#//but god sam fascinates me

[gas-stxtion]

[makes a sam everything is fine blog but the only ships available are poly ships because if he and maggie break up i'll fucking die]

[quietwingsinthesky]

Thinking about the two drabbles I did yesterday where Dean was a bit of an asshole, and I do hope that it doesn't come across in those, or in any fic, that I'm making Dean needlessly antagonistic just because I'm more of a Samgirl. Esp when it comes to him reacting to samifer.

It feels realistic to me, whether due to actual logical reasoning or due to his Various Assorted Issues™️, that Dean's obviously not going to accept his little brother having a relationship with the devil with open arms. You know, it's a combination of Dean's canonical Sam-Abandonment-Complex and also, it's Lucifer, on the heels of Ruby, and what's going to present outwardly as "Sam is making a bad choice and trusting the wrong person. Again. So I need to fight back against that," is really covering up the more self-loathing, "I couldn't protect Sam from Ruby, and if he gets hurt/used/etc again, it'll be my fault for letting it happen a second time."

In one drabble, that showed up as 'separate Sam from the reminder of his trauma that he's keeping for reasons I don't understand', which is! hey that's wrong of him to do! even if Sam is only being hurt by keeping it, what gives Dean the right to make that choice? But he is Dean, he is Sam's older brother, and he is going to make that choice to try and protect him, and I love him for that. Overprotective brother who's making choices without knowing the full story. That's the Supernatural way.

Just some of the behind-the-scenes that goes into writing, I suppose. tl;dr Dean is an asshole and I love him so much.

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

We had one of Steff's comedian friends staying with us on the weekend, lovely lad called Sam from Singapore. He had never been to Wales before, and he requested that we take him to a Welsh restaurant so he could try Welsh food

That's surprisingly difficult, actually. Like a lot of Welsh culture, our culinary traditions have not exactly been applauded over the years, so you don't really see them. But a lucky Google search revealed a brand new one has just opened in SA1 called the Welsh House, so great! Away we went.

Fuck me, they went all in.

It wasn't just the menu (though fuck me, what a menu - one of their 'for the table to share' options was little mini leek and cheddar Welsh cakes with salted butter and they were paralysingly good). It wasn't just that every alcohol was Welsh, even including the wine (surprisingly good btw, called 'Naturiol'.)

The table centerpieces were daffodils. All signs for the toilets were Welsh only. The walls had photos of Wales, modern and historical; the windows had the fleur de lis; the specials board (pork belly in Welsh cider and damson sauce with honey and wild garlic glazed carrots) had dragons on. I realise this is probably normal for country-themed restaurants, but I've never been to one for Wales before.

But the best bit, see, was the music

I clocked, when we walked in, that they were playing If You Tolerate This Then Your Children Will Be Next by the Manic Street Preachers (you always clock the Manics). Ah, I thought. A Welsh song! In a Welsh restaurant! Ho ho ho.

As they seated us, it became What's New Pussycat. Ah! I thought. Another Welsh song! Fu fu fu.

Then they played Monster by the Automatic and I was like my god are they only playing Welsh music?? That's so cool! What an eclectic mix that's going to be. We should suggest to them they should look into Welsh language music too, really mix it up.

And then they played Anrheoli by Yws Gwynedd and lads, Steff and I lost our shit. We lost our fucking shit. Sam's sitting there, utterly bewildered. The staff are nervously edging away from us. We don't care. It's the first time I have ever heard a Welsh language song played outside of a Welsh language setting. We're so excited.

"They're playing Welsh music!!!" says Steff. "Holy shit!!!"

"Imagine if they played Sebona Fi!" I say, humorously.

"Nah," says Steff. "You can't in a restaurant. There'd be a riot, it's faerie music."

"...what?" says Sam

We explain the cultural phenomenon that is Sebona Fi. The song changes: Primadonna Girl, by Marina and the Diamonds.

"She's Welsh??" says Sam.

"She's from Abergavenny!" we beam.

"I don't know what that means," nods Sam, who is from Singapore.

Next: The Bartender and the Thief, by the Stereophonics. We're in high spirits. The extraordinarily Welsh wine arrives, as does the rarebit on sourdough starter. Sam, a gay man, delightedly orders the faggots and peas.

They play Ben Rhys by Gwilym Bowen Rhys, and we lose our shit again. Sam is now used to this, because comedians are adaptable. "They even have daffodils!" I say, misty eyed. "Is that relevant?" Sam asks, fascinated.

They play Hiraeth, by PLU. Hard to explain that one. Very hard to explain the effect it has when it's played in a restaurant, but Sam looks around the suddenly muted room and whispers "Are we in church?"

"It's about Hiraeth," whispers Steff. "So kind of."

Next: the Masses Against the Classes, by the Manics. Utter tonal whiplash. This playlist is not remotely restaurant appropriate. It's perfect.

"You'd think they'd pick like... a genre," Sam says dreamily. "We just went from church to the barricades."

The faggots arrive. "I forgot it would be a western sized portion," Sam says morosely, of what to me is a normal sized plate of food. He tries one, and brightens.

They play Sebona Fi.

The place erupts.

[little-diable]

Mine to Claim - Dean Winchester (smut)

While I'm still wondering if I should write for James Beaufort, I decided to run with the enemies to lovers theme for Dean. I know y'all love jealous Dean as much as I do. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader wants Sam to have a nice birthday, but all she can focus on is Dean, the man she had always sworn to hate, the man who gets all possessive as soon as somebody else finds her interesting enough to chat her up.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, thigh riding, full on jealous Dean, Dean's a bit of a dick in the beginning, possessiveness, fluffy end

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader (about 4k words)

“A party? And who should we invite, huh?” Dean’s voice filled the library. He had his feet placed on the table, arms crossed in front of his chest while nursing his second beer of the night. 

(Y/n) had her eyes focused on the laptop, typing away as she tried to pierce ideas together to celebrate Sam’s birthday. But while she was set on putting something special together, trying to trap the man she couldn’t stand into helping her, Dean could only give room to annoying comments. 

“How about some werewolves, vampires maybe or a wendigo to make this exciting!” Sarcasm dripped from Dean’s words, leaving her groaning as she finally looked at the handsome Winchester brother. The two of them had never been fans of one another, but while (y/n) generally tried to keep her distance, Dean was set on annoying her at any given chance. She had lost count of the dates he had ruined for her, the friendships she had tried to build but had been torn down by him, no matter what she tried to do, Dean was always right there to cross her plans.

“Have you always been such an asshole or have you just not outgrown your teenager phase yet?” She shifted her weight onto her forearms while staring at Dean as if he was the most fascinating thing she had ever seen. His eyes had a twinkle to them as he mimicked her movements, taking his feet off the table to lean further towards her. 

“Don’t be like that, sweetheart, we both know you enjoy our dynamic more than you let others believe. You have never been good at hiding your crush on me.” The angry scoff clawing through (y/n) forced a chuckle out of Dean, who looked at her as if he had just goaled a win. Whenever he managed to rile her up, to get her angrier by the second, his smirk would grow as if he was proud of himself for getting under her skin like that. 

“Fuck you, Dean!” She rose to her feet, unexpectedly to Dean who now studied her with confusion laced in his gaze. “I’ll just take Sam out for dinner, anywhere without you near will be good enough.” 

(Y/n) tried to walk past him with angry tears welling up in her eyes, but she didn’t manage to get far, forced to a halt by the hand clamping down on her wrist. Dean stared up at her with an unreadable expression, shooting shudders down her spine while she tried to rip herself free. Something inside of her told her that he was close to apologising, urged on by the guilt he may feel, but the moment passed within seconds, forcing his smirk back to his lips.

“Dream of me tonight, sweetheart. But first, tell me, do you still sleep in my shirt?” The angry huff clawing through her made Dean chuckle, watching her rip herself free before storming out of the room. Her heart was aching in her chest, pounding against her ribs while her feet carried her towards her room. 

With her laptop tossed onto her bed, (y/n) allowed her tears to fall, urged on by her anger and confusion, torn between the way she had always detested Dean and the silent longing for him and his closeness. God, she hated him, hated him more than words could ever express, and yet a small, fucked up part of her wanted him and every part of him. 

It was time to finally get over Dean Winchester and the confusing emotions he pushed through her. 

……

“Thank you for this, (y/n). This is by far the best birthday I ever had.” Sam squeezed her shoulder as she looked up at him with a proud grin. She shot Sam another smile before she let her gaze wander, finding Dean’s frame. Even though she had tried to lure Sam away from his brother, knowing that the night wouldn’t end well if she and Dean would have to spend it together, Sam had begged her to take his brother with them, ending up at this very bar.

“Let me get you another beer, birthday boy. I’ll be back in a second.” (Y/n) rose to her feet with an unwavering smile, pushing past a few people to reach the bar. Music rang in her ears, not loud enough to leave her body buzzing, yet just enough to distract her from her wandering thoughts. 

“Hey,” an unfamiliar voice forced her attention away from the bartender, waiting for her to make her way towards (y/n). A guy was standing close to her, he was a bit taller than her, a handsome face she smiled at. “Is that your boyfriend?”

He tilted his head towards Sam, leaving her chuckling as (y/n) shook her head no. A relieved smile managed to find its way to the guy’s lips, he was visibly relaxing while taking a step closer. Even though her body begged her to chase the distance, her mind urged her to stay right where she was, reminding her of her promise to finally find a distraction from Dean Winchester.

“Are you from around here?” She kept her voice quiet as she studied the guy, the plaid shirt he wore and those dark jeans that had a similar touch to the ones Dean currently wore. For a second, she let her eyes wander, not paying attention to the words the guy spoke, but Dean was nowhere to be found, disappearing from her sight. 

“It’s my friend’s birthday today, so I’ll have to get back to him.” (Y/n) mumbled while she shot the guy another smile. She turned towards the bartender to speak her order before the guy could gain her attention again, with his phone in his hand.

“Give me your number, maybe I can take you out for dinner or something?” The soft chuckle leaving her made him smile, watching her type her number into his phone before reaching for the two bottles of beer. She took a step away from him, with her gaze still focused on him, but the second she turned away, (y/n) stumbled into a broad chest, having to tighten her grasp on the bottles before she could drop them. 

Wide eyes found a pair of familiar green ones, getting lost in the darkening pupils for a moment or two. Dean’s jaw muscles were ticking in anger as his gaze flickered between (y/n) and the guy she had been talking to. It took her a moment to rip herself out of her frozen state before she tried to push past Dean, though without any luck. 

“What did he want from you?” Dean’s voice had something to it she couldn’t pinpoint, something that left her insides churning; something that left her straightening her spine. Her eyes wandered over his angry features, allowing her to take in his handsome features. If he weren’t such an asshole to her, she would have instantly fallen hard for him, begging the man for a chance to love him like he deserved to be loved. 

“That’s nothing of your concern, Dean. Let me go.” But Dean didn’t give in, he tightened his grip on her arm to pull her even closer. 

“Oh, but we both know that it is, sweetheart.” She couldn’t find a reply, the words were stolen right from her as his lips graced her warm cheek with his eyes set on the guy who was still watching the two. And with another squeeze of her arm, he finally let go of her, only to gently push her into Sam’s direction. 

……

She woke with a groan, forcing her eyes open to take in the darkness surrounding her. Slowly, (y/n) rolled onto her side to reach for her phone, reading the time. It was in the middle of the night, only a few hours after they had found their way back home from the bar. 

Since that moment with Dean, (y/n) had been deep in thought, not understanding the way he had behaved at the bar. She crawled out of her bed with a sigh, set on grabbing a new glass of water to clear her thoughts. Still surrounded by darkness, she made her way to the kitchen, carried by tired limbs that begged her to make it back to bed. 

“I knew you were still stealing my shirts.” Dean’s voice left her jumping, ripping a squeal out of her as she turned towards him. He was leaning against the table, arms crossed in front of his chest, eyes set on her frame. Heat rose to her features as she remembered that she was once again wearing a shirt of his, and nothing more. 

“You jerk, why do you always have to scare me like that?” He walked closer to her, allowing her to find his pupils. His chest was almost pushed against hers while he wordlessly stared down at (y/n). She was close to speaking up again, set on throwing another insult his way to get herself out of this situation before she could say or do something stupid. But the second his hands found her waist to heave her onto the cold kitchen island, she forgot every word she had planned to speak. 

“Did that guy call you?” His voice was raspy, making goosebumps appear on her exposed skin. (Y/n) could barely focus on his voice, distracted by the feeling of Dean lingering between her spread thighs and the way he grasped her hips with his big hands. 

“Maybe he did, so what?” His tongue kissed his teeth while he pondered over her words, staring at (y/n) with something she’d dream of for a while. It felt like heaven and hell were clashing, forcing them to balance a strong energy neither had felt before. It drew them closer with every passing second, growing between them while both could only endure its strength. 

“You’ll lose his number.” It was a simple command, words that drew a soft laugh out of (y/n) while she shook her head no. A laugh that lost its strength as Dean’s big hand found her throat, forcing her to quiet down. Her pupils grew wider at the touch, drawing a shaky breath out of (y/n). “He’ll never have you.”

“And you will?” She could only whisper her question, words that left Dean smirking as he dipped his head down. He was close to kissing her, lips ghosting over hers while her heart picked up its beat. 

“We both know that I already have you.” With one last squeeze of her throat, Dean pressed a kiss to the corner of her lips before letting go of her. (Y/n) was at loss for words, could only watch him take another step away from her with his teeth buried in his grinning lower lip, front still turned in her direction. 

(Y/n) needed a handful of seconds before she snapped into motion, jumping off the metallic kitchen island to haul herself into his space, lips finding his with her arms wrapped around his neck. Dean instantly replied to the kiss with one hand placed on her waist and the other cupping the back of her head to keep her close. Their tongues met to deepen the kiss, leaving both groaning at the new sensation. 

“I belong to nobody and if you keep on being such an asshole to me, you’ll be the last person to ever have me.” She mumbled the words against his lips before pushing him away, leaving Dean breathless while she walked back to her room with a smile glued to her slightly swollen lips. 

……

Music filled her room, cozying (y/n) along while she was reading. It had been hours since her kiss with Dean, a memory that left her buzzing with nerves whenever her mind took her back to those minutes. She was proud of herself for finding the confidence at that time, for pushing him away after a kiss she longed to experience again. 

His lips had felt all too soft, a perfect kiss she had always read of in books but had never experienced herself–until that very moment. He had tasted of beer and home, a strange sensation she hadn’t been able to shake so far. 

A soft knock forced her out of her thoughts, eyes flickering towards her door to watch Dean step into the room. They hadn’t shared a single word since that kiss, while she had hid herself in her room, Dean had given her enough space to sort through the chaos both were stuck in now. 

He closed the door behind himself before walking towards her bed. (Y/n) could only watch as he plopped down on her bed, gently taking her book to place it on her nightstand before pulling her into his chest. She could hear his heart racing as both were laying there in silence. 

“What are you doing, Dean?” (Y/n) shifted on his chest, eyes finding his while he kept his hand placed on her side. He stayed quiet, seemingly deep in thought with his eyes set on the ceiling rather than her face. 

(Y/n) barely allowed herself to properly look at Dean, to take in the beauty of the man who made her feel the most confusing emotions imaginable. She wanted to count his freckles, every single one of them reminding her of a galaxy million of lightyears away, each telling its own story. She wanted to get lost in the green eyes reminding her of a forest that had seen the most gruesome things and yet still managed to offer a home to those needing shelter. She wanted to kiss those plush lips again that made her feel more alive than she had ever felt before.

“I,” he cleared his throat as if he was trying to rip himself out of a trap, forcing his eyes back down to meet hers. “Somewhere along the way, since meeting you, I’ve realised that it’s much easier to rile you up, to annoy you and have you as an enemy rather than admit my feelings to you but also to myself. From the first day we met you at that diner, I knew I had found my match, the one who finally belongs to me. But fuck, my anxiety got the best of me, and I began spiralling. It was fucking immature of me, but I couldn’t stop, not as long as I couldn’t accept that I’ve loved you for years.” 

Tears welled up in her eyes as she pondered over his confession, the words that cut deeper than she liked to admit. Dean’s thumb wiped away her falling tear while tightening his grip on her. Both were choked up, struggling to keep on speaking as silence engulfed them once again. The seconds kept fading by, moments she desperately needed to sort through her confusion, the words she wanted to speak but was unsure of. 

“And you’re ready to accept it now?” (Y/n)’s voice trembled, buzzing through her body like lightning set on burning holes into her skin. Dean’s hand stroked up her spine until he found the back of her neck, pressing (y/n) close to kiss her softly. It took her a few seconds to let her lips move, tongues meeting much slower than they had for their first kiss.

“If you’ll let me love you like you deserve to be loved, I am ready to accept it and fight for it.” A part of her knew that she should leave his side, kick him out of the room, and curse him for thinking she’d ever give him a chance, but the other, bigger part, begged her to give in, to finally grasp this chance she had silently hoped for whenever her anger turned into desperation and longings. 

“Kiss me, Dean.” He didn’t need to be told twice. Dean dipped his head down to kiss her with one hand finding her cheek. It wasn’t a soft kiss, fuelled by unspoken emotions and longings, and yet both took their time to properly explore their newfound territory. Carefully, Dean pushed her off his chest to hover over her with one leg finding its way between her thighs.

They didn’t break the kiss as he softly pressed his thigh against her heat, drawing a moan from (y/n) at the sudden contact. Heat buzzed through her body, down her spine and straight to her pulsing bundle. (Y/n) tried to push herself closer, moving with just enough strength to moan once again. 

“Can you make yourself cum on my thigh, sweetheart? Show me how much you need to be touched.” Her eyes found his stormy ones, getting lost in the rich colour for a second before a shaky exhale left her. (Y/n) pulled Dean down for another kiss while she moved against his thigh again, supported by him as he met her movements with more urgency.

Her body was burning, shaking from the excitement she couldn’t let go of; the anticipation pushing her towards the edge she’d fall from at least two times that day. Dean kissed his way down her throat, sucking on the spots that made her arch her back off the mattress. Goosebumps covered her body while she lost grip on reality, allowing her body to move without her mind’s guidance while searching for that high she could already feel creeping closer. 

“Such a good girl, look at how perfect you look, fuck, I can’t wait to see you all done with my cock buried inside of you.” He rasped the words against her ear, forcing (y/n)’s hands to find his forearms to hold on, clawing her fingernails into his skin. She was close already, about to let go with his name rolling off her tongue as the fabric offered just enough friction to make her gasp. 

His name rolled off her tongue as she came, eyes squeezed shut, back arched, toes curled. Dean could only stare down at her, mesmerised by the sight he’d take to the grave, forever remembering the first time he made her cum. With his lips meeting hers again, he managed to rip her out of her hazy daze, forcing her hands to move as they tugged on his shirt. 

They parted for a moment, allowing Dean to get rid of his shirt and his trousers, while she mimicked his movements, undressing herself with trembling fingers. Her mind was racing, leaving her buzzing as it slowly began to dawn on her what was about to happen, that she was about to let the man she had hated for years fuck her. 

“Tell me you want this as much as I do. I won’t touch you otherwise.” Dean’s murmured words made a smile widen on her lips. Even though she struggled to reply, eyes and mind fully focused on his naked body, the muscles she wanted to kiss, the cock that grew harder with every passing second, she parted her swollen lips. 

“I want you, Dean, mark me up.” With his grin glued to his lips, he watched her reach for a condom, rolling it down his cock to draw a soft groan from him. They held eye contact as he positioned himself on top of her, letting his fingers brush through her dripping slit for a moment before finally pushing into her. 

Groans and moans left the two at the new sensation, with her walls fluttering around him and his cock disappearing further and further inside of her. Dean pressed his forehead against hers as a deep exhale left her as if she needed to relax, to tell herself that everything was alright. He moved slowly, careful at first, giving (y/n) enough time to adjust while their bodies kept meeting with every thrust. 

“Fuck, you feel so perfect.” Dean’s words drew a small chuckle out of (y/n). Her arms found their way around his neck, letting her fingernails scratch at his skin on their way up his neck. The second she found his roots to tug on them, Dean added more speed to his thrusts, set on leaving marks just like she had asked him to. 

She was about to moan his name, about to beg Dean to move faster, but the sound of her ringing phone forced her attention away from him. For a second, his pace began to falter, but then a smirk widened on his lips. 

“Who is it?” Her wide eyes found their way back to his. 

“The guy from the bar.” She was breathless, struggled to reply while a desperate whine left her. She needed Dean to move again, to push her closer to the edge with his cock buried deep inside of her. 

“Pick up.” Confusion was laced in her gaze as she watched Dean reach for the phone. He answered the call before he pushed it into her direction. They held eye contact as he began to move once again, fucking her even deeper than before.

“Hi, (y/n). I wanted to ask if you’re free tonight? I’d like to take you out for dinner.” (Y/n) struggled to stop her moans from leaving her, not wanting to give away what she and Dean were currently doing–even though Dean was clearly set on proving to the guy that she was now taken. 

“Hi, listen,” Dean’s thrust met her swollen spot the second she began speaking, drawing a moan from her she couldn’t bite down. Embarrassment was about to flush through her, widening her pupils while Dean’s smirk kept growing bigger. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

Another moan left her as Dean met that spot again and again, letting the phone fall from her hands while hoping that the guy would simply hang up. No longer could she care about anything but the way Dean fucked her, letting his fingers meet her pulsing bundle to give her the needed push. 

“Cum for me, baby.” His lips met hers as she came, swallowing her moans while he fucked her through the sensation. (Y/n)’s body was buzzing, trembling beneath Dean as he searched his own high with fast thrusts that left her whimpering. He came with a groan moments later, thrown over the edge. 

“Fuck, that was something.” His husky words left her chuckling. She watched him roll off her to get rid of the condom before finding his way back to her bed. Dean’s warmth engulfed her, his arms pulled her against his chest as he pressed a kiss to her hairline. 

“We still have to talk about all of this.” (Y/n) whispered words drew a hum from Dean, who found himself being pulled back into his hazy thoughts. 

“I’ll do whatever it takes to earn your forgiveness, I promise, sweetheart.” Her eyes flickered up to meet his, studying the unreadable expression he wore. 

“As long as you keep touching me like that I’m sure we’ll find a way.”

[ivybucky]

First Time - b.b. x gn!reader

Summary: You have a habit of calling people by cute nicknames or monikers, and Bucky isn't sure why it made him feel so good.

a/n: I'm breaking my hiatus finally!!! this is just a cute lil fic somewhat based on first time by hozier without the thought-provoking underlying angst. 1.9k

Content/Warnings: tfaws!Bucky, fluff, pining, tfaws fight scenes, zemo mention, multiple Sam appearances, references to fights/violence, use of y/n, use of the nickname doll when referring to the reader, friends to lovers? (let me know if i'm forgetting anything)

Masterlist

Believe it or not, Bucky Barnes tried to not think about his past. 

Though his efforts to make amends were a work-in-progress, and his name was brought up in the press more often than he preferred, Bucky Barnes tried to think about his past as little as possible. 

The first time you called him James was the first time he had liked the way it sounded. You had smiled at him, sweet and welcoming, as Sam introduced the two of you.

“It’s nice to meet you, James.” God, did it fall off your tongue in the nicest way. “Thank you for looking after birdbrain over here.” You giggled at Sam’s distant-sounding protest.

Bucky cracked a sideways smile, not being able to stop himself. “You can call me Bucky, doll.”

Your smile morphed into a sort of smirk, cheeks warming at the nickname he gave you. “Is that what you prefer?”

He hadn’t given it much thought anymore. He knew James as the person who enlisted in the military, the person who fell from the train following Captain America into the throws of war. James was the person who was Hydra’s plaything, the assassin, the monster he was so desperate to forget. Bucky was the charmer, the best friend of Steve Rogers, the swing dancer who had a habit of punching bullies(justified obviously). 

Now, he didn’t feel like either. Going by Bucky was the easiest option, since it was the part of him he was desperate to gain back. Talking to you however, he didn’t think he cared what he was called anymore. 

He gave you a soft grin, one that may have held a bit more meaning than flirtation. “I don’t mind either, you can call me whatever you want.”

—

The first time you called him by any kind of nickname was the day they went to Madripoor.

“Sammy! Buck!” You called their names as you waved big at them from the small airport hangar. 

Bucky tried to slow his heart as the pair walked closer to you. Sam let out a chuckle next to him, a teasing smile thrown his way. “Hope you don’t mind the extra company, Buck.”

With a frown and a grumble, Bucky widened his gait, the toe of his shoe catching on Sam’s, causing him to trip up momentarily. “Don’t call me that.”

He reached you first, allowing his smile wider further than before. “Hi Y/N, what’re you doin’ here?”

You placed a gentle hand on his left shoulder, rubbing back and forth. “It’s good to see you too,” you chuckled. “Sam told me what you guys are doing with Zemo. He thought I might be able to provide some kind of help, right Sam?”

Sam walked up with somehow both a smirk and scowl on his face and pulled you into a quick hug. “That’s right, though I might’ve invited you along so that I’m not the only one putting up with his old ass.”

Bucky scoffed, trying to ignore the lack of warmth from your otherwise occupied hands. “Are you sure about this, doll? This is probably gonna end with all of us on a watch list.”

You nudged his shoulder, your own smirk gracing your features. “As if I wasn’t on one already.”

The boys both chuckled, before Sam spoke up. “Speaking of watchlists, he’s here.”

Boarding the private jet that Zemo just happened to have, Bucky tried to keep his eyes on you the whole time, even as you sat in the leather seat between him and the window. 

“I’m sorry, I’m just fascinated by this - I don’t know what to call it,” your brows furrowed at the sentence, at the faint smirk that rested on Zemo’s face. “But this part seems important. Who is Nakajima?”

Bucky was out of his seat in an instant, metal fingers gripped tightly around his throat. Zemo’s face wiped itself of any amusement. Bucky spoke into his ear low and gruff, but it could easily be heard throughout the plane cabin. “You touch that again and I’ll kill you.” 

He snatched the notebook back into his and heavily sat back down into his seat, hand wound tight around the small journal

Your fingers reached across his lap and wrapped around his clenched metal fist, thumb rubbing soothingly over the back of his hand. “Just ignore him, sweetheart. You and I both know nothing that man says is worth anything.” 

Bucky looked down at your joined hands, then glanced up at you with a small smile. He gave your hand a couple of squeezes, and tried to focus back on the words being said throughout the rest of the plane ride. 

—

The first time you called him “baby” was during their fight with John Walker. 

Madripoor and Latvia had been filled with silent stares, small smiles, and soft words . Fleeting “friendly” touches ensued as well - Bucky’s hand on your back drawing small circles, your gentle grasp of his hand or arm when he clenched his fist.

Bucky talked to you about Yori, about his too soft mattress, about his too shitty of a therapist, his want to get a cat. You told him about meeting Sam, your agency background, your agreement that he should totally get a cat. And now, you just wished you could have that again.

Walker was too strong, landing solid hits on both Sam and Bucky that could easily start slowing them down. He had lifted the shield over their bodies too many times, clearly holding on to the same psychotic fury he had when he killed the Flagsmasher.

To this point, you stood frozen in watch. You weren’t there when the fight started, and between Sam and John’s current focus on Bucky, you weren’t sure which side needed the most aid.

John had flung Bucky into a nearby metal utility pole for Christ’s sake, and a cry wretched itself from your lips. You ran to his side as he laid on the ground unconscious, metal arm cackling with untamed electricity. 

“Bucky,” you murmured as you checked his spine for any breaks. You could hear his breath, as shuddered as it was after an impact like that. You moved him to lay on his back, palm pressed to his cheek. “Bucky, honey, come on, wake up.”

You tapped his cheek a couple of times in slight panic, other hand unconsciously combing his hair back. A couple of moments passed before he groaned and huffed out a cough. “Bucky,” you sighed a breath of relief, eyes near tearing up as the tension left your body. “Are you hurt, baby?”

He sat up with a grimace, another groan leaving his lips. “What the fuck?”

“He took the serum,” your hands had yet to leave his face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He looked up at you with a wincing smile, still bright enough to make your heart stutter. “I’m okay, sweetheart.” The red gracing your cheeks could be easily based on the intensity of the fight, but it was unsaid knowledge that wasn’t the case. He touched the hand holding his cheek as you swept a thumb back and forth. A grunt from the fight crashed them both back to reality. “He’s gonna kill Sam.”

You stood up, pulling him with you by his metal arm. Bucky swung his arm around to recalibrate before jogging forward. “We gotta get the shield. Be careful, don’t let him pin you.”

____

The first time you kissed him was in Louisiana. 

You giggled from the picnic table as you watched Bucky dodge Sam’s nephews, cake in hand, as they tried to tackle him for his arm, as well as when several of the children pleading to hang off of it.

He sat next to you on the bench of the table, shoulder pressing into yours as you basked in Sam and Sarah’s storytelling. Bucky shared some bittersweet stories about Steve, drawing smiles from everyone listening. Each laugh had you leaning into him a bit more, but a complaint could not be heard, especially when your hands brushed under the table.

The evening continued on like that into the early night. Bucky entertained the masses, looking a lot like the charmer he used to be. Sam reminisced with his community, taking many photos with his local family. 

You sat on the pier, leaning back against the wooden bench as the sun set over the water’s horizon. You could faintly hear laughter behind you on the dock mixed with the sound of the stereo’s music drifting over. A smile grew on your face as a presence made its way towards you, shoes scuffing against the wooden slats. A soft hand rested on your shoulder and sent warmth through your body. “Care for some company, doll?”

You flashed Bucky a smile that had him weak as you turned back to him and patted the space next to him. He sat down close, thigh pressed against yours, shoulder to shoulder yet again. 

“What’re you gonna do now, Buck? You think you’re gonna stick around?” 

He sighed, staring down at his metal hand in contempt. “I don’t know,” his hand clenched in his lap. “I’ve been following orders for a long time now. Might be good for me to work with someone, not for. Even if birdbrain has a habit of getting on my nerves.”

You reached across his lap and gently unfurled his fingers. He wished the pressure he felt against the metal was more tangible for once, more definitive. “You should do whatever makes you feel the most free, sweetheart.” You slipped both of your hands around his, rubbing small circles with your thumb. “Whether that be with Sam or doing something else. You deserve it.”

Bucky’s eyes drifted over your face and observed its features - the small smile that curled around your lips, the kindness in your eyes. “And what about you?” he spoke softly. “Will you stay?”

You looked up to him and searched his eyes with a hopeful grin. “Are you asking?” you chuckled, using one of your hands to comb his hair back behind his ear, thumb resting on his cheek. “If I’m needed, I’ll stay.”

Bucky puffed out a breath that he didn’t realize he was holding. “Well ya know,” he threw a bright smile in your direction. “Sam’s gonna need you here so he doesn’t lose his mind.”

You chuckled, leaning a little bit closer.  “And you? Do you need me?”

Bucky took in the space between you, the way your breaths mingled, foreheads near touching. “Yeah, baby,” he allowed himself to fully lean in. “I need you.”

You kissing him was like coming up for air, or finding water in the middle of the desert. It was salvation, it was required for him to have in order to survive. Your lips were soft, tasting faintly of the beer you had earlier. His mouth moved against yours like a magnet following them wherever they went. His hand drifted to your waist, moving you somewhat into his lap as you both smiled into the kiss. When you finally broke apart, it was only for the need for oxygen to fill your lungs. 

You giggled from above him, heads pressed together. Your hands locked themselves around his shoulders in an embrace that forced him to stay where he could feel the pant of your breath across his skin, not that he was complaining. “I guess I’ll stay then.”

Please reblog and comment! It's my first fic in *two fucking years* and i need to know that this is still good lol

[hollybell51]

Don't bet on it

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Castiel x AFAB!fem!Reader

Supernatural (2005)

Word count: 9.6K (I'm shocked too dw)

Summary: I have no idea how to describe this I'm so sorry it's just smut. There's also some morning-after shenanigans. Believe me if I could I would but thinking of a title was hard enough.

Content: Just... pretty much 9.6K words of shameless Cas smut because I love him. Only one bed, porn with a plot, friends to lovers (sort of), little bit of hurt/comfort and first aid (?), Cas is a bit of warning honestly. Smut: Cas is a virgin, first kiss, making out, hickeys, blowjob, handjob, vaginal sex, unprotected sex (yikes), fingering, very very light dirty talk, very loving very gentle sex, sharing a bed. Dean is a bit of an oblivious idiot, Sam is less oblivious.

Notes: I wrote this while trying to fall asleep at my friend's house and didn't proof read. I've also only known Cas for six episodes (almost seven), so most of the characterisation for him is based of gifsets, incorrect quotes, and other fanfics (so is the lore/plot because I'm not that far into the series yet but I was impatient so just ignore any mistakes or plot inconsistencies if you find them, although I did try). Hence it's probably bad. But oh well, this wouldn't leave my brain until I wrote it and like I said I'm impatient and also I'm a little bit proud of the smut alone and he's fucking hot I mean come on. Dean Winchester is a better man than me because god damn I would've jumped his bones the second he looked at me and I have no idea how he didn't. Be nice.

Cas was watching you. Again. It wasn’t like you minded, but something about his cool eyes following your movements from across the booth made butterflies swirl in your stomach. You were acutely aware of every single bubble in your glass of lemonade, every clink of the ice cubes, every slurpy noise it made through the straw you were sucking on. You probably looked a bit stupid, hunched over your drink and the plate that had contained your burger, the huge shirt you’d borrowed from Sam while the one you’d packed for yourself dried rolled up to your elbows, hanging off your shoulders way too much to ever be considered cute. Not that you wanted to look cute, and not that it mattered, but…

“There’s a pharmacy down the street,” Sam was saying. “They’d probably have more of that antiseptic, right?” 

There was a pause in which you snuck a glance at Cas. His gaze was fixed on the bubbles clustering on your straw, mildly interested as they formed and floated away, formed and floated, again and again in an endless cycle. You’d never found bubbles so fascinating, but now that you looked – and you knew he was looking too – there’d never been anything so beautiful. 

“(Y/N)?” 

Right, yeah, antiseptic. The cut on your shoulder seemed to itch at the thought, prickling under the carefully applied dressing. You’d done it on a barbed wire fence that had barred the entry to a nest of vampires, and a day later Sam was still worried it would get infected. It wasn’t exactly a clean cut – the fence had been filthy, and your assurance that yes, you were up to date with tetanus shots had stopped him driving you to a hospital. You appreciated the concern, but really, you were sure it would be fine. 

“Mhm,” you answered, leaning back in your seat. “D’you think it’ll still be open?” 

Beside you, Dean frowned, looking around for a clock. “It’s not that late, right?” 

“There’s an open sign in the window.” All eyes swung to Cas, who shrugged, pointing. “It’s lit up,” he added. 

“Oh, right,” you said faintly. “Thanks Cas.” 

He smiled, a tiny twitch of his lips that had no right to make your heart speed up as much as it did. “That’s ok.” 

You smiled back. Your face seemed determined to ignore your brain and grin like an idiot, and it was a damn struggle to keep it to a normal expression. 

“Right,” Sam said, clearing his throat and bursting the little bubble you could have sworn you’d been stuck in. You would have liked to stay there, where it was just Cas smiling at you. But no, you were being silly. 

“Right,” you echoed. There was a slightly awkward silence, in which you swirled your straw around idly, watching Cas watch the movement of ice cubes and bubbles. When you’d first met him, you hadn’t really believed he was an angel. He seemed so… ordinary. Shabby, even. But the longer you were around him, the surer you’d become that he was the real deal. Strange, not what you’d expected at all, but a real honest-to-goodness angel nonetheless. Even now that he was human, there was still definitely something otherworldly in Cas. Something that, despite the grime and rust of the lives all four of you lead, was almost pure, precious to you, and a little unnerving all at once. 

“Do you want some?” you asked, gesturing to your drink. 

Cas’s eyes snapped up, almost guiltily. 

You smiled. “Lemonade.” 

He nodded slowly.

“Here.” You pushed the glass across the table, leaning your chin on your hands and watching as he moved the straw around, then sipped it. You’d been having way too much fun plying him with new things to taste, since food now actually tasted like… food. As opposed to molecules. Apparently. 

He wrinkled his nose, drawing back and staring at the glass. Then he leaned forward again and took another sip. There was something in his near-childlike wonder that made your heart ache, the appearance of innocence and naivety so profound that it was hard to remember he was – had been – a soldier. A divine soldier of God. Watching him made you want to reach across the table and just… Well, you didn’t know what it made you want to do. Grab him, maybe? It didn’t matter. 

“Any good?” Dean asked, watching Cas mildly. 

“It’s very sweet,” he reported. “And sticky.” 

Despite yourself, you laughed. 

Cas surveyed you, then gave another of those little smiles you’d come to treasure. He took another sip, his eyes never leaving your face. 

You cleared your throat, suddenly hyper aware of exactly where you were and what you were supposed to be doing. Not staring at – “mooning over” Dean had teasingly called it not even three days ago, a thought that still plagued you – Cas, that was for sure. You slid out of the booth, since you were the one who needed the antiseptic and you were on the edge. “I’ll go across, meet you back at the hotel.” 

“You sure?” Sam asked, watching as you dropped some money on the table. Enough to cover your burger and a small portion of the tip. 

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry.” You turned towards Cas, shooting him a small smile. He looked a little confused, and you couldn’t deny the pang of guilt that tugged at your insides. “You can finish that off,” you told him, “if you want.” 

“Thankyou,” he said after a moment. 

“Yeah, sure.” You nodded to Sam and Dean, the former of whom was staring between you and Cas with a look of what could only be described as incredulity plastered across his face. You were going to ignore it, you decided. “Seeya later,” you said, and left. 

You stood before the motel room, shopping bag in hand, staring at Sam’s text. Had he and Dean done this deliberately? Was this some kind of conspiracy between the two of them? 

“Room 09,” the message read, “you’re sharing with Cas.” And then, shortly after; “Don’t worry, it’s a double.” 

Well, you thought, at least you wouldn’t have to share a bed, and at least you wouldn’t have to deal with the guilt of Cas taking the couch – even though he insisted he didn’t mind, and refused to let you do it. 

Just as you raised your hand to knock, the door swung open and there stood the former angel, still in his beige trench coat, tie and all. He hadn’t even taken his shoes off. 

“Hi,” you said, slightly breathless. There was something stupidly endearing about the way he just stood there, looking at you. 

“Hi,” he repeated. “Do you want to come in?” 

“Uh, yeah.” Awkwardly, you squeezed past him into the dully lit room, switching on the light with your elbow. Had he just been sitting in here by himself, in the dark? You hoped not, but at the same time, it was exactly the sort of thing you could imagine him doing. 

You deposited your groceries – the antiseptic, a new packet of dressings, painkillers, and a twix you’d grabbed at the counter. You’d figured you could share it with whoever your roomie was, and now you were glad you’d had that foresight. You turned, surveyed the room, then did a double take. Surely not. There had to be something you were missing. 

But no, on closer inspection, your eyes were not deceiving you. There was only one bed. A double bed, sure, but still only one bed. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you muttered, already reaching for your phone. 

“What’s wrong?” Cas asked, a concerned wrinkle appearing between his brows. 

“Sam said this was a double,” you told him. 

“It is.” 

“Yeah, but there’s only one bed. I always feel bad kicking you to the couch.” 

“I don’t mind. And besides,” he added, “you’ve never kicked me.” 

“No it’s–” you broke off, catching his smile. “Yeah, alright” 

The smile widened. He was a little too proud of himself for your liking. 

You looked away, hoping to hide your own grin as you dialled Sam’s number. “You said it was a double,” you accused before he could even greet you. 

“Yeah, hi to you too,” he snorted. “It is.” 

“There’s only one bed, Sam. Does your room have only one bed?” 

“No, we’ve got two singles.” 

“Lucky you,” you practically spat. “Now I’m gonna have to live with the guilt of knowing Cas is on the couch.” 

“So?” You could almost hear the frown in Sam’s voice. “He doesn’t mind.” 

“I know, but–” 

“Share the bed with him if it bothers you that much,” he cut you off. In the background, Dean was saying something. Sam shushed him. “I’m sure he’d be happy to.” 

“What’s that supposed to–” 

He interrupted you again, all too cheerful. “You’ll sort it out.” 

You stared at the phone, “call ended” flashing up at you. “Fuck you, Sam,” you sighed. 

By the door, Cas frowned. “Is something the matter?” 

“No,” you sighed again, grabbing the dressings and antiseptic and taking a seat on the end of the singular bed. Through the gap in the curtains, the sky was darkening from the pale purple it had been at the diner to a deep indigo. “Just… Sam.” 

Cas nodded solemnly, as if he knew exactly what you meant. 

You tried not to pay too much attention to him as you unbuttoned Sam’s shirt, sliding it down off your shoulder to bare the current dressing. You’d had it on all that day and the night before, so you figured it was time to change it. Gently, you peeled back the adhesive, hissing as the air brushed over the cut. It wasn’t as bad as it had been, mostly scabbed over and less raw-looking than when you’d first applied the dressing, but it was still tender. It was awkward to reach too, running from your shoulder along your collarbone, stopping just shy of the centre of the sternum. Stupid, you’d cursed yourself when you’d done it, and you cursed yourself again now. 

“Would you like some help?” 

You looked up, meeting Cas’s eyes. Soundlessly, he’d crossed the room and was now standing directly in front of you. 

He gestured to the cut. “It looks hard to reach.” 

“Uh, yeah, it is.” You shifted over, making room for him beside you. “Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome.” He sank down beside you, his weight tilting you towards him. Your stomach lurched. 

Determinedly dismissing it, you turned slightly to face him, one leg dangling off the side of the bed, the other folded under you. Almost immediately you wished you hadn’t done it, because now all you could see was him, bent over you, his face impassive and focused to a fault. 

He took the antiseptic from you, gently dabbing it along the edges of the scab. 

“Is that alright?” he asked when you gasped softly. 

“Mhm,” you nodded. “Just… stings a little.” 

Guilt flashed across his face. “Oh, I’m sorry.” 

“No, no, it’s not you. You’re fine,” you assured him. “It’s the antiseptic, it’s normal.” 

“Should I keep going?” 

You nodded, your heart racing. His skin was cool where it brushed yours, the shitty lighting somehow playing tricks with the colours in his eyes, making them appear even more startlingly blue than usual. Those eyes were fixed on your cut, like it was the only thing that mattered in the world. 

“I wish you’d taken me with you,” he said as he reached for a dressing pad. 

“Hm?” You frowned, unsure what he meant. You’d gone alone, which wasn’t why you’d fumbled crossing the fence, but it certainly hadn’t helped. Sam and Dean had been after a demon in the next town over – it took precedence over vampires, you all knew that – and Cas had been with them. You’d been convinced you’d be alright to tackle such a small nest, it was only three, barely a nest at all, and had insisted on it. But still, you’d been a bit more wired than usual, and that was probably to blame for your bungled entrance. It didn’t matter now, you were fine. They were dead. 

He shrugged, smoothing the dressing over your skin more gently than you’d ever thought possible. “On the hunt. I wish you’d taken me with you.” 

“Nah,” you shook your head, trying to dispel the ache his action caused inside you. “You had other stuff on. You don’t need to be wasting time running after a nest of vampires, demons take priority.” You smiled. “You’ve got more to worry about than a silly little hunter who can’t jump fences.”

Cas looked up, that little wrinkle reappearing on his forehead. “That’s not true,” he said, “I’ll always have time for you. I’ll always worry about you.” 

You froze, taken aback by the… intimacy of the words. You’d mentioned before that you liked when people just said what they meant (“Even if it hurts you?” he’d asked, frowning. You’d said that you’d rather that than be left searching for double meanings and hidden clues, and he’d seemed to find that acceptable.), and since then he’d indulged you in that regard. But this felt different, it felt more real than anything he’d ever said to you before. He’d always have time for you, he worried about you. 

“Really?” you asked. “You mean that?” 

He nodded, his eyes sincere where he held your gaze. There was something here, you knew, something tingling in the air between you. You’d half thought you were imagining things when you noticed him looking at you. You’d chalked it up to him being, well, Cas, and hadn’t allowed yourself to dwell too long on the glimmer of hope that it was more than that. And he’d been an angel for Pete’s sake; divine, untouchable, totally out of your reach. But here, now, with his hand resting where it had settled on your thigh and his face inches from yours, the dimness of the motel somehow illuminating every dancing fleck of colour in his eyes, every beautiful shadow and line on his – human – face, you weren’t ignoring it any longer. 

His voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke. “You’re important to me, (Y/N).” 

Oh. Oh. There it was.

He was still looking at you, but there was a hint of what you would have said was nervousness, maybe apprehension, mixed with the sincerity and lingering concern in his eyes. It was so… raw. You felt strangely vulnerable, while at the same time like you were seeing something you weren’t supposed to. 

Involuntarily, your eyes flicked down to his lips, your breath hitching in your chest. Fuck it, you thought, then closed the few inches of space between you and pressed your lips to his. 

He was completely motionless, and for a wild moment you were convinced you’d grossly misread something and had just made a massive mistake. Then it was like he was coming to life beneath you, pushing back against you, his lips parting under yours, his free hand finding its place cupping your cheek. His mouth was soft, impossibly soft. His tongue, when you brushed against it with your own, tasted like your lemonade. 

It was near dead silent in the room, the ticking of the clock on the wall and the distant thrumming of traffic outside the only noises. Then, as you slid your hand up over his leg, fingers squeezing gently at his thigh, Cas made a sound. 

It was halfway between a sigh and moan, tiny and restrained, and you could feel him hesitate in the kiss. This is new, it said. This is nice. You let your lips curve into the smile they’d been trying to, squeezing again. It’s alright, you told him with your hand, you’re alright. 

You drew back momentarily, sucking a quick breath as Cas chased you, his hand on the back of your neck pulling you closer and closer and closer and closer and impossibly closer until your chest met his. Then you were shifting into his lap, swinging your leg over his and straddling his hips like it was the most natural thing in the world. And maybe it was. It sure felt like it. 

“Cas,” you breathed, breaking away properly this time and raising your hands to cup his face. “Castiel.” 

“Hm?”

You moved your thumb in a soft arc over his cheekbone, smiling as he closed his eyes and leaned into your touch. His lips found your hand, peppering your palm and wrist with featherlight kisses. 

“Can I?” you asked, reluctantly freeing a hand to push at the trench coat he was still wearing. 

He looked up, frowning. “What?” 

“Take it off,” you whispered, then heat rose in your cheeks. “If you want to, of course. If you want this. You don’t have to.” 

He shook his head, pulling back to shrug off the heavy piece of clothing. The blazer followed. He loosened his tie, then seemed to think for a moment before undoing it altogether. It was the first time you’d seen him without it, and he looked… different. Unguarded, almost. Then he was reaching up and unfastening the buttons of his shirt, torturously slowly. He paused, meeting your eyes. 

“Is this alright?” he asked. 

You smiled, nodding. You’d been staring, you realised, watching his deft fingers work at the material so intently that you hadn’t been thinking about what would show on your face. You took over, finishing off the last few fastenings and pushing the shirt back off his shoulders. You didn’t know what you’d expected his body to look like. You’d had the vague notion that it would be nice, that it would somehow match the rest of him, and you hadn’t been wrong, but now that he was in front of you that same disconcerting feeling of unearthliness haunted the back of your mind. This was Cas, Castiel, and that made it somehow hallowed – irony aside. 

“Are you alright?” He was peering up at you, apprehensive. 

You nodded. “Are you?”  

He echoed your gesture, his fingers running along the collar of your own shirt. A question, a request, testing the waters. 

Careful of your still-tender shoulder, you reached for the hem of your shirt and pulled it smoothly over your head, then undid your bra and cast it to the side. Cas’s eyes snapped to your chest, interest and a sort of hunger mixing on his face. Hesitantly, slowly, his hand inched up your waist to your ribs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. He paused. 

“It’s ok,” you breathed. When he still seemed wary, you reached down and took his hand in your own, guiding it to your breast and giving a gentle squeeze. His breath hitched, his tongue darting out between his lips. 

“I’m…” he broke off, swallowing hard. He shifted, a hard bulge pressing against your thigh. You smiled.

“Hm?” 

“I’m… I’m kind of…” He stopped again, floundering. 

“It’s alright, Cas. You’re alright.” 

He looked up, something close to nervousness dancing across his face. “I haven’t done this before,” he whispered. “I don’t know…” 

Oh. Right. Why hadn’t you thought of that? It made sense, you supposed. Despite Dean’s best efforts, Cas hadn’t picked up the other guy’s… habits, at least not yet. You’d wondered about it briefly before coming to the conclusion that it had to be an angel thing, a choice on his behalf. You knew some people didn’t want that with just anyone, which you could understand. What you couldn’t understand was a world where nobody was interested in Cas, but then again, you might have been biassed. 

You bit your lip. “Do you want to? It’s ok if you don’t.” 

“I do,” he said, his hand still resting on your chest. “I really do, (Y/N). But I don’t know… what to do.” 

“I’ll help you,” you assured him, affection blooming in your gut. And alongside it, an odd sort of pride. Cas was trusting you here, enough to admit he didn’t know what to do. It was more than any guy you’d ever been with had been willing to give away. 

“We’ll go slow,” you continued. “You tell me what you like, what feels good. If you wanna stop, you say so, ok?” 

He nodded. 

You took his face in your hands again, running your fingers over the rough stubbled coating his jaw. “Can I touch you?” 

“Please,” he murmured. 

You trailed your hand down his neck, along his collar bone, over his chest. His skin was soft, smooth. It wasn’t scarred like Dean or Sam’s or your own, and suddenly you wondered if that was somehow a turn off for him. He’d been an angel, immortal, eternal, unblemished even now. If he hadn’t done this before, or even if he had with a normal human, he probably wouldn’t have encountered the kind of skin a hunter such as yourself possessed. Would it bother him? 

Then his chest heaved under your hand, the flesh twitching as your touch crept lower, sideways, up again, mapping the expanse of his torso. He moaned softly as you pressed a gentle kiss to his temple, fingers splayed over his heart. Again, you swept down the centre of his body, all thoughts of your own imperfections dashed from your mind as you revelled in the little hums of pleasure you were coaxing from him. 

Carefully, slowly, you inched lower. You passed his belly button, the light trail of hair that led down from it, finally encountering his belt buckle. You paused, tracing aimless patterns over the skin just above the waistline of his pants, pushing your fingers below the material after a moment. 

“Is this alright?” you asked, watching his face. His eyes were closed, his lips slightly parted, cheeks flushed. 

“Mhm,” he sighed. “Yes.” 

You smiled. God, he was beautiful. “You wanna take ‘em off?” 

At that, his eyes snapped open, the pupils so wide they almost obscured the blue of his irises. “My pants?” he asked. 

You nodded. “You don’t have to, but…” You ran your hand lightly over the increasingly noticeable bulge you could feel. “I can touch you? Here.” 

He stared. “Do you want to?” 

You gave a little huff of laughter, nodding. “Only if you do. I can keep touching you other places if you want, I can kiss you…” You stopped as he deftly reached down and undid his belt, button and fly in one fluid motion, lifting his hips momentarily and kicking off his pants. It was very fast, impressively smooth. And underneath… 

Your mouth watered at the sight. The outline of his cock straining against his underwear, a small wet patch already forming. You usually didn’t indulge the mantra of “bigger is better”, especially not when it came to penises, but there was no denying that your pussy was already aching at the thought of the stretch Cas’s would cause. Not that it was a behemoth, far from it, but he was certainly well endowed.

His voice snapped you from your reverie, jerking your gaze away from his dick and back to his face. “Is that…” he paused, searching your gaze anxiously. “Is it alright?” 

Your heart melted. “Oh, Cas,” you sighed. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect. Just perfect.” 

A sound that could only be described as whine slipped from his still kiss-bruised lips, sending a bolt of heat shooting down your spine to pool between your legs. Before the request had formed on your tongue, he shed his underwear too, leaving himself bare to you. 

“Have you touched yourself?” you asked, jerking your gaze from his cock. Fuck, you’d never wanted to lay hands on a dick more in your life. 

Cas looked away for a moment. “No,” he said. “Should I have?” 

You shook your head. “It’s up to you. I’d like to, if you’re ok with it.”

“Touch me?” 

“Mhm.”  

He opened his mouth, closed it again, then nodded.

“Ok.” Dammit, you thought. If this was his first time, you wanted him to feel good. Would he tell you if he didn’t? You thought he would, he was always honest when you asked him to be, and he clearly wanted this. But it was that same want that made you wonder if he’d just keep going no matter what, and you didn’t want that. 

You quickly spat into your hand, stretching up, placing a kiss on the corner of his mouth. Then, on second thoughts, you licked softly at his bottom lip. His breath rushed against your skin, the kiss hot and messy and barely even a kiss at all. It was more you licking into Cas’s mouth, Cas experimenting with his tongue in yours. After a few tries he found a rhythm, soft and supple, gentle and careful. Wonderful. 

It was then that you reached down with your spit-lubed hand, wrapping your fingers around his throbbing length, coating the whole thing with moisture. There was already a little precum beading on the tip, and you used that too, your hand sliding easily. The skin here was smooth too, apart from the thick veins and swell of the head, the slit that you ran your thumb over, causing Cas to moan – really moan – into your mouth.

“Like this?” you murmured, moving your kisses away from his lips, over his stubble-roughed jaw, down to his neck. You sucked gently at the hollow under his jaw bone, hot and wet, leaving a red mark behind. You moved further down, over his jugular, more and more hickeys blossoming in your wake. 

“Ah, (Y/N), yes–” Cas gasped. “Oh, just like that, please.” 

You hummed softly, his breathlessness coupled with the words themselves like fog clouding your mind. All you wanted was more. More of his ragged voice, more of the desperate pleading, more of his hips jerking up into your hand and as your fingers slid smoothly over his cock. Your mouth paused at the base of his throat, made more apparent by the strain in his neck – the Plender gap, you thought it might have been called. You could vaguely picture that word with an arrow pointing to the spot on a medical diagram, although you weren’t sure why – and sucked a particularly dark hickey into the skin there. His collar would cover it in the morning. 

His hand, which had been flitting about your waist, suddenly found its way to your hair. His fingers tangled in it, pulling your head back up so he could kiss you again. You smiled, your own free hand squeezing at his thigh just as you had before. 

He moaned again, deep in the back of his throat, the sound reverberating through your whole body. How had you waited this long? If you’d known it’d be like this, you’d have jumped his bones the second you laid eyes on him. Hell, you’d wanted to. 

“Can I use my mouth?” you asked between kisses – they still weren’t really kisses by any stringent definition, too messy for that. 

“You are, hm, using your mouth,” Cas pointed out. 

You laughed. It was so… matter of fact. “I mean down here,” you explained, giving his dick a gentle squeeze. “I can keep doing this if you want, but…” 

“But?”

“I wanna taste you, Cas,” you smiled. 

His mouth fell open, his cheeks colouring. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said he was new to this, you supposed. “Taste me?” 

“Mhm,” you nodded, ducking forward to nip at his lip. “Wanna feel you in my mouth, wanna choke on your cock. I’ll make you feel so good, Cas, I promise.” 

“(Y/N).” His voice was even more gravelly than usual, roughened by the raw desire glinting in his eyes. 

“Mhm?” 

“Are you sure?” 

“That’s sweet,” you laughed again. “I’m sure, Cas. Remember you can stop me whenever you want, though, yeah?” 

“Yeah, alright.” 

“Alright?” 

He kissed you again, more gently and with more precision than before, then nodded. “Go ahead.” 

You felt a grin break across your face, your mouth already watering. You didn’t waste time, giving Cas a quick peck on the cheek before sliding off the edge of the bed and kneeling between his legs, your arms resting comfortably on his thighs. You ignored the slight pull of your cut, taking his cock once more in your hand and pumping it gently, once, twice, three times before you lowered your head and kissed the tip. 

Cas’s stomach twitched, his hand going once more to your hair as his breath caught in his throat. 

“Alright?” you asked, your own breath ghosting over the sensitive area, raising goosebumps. 

“Yes,” he sighed. “Keep going?” 

You smiled. “Magic word?” 

“Please,” he practically growled. 

Alright then. You slid your lips over him, relaxing your mouth as you sank as far down his length as you could. What wouldn't fit in your mouth was taken care of by one hand, the other busy holding his hips down. He nearly whined when you moved, bobbing your head back and forth slowly at first, but faster by the minute. 

“Oh,” he panted, “oh, (Y/N), yes–” 

“Good?” you mumbled, but it didn’t come out sounding like the original word at all. Still, Cas seemed to get the point.  

“So good, feels so good. You feel so good, (Y/N), you have no idea.” 

The praise went straight to your panties, pooling with the rest of the hot wetness that had been gathering steadily. You’d wanted to take your time, be as careful and gentle as he’d been with you. But now, breathing in the smell of him, feeling the weight and the heat of him, you were losing your composure. 

“Oh,” he whispered again as you sped up, your hand moving in tandem with your mouth. He dick was slick with your spit and only getting messier, the saltiness of his precum mixing with the lingering sweetness of your lemonade. 

You moaned, the vibrations jolting Cas’s hips despite his best efforts to stay still, as well as your hand attempting to hold him down. You gave a tiny huff of laughter out your nose, lowering your head even further until the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat, relaxing completely. 

“(Y/N),” he panted. “(Y/N).” 

“Hm?” You glanced up at him, your eyes watering slightly. He made a sound you’d thought only existed in pornos as his fingers tightened in your hair. 

“You look… ah, so…” He paused, the words choked by another moan as your tongue swirled around his cock. “So beautiful.” 

For the second time, your heart felt like it was melting in your chest. You smiled, your enthusiasm doubling. You were gonna make him cum in your mouth, you were determined. And after that – if he wanted, of course – you’d spread your legs for him and let him fuck you senseless. 

He was close, he was so damn close, cock twitching and fingers clutching desperately at you despite his best attempts to be gentle. “I’m–” He broke off, gasping. “So much, (Y/N), it’s so much.” 

You wondered if you should stop, if you should pull back and ask if he was ok. If he’d never done this before and hadn’t touched himself either, it was unlikely that he’d ever experienced an orgasm. Maybe you should reassure him. You ran your free hand down his thigh, squeezing gently. It’s alright, you tried to say with the gesture, hoping he’d understand. I’ve got you, you’re alright. 

Then he was groaning deeply, his head thrown back and his eyes closed, thighs shaking under you and hot saltiness shooting down your throat. His skin shone with sweat, his chest heaving, his hand gripping your hair so tight it almost – almost – hurt. But it couldn’t have, not when your throat was working to swallow every drop of what he was giving you, not when he looked so beautiful laid out bare above you, not when you could see the pure, raw pleasure painted on his face. 

As gently as you could, you drew back and licked him clean. You rested your head on his thigh, placing a soft kiss there, then drew back and sat, waiting. 

Finally, Cas opened his eyes and looked at you. He took in your swollen lips, the flush you could feel dusting your cheeks, the tears that had leaked from your eyes, the bird’s nest that was your hair. And he smiled, reaching out a hand to help you up. 

“Are you alright?” you asked, settling back on the bed beside him. You took his hands, holding them close to you. “It wasn’t… too much?” 

“It was wonderful,” he said solemnly. Then he looked away. “Can I…”

“Yeah?” you prompted. “Can you…?” 

He turned back, meeting your eyes. “I want to make you feel like that, too.” 

Your stomach did a flip. “Oh.” 

“Will you show me?” Cas’s eyes searched yours, curious and sincere. And how the hell could you say no to him?

You nodded, unbuttoning your pants and casting them off – admittedly with much less grace and efficiency than Cas. After a moment’s hesitation you did the same to your underwear, dropping them carelessly over the edge of the bed. You could hunt for them in the morning. 

He was watching you the whole time, eyes following every movement you made in that way that was so him. You’d been unnerved by it before you’d gotten to know him, but now it just turned you on. 

Slowly, hesitantly, he reached out and ran his hand over your stomach, up, up, up until he reached your breast. He didn’t stop as he had before, his thumb skimming your hard nipple, making you suck in a harsh breath. 

“Is this alright?” he asked. 

You nodded. “Mhm.” 

“What about this?” He slid lower, past your belly button to where your leg joined your hip. It sent tingles running through your whole body. 

“Mhm.” 

“This?” Lower still, over your thigh, along the inside of it, so close to where you wanted him most. 

“Yeah, Cas, you don’t have to ask.” 

“I want you to feel–” 

You stopped him with a kiss, brief and gentle. “Whatever you do is gonna feel great, ok?” 

“But I’m–” 

“Cas.” 

He fell silent when you placed your hand on his face, leaning into your touch. 

“Don’t worry,” you whispered. “I’m gonna help you, remember?”

He nodded, leaning forwards to press his lips against yours. He was getting pretty good at kissing, you noted. Not that he’d been bad when you’d started, but he’d figured out what worked with you. 

“Show me,” he urged, the hand that had been tracing over your leg finding yours. “Show me where to touch you.” 

This is it, you thought as he drew back, watching where his fingers twined with your own. He had officially smashed apart your standards for all men – and former angels – with just six words. You did as he asked, drawing his hand down between your legs to your now practically drenched pussy. 

“Here,” you murmured, a little shock going through you as your fingers brushed your clit. 

Cas’s eyes were wide, the pleasure-haze from his orgasm all but gone now. “Here?” he confirmed, pressing gently at the stiff little bundle of nerves. 

“Yes,” you gasped, your voice much less steady than you’d have liked. 

“Like this?” He slid his finger in a careful circle around it, his eyes never leaving your face. 

“Yes, Cas, just like that.” 

He did it again, then again and again. You sucked a harsh breath through your teeth, your hips twitching involuntarily. 

“Fuck,” you moaned. “Fuck, Cas.” 

“Is this alright?” he asked mildly. 

“More than alright,” you half laughed, half panted. You broke off in another moan as he moved his hand, sliding the tips of his fingers around your hole, his palm pressing against your clit. You briefly wondered if he was doing it deliberately or just experimenting, and if he’d heard something about how to finger girls somewhere. If so, you wanted to know where. But, you thought a moment later, who really cared when it felt so damn good? 

“Can I?” he murmured, watching your face carefully. 

“Yeah,” you nodded frantically. “Yeah, go ahead— please.” The word was torn from you in a way that made colour bloom over Cas’s face as he pushed his finger into you. The heel of his hand was still pressing on your clit, and you ground down on it in a desperate search for friction as he added another finger, your own fingers digging into his shoulders and your breath coming in short gasps. 

“Am I…” he started, then swallowed. “Is this good?” 

“So fucking good,” you replied. “How the fuck are you so good at this?” It was ridiculous, unfair. Most dudes who’d tried had lamely poked at you until you’d given up trying to show them and just moaned loudly, leaving them to grin smugly, convinced they’d made you cum. Cas, however, was well on his way to conjuring the real thing. 

He looked away for a moment, a small satisfied smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Good, you thought. He should be satisfied, he was fucking phenomenal. “I’m not sure,” he said. 

It was your turn to smile. “Well you are,” you said simply. Then he moved his hand again and all you could think was fuck, because he really was incredible. He was kissing your neck, sucking at the spot where it met your shoulder, his other hand resting on your hip as you rocked against him, his own soft moans mixing with yours.

And God, you wanted him to fuck you. 

“Hold on,” you panted. Much as his fingers were doing it for you, you couldn’t fight the shiver the thought of his cock buried inside you sent down your spine. 

Cas froze immediately. 

“No, no, it’s ok,” you assured him quickly. “I wanna try something else.” 

“Is this not–” 

“You’re doing great,” you interrupted. “I promise. But…” As before, you slid your hand gently down to palm at the already half-formed erection sitting between his legs. 

Cas frowned.

“Would you like to fuck me?” you asked tentatively. You hated how unsure you sounded, how small. 

His eyebrows shot halfway up his face. 

“Only if you want to,” you added quickly. But from the way his dick had visibly hardened at your words, you guessed he probably did. So, you continued, “I’d like it if you did.” 

Again, his tongue darted out over his lips. His voice was husky when he spoke. “I’d like it too.” 

“Ok, what are we waiting for?” You smiled, shuffling backwards and easing yourself back on the bed. When you saw that Cas wasn’t following, you reached over and took his hand, dragging him down on top of you. “Come on,” you encouraged. 

He gave a little “oof” as he crashed against you, quickly propping himself up above you. It looked uncomfortable. 

“Relax,” you said, wriggling into the mattress and running your hands over his arms and shoulders. “It’s alright.” 

“I don’t want to squash you.” 

You smiled, pulling at him to come closer. “You won’t, don’t worry.” 

“How do you know?” 

“I just do. Besides, I wouldn’t mind.” 

He snorted indignantly. “I would. Then whose lemonade would I steal?” 

You laughed at that. Castiel, former divine soldier of God, joking about stealing your lemonade while he was about to fuck you. If you’d gone back and told yourself from a year ago, she’d have slapped you in the loony bin. “You could just order your own,” you pointed out. 

“I could,” he conceded. “But I will not.” 

“Ok, I don’t mind.” You stretched up, capturing his lips with your own and drawing him down towards you. What you’d said was true, he really didn’t need to worry about squashing you. You liked the warm weight of him, the firmness and certainty that his body pressed against yours brought, his arms caging you to the bed. 

You smiled as his tongue slid along your bottom lip, opening your mouth almost immediately. Yeah, he knew what he was doing now. You hooked your leg over his, pulling his hips hard against your own. You were still tingling, still electrified with want and need from having deprived yourself of his fingers just minutes before, and almost without your conscious awareness you ground against him.

You swallowed the little moan that slipped from his mouth, rubbing your wetness over his hard cock. 

“(Y/N),” he gasped, breaking the kiss, his hips moving in time with yours. 

“Cas,” you echoed, equally as breathless. “Please?” 

He swallowed, his eyes dark. 

“I want you inside me,” you continued. “Please, Cas, I need you inside me. Now.” 

He cursed softly, so softly the only thing you caught was the tone. You wondered what angels cursed by. Not God, surely. But it didn’t matter, because he was taking himself in hand and lining up at your entrance, looking at you for permission. “Here?” he asked. 

You nodded. “Yeah, go ahead.” 

Gently, so gently, he pushed inside you. You gave a little whimper that might have been embarrassing in any other situation at the stretch, the delicious feeling of being filled up completely by him. Cas, on the other hand, didn’t make a sound. He wasn’t even breathing, just staring at the place where your body swallowed his, his eyes wide. 

“Hey,” you said softly, smiling at him when his eyes met yours. “You alright down there?” 

“Yes,” he whispered, running a hand reverently over your stomach. His fingers brushed over your scars, some silver, some a newer pale pink. Your earlier doubts fluttered to the front of your mind, but you determinedly pushed them away. Now was not the time. 

“You can move,” you told him, rocking your hips gently against his by way of demonstration. Then, “Please?” 

He nodded, one hand resting on your hip as he pulled out a little, sliding smoothly back in. He hummed quietly, did it again, then again and again and again, finding his rhythm. It was good, it was as gentle as everything else, firm enough to pull at that special place deep in your belly, steady and decisive. Most of all, it was Cas. Cas fucking you, Cas’s cock sending spasms of heat through your body, Cas’s hand steadying himself and you, Cas’s lovely gravelly voice mumuring your name. 

He leant further over you, bending his head to place a wet, open-mouthed kiss to the cut-free side of your collar bone, following it with another, more forceful one, then more until you were sure you looked like someone had spilt wine over your chest. You supposed it was only fair, given how many love bites you’d showered him with.  

“Shit, Cas,” you whispered, your hand coming up to run over the back of his head, fingers carding through his mussed-up hair. You’d always wanted to fix it, stroke it down, maybe make it worse. When you’d first met him you’d gone so far as to tell him to his face that it was “un-angelic”. He’d been amused by that. 

Now, he groaned against your skin. You smiled to yourself, stroking his scalp again and coaxing another wonderful little moan. You curled your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, lifting your hips off the mattress in time with his thrusts. His breath fanned over your neck, the muscles of his arm taut. 

“I’m so close,” you whispered, and you were. The tightness was building in your stomach, coiling and swirling into a dense knot of pleasure. Every movement Cas made had his pelvis hitting your clit, the bedhead hitting the wall behind it – you briefly felt bad for the next room’s residents – and Cas’s cock hitting deep inside you. The only sounds were the squeaking of the mattress – again, you felt bad – and the wet slap of skin on skin, peppered with your combined moans and sighs. 

“Fuck, Cas,” you gasped, your voice rising in pitch as you spiralled closer, closer… “Oh, shit, fuck, oh my God, Cas, Cas, I’m gonna cum, holy shit I’m gonna– Castiel!” 

You let go, your eyes screwed tightly shut, spine arching off the bed as the bomb inside you exploded. Sparks fizzed through your veins, every muscle in your body clenching as stars speckled your vision and you cried Cas’s name over and over like some kind of mantra. 

He hadn’t stopped, in fact he’d sped up, and when your mind finally crashed back into your body his hips were stuttering, his face buried in your neck. He spilled inside you, hot and thick as it had been in your mouth, a deep groan thrumming through you from where his lips still rested on your chest. He stilled after a moment, still holding most of his weight off you despite your arms wrapped around his back, whispering your name like it was a prayer. 

You wriggled sideways, smiling as he went limp and flopped down beside you. Well, sort of beside you. His head and the better part of his shoulders still rested over your chest, his lips ghosting over you in feather light kisses, his hand running up and down your arm. 

“We should get cleaned up,” you whispered after a moment. 

“Hm?” 

“Clean up,” you repeated. “We’re all sticky.” 

“Oh,” was all he said. Then, “alright then.” 

You extricated yourself, squeezing his shoulder gently as you rose and headed for the bathroom. You debated pulling him into the shower with you, but as your eyes settled on the folded washcloth by the sink you scrapped that idea. This would be quicker and easier, and you were tired, dammit. There’d be other opportunities — at least you hoped there would be. 

You wiped yourself down, turning to find Cas standing in the doorway. The flickering yellow neon strip of illumination above the mirror cast weird shadows over his body, still shining with exertion. Beautiful, even with the medley of hickeys on his neck and the mess of his and your cum around his crotch. 

You beckoned him closer, spongeing away the sweat and other spunk coating his skin. Occasionally you’d look up, without fail meeting his eyes. The usual interest had been replaced with something more; something whole and warm and just for you. The thought made your heart skip a beat. 

When you were finished, you stretched up and kissed him again, just once. Then you took his hand, heading back towards the bed. 

He hesitated, and you turned. He was looking at the couch, indecision marring his face. 

“What’s wrong?” you asked. 

“I assumed you’d want the bed to yourself,” he shrugged. “You usually don’t share”

Oh, ok. “Usually, yeah,” you replied, as casually as you could. “But I wanna share with you.” You looked down at your still joined hands, pulling gently. “Stay?” 

After a moment, he nodded. 

It took longer than it should have to sort out the stupidly layered sheets and blankets, but finally you were both finished wriggling and shifting around, comfortably facing each other. You smiled at him, taking his hand again. 

“I wondered what it would feel like to lie beside you, while you slept. You looked so… at peace.” He leaned forward the few inches between you, his lips cool against your forehead. “Beautiful.” 

Your voice was quieter than you’d meant it to be, and breathier. “You watch me sleep?” 

“It’s hard not to.” It may have been your imagination, but he sounded a little guilty. 

You laughed, leaning forward to whisper, “That’s a little creepy, Cas.” 

“Should I not have?”

“I don’t mind,” you said after a pause, “but maybe try not to mention things like that. Most people would find it weird.” 

“You don’t?”

You shook your head. “Not when it’s you.” The hand that had been holding his was free now, sliding up to cup his face almost of its own volition. You pressed your lips to his, softly and slowly, sweet as syrup. You shifted closer still, draping your arm over him. 

“Because I’m important to you, too?” he asked when you drew back. His eyes searched yours in the dimness, sincere and open. God, he was just… so much. 

You smiled. “Yeah, Cas, you sure are.”

You woke to a hand running over your shoulder, the rise and fall of a chest beneath your cheek and the steady beating of a heart. Cas’s heart, Cas’s chest, Cas’s hand.

“Hi,” you whispered, sitting up. His hand ceased its movements, his lips curling into a gentle smile. 

“Hello.” 

You dipped down, kissing him softly, your finger tracing the outline of his lips when you drew away. “Sleep well?”

He sighed deeply, staring at the ceiling for a moment before his gaze found yours again. “Better than I ever have before. Thank you, (Y/N).” 

“That’s alright.” You looked away, heat rushing to your face. “It was my pleasure.”

“I can see why you – humans – like it so much.” 

You raised an eyebrow. “Hm?” 

“Sex,” he explained. “I think I get it now.” 

“Oh,” you laughed. “Well, that was pretty good sex. For someone who’s never done it before, you were amazing.” 

“Really?” He leaned back, surveying your face carefully. 

You nodded. “And anyway,” you went on, “it usually feels better when it’s someone who’s…” 

He waited, watching you stumble over your words. 

“You know…” You paused, swallowing, half wishing you’d just left it at telling him he was good. “Someone who’s special to you,” you finished lamely. 

“Well,” he said after a moment, “then I’m glad it was you.” 

You didn’t really know how to respond to that, so you just smiled and kissed him again. It was slow and lazy, his bare chest silken under your own, nothing but the soft rush of breath and tiny hum he gave, the rustle of the sheets, the ticking of the motel room clock. Then your phone rang. 

“Fucking hell,” you muttered as you broke away, giving Cas a final apologetic peck before making your way to the table where you’d dumped it. Sam’s name flashed on the screen. 

“What do you want?” you growled. 

“Breakfast,” he answered. “What’s up your ass?” 

“I was sleeping” you answered smoothly, then, “I don’t like being woken up.” 

He snorted. “Yeah, alright. Meet us outside in, say, twenty minutes?” 

You glanced at Cas, who was now sitting up and, you guessed it, watching you. You squished the phone to your chest. “Breakfast in twenty?” you asked. 

He nodded, already swinging his legs over the side of the bed. You couldn’t help staring just a little as he went about getting dressed, drinking in every rapidly disappearing inch of skin like some kind of sexually repressed Victorian maiden. 

“Sure,” you said to Sam, then hung up. The problem that you hadn’t thought through last night was the hickeys. You had a scarf, you could button your shirt over your chest, and thankfully Cas had shown more restraint than you had. The most problematic mark sat right in the hollow under his jaw, two love bites blending together. It wasn’t even hickey-shaped, really, but you didn’t think that’d fool Dean and Sam. 

“What’s wrong?” Cas asked, fastening the final button on his shirt. 

“Nothing,” you sighed. “But Dean’s gonna give us endless – and I mean endless – shit.” 

“You’ve killed demons, (Y/N),” he smiled. “And you still can’t deal with Dean’s endless shit?”  

“Oi! I can, I just don’t want to.” You crossed the room, poking him square in the chest. “And you’re gonna be dealing with it too, so don’t get cocky.” 

“We’ll deal with it together.” It was tentative, almost a question. 

You smiled, taking his hands. “Castiel and (Y/N) vs Dean Winchester’s endless shit. I can work with that.”

Things were a little strange over breakfast. Sam and Dean kept glancing at each other, having their annoying silent conversations that consisted of raised eyebrows and side-eyes, the occasional jerk of the head or twist of the mouth. Self consciously, you re-adjusted your scarf, pointedly not meeting anyeone’s eyes. You’d almost made the call not to sit next to Cas, but then he’d looked up at you from his spot by the window and you didn’t stand a chance. You were grateful for your decision when the food came, it made sharing with him a lot easier. 

“Dude,” Sam said suddenly, twisting to face his brother and nearly taking out his glass of water. The eyebrow raising and eye-widening had gotten more intense in the last minute, and clearly they’d hit a boiling point. 

“It’s not a hickey!” Dean protested. “It’s not even hickey-shaped!” 

You froze, fork halfway to your mouth. 

“What?” Cas voiced your thoughts, frowning over the cup of coffee he was nursing. 

Sam sighed. “Cas, look out the window for a second.” 

“Hey–” you started, but you were too late. Both Sam and Dean’s eyebrows shot halfway up their foreheads, and Cas was dutifully peering through the glass. Why did he choose now of all times to listen to Sam? 

“That’s a hickey,” the younger man was claiming triumphantly, nodding to the stain on Cas’s neck. 

Dean whistled softly. “That’s two hickeys. It’s like… a Siamese hickey.” 

“Gross, Dean,” you muttered, ignoring the heat in your cheeks. 

He shrugged. “It’s a beautiful, natural act, (Y/N), lighten up. Congratulations, Cas. Who’s the lucky girl?” 

Sam made a noise like he was choking. You studied your hands on the table in front of you. Dean grinned. Cas didn’t say anything. 

“Was it that waitress?” Dean asked, leaning forwards. “She was cute, man, I’d have tapped that.” 

“No, it wasn’t the waitress.” 

Dean frowned, then his eyes widened. “The hotel receptionist?” he whispered. “Dude, she was a milf. Nice one.” 

“Dean…” Sam started, looking between you and Cas. You glared. 

“What? He deserves a pat on the back. I gotta say, I wasn’t sure if you had it in you.” 

Sam sighed. “I don’t think it was the hotel receptionist.” 

“No? Who else?” 

Again, he glanced at you. You hadn’t moved, stiff as a statue and bracing for impact. You were so close to just spitting it out right there, biting the bullet and getting it over with. But you hadn’t discussed that with Cas, and you couldn’t exactly do so now. 

Dean was looking expectantly at Sam, who was shaking his head in disbelief. You couldn’t blame him. Then, as if in slow motion, Dean’s face fell and realisation dawned in his eyes.  

“No,” he said softly. “No, you didn’t.” 

It was your turn to shrug. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t get a little bit of a kick out of Dean’s absolutely horrified expression. Endless shit that was about to rain down on you and all. 

“You slept together? You,” he looked at you, “and you?” He looked at Cas. 

“Yes,” the former angel said stiffly. “It was nicer than the couch.” 

“No, I mean–” 

You raised a hand, stopping him. “Yes, Dean,” you sighed. “Just… get it out now.” 

“Aw, man.” He groaned, rubbing a hand over his forehead. “That was you guys?” 

“I told you,” Sam shrugged, looking all too smug. 

Cas frowned. “Told him what?” 

“We could hear you,” Dean muttered, his cheeks going a deep red. “I didn’t think we were sharing a wall, Sam did. Drew me a diagram of the motel layout and everything. I didn’t wanna believe it, I didn’t wanna know that… Aw, man!” 

Sam’s smile widened, and he extended a hand across the table. “Pay up.” 

“Pay up?” You glared at him, incredulous. “What the fuck do you mean, pay up?” 

“I mean he owes me fifty. Thanks for that, by the way.” With this, he nodded to Cas. 

You gaped. “Please don’t tell me you bet on me and Cas sleeping together. And please don’t tell me you bet for it.” 

“What can I say? I knew it’d happen eventually, the way you drool over each other. Not my fault Dean actually took me up on it.” 

You groaned, twisting to bury your face in Cas’s trench coat. Absently, he patted your hair. “Why can’t you guys just be normal about one single thing?” you lamented. “Who the hell bets on their friends sleeping together?” 

“Actually,” Dean said through a mouthful of bacon, “it’s a very normal thing to do.” 

“Mhm, back at Stanford–” 

“Back at Stanford,” you mimicked, cutting him off. “I can’t believe you two.” 

Dean held his hands up as if surrendering. “Hey, sorry, but I didn’t think either of you would have the balls to ever make a move. And it was fifty dollars, don’t try to tell me you wouldn’t take that.” 

“I can’t believe I’m gonna have to sit in the car all day with you.” 

“Me too,” Cas added solemnly. 

You sighed, taking his hand under the table and laying it between you, squeezing in full view of Sam and Dean. Cas squeezed back. 

“You’re not allowed to… do anything in the back of my car.” Dean said after a moment. “Especially not with me or Sam there too.” 

Defiantly, you shifted closer to Cas, fingers still entwined with his, firmly meeting Dean’s eyes. “Don’t bet on it.”

[redflagshipwriter]

Mamabat 10 part 2/2

masterpost

Sam craned to listen to secondhand sounds of combat. It was all filtered through Val’s headset, so it was vaguely electronic.

“Up!” Said a female voice. Was that Robin? Sam tried to piece it together. The little one had been Robin, she'd thought. Could have been a boy or a girl. Robin looked around Dani's size. 

Ah, hell. She pushed down the recurring dread that thoughts of Dani brought up. 

Dani was probably fine. She just wasn't answering them because she was fabulously busy in Malaysia or Guam or somewhere else gorgeous and fascinating. She wasn't in one of those labs. They hadn't left her in a lab for a month. Sam’s hands were shaking. She squeezed them hard, angry with herself. Good thing she wasn’t in that fight, she’d be useless like this. Useless!

The percussive sounds of fast, expert violence came through Val's sound system. “Damn,” Val said. “Nice swing.” 

The answer was a feminine laugh. Man, who was that? “Not half bad yourself,” said the unknown girl.

Sam untensed, a little. They didn’t sound stressed. It was probably going fine.

There was a groan. “Spoiler, please,” said Red Robin, in a tone he probably thought was too soft to be overheard. Ha. Val was using Vlad's creepertech, and Vlad was one of the best creeps out there. Sam felt weirdly proud of him for a moment. It bordered patriotism. Their freak was the best freak in the business. Eat your heart out, Batjerk.

“Like you're the only one who can pick up girls on the job?” The girl who had to be Spoiler said. 

Sam snorted. Good luck with that one! Val was spectacularly unavailable. She should know, she had tried. 

“Spoiler, Red Robin, and Robin.” Sam listed aloud for Tucker. “What do we know?” 

“All known associates of Batman, Gotham operatives, estimated active dates are at least a couple years each. Robin is clearly an inherited role, but this current one… been in for two years, I think.” Tucker listed off. “I think Spoiler and Red Robin were both former Robins, that's not too subtle.” 

Sam snorted. Her breath fanned out as visible moisture in the cold night air. 

“Likely older teens or early twenties, both of them. Robin is obviously pre puberty. 13 at the oldest.” 

Val made a subvocal grunt that meant she agreed with Tucker's assessment 

That fit. And she really didn't like it. Sam felt her hackles rise up. What was wrong with Gotham? Her group was all child vigilantes, sure, but they'd had no adult help. They'd also all been 14 or older when they got involved. Except for Dani. God, Dani, please don't be in that building. Sam had to relax her grip on the bazooka handle because she squeezed it so hard that the metal creaked. 

Danny was older now. But she didn't like that this was who he'd ended up with. Sam gritted her jaw hard and tried to keep her temper on a low simmer. She didn't have enough facts to think Batman would put Danny in danger. 

“Clear.” 

“Clear.”

The operation inside seemed to continue smoothly. 

“That should be all the staff members on the premises,” Red Robin said. “First lab, coming up.”

“Behind me.” Batman practically growled the order.

A door opened. Sam held her breath. 

“...Are those samples?” 

Val grunted slightly. Why? What was going on? “Cores,” Val said. “Basically, people who have been injured into a coma. Left like that, they're gonna die slowly. Starvation.” 

“What do we do?” Spoiler cut in. “I mean- what can we do?” 

“Is there a way to transport them?” Val dodged the question. “I don't- yeah, that's good.” 

“Can you provide treatment?” Batman pushed. “Where will you take them?”

Val let out a long, annoyed sigh. “I don't trust you enough to go into the details.”

“Why should we trust you, vixen?” Spat a very young voice.

“Vixen?” Spoiler repeated quietly, incredulously. 

“Robin, you can't say things like that!” Red Robin hissed. “Ow- little asshole.” 

“Enough. Thank you.” Batman cut off the chatter. “Let's clear the facility.” 

They found more cores in the labs. Sam felt her stomach condense tighter and tighter into a knot as they came across research areas time and time again. 

They hadn't taken the GIW seriously enough. They'd thought they were incompetent and funny. How long had scientists been experimenting on captured ghosts here? How many of them had totally withered away? 

“Fuck,” Sam said quietly, and wiped her eyes off with her arm. 

They were clearly finished. No Dani, not unless she was one of the cores rolling around on GIW shelves like she wasn't a person.

Batman and crew came out. She could hear Batman clearly making some kind of call to…. To a Green Lantern, she thought, to pick up the GIW agents. 

Oh. That…

“Probably legit,” Tucker said on the line. He let out a big sigh and his chair clicked when he leaned back, no doubt crossing his arms behind his head. “I guess we should talk to ‘em. Should I come out there?” 

“Yeah, do it,” Sam said. “You want a pick up?” She moved the bazooka from a ready position to rest across her back instead.

Tucker hummed. “That would probably be a little cooler than using my bike.” 

Val snorted, but didn't chime in. Sam dipped back to town and let Tucker climb on behind her. He crouched to hold onto the board with both hands, because he was a sweaty nerd with no balance. 

“The bike might have been cooler,” Sam teased, and then she accelerated hard. She met them back in the field where Batman had landed his plane. As soon as she veered into sight, all of the bats looked at her, clearly ready for a fight.

“Calm down,” Val ordered. “You're all so jumpy.” 

Sam snorted and came to a sharp stop. She braced against Tucker's weight (she knew he'd be jostled.) She aimed her hardest glare at Batman. Fuck everyone else. “Danny said you wanna talk.” 

Behind them, unseen, Val double-checked the straps of a new black bag. Sam had no doubt it was full of helpless cores. 

Batman frowned at her slightly. “...Samantha Manson.” He looked behind her. “And Tucker Foley.” He didn't seem surprised, exactly,  but he didn't seem happy to see them either.

“Old man,” she shot back. “You've got half an hour. But first off, what the hell kinda game are you playing with Danny? Because this-” she waved a hand at his child soldier platoon. “is some bullshit, okay. What's going on?” 

Val shot vertically up with a whoosh of air that blew Spoiler’s hair out. All four bats whirled in time to see her blast off into the distance. 

“Focus!” Sam snapped her fingers. “Why are you here?” 

A muscle twitched in Batman's jaw. “My only intention with Danny is to ensure his safety. I have some concerns about the GIW and about his home situation that I want to look into.” 

Sam scoffed. “Bit late.” She wound some hair around her finger. “They're gone. All of them. You saw what's left of the GIW. The Fentons disappeared the day after the GIW did.” 

She heard the first hint of urgency and upset in his voice when he pressed, “Jasmine Fenton?” 

“Gone.” 

[scoobydoodean]

would love to hear more about the “chuck was the one who brainwashed cas and kelly actually” theory, thank you :)

Okay so I'm going to sound like I'm not addressing your question at all at first but just bear with me.

One of the primary reasons that the baby brainwashing incident fascinates me is that Cas's actions are a betrayal of his and Dean's bond on a foundational level. I'm not talking about The Colt or the mixtape (though they're related).

Dean and Cas's relationship as handler and charge was shed and a real, genuine bond bloomed in 4.22, after this exchange:

DEAN Destiny? Don't give me that "holy" crap. Destiny, God's plan... It's all a bunch of lies, you poor, stupid son of a bitch! It's just a way for your bosses to keep me and keep you in line! You know what's real? People, families -- that's real. And you're gonna watch them all burn? CASTIEL What is so worth saving? I see nothing but pain here. I see inside you. I see your guilt, your anger, confusion. In paradise, all is forgiven. You'll be at peace. Even with Sam. DEAN You can take your peace... and shove it up your lily-white ass. 'Cause I'll take the pain and the guilt. I'll even take Sam as is. It's a lot better than being some Stepford bitch in paradise. 

These are the words that convince Cas to rebel. These are the words that dissolve Cas's doubts in doubt, and convince him to follow his convictions instead of act on blind faith. Shortly after this conversation, Cas flies Dean to Chuck, who tells them what they're up to isn't supposed to happen. This becomes a theme of Dean and Cas's relationship.

Together, Dean and Cas do things that aren't supposed to happen—that aren't part of God's plan. They do something Chuck explicitly says isn't supposed to happen in 4.18. They do something that Chuck explicitly says isn't supposed to happen in 4.22. They do something that Chuck explicitly says isn't supposed to happen in 5.22.

Dean and Cas's relationship, at its very core, is built upon the rejection of two things: 1) Destiny and 2) Paradise—and by the end of "The Future", Cas explicitly (in the production draft) embraces destiny and paradise... and that screams Chuck.

This is what Cas says to Kelly right after the devil baby brainwashing at the very end of "The Future". The "Paradise" part doesn't make it to the final cut—just the "future" part... but the Paradise part is implied by the "future" part anyway.

What else happens in "The Future"? Kelly says the line.

It's not supposed to happen this way.

She says the line that Chuck said every time Dean and Cas defied the writing during the first apocalypse by doing something Chuck couldn't or didn't anticipate. Kelly says this after Sam and Dean catch up to Castiel—after Sam and Dean convince Cas to just talk through all of this with them and not jump to the nuclear option of murdering Kelly—to consider an alternative plan where Kelly and Jack's lives are both preserved because Jack is born a regular baby. The moment Cas begins to agree to talk, Kelly says "It's not supposed to happen this way."

Now let's talk about Kelly. Her behavior this entire episode is insane. She begins the episode despairing because giving birth to Jack will kill her. She then tries to kill herself, but Jack won't let her die—and this throws Kelly into a sort of religious fervor—convincing her that Jack is actually good and could revolutionize the world. Her belief in this is so powerful that when Sam and Dean arrive, she immediately rejects the plan they've come up with that will spare her and Jack's lives:

Sam: No, Kelly, if you go with Cass, you die. Your baby dies. Kelly: I go with you, you take away the thing that makes him special.

She sounds nuts. Like. Imagine saying you'd rather you and your baby DIE than have a "normal" baby. Your baby HAS to be a special baby or you'd rather be dead? Uh... ew—and to a point that screams supernatural brainwashing.

Of course—Kelly's actions aren't quite as irrational as they seem because right before Sam and Dean arrived, Kelly was shown something by "Jack". She got Cas to lay his palm on her belly, and "Jack" showed her a vision of the future. After she takes off with Cas in the impala, she says,

When you put your hand on my stomach, I heard him. He spoke to me. He told me that even if it seems scary, if I just went to the gate, if I just followed your plan, that you would make sure he was born.

So even as she's driving herself straight into Cas's plan to kill her and her baby, Kelly believes everything will be fine—because "Jack" showed her the future... and the thing is? She's... not wrong. "Jack" did show her the future. "Jack" showed her a tiny moment that actually does happen at the end of the episode—Cas standing between her and Dagon and saying "You stay away from her".

Why do I keep putting "Jack" in quotes here? Because Jack never displays the ability to see the future after his birth, and yet "Jack" did have this power from the womb... only? Yeah... I'm not so sure. I'm wondering if it was someone else—someone who showed Kelly what they had already written.

I'll also note in 13.01, that Jack doesn't seem to remember... any of this happening—at least not in the same way. In fact, he recalls very little leading up to his birth. The way he describes it, his sole knowledge of the world prior to his birth came from Kelly speaking to him while he was in the womb... but also... not? Because he says he was Kelly?

SAM: How do you speak English? JACK: My mother taught me. SAM: So you talked to her. JACK: I was her. JACK: My mother, she said Castiel, he would keep me safe. She said the world was a dangerous place. That's -- that's why I couldn't be a baby or a child. I... That's why I had to grow up fast. That's why I chose him to be my father. Where is he?

It's all pretty confusing, but something blinks at me here: Jack says Kelly told him Castiel would keep him safe and indicates that he chose Castiel as his father based on Kelly's assessment. However, Kelly told us Jack showed her the future which told her that Castiel would keep Jack safe back in 12.19. These are two contradictory stories. What if a third party sowed both?

Two other little bits:

First:

Kelly: Maybe – maybe everything that I've been through, everything that I still have to go through, is happening for a reason. Maybe it's part of some plan. Castiel: No, it isn't. I used to believe in a plan. I used to believe that I had some mission. But I have been through enough now to know that everyone is just winging it. 

Castiel does a 180 on this by the end of the episode and it screams Chuck Chuck Chuck Chuck.

Second:

If you go to the 12.19 production draft (graciously provided to the fandom through @/spnscripthunt) on page 45, you'll see something that never made it to screen—Cas's vision of paradise.

Only—these visions don't seem to come to fruition unlike Kelly's vision of Cas protecting her. The bits with Dean and Castiel's wings don't feel like the future anyway—they... just feel like what Cas wants most desperately at that time—to be a protector and provider who can handle everything on his own—who needs a "win". This is another theme of the episode. Cas stole The Colt in a misguided attempt to protect his family from having to be directly involved in the ruthless murder Cas had determined would be necessary. He didn't believe there was any other choice, and he wanted to spare Sam and Dean the pain of being involved in the dirty work.

Sam: Then – Then why didn't you call us? Cas, we could've helped you. Castiel: I know. I wanted to keep you out of this. I-I was trying to keep you safe. Dean: You're not our babysitter, Cas, okay? That is not your job. And when in our whole lives have we ever been safe?

This probably stings for Cas because he knows they aren't, and he wants them to be—he wants his family to be safe... all without having to discard his conscience by killing Kelly. He wants her to be safe too! The stuff he sees gives him what he wants--Sam and Dean and Kelly happy and safe—Dean thanking him—Cas once more a fully powered angel who doesn't need anybody's help.

But all of this stuff he sees? It's a lie. It's a lie because it never happens, but it's also a lie because destiny is always a lie. Paradise is always a lie. God's plan is just a way to keep them all in line... and Cas is trying to secure paradise for someone who said they'd take the pain and the guilt over someone else's vision of their paradise.

[thomas-the-goat-of-satan]

Jacob Anderson. all his spindly roots. Sam Reid. what rage you must feel as you choke on your sorrow. Bailey Bass. flat chested, hairless crotched, fourteen year old baby doll body. Eric Bogosian. was it raining, Louis. Delainey Hayles. picked another one over me. Assad Zaman. is that what makes you fascinating. god. do you get it? do you UNDERSTAND??

[sammygender]

i actually. oh my god. it’s been so long that i’ve forgotten about the absolute insanity of s4. i’ve become acclimated to sam mistreatment by the show but i genuinely think s4 is SO fucking insane because like. it’s back when supernaturals good! and yet! sams narrative arc is INSANE! in a fascinating and yet genuinely awful and horrifying way!!! and like. is that intentional?? spn is a horror show surely it’s intentional but did they actually realise what they were doing can i realllly trust that? is it smart and meta because when you put thought into it it’s really fucking clever but did they actually or did they genuinely unconsciously think dean is the actual moral compass of the show and that disobeying him is blasphemy?? or is that an intentional writing choice a la family is hell a la god is a nuclear familial patriarch?? i like to think the latter but

like. supernatural is an experiment. an experiment in how many times you have to state something about a character, even if it’s directly Not What Happens and actually genuinely false, before a fandom will accept it as 100% true. an experiment in, well, if you never directly call out that your protagonist is an unreliable speaker and narrator, will your fans ever realise?

and the answer for the first is Pretty much you can just say it once - i think as soon as most people heard ‘dad said i have to save you or kill you’, they internalised it as Sam WILL go evil and Dean will have to save him or kill him and what’s more, Dean has the right to make these choices, because everything about Sam is obviously inherently Dean’s. nevermind that sam has always tried so hard to be good and his most ‘morally grey’ era in the show is during active manipulation and is still just because he is trying SO hard to do the right thing. and the answer for the second is They will never realise, because most fans still think that dean saying sam chose a demon over him means it’s what happened.

and i don’t even know if the writers knew what they were doing during any of that. i have to believe some did. hopefully most. but i don’t even know anymore late season sam writing has made me so much less optimistic. maybe they just believed dean was fucking correct

[returnsandreturns]

a silly thing

--

Foggy’s mom keeps the baby at their apartment for the first couple of weeks while Foggy tries to sort out how to manage this insane thing he’s attempting—raising a kid at the age of twenty while doing a full courseload at an Ivy League. They only drink once, a few days before Foggy’s set to move into new housing.

“Nobody’s going to judge you if you find him another home,” Matt says.

“I can’t do that,” Foggy says, immediately. “Not—I mean, you came out great, Matty, but the shit you had to go through. I can keep him safe from that.”

Matt smiles at him, feeling a little bit like crying but that’s probably the alcohol, and says, “I wish I could move with you. It would help to have two people, wouldn’t it?”

“You’d have to marry me, I think,” Foggy says, laughing then stopping abruptly when he sees the apparently very obvious look on Matt’s face. “Oh, no, Murdock. No. You’re not gonna propose out of pure Christian selflessness right now, buddy, that would be crazy.”

“It’s just paperwork,” Matt says, grinning.

“Life altering paperwork,” Foggy says, firmly, rambling, “and only one bed in the apartment and—do not get on one knee, Matt, I swear to—I can’t let you upend your life to raise a kid with me! We’re still kids, basically! Oh, Christ, you look earnest.”

“Marry me,” Matt says, very much on one knee, feeling a little bit giddy but not out of his head or anything. He’s wanted to offer this since the moment he found out Foggy would be moving out.

“You’re drunk,” Foggy says, accusingly.

“I’m tipsy at worst,” Matt says. “Marry me.”

“One bed,” Foggy says.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Matt says, dismissively.

“You can’t bring home hot girls,” Foggy says.

“I don’t do that now,” Matt says. “Marry me. We’ll figure all of it out.”

Foggy sighs loudly.

“Okay,” he says, throwing his hands up. “I’ll marry you.”

Matt grins and climbs back onto the bed to pull him into a hug.

“I promise I want this,” he says, softly, nervous when Foggy’s heart beats even faster than it has been.

“Thanks, buddy,” Foggy murmurs, holding him back tightly.

—

They get married at the courthouse and Matt kisses Foggy because it feels like the right thing to do for more reasons than one. Foggy just laughs and kisses him back, cupping Matt’s face in his hands, and neither of them say anything about it. They just go get lunch and break the news to Foggy’s mother who looks extremely tired but doesn’t object much and spend the day there with the baby.

Sam is, according to Foggy, the cutest baby to ever exist—blonde and giant brown eyes and chubby cheeks—and, also according to Foggy, fascinated by Matt.

“Seriously,” Foggy says, laughing. “He hasn’t stopped looking at you since we got here.”

“That’s a good sign, right?” Matt asks, grinning when Sam grabs for his glasses, sliding them up higher on his head. “I mean, I’m pretty fascinated with him, too.”

“Yeah,” Foggy says, softer and a little shaky, “it’s a really good sign.”

“You okay?” Matt asks, adjusting Sam in his arms when he starts grasping at his shirt, holding him close.

“God, yeah, I’m fine,” Foggy says, laughing. “You’re just. . .you’re a really good friend, Matt. That’s all.”

“Hey, I’m just in it for the tax write-offs,” Matt says, flatly, pressing a kiss to Sam’s extremely soft head and grinning happily when Foggy laughs. He knows this is weird but he can’t imagine a world where he just let Foggy go off and struggle on his own. Not when they could be together.

Foggy’s mom teaches him how to change a diaper that night. That part’s rough. But he can deal with it.

—

The first day in the apartment is a mess of Nelsons helping them move in and finally just the three of them, equally exhausted, collapsed on the uncomfortable school supplied couch. Foggy puts Sam down and then they go to bed together for the first time. There’s a confusing period of about one minute before Foggy says, “I know you’re a little spoon,” and Matt says, “. . .yeah, okay,” and then it’s the most comfortable sleep that Matt’s had. . .ever. Even with the baby waking up four times and them taking turns checking on him.

“I think this is going to work,” he says, over breakfast a few weeks in.

“Yeah?” Foggy asks.

“I mean, I think Sam might like me better, which could be awkward,” Matt says, lips twitching, “since you’re his dad and all.”

“You’re kinda going to be his dad, too,” Foggy says. “Depending on how long we do this. But that’s a conversation I don’t like to think about which we probably should have already had—the how long part, at least.”

“As long as you want me,” Matt says, immediately.

“Well, a kid is. . .forever,” Foggy says.

“I have forever,” Matt says, blushing suddenly and turning away to try to hide it. Because he means it—really, really means it. “If you—if you want forever.”

“Matt, you’ll probably want to meet someone and get married eventually,” Foggy says, cautiously. “Someone you actually want, I mean.”

They already got married, moved in together and are raising a child. It’s not a leap. Matt has to remind himself of this several times, before he says, “I already did that, Foggy.”

Foggy’s heartbeat is crazy and Sam decides to start screaming at the same time.

“I’ll get him,” Matt says, quickly.

Sam is happy and cooing in his arms when Foggy comes in and asks, softly, “You were being serious, right? You have feelings for me? . . .forever feelings?”

“I don’t think I knew it until we kissed at the courthouse,” Matt says, thinking back to the feeling he had after Foggy kissed him back. How everything made sense even though they were being insane. How it felt like they should have been doing it all along. “But I do, I want you. And I want to be. . .I want to be Sam’s dad.”

It smells a little bit like tears but Foggy just carefully leans up, with Sam between them, to kiss Matt softly.

“Let’s do this,” he says.

—

“We’re going to lose him in a snowdrift,” Matt says.

Several months have passed and they’ve been exhausting and difficult and perfect ones and now there’s snow on the ground and a puffy baby snowsuit purchased by Marci who refused to hold Sam because she finds babies to be haunting cautionary tales but does like buying him clothes. He feels like a pillow when Matt picks him up.

“It’s bright green!” Foggy says. “We’d spot him eventually. C’mon.”

When they tramp outside onto the lawn, Matt says, grumpily, “His cheeks are getting cold.”

“Just because you hate snow and joy doesn’t mean our son has to,” Foggy says, laughing then pausing at the look on Matt’s face. “What did I say?”

“Our son,” Matt says, smiling. “I don’t think you’ve ever said it like that before.”

“This is a good weird and misty face, then?” Foggy asks.

“Yeah,” Matt says, nodding.

“Well, I bet our son will love snow,” Foggy says, warmly. “Let’s sit him down.”

As soon as Sam’s tiny hand brushes against the snow, he starts screaming and Matt looks smug.

“How does he take after you?” Foggy asks, huffing. “You’re not even blood related.”

“He’s just a very smart baby,” Matt says, hefting him back up onto his hip.

“And you’re really fucking cute together,” Foggy says. “I’m taking pictures.”

Matt’s smile is more real than its ever been.

[rollingsins]

Quinn Bailey Must Die, p3

P1 | P2 | P3

summary: Sam falls, a little harder. Tara formulates a plan. all hers universe.

warnings: (+18), Tara is (was) Ghostface, language. Implied sexual content.

pairing: tara carpenter x reader, sam carpenter x quinn bailey

word count: 4.3k

a/n: enjoy babes! let me know your thoughts, as always

Quinn’s touch scalds. 

She’s all rough hands and wild lips, moving quicker than Sam’s alcohol-addled brain can keep up with. 

Sam remembers moaning. 

She remembers the fascination: soft, warm, wet. 

She remembers Quinn looking over with heady eyes, and pressing the softest kisses to her lips before she drifts off to sleep. 

And she remembers thinking: Tara’s going to kill me. 

-

When Sam wakes, she immediately wishes she hadn’t. 

It's like a knife through the brain. Dry lips, dry throat. Her neck aches, though she isn’t sure why. 

And then she feels a very different ache, somewhere else. 

Her eyes shoot open. 

Memories flood back to her. The night. The wine. Quinn. 

Fuck. 

“Morning, you,” Quinn purrs as she nudges her head between Sam’s legs, “Thought I’d help myself to some breakfast.” 

Sam panics. 

She almost throws Quinn off the bed in her effort to retract, as if Quinn’s touch burns her. 

“Stop.” Sam says, drawing her legs over the bed. 

She stands, and then realizes she’s completely naked. Her cheeks burn, and she hastily reaches for her bathrobe. She tilts it around her body, arms crossed. 

“Don’t get shy on me now, Sam,” Teases Quinn, “It’s nothing I haven’t seen already.” 

“Fuck,” Sam says. She had it right last night: her sister is going to murder her, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

Quinn sits up, a little uneasy. 

“Okay,” Says Quinn, slowly, “Now you’re starting to hurt my feelings. What’s wrong? Sam? Talk to me.” 

“You shouldn’t be here,” Sam says, urgently. Her mind is racing faster than she can speak. Panic surges within her chest, revulsion burns deep in her stomach - though, in all fairness, that might be the hangover. She pushes it aside, “God, we shouldn’t have done this-” 

Quinn tilts her head. A flash of hurt flickers through her features. 

“Okay…” Says Quinn, “But we did. And it was amazing. Wasn’t it?” 

It was. 

But that’s neither here nor there. 

“God, Quinn, that’s not the point-” Sam hisses. She touches her head, flinches at the pain coursing through her body, “We shouldn’t have slept together. I’m straight, for god’s sake-” 

“Yeah,” Quinn says, narrowing her eyes, “You looked real straight last night with your fingers inside my-”

“It’s time to go, Quinn,” Sam interjects, “You’ve got to go before Tara sees you-”

“I’m not leaving you like this,” Quinn protests, reaching out to touch Sam’s arms. Sam flinches away. 

“Sam-” 

“Quinn.” 

Quinn blinks.

“Stop it,” Sam snaps, “You need to go. Now. Right now. Get your clothes, you’re leaving.” 

Quinn stares a moment. 

“Fine,” She says, reaching for her shirt. She gets up, completely naked, and Sam averts her gaze. 

Quinn stands for a moment and it looks like she wants to say something. 

But she doesn’t.

Sam’s heart drops as she realizes what’s about to happen. 

Quinn’s going to put on her clothes and go barging into Tara’s room. 

Wave Sam around like a trophy she’s conquered. 

A Carpenter sister, she’d brag, I finally got one. 

Because that’s what this is, isn’t it? 

But she doesn’t.

Quinn pulls her clothes on, eerily silent. 

She leaves with a final mournful look towards Sam, and a quiet shut of the door. 

Sam sighs with relief. 

She drops the robe and heads back to bed and hopes when she wakes, this nightmare will be over. 

-

It isn’t. 

Tara’s looking at her a little funny when Sam finally emerges from her bedroom, near noon. 

You’re sitting next to her, arm looped around her waist. 

“Hey Sam,” You say, tilting your head, “How are you feeling?” 

Sam looks over, a little confused, “How am I feeling?” She asks. 

You tilt your head towards the empty wine bottle on the coffee table. 

“You didn’t drink all that alone, did you?” You ask, question in your voice. Tara narrows her eyes. As if she stares at Sam hard enough, the truth will come spilling from her lips. 

“I feel fine,” Sam lies, “How was your night?” 

“It was a little hard to sleep,” Says Tara, with all the subtlety of a bulldozer, “With all the noise coming from your bedroom.” 

Sam purses her lips. 

“Guess you finally know how it feels, Tara,” Sam says, a little grouchy. 

Tara folds her arms. 

“Who’s the guy?” You ask, tilting your head, “Is he still here?” 

Sam takes a long swig of water. 

“Nope.” Is all she says. 

You hum. 

“It’s just… well, Tara and I- we didn’t think it sounded like there was a guy at all in there,” You say, treading carefully. 

Sam freezes. 

She looks over at you, trying to mask the guilt in her eyes. 

“You think I just masturbated myself to sleep?” She asks, voice wry. 

“Don’t be gross, Sam,” Tara snaps, “We know you were banging a chick. Who was she?” 

“Tara,” You hiss, smacking her, “Subtle. We said subtle.” 

Sam swallows. 

You offer her a kind smile. 

“You can tell us, Sam, there’s no judgment here,” You say, “We think it’s good you’re experimenting with your sexuality, isn’t that right, Tara?” 

Tara looks over at you, aghast, “No,” She says, and then winces as your elbow juts between her rib, “Ow- babe-” 

“It’s just- we wanted to check that person isn’t Quinn Bailey,” You interject, hurriedly, “Because we love you, Sam, and we don’t want her taking advantage of you.” 

Sam sighs, heart in her throat. 

You’ve got her now, she knows. Because who else would it be? 

“Girls,” She tries to steer, “I can look after myself. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“That isn’t a denial,” Tara says, flatly, like she’s caught her, “Sam, please tell me you’re not serious. Please tell me you haven’t completely lost your mind.” 

“Tara, it doesn’t have anything to do with you,” Sam says, “Leave it alone, please?” 

Tara huffs, frustrated. 

“It has everything to do with me,” She says, “Your poor dating choices already got me stabbed once, remember?” 

She lifts up her shirt to punctuate her point. The car from where Richie had stabbed her trawls along her abdomen. 

“I’m not dating Quinn,” Sam says, with a roll of her eyes, “I was feeling lonely last night and I made a mistake. Okay? Happy?”

“No, not happy,” Says Tara, “I want you to cut ties with her, Sam. I want you to tell her you won’t tutor her anymore.” 

Sam grits her teeth. 

“That’s not going to happen, Tara,” Sam says. 

“Make it happen, then Sam,” Tara insists, “I mean it. You’re banned from seeing her.” 

Sam’s eyebrows fly into her hairline. 

You shift, then sigh. 

“I’m banned from seeing her?” Sam asks, lips curled, “Banned?” 

Tara nods. 

“You heard me,” She says. 

Sam refrains from laughing. 

Instead, she reaches into the kitchen cabinet for an aspirin. She retrieves an empty bottle and sighs. 

“I’m going to CVS,” She says, with a mumble.

“Sam,” Tara says, “Promise me.” 

“No, Tara,” Sam says, “Back off, alright? I don’t tell you what to do with your love life. Don’t tell me what to do with mine.” 

She grabs her coat, and slings it over her shoulders.

Tara’s hands ball into a fist. 

“She’s using you. You have to know that, right?” Tara calls as Sam walks out the door, “You’re her consolation prize.” 

Sam slams the door. 

And you round on Tara. 

You smack her, lightly, across the arm. 

“Ow.” 

Tara looks up at you with wide eyes. 

“This is your fault.” You hiss.

“My fault?” She asks, in disbelief, “My fault?” 

“I told you to be nicer to your sister and now look at what you’ve done. You pushed her right into Quinn’s arms!” 

You reach out to smack her again. 

Tara pulls back, outraged. 

“That girl is like a piranha, you said it yourself,” She says, voice hot, “Sam could be a nun and married to Jesus Christ himself and Quinn would have still have her face down in the pews of some church.” 

You blink. 

“Oh,” You say, “Is that right? She’s that irresistible, is she Tara?” 

Tara groans. 

“Don’t turn this on me, baby,” She whines, “I karate-d her for you, remember?” 

You let out a puff of warm air, arms crossed. 

Tara looks over at you, a little helpless. 

“What do we do?” She asks. 

You sigh. 

“I’m not sure we can do anything,” You admit, “Sam already knows everything. And… she’s kind of right, Tara. You can’t ban her from seeing Quinn.”

Tara looks over, a little unhappy. 

“That’s unhelpful, babe,” Tara says, “I need you to go into psycho mode. Like when Quinn was hitting on me.” 

It’s your turn to glare.

“I did not go into psycho mode,” You say, voice hot, “You were the one who put her in a headlock.” 

Tara sits down, shoulders tight. 

“Somehow I don’t think putting her in a headlock is going to keep her away from Sam.” 

You settle down next to her, rub her arm. 

“Look,” You say, with a sigh, “You’re right, Quinn’s using her. And Sam will see that, eventually. She said it herself - it was a mistake. Maybe we don’t have to do anything.” 

Tara huffs. 

“Quinn’s going to hurt her, YN,” She says, “Like Richie did. Sam’s never had a you. Just shit-head boyfriends who break her heart.”

You take her hand. Ignore the inappropriate flutter that settles in your belly at her words.

Tara thinks, hard. 

“We need a plan.” She decides. 

“Tara-” You protest, but Tara jerks away from you, the expression on her face final. 

“Babe, you told me to be nicer to Sam and so I’m doing it,” Tara says, “I’m going to protect her. From that - walking bear trap.” 

“Tara, I meant saying please and thank you,” You say, pointedly, “I meant you not icing her out over stupid arguments.” 

“This is better than that,” Tara insists, “Anyone can say please, only a sister can stop you making the worst decision of your life. Please, babe. We have to do this. For Sam.” 

You sigh. 

Quinn Bailey is a menace. You’ve seen it first hand. And you love Sam. You don’t want to see her hurt anymore than Tara. 

“Fine,” You say, a little reluctantly, “For Sam.” 

Tara presses a quick kiss to your lips and then pulls back, looking determined. 

“Operation Kill Quinn Bailey,” She suggests. 

“No,” You say, “Absolutely not. You’re not-”

“Not for real, babe,” Tara says, “Metaphorically. Operation Metaphorically Kill Quinn Bailey.” 

“It’s a little wordy,” You say, eyeing her. 

Tara thinks a moment. 

“Operation Quinn Bailey Must Die,” She says, finally, “Like that dumb movie you like, babe.” 

“Operation Quinn Bailey Must Die,” You repeat, with a grumble, “How come every movie I like is dumb and every movie you like is a masterpiece?” 

“We can’t all have great taste, babe,” She teases, and then stands up, looking stern. 

“If we have a plan, then we need a team,” She says, whipping out her phone, “I’ll call for backup.”

-

Quinn’s not in the library at eight. 

Sam tilts her head and watches the entrance, frowning slightly. 

They hadn’t spoken - not since that morning, though given their last encounter - it shouldn’t surprise Sam. 

Persistent, is Sam’s view of Quinn, doesn’t give up. Ever. 

And yet here she is sitting in the library alone. 

Sam pulls out her cellphone and calls Quinn’s line. 

It rings once, then twice, before dialing out. 

Sam pinches her eyebrows together. And tries to ignore the sinking pit in the bottom of her stomach. 

She had been kind of mean. She’d all but thrown Quinn out of the house in a panic. 

But before she can marinate on that thought, Quinn’s name is flashing across the screen of her phone. 

“Hello?” Sam answers, far too quickly. 

Quinn’s quiet a moment. 

“Hi, Sam.” She says. 

“Where are you?” Sam asks, checking her watch, “We said eight every night.”

“I figured you didn’t want to see me, anymore,” Says Quinn, “Not after last night.” 

Sam pauses. 

“Last night was…” She hesitates, “A mistake. But it doesn’t have to get in the way of your tutoring.” 

Quinn sighs. 

“I think it already has,” She says, “Bye, Sam.” 

And then she hangs up. 

-

Sam cooks dinner, feeling a little glum. 

Last night had been a mistake. She didn’t expect it to go so far, with Quinn. 

For all accounts - Quinn refusing to tutor with her should be a good thing. 

Right? 

Instead, Sam feels as if she’s just been dumped. 

“Are you alright, Sam?” You ask, leaning over the kitchen counter, “You seem… a little down.” 

“Fine,” Sam answers, transferring the salmon onto the plates, “Could you please get Tara for dinner?” 

Dinner’s awkward. 

Sam knows Tara wants to say something. She’s fizzing in her seat, barely touching her food. Look of contemplation on her face like she wants to say something that might get her in trouble. 

Sam sighs. 

“Tara, just say it,” She says, sounding tired. 

Tara crosses her arms. 

“I think I said all I needed to say this morning.” She says, eyes narrowed.

“Perfect,” Says Sam, “Are you going to eat?” 

Tara thinks. 

“I just want to know, Sam,” She says, “Do you seriously think Quinn slept with you for any other reason than to get back at me?” 

You touch her arm. 

Sam sighs. 

She drops her fork. 

“If you must know, Quinn doesn’t want to see me anymore,” Sam says, with a growl, “Not after I kicked her out this morning. So, I guess you got your wish, Tara.”

Tara blinks. 

You reach out to touch Sam’s hand, “Sam, I’m sorry-”

“It’s fine,” Says Sam, “Can we please just eat and stop talking about Quinn Bailey?” 

“Alright.” Tara says, voice even. 

She tilts her head. 

“This food is… good, Sam.” Tara says, voice a little gruff. 

You side eye her. 

Sam looks up. 

“You haven’t even had a bite.” She says, pointedly. 

Tara scoops up a mouthful of Salmon and chews it, somewhat obnoxiously. 

“Good,” She says, mouth full “Really, good, Sam.” 

You rub her arm. 

Bless her for trying, even if her attempt is a little unnatural. 

But Sam’s in a bad mood, clearly. 

She stands, quite abruptly. 

“I’m just going to eat in my room, I think,” She says, after a moment, her eyes sad, “I’ll see you guys later.”

She takes her plate, and you just watch her go. Shoulders tight, lips pursed. 

You sigh as Sam quietly shuts the door, rubbing your eyes. 

But Tara looks pleased. 

“Operation Quinn Bailey Must Die is a success,” She says, happily when you shoot a look over at her, “Don’t give me that look, babe, you know you’re happy too.” 

You consider this. 

Quinn cutting ties with Sam is probably the best of all the outcomes, regardless of Sam’s mood. 

“I suppose,” You say, and bite your lip, “Be extra nice to Sam this week, okay babe? Why don’t we cook for her tomorrow night? Make her feel special.” 

Tara nods. 

“Alright babe,” She says, pressing a kiss to your lips, “Anything for you.”

She thinks for a moment. 

“And for Sam.” 

-

Sam toils overnight. 

Sleep doesn’t come easily, tossing and turning and throwing pillows against the wall in her frustration. 

Near three, she picks up her phone. 

Sam doesn’t know if it’s the lack of sleep, or the burning sadness in the pit of her stomach - but whatever it is, dials for her. 

“Sam?” Quinn asks, a little groggy, “Are you okay?” 

She shifts, and Sam just blinks into the darkness. 

“Sam, it’s three AM, what’s wrong?” Asks Quinn, with a little more urgency. 

“I-“ Sam says, and she pinches her eyebrows together, “Sorry. Nothing's wrong. I just… wanted to talk to you.” 

“Okay,” Says Quinn slowly, “About tutoring? Because, Sam-“ 

“Not about tutoring,” Sam says, “About… the other thing.” 

Quinn pauses. 

“The sex thing?” She asks. 

“Were you sleeping with me because you couldn’t have my sister?” Sam asks, unable to keep the thought to herself any longer.

Quinn huffs. 

“Fuck you, Sam,” She says, “Fuck you.” 

“That’s not an answer,” Says Sam. Her nails dig into the skin of her thighs, a little fearful of the answer. 

“No,” Says Quinn, “I wasn’t sleeping with you because I couldn’t have Tara. Happy?”

Sam blinks.

“I don’t know if I believe you,” She says, swallowing. 

“Then don’t believe me,” Says Quinn, voice flat, “It’s not like we’ll see each other anymore anyway. Goodnight Sam-“ 

“Don’t hang up,” Sam whispers. 

Quinn pauses. 

Sam closes her eyes, the blood rushing to her ears. 

Quinn is a question mark. But Sam’s lonely and sad and she knows there’s only one thing that will get her to sleep tonight. 

“Would you come over?” 

-

You wake up to Tara between your legs, smiling down at you devilishly. 

“Morning baby,” She says, smile wry, “I dreamt about you.” 

You sigh as Tara presses her lips to your neck, her hands moving down to run down the length of your thighs.

“And what was I doing in this dream?” You ask, voice husky. 

Tara smirks. 

“You were on your hands and knees,” Says Tara, “Which is where you’ll be in about thirty seconds-“ 

Your stomach flips. Your mouth falls open. 

Tara smiles, and  takes your stunned silence as an opportunity to pull your sleep shorts down your legs. 

Arousal floods through you. 

You take her lips in a searing kiss, pulling her shirt over her head. 

And then you hear a moan. 

You pause, retracting from Tara, slightly. 

She’s confused too, tilts her head to figure out if she’s heard wrong. 

But then you hear another moan. 

This is a moan you know. 

One you’ve had the unfortunate experience of hearing before. 

It’s Quinn Bailey. 

“Motherfucker.” Tara swears, and her attention is no longer on you. 

She grabs her shirt, cheeks flushed in anger as she climbs out of bed. 

This time it’s Sam who moans. 

You groan, falling back into the bed. 

“How has this happened?” Tara asks, running a hand through her messy hair, “We go to sleep and Sam’s done with her, and then we wake up and Sam’s doing her.” 

“Let’s not overreact-” You attempt, but Tara huffs, shaking her head and pacing up and down your tiny room. 

“Relax, baby,” You say, trying to pull her back down. She’s glaring at the wall between the bedrooms as if it might melt. Potentially take Quinn in the process. 

“Why don’t we go to brunch?” You suggest, biting your lip, “We can go to that little place that does the Mickey Mouse waffles you like.”  

“Now is not the time for brunch,” Tara growls, “I’m going to go downstairs and pull the fire alarm.” 

“That’s illegal,” You say, holding her arm to stop her standing, “Not to mention ridiculous. You can’t stop Sam having sex, Tara.” 

“I don’t care about Sam having sex, babe, I care that’s it with Quinn.” 

She looks over at you, a little helpless. 

“What do we do?” 

Sam moans from the next room. Quinn grunts. Your bedroom table shakes, slightly. Tara looks as though she might punch a hole in the wall and drag Quinn through by her hair. 

You rub her back. 

“Come on, don’t stress about it,” You say, pressing a kiss to her cheek. And then you think. 

“Why don’t we do that thing you’ve been wanting to do?” You suggest, biting your lip. 

You had been saving it for a special occasion. 

But right now it’s the only thing you can think of to take Tara’s mind off Quinn and Sam. 

Tara shakes you off, looking stressed. 

“Babe, you want me to fuck you in the ass while my sister is getting nailed by Quinn Bailey in the next room?” She asks, agitated. 

You sigh. 

“I suppose not,” You mumble. And then you stand. 

“Come on, Operation Quinn Bailey Must Die is back on,” You say with a grumble as a particularly loud chorus of moans sounds from Sam’s room, “Let’s rally the troops. They’ll be done when we get back. Surely.” 

-

“You told her to what?” Tara hisses, across the table of the diner you’re all crammed around. Her Mickey Mouse waffles remain untouched. 

You have a hand on the small of her back, trying to calm her racing heartbeat. 

And so far it isn’t working. 

Mindy, Liv and Chad are here to help enact her operation. 

The ‘Ghostface Hunters’, Mindy had called you. 

The ‘Quinn Killers’ Tara had corrected. 

“You told her to sleep with Quinn?” Tara says, aghast. 

Mindy huffs. 

“I didn’t think she’d actually do it,” Groans Mindy, “I thought Sam was strictly dickly.” 

“Never underestimate the charms of beautiful woman,” Says Liv, quite seriously and Chad nods, “If I didn’t have Chad, I’d probably sleep with her too.” 

Chad smiles, as if the thought is appealing to him. 

You roll your eyes. 

“Why is everyone going goo-goo-ga-ga for her, she’s not even that pretty,” You huff. 

“It’s not about being pretty, YN,” Says Mindy, with a shrug, “It’s a confidence thing. Women like  being pursued. Quinn’s good at pursuing. The world’s her oyster.” 

“Back to Sam,” You say with a huff, “What’s the plan? We need her to know Quinn is using her.” 

“Why don’t we just tell her?” Asks Chad, looking confused. 

Tara huffs. 

“Thanks genius,” She says, “We already tried that, obviously.” 

“We could plant drugs in her backpack to get her kicked out of NYU.” Suggests Liv, happily, “Chad knows a guy.” 

“Let’s try to keep things legal.” You intervene, hastily. 

Chad furrows his brow. 

“If it’s Tara she wants, why don’t we just give it to her?” He says, after a long moment. 

You blink. 

Bile rises from your stomach and settles in the back of your throat.

“Excuse me?” You ask, voice a little hot. 

“It’s not a terrible idea,” Says Mindy, “We know Quinn wants Tara, right? And that’s the only reason she’s going for Sam?”

Chad and Liv both nod. 

You cross your arms. 

“Yeah, so? She’s not getting Tara.” You say with a bite. 

Mindy rolls her eyes. 

“And she won’t YN, relax.” Mindy says, “But if she thinks she might have a shot with Tara- then boom! We send her a few flirty text messages, get her to agree to send some back and send the evidence to Sam.”

Tara thinks. 

“Isn’t that a bit mean-spirited?” You ask. The thought of your girlfriend sending sexy texts to anyone who isn’t you has you feeling like you want to punch something, “If Sam actually likes this girl, she’s going to be heartbroken.” 

“Better her be heartbroken now than before she has time to actually fall for Quinn,” Mindy says with a shrug, “What do you say?” 

Tara looks over at you. 

“It’s not the worst idea, babe,” She says, with a murmur, “I mean, if it proves to Sam Quinn isn’t serious about her, what can it hurt?” 

“I don’t want you sending nudes to other girls,” You say, voice tight, “I don’t care if it isn’t real.” 

“Not nudes, babe,” Tara assures, “Just messages. Mindy can send them from my phone. That way it isn’t even me.” 

The group is looking at you, a little expectant. 

“Maybe we should revisit the drugs.” You say, trying to quell the raging tide of fire within your chest. 

Tara kisses you. 

“You asked me to look out for Sam,” She says, “This is me doing it. This is me protecting my sister.” 

Her eyes are wide, like the chocolate buttons scattered across her Mickey Mouse waffles. 

“Please?” She asks. 

You sigh. 

“Fine,” You agree, but you’re not overly happy about it, “Mindy sends them. I don’t want you talking to her.” 

“Deal,” Says Tara, and she seals it with a kiss, “We’re going to get rid of this sex-pest once and for all.” 

“Should we do it now?” Asks Chad, “While Sam’s still with her? With any luck, she’ll see the message.” 

“No,” Says Mindy, “It’s too obvious. We need her alone. If Quinn knows Sam’s around she won’t bite.” 

“She’ll bite,” Liv promises, “Tara is hot.”

It’s Tara’s turn to rub your back. 

You shoot a deathly glare to Liv. 

“To gay girls,” Liv clarifies quickly, “She’s hot to girls who are into that.” 

“This will be good, babe,” Tara says, pressing her lips to the shell of your ear, “For Sam. This will be good for Sam.” 

-

When Quinn’s finally done with her, Sam is a sweating, heaving mess. 

Her body aches, pleasantly. Quinn nestles into her side, tugs Sam’s comforter around both of their bodies. And then presses a lingering kiss to her neck. 

“Is this going to be us?” Quinn asks, voice a tease, “I’m your midnight booty call?” 

Sam hesitates. 

“Sorry,” She says, “I’ve never done this before. Not with a girl.” 

Quinn’s lips purse. 

“Me neither,” She assures, voice soft, “But I think we’re getting the hang of it.” 

Sam hums. 

“My sister thinks you’re using me.” She says.

Quinn sighs. 

“I know,” She says, “I know she’s your sister and all, but I think she thinks a little too highly of herself.” 

Quinn looks up at Sam, blue eyes wide. 

“I fuck a lot of guys,” She says, voice soft, “But I don’t often fuck them twice.” 

She lets it hang. 

Sam frowns. 

“I don’t know what that means.” Sam admits. 

Quinn laughs. 

“It means you must be special,” Quinn says, “Tara? I would have slept with her once.” 

Sam crinkles her nose. 

Quinn grips her hips. 

“I would have slept with her once and then dodged her calls,” Says Quinn, “Because she didn’t mean anything to me. None of them mean anything to me.”

“But I do?” Sam asks, voice skeptical. 

Quinn smiles. 

“You do,” She says. She leans up, takes Sam’s lips in a soft kiss, “I promise.” 

Sam isn’t sure. 

This is all new to her; the girl, the girl-sex, the fact that this girl wanted her sister before she ever laid eyes on Sam. 

But Quinn’s eyes are round, her grip on Sam is tight. 

Her words sound honest. 

It’s been so long since Sam’s had someone be honest with her. 

And so Sam closes her eyes. 

And lets Quinn encompass her.

[yesihaveaobsession]

The Books

Alastor x female reader (others mentioned)

Summary: The reader (you) was a supernatural hunter(ess) back when you were alive on Earth, and so you decided to show everyone God aka Chucks books.

A/N- this was so fun. I love written a mini crossover . Let me know if you want more supernatural x hazbin hotel

You hunted when you were alive and back on earth, and that was not deer hunting and / or ducking hunting. It was hunting that was life risking, anxiety pumping through you, and most of all, fear You hunted supernatural creatures. You name it, you hunted it.

You somehow ended up in this weird and odd hell, but became great friends especially with The Radio Demon, Alastor. He enjoyed hearing all your hunting stories. But today you wanted to show everyone something that was oddly terrifying for you atleast. Chucks Books.

You gathered everyone in the lobby, and you held up an old, weathered book. Its viver was faded, and only the title was unmistakable. "Supernatural." Confused filled Charlie as she asked. "What's that?" Her eyes wide with interest.

"This." You began. "Is one of God's books. Or as I knew him as Chuck." You looked around, the room silent until Angel Dust scoffed, but his curiosity got the best of him like everyone else. "God wrote a book? Like a freakin' bestseller or somethin'?" His hand gestures were flowly and animated, and he talked slow to get every detail in.

You smiled. "More than just a bestseller. Chuck wrote everything that happened in the universe. This book, and others like it, detailed the lives of two brothers and close friends of mine, Sam and Dean Winchester, who hunted supernatural creatures. Just like I did." You said, looking at the book and feeling a shiver down your spine. All those memories flown back, which soon disappeared when you looked around the room again.

Vaggie then crossed her arms, skeptical. Understandable, she seemed to have trust issues, and you were still new and throwing out this outlandish information that sadly was true. "And you expect us to believe that God was some kind of author?"

You let out a sigh, "Believe it or not," you replied flipping through the pages. "These books were like prophecies, everything written in them came true."

Alastors' eyes widened. "Fascinating! And you say this Chuck wrote your life as well?"

Your gaze met the Radio Demons, you weren't sure if he noticed your blush but you then said, "in a way yes. Every hunt, every death, every encounter with the Supernatural- it was all part of his grand narrative."

Charlie was on the edge of her seat, leaning in closer, her excitement peaked. "So, you knew about Heaven and Hell and all of this when you were alive?"

"More than you'd beileve, I hunted creatures that would make even some demons here nervous. Angel's, Demons, monsters- you name it." You said closing the book.

Angel Dust leans back in his seat, golding his arms behind his head. "So, what's next, Supernatural Girl? Are you gonna tell us how it all ends?" You smiled. "Not even Chuck wrote an ending for that story. But as for us? We're writing our own tale down here."

Alastor was very much interested which excited you because back then you didn't laugh at it when it happened but now that you are looking back at it, these sinners are learning and it makes you laugh about how crazy it sounds.

The room fell into crickets and Alastors smile never seemed to unwaver, everyones mind started to think. You looked over at Alastor and he looked back over at you.

Oh, how you were interesting, and he wanted to know everything about you.

[prettyboypistol]

Stardew Valley Bachelors x Male Reader Relationship Headcanons

Harvey

Super Shy Gay(TM)

I dont CARE if you're married he ASKS TO HOLD YOUR HAND

Kiss him. Kiss him in public. Do it.

If you call him gay he'll get flustered

Can't cook for shit but tries his best. yes, the smoke alarms are going off because he tried to cook bacon.

Harvey is one of those anxious boyfriends that asks you to text him that you made it to a place safe.

"Drive safe, I love you"/"Dear it's been 10 minutes since the ETA are you alright?" hella ass

probably forgets your anniversary ONCE, but then never again when you tell him you were upset.

Elliot

you know the men that forget your anniversary? NOT ANYMORE

you randomly come home to roses all the time.

"Oh hello my love i am writing a book about homosexual pirates wear this to immerse me please"

probably hides gifts around the house with little notes

bad at confrontation but will eventually talk to you about things that bother him like a week of letting it fester.

"BABY CAN WE PLEASE GO TO THE RENAISSANCE FAIR"

Dramatic ass bitch on GOD

probably likes to be choked

Shane

Calls you gay slurs affectionately and expects the same energy back at him.

He can cook like, 2 meal.

Remembers every little anniversary but is embarrassed about it. He remembers the first time you kissed, the first time you said i love you, etc.

Biggest cuddlebug known to man

Feels bad that you're the main breadwinner so he begs to take care of the chickens on your farm.

You WILL find Shane asleep with a baby chick in his arms sometimes i'm sorry homie

Confrontational af, if something happens that he isn't okay with he'll bring it up as soon as situationally possible in a kind way.

Sam

writes you love songs

he's a bit of a messy partner, but if you mention the mess it'll be spotless for like, 3 weeks.

if you get in a fight he'll brood outside with his guitar for a little, but will always get into bed with you at the end of the day happily.

loves surprises and surprising

he's all great when it's casual flirting, but as soon as you two start seriously flirting he gets all flustered.

bi-curious, you're probably the first man he's dated but not the first man he's kissed.

loves to binge TV shows with you

Sebastian

pan ICON

he thinks you're too cool for him, but he is grateful that you enthusiastically love him

calls you a hillbilly if you call him emo

if you ask about a project he's working on he WILL talk for hours

Falls asleep at his desk a lot, but appreciates when you carry him to bed

he loves when you talk to him "while he's sleeping"

Lets you ride with him to TechCons or Comicons, loves going as couple characters

you get invited to the Dungeons and Dragons campaign

likes calling you his boyfriend

Alex

picks you up and does reps with you to flirt

he loves touching your body after a long day of farming, the tan fascinates him.

a surprisingly great cook, always knows what you wanna eat without asking.

has never even looked at a man before you came along, so he's kinda awkward about serious romantic things

bad at confrontation, but great at supporting you

he calls you very masculine things like "superman" or "my man" a lot

Defends Dusty when he steals your spot on the bed, but offers his chest as a substitute.

[duriens]

hear me out. Daniel publishes his book - vampires all over the country want to take both him and louis out - Armand (fresh from his divorce with Louis) sweeps in and starts sticking to Daniel like a leech with the excuse that Daniel is in danger and he feels partly responsible (also he lost the object of his obsession desire and he feels lost, purposeless, who is his God now? which God should Amadeo love now?) so he starts acting as sort of a bodyguard ('chase' part of the book); Daniel is annoyed and worried and ill but also can't really have a voice in the matter cause Armand decided for him (Armand takes care of him even when he doesn't or can't) so when rockstar lestat decides to publish a book he goes to the same man who's already published one about vampires and demands for his truth to be heard (yes it becomes a biography and not an autobiography) ((yes it is STILL an interview with a vampire)) (((yes Daniel has once again an important role in psycholanalyzing and humbling these vampires))) and Armand is ofc very much there cause no way he'd leave his fascinating, ill boy alone with Lestat, he needs to take care of him (and once again overseer lestat's version and make sure he doesn't humiliate him utterly, dear God)

also at some point Louis is there cause, it's a reunion, man. at some other point the vampire Sam shows up

[xo-hugs-n-kisses-ox]

Rumination

Ruminate

(v.) to think about something deeply

After Edward left her, Bella Swan fell apart. Desperate to try and save his eldest daughter, Charlie brings his youngest daughter to Forks to see if she can bring her sister out of her depression.

Now, y/n must try to help her sister find her way back to the light while also trying to navigate her Junior year of high school in the odd town of Forks.

Chapter Four: The Wolves

Now Playing: Heavy In Your Arms by Florence + The Machine

I followed Jacob’s instructions down a dirt road for a few miles before he told me to pull off the road.

I pulled over, cutting the engine as he and Bella jumped out of the truck. My sister pressed closely to his side as he came to stand at the front of my car, and I slowly made my way to his side as well.

Bella was visibly nervous, and I felt an unnerving sense of calm. I knew that, rationally, I should probably be afraid. But I just wasn’t.

I saw the four boys step out of the tree line, and I watched as Sam made eye contact with Jacob.

My eyes narrowed on him, but I couldn’t resist Turing my gaze to Embry. When I looked at him, he stared back. His lips pursed together as I watched him, my gaze accusatory and unrelenting.

He looked away first.

I swept my eyes to Jared, and finally to Paul. Both of them looked about the same, but my heart stuttered for a moment when I met Paul’s gaze.

He was as handsome as I remembered him being. His expression was still grumpy, but his eyes held more light in them. His hair was loose around his head again, much like Jacob’s. His eyes flickered from me to Jacob, then Jacob to Bella, and his face pinched with anger.

“What have you done, Jacob?” Sam demanded, his deep voice drawing my attention away from where I was transfixed looking at Paul.

My eyes were drawn back to him, however, when he pushed past Sam to yell at Jacob, “Why can’t you just follow the rules? Is she more important than everything—than us, than our people, than the people getting killed?”

His voice was accusatory, and my eyes narrowed on him. He started to shake, the trembling staring in his hands and moving up his arms.

“They can help—” Jacob tried to argue, but he was cut off by Paul’s mocking laugh.

“Help?” He demanded, “I’m sure the leech-lover is just dying to help us! And bringing her sister into this mess is callous, even for you and your tunnel vision!”

“Don’t talk about her like that!” Jacob snarled, reaching out to push Bella behind him.

I took a step back towards the door of my truck, watching everything unfold with a critical gaze. Paul laughed again, his eyes flicking to me.

“Yeah, protect Bella and not her sister, right?” He said viciously, “I suppose you’ve only ever had one sister in your head, huh?”

I won’t lie, his words did hurt, but I shoved the feelings aside as best I could.

Jacob said something, setting Paul off further. I watched in horrified fascination as he fell forward, his body shaking. Half way down, his body made an awful noise and dark, silver fur exploded from his body and he grew to the size of a bear.

My breath caught as I recognized him, and I swear that my heart stopped as Jacob rushed him and transformed into a massive black wolf.

“Oh my god,” I choked out, moving without realizing.

I grabbed Bella and shoved her into the truck, sliding over the hood and to the driver’s side to hurriedly get in. I locked the doors as Embry and Jared hurried over to us.

“Y/n, please let us in so we can take you to Emily’s and explain everything,” Embry pleaded, and I stared at him defiantly. Bella, making the choice for me, unlocked the doors.

I reached back to slap her arm, Embry getting into the back behind me and Jared hopping into the bed of the truck.

Embry and Hared made jokes as they directed me to someone’s house, Emily’s house? I didn’t remember whose name they said.

When we got there, I parked the truck and turned it off.

Jared hopped out of the back quickly, reaching out as he passed to open my door. I followed him and Embry towards the house, reaching out to hold hands with Bella.

Before we got too close, Jared stopped and turned towards us.

“Don’t stare at Emily’s face,” he said, “It bugs Sam.”

“Why would we stare..?” Bella asked, looking increasingly nervous.

“She’s Sam’s fiancée,” I said flatly, remembering what Jared and Embry had said on the ride here, “And baddies, it seems like hanging around werewolves has its risks.”

Jared’s lips thinned at my tone, but he nodded.

“Ok, well,” Embry said awkwardly, “Come on in. We don’t bite.”

It was a weak joke, and I wasn’t so easily amused by him anymore.

“Speak for yourself,” Jared joked back, glancing at me. I sighed, pulling Bella along and into the house as Embry held the door for us.

We got inside the house, and it was full of the smell of pastries. It smelled good.

Beside me, Bella was stiff. As we were led to the kitchen, I saw the silhouette of a woman. We got closer, and I saw that she had rich, warm toned skin and shining black hair that fell to her hips. When she turned, I saw her scars first.

On the left side of her face were three jagged, ruddy scars that curled around her face. One ran over her eye, cutting her brow in half and making her dark eye cloudy. Another ran from her hairline to her jaw, cutting roughly through her cheek as the final one ran down to her lips, crudely pulling the corner taught. Her scars were vicious, but she was beautiful to behold.

I observed her for a moment only, but Bella made a point not to even look at her.

“We’re sorry for intruding.” I said calmly, my eyes falling to the muffins in her hand.

She observed my sister and I silently before asking, “Who are you?”

“Y/n, and my sister, Bella Swan.” I answered, and her brows rose slightly.

“Leave it to Jacob to find a way around Sam’s orders,” she muttered before pinning Bella with a look, “So. You’re the Vampire Girl.”

Bella hesitated, blurting, “Yes. Are you the wolf girl?”

Emily’s face warmed, the right side stretching into a smile as she laughed, Jared and Embry snickering.

“I suppose I am,” she agreed, then glanced over to address Jared, “Where’s Sam?”

“Bella and y/n, uh, surprised Paul this morning and he and Jake got into it.” Jared responded, and Emily rolled her good eye.

“I was about to start the eggs, do you think they’ll be long?” She asked, and Embry smiled impishly.

“Don’t worry, even if they are late, none of the food will go to waste!” Emily chuckles, going to open the fridge.

“No doubt,” she said easily, pulling out a carton of eggs, “Bella, Y/n, are you both hungry? Feel free to take some muffins.”

Bella was quick to grab one, muttering her thanks, and I watched as Embry shoved his third muffin into his mouth whole.

“Try to taste it, Embry,” I said dryly, Jared muttering, “Pig.”

Emily hit him over the head with a wooden spoon, telling him, “Leave some for your brothers!”

Her word choice surprised me, but not by much. All four of them moved in such a synchronized way that if I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought that they were all related.

I sat quietly, eating bites of a muffin that I had plucked from Embry’s hands as he and Jared fought over it.

They really were good. Maybe I’ll ask for the recipe.

In the middle of my thoughts, Sam came through the door and called so lovingly for Emily. She smiled widely as her fiancé came over to kiss her tenderly, and I laughed against my will as Jared and Embry made dramatic gagging sounds.

Jacob and Jared walked in soon after Sam, both of them playfully messing with the other. Paul snagged a muffin and Jacob sat beside Bella, across from me. Paul sat beside me, looking past me at where Embry and Jared were rough housing for a muffin.

My attention was torn between trying to dodge stray limbs and paying attention to Jacob’s questions, and for the moment that I was paying attention to Jacob, Embry’s muffin slipped out of his hands and went flying towards the side of my head.

I flinched when I saw it in my peripherals, but Paul had reached around my head to grab the air-born muffin, stopping it from hitting me. He beaned it back at Embry, smacking him in the face with the dense pastry.

“Quit playing with your food, morons.” He said grumpily, and I thanked him for catching it. He just shrugged, going back to eating his own muffin.

As he reached for another muffin from the tray in front of me, I saw jagged scars on his forearm. They looked weeks old by now, but I knew they were from his and Jacob’s fight.

Without thinking, I reached out and touched them, gently pressing the skin with my finger. As soon as I touched him, he froze.

His skin was warm, like Jacob’s, and soft. The scars on his skin weren’t rough, like I expected them to be. Instead, they were only slightly indented into his skin and just as smooth as the rest of his skin.

“How…?” I asked, trailing off as I watched the marks slowly, so slowly, start to fade.

“Wolf thing.” Jacob answered, watching as I traced the angry red marks.

Paul watched me, still as a statue.

“We heal quickly. Part of the raised temperature thing,” he said slowly, “We run warm, we don’t get sick. We also burn through pain killers fast enough that they’re basically useless, since our body heals itself faster than they can keep up.”

“Huh,” I said, unsure how to respond. It was fascinating, but so, so odd.

“Jacob,” Sam starts, “Tell us what you know.”

Jake looks up, quickly swallowing the rest of his muffin. He clears his throat, then begins, “I know what the Redhead wants. She’s trying to avenge her mate, but it’s not the one with dreads that we killed the other day.”

I listen closely, my eyes fixed on Jacob as he speaks.

“The Cullens killed her mate during Bella’s sophomore year, after he tried to kill her. Now, she’s after Bella to get back at Edward.” He says gravely, and I wonder if that means that I’d be in danger, too.

“Will y/n be on her radar, do you think?” Paul asks, voicing my own concerns. Jacob sighs, and worry bubbles in my chest.

“We killed her spy before he could report back, so we don’t know that yet.” Sam replied, “She likely doesn’t know that Y/n is here, but in the event that she does, we’d have to keep a close eyes on you both.”

The last part was directed to me, and I nodded, my lips pursed together.

Jared claps his hands together, “Well then! We’ve got bait!”

I watch as Jacob, faster than I would have thought possible, whipped a can opener at Jared’s head. To his credit, Jared caught it, but he didn’t see Paul’s hand coming down on the top of his head.

“Neither of them are going to be bait!” Jacob said angrily, and Jared muttered about knowing what he meant.

Sam cleared his throat, gathering their attentions again.

“We’ll need to change our patrol patterns.” He says, serious and grim, “I don’t like it, but we’ll have to split up into groups to make sure Bella and Y/n are safe, while maintaining the safety of Forks and the Rez.”

“Quil’s likely close to changing now,” Embry muttered, “We can split evenly when he does.”

I watched mutely as each of them looked morose. How odd that they all seemed so comfortable in their own fate, yet so unwilling for their friends to share it.

“Well, we won’t count on it.” Sam said with a sigh.

“What do you want us,” I gesture between Bella and I, “To do?”

“About?” Sam asked, and I looked at him flatly. Embry snickered, having been on the receiving end of this same look.

“Where is most convenient for us to be?” Bella clarifies, her mind in the same wavelength as mine.

“It would be most convenient for the two of you to be here for as long as possible.” Sam replied, “So that we can be on our own land to trap the Redhead and destroy her.”

I nod, and Emily butts in to ask, “What will the arrangements be for patrols?”

“Three of us will be patrolling the perimeter at all times, the other two will be here to guard you three.” He answered, “We will likely have to cycle out to keep the Redhead on her toes.”

Bella worried her bottom lip before asking, “You’ll be careful, right?”

Most of the boys burst into laughter, hooting and snickering. I rolled my eyes and got up to go to the bathroom to wash my hands as Emily announced food was ready.

I got back after a moment, and the majority of the food was already being scarfed down.

“Good lord, I forgot how much food you eat,” I muttered, about to scape together any leftover food when Paul reached out to hand me a plate.

“Oh,” I said, “Thank you, Paul.”

He nodded glancing at me before going back to eating.

After a while, Charlie came down to fetch Bella and I. I said goodbye to everyone, hurrying to the truck and heading home with Charlie on our tail.

I went to my room and grabbed a notebook, writing down all my questions to ask tomorrow.

1. Is there a way to mask our scent so Victoria can’t track us?

2. Does it hurt to change? What causes it?

3. What’s it like being a wolf? And what does it mean that you can hear each other’s thoughts? Is that always?

4. Why do you all turn into grown men after you change? Second puberty?

I wrack my brain to think of more questions, but I’m so tired from this emotionally draining day that I can’t. Instead, I take a long shower and go to sleep.

As I fall asleep, I wonder about Paul. I wondered about his words before he had changed, in the forest: why was he so sore over Jacob protecting Bella and not me? She was the one he had been angry about, after all, so it would make sense to protect her over me. I wasn’t the one in danger, not that she really had been.