gublernatural

[gublernatural]

🩷🤓POPE HEYWARD REC LIST🤓🩷

{ FLUFF = 😇 | NSFW(+18) = 😈 | ANGST = 💔

HURT/COMFORT = ❤️‍🩹 | PERSONAL FAV = 🩷 }

[ updated daily ]

SFW

ONE-SHOT | FANFIC

“Meeting Pope At A Festival” by @heywardsdoll 😇

“How You Get The Girl.” by @gublernatural ❤️‍🩹😇

“Bookworm” by @littlelamy 😇🩷

SERIES

DRABBLE

“With You” by @herweirdass 😇🩷

“Pope isn’t Always Awkward” by heywardsdoll😇

SMAU

NSFW(+18 MDNI)

ONE-SHOT | FANFIC

“Pope Doesn’t Want To Hit During Sex” (already tagged on here as rafesangelita ) 😈🩷

SERIES

DRABBLE

“Accidental Walk-In” by @rafesangelita 😈

SMAU

NAV | MAIN MASTERLIST | REC MASTERLIST

[gublernatural]

Howdy Howdy! Heres the masterpost for our second monthly challenge for The Fanfic Writers of the SPN Fandom Discord Server! Below is the masterlist of all our member's fics for this month's challenge. Go show them some love! This month's prompt themes were both fandom "holidays." Sam's birthday, and May The Fourth!

Wanna join in on the fun? Join our Discord group! New prompts are dropped on the first of each month, and the minimum word count requirement is only 500 words! We'd love to welcome you into our family!

Links to all of this month's entries below the cut!

May Masterpost

Happy Birthday Sammy! - by @justwhisperingfantasies

Rating - Explicit

Word Count - 1.3k

Pairing - Gabriel/Sam Winchester/Castiel

Sam gets a special birthday surprise from his 2 favorite angels

Aren't You A Little Short For A Wookie? - by @samanddean76

Rating - Explicit

Word Count - 1.5k

Pairing - Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester

Dean has a birthday surprise all lined up for Sam.

The One in Which Sam Finds Solace in Gabriel - by @sabriel4evah

Rating - Teen and Up Audiences

Word Count - 731

Pairing - Sam Winchester/Gabriel

Every year on Sam's birthday he is always forgotten about, that is, until Gabriel comes along.

I Know - by @copperboom82

Rating - Teen and Up Audiences

Word Count - 11.6

Pairing - Dean Winchester/OC

When Sam gets to pick what he wants to do for his 14th birthday, he decides he wants to celebrate May the Fourth at Bobby's, which means Dean gets to spend an unexpected weekend with his girlfriend. Set in May 1997.

[gublernatural]

Howdy Howdy! Happy spring, SPN peeps! To celebrate the new season, the Fanfic Writers of the SPN Fandom Discord Server hosted (our very first of many) the monthly writing challenge with Spring themed prompts for our members to choose from! Below is the masterlist of all our member's fics for this month's challenge. Go show them some love!

Wanna join in on the fun? Join our Discord group! New prompts are dropped on the first of each month, and the minimum word count requirement is only 500 words! We'd love to welcome you into our family!

Links to all of this month's entries below the cut!

🌸Brighter Than the Sun - by @hiighlighterr

Pairing - Gabriel/Sam Winchester

Rating - General Audiences

Word Count - 7.5k

He was meant to adore humanity in the same way God did. Gabriel was destined to meet this soul on those desert nights. He was meant to fall for it, meant to watch it and grieve it and find it again. Fate had strummed out melodies of love and loss in the threads connecting Sam and Gabriel, and now he finally heard them.

🌷Don't Mention It - by @justwhisperingfantasies

Rating - Teen and Up Audiences

Word Count - 800

On your way back to Bobby's, you run into a well-known hunter.

🏵 The Story of How the Winchesters Got Their Angels and Team Free Will Got a New Member - by @sabriel4evah

Pairing - Gabriel/Sam Winchester , Castiel/Dean Winchester

Rating - Teen and Up Audiences

Word Count - 1.4k

Sam wakes up to Dean as a bunny, and a certain trickster archangel is behind it. Why, you ask? Well...guess you gotta find out.

🪻Here Comes The Sun - by @copperboom82

Pairing - Dean Winchester/Female OC

Rating - Teen and Up Audiences

Word Count - 1.9k

Dean and Katrina take a moment to enjoy the day together. Set early season 8 of SPN, and part of the Long Winding Roads collection.

🌼 Spring Equinox - by @gublernatural

Pairing - Sam Winchester/Reader

Rating - Teen and Up Audiences

Word Count - 1.7k

Sam’s girl is stuck in Hell for a long, dreadful winter. he is given sunshine, flowers, and a beautiful gift when he makes it to spring.

🌹Solitude - by @samanddean76

Pairing - Castiel/Dean Winchester

Rating - Teen and Up Audiences

Word Count - 644

Castiel would always miss the warmth of the sun on his skin. Even if his sun was a person.

🌻 It's a Flemish Giant Rabbit Sam Winchester - by @mulletbro

Pairing - Castiel & Sam Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester (background)

Rating - General Audiences

Word Count - 10k

Sam is a rabbit, Castiel lied to Dean about it. But that's fine. The two of them can do this on their own. Just Castiel and his best friend. Sam the Rabbit. This was fine.

🪷 Leafy Greens - by @maraudersoup

Pairing - Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester

Rating - General Audiences

Word Count - 4.9k

Dean becomes cursed to turn into a bunny a couple of months after everything goes down. (Everybody lives, nobody dies AU after season 15.)

Round of applause to all of our entrants! They each did an amazing job and worked hard! Please go show their fics some love! Comment, kudo, reblog, and share! Support your fellow creators!

[gublernatural]

Dad!Spencer 🥺💛

theyre going to go pick up mAMA *punching the air*

[gublernatural]

spring equinox | s.w.

my submission for the Fanfic Writers of the SPN Fandom April Challenge <3

prompt: I missed feeling the sun on my skin.

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, reader is not only dead, but stuck in Hell (so sorry) but there are no real descriptions of what happened down there, sam is grieving hard in the beginning, i actually edited a fic for once (thank u for beta-ing @crowleysmistress)

summary: the spring brings flowers, vampire hunts, and a beautiful gift for a grieving sam.

January first. The marker of the new year, a symbol of change. It never made sense to Sam; January first being the start of the calendar, yeah, sure, but seeing it as a new beginning never made any sense. What was new about it?

Dead-set in the middle of the winter months, bringing Kansas nothing but dreary, cold weather. No celebrations that were particularly enticing to Sam, and this year Sam can’t even bring himself to accompany Dean to the bar to watch whatever performances are playing on the TV, play wing man so Dean can “start the new year off with a bang” (his words), and countdown to midnight.

No, Sam is stuck in bed, stuck in the same pattern he’d been in at the beginning of what has felt like a forever winter.

Grief.

Sam’s most familiar friend. It’s haunted him his entire life, quite literally since he was a baby. No matter how much older he grows, how many changes he has tried to make or goals he has tried to achieve, he cannot escape loss. Just as January cannot escape the dreadful winter.

However, this time was different for Sam. This loss, this pain, this grief, felt different. It felt like a blizzard, surrounding him in nothing but cold and giving him a bone-deep ache in his chest. His steps felt heavy as he walked, as if he was trying to track through foot upon foot of snow.

His girl. The one person in the world who was his. His to hold, to protect, to love. The one person in this world who was able to handle all of him in every kind of way.

You were a hunter, too. Sam remembered a conversation he’d had with his brother just a few days before you hunted them down, quite literally. A conversation about making it work with another hunter, someone who understood the life they lived.

Then you showed up, leaning against the impala, heated about their heavy steps alerting the ōkami to their presence, ready to cuss both of them out despite it turning out to be a successful hunt after all.

Sam, instantly enamored with you, let your angry rant go in one ear and out the other. He looked at you with the puppy dog eyes he saved for when he really, really wanted something and said, “ Do you want to get a drink with us?” He wasn't sure if your face or Dean’s scrunched up faster. Your rant stopped, and you stumbled over an answer, completely forgetting about what was pissing you off in the first place. “Uh, yeah, yeah, sure,” you accepted. Sam ignored the way Dean mumbled a “great” under his breath.

And now you are gone. Years later, after a long journey you’d taken with the Winchesters, you were gone. Not just gone, but stuck. Stuck in hell. And there was nothing Sam could do about it and that hurt worse than anything he’d ever been through.

“C’mon, man, it’s Jody,” Dean ushered, resting against Sam’s door frame. “You know she wouldn’t be calling unless she needed us. Both of us.”

Sam knew he was right, even if it was an excuse for Dean to finally get him out of bed. “Okay,” Sam sighed. Dean tried to fight the smirk that was growing on his face, happy to see his brother finally getting vertical. Sam rubbed his face, trying to push off the exhaustion, anger, and sadness he had been feeling. He moved slowly as he got ready, not feeling any motivation to rush.

By the time Sam met Dean in the car, the sun had started to set. “Let’s go, Sammy. We got a couple hours ride ahead of us,” Dean cheered. There was no complaint about Sam taking too long to get ready, no music that was too loud, and no songs that Dean knew Sam didn’t like. Sam pretended not to notice how thoughtful Dean was being. No chick flick moments, Sam thought.

he hunt was something that Claire had stumbled onto. It took all of them a few days to figure out what they were hunting, and even longer to successfully gank it; allowing February to roll into March, and snow start to turn into rain. It was a group success, one that had Sam feeling like maybe, just maybe, he could be okay without you. Not good, but functioning. Enough that he could get back to doing what he does best; saving people, hunting things, the family business. Outside of you, that was his purpose.

You would want him to keep going, that he knew.

“You alright?” Dean asked as they took their seats in the impala. Sam felt warm for the first time in months. His belly full with Jody and Alex’s home cooked meal, his brother by his side, and a new outlook on what he needs to be doing. The blankets on his bed did not provide the same warmth, the same comfort, that being around his family did. Even if it was missing someone, he belongs with his family.

As Dean drove, Sam spent his time online, looking for the next case. He braced himself with how he approached it. Dean would shut him down if he thought he was getting too eager, dealing with his grief by putting his own life on the line.

“Hey, look,” Sam broke the silence as Dean rolled up to a redlight a few hours away from Jody’s, on their way home. “Like 30 miles that way,” Sam vaguely gestured over Dean’s shoulder, “They found two bodies drained of all of their blood two days ago.” Sam raised an eyebrow at his brother, a silent invitation for a detour. Dean shrugged tiredly, but turned towards the town.

A simple vamp hunt that only took a few days for the brothers to wrap up. Sammy woke up on the morning of the Spring Equinox, feeling like he could finally start his new year. Surrounded by sunshine, Sam deemed March 20th his new January 1st, and set a resolution for himself: I am going to always keep fighting. For the people who needed to be saved, for his brother, for you. 

That was all he needed to do. Keep fighting.

The Impala slowed to a stop just a few yards outside of the bunker. Far enough that Sam couldn’t see the front door through the trees. “You good?” Dean asked as Sam stepped out, throwing his backpack over his shoulder. “Yeah, you should park it in the garage. I need a little R and R for a few days.” Dean nodded, happy his brother was able to admit that for once, and pulled off towards the garage.

Sam walked down the dirt path with a pep in his step that hadn’t been there when they first left for Jody’s. He felt different. Lighter. Warmer.

“I’ll have to thank her,” Sam thought, grateful for Jody’s impact on his life.

Sam scanned the clearing in front of the bunker, hunter’s instinct. His eyes followed the horizon until the woods came into view. He inspected them from a distance, making sure nothing weird was out there. And nothing was, so he continued his search until his eyes landed on the front door of the bunker.

His eyebrows furrowed as he noticed legs dangling from the concrete pad atop the door. He let out a gasp as his gaze drifted upwards. He would recognize that face anywhere, any day, from any distance.

His girl.

Sam’s backpack was on the ground and his long legs were sprinting up the hill before he could register where he was going. Before those hunter’s instincts could kick in. He could hear your laughter as he made his way to you. Your real laughter, not a recording or an old voicemail of it. Your genuine, true laughter. If Sam thought he was warm before, he was overheating now.

Sam tried his best to be gentle as he pulled you into his arms. He was like an excited dog, one that has the best of intentions but forgets how big he really is. All of sudden, you were surrounded by nothing but Sam. For the first time in what felt like years, you were finally home.

Sam allowed himself to bask in the idea of you before he pulled away, “Are you real?” Something he should’ve considered before he was within harming distance, especially given his history. You nodded, raising your forearm to show the cut from where you’d tested yourself with silver. After your time in Hell, you had to be sure for yourself you were real. Sure, you felt real, the world around you seemed real, but you had been tortured with it all, and much worse, before. Your guard was up and it was going to take a lot to break it down.

“I tried it all, I swear. Silver, holy water, I even tried to find Ruby’s knife just to be sure.” Sam’s face twisted in confusion. You sighed, knowing you owed him an explanation. First, you claimed your seat back in front of the bunker door. You’d been deprived of all things nature for far too long. It was the end of March, when it finally starts to feel like Spring again in Kansas, and you wanted to bask in all the world had to offer for as long as possible.

As Sam took his place on the ground next to you, he fired off another question, “Why are you out here? You could’ve gone in.” He was still wary of you being real. The real you knew how to get in, yet you were sitting outside.

You shrugged, this time a slow, sadder shrug, and answered, “I missed feeling the sun on my skin.” And with that, Sam understood. He knew you were stuck in Hell, he knew you remembered every second of it, he knew you were real.

With a sad smile, he pulled you closer and pressed a kiss against the top of your head. “You don’t have to tell me now, you don’t have to tell me at all, you just have to tell me that you are going to be okay.”  Maybe it would take days, weeks, years, decades, he didn’t care. You only had to promise him you would be okay, eventually.

“I will, I have you.” You replied, pressing yourself closer to him. You were sure you would be. Not today, probably not even soon, but one day. You were here, real, alive. You could feel the sun on your skin and Sam’s skin pressed against your own. That was all you needed to have a chance for a new beginning. No matter the day. 

[gublernatural]

Hello 🙋

My name is Ahmed, I’m 20 years old, and I’m from Gaza City. I used to dream of a peaceful life, completing my education, and getting a job, but the war has turned that dream into something impossible 💔😭. We lived through this massacre in every painful detail, and we are still in pain 😔. We were so happy when the ceasefire was announced, and we returned to our homes in the north of Gaza after being displaced for a year and a half in a tent in the south of the Strip. After we fixed a small room in our destroyed house to live in and start over, unfortunately, the war returned, stronger than before 💔. Now, we have no shelter and no source of income. We have exhausted all our savings during the war. I know that I started my campaign very late, but that’s because there is no other way to help my family 🙏. I am fully confident and hopeful that someone here will help us as much as they can and save my family in these difficult circumstances 😔.

I know that the feeling of starting from scratch is painful and frustrating, but I hope to receive any amount for my family 🥺🙏.

https://chuffed.org/project/helpahmedfamily

Even a small donation would have a great impact on us 🥺. May God bless you, my friend 🥰❤️.

[gublernatural]

gublernatural drunk at an orioles game. just as god intended.

[gublernatural]

as a reader myself i can't imagine complaining about fanfiction.

heads up:: complaining about what you can't find under the x reader tags won't make it any easier to find. and also as someone who used to write...do you know why most writers started writing? because they couldn't find the content they wanted to read

so for the love of GOD PLEASE shut up about the lack or overload of smut or fluff or whateverthefuck.

writers aren't your fucking genies and all your fanfictions wishes aren't obligated to come true because you whined under 100+ x reader tags.

[gublernatural]

I NEED HIM BAD

Safe With Me

nsfw prompts, send in a character + a number

PAIRING: Sam x Fem!Reader GENRE: Smut (18+ CONTENT) TO NOTE/WARNINGS: PWP, established relationship, oral (fem receiving), fingering, angsty undertones, stitching up wounds, hurt/comfort WORD COUNT: 2k PROMPT: 4) slow sex while one or both of are injured (bonus points if it's after a battle or after they've patched up each other's wounds) A/N: thanks for requesting @gublernatural CREDIT & LINKS: dividers by cafekitsune ─〃★ join the taglist ─〃★ Sam Masterlist

“C’mon, Sammy,” you huffed, the reassuring tone you aimed for missing its mark. Instead, you mumbled your half-assed excused through gritted teeth and under the suppression of a wince. “I’m okay, ‘s not even that bad.”

Except it definitely was.

Not only did it hurt like a bitch, the adrenaline was slowly wearing off. Meaning, you struggled to keep your trembling in check. Honestly, you were a mess, hiding behind a tense mask of faux bravado.

You couldn’t fool anyone with that tough act. Least of all your boyfriend, whose lips twitched into that characteristic half-scoff half-chuckle of his. Of course, Sam saw right through you, noticing the unsteady rhythm of your breath and how clammy your palms were.

As if to test your claim, his fingers pulled the needle just a little bit tighter—never with the intent of actually hurting you, only to see you squirm and prove your theory wrong.

You could sit in front of him insisting you were fine all you wanted. At the end of the day you were still bleeding heavily, with the color drained from your face and your breathing shallow as if the smallest movement made your whole body ache.

You were having a tough time just sitting on the edge of the motel bed, Sam crouching in front of you. He briefly blinked up at you from between your knees and were it not for the gravity of your situation, you would’ve definitely teased him for the proximity.

“You will be okay,” Sam responded with a short nod. Not so much an agreeing statement as it was a promise. He’d make sure you’d be alright. He always does.

“Just hold still f’me, ‘kay?,” Sam sighed, brows furrowed and concern still swirled into the hazel of his eyes. He soothed over the edge of your fresh stitches after, his thumb barely grazing your bruised, sensitive skin there. Whether or not you usually disliked being treated like some delicate porcelain doll, you were in no position to complain now.

You owed him the chance of tracing your warmth, of reminding himself that you were still here. Hurt, sure. But at least alive.

Silence occupied the room then, Sam’s sole focus on closing the wound, on letting the warmth of his fingers linger against your skin in hopes of magically absorbing some of your pain.

You both knew when to argue and now was not the time.

Sam could’ve easily scolded you for your reckless actions and he’d have every right to be mad at you for risking your life like that. But how could he stay mad at you when your soft fingers curled in his shirt like that? Your grip tightening every time he worked the needle into another stitch through your skin.

The wound was deep, a nasty gash raking across your ribs, stopping just shy of the dip above your hips. The longer he looked at it, even while cleaning and patching you up with utmost care, the harder the realization hit him.

He was mostly done cleaning the cut, but the deep crimson gushing from your injury was ingrained deeply into his mind. Surely it would be for a while.

You’ve seen each other beaten up and bruised and hurt, but tonight—the image of you nearly bleeding out back there was a gut punch like none other.

Sam almost lost you today. For good.

The danger of hunting was always on both your minds, but there’s a difference between knowing something could theoretically happen and something actually happening.

It all transpired so fast, too. A hunt almost gone wrong, that creature slashing you with its claws—if he started thinking about what would’ve happened if any of your vital organs would’ve been hit, if Sam hadn’t taped you up on the spot and rushed back to the motel with you…

“Sam,” your voice, though weary, interrupted the spiral of his mind.

He lifted his gaze, his eyes meeting yours and looking into them as if he wanted to drown in their color. He didn’t even want to think about how close of a call this case was. How that light in your eyes might’ve almost been snuffed out. How that would’ve changed the trajectory of his entire life. Of everything.

“I mean it,” you continued, soft-spoken, apologetic, almost a whisper. One hand of yours gently cupping his jaw. “I’m okay.”

Your hand brushed over the side of his neck, further south across his arm, all the way down to his hand that just finished tying the stitches together. You carefully took the needle from his grip and replaced the object with your own hand, letting it rest in his.

Your other hand found home in the nape of his neck, slowly pulling him closer. Though the frown never disappeared from Sam’s face, he gave in, letting you hold him closer.

Naturally, his arm slipped around your waist, supporting your weight by splaying a large hand across the small of your back. You melted into the touch, like always, letting yourself sink back into the mattress. Though your ministrations were slower than usual, given your battered state. Sam noticed, carefully readjusting your posture until the clench in your jaw softened.

Against his better judgement, he allowed you to pull him on top of you, meeting you halfway by climbing onto the bed and settling between your legs. Though he did his best not to crush you with his weight, not wanting to put any pressure on your fresh bandages, Sam could relate to your need for closeness all too well.

You tangled your limbs with his, clingy as always, though he’d never complain about it.

Except this time—

“You need some rest, sweetheart,” Sam whispered, brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

His breath was warm and soothing against your skin, and triggering you to pout softly and shake your head.

“Need you, Sammy,” you breathed.

And, God, he needed you too. To feel your pulse quicken under his touch. To feel your pulse at all. To hear your breath hitch when you’d gasp his name. To hear your lungs pumping to begin with.

“I don’t wanna hurt you, baby,” he mumbled.

“You won’t,” you replied, so matter-of-factly, so earnestly, that the blind trust you had in him made him melt.

You leaned forward just a bit, as much as you could, your mouth tickling the corner of his lips. Your fingers slipped under his flannel, peeling the fabric off his shoulders. The newly exposed skin was immediately covered in feather light kisses, down his jaw and neck, to his collarbone.

Sam gently, but firmly took your wrists, pinning them above your head. Not to stop this, just to stop you—from getting ahead of yourself. From forgetting it was supposed to be him taking care of you.

Sam’s lips claimed yours in a deep kiss, tasting the sweetness of your tongue against his, drinking up your small mewls and whimpers. You were impossibly soft and warm, inviting him in even further.

You clung to him as if your life depended on it, pressing your chest up against his with the purpose to transfer the rhythm of your heartbeat.

His ministrations were the perfect blend of careful and firm. He was exploring your body with purpose, holding you close with the intent of not letting go, while making sure not to cause any more damage. He only so much as brushed his fingers across your bruised skin, the ghost of his touch making you shiver nonetheless.

When you flinched ever so slightly, he pressed an apologetic kiss to your shoulder and rubbed soothing circles over your tender sides.

“Almost scared me to death,” he mumbled, deep voice muffled by the warmth of your skin.

“Didn’t mean to, ‘m sorry,” you whispered in breathless fashion and wrapped your legs around him more tightly, wanting to remind you that you were right here with him. Right by his side. Always.

Sam eagerly soaked up your unspoken promise, accepting your vow by sliding his palms over your thighs, sealing the promise with hot open-mouthed kisses across your collarbone. He spread you open, placing a pillow under you as if to say ‘Sit back and let me handle this.’

You didn’t even have to lift a finger, let alone your hips. Not that the iron grip he had on your hips would’ve granted you much movement anyway. He pulled you closer, peeling off the rest of your clothes and worshipping every newly exposed inch of skin with his tongue.

You squirmed under him, barely, triggering him to hold you down even more as his kisses carved a path down your body. Over the swell of your chest, further south to your navel. Sam’s strength had you arch instinctively, like you could let yourself fall into his arms.

“Stay still f’me, baby,” he repeated under a rasp, repeating his earlier command.

You threw your head back into the pillows with a whine, giving in only reluctantly. He was asking the impossible, basically. So, if only out of habit, both of your hands reached out to him, settling on your lower stomach.

Sam understood immediately, shifting slightly between your trembling thighs. One of his hands grasped both of yours, tightly, long fingers wrapping around your soft ones as if swallowing them. His other hand teased your inner thigh, coaxing you open even more.

“Please,” you whimpered, only for him to gently push your form further into the mattress, preventing you from squirming too much.

Sam’s teeth grazed over the apex of your thigh, darkened eyes glued to your reactions. His fingers curled around your leg, fingers digging into the plush of your flesh. Usually he’d take his time with you more, teasing you as much as he can—not tonight.

Squeezing your hands to ground you, his tongue dove into your folds. His mouth spread you open like you were a flower with honey beneath its petals. You sure tasted just as sweet, so how could he not dig in deeper?

The gasps and moans falling from your lips were just as delicious, spurring him on until the sharp of his nose pressed against your sensitive clit.

“So wet for me,” he purred, the vibrations of his voice directly on your core, earning him a shudder.

While Sam did not waste any time taking you apart, he did take his time worshipping you thoroughly. One of his long fingers joined his tongue, circling your entrance before pushing in. A second followed, both of them curling inside of you expertly.

“Sam—”

Your soft cries indicated your nearing orgasm.

Sam did not let up, licking slow circles over your bundle of nerves and steadily pumping his digits. Your thighs tensed around his head, jaw falling open without any sound making it past your throat. If anything, a broken gasp rattled you—somehow both soft and intense at the same time.

A wave of white crashed through you as you fell and shattered, your first climax rushing over you like a tidal wave. Sam continued eating you out like a man starved, eagerly lapping up all you had to offer. Even when you were nothing but a twitching, sensitive mess at his mercy, he kept you close, mouth relentless and grip unyielding.

When he granted you only a second to catch your breath before diving back in, you knew you had a long night ahead of you.

Ever the man with a plan, Sam knew he wanted to show you just how much he needed you—how upset the sheer thought of losing you made him. He’d mend your pain in any way he could, letting the pleasure overshadow it entirely. Stitch for stitch, orgasm for orgasm, until both of you’d be convinced that you were safe, protected, and taken care of in his embrace.

📚 Sam Winchester Taglist:

@figurantedefilme @s7nburn @spn-reader @ladykitana90 @missus-ackles

Want to be added to the taglist? Please fill out this >FORM< Want to be removed from the taglist? Please DM me Not sure if you're on the taglist? Check here

[gublernatural]

So, what can you do, you impotent sap?

CASTIEL and MEG MASTERS Supernatural | S05E10: Abandon All Hope

[gublernatural]

spencer’s hand traced up her side, pulling her impossibly closer to his chest. her hands were resting comfortably against his chest, basking in the firmness of his peck muscles. spencer’s thigh were pressed against, searching for friction anywhere he could find it. spencer is unsure of where his body ends and hers begins, too entranced by the feeling of her lips firmly against his.

it was messy; a rushed, spitty, spur of the moment make-out session upon spencer’s return from an absolutely brutal case, that had lasted over a week. to say she was desperate for him was an understatement. she’d been literally dreaming of his return since the day he begrudgingly pulled himself from the warmth of her comforter. she remembered watching him search for the dress pants he’d arrived in, needing something to wear until he could get to his “go-bag”, which he’d left at the office in a rush to make it to her place in time for their friday night movie night.

spencer slid his right hand to the back of her, attempting to press her even closer. as his hand settled just underneath her jawline, spencer pulled himself away, just for a brief second to mutter: “jesus, honey,” in exasperation. his lips were back on hers before she even really comprehended what he’d say. as his expression clicked in her brain, she jerked away, suddenly nervous that she was doing something wrong.

with blown pupils and a beautiful confused face, she looked up at him, “did i do something wrong?”. if spencer wasn’t ridiculously hard in his slacks, he probably would’ve coaxed over to the couch, sat her down and discussed the worry that was apparent on her face. “no, baby,” he cooed, stealing a quick peck from her. could you blame him? “your heart is just beating so fast,” he clarified as he traced his thumb over his jawline, emphasizing his palm that was pressed against her pulse point.

without hesitation, and a bit rushed, she spoke, “oh, i’m just excited,”. her lips were against him before his cheeks could redden at the idea that she was so excited to be kissing him that her heart rate was significantly increased. he smiled into this kiss, slowing down just a tad. he was excited too. and he was excited to show her just how much.

[gublernatural]

unless,,,,,,

stay here | d.w.

note: this song has gone triple platinum in my house the last few days <3 luke hemmings u will always be famous TO ME

warnings: mentions of abuse and neglect (john winchester may you never live a peaceful day ever), heavy angst, if you're looking for a happy ending go somewhere else, typical spn storylines and violence, etc., not edited we die like men, intentional all lowercase

now i don't want to leave, it's a damn cold night, and i don't want to sleep, just tell me it's too late to drive

dean knew he shouldn’t have come. every bone in his body had told him to ignore the call, and he had, but when his brother’s phone rang, he knew something was wrong. his body felt numb as he carried himself to the small motel room table, pretending to be uninterested as sam nodded along to what was being said on the other side of the line.

“yeah,” sam muttered, eyeing dean, “i’ll let him know and we’ll be there soon.” sam had a rough understanding of your history with dean. he knew enough that if you were calling, there was a reason. you wouldn’t reach out unless there was quite literally no other option. and you definitely hadn’t ever been that desperate. not until now.

dean side-eyed him the entire way to your town. sam was waiting for dean to get mad, scream, turn up the radio, anything. the silence was letting dean fester. letting him sit in all the hurt and regret he had been running from for so long.

he didn’t blame you. not really. how could he when he knew you made your decision in his own best interest? dean knew when the door closed behind you, and he was left waiting for john to return, again, that he should’ve followed you out. he should’ve chased you, pulled you into him, and assured you that he wasn’t going anywhere, and he should’ve meant it.

over time, dean had realized that it wasn’t even really the hunting that made you leave. you never knew the full extent of what he did, just that he often had to disappear with his father. he knew he made that mistake with cassie and blew whatever chance he had at a semi-normal life with her, and he was not going to make that mistake again.

dean put in the effort to make the time he was there with you count, and to assure that even when he was away, you were on his mind. on one of the nights where dean laid awake, doing what he does best; hating himself, he realized that you left because of him. because of the way he allowed himself to be treated.

you had offered an escape. many times, actually. you cried, like really cried, begging to dean to get away from john. to stay with you and stop putting up with the abuse. that he didn’t need his father and that you two would figure it out. and you were halfway right. he didn’t need his father, but his father sure as hell needed him.

even when he would leave dean alone for weeks on end without so much as a phone call, john needed him. john needed dean as a reason to return home, as a reason to stay angry at yellow eyes, as a reason to keep going when all he wanted to do was give up.

even if he didn’t treat dean like he was worth holding on for.

dean wished he could turn back time, tell you that he finally sees, really sees, what you did. he can recognize now how john had hurt him, physically, mentally, and emotionally. yet, he still didn’t love himself enough to care. he didn’t love himself to condemn john’s actions. in dean’s eyes, he did what he had to. he taught dean the important stuff, and thats what mattered. he taught dean how to hunt and how important it was to take care of sammy. the two things that gave him his drive, his sense of purpose, his everything.

you were once a part of that list, but that was then and this is now.  

now, you were a part of list of things that john winchester had ruined for his sons.

“are we going to talk about it?” sam broke the silence, aggravated with way dean was stewing his own hurt and confusion. 

“there’s nothing to talk about,” dean shrugged, brushing sam off in a way sam was all too familiar with.

“dean,” sam huffed, growing more frustrated, “she called me.” he stressed. sam was away when dean had his chance with you, at stanford, living the life dean swore he had no interest in.

“only because i didn’t answer,” dean informed. sam was shocked, pausing momentarily to figure out how to reply. sam always assumed that if you called, dean would be there. there would be no hesitation, dean would be out the door and in the impala before sam could ask where he was going. sam had wished that would happen, briefly in the past.

but, clearly, he was wrong.

“why?” sam asked with that confused scowl he got when dean was being a difficult pain in the ass. dean shrugged, finally reaching forward to turn on the radio.

when they arrived at your home, dean couldn’t bring his legs to move. he wasn’t sure how long he sat in the front seat staring at your dainty apartment building. he wished he had a cover to use. he wished you were a stranger and he could play fbi and pretend there was no history here, no words unspoken. no regrets.

sam turned back to the car from where he was standing at the door to the building, glaring at dean. dean hadn’t noticed him leave the car, honestly.

despite this, dean huffed, pulling himself from the driver’s seat and pretended like each step towards you didn’t send a stabbing pain up his leg, settling into a ball of uncertainty and anxiety at the base of his back.

sam stood in front of dean, knocking delicately on your door. they’d arrived quite late. dean found solace in sam going in first, as if sam was protecting him for once.

the door creeped open slowly, and dean was glad you were careful about it. “sam,” you smiled up at him, letting your eyes soak in the way he’d aged over the years. you’d never seen him in person, but he still looked like the little boy dean would show you pictures of as he reminisced about being in locked in crappy motels and eating dry cereal three times a day. despite the fondness in dean’s voice as he would recall these moments, they always left a sour taste in your mouth. once again displaying the neglect they’d each received from their father. you hated the man, and that was ultimately drove dean away. 

“hi,” sam smiled as he said your name, filled with glee to be meeting you for the first time. he truly hoped this would be good for dean. you were the only person dean had ever truly loved outside of his family, in sam’s opinion. the only partner he would ever talk about with a smile on his face, and a miniscule of regret in his tone.

your smile faltered, but your eyes had a small gleam in them as you turned your attention to dean. “hi, dean,” you pretty much whispered, further opening the door to let them in, but never really looking dean in the face. dean pressed his lips together and turned up the corners of them, in what he would call a smile, but anyone else would roll their eyes at the attempt.

“i didn’t mean to bother you guys,” you started as everyone settled into the living room. you were in your reading chair and the brothers took up your couch. you couldn’t help but wish this view was more familiar.

“i used to think you were crazy,” sam chuckled as you gestured to dean, “i mean, whispering to john about ghosts and werewolves and such on the phone. i was never sure to make of it, i chocked it up to some weirdo piece of media you guys were wayyy too involved with,” dean knew you were masking something with humor. a skill you both used in situations where you were uncomfortable, one he’d helped you master.

that was even more apparent when you shifted your gaze downwards and wiggled a little in your seat, “but i saw one. i think i saw one, i mean. it was odd,” you trailed off as you brought your gaze back up, meeting dean’s eyes for the first time since he’d arrived.

“what happened?” and he speaks, you thought. you chose to ignore the protective edge to dean’s voice and pulled your gaze away from him. he was here to help you and your friend, nothing more, nothing less.

“i was, um,” you shifted uncomfortably, again, “at my friend’s house. her brother had passed recently. i thought i was dreaming or something the first we saw him. he was normal, like he had been right before he passed. my friend thought it was cool, i mean, she had her brother back. but last time, just a few nights ago, it was different.”

“how?” dean’s deep voice carried, already knowing where this was going. spirits that stick around get angry. that’s a simple fact.

“he was like, mean, i guess? like things were being thrown at us and he screamed. it was so odd.”

“and you didn’t think something was wrong when you started seeing her dead brother?” sam deadpanned, asking the million dollar question. dean glared at him, not liking the tone he was speaking to you with. “c’mon man, if someone we cared about’s ghost started popping up, salting and burning their bones might not be the first thing on our minds, either,” dean hushed him.

your eyebrows furrowed, “what?” sam hit dean with a head tilt, one that said nice going, dude, without having to say anything. 

“when there’s a spirit they’re usually attached to something that’s keep them from, um, moving on,” sam explained. “commonly, it is their bones. was your friend’s brother buried?” you shook your head, “they cremated him.”

“does your friend have something of his? something he cared about?” dean asked. “yeah, she kept a couple of his little league trophies. and his journal, even though she swore she’d never read it.”

sam and dean engaged in another non-verbal conversation before shifting their attention back to you. sam was the one who spoke, “i think we’re gonna need that journal.”

you weren’t sure exactly what went down in your friend’s bedroom while sam and dean were in there and you and her were sitting comfortably in the impala. you’d seen this beautiful car every time john would pull up to pick up dean, but had never seen the inside of it. it was nicer than you had pictured. 

“you should be all set,” sam informed your friend, walking her back into her house. you leaned against the driver side door, pressing your arms to your side, drawing in all of the warmth you could.

dean, who was standing a respectable amount of steps away from you, also leaning against the side of the car, noticed your slight shiver. he moved without thinking, shrugging off his jacket and handing it to you. you glanced at him, puzzled by his action, but putting it on regardless. no words were exchanged. 

you tried to ignore how comforting his scent was.

“let’s get you home,” dean mumbled as sam approached the car. you nodded, moving to climb in behind him. 

“i’m gonna grab some food,” sam smiled at dean, pointing at the flickering lights of the diner a short walk away from where dean parked in front of your building. dean just nodded. then, he sped up his steps so he could catch up to you and walk you to your apartment.  

“thank you,” you smiled at dean for the first time in years as you leaned against your door frame. dean shrugged, “it’s what we do.”

you nodded and a beat of silence passed between the two of you. it was comfortable, just for a moment. then, you remembered how sam was the one who answered your call.

“you ignored my call,” you observed, sadly. after everything, you had still thought dean would care about you, worry about you, even.

“yeah, i,” dean cleared his throat, contemplating what excuse to come up with. if he went with one, it would be the first time he ever truly lied to you. sure, he’d withheld information, but he had never flat out lied to you. so, he decided to go with the truth, “i was scared.”

dean winchester, admitting he was scared. someone call the presses. a world-changing admission had just been spoken.

“of?” you pressed, knowing you were towing the line. dean didn’t answer, just met your gaze with a stone-cold stare. one that told you everything you needed to know. he was scared those feelings hadn’t gone away. that he hadn’t buried them with the worst memories of his dad, his mother’s death, and his time spent in hell. he was scared that he couldn’t run from his past anymore, that he’d be slapped in face with what ifs and could’ve beens.

and, rightfully so. 

dean could feel every fiber of his being screaming, no, crying out for you. crying out for you to hold him, to kiss him, to tell him all of the things he’d been through were over and done with and he is safe and he is home. all he wanted was to stay here with you. to be selfish for once in his fucking life and just stay. even if it was for just a night. 

you were the one who cleared his throat, “it’s late, dean” please stay, it’s not smart to drive tired, he wished you’d add.

“yeah, i should go,” dean nodded, but made no effort to make his way to the stairs of your building.

after an intense battle in your mind, one between your rational side and your emotional side, one that you’d been fighting since you found dean’s phone number on a crusty sticky note in your desk drawer, you said, “you guys could stay here, the couch is pretty comfortable and it’s been a long night.”

dean’s eyes shifted to his shoes, a small smile crossing his face at your offer. everything he wanted and everything he knew he couldn’t have in one sentence. “no, we should get back.” he responded, nodding in the direction of his car. “more ghosts to get rid of.”

you nodded, “goodnight, dean.” he didn’t answer, just sent you a sad smile before turning towards the stairs. 

i hang on every line. i'd do it all again. i guess i just feel better around you.

[gublernatural]

stay here | d.w.

note: this song has gone triple platinum in my house the last few days <3 luke hemmings u will always be famous TO ME

warnings: mentions of abuse and neglect (john winchester may you never live a peaceful day ever), heavy angst, if you're looking for a happy ending go somewhere else, typical spn storylines and violence, etc., not edited we die like men, intentional all lowercase

now i don't want to leave, it's a damn cold night, and i don't want to sleep, just tell me it's too late to drive

dean knew he shouldn’t have come. every bone in his body had told him to ignore the call, and he had, but when his brother’s phone rang, he knew something was wrong. his body felt numb as he carried himself to the small motel room table, pretending to be uninterested as sam nodded along to what was being said on the other side of the line.

“yeah,” sam muttered, eyeing dean, “i’ll let him know and we’ll be there soon.” sam had a rough understanding of your history with dean. he knew enough that if you were calling, there was a reason. you wouldn’t reach out unless there was quite literally no other option. and you definitely hadn’t ever been that desperate. not until now.

dean side-eyed him the entire way to your town. sam was waiting for dean to get mad, scream, turn up the radio, anything. the silence was letting dean fester. letting him sit in all the hurt and regret he had been running from for so long.

he didn’t blame you. not really. how could he when he knew you made your decision in his own best interest? dean knew when the door closed behind you, and he was left waiting for john to return, again, that he should’ve followed you out. he should’ve chased you, pulled you into him, and assured you that he wasn’t going anywhere, and he should’ve meant it.

over time, dean had realized that it wasn’t even really the hunting that made you leave. you never knew the full extent of what he did, just that he often had to disappear with his father. he knew he made that mistake with cassie and blew whatever chance he had at a semi-normal life with her, and he was not going to make that mistake again.

dean put in the effort to make the time he was there with you count, and to assure that even when he was away, you were on his mind. on one of the nights where dean laid awake, doing what he does best; hating himself, he realized that you left because of him. because of the way he allowed himself to be treated.

you had offered an escape. many times, actually. you cried, like really cried, begging to dean to get away from john. to stay with you and stop putting up with the abuse. that he didn’t need his father and that you two would figure it out. and you were halfway right. he didn’t need his father, but his father sure as hell needed him.

even when he would leave dean alone for weeks on end without so much as a phone call, john needed him. john needed dean as a reason to return home, as a reason to stay angry at yellow eyes, as a reason to keep going when all he wanted to do was give up.

even if he didn’t treat dean like he was worth holding on for.

dean wished he could turn back time, tell you that he finally sees, really sees, what you did. he can recognize now how john had hurt him, physically, mentally, and emotionally. yet, he still didn’t love himself enough to care. he didn’t love himself to condemn john’s actions. in dean’s eyes, he did what he had to. he taught dean the important stuff, and thats what mattered. he taught dean how to hunt and how important it was to take care of sammy. the two things that gave him his drive, his sense of purpose, his everything.

you were once a part of that list, but that was then and this is now.  

now, you were a part of list of things that john winchester had ruined for his sons.

“are we going to talk about it?” sam broke the silence, aggravated with way dean was stewing his own hurt and confusion. 

“there’s nothing to talk about,” dean shrugged, brushing sam off in a way sam was all too familiar with.

“dean,” sam huffed, growing more frustrated, “she called me.” he stressed. sam was away when dean had his chance with you, at stanford, living the life dean swore he had no interest in.

“only because i didn’t answer,” dean informed. sam was shocked, pausing momentarily to figure out how to reply. sam always assumed that if you called, dean would be there. there would be no hesitation, dean would be out the door and in the impala before sam could ask where he was going. sam had wished that would happen, briefly in the past.

but, clearly, he was wrong.

“why?” sam asked with that confused scowl he got when dean was being a difficult pain in the ass. dean shrugged, finally reaching forward to turn on the radio.

when they arrived at your home, dean couldn’t bring his legs to move. he wasn’t sure how long he sat in the front seat staring at your dainty apartment building. he wished he had a cover to use. he wished you were a stranger and he could play fbi and pretend there was no history here, no words unspoken. no regrets.

sam turned back to the car from where he was standing at the door to the building, glaring at dean. dean hadn’t noticed him leave the car, honestly.

despite this, dean huffed, pulling himself from the driver’s seat and pretended like each step towards you didn’t send a stabbing pain up his leg, settling into a ball of uncertainty and anxiety at the base of his back.

sam stood in front of dean, knocking delicately on your door. they’d arrived quite late. dean found solace in sam going in first, as if sam was protecting him for once.

the door creeped open slowly, and dean was glad you were careful about it. “sam,” you smiled up at him, letting your eyes soak in the way he’d aged over the years. you’d never seen him in person, but he still looked like the little boy dean would show you pictures of as he reminisced about being in locked in crappy motels and eating dry cereal three times a day. despite the fondness in dean’s voice as he would recall these moments, they always left a sour taste in your mouth. once again displaying the neglect they’d each received from their father. you hated the man, and that was ultimately drove dean away. 

“hi,” sam smiled as he said your name, filled with glee to be meeting you for the first time. he truly hoped this would be good for dean. you were the only person dean had ever truly loved outside of his family, in sam’s opinion. the only partner he would ever talk about with a smile on his face, and a miniscule of regret in his tone.

your smile faltered, but your eyes had a small gleam in them as you turned your attention to dean. “hi, dean,” you pretty much whispered, further opening the door to let them in, but never really looking dean in the face. dean pressed his lips together and turned up the corners of them, in what he would call a smile, but anyone else would roll their eyes at the attempt.

“i didn’t mean to bother you guys,” you started as everyone settled into the living room. you were in your reading chair and the brothers took up your couch. you couldn’t help but wish this view was more familiar.

“i used to think you were crazy,” sam chuckled as you gestured to dean, “i mean, whispering to john about ghosts and werewolves and such on the phone. i was never sure to make of it, i chocked it up to some weirdo piece of media you guys were wayyy too involved with,” dean knew you were masking something with humor. a skill you both used in situations where you were uncomfortable, one he’d helped you master.

that was even more apparent when you shifted your gaze downwards and wiggled a little in your seat, “but i saw one. i think i saw one, i mean. it was odd,” you trailed off as you brought your gaze back up, meeting dean’s eyes for the first time since he’d arrived.

“what happened?” and he speaks, you thought. you chose to ignore the protective edge to dean’s voice and pulled your gaze away from him. he was here to help you and your friend, nothing more, nothing less.

“i was, um,” you shifted uncomfortably, again, “at my friend’s house. her brother had passed recently. i thought i was dreaming or something the first we saw him. he was normal, like he had been right before he passed. my friend thought it was cool, i mean, she had her brother back. but last time, just a few nights ago, it was different.”

“how?” dean’s deep voice carried, already knowing where this was going. spirits that stick around get angry. that’s a simple fact.

“he was like, mean, i guess? like things were being thrown at us and he screamed. it was so odd.”

“and you didn’t think something was wrong when you started seeing her dead brother?” sam deadpanned, asking the million dollar question. dean glared at him, not liking the tone he was speaking to you with. “c’mon man, if someone we cared about’s ghost started popping up, salting and burning their bones might not be the first thing on our minds, either,” dean hushed him.

your eyebrows furrowed, “what?” sam hit dean with a head tilt, one that said nice going, dude, without having to say anything. 

“when there’s a spirit they’re usually attached to something that’s keep them from, um, moving on,” sam explained. “commonly, it is their bones. was your friend’s brother buried?” you shook your head, “they cremated him.”

“does your friend have something of his? something he cared about?” dean asked. “yeah, she kept a couple of his little league trophies. and his journal, even though she swore she’d never read it.”

sam and dean engaged in another non-verbal conversation before shifting their attention back to you. sam was the one who spoke, “i think we’re gonna need that journal.”

you weren’t sure exactly what went down in your friend’s bedroom while sam and dean were in there and you and her were sitting comfortably in the impala. you’d seen this beautiful car every time john would pull up to pick up dean, but had never seen the inside of it. it was nicer than you had pictured. 

“you should be all set,” sam informed your friend, walking her back into her house. you leaned against the driver side door, pressing your arms to your side, drawing in all of the warmth you could.

dean, who was standing a respectable amount of steps away from you, also leaning against the side of the car, noticed your slight shiver. he moved without thinking, shrugging off his jacket and handing it to you. you glanced at him, puzzled by his action, but putting it on regardless. no words were exchanged. 

you tried to ignore how comforting his scent was.

“let’s get you home,” dean mumbled as sam approached the car. you nodded, moving to climb in behind him. 

“i’m gonna grab some food,” sam smiled at dean, pointing at the flickering lights of the diner a short walk away from where dean parked in front of your building. dean just nodded. then, he sped up his steps so he could catch up to you and walk you to your apartment.  

“thank you,” you smiled at dean for the first time in years as you leaned against your door frame. dean shrugged, “it’s what we do.”

you nodded and a beat of silence passed between the two of you. it was comfortable, just for a moment. then, you remembered how sam was the one who answered your call.

“you ignored my call,” you observed, sadly. after everything, you had still thought dean would care about you, worry about you, even.

“yeah, i,” dean cleared his throat, contemplating what excuse to come up with. if he went with one, it would be the first time he ever truly lied to you. sure, he’d withheld information, but he had never flat out lied to you. so, he decided to go with the truth, “i was scared.”

dean winchester, admitting he was scared. someone call the presses. a world-changing admission had just been spoken.

“of?” you pressed, knowing you were towing the line. dean didn’t answer, just met your gaze with a stone-cold stare. one that told you everything you needed to know. he was scared those feelings hadn’t gone away. that he hadn’t buried them with the worst memories of his dad, his mother’s death, and his time spent in hell. he was scared that he couldn’t run from his past anymore, that he’d be slapped in face with what ifs and could’ve beens.

and, rightfully so. 

dean could feel every fiber of his being screaming, no, crying out for you. crying out for you to hold him, to kiss him, to tell him all of the things he’d been through were over and done with and he is safe and he is home. all he wanted was to stay here with you. to be selfish for once in his fucking life and just stay. even if it was for just a night. 

you were the one who cleared his throat, “it’s late, dean” please stay, it’s not smart to drive tired, he wished you’d add.

“yeah, i should go,” dean nodded, but made no effort to make his way to the stairs of your building.

after an intense battle in your mind, one between your rational side and your emotional side, one that you’d been fighting since you found dean’s phone number on a crusty sticky note in your desk drawer, you said, “you guys could stay here, the couch is pretty comfortable and it’s been a long night.”

dean’s eyes shifted to his shoes, a small smile crossing his face at your offer. everything he wanted and everything he knew he couldn’t have in one sentence. “no, we should get back.” he responded, nodding in the direction of his car. “more ghosts to get rid of.”

you nodded, “goodnight, dean.” he didn’t answer, just sent you a sad smile before turning towards the stairs. 

i hang on every line. i'd do it all again. i guess i just feel better around you.

[gublernatural]

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[gublernatural]

worlds slowest fanfic author tries really really hard

[gublernatural]

[gublernatural]

spencer’s hand traced up her side, pulling her impossibly closer to his chest. her hands were resting comfortably against his chest, basking in the firmness of his peck muscles. spencer’s thigh were pressed against, searching for friction anywhere he could find it. spencer is unsure of where his body ends and hers begins, too entranced by the feeling of her lips firmly against his.

it was messy; a rushed, spitty, spur of the moment make-out session upon spencer’s return from an absolutely brutal case, that had lasted over a week. to say she was desperate for him was an understatement. she’d been literally dreaming of his return since the day he begrudgingly pulled himself from the warmth of her comforter. she remembered watching him search for the dress pants he’d arrived in, needing something to wear until he could get to his “go-bag”, which he’d left at the office in a rush to make it to her place in time for their friday night movie night.

spencer slid his right hand to the back of her, attempting to press her even closer. as his hand settled just underneath her jawline, spencer pulled himself away, just for a brief second to mutter: “jesus, honey,” in exasperation. his lips were back on hers before she even really comprehended what he’d say. as his expression clicked in her brain, she jerked away, suddenly nervous that she was doing something wrong.

with blown pupils and a beautiful confused face, she looked up at him, “did i do something wrong?”. if spencer wasn’t ridiculously hard in his slacks, he probably would’ve coaxed over to the couch, sat her down and discussed the worry that was apparent on her face. “no, baby,” he cooed, stealing a quick peck from her. could you blame him? “your heart is just beating so fast,” he clarified as he traced his thumb over his jawline, emphasizing his palm that was pressed against her pulse point.

without hesitation, and a bit rushed, she spoke, “oh, i’m just excited,”. her lips were against him before his cheeks could redden at the idea that she was so excited to be kissing him that her heart rate was significantly increased. he smiled into this kiss, slowing down just a tad. he was excited too. and he was excited to show her just how much.