,” she said to herself. You shook your head and kept a lookout for signs of walkers, or your brothers.

 You had almost given up hope you’d ever see them again and when you reached the highway, your heart leapt into your throat. Standing there was Hershel, Carl, Rick and your brothers. Even before the truck stopped, you had hopped out and crashed into both of them, almost falling to your knees.

 “I thought I lost you,” you said, squeezing them tightly.

 Pulling away from the hug, you kissed their cheeks and looked around. The moment you took a step away from your family, Daryl was grabbing you. Kissing you softly, you held onto his arms. You only broke apart when you heard Dean clear his throat. Looking at him sheepishly, you felt Daryl go behind you and wrap his arms around your waist after you took Adeline from Beth. Dean shook his head lightly and Sam had a small smile on his face.

 “Where’d you find everyone?” Rick asked Daryl.

 “Well, those guys’ tail lights was zigzagging all over the road. Figured he had ta be Asian, drivin’ like that.” You nudged Daryl softly and Glenn chuckled.

 “Good one.”

 “Where’s the rest of us?” You asked.

 “We’re the only ones who made it so far.”

 “Shane?” Lori asked. Rick shook his head and you closed your eyes. Even if you never got along, he was still an important part of the Grime’s lives and your heart went out to them.

 “What about Andrea?” Glenn said.

 “She saved me then I lost her,” Carol said softly.

 “We saw her go down,” T-Dog said.

 “Patricia?”

 “They got her too,” Beth said after a second. “Took her right in front of me. I was- I was holdin’ onto her, daddy. She just—“

 Hershel pulled Beth close as she cried and Daryl’s arms tightened around you.

 “What about Jimmy? Did anyone see him?”

 “He was in the RV. I saw it get overrun,” Sam said.

 “You definitely saw Andrea?” Dean asked.

 “There were walkers everywhere,” Lori said.

 “But did you see her?”

 “I’m gonna go back,” Daryl said. He let go of you and went to get on his bike.

 “No,” Rick said.

 “We can’t just leave her, Rick,” you said.

 “We don’t even know if she’s there, hun,” Lori said.

 “She isn’t there. She isn’t. She’s somewhere else or she’s dead. There’s no way to find her.”

 “So we’re not even gonna look for her?” Sam asked.

 “We gotta keep moving. There have been walkers crawling all over here.”

 “I say head east,” T-Dog said.

 “Stay off’a the main roads. Bigger the road, the more walkers, more assholes like this one. I got him,” Daryl said. He picked up his crossbow and shot a walker in the head.

 “Let’s head east. Try for the coast,” Rick said. “Daryl’ll go first, and if anyone needs to stop, honk once.”

 ---

 Carol, Sophia, T-Dog, and the Grimes family were at the back of the caravan; Glenn, Maggie, Beth, and Hershel were in the middle while you, Adeline, and your brothers were in the front behind Daryl. You had been driving for almost four hours when you heard a honk come from Rick’s car. Everyone stopped and you got out of the Impala.

 “Ya out?” Daryl asked Rick as you all made a circle.

 “Running on fumes.”

 “We can’t stay here,” Maggie said.

 “Can’t all fit in these two cars, either,” Glenn said.

 “We’ll have to make a run for some gas in the morning.”

 “Spend the night here?” Dean asked.

 “I’m freezing,” Carl said. Rick took off his jacket and put it on Carl, Dean doing the same to Sophia when she shivered.

 “We’ll build a fire, baby.”

 “When you go out lookin’ for firewood, stay close. Only got so many arrows. How you doing on ammo?” Daryl said.

 “I have maybe fifty rounds for my gun in my pack,” you said. “And this rifle has three left.”

 “We have some, uh, special rounds in the trunk of Baby, but I don’t think we should use those.”

 “Special rounds?” Hershel asked.

 “Later,” Rick said, waving his hand. “So we don’t have enough ammo and the gun bag got left at the farm.”

 “We can’t just sit here with our asses hanging out,” Maggie said.

 “Watch your mouth,” Hershel chided. “Now everyone stop panicking and listen to Rick.”

 “Alright. We’ll set up a perimeter. In the morning, we’ll find some gas and supplies. We’ll keep pushing on.”

 “Glenn and I can make a run now,” Maggie said. “Try to scrounge up some gas.”

 “We should stay together. God forbid something happens and people get stranded without a car.”

 “We’re stranded now, Rick,” you said. Adeline was shivering in your arms and you brought her closer. Daryl took off his jacket and handed it to you. You wrapped her up and shot him a grateful look.

 “It looks bad, I know. We’ve all been through hell and worse, but at least we found each other. We’re together and we need to stay that way.” Rick said. “We have to find shelter. There’s gotta be a place somewhere.”

 “Rick, look around. Okay. There’s walkers everywhere. They’re migrating or something.”

 “There’s gotta be a place not just where we hole up, but that we fortify,” Rick said. “A place that we can hunker down, pull ourselves together, build a life for each other. I know it’s out there, we just have to find it!”

 “Even if we do find a place, and we think it’s safe, we can never be sure. Look what happened with the farm,” Maggie said.

 “We fooled ourselves into thinking it was safe,” you said.

 “We won’t make that mistake again,” Hershel said.

 “We’ll make camp for tonight over there and get back on the road at first light.” You looked at your brothers, worry in your eyes.

 “Does this feel right to you?” Carol asked Daryl.

 “What if walkers come through? Or another group like Randall’s?” Beth asked Rick.

 “Then we’d fight. We’ll keep you safe,” you said softly.

 “Ya know we found Randall, right? He turned but wasn’t bit,” Daryl said to Rick. You noticed he looked a little sick at the mention of that. He looked like he knew something.

 “What the hell happened out there, Rick?”

 “Shane killed Randall, didn’t he Rick?” You said, looking him in the eye.

 “Just like he always wanted ta,” Daryl said.

 “Then the herd got him?”

 Rick looked like the cogs were turning in his head. His thoughts were running at the speed of light and his breathing was heavy.

 “Rick? What’s wrong?” You asked.

 “We’re all infected,” Rick said after a moment. You stopped breathing for a second, and brought your hand to your face. Everyone was looking at Rick and Daryl was the first to talk.

 “What?”

 “At the C.D.C., Jenner told me,” he paused. “Whatever it is, we all carry it.”

 “And you never said anything?” Carol asked. You had sat down on the rail and hung your head, still keeping a tight hold on Adeline.

 “Would it have made a difference?”

 “You knew this whole time?” Glenn said.

 “How could I have known for sure? You saw how crazy that motherfucker was.”

 “That wasn’t your call to make,” Glenn argued. “When I found out about the walkers in the barn, I told, for the good of everyone.”

 “Well I thought it best if people didn’t know.” No one else spoke and Rick walked away. Lori followed him and you went to Daryl.

 “We’re gonna have to build a fire and fast. Ada’s freezing,” you said to him.

 “I’ll see if Glenn can get some firewood. There’s another shirt in my pack ya can wrap ‘er up in. ‘M gonna see if I can hunt anythin’. Try ta get dinner.”

 “Thank you. Stay safe, okay?” You kissed his cheek and walked to the bike. You were starting to shiver now, the jacket still around Adeline.

 “Are you cold, mommy?” Ada asked you.

 “A little bit, but I’ll be okay,” you said, trying to keep your teeth from chattering. It was going to be a long night.

 ---

 Daryl had managed to hunt a couple rabbits and a bird in the few hours he was out. It wasn’t a lot, but it would have to be enough. T-Dog and Glenn had gotten some firewood and started a fire. You worked in silence, the only noise being the sound of a knife ripping through flesh. Daryl left you to work on that and he turned to the fire. As he put some twigs in the flames, Carol turned to him careful to not disturb Sophia, the toddler sleeping in her arms.

 “We’re not safe with him,” she whispered to Daryl. “Keeping something like that from us. Why do you need him? He’s just gonna pull you down.”

 “Nah. Rick’s done alright by me.”

 “You’re his henchman. And I’m a burden. You deserve better.”

 “I’ve gotten my better,” Daryl said, glancing at you. “What do ya want?”

 “A man of honor.”

 “Rick has honor.” With that, he turned back to the fire. You brought up the game a minute later, all ready to be roasted.

 “Here ya go. Ready to be cooked,” you said. Daryl took them from you and squeezed your thigh. You sat back on your heels and basked in the warmth of the fire. Adeline still had Daryl’s jacket on and when you tried to give it back once the fire was roaring, he wouldn’t take it.

 “’M used to the cold,” he said. “She needs it more.”

 “I think we should take our chances,” Maggie said to Glenn.

 “Don’t be foolish,” Hershel said. “There’s no food, no fuel, no ammo.”

 Leaves rustled and you stood up, pulling your weapons out.

 “What was that?” Beth whispered.

 “Could be anythin’,” Daryl said. “Could be more meat.”

 “Or a walker,” you said.

 “We need to leave. What are we waiting for?” Carol said, voice wavering.

 “Which way?”

 “It came from over there,” Maggie pointed. “Back from where we came.”

 “The last thing we need is for everyone running into the dark. We don’t have the resources for everyone to travel on foot.” Another branch broke and Dean walked over to you, Sam staying with Adeline over by the fire.

 “Don’t panic,” Hershel said quietly.

 “I’m not sitting here, waiting for another herd to blow through,” Maggie said. “We need to move, now.”

 “We can’t leave, Maggie,” you said.

 “Do something,” Carol said to Rick.

 “I am doing something! I’m keeping this group together, alive! I’ve been doing that all along, no matter what. I didn’t ask for this! I killed my best friend for you people for Christ’s sake!”

 “What?” You said, eyes widening. “You killed Shane?”

 Everyone looked at Rick, and Daryl came over to you. His hand was on your back and he led you back to the fire.

 “You saw what he was like. How he pushed me. How he compromised us, threatened us. He staged the whole Randall thing, led me out to put a bullet in my back. He gave me no choice!” You heard Carl let out a sob and Rick faltered. Carl was crying into his moms shoulder and Sam was holding Adeline close. Daryl was holding you. “He was my friend, but he came after me. My hands are clean.”

 “Maybe you people are better off without me,” Rick said as he looked around. “Go ahead. I’d say there’s a place for us, but maybe- maybe it’s just another pipe dream. Maybe I’m fooling myself again. Why don’t you go and find out yourself? Send me a postcard. There’s the door, go on. Think you can do better? Let’s see how far you can get.”

 Daryl was still holding you and he felt you tense. Knowing what you were about to do, he held you back.

 “Don’t do it, [y/n]. Think of the kids. They need ya,” Daryl said so only you could hear. You just sniffled and held him tighter.

 “No takers? Fine. But get one thing straight. If you’re staying, this isn’t a democracy anymore.”

 With that, Rick walked away. You knew no one was going to fight his words, it would basically be suicide to walk away from the group and everyone knew it. So you detached yourself from Daryl and sat down next to the fire, making sure the food you had didn’t burn. Daryl sat next to you without speaking and soon everyone was back on the ground. Food was passed around and after everyone ate, they tried to sleep. You knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep, your thoughts running wild, so you relieved T-Dog as watch.

 “Get some sleep,” you told him. “Get warm too.”

 He pat your shoulder and you could feel the cold of his hand seep into your skin.

 “Thanks,” he said quietly. He jumped off the ledge and you squared your shoulders. It was going to be a long winter.

#New World #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead x reader #supernatural x reader #twd #spn #reader insert #daryl dixon #daryl x reader #x reader

[spooderboyandtincan]

Masterlist

https://archiveofourown.org/works/35071825https://archiveofourown.org/works/34937053/chapters/87002521(Please excuse the mess)

Prompts

Tony Stitches Peter Up - Peter shows up bleeding out. Tony tries not to have a breakdown.

Chinese Food for Fridays - Random fluff with Tony, Peter and May.

Just Lost for a Minute Chapter 1 & 2 - Peter has a notorious habit of getting lost.

Well That Was Awkward -  Peter's classmates find him talking to the Tony Stark, who shouldn't even know he exists. So, naturally, chaos ensues.

Close to My Heart - A short fic full of angst and hurt/ comfort

In the Dead of Night Part 1 and 2 - Tony and Peter comforting each other through their nightmares.

Stark Only Cares for Himself - Steve thinks Tony only loves himself. He was wrong.

Spider-Man, Spider-Man - Peter proudly plays his new theme song to the Avengers.

Teething - Baby Peter is teething. Tony is very stressed.

Well at least it’s not on fire - One late night, Peter and Tony try to bake a cake. 

They’re Good Uncles, But.... Chapter 1 and 2 - Uncles Rhodey and Happy are babysitting Peter when the penthouse decides to set fire.

Time to Die... Of Embarrassment - May pulls out Peter’s baby pictures.

You Terrified Me - Bio son Peter breaks curfew. Tony is scared.

He’s not as bad as I thought - Peter has a panic attack when only Bucky is there. The two bond over Star Wars.

Lemongrass Tea - Peter is delighted to find a bubble tea shop opened downtown. He decides to try lemongrass. Unfortunately, spiders are allergic to it.

Other Fics

Car Crash Chapter 1, 2, 3, and 4 - A fun road trip leads to a disaster. Chapters 4/4

Nose Bleed - Both Tony and Peter are shocked when Peter suffers his first  nosebleed.

Baby Peter - A fluffy fic with toddler Peter and his dad

On the Ceiling - Tony finds his toddler not in his bed, but on the ceiling.

A Few Heart Attacks - Peter takes a major hit for Tony and barely survives.

Vlogging - Peter, Ned, and Shuri as seen through their vlog.

Hammock - Peter discovers the many wonderful pleasures of a hammock.

Something is Wrong - Peter collapses and scares the shit out of Tony.

Hot Chocolate and Cuddles - A fluffy fic about the first snow.

Here Comes Trouble, Make it Double - Peter had had a good day. But not anymore.

Don’t Worry, I’ll Sue Thor - Peter’s definitely not afraid of storms. Nope. Not one bit.

I Love You So, So Much - Tony tries to protect Peter from Hydra by keeping him in the tower... unfortunately, Hydra is at the tower too.

Midnight Snack - Peter has a late night snack on the ceiling.

Why the Hell Were You on the Ceiling?! - A very short fic where Peter falls asleep on the ceiling.

How do you Tie a Tie? - Tony shows Peter how to tie a tie. Peter is unsure that he belongs with the famous Avengers.

Please Don’t Kill Flash - Peter and Flash get kidnapped together. Tony is frantic.

Presumed Dead - Peter won’t eat, talk, sleep. He has nothing to live for if Tony is dead.

A Fast but Steady Heartbeat - Peter, Tony and Rhodey are enjoying their afternoon at a restaurant until the building and their food explodes.

October 30th, Day Before Halloween - Tony gets an emergency call. The Parkers have been attacked.

Peter’s Favorite Avenger? Not anymore - The Avengers meet Peter. Tony was terrified at first, and now he’s jealous. He’s still Peter’s favorite Avenger, right?

Drowning - The mission was supposed to be simple. It wasn’t. 

Rough Day? Or just tired? - Tony and Peter have a movie night. Peter falls asleep halfway through.

Temporarily Blind (and more) Chapter 1, 2, 3 , 4 - Peter goes blind. Not only that, but he’s dying.

Baby’s First Battle - Toddler Peter sneaks onto the Quinjet to help find his dad.  

Scream - Tony taught his little toddler to scream as loud as he could if someone he didn’t know tried to touch him. But he prayed Peter would never, ever end up in a situation like that. 

Being a Dad - Tony had to keep himself from calling Peter every ten seconds, reminding himself that FRIDAY was there and would alert him if anything happened. He had a deep feeling that something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

Happy Tears - Peter squirmed uncomfortably, the hard plastic chair digging into his back. He glanced at the clock. 2 am. Everyone else was asleep. May, Pepper, Nat, Sam. And Tony. Tony had been asleep for five days. 

Happy Birthday Peter! - Celebrating Peter’s birthday!

A Building Fell on You?! - Peter wakes up screaming. When Tony asks what his nightmare was about, Peter responds that a warehouse collapsed on him.

Hibernation -  Peter's spider side decides it's time to go into hibernation.

Blanket Forts - Peter is stressed from school. (Self-projection? Mayhaps) Tony knows just how to help.

Happy Halloween! -  Peter, Tony, and May's amazing, eventful day of picking pumpkins, carving said pumpkins, and getting spooked by watching Buzzfeed Unsolved.

You Came Back to Me - "Peter took another sip, expecting his dry throat to be blissfully cleared by the sweet cherry flavored drink.

The burning in his throat only grew. He felt like his stomach was  turning inside out and his chest had been stabbed with needle-sharp knives. The back of his neck prickled and he felt like he was in the middle of a blizzard but also in a desert with the sun directly overhead at the same time."

Or: Peter gets poisoned

tonystank and bananaboy -  Tony and Peter play Among Us, which can only result in a chaotic tickle fight (in which Peter loses drastically) and a (platonic) cuddle session while watching Star Trek.

You’re Gonna Miss Me When I’m Gone Ao3 -  When Tony had made his monthly anonymous donation of 50,000 to Peter's highschool, he hadn't thought that they would use the money to whisk his kid away to Vienna, Austria for an entire week.

I Want a Baby - Prompt from @milla-romy : I wish you would write a fic... about the Superfamily 💖

(Tony wants to adopt a baby. Steve isn't so sure.)

Presumed Dead -  After a HYDRA mission goes wrong, Peter is presumed dead and Tony mourns his son, until...

Sunny Son -  "Today is Friday, and Tony’s watch has just pinged, alerting him that Peter has arrived at the tower. He types out a quick text on the small surface of the watch: I’ll be up in 30 bud! and focuses his attention on the presenter, not because the presentation is in any way interesting, but because he needs to focus on something other than being separated from his kid.

Only thirty minutes, he thinks to himself, and he can go upstairs and cuddle his kid."

Or, Tony is a soft dad who wants to cuddle his kid- who can't stop giving him a heart attack every ten minutes.

#masterlist #my writing #my fics #not st*rker

[doubleshotofsomething]

Come Into My Life

This is my entry for @nekoannie-chan​‘s writing challenge. Congratulations on 500followers :D! Thank you so much for letting me participate!

This is a series. The remaining parts will be posted throughout the day. It is a Thor fanfic with a song prompt “Entra en mi Vida” (its a beautiful song, i highly recommend).

Song Prompt: Entra en mi Vida by Sin Bandera 

Warnings: swearing, like a lot of it. Mentions of human experimentation. that’s it?? Also, people are idiots here, folks. bare with me.

Summary: You live in a world where soulmates don’t exist. Like, at all. All that meant to be, fate has chosen nonsense? Not real. Literal, actual, from-the-TV-screen fairytale. So... why is the God of Thunder convinced that you’re his?

Part One: Entra en mi vida, te abro la puerta

"So—" You clear your throat, throwing yourself onto the only empty seat, "—all jokes aside, guys. What the fuck!"

Everyone blinks at you, drinks in their hands and confusion all over their faces.

You stare back at them, completely dismissing the new sets of eyes staring at you. "No, seriously, like what the fuck?" You reiterate. "Like, no guys, this fuck needs an answer. What the fuck."

"Are we supposed to know what this fuck is?" Ghost asks, the first among the group of five to surpass her confusion. "Because I have a what the fuck for that what the fuck."

You reach over to grab her drink and she – having been used to your antics after three years of friendship – moves it closer for you to grab. You take a sip, let the taste of her chamomile tea settle on your tongue, blanch and give it back.

"So, you know how the Avengers got their asses whipped after they pulled a deadbeat dad, right?" You make grabby hands towards Hope's drink, and she – just like Ghost – pushes it over to you.

"Careful," she grimaces, "it has a kick to it."

"So did Thanos," You mumble as you take a sip of her drink. The espresso sits heavily on your tongue and you swear you can feel it stain your teeth. "What the actual fuck, Hope? What is this? And why does it not have sugar?"

She chooses to roll her eyes at you and mimic the remaining two new faces by staying quiet. Her eyes narrow at you in warning.

"Don't get a tude with me, missy—" You wag your finger at her, “—you're the one that MIA'd for five years without a return address and pissed off the Feds. Like, seriously, what the fuck guys? We had plans and everything! Why the fuck would you leave me alone for that long? You know how I get when I'm not forced to socialise!"

Ghost snorts. "Don't be a baby."

Pouting, because you’re very mature, you feign a sniffle and stick your tongue out at her. "Weeeeeh."

The dude with the annoyingly short blond hair snorts, consequently gaining your attention, and tries to hide his smile with his cup.

"You're new," you narrow your eyes at him. "Why are you new? And why do you look like the dude that owes me 12K for wrecking my car?"

"Oh my god—" Ghost grumbles in the background, "—not this again."

"I have bills and crippling debts and things that need to be paid for, Ghost!"

"You're a trust fund baby, you shithead!" She argues. "You don't know what crippling debt looks like!"

"You don't know that! My investment portfolio has been crumbling since the stock market crashed last year due to the recession."

Sam grins cheekily at you. "You have no idea what you just said, do you?"

Huffing and puffing, all you can say is. "Let's go back to the what the fuck that needs to be discussed." You glare at him pointedly, "then maybe, we can discuss why you're still here and why you came back from ashes."

"I know you missed me, cupcake." The evil bastard reaches over and pinches your cheek.

"I miss dancing on your grave," You try to swat his hand away, "now, thanks to your selfishness, I need a new dance floor. Very rude of you to not stay dead."

"You're adorable."

"As I was whatting the fucks," You turn back to Hope and Ghost, "when the fuck did my life become Thor versus Thanos, and why am I the Thor without the hammer to fight Thanos?"

"Is that your what the fuck?"  Ghost frowns.

It's her turn to get glared at. "Don't act like you haven't seen the footage. You know exactly how badly Thor got yeeted off his high horse. I'm only regretful that Captain Wrecking Ball wasn't knocked off his."

"You know he's over here, right?" Hope, ever the oblivious one to your obvious jabs, points at the dude that wrecked your car.

"Yeah, unlike my car and the check he has yet to hand over but hey—" lifting up the cup of espresso, you grin at her "—when life gives you lemons."

"I'm still confused and offended about the Thanos reference." Sam, the gift from the bad side of Pandora's box, begins. "What do we have to do with your life?"

"What does pulling a deadbeat dad mean?" The other new dude asks, his face is both the definition of confused and annoyed. "And what does it have to do with the Avengers?"

You frown. "Now I'm confused—"

"Oh no—" Ghost grimaces.

"—Why do you look like the dude from Gossip Girl but also like the dude on the UN's wanted poster of 20something?" You turn to Sam for assistance. "Doesn't he look like that old geezer from the museum?"

Sam grins, leans back in his seat to take a proper look at the manbun dude. Your table is the round one placed at the corner – the irony – and, until recently, it has always been occupied by the four of you. That was before they decided to ghost you for half a decade.

 "Now that you mention it—"

"Oh, fuck off." Manbun snaps at Sam, and you swear you've never fallen in love faster in your entire life than you have in that moment.

Your grin is wide and shit-eating as you put the cup down. You extend your hand to Manbun and wiggle your freshly painted — somehow chapped – fingers.

"I'd tell you my name but it's better if you just called me sweetheart," You’re still grinning. "What's your sign and what time can you pick me up?"

He blinks at you, still confused, and frowns at your hand. Slowly, because you’re a patient girl, you lean over and pry his left hand away from his cup. You place your palm in his and wrap your fingers around each other.

"I'd ask for your name but I think I'll settle for calling you babe," You shake his hand, and then place it back on the cup. "Or hun. I'd call you handsome, but that's too tacky and we—” You point between the both of you, " – don't do tacky."

You sit back in your seat and glance at Sam. "Well... Most of the time anyway."

At this, the rest of your life flashes you a grin. "How does eight o'clock sound?"

"It sounds like a recipe for disaster." Ghost cuts in, narrowing her eyes at you. "Back off, shithead. You've hurt enough of my coworkers"

Jaw dropping and shock feigning, you gasp. "How is that my fault?"

"Is that joke?" Ghost frowns, "because I feel like it's a joke. Three incidences with the analysts and five tech support team make it look like a joke."

You scoff at that. "Look, if your little back up boys can't handle the essence of a real woman, then that's not my fault." Confidently – and silently annoyed – you also add. "Plus, I actually did SHIELD, or whatever ridiculous name you're calling the remake of a failed organisation, a favour. If your boys behind the boys in spandex can't handle being told off by a 'mouse' as they call us, then they shouldn't be behind the dude that wrecked my car.

 "But now that I've said that out loud—" You pause, "—I finally understand why the Avengers are so bad at their job. I mean, with such poor support systems, it's no wonder boy blue and red uses cars as a landing mechanism. It's almost as if he's never heard of a parachute."

There's a pregnant pause as you pretend to ponder the situation. The new dude with the blond hair has visibly turned red and is shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Manbun has a very permanent looking frown smeared all over his face and you’re pretty sure you've just ruined whatever chances you had of giving him children. And Sam, because he's Sam and is patiently waiting his turn to roast you, has the biggest shit-eating grin on his face.

Ghost pretends to scowl at you, even though you’re pretty sure she's already drawing up the schematics for the pedestal she's about to build for you. Hope, because she's Hope and has first-hand experience of dealing with spoilt little brats that use creative antics to slowly drive people away, decides to use that exact moment to sigh and expose you.

"Hey sweetheart," she begins in that voice of betrayal. "Can you, like, not be an antisocial, territorial pain in the ass for five minutes and be nice? Stop trying to get our guests to leave with your little mind games, yeah?"

You blink at her. Once, twice. Because the betrayal always takes a few moments to sink in.

"They're not mind games." You retort. "Boy Blue over there did wreck my car. He used it to cushion his fall, because apparently the super-secret organisation that harbours entitled idiots doesn't invest in parachutes."

"But you don't even need that 12K—"

"I didn't ask for the 12k. I just simply pointed out that his reckless behaviour is very costly for those who suffer for it."

"Okay, guys—" Ghost tries to interject, but it's too late. The fire has already started, and Hope and you have never been on the same page when it comes to anything involving the Avengers.

"You're being unreasonable now. You, of all people, should understand that some things are out of our control."

"That doesn't excuse or make the damage done alright. The ruining of people’s livelihoods isn’t a necessary evil for your super heroe'ing righteousness." You point out, eyes narrowed, and teeth bared. "I, of all people, don't understand your defence. Because I don't use the lab that made me as an excuse to get away with the bad shit I do to people. Whether intentionally or not."

"Really? Because you weren't singing that same song when you cashed in on all that HYDRA inheritance."

"I am not the people that made me and it's not like I'm vacationing the money away. Or have you forgotten about that harbour I had to fix because your boyfriend decided to grow a few sizes?"

"Oh, how could I forget? It's not like you rub it in his face every time he tries to so much as even say hi to you."

"People should be held accountable for their actions. Excuse me for exercising my fifth amendment because I don't think communicating with the guy that turned your dad into a fugitive by siding with the anti-accords gang is cool!"

"That accords was messed and you know it!"

“Yeah, but I didn’t go around trying to be a vigilante about it!”

"Just admit that your stance for the accords is only because you need the government's protection against ex-Hydra agents."

She hit a cord and she knows it. "You're treading on very thin ice, Hope."

 "Scared they might come back and finish what they started? Now that Pierce and Rumlow are gone, there's nothing stopping them from finishing what they started, is there?"

"You know," You sigh, reaching for Ghost's drink and taking a sip. "At least, I don't have to abduct a man from his home, nearly ruin his chances at freedom, risk his life numerous times for my personal gain, just cause I have a theory about my mom's whereabouts. And then—" You let out a condescending laugh at the thought, "—have the audacity to look him in the eye and call it love. Because, ya know, turning a guy into a science experiment and berating him for doing what he thought was right is so romantic."

She's turning red. You can see it before it actually happens and there is a sick sense of pleasure coursing through your veins at the thought. At the fact that you’re the one pressing all the buttons.

Boy, are you fucked up.

"Damn." Sam mumbles, then chortles, then belts out a laugh. "Shit. Who pissed in your gourmet breakfast?"

"People," You scowl at him. “Fucking people. Because, now call me a bitch if you insist, I don't remember telling management to sign a deal with SHIELD."

"What the fuck?" Ghost, ever so caring, contributes to your bewilderment and pissy mood.

You nod frantically at her. "Exactly! What the fuck! Do you see why I needed you guys so bad? Like, it's like the creation of the Strike Force all over again!"

"Hold on—" Captain Damage Ball cuts in. "—I'm confused. What exactly is going on and what does SHIELD have to do with it?"

"Oh boy. Germany, here we go again—"

"Don't be an asshole, shithead."

 --

 When SHIELD fell and Black Widow released all those classified documents to the public, your existence was made known to the public. It turned out that running a terrorist cell inside a super-secret organisation wasn't the only thing Pierce had hidden from the world. You were.

You were supposed to be an experiment. Another volunteer, like the Twins, for Hydra's ultimate plan. Another Bucky Barnes, but without the constant torture to keep you mindless and loyal.

 You were supposed to be the next generation. The Rumlow that wouldn't need force and violence to get the job done. That was the requirement. Those were the orders. That's what you were supposed to be.

Instead, somewhere deep in the dark, cold corners of an abandoned Hydra lab, the inhumane attempt of creating Winter Soldiers through 'natural means' had taken place.

The surrogates were all volunteers, the scientist claimed.

The procedure was necessary for the mission, the doctor explained.

This is the only way forward, the master mind behind that plan argued.

Rumlow took care of the agents himself. Pierce burned down that lab himself. And, out of all the children born, you were the only one that lived longer than the rest. The others were unfortunate enough to be experimented on, before Rumlow found out.

Not knowing who to trust, Pierce kept you hidden from the world and Hydra. He never hid the truth from you, nor did Rumlow. They knew that, at some point, those that knew about the lab would eventually find you, and you needed to be prepared for when they did.

When SHIELD fell, the paper trail that led to your existence was small – miniscule, even – but it was there. Sam found it, but he kept you a secret as well until you were ready for the whole world to know.

But the world wasn't waiting for you to be ready. It wasn't that patient, nor kind. Because, with everything out in the open, chaos ensued, and you were still – at the end of the day – the next generation. All those assets couldn't remain frozen forever and all those lives that were ruined by Hydra couldn't remain unaided.

So, you had to step out and – begrudgingly – announce your existence to the world. Put a huge target on your back and claim the inheritance that Pierce had unwittingly left you.

"I'm gonna go piss off alot of bad people—" You had said to Sam over the phone, right before your News Interview. "What do you think I should start with?"

He wasn't having any of it. "Did you just wait for me to leave the country so you could do something stupid?"

"Of course not, I'm not you—" You scoffed, checking your outfit again. "—I hired a hacker to fake a series of cyber-attacks. Then I asked that girl, you know – the one that could walk through walls, to freak a bunch of people out. So, you know, it could be an Avenger level threat, but not the kind that needed Captain Spandex, so they'd send you. Then I scheduled the interview for the night of the supposed attack, because I knew you'd be gone—"

"Are you kidding me, Y/N— Clint, turn this thing around now!"

"—So, I was thinking I show up on stage and say 'the law says I can take all those assets and I'm gonna use them to do the exact opposite of what my ex-bosses would've wanted'. How does that sound?"

"Do me a favour. Don't move. I wanna kill you myself."

You grinned. "I knew you'd love it."

--

Next Part

TAGS: @nekoannie-chan​ , @thorfanficwriter​

#annie's1stwritingchallenge #annie's500kittieswritingchallenge #writing challenge #sam wilson #thor x reader #x reader #avengers x you #thor x you #thor fanfiction #thor fluff #steve rogers #bucky barnes #sam x reader #mcu #Avengers

[turtle-steverogers]

Don’t Take This the Wrong Way

Wrote this the other night on ao3 and wanted to post it here

During their hunt for Bucky, Steve and Sam take to cuddling for comfort. Bucky sees and naturally, he's got some feelings about it.

Ship(s): Stucky, platonic Sam & Steve

Warnings: none i dont think?

-

They’re in a motel room somewhere in Tucson when Steve finally relents. Admittedly, in the month that he and Sam had been searching for Bucky, his sleep schedule hasn’t been so good.  He’d been spending his nights tossing and turning, maybe dozing off for short thirty minute spurts here and there only to jolt awake with images of Bucky in the awful looking cryo chamber from the Winter Soldier files flashing in his mind. Usually he’d give up around 5 am and go for a run, then find him and Sam some breakfast. Given the nature of the serum, he was generally functional without substantial sleep.

But now, as he lies in bed, watching lights dance across the ceiling from cars passing outside, he’s just plain exhausted.

He rolls his head to the side, peering through the darkness to where Sam is sprawled out on his bed, arms tucked behind him under his pillow. The idea had been stewing in his mind for a couple weeks now; ever since Sam had reeled him in for a hug after he’d trudged his way through Bucky’s files and he’d honest to god collapsed at the contact, to which Sam had grimaced and murmured something about his “touch starved ass”. Which had gotten him thinking: human contact-- pleasant human contact-- sounds fucking amazing right now. And he hasn’t really had any since the war where it wasn’t uncommon for the Howlies to curl up with each other on cold nights or after long days of shelling. And then there was the matter of Bucky and what he and Steve were to each other. So yeah, in those days, kind contact with another person was never in short supply. 

Steve misses it. And maybe, just maybe, he might be able to sleep through the fucking night if he could get some. 

It’s not like Steve thinks Sam would be opposed to the idea of some down to earth cuddling. He’s a pretty empathetic guy with a solid regard to comfort and a vehement opposition towards what the 21st century calls toxic masculinity. It’s just that Steve doesn’t know how to ask and it would be weird to just climb in with him, right? No, Sam also preaches boundaries and instigating a cuddle session without asking would definitely be a clear violation of those. 

Frustrated, Steve blows a breath out through his nose. Fuck it, he’s just gonna ask. He’s damn tired and Sam will understand. 

He rolls over all the way and props himself up onto his elbow, leaning closer to Sam’s bed, “Sam,” Steve hisses. Sam snuffles and presses his face sideways into his pillow. “Sam, are you awake?”

Sam grunts and Steve sees his eyebrow furrow. “I am now,” He says, voice hoarse with sleep. He doesn’t open his eyes, “What’s going on?”

Steve bites his lip, suddenly unsure, “Uh…”

Sam opens his eyes and Steve can see the concern on his face despite the darkness of the room. 

“You alright?” Sam asks, lifting his head, “What’s wrong?”

Steve shrugs a shoulder, “I can’t sleep.” He says, casting his eyes somewhere over Sam’s shoulder. He sees him soften in his periphery.

“You wanna talk about it? Or, like, what can I do for you, man?”

Steve shrugs again, “Nothing really to talk about, but during the war...I dunno, it’s dumb, just...if things were tough we’d all-- I mean, like, we’d take our bedrolls and--” He can feel himself blushing and he swallows. This was a dumb idea.

The sound of blankets rustling makes Steve look back at Sam, who’s got the covers pulled back in front of him, a welcoming, non-judgemental look on his face. Steve hesitates and Sam rolls his eyes.

“Get over here, dude, I didn’t wake up for nothing.”

Blushing harder, Steve clambers out of bed and awkwardly slides into Sam’s, who pulls the covers back over the both of them. Steve holds himself stiffly until Sam makes a disapproving noise and pulls him down onto his chest.

“I would offer to spoon you, but I can’t sleep on my side,” Sam says, sounding sleepy again. 

“That’s okay,” Steve says, draping an arm across Sam’s stomach and nestling further into his chest, “This is good.”

When Steve wakes up the next morning, he feels more rested than he has in years.

XXX

Things change after that. Casual touches become more frequent and it becomes an unspoken ritual after hard days to climb into the same bed in whatever motel room they’re staying at for the moment and crash, limbs tangled together and Steve’s face mashed into some place on Sam’s torso. 

The stress surrounding Bucky and whatever condition he might be in still eats away at Steve relentlessly and his nightmares haven’t exactly eased up, but a certain, specific weight has lifted off his chest. It’s nice, he finds, to feel close to someone again off his own volition. It’s nice, Steve thinks, to feel seen.

XXX

Steve lies on his side, jaw clenched against his chattering teeth and hands fisted in the sheets in front of him. His stomach is in knots from being held so tense and he tries to reign in the shaking, but his body won’t cooperate and his lungs don’t seem to want to pull in enough air to battle out the adrenaline streaming through his veins. 

The dream hadn’t been anything new, but the Hydra stronghold they’d raided that day had left them a little worse for wear and Bucky’s screams for Steve to please come find him hit harder than usual. Falling asleep had been an accident and it’s not even 10 pm yet and Steve wants to cry his chest hurts so bad. Sam is in the shower and presumably, he hadn’t heard Steve gasp awake seeing as he’s still in there despite it being twenty minutes since he’d woken up. Steve’s partly grateful for that, but he can’t seem to calm himself down and he wants a fucking hug. 

The bathroom door opens and Steve squeezes his eyes shut as Sam’s whistling parts from the sound of the bathroom fan, then dies. He curls further on himself-- he’s been made.

“Hey, hey, whoa,” Sam says. The mattress dips behind Steve as Sam sits down. A moment later, a hand starts rubbing between his shoulder blades, “What happened?”

Steve shakes his head, leaning back into the touch. 

“Alright, that’s okay, you don’t have to tell me,” Sam says, voice even and soothing, “Can you stretch out a little for me?”

Steve forces himself to unwind a little bit and internally lets out a sigh of relief as Sam attaches himself to his back, hands carefully prying Steve’s from their iron grip on the sheets. 

“I’m here, man,” Sam says, starting to take deliberate breaths for Steve to match, “I got you.”

It takes a while, but Steve eventually calms down enough to roll over. Sam immediately accommodates, maneuvering them to their usual position of him on his back and Steve draped across his stomach. 

“Wanna talk about it?” Sam asks gently.

“No,” Steve croaks, clearing his throat, “Thanks.”

“Okay, lemme know if you change your mind,” Sam says, “Wanna watch something? I think this motel has pay-per-view.”

“Yeah, sure.” Steve says, feeling drained, “You pick.”

A couple minutes later, the intro to the first Indiana Jones movie is playing on the TV in front of their beds, volume pitched lower than usual. Sam is running a hand through Steve’s hair and he’s finding it increasingly harder to stay awake. 

He’s not sure how much time has passed with him half-dozing on Sam’s chest, when Sam jolts, head turned towards the window. Steve looks over, too, suddenly alert.

“What?” Steve asks, heart pounding, “What did you see?”

Sam shakes his head, frowning, “I don’t know, I just thought...I don’t know I just felt like I was being watched.” 

“Should we check it out?”

Sam squints, searching the window. A tense minute passes before he shakes his head, “Nah, not worth it.”

Still wary, Steve nods, “If you say so.”

XXX

When they get to the next Hydra stronghold in Malvan, it’s already ransacked. 

Smoke is still drifting up from the ruins and Steve can see mounds of rubble smoldering in the low dusk lighting. There are bodies strewn fairly consistently throughout the debris and Steve tries to ignore them as he wades into the remnants of the base. 

A gunshot sounds somewhere behind him and he glances back to see Sam jogging to catch up with him. He raises an eyebrow.

“Straggler,” Sam says. Steve nods.

“It was him,” Steve says, “Bucky beat us here and recently.”

“I don’t know, man,” Sam says, dubiously, “there are a lot of people out for Hydra right now. Could be anyone angry enough.”

“No,” Steve says, bending down to pluck a sticky note off of one of the guard’s bodies. He can’t make out what it says, but he can tell it’s Bucky’s loopy handwriting. He waggles it and shows it to Sam, “It was him.”

“What’s it say?”

Steve pulls his phone out of one of the pockets on his tac pants and switches on the flashlight, aiming it at the sticky note.

I was going to reach out, but you and Wilson seemed cozy enough.  :( >:(

An incredulous laugh bursts out of Steve and Sam crowds in close, reading over his shoulder.

“What the fuck?” Sam exclaims, “Does he seriously think-- when did he--” He cuts off, realization dawning on his face, “Oh my god, that night I thought I saw something out the window in Alcaine. That was Barnes.” He bursts out laughing, doubled over, bracing himself on Steve’s shoulder, “He-- he musta seen us cuddling and-- and thought-- oh my god.”

Steve’s laughing, too-- elated that Bucky seems to be in his right mind and willing to reconnect. 

“Damn, he’s a jealous type, too?” Sam says, still wheezing, “Wow, Rogers, you landed quite a man there. He even-- he fucking wrote out a grumpy face!”

“Yeah, I wasn’t the only dramatic one,” Steve says, “Peggy always got on us both for that. Liked to say we were a theatrical pair.” He says the last part with an accent and Sam starts laughing again.

A rush of warm hope spreads through Steve’s stomach and he closes his hand around the sticky note, “He’s okay.” He says, “He’s gonna come home.”

Sam sobers up a little and claps him on the back, “Yeah he is, man. You’re gonna get your boy back.”

XXX

Still, it’s another month and a half before Bucky finally makes an appearance. 

Sam and Steve had finally decided to take a break, tired of changing time zones three times a week and coming up with mostly dead ends since Bucky’s note back in Malvan. Even the satisfaction of destroying Hydra strongholds has diminished to something like itching a mosquito bite. So they leave one last base in Turkmenabat in ruins and head back stateside, eager to be without responsibilities for a while. 

They’re about to enter Steve’s apartment in Brooklyn when Steve senses something not quite right. He frowns, holding up a hand to stop Sam behind him and looking around. Nothing’s out of place but...but...but the plant outside his door is wet? Someone’s fucking watered his plant. He points it out to Sam and they both draw their handguns, hunching into a familiar defensive formation as Steve unlocks his door and shoulders his way inside.

They both train their guns on the figure sitting on the couch.

“Hey, Steve.” 

Steve falters, lowering his gun, “Buck?”

Bucky is sitting reclined on the couch, his feet kicked up on the coffee table. His hair is short again, reminiscent of how it was during the war, but modern enough to blend in to crowds and when Steve looks closer, he can see that he’s wearing a pair of his sweatpants and one of his t-shirts.

“Are you-- did you take my clothes? How long have you been here? Did you--did you water my plant?” He asks. Sam still has his gun drawn and Steve makes a motion for him to yield. Sam does so reluctantly.

“‘Bout a week? Took you long enough to get back,” Bucky says easily, “And yeah, Geoffrey needed watering, he was looking awful neglected. Also, yeah I don’t really have much of a wardrobe of my own.”

Sam shakes his head, “Geoffrey!?”

But Steve ignores him, heart breaking a little at the thought of Bucky wearing the same clothes for all these months, “Oh. Well, you’re totally welcome to take my clothes any-”

“Yeah, I know. It’s why I did,” Bucky says. He trains his gaze on Sam, “Are you two together?” He asks bluntly.

“I-- no.” Steve says. He’d figured this conversation might happen after the Sticky Note Incident, but it flusters him all the same, “We just-- things were hard for a bit and you remember during the war, it just-- it helps.”

Bucky nods decisively, “Yeah. Makes sense. When I saw you two, I was still trying to remember if you and I were actually a thing before or if that was something Hydra had put in there.” Steve makes a wounded noise and Bucky looks at Sam again, “Sorry about your steering wheel, I can steal you a new car.”

“Oh, I-- no,” Sam says, alarmed, “That’s alright, man, you don’t have to...uh--” he looks to Steve for help, who just shrugs, “It’s fine.” He finishes, visibly forcing nonchalance, “We’re cool.”

Bucky smiles and stands, crossing to them, “In that case, I should properly introduce myself,” He extends a hand to Sam, “James Barnes but folks call me Bucky.”

Sam takes his hand, “Sam Wilson. Good to meet you, man.”

“Back atcha,” Bucky turns his attention on Steve, looking him up and down, “You been eatin’, Stevie? You look skinny, like a little angry alley cat.”

“Fuck you, too.” Steve says brightly, “Sorry Sam and I made you jealous.”

“Wasn’t jealous,” Bucky grumbles. 

Steve just laughs and pulls him in for a kiss, “Missed ya. You stayin’?”

Bucky presses their foreheads together and for the first time in 70 years, Steve feels complete, “I am now.”

-

ok yeah that’s it

thanks for reading, chiefs

#marvel shit #marvel fic #stucky #stucky fic #steve rogers #bucky barnes #sam wilson #the BOYYYYS #bucky's jealous kinda ooo #tag urself im geoffrey the plant #stevebucky #yah <3

[watermelonlipstick]

Dreams, Chapter 19

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 19

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 4274

Summary: Life settles into routine as summer comes in Wisconsin.

Warnings: FLUFF, swearing, some smut

           You’d never been so aware of the date after that, somehow feeling like you’d reset your circadian rhythm to know precisely how long two weeks was. Mercifully on the part of the universe, Dean had been right about the lack of reset function as long as you stayed within the same mind; once, just to try, you had entered Sam’s dream and found that Sam Barbie and Sam Mike hadn’t met Dean yet.

           At Dean’s request Sam put a huge amount of effort toward ‘being normal,’ integrating into the community in a more purposeful way. You became friendly with a couple cheerful hairdressers from the salon in the next town over when they started coming to the bar for after work drinks and Sam began getting invited to the poker games Steve hosted. One of your favorite of these new habits was going to the farmer’s market dutifully every week. It reminded you every time of how simple this new life was, where you had spare mental capacity to think about whether you wanted nectarines or peaches because there was no terror dangling just overhead. It also helped distract you from all-consuming thoughts of seeing Dean on alternate Sunday nights, the way your body felt like it vibrated with anticipation for the few days before.

           The two of you had been going for months by the first market in July, long enough to know all the first names of the regular vendors and greet them as you went. You were feeling somehow even more acutely anxious-excited at the upcoming Sunday, Dean having told you both last time that he had a surprise planned. It encouraged you to give more of a concerted effort to linger at every single booth, extend every single moment of killed time you could get from the outing. Sam let you lead the way, ring and pinky finger loosely linked into yours as you walked up and down the aisles of tents and tables in the overgrown gravel parking lot. He had a canvas bag half-filled with beets, green beans, some local honey, and a small carton of apricots. You paused to lean into his chest, waiting for Sam to bend down and kiss you in front of a table of essential oils decorated with macrame. The next one caught your eye, some hand-hewn jewelry, and you pulled him gently along.

           “What do you think?” you asked, holding up some earrings clearly too gaudy to match your style with an exaggeratedly fashionable face.

           “I think those really capture your essence, yeah,” Sam smiled.

           “Or maybe this?” You slipped your hand into a heavy bangle absolutely covered in turquoise that felt like wearing an ankle weight.

           He hitched the bag up on his shoulder and watched the show you put on for him, sweeping some hair back from your neck to let you see a set of earrings in the tiny mirror on the table. His gaze flicked over the wares and he gingerly picked up a small gold band from a tray. It was probably the most understated piece on the table, and definitely the one most likely to fit with the no-nonsense jewelry you tended to wear—the things you were drawn to being more sentimental reminders than ostentatious presentation, intended to be put on once and never taken off.

           “I think this one looks the most like you,” Sam hummed, offering it up for you to try on. The band was medium-thick with rounded comfort edges and when you slipped it on it fit perfectly, just barely tight enough to feel exactly secure on your finger. He was right; it looked good on your hand like you had re-found an old piece that you’d lost, and you considered it for a second before you realized Sam was talking to the woman behind the table as she finished a transaction with a trio of teenaged girls getting matching woven bracelets.

           “That one’s part of a set,” she cooed over to him, her hands resting in a homemade apron covered in embroidered flowers. “They should really go to the same home.”

           You were impressed at Sam’s ability to keep himself from rolling his eyes at that kind of faux sentimental bullshit, but she had already turned her back to you, rifling in another box under the plastic table. She turned around with a larger copy of the ring and darted out, grabbing Sam’s hand quickly enough that he almost stumbled forward as she started to slip it onto his finger.

           “Oh, I don’t really wear jewelr—” he started helplessly.

           “See? Meant to be, it fits perfectly.” She clasped her hands in front of her chin excitedly, beaming over the table at you and Sam. You had to bite your lip to keep from laughing at the expression on his face as he tried inconspicuously to get the ring off.

           “Um—wow, that’s really on there—how much for that one?” Sam asked, awkwardly pointing to the ring on your finger with his pinky as he kept working to try to get his off.

           “$50 for the both of them.”

           “Even the one has gotta be more than that,” he insisted, based on the displayed prices of the gaudy jewelry you’d played around with.

           “I’d feel better knowing they were being appreciated together than I would with the money.”

           You looked up at Sam with the kind of melting cotton candy look you felt like had been plastered to your face for weeks, soft and gooey and something you would’ve made fun of a stranger for. He abandoned trying to get the ring off and tongued a molar before pulling out his wallet and dropping 5 $20 bills on the table, pushing them across with the customer service smile he used at the bar. “Thank you, they’re, uh, they’re beautiful.”

           She only unclasped her hands to stuff the bills in the apron, mouthing a “thank you” at the extra money and winking at Sam as the two of you walked away from the booth.

           “Should we get you a big chain? Or I could pierce your ears with an ice cube and an apple back at the cabin,” you teased, getting used to the way the ring felt on your hand.

           Sam couldn’t keep from rolling his eyes over a smirk. “I really can’t get it off.”

           “I think maybe you just wanted to match me.”

           He stopped walking and you spun around to face him, gazing up into his hazel eyes. “Matching you isn’t so bad.”

           “Oh yeah?” You watched as a slow smirk spread across his face and he looked down at his feet between you. “Thank you, by the way. I really love it.”

           “Just think you, um, deserve nice things.” A little color rose in his cheeks, and there was something so unbelievably sweet about it, being shy with you of all people. You had to press up to your tiptoes and pull Sam’s neck down to kiss him, but it was perfect, the light northern chill that sometimes drifted through the air even in July reminding you of your first kiss on that sledding hill except now it was your hand on Sam’s neck, blood seeping warm and loose through every capillary rather than the cold throb of anxiety you’d had then. With his lips on yours, delicate metal on your finger, and the earthy smell of the fresh produce in the air, you tried to commit to memory how unequivocally good the moment was, how completely outside the realm of possibility this would’ve seemed a year ago. Sam’s hand slipped to your lower back and pressed you to him. “Wanna get out of here?” he murmured into your ear, and it was all you could do not to jump him right there as you wound your fingers in his and wove through the booths to get back to the Impala.

           “Baby—you’ve gotta—fuck, I’m driving,” Sam laugh-moaned, shifting his hips just a little up into the hand you danced along the fly of his jeans.

           You leaned across the bench seat and licked the faintest trail up his jugular vein. “Then pull over.”

           His eyes closed deeply for a beat and hard swallow as he took a deep breath and took a right turn into what was likely a private driveway. It was a calculated move; probably not visible from the rural highway but if the people living here—the place sure to be occupied on a July weekend even if it wasn’t year-round—decided to leave they’d catch an eyeful of graphic roadblock. Knowing he was willing to take the risk made your heart race even faster, and Sam had barely thrown the car into park before he was on top of you, hand in your hair and tugging back roughly to bite-suck at your neck so hard and delicious you gasped before even realizing.

           He grinned into your skin as he kissed you. “Gonna—tease me—like—that? After looking so good—being so sweet—all morning?” You slid your hands in his hair and pulled back, crashing into his mouth and tasting the honey he’d sampled with you at the farmer’s market. You hooked your leg around his hips and rolled up into him, almost salivating at the firm length of him against you and the friction of the denim. He pressed you flat to the bench seat and started working the buttons of your shirt, so lightning-fast he ripped one of the last ones clean off, sending it skittering across the dashboard as it flew. “Sorry,” he smiled as you bit his lip, not looking very sorry at all.

           When your top was finally open Sam tugged at your bra, bypassing the clasp altogether in favor of exposing your nipples above it, somehow grazing his teeth and breathing cool air over them at once to send goosebumps flushing all over your body. You tried to undo the buttons of his shirt somewhat unsuccessfully for a moment before Sam leaned back and yanked at the back of his collar, tossing it in the backseat without looking as you flicked open his belt buckle and jeans. You grabbed either side of the open belt and tugged, making Sam’s chest press against yours and giggling into his lips at his tiny “oof,” when he fell forward onto the seat, throwing his arm out to avoid landing on you with his full weight.  

           With his torso against yours, he kissed you like he was gorging himself on candy; hungry and playful as you pushed and pulled against each other until you guided his cock out of his boxers and circled the tip with your thumb. Sam whimpered softly, just once and softly enough you might’ve thought it was a sharp inhale, but the broken concentration was enough for you to catch him off guard and shove him back on the seat across from you. He stretched back against the leather and door, pleasantly surprised behind widened pupils as you quickly got out of your shirt/bra tangle and kicked off your boots. It could’ve been some kind of pseudo-pornographic ad, Sam with tousled hair and undone jeans up against the door of the Impala, taut skin and muscles of his abs on full display as his arms spanned an impossible amount of the windowsill and seatback. If you’d had the self-restraint, you might’ve taken an extra second to soak it in, but as it was you pounced on him the moment the fabric of your clothes left your hands, slipping your fingers under his waistband enough to expose his cock and immediately sliding it into your mouth, hands still working to get him further out of his jeans.

           Anyone else making the sound he did would never have had the same effect, but the gravelly moan your tongue forced out of him dissolved you into jello and you wanted nothing more than to hear it again. Rhythmically working the spit-slick between your mouth and hands, you dragged your head up to look Sam in the eyes, heavy tip of him weighing down your bottom lip as you spoke. “Hold my hair?”

           Sam’s eyes went fuzzy and dark as his eyebrows raised into a dazed smile, gathering your hair in a huge palm and making that amazing noise again as you slid all the way down him, nose grazing the dark hair on Sam’s abdomen. After a few minutes his hips bucked a little under you, Sam beginning to writhe on the leather. “Fuck, that feels so goo—hold on, wait,” Sam stammered with sex-frayed vocal cords, using your hair to tug you to his mouth and suck your tongue. The sensation stunned you for a moment but you could’ve stayed there forever, held up in his palm and flayed open for Sam to take.

           He trailed down your jaw and pulled firm when you tried to turn into his kiss. “Out of your jeans. Now.” You could feel the smirk against you and immediately started shimmying them off, loving this new edge to Sam, able to fully appreciate the grit knowing how soft he would be if you showed even the slightest hesitation. When you’d gotten the denim about halfway down your thighs he put a strong hand on your hip and flipped you over in the seat, your cheek flush against the glass of the window where he draped over your back like a predator. “Don’t. Move.”

           The shudder was involuntary but it was covered by Sam practically ripping the jeans the rest of the way off your legs and subsequent hoisting your hips into the air as he shifted your knees up to the leather, your chest pressed against the door of the Impala as you looked back at him. You didn’t have any warning when Sam slipped his tongue inside you, shooting your arm out to grab for anything to stabilize yourself and ending up with a handful of seatbelt. Your calf curled up as he worked those sensitive nerves, swirling a thumb into your clit as he went. Sam locked the freed ankle with an iron grip. “I said don’t move.”

           You whimpered and whispered dirty nothings you wouldn’t have been able to remember with a gun to your head until he smacked your ass hard enough you knew there’d be a red facsimile of his hand on you, and then you completely fell apart, shuddering and melting into the door. Sam crawled up behind you, chest flush to your back, and bit your earlobe. “I. Said. Don’t. Move.” You could hear the playful challenge in it and that made you even more crazy for him, wiggling under his weight a little involuntarily. He didn’t make you wait too long, pushing into you until his thighs pressed to yours, holding you in place so you couldn’t squirm forward.

           “Holy shit, Sam,” you breathed. You could feel your muscles flex and relax experimentally around him.

           His tongue flicked around your ear as he pounded into you. “You’re so fucking hot, baby—can’t believe you’re my girl. Are you my girl?”

           The sounds you made were vaguely affirmative but to be honest, Sam’s rocking into you was pretty effectively scrubbing your mind clean of coherent thought.

           “Tell me. Say my name,” Sam murmured, voice low with sin against your spine.  

           “I’m your girl, Sam—your girl, I’m your girl Sam, I—holy shit—” you moaned as he picked up the pace and circled a sucked-wet finger around your clit and then you hit that sweet, sticky spasm, hand splaying out wide on the window. Sam covered it with his, interlacing long fingers into yours and something about the way the metal of the two new rings clinked against each other was so tender even as you were being rammed into the door. A couple moments later he drew back with a tense groan, dressing your lower back with hot spurts of himself while his breath started to return with ragged shudders.

           “Jesus,” he sighed as he eased off of you, suddenly gentle again. “Oh—uh, here, sorry.” Sam extended a veined arm over the front seat to snatch his shirt from where it had landed and gently wiped off your back. You let the cool glass settle your racing heartbeat for a beat before sliding back to the seat and the small pile of clothes Sam had retrieved for you. It made you smirk a little to watch Sam’s internal struggle over what to do with the dirty shirt, deciding to toss it on the floor before refastening his belt shirtless like he was in some Country Hotties calendar—Mr. July indeed.

           You opted not to tie your boots as you’d only be walking from the car to the door and looked over at Sam once your feet were inside the loose laces. He opened and closed his mouth but couldn’t come up with any words, smoothing his hair nervously back into place and chuckling against a bitten lip.

           “Yeah, I agree,” you giggled, leaning over to kiss his cheek before lacing your fingers together. “Do you want anything specific for dinner? We have a bunch of chickpeas, I thought maybe we could try making our own falafel.”

           He gazed back at you for a reverent second before turning the key in the Impala’s ignition. “I love you,” he smiled, throwing an arm over the back of your seat to reverse out of the woods.

           Tracing the angles of his face in the sunlight as he drove, you picked your joined hands up to kiss his knuckles. “I love you too.”

           After a few minutes of endorphin-filled silence, Sam turned to you. “So do you know what this surprise is Dean has planned for tomorrow night? I figured he’d have to tell you what it was going to be if you’re the one whose head it’ll be in.”

           “No clue. I thought at first maybe it was like, the Grand Canyon or something but ran into the same issue. Unless Cas’s taught him some new trick, he’s only ever been able to pull up places or things I already know—pick my brain for it, or whatever.”

           “Yeah, me too.”

           The air in the car held the content pensiveness for a few minutes of sunny road. There was no real heat behind it, just like there was no real heat in choosing between different rattan baskets of produce at the farmer’s market, and that same appreciation of the serenity itself washed over you. A surprise was just a surprise, not a potential threat, a date with Dean was just a date with Dean, no longer a finite, losable resource that had to be clawed at and fought for. You didn’t miss the heat. There was more than enough warmth in the sun streaming through the windows and Sam’s palm in yours.

           As it did frequently, Dean’s face in your driveway flashed in your mind, the memory somehow simultaneously old-picture washed out yet vibrant—could dreams even be memories? aren’t all memories dreams, in a way?—collar of his jacket flicked up against the cold as he said “you have to get good with this,” the flit of tongue you could see as he shaped ‘th’ enough to shape a painting class around, send a dozen art students into psychosis for inability to capture it. It had been so hard to figure out how the fuck he expected you to, how cruel it felt for him to ask it, and the only way you’d gotten your head around it was that same Dean Winchester Denial & Self Sacrifice Special and accepted it at face value. When he’d died you hadn’t felt like so many movies and books about tragic loss, where the strong but sensitive woman you’re supposed to relate to spent a few months in poetic sadness growing waifish and crying picturesque tears in solitude until she realized she could carry on.

           You couldn’t carry on.

           You couldn’t carry anything—were dragging yourself along in the most generous of descriptions, some half-dead, half-smashed zombie version of yourself clinging to any will to live like a barnacle out of devotion and need for Sam. Getting Dean back felt like life raft thrown into the water. You really had wanted to spend the rest of your life asleep and were more than content to ingest as much dream root as it would take to decompose into the cabin’s mattress next to Sam, let your landlord find your skeletonized bodies after a few months of unpaid rent. Fuck him, kind as he’d been to two strangers who’d needed help, and fuck hunters’ funerals for you and Sam if it meant you didn’t have to keep drowning.  Fuck Dean’s wishes especially, let him bend to someone else’s will for once.

           At first, maybe the first month after the dream root, only logistical reasons kept you from following through. What you wanted—needed, would’ve ruined the world for—was Sam and Dean together, and you couldn’t find a way to get Sam to agree no matter how obliquely or obviously you asked. He was unbelievably patient with you during this period of near-psychosis, and you suspected that a lot of the new habits he constructed, maybe including your beloved farmer’s market, were designed to keep you away from the greenhouse for as many hours a day as possible. You knew what he was doing, but the bright glare of panic in his eyes whenever you ‘joked’ about growing bigger patches of those little white flowers slowed down your singular focus enough to humor him, telling yourself it was just stalling until you could make your move.

           But damn if it hadn’t worked. Not that it stopped that tick-tick-tick in your brain counting down to Dean, but it made the days bearable. Just bearable, at first, the newness of your surroundings and the newness of Sam, all the things you hadn’t known about him after years of sitting inches away from each other in the Impala. And then it stopped being so much about fuck you Dean fuck getting good with you being gone and a little more about getting good with the way Sam’s hair dried if he went to bed right after showering, floppy, glossy loops and easy curls at the base of his neck; getting good with racing him down the rickety pier on the cabin’s shoreline, knowing he was letting you win and squealing all the way down anyway, jumping into the lake at dusk on Memorial Day with all your clothes on together as Sam cannonballed in behind you. Getting good with Sam’s arms around you as you both shuddered in the water, shrieking with laughter and a smile on his face of genuine, unbridled joy. Getting good with waiting for every other Sunday, because sometimes waiting was Sam bringing you a root beer float in your favorite mug while you read, and sometimes it was feeling him fall asleep against you while you scratched his back.

            Then getting good with the way it became less taboo to talk about him, being able to casually repeat old jokes of Dean’s without feeling like you were being stabbed in the chest or being terrified of sending Sam into a spiral. Getting good with memories of your old life together, your old friends, truly able to appreciate them. Because Dean was right, you had been ‘upset because you wanted something that didn’t exist.’ You could stay upset about it, stay so fucking mad about the unfairness of it all, that after all Dean had done—for you, for the world—that he was fucking gone, didn’t get to live in a cabin or have a couple daughters to braid Uncle Sammy’s hair—God, Dean saying that had haunted you maybe more than anything—and let it necrotize you from the inside out. Or you could let the ways he had permeated your very being serve as more commemoration than most people ever dream of, appreciate that the Impala still felt like an extension of him, see glimmers of the way he and Sam were still connected every day.

           And, of course, visit him at night to take the edge off, love him and kiss him and scream until you laughed. Annoying as it was to admit it, all that getting good slowly let you see what he’d been trying to open your eyes to in that driveway. You had so much more than anyone in the world. How stupid, how greedy, to have all of that and cut yourself off from anything else because it wasn’t exactly the way you wanted it to be. Looking back at it felt like watching a home video of yourself as a kid throwing a tantrum, but for ages, and you almost couldn’t believe Sam had stuck right by your side through it all, guided you gently and patiently even through his own battle. Sweet, beautiful, loyal Sam.

           As if on cue, he looked over at you. The sun poured through the windshield and shone off his hair like a halo, sparkled like glitter in his eyes. Someone who’d had a normal life would’ve said he looked angelic. But you had so much more than that, got to see both that golden hour was giving you a bit of a heavy-handed metaphor and that Sam was not only more than angelic, he was the whole world. He was the life raft all along, Dean’s Herculean return to you the lighthouse that let you see what had been there from the start, what had never left. His fingers tightened around yours a fraction. “Thanks for coming with me today.”

           The smile splitting your face felt like the first delicious stretch after sleeping in on a rainy morning. “Wouldn’t dream of going anywhere without you.”

-

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 20

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[sbtlns]

Home, part eight

Warnings: anxiety, mentions of fire

A/N: sorry this is short i had major writer’s block. send me suggestions of what you want to see happen in this series!

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

You woke up suddenly to the sound of the high-pitched ringing of your smoke alarm. Your eyes shot open and you bolted upright in bed, scanning the room for Castiel. Your heart dropped when you realized he wasn’t in the room and his side of the bed was cold. What if he feels like last night was a mistake, you thought. What if he doesn’t actually love me? He’s only been human for a week how could he possible have a grip on his emotions? The blaring alarm suddenly cleared your doubt-filled mind and you went into survival mode. You clambered out of bed and onto your feet, cringing when pain shot up your swollen and bruised ankle. You silently cursed yourself for not icing and elevating it last night before hobbling out of the room and into the hallway. 

Your heart was beating out of your chest when you saw the bathroom door was open, meaning Cas wasn’t there either. “Cas?” you yelled panicked. You heard a grunt from downstairs followed by the sound of glass breaking. You hobbled down the stairs as fast as you could, ears ringing from the insistent alarm. You heard a loud crash coming from the kitchen and took off toward the sound. As you got closer you could smell something was definitely burning. You finally reached the kitchen- heart racing, ears ringing, ankle throbbing- and took in the scene before you. 

Castiel, in only his boxers, stood in front of the stove covered in flour and was surrounded by a few pots, pans and shards of glass from your broken measuring cup. He was still facing the stove, tending to something in a pan, and as you got closer you saw the charred remains of a pancake. You were unable to stifle your laughter and the sudden noise made Castiel jump before turning around to meet you. 

“Y/N, I don’t know how to make the noise stop, how do you make the noise stop?” he yelled over the alarm. You laughed even harder, seeing how distraught he looked while practically naked and covered in flour. You managed to calm down enough to pull a chair over to the alarm so you could step on top and press the button on the alarm. When the alarm stopped, you climbed down from the chair and turned to assess the state of the kitchen. Pots, pans, and broken glass all over the floor, flour all over the counter, several bowls filled with variations of what was supposed to be pancake batter, a sad, burnt pancake permanently stuck to the pan, and finally, a sheepish Castiel casting his eyes down, not wanting to meet yours. 

“Cas,” you giggled, and he looked hesitantly up to you with furrowed brows and soft eyes. You cast your eyes around the kitchen again and laughed. “How did this even happen?” you asked through your giggles.  A small smile formed on his lips. “I tried to make you breakfast. I remember when Sam and Dean made you pancakes on your birthday last year and how happy you were, I didn’t realize it would be so....” he trailed off. 

“Messy?” you offered. He smiled again. “Challenging,” he stated. You took a step closer to him and ran a finger down his chest, collecting flour along the way. “How about we get this cleaned up and then we can go out for breakfast?” You looked up at him and smiled. He sighed and nodded. “I wanted to do something for you, you have been so kind to me and last night..I..there are no words-” you cut him off with a quick kiss. “You can start by cleaning this up,” you laughed before pecking him on the cheek and going back upstairs to get dressed. 

You finished getting dressed and stood in front of the mirror, giving yourself one last once over before heading downstairs. You felt two strong arms wrap around your waist from behind you and you looked up to see Cas in the mirror. “So beautiful,” he murmured into your hair, pulling you closer to him. You smiled, melting into his embrace and feeling a blush creep up your face. You turned to face him and smiled up at him. “Ready?” 

By the time you got to the diner the two of you were starving. Cas proudly ordered both of you huge stacks of pancakes and you couldn’t help but laugh as he shoveled down the food. He’d stop periodically after hearing your laugh to look up from his plate and give you a sheepish smile. You were two pancakes down when two girls at a table across from you caught your attention. You knew that they looked familiar but you couldn’t place them. Cas noticed your confused demeanor. “Y/N?” he asked trying to get your attention, but you were too busy racking your brain to hear him. Eventually the sound of fingers snapping caught your attention and you blinked a few times, seeing Castiel’s fingers in front of your face. 

“Whats wrong?” his face screwed up in concern. You wanted to tell him nothing and get back to your breakfast date, but you couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling you got from them. You leaned in closer and lowered you voice, “those two girls at that table..I know them from somewhere but I can’t place it,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. He furrowed his brows and looked in the direction you nodded your head in. He immediately stiffened and his whole demeanor changed. He turned back to you quickly. “We have to go. Now.” he said through his teeth. Your heart started beating faster and you cast another look at the table, accidentally making eye contact with one of the girls. You quickly averted your gaze from her and back to Castiel. “Why? Who are they?” you asked nervously, seeing them get up from the table and walk towards the door. You watched Castiel’s eyes cautiously follow them out the door before turning back to you. “Demons,” he muttered. 

You furrowed your brows and confusion washed over you. “How can you tell? You’re human now,” you questioned. “Their vessels, I recognized them from the last hunt we went on before the angels fell,” he muttered. It all came back to you, the four of you had been sent a bad tip and showed up to an old farmhouse where you were expecting a few demons, but quickly got over run. The four of you had barely gotten out and couldn’t kill all of them, including the two demons you had just seen in the diner. 

“Well, how do you know they’re still demons? It could just be the poor girls they were possessing,” you offered, but Cas wasn’t buying it. He chuckled and shook his head. “And they both show up here together? In your hometown? Do you really believe that, Y/N?” he questioned. You didn’t. But you still smiled and took one of his hands in yours. “I do,” you said looking up at him, earning yourself a disapproving look from your former angel. “But,” you started, letting go of his hand and picking your fork back up. “I also believe that I need to finish these pancakes before I turn into a demon too,” you joked, stabbing a piece with your fork and waving it in front of him. He tilted his head, face scrunching up in confusion. “Y/N that’s not how-” “Cas.” you cut him off, laughing. His features softened and he let out a small laugh. “You’re messing with me,” he stated, realization thick in his voice. “Duh,” you joked back.

Castiel’s plate was long empty before you finished your stack. You put your fork down and sat back groaning, immediately regretting eating the whole stack. “Cas, you’re gonna have to roll me to the car,” you groaned. There was a moment of confusion, evident by the slight squint of his eyes, before he realized you were joking with him again. He smiled softly and looked down. “Should I call for a wheelbarrow or do you think you can manage?” he asked coyly. “Oh, I suppose I’ll manage,” you said as dramatically as you could, earning another chuckle from Cas.

You put down some cash on the table. “Ready?” you asked standing up from the booth. Cas quickly followed, widening his stride to hold the door open for you. The sound of a fire truck’s siren pulled you away from the sweet moment and you watched the truck speed by and disappear further down the street. 

On the drive back to your house, another fire truck sped past you and you offered up a silent prayer to the poor bastard needing the trucks. Your blood ran cold when you saw the truck that had just sped past you turn into your neighborhood. “Shit,” you cursed under your breath. You slammed your foot against the break, effectively throwing Cas against the back of his seat. His hand found the handle on the roof of your car and he shot you a concerned glance. You kept your eyes on the truck in front of you, heart racing faster with every turn leading you to your house.

By the time you got to your house, multiple police cars and firetrucks were blocking your driveway and the street in front of your house. You stared in disbelief as you put the car in park and got out. Flames were shooting out of what was left of the house’s foundation and the air was thick with smoke. A fireman tried to usher you away but you pushed past him, numbly walking closer to the charred remains of your childhood home. You didn’t realize you were crying until you felt hot tears running down your cheeks. It all suddenly became too much and you felt dizzy, knees threatening to buckle beneath you. You felt a pair of strong arms engulf you right as you were sure you were about to collapse and you immediately recognized the warmth of the touch. 

You turned in Castiel’s arms so that you were pressed against his chest, and let the sobs wrack through you. Castiel continued to hold you and let his chin rest on the top of your head, occasionally murmuring affirmations against your hair. Finally, the flames were put out, leaving behind a few wooden beams and partial walls. A fireman approached you, telling you what they knew about the fire and that they suspected arson. You perked up at the suggestion of arson. 

“Do you know anyone who would want to harm you?” he asked. You laughed to yourself, thinking of all the monsters, demons, and angels that would love nothing more than to cause you harm. “I guess we’ll see,” you answered vaguely, walking past him and Castiel to further examine the house. Castiel caught up to you as you were bent over looking at something near where the front door used to be. “What is it?” Cas asked you. You collected some on your fingers and stood up to face him, holding out your fingers for him to see. 

“Sulfur.”

----------

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#home #castiel #cas #human!cas #castiel x reader #cas x reader #human!castiel x reader #supernatural #castiel fanfiction #castiel fic

[supernatural---imagines]

Three’s A Crowd- Part 4 (Sam Imagine)

After a run in with Dean and a horrific date your night goes from bad to worse, until the morning after. 

MASTERLIST

“I’m fucking calling him” You spat to your friends as your body crashed down on to Cara’s couch, the three of you had stumbled back to her place after your run in with Dean. 

“Y/N.. is that a good idea? Maybe wait until you sober up?” Josh asked. 

“I don’t give a fuck” You grumbled. You got your phone out of your pocket and phoned his number, it hung up instantly. 

“He hung up on me..” You whispered in shock. Cara came by your side and pulled you into her as tears started to trickle down your cheeks. You knew Sam wasn’t your boyfriend any more, he hadn’t been for over half a year, but you still hoped he’d find his way back to you. You stayed loyal to him, you never got with anyone else. You went on a few shitty dates but no one even came close to being even half as amazing as Sam Winchester.

“I’m going to go to bed.” You got up from Cara’s embrace and started to walk towards her spare bedroom.

“Don’t text him!!” Josh shouted as you left the room

“I wont!” You called back.

“But I will give him a piece of my mind in a voice message” You snickered to yourself as you closed your bedroom door. 

You kicked off your shoes and lay down on the bed, rummaging through your clutch bag for your phone and then dropping the purse beside you. You phoned him again, this time he didn’t hang up but it just rang out until it reached voice mail. 

“I just ran into your asshole brother. Why are you allowed to go be with another girl now but when he came back I had to be gone? Was it just me? I’ve been loyal to you since the day you left and I know you didn’t ask me to but I couldn’t help it. I still believe you are my soul mate, Sam. Anyway.. just calling to say Dean is a dick, and I guess I wish you happiness with your new lady. That’s a lie, I don’t really, I’m just being polite. Okay don’t call me back in the morning I wont want to remember this when I’m sober. Goodbye.” 

You dropped your phone out of your hand and it landed on the floor with a thud, you didn’t realise how high the bed was. You rolled over and got under the covers and passed out pretty promptly. 

“You awake yet?” A gentle knock at your door started you, you sat up in the bed and the headache hit you straight away. Josh creeped into the room with two cups of coffee in his hands and sat down at the edge of the bed. You took it off him and thanked him, you were definitely going to need a lot of this today. 

“Oh shit Y/N, your phone is all cracked.” He said before reaching down to his feet and picking it up. He clicked the home button but nothing happened, You must have broken it last night when you dropped it. 

“How do you feel about everything from last night” Josh asked taking a sip from his cup. 

“God, not good.” You replied. “I feel like my heart was broken all over again. It’s my own fault, I shouldn’t have kept carrying the torch for him when I knew we’d never work.” 

“Feelings suck” Josh laughed

“I’ll drink to that” You raised your coffee cup and clinked it with his before sipping, the coffee beginning to wake you up.

An hour later Cara had offered to drop both you and Josh home. Josh only lived a few streets away and Cara didn’t mind driving. 

“Thank you guys for last night, I was a bit of a mess.” You laughed from the back seat.

“Hey what are friends for!” Cara answered as she turned on to your street.

You looked down at your phone annoyed at how broken it was. You kind of hoped Sam would call or text back after that voice mail, but now you wont know for days if he even got it until your phone was fixed. 

The man lived in your day dreams, even just with your head resting against the car window your mind was playing back the memories from your time together. When he handed you the beautiful charm bracelet and you knew you in that exact moment that you wanted to marry him, that moment is nirvana in your head. The feeling was bitter-sweet, the memory was as perfect as the man in it, but you would never have that feeling again with him and that pained your heart incredibly. 

You and your friends sang along to some cheesy classics in the car, all three of you incredibly hungover and horrific sounding, but that didn’t matter. These were the memories you’d eventually look back on fondly, this was simply happiness with no complications, which is exactly what you needed right now.

“Umm.. Y/N why is there a literal Prince Charming sitting on your door step?” Josh asked. Your attention snapped up to look out the window when your eyes met the sight of the beautiful man sat on the step, dressed in his plain black suit with a navy tie, holding a single rose in his hand. 

“That’s him” Cara spoke barley loud enough for anyone to hear, she was just as shocked as you. 

She pulled into your driveway and you jumped out of the car before it had stopped. Sam switched his gaze from the rose in his hand to the vehicle pulling up. When you jumped out of the car a smile lit up his face and he started to walk towards you. You couldn’t hold it in, you were unbelievably smitten with this man and despite how much you wanted to stop and ask him about everything, your heart took control of your body and you ran and launched yourself into his arms. His chuckle as he picked you up and spun you around vibrated trough your body and you wrapped your legs around his waist, wanting to sink into him entirely.

He set you down and shyly handed you the rose, you noticed the ring on his finger and you grabbed his right hand to look at it. It was the one you had bought him, the one you had planned to propose with.

“I’ve worn it every day since you gave me it.” He said. 

“But Dean said-” 

“Dean lied.” He cut you off. “He’s been doing that a lot lately. I’m tired of him trying to control my life.”

“So there’s no other woman?” You asked, you looked into his hazel eyes, that were almost shining gold with the sunlight hitting them. They were creased at the sides from his beaming smile. He leaned down and pressed his forehead against yours. 

“It will always only ever be you.” He whispered before finally pressing his lips to yours. The craving you had since the last day his lips touched yours was only growing deeper as Sam’s tongue entered your mouth. His hands were grasping you close to him as the two of you reconnected, your lips telling stories of how much you missed each other in greater detail than your words ever could. His fingers slid up your back and entangled themselves in your hair as your palm against his neck pressed the kiss deeper. 

Your smile beneath his lips broke the kiss and he laid a series of small pecks over your lips and cheeks. 

“I love you, Sam” You breathed, teeth baring in an undeniable grin. He held your hand in his and placed a small kiss on the back of it.

“I love you too, Baby.” 

You turned to look back at your friends who were standing leaning against the side of the car, with arms around each other watching you and Sam reunite in fondness.

“Now I understand why you couldn’t get over him.” Josh joked inducing laughter from all four of you, Sam of course blushing after. 

“Will you have me?” Sam asked motioning his hand to your house. 

“Of course.” you replied. You began waved back at your friends and squeezed yourself against Sam’s side, his strong arm keeping you as tight as possible as you walked up the steps to your house. As you put your key in the door he whispered in your ear. 

“Let’s go start the first day of the rest of our lives” 

#sam winchester x reader #sam winchester #sam winchester imagine #supernatural x reader #sam winchester one shot #supernatural imagine

[smol-and-grumpy]

Something Just Like This - CH09

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester, mobster boss. He’s a little cocky, a lot ruthless and more often than not, short tempered. But he’s also, Dean Winchester, a war veteran and hero who suffers under a shit ton of PTS. He met her in a bar and thinks it’s fate that brought her to him. Little does he know why she’s really here.

Warnings: We’re still at slow burning and mutual pining, guys!

WC: 4046

SERIES MASTERLIST

When she hears the shower being turned off, Y/N sits upright and inches closer to the edge of the bed with the full intention to get up, but instead, she stays there unable to move without feeling nauseous. Everything seems to be spinning and she’s a minute away from running into the bathroom to throw up. 

Honestly, she wouldn’t even care if Dean wasn’t finished. Kind of hopes that he didn’t lock the door because she really doesn’t know how long she can hold it in. She figures that going in and throwing up into the toilet while he’s still showering is still better than puking right here in his bedroom.

Oh god , his bedroom. 

They are in his bedroom, aren’t they? That’s his place?

Slowly, something comes back...

Shit! Oh god… 

She threw up last night too, didn’t she? And Dean was there to witness. 

Great. Just fucking great. Fun-fucking-tastic!

Her eyes find a dot on the hardwood flooring. She tries to concentrate by staring at it and willing her head to stop spinning, and thankfully, it works.

The bathroom door opens just a moment later. She can tell by the damp air that surrounds her, even if she doesn’t see it. The air is tinted with the smell of fresh soap and shampoo, too. The sweet smell is not really helping in suppressing the feeling of her sickness, though.

“Hey, you’re up,” 

It’s a low drawl. The sound rumbles deep, makes the hair on her body stand up and she can’t fight the warm feeling that spreads on her face.

Yep, definitely Dean. He’s the only one who can make her feel this way.

“Yeah, but at what cost,” Y/N tilts her head up a little, wishing she didn’t as she sees him walking out of the bathroom, a towel slung low around his hips. She’s thankful that she’s feeling so sick, thinks that even if she’s blushing, he probably can’t even see it from the pale of her face.

She stares at the floor again, tries to ignore Dean’s damp body with little droplets of water dripping down his chest. Tries to ignore the perky nipples she’s only seen through his shirt until now, and yes, she can confirm, they are indeed perky. Fucking tries to not notice that Dean fucking Winchester has cute little freckles all over.

He laughs a beautiful laugh, throwing his head back and all. She thinks it’s a beautiful sound, warm and deep. And if she wasn’t as hungover, she would be able to enjoy it more.

She stands up — and fails. Has to try a couple more times, her hand fists in the covers for stability. She knows that she’s making a complete fool out of herself, if only she could care more about it, but her state of mind doesn’t even allow that. Win for her, probably.

“You ok?” Dean approaches cautiously, holding his arms out as he speaks, ready to support her if he must, she knows that too. Because Dean is just caring like that, and she hates it a little too, hates that he’s not the textbook mob boss she had hoped he would be.

Y/N doesn’t answer him right away, instead, turns her head back to stare at the dot on the floor, tries to even out her breathing and calm her beating heart at the sight of him in nothing but a fucking towel, “I’m fine,"

Dean throws his hands up in defeat before he crosses them over his broad chest. The very chest she tries hard not to look at. He stands off to the side as if he’s waiting for something. There’s nothing but the stupid towel around his hips and he doesn’t say anything, just stands there with raised eyebrows. And he waits.

Y/N wants to know what he’s waiting for, until she realizes that he’s waiting for her to stand on her own two feet, probably ready to be at her side if she should stumble.

Gah.

She sighs, rolls her eyes, and lets go of the cover to walk to the bathroom on wobbly feet. 

Dean grins, one of his hands goes up to rub as his jaw as his gaze follows her to where she’s heading. She hears the scratching sound of his scruff. 

“Stop staring,” She lets out, a little annoyed, and he chuckles. 

“I’m not doing anything,”

“You’re staring,” She pouts and sends him a look before she ignores him, which, she thinks, it’s a sane thing to do. 

She ignores the stupid crooked grin on his face. Ignores the crinkles around his eyes, the wet disheveled hair, the damp fucking body. 

He looks so good. 

Ugh. 

He definitely doesn’t have any business looking that good so fucking early in the morning. 

Once she’s in the bathroom, she shuts the door behind her before she takes a look at her own reflection in the mirror. There, she notices that her eyes are dirty and black from the mascara, her hair is all ruffled up and sticking out in every direction. She, for sure, doesn’t have a good hair day. Doesn’t have a good face day, either. 

Ugh.

Maybe if she wouldn’t be so hungover, she’d be appalled by herself, would feel a little shame about how bad she looks, but she just can’t really find it in herself to care at all. Not even with Mr. Adonis in the next room and what does that say about her, really? Perhaps that’s the reason why she has been single for so long.

Y/N searches for a washcloth, debating on taking a shower too, but she really doesn’t want to invade his personal space. How weird would it be to shower here. She comes to the conclusion that it would be weird. Like, really weird.

Her eyes trail across the sink, finds a bottle of water with two pills next to it and a toothbrush. There’s also a fresh washcloth.

“Take the pills!” 

She can hear his authoritative voice through the closed door and rolls her eyes.

How did he know? Looking around, she scans the bathroom — which is probably bigger than the whole of her apartment — for a camera but then pushes the thought away because she can’t imagine Dean being so creepy. If he is, she has to adjust her creep-radar. 

After swallowing down the Tylenol, she takes the cloth and runs it under the warm water, washing her face with it as good as she can. She brushes her teeth too, puts her hair up into a bun, with a hair tie she always has around her wrist, and is thankful that she hasn’t lost that one.

Y/N walks out of the bathroom looking somewhat presentable, she thinks, (but even if she wasn’t looking that way, she’s okay with it. She’s too tired to care.) just as Dean walks back from what she assumes is the living room with her dress in his hands. There’s a faint smell of coffee that he brings in with him and her mouth waters at the thought of tasting black liquid. 

He’s only wearing a simple t-shirt and sweatpants, which is a high contrast to his tailored suits but it suits him nonetheless and Y/N wonders what could make the man look bad, really. He makes everything look so good on him and honestly, it does frustrate her a little, if not a whole lot. 

Because how fucking dare he. Life’s not fair!

She sits back on the bed, still feeling a little dizzy as she watches Dean come to stand before her. He places her dress onto the bed next to her. 

“You okay?” He asks and she doesn’t look up. Doesn’t want him to know that she is, in fact, not really okay. 

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks for letting me crash here.” 

“Don’t bother,” He crosses his arms over his chest, “I cleaned your dress a little, if you want to wear something else, I’ll get someone to brin—”

“—No,” She shakes her head, “The dress is fine. I’ll change once I’m home.” 

Because that’s what it is, right? He lets her crash because she was drunk off her head. There’s clearly no evidence that he did something to her while she was out cold and who knows if he’s even slept in the same bed? And now that the night is over, she has to go back to her home. Back to her life. She can’t help but feel a little disappointed, sad even. 

And it bugs her to no end, because she knows. She knows that she should not be feeling all the things she feels. She knows that she shouldn’t be disappointed and think that this might go somewhere. Because after all, he’s still the mobster boss and she’s a cop. These things don’t usually mix.

Dean crouches down so he can look her in the eye and she feels that she’s blushing because he’s so close, and she still hopes that she’s too pale for him to notice. 

“Listen, I need to meet Sam for training, will you be okay alone here?” 

“Y-yeah, I shouldn’t stay though,”

“You can stay as long as you like, even go back to bed if you want to, it’s still early. There are fresh towels in the bathroom if you wanna take a shower. I just don’t have any of the girly scented stuff here,” 

Y/N nods and Dean grins before getting up on his feet again. 

“Good,” He says, but he’s not moving, is staying right there in front of her, “I’ll be away for about two hours, three tops. You can wait and I can drive you home,”

“Shit, my car,” It was only now that she realizes that she doesn’t even have a vehicle to get away if she would have wanted to. How fucking stupid of her. 

“It’s alright, if you want to go now, there’s a box of car keys at the entrance, just take one and push the button when you’re in the parking garage, you’ll see which car will light up,” 

“Oh,” 

“And if you want to stay, there’s coffee and a full fridge, alright?”

She tilts her head up a little, not realizing that when Dean stands, his crotch is right at the same level as her face and why is she staring? She doesn’t really know, just knows that Dean fucking Winchester is packing and ugh, she can’t ply her eyes away. 

“Okay,” She’s not the one to small-talk when she’s hungover, apparently. Not that she’s hungover a lot. 

Dean chuckles and holds out his hand, placing his forefinger below her chin to lift it up so she could look up at his face, “My eyes are up here, Y/N,” 

She blushes and now, she thinks that she can’t possibly hide the red that spreads across her cheeks. 

He frowns a little as he looks into her eyes and she feels somewhat intimidated. Dean sighs before he speaks and draws circles on her chin with his thumb, “Do you remember anything from last night?”

“Uh..” She echoes his frown, “..Not really a lot, to be honest. Why? Did I do something embarrassing?” She chuckles out, it’s fake and all. 

It’s not a lie though, she doesn’t remember much, kind of hopes that her memories will come back — at least some of them.

“No, you didn’t,” Dean’s voice was small and he sighs once more before he let go of her face, “Right, I need to get going, Sammy gets mad when I’m not on time. Will you be okay?” 

“Don’t worry about me,” She says and she can swear that she hears something that resembles disappointment in his tone of voice.

“Good, I’ll hopefully see you later,” Dean walks to the door and looks back to nod one more time before he closes the door behind him.

Ugh. 

    *

 Y/N walks out of the bathroom, feeling somewhat alive now after she’s had a good cup of coffee and a nice hot shower. 

There were some difficulties because she’s never been in a fancy shower before and had trouble pushing the right buttons to get to the right temperature and right spray pressure. It’s ridiculous, really. Taking showers shouldn’t be this hard.

She’s wearing her dress again, had contemplated on leaving out her worn panties but it would have meant that she would have to go commando, which would make her feel even more uncomfortable than wearing her old ones, so she had to make due. 

Walking out into the living room, she takes a look around again, sees things she’s missed before when she quickly downed her coffee. 

Dean’s apartment is big and incredibly spacious. It’s decorated in warm earthy tones, using a lot of leather and wood, which doesn’t really surprise her at all.

By the look out of the window, she notices that she’s up high. Probably one of the cities new built high-rise buildings. Judging by how high she is, it could be a penthouse too. Which shouldn’t surprise her at this point.

She wants to explore more, sees that there are doors on the other end of the living room but before she can even make her way across the room, she hears a knock on the door. 

Y/N walks to the door in her bare feet and opens up on instinct without another thought, which is actually a very dumb thing to do, since it’s not even her apartment.

“Oh,” Jo’s mouth opens but doesn’t close.

“Hi,” Y/N says equally surprised and she tries to smile but it doesn’t come out right. 

“I actually came by to ask Dean if he wanted a quick fuck,” Jo eyes her up and down before she continues, “But I think he already had a boring one? At least you look like you’ve been fucked six ways to Sunday.”

Y/N is blushing, “We didn’t—”

“—Is he in?” Jo cuts in just as she wants to explain, but then she thinks that she doesn’t have to explain anything. She doesn’t owe Jo a damn fucking explanation.

“No, he’s meeting with Sam.”

“So, did you guys...” Jo raises one single eyebrow.

“It’s none of your business, but no.” Y/N has finally found her voice and sass, “I’m pretty sure the street corner right down here is not too crowded if you’re looking for a quick fuck.”

Jo’s shocked but she composes herself before she pushes past Y/N to get into the apartment.

When Y/N closes the door and turns around to confront Jo, she’s looking right into the barrel of the blonde woman’s gun.

“I don’t believe a word you say, but come to think of it, I’m glad I got you alone,” There’s a creepy grin on Jo’s face.

“Why is that?” Y/N’s heart races but she keeps her cool, she had been trained to do so for years.

“My boss wants you. It’s a pity that he wants you alive, though,” The blonde woman shrugs.

“But, your boss is Dean?” Y/N acts like she doesn’t know about all the shady stuff because the truth is, that Ellen only told her that Jo’s working for Dean. That’s really all she should pretend to know.

“Technically, yeah. But we’re not exclusive, you know.”

“Jo, I don’t know what you’re playing but I’m really not in the best of moods today,” Y/N rolls her eyes, her patience is running dangerously low. She’s already calculating her next moves in her head, knows that she would have no problem taking Jo out, if only she isn’t so fucking hungover.

“Oh, my bad. Did he leave you here alone because he couldn’t bear to see you in the morning, huh?” Jo snickers, “Because that happens, you know? I bet he made you feel special, huh? He’s awfully good in doing that, making girls feel special and drop them the next morning like they are some kind of fucking meat that goes bad after a night. Princess, I don’t fucking care about your mood. Walk to the door, we’re taking a road trip. Now.”

“Jo,” Y/N is massaging her temples when there’s a sudden noise in the back, something metallic drops to the floor and she sees a big and fat grey cat. 

Jo’s distracted too, turns her head to look at the source of the sound. Y/N takes the opportunity, paires it with the element of surprise and disarms Jo with her skilled moves.

What she didn’t account for was that Jo’s quick too, hits Y/N’s wrist and sends the gun sliding across the floor before Jo wrestles her to the ground and straddles her. Jo’s hands are around her throat while Y/N trashes around with her legs.

“Strike one,” Jo pants and applies enough pressure on Y/N’s windpipes to make breathing difficult.

Y/N summons all her strength, extends her arms and gets a hold of Jo’s hair, pulling Jo close before she turns them both around and wrestles with her opponent on the floor. Jo’s pulling and tugging at Y/N’s dress and underwear and she thinks she hears something rip but she can’t care about it now. 

They toss and turn until the blonde woman is lying on her stomach, and this time, Y/N is straddling Jo. The gun’s now so close that Y/N can grab it without her even having to try to reach it. 

And that she does, pointing the gun right in Jo’s face while she breathes heavily and tries to calm herself down, “I told you, I’m not in a fucking good mood,”

“Fuck you,” Jo spits out, “Kill me now, because if Dean sees me, I’m dead anyway.”

“No, I won’t do you the favor.”

Jo laughs, “Coward!”

Instead of shooting, Y/N whacks Jo over the head with the gun. The blonde closes her eyes, her body goes limp. 

That should do it for the time being.

  Sam’s elbow is pressed sharp into Dean’s rip, and Dean can’t explain what happened. He didn’t pay enough attention, is what it is, and now his sparring partner, who happens to be Sam, has the upper hand. 

Dean’s flat on his back, Sam’s bracing above him. His brother’s other arm is pressed into Dean’s throat and there’s a fucking cocky smile on Sam’s face. 

“Wow, you’re getting old.” Sam chuckles as he gets off Dean and holds out a hand to help Dean up, but Dean doesn’t take it, is annoyed at the defeat. 

Sam’s never gonna let Dean hear the end of it, he knows that. Never in his life has Sam managed to defeat Dean, Dean never did let it happen. He never gave Sam somewhat of a slight chance on even coming close to a fucking win.

“Just stress,” Dean mumbles out a white lie.

It’s too weird to pour his heart out to Sam, and he’s never been good at expressing his fucking feelings.

“Y/N?” Sam asks as they walk to their bags, placed some couple of feet away on a bench.

Dean fishes out a towel from his sports bag and rubs it over his sweaty head while he takes a large gulp from his bottled water. He’s also trying hard to avoid answering the question, hoping that Sam would let it slide. He drinks up, draining the bottle and Sam’s still fucking staring at him.

“Ah, it is then,” Sam says it lightly, too easily, and it annoys the fuck out of Dean.

He sits down on the bench in the gym of the bunker. Sam joins him, taking a seat beside him.

Dean breathes out, debating on how much , and if he wants to tell Sam at all. Sam’s his brother, the best thing that could have happened to him. Sam grounds him. But Sam also is a fucking pain in his ass and always knows when something is up, and Dean’s annoyed of that part the most.

Dean tries to find the words, saying the first thing that comes to mind, “I’m terrified, Sam.” 

“You feel something for her, don’t you?” Sam grins knowingly, as if he can read Dean like an open book. “Tell me you feel it. The feeling that gets so big in your chest? Like something is so beautiful it literally aches?”

Dean thinks about Sam’s words. Admits to himself that yeah, it does hurt, in a way. And he definitely feels it.

“Yeah. But I shouldn’t.” 

Sam turns to him, “Why not? What the hell, Dean!”

“The fuck you mean? You know who I am, Sam. You know what I am. You know that if I let her into my life, she’ll become a target too. It’s a dangerous life…” 

What if I end up hurting her? What if I end up getting her hurt? He wants to add, but doesn’t, because Sam knows the unspoken truth.

Sam scoffs with a shake of his head, “So what? Take chances, Dean! You know, I haven’t defeated you, like, ever? That says something, right?” 

“You were just lucky,” Dean huffs and bends down to unlace his shoes.

“Nah, man,” Sam snorts, and stands up to pace around. He’s more worked up about this than Dean thought he would be, “You know what I think, hm?”

Sam says it like it’s a question but it’s really not, and Dean doesn’t know if he has to answer and is glad that he doesn’t have to when Sam continues.

“You’re terrified, I get that. But…” Sam rakes his hand through his own damp hair that needs to see some scissors, Dean thinks. “...you’re not terrified about what could happen, not really. No, Dean, you’re fucking terrified that she could make you happy and for you, being happy is the most terrifying thing in the universe.” 

Sam’s words hit Dean like a freight train, sits in his stomach like lead, and is weighing him down.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Dean scoffs as he finds his voice again, and looks up to his brother, “I’m terrified that once I’m happy, that it can be taken from me!” He rubs his hand over his face, “It’s not like you and Jess. You knew her before all of this!” He gestures with his hands but doesn’t explain, because he knows that Sam knows what he means. 

“No, I think you don’t get it. Fucking live, Dean. Do you really think that you don’t deserve to be happy as long as you live? If anyone deserves to have something good, it’s you!”

Sam stomps away in the direction of the showers and Dean knows. He knows for sure that Sam’s right. But also, he knows that he somehow is right, too.

  *

 “Lunch at Bobby’s?” Sam asks before they walk to their cars. 

There’s a vibration in Dean’s pocket and he fishes out his phone while Sam places his workout gear into the trunk of his own car. 

Dean looks at his caller ID, frowns a little because he didn’t expect the caller, “Jo,” Dean says.

“Yeah, no, it’s me. I found Jo’s phone in her pocket. I would have called you from mine if I wouldn’t have my hands full,”

“Y/N?” Dean frowns some more. 

Why is she calling him from Jo’s phone?

“Do you normally try to get the girls who sleep over at your place killed, or is it just me?” 

“What?”

Dean listens as Y/N explains what happened and his frown gets deeper— if that’s even possible. Sam stands there and waits as Dean closes his eyes and breathes out, “Fucking Christ, stay put! I’ll be right there. I’ll send Cas around, maybe he’s there quicker than me.”

He hangs up, and opens the trunk of his car to throw his duffel in while he thumbs over Cas’ number, “Cas, get to my apartment, we’ll meet there. Think we found the snitch.”

Sam’s still standing there, puzzled.

“Need to get back, Sammy. Lunch tomorrow?” Dean shouts out while he smashes his trunk shut before he walks to the front and climbs into his car. He drives away without waiting for Sam to answer him.

CH10

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