#Sam would drag her ass back

[smolmakerel]

You know what? I live for the Black Widow AU that I saw floating around some time ago (I don't know if it's still a thing). It's such an interesting concept, and it got me thinking of another AU.

Captain America AU

Imagine, it's the early 20th century and WW2 is just starting, but women were allowed to fight in the army. There in NYC are the Carpenter sisters.

Tara Carpenter is a sickly little thing. She has asthma, was born early, and is always ready to pick a fight with people much bigger and stronger than her. She looks up to her sister Sam and is desperate to fight in the war with her when Sam volunteers.

Samantha Carpenter is a perfectly healthy woman. She's been working her way up the ranks of the U.S. military to become one of the people to put an end to the war. She worries that if she doesn't hurry, the opposing side might nuke the United States and Tara -

Tara might die.

But Tara wasn't afraid of death.

It took a lot of perjury, but Tara managed to enlist in the army with the help of a certain doctor (whose name I'm too lazy to look up rn). Seeing such a thin, sickly girl in the army, the other recruits and higher ups don't believe in her.

Despite their lack of faith, Tara has heart. And with her heart, she was recruited for a secret program. She was going to become a super soldier.

She signed on to be a lab rat of sorts. It hurt, the administration of the serum, but she came out...

Looking exactly the same. But on the plus side, she has better reflexes, stamina, and no asthma! Sam was going to be so proud of her when they finally met up.

Only for disaster to strike.

Sam, trying to protect Tara, ended up being thrown from a train and off the side of a mountain. Tara, devastated with the loss of her sister, was determined to end it all.

And end it she did. Only, Tara didn't expect to wake up nearly a century later in modern America. S.H.I.E.L.D. was eager to recruit her into this "Avengers Protocol", or whatever.

She also didn't expect H.Y.D.R.A. would come back with a familiar brunette on their side. Her left arm shines with metal, and her eyes became hardened over the years.

Tara knows this is Sam, her older sister who she thought she lost forever. The person she would die for.

They call her the Ghost Face now, but Tara knows Sam is still in there.

Why would the Ghost Face hesitate multiple times to kill her otherwise?

[cyanide-siren]

you called?

Castiel x Winchester!Reader

Summary: Dean and Sam try to call Castiel to come to them but with no result. However, when you call for him, he arrives right away. Although not in his best senses.

☆☆

"Castiel you son of a bitch, drag your angel ass here right now," Dean shouted, growing annoyed how the angel ignored him. Sam had tried calling him too, several times, but getting no contact.

You walked into the room, taking a sip from your tea. Dean and Sam were staying the night at your house, leaving tomorrow for their next hunt nearby.

"What's got you two so grumpy?"

"We've tried to reach Castiel but he's completely ghosted us just when we need him," Dean complained, then looking up at the ceiling and raising his voice, "Castiel, come here this instant!"

"You're being too threatening and needy," you commented and rolled your eyes. "Why do you need him now anyway?"

"For the case we're working on," Sam replied, going through a few papers at the desk he was sitting at.

"Well, you need to be less aggressive. He doesn't like being commanded like that," you continued, taking another sip of your tea which was starting to cool down.

"Why don't you try using that pretty face and voice of yours to call him then?" Dean asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice, and crossed his arms against his chest. He sounded like there was no way you'd succeed if they hadn't after several tries.

"And why should i bother?" you asked.

"Because we're your brothers and you love us more than anything," Dean tried to sweeten you up, smiling and batting his eyes.

"You wish." You just rolled your eyes, loving to act all hard to get to him.

Truthfully, though you'd never admit it to either of your brothers, you liked to have Castiel come over. Every time he looked at you and said anything at all to you, your heart skipped a beat and chest felt all warm, butterflies spawning inside your stomach. You had been trying to ignore these feelings and sensations he kept causing to you, knowing he'd never answer to your feelings in the same way. What kind of feelings even were they really?

Castiel was simply just nice to look at too.

"Say 'please'," you teased.

"Are you serious?" Dean scoffed, shaking his head in annoyance. "Just call that damn –"

"Y/N, please just call him, we really need his help," Sam intervened, growing tired of you and Dean constantly arguing.

"See, at least one of my brothers is able to be polite," you said to Dean, pointing at Sam. "Would want to take an example of him if i were you."

Dean gave you one last annoyed look before giving in and let out a sigh. "Please." It made you chuckle.

"Castiel, sweetie. Come over here, these two bastards miss you," you said with a loud and clear, but also sweet, voice.

It took barely a second for Castiel to appear behind Sam, the sound of the flutter of wings echoing in the room. Dean's eyes widened as he looked over Sam's shoulder to the angel in a trench coat, staring at you and Dean.

"He's behind me, isn't he?" Sam asked.

"Hello," Castiel greeted, his voice sounding a little funny.

"Hello? Hello?!" Dean yelled and stood up, pointing his finger at the angel. "We've been trying to call you for weeks but with no use. And now you appear instantly when she calls you?"

"Yes," was all Castiel responded.

Dean stared at Castiel for a moment, a flame of anger in his eyes. "And why is that?"

"Y/N and i share a deeper bond than i do with either of you," Castiel explained calmly.

He looked tired, struggling to keep his eyes open and had to lean against the back of Sam's chair to keep himself balanced.

"A deeper bond? So you like her better than us?" Dean asked.

"I do, yes," Castiel slurred.

"Hold on... Cas, are you drunk?" Dean asked, raising his eyebrows in shock, walking closer to Castiel.

"I might be a little tipsy," he mumbled and took a few unsteady steps forward, falling into Dean's arms right then.

"What the hell happened?" Dean asked, helping Castiel to stand on his own.

"I had a rough day so i drank a liquor store," he explained, voice all raspy, trying to act sober but was far from it.

"I didn't even know angels could get drunk," Sam commented.

"I am in a vessel of a human and as i said, i drank the store," Castiel stated, sounding grumpy and exhausted.

Castiel turned towards you, a weak smile rising on his lips.

"Y/N, hi," Castiel mumbled and smiled, pushing Dean away and stumbling towards you.

"Um, hello Cas." You were just as confused as your brothers, having Cas fell into your arms now, his body almost limp. For fuck's sake, this man couldn't even stand up on his own. You almost fell down on the floor from the weight of this grown ass man on you but managed to keep yourself balanced.

"You have really pretty eyes," Castiel said as he was looking deep into your eyes with his blue ones, his words and intense gaze making you blush. There was only small gap between your faces, so you could inhale the strong smell of beer and liquor in his breath.

"Thank... you?" You were unsure what to respond, since he had never commented on your looks before, and it was all so unexpected.

"You have freckles too," he said in awe, his gaze wandering all around your face, eyebrows furrowed as he examined your features now closer than before. "They're cute."

"Come on, Cas, let's sit you down." You patted his back a few times and dragged him to sit on the couch where he let the gravity to pull himself down.

Castiel would come to you every single time you'd call him, unless he was fighting for his life at that exact moment. Even then, he'd arrive to you as soon as possible. He'd hear every prayer of yours calling for him and arrive to you without a hesitation. Tonight was no different, though this time he was absolutely wasted, barely able to do anything on his own.

Castiel couldn't explain it yet, but he found your company highly pleasant and had a strange bond with you that was stronger compared to any other human being.

Sam and Dean exchanged concerned and confused glances across the room, not having expected anything like this to happen.

"So, what did you want?" Castiel asked, looking towards Dean and Sam while you sat down next to him. The couch was made to comfortably fit two people.

"I think we need you sober for it," Sam said, his face looking both concerned and amused now.

"So next time when we call you, you drag your ass here," Dean commanded.

"I am not a dog, Dean. My life doesn't revolve around you," Castiel pointed out, growing annoyed of Dean's behavior.

"But you're my little puppy," you snickered and patted Castiel's head.

Castiel turned his head towards you, a slightly embarrassed blush spreading on his cheeks.

"My vessel is a human, not a puppy, Y/N," Castiel corrected you.

"Remind me to teach you not to take everything so literally," you chuckled, ruffling his hair to even a bigger of a mess. Castiel just stared at you for a moment. "What?"

"Have i told you that you smell kind of nice," Castiel mumbled.

"I do?" You hadn't showered in two days so you must have smelled anything but nice.

"Mhm," Castiel mumbled.

"When i was younger and imagined what angels would be like if they existed, it wasn't even close to this," Sam muttered, gathering papers back into their folder.

Then, Castiel's head dropped against your shoulder.

"Cas?" you said, but the angel didn't react in any way. He was leaning against your body with all his weight now, pressing you deeper against the cushions. His head had moved down on your chest, his ear listening to your steady heart beat in his sleep.

"Did he just pass out?" Dean asked, eyebrows raised.

"Cas," you repeated and gently shook him by his shoulder, but he was lying there like a lifeless corpse, only him breathing showing that he was alive. You turned back to Dean. "Yeah, he's out."

☆☆

That night, probably for the first time in his long life, Castiel dreamed in his sleep. Being an angel, he didn't need to sleep, which resulted for him not to experience dreaming like humans.

It was a dream about you.

You stood in front of him, looked into his eyes and grabbed his face into your hands.

"Cas," you whispered.

Castiel moved his face just a little forward to press his lips on yours, backing you against the wall.

When Castiel woke up from this dream of kissing and holding you, alone on the couch with a blanket pulled over on him, his heart was beating faster and all he wanted to do was to see you again. But it was dark, the lights were out, and you didn't want to be bothered when you were sleeping.

He hadn't felt like this about any other human, so the feeling was all confusing and new to him – he wasn't sure what to do with that.

☆☆

"You okay, Cas?" Dean asked in the morning, narrowing his eyes as Castiel slowly walked into the kitchen where Dean was sitting, drinking his morning coffee.

"My head hurts, body is trembling and i feel a little sick," Castiel described as he sat down on a chair, even the light through the window blinding him a little.

"And that's what a hangover feels like," Dean smirked but soon turned more serious. "But seriously, Cas. Why answer Y/N's calls and not ours?"

"I'm rather... fond of her," Castiel answered. "I can't explain it properly."

"Fond of her?" Dean repeated, raising his eyebrows.

Right then, you walked into the kitchen, looking at the two guys having a chat at the table. Castiel instantly ignored Dean when your presence was added to their company.

"G'morning, guys," you greeted and smiled, looking at Castiel. "Are you feeling alright? You look quite pale. Do you want something to eat?"

"I'll survive, but thank you," Castiel replied and gave you an awkward smile.

"Alright. Well, let me know if there's any way i can help you with," you said and patted Castiel's shoulder. "I know hangovers suck."

"I'll be fine," Castiel promised. When you lifted your hand away from his shoulder, Castiel instantly missed your touch and would have wanted to keep your hand there longer, the ghost of your fingers lingering there.

You were about to exit the room but Castiel cleared his throat and got himself to speak up.

"Y/N."

"Hm?"

"I... i deeply apologize my behavior yesterday," Castiel said, feeling embarrassed.

"It's alright, Cas. Don't worry about it," you smiled.

"Hey, why didn't you apologize to me?" Dean asked, sounding all offended.

"This isn't your house," Cas pointed out. "And she was the one to call me."

You left the guys alone and now stood in front of a mirror, which Castiel and Dean had a direct view from the kitchen, and pulled your hair in a ponytail, adding hair spray to keep the strands from falling out. You were about to go to your morning run.

Castiel kept his eyes on you, watching every single movement your body made. Dean said something to him which Castiel just ignored.

Castiel thought back to his dream he experienced. It felt strange, having this image of you kissing him in his head but none of it was actually real. Did he want it to be real? To really kiss you? Could he do that? Would you want to?

"Oh my god," Dean gasped, making Castiel to finally turn towards him. "You have hots for my sister."

"What does hots mean?" Castiel asked, narrowing his eyes in confusion.

"You like her."

"Well yes, her company is quite pleasant."

"No, i mean, you like like her. In a different way than me and Sam," Dean specified.

"Well, i suppose. She's always kind to me and i like to have her around," Castiel said, tilting his head and looking past Dean to the wall. "I suppose i care for her more than other people. No offense to you, Dean."

Dean could only look at the angel across the table, completely dumbfounded. He was struggling to comprehend the idea of his friend liking his sister and also admitting it to his face. Though Castiel wasn't like any other people in Dean's life – first of all being an angel but he was much more direct and forward than most humans.

Sam walked into the kitchen too.

"Feeling alright, Cas?" Sam asked and was able to see that Cas didn't feel very good. "If you feel like vomiting, go to the bathroom. Y/N gets pissed if someone spills anything on the floor."

"I'm fine," Castiel mumbled.

"Uh-huh," Sam muttered, not believing him at all.

"Did Y/N leave outside?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, just a moment ago," Sam confirmed. "Why?"

"I heard why Cas answers only Y/N's calls these days," Dean said, making Sam to raise his eyebrows. "He has a little crush on her."

Sam turned towards Castiel who was avoiding both of their gazes on him.

"That explains so much," Sam said.

"What do you mean?" Castiel furrowed his eyebrows.

"Well, the way you always say 'yes' to everything she suggests," Sam said. "Or stare at her a little too long. Or always ask where you are whenever you come to us and she's not present. Should i continue listing all the small things i've noticed?"

"No, that's enough," Castiel said, feeling too ill to keep himself focused on talking about his feelings on you to your brothers.

"You know. I know i took you to a brothel a while ago and tried to get you laid," Dean said, sounding a little more awkward now. "And we still have the mission going on to lose your virginity." Dean leaned closer to Castiel. "But i'm not gonna help you to bang my sister."

"Bang?" Castiel narrowed his eyes, while Dean rolled his.

"Sex, Cas. Sex."

"I'm not going to be a part of this conversation," Sam mumbled and shook his head, leaving the kitchen to let his brother and the angel continue their conversation alone.

"While i do find her physically very attractive, i didn't imagine to execute that act with her," Castiel said. It was a partial lie, even though the image of you and him being intimate together had appeared in his dream which he wasn't able to control by his own will.

"Forgot my wallet," you said and rushed to the kitchen, your wallet on top of the drawer. You stopped and looked at Dean and Castiel who had both fallen silent, looking slightly startled. "Did i interrupt something?"

"Oh, no, nothing. Nothing at all," Dean insisted with that smile that made you question his words but you didn't care to start interrogating him.

"Alright," you said slowly.

When you had left again and Dean was about to turn back to Castiel, he was already gone, leaving Dean by himself.

"Son of a bitch," Dean mumbled.

☆☆

[vunblr]

Even the Tallest Pines

Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Fluff. Slight Angst.

Summary: Bucky is used to pushing through, working until the ache fades, going on until his body just starts functioning as it should again. But when illness knocks him down this time, he learns that even the tallest pines need someone to lean on.

Word Count: 5k.

note: Part of the Roots and Branches AU

Bucky barely had time to turn away before the sneeze hit him like a damn freight train.

“Fuck!” He braced a hand on the workbench, sniffling hard as a shiver made his body tremble.

“Jesus, man.” Sam’s voice came from across the workshop, charged with equal concern and disgust. “That was violent.”

Bucky grumbled something unintelligible, rubbing a rough hand down his face. His head felt stuffed with cotton, his throat was raw, and his joints ached like he’d been thrown off a roof. He ignored it. There was still work to be done.

But five minutes later, another sneeze ripped through his body, and it was so forceful it made him stumble.

“Alright, hell no.” Sam dropped the plank of wood he was carrying, pointing at him. “Get your plague-ridden ass outta here.”

“M’fine,” Bucky muttered, grabbing a rag to wipe his nose.

Sam stared at him like he had finally lost his damn mind. “Man, look at you. You’re dripping. Ain’t nobody tryin’ to catch whatever biohazard you got.”

Bucky sniffed hard, straightening. “I can still work.”

Sam let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “You sneezed so hard just now I thought you were about to bust a damn lung.” He crossed his arms. “Go home, Buck. Before I make you.”

Bucky scowled, tensing his shoulders. He hated being benched, hated feeling useless. But the fact that his knees were actually wobbly was probably a bad sign. He exhaled sharply, mumbling, “Fine,” before turning and grabbing his things.

As he trudged toward the door, Sam called after him, “And text somebody when you get home, man. Let ‘em know you’re still alive.”

Bucky just lifted a hand in half-assed acknowledgment, pushing the door open and stepping into the cold. The wind hit him like a slap to the face, and he bit back a shiver.

He wasn’t telling anyone shit.

With heavy steps, he made his way to his truck, already planning his next move, go home, take a scalding shower, pour a generous glass of whiskey with lemon and honey, and then sleep the damn flu off.

No need to make a big deal out of it.

-----

He slumped onto the couch the second he got home, his body throbbed with exhaustion. His muscles ached, his joints felt stiff and useless, and his head pounded in time with his pulse. But the worst part -the absolute worst- was his arm.

It always acted up when he was sick, a cruel reminder that no matter how much time passed, it still was going to give him trouble, and always will. The ache ran deep, seeping into the tendons mingled with metal, an uncomfortable weight that pulled at his shoulder, making everything feel wrong. He rolled it absently, wincing when the dull throb sharpened and radiated up to his neck.

He sighed, dragging a hand over his face, trying to muster the energy to move. He still had to shower and still had to set up near the fireplace since his bed would feel like an icebox tonight. But first-

He pulled out his phone and sent her a text.

Doing alright?

Simple. Normal. No reason for her to suspect anything. He knew if she heard him, she’d know immediately that something was off. His voice was half-gone already, scratchy and hoarse, and he wasn’t about to deal with her fussing.

A second later, his phone vibrated with her reply.

Yeah, all good! You?

Bucky smirked faintly, already knowing what she’d say if he did tell her the truth. Come over. I’ll make you soup. You need medicine, Bucky. Have you even taken anything?

He exhaled through his nose, typing back:

Mhm. Just sitting by the fire.

Not a lie, technically.

She sent a heart emoji in response, and Bucky huffed a small laugh before mirroring the action and setting the phone aside. He pushed himself to his feet, groaning when his back protested, and forced himself into the bathroom.

The shower helped, but only a little. The scalding heat loosened his stiff muscles, and let some of the aches drain away, but the fever still burned beneath his skin, making him feel both too hot and too cold all at once. He stood under the spray longer than necessary, pressing his forehead against the tiles, letting the steam work on his stuffed nose.

Eventually, he shut off the water, wrapping a towel around his waist as he padded into the kitchen. His body craved sleep, but first, the whiskey.

He grabbed the bottle from the cabinet, pouring a generous amount into a glass before adding a squeeze of lemon and a spoonful of honey. It was an old habit, something he’d done back in the war when there weren’t fancy medicines to knock out a cold. The honey soothed his throat, the lemon cut through the congestion, and the whiskey? Well, the whiskey made sure he wouldn’t be awake long enough to care about how miserable he felt.

Drink in hand, he moved to the fireplace, tossing another log onto the dwindling embers before settling onto the floor. His mattress would feel too big tonight, too cold, too empty. The fire would keep him warm enough, and the heat might help with the damn chills.

He downed half the glass in one go, and the burn spread down his throat and settled deep in his stomach. His body thanked him for it moments later, as the tension eased just enough to let his muscles relax.

The last thing he remembered before the sleep took him was the way the fire crackled softly, and how its warmth flickered over his skin, lulling him into heavy, dreamless oblivion.

Somewhere in the night, his phone vibrated from the coffee table, once, twice, three times. Then, his battery went dead.

----

She was finishing her morning coffee when her phone rang. She glanced at the screen, Sam.

“Hey, Sam,” she greeted, tucking the phone between her ear and shoulder as she grabbed a slice of toast.

“What’s up?” Sam replied. “Hey, is Bucky with you?”

She frowned. “No, why?”

“Because he left his wallet at the shop yesterday. I’ve been calling him, but he’s not answering.”

She straightened in her chair. She thought back to the night before, he had texted her like he normally did if he was tired, and nothing seemed off… but now that she thought about it, he never responded when she sent a goodnight message.

“What?” she asked, her voice sharper now. “He didn’t go to work today?”

Sam let out a short huff. “Nah, I sent his ass home yesterday. He looked like hell, sneezing all over the damn place. Told him to rest up.”

Bucky hadn’t told her.

Of course, he hadn’t.

“I’ll go check on him,” she said, already pushing back her chair and reaching for her jacket.

“Yeah, do that,” Sam replied. “And if he gives you any attitude, knock some sense into him for me.”

But she barely heard him as she shoved on her boots and grabbed her keys.

Bucky was sick. His phone was off.

And she knew damn well he wasn’t taking care of himself.

---

Before driving to Bucky’s place, She made a quick stop in town to gather supplies. Vegetables for soup, jelly powder in case his throat was too sore for real food, and a few non-prescription meds to help with the symptoms.

Stubborn man.

Still reluctant to show vulnerability, still keeping things to himself, using his own damn words, don’t wanna be a bother. Like he hadn’t spent his entire life carrying burdens that were never meant to be his alone.

She suspected it had everything to do with what happened after he was discharged. The arm, the way people looked at him, the other things he never talked about. Being abandoned, discarded, and left to figure it all out on his own. No wonder he still acted like needing help was some kind of failure.

Her grip strengthened on the steering wheel as she pulled onto the winding road leading to his cabin. She exhaled slowly, shaking off the frustration. No use being mad at him for something so deeply ingrained in his brain. She’d just have to remind him, again, that he didn’t have to all alone.

When she finally reached the cabin, she pulled into the driveway and immediately noticed the curtains were drawn, but his truck was parked there. So, he was home.

She knocked first, out of courtesy.

No answer. Not that she expected one.

With a sigh, she pulled out her spare key and let herself in.

The moment she stepped inside, she was hit with the heavy warmth of the fire, the thick scent of whiskey in the air. Her stomach twisted as her eyes landed on him.

Bucky was sprawled out on the floor near the fireplace, tangled in a mess of damp sheets, his bare body slick with sweat. His face was flushed and his brow was furrowed even in sleep. And beside him, within arm’s reach, was an almost empty bottle of scotch.

She exhaled through her nose, setting the bags down before crouching beside him. “Jesus, Buck…” she muttered, brushing her fingers over his burning forehead.

His skin was scorching, his breathing deep and heavy, completely dead to the world.

She sighed, shaking her head, but there was no real anger behind the gesture, just worry.

Stubborn idiot.

She took a moment to think about her next move, rubbing a hand over her face as she glanced between Bucky’s fever-flushed body and the mess of his living room floor.

First things first, his bed.

She made her way to the bedroom, flipping on the lamp. As expected, the sheets were still mostly untouched, a little rumpled but nowhere near as messy as they should’ve been if he’d actually been using them. A few pieces of clothing were scattered over the mattress, along with some clutter, proof that he’d been avoiding the space -again-.

With a sigh, she got to work. She stripped the bed, shaking out clean sheets and pulling up fresh blankets, making sure the space was comfortable enough for when she dragged his stubborn ass in here. Once that was done, she grabbed a glass of water, filled it to the brim, and placed it on the nightstand along with the medicine she bought. At least that would be ready when he finally woke up.

And now, for the hardest part, getting him up.

She stepped back into the living room, crossing her arms as she stared down at him. He hadn’t moved, still deeply asleep, with sweat clinging to his skin, breathing slow and heavy.

Alright, big guy, she thought. Time to move.

Crouching down beside him, she reached for his shoulder, giving it a firm shake.

“Bucky,” she called, keeping her voice gentle. No response.

She shook him again, a little harder this time. “Come on, Buck. You can’t sleep on the floor like that.”

A low, irritated grumble escaped his lips, but he didn’t open his eyes.

She sighed, pressing her lips together. She patted his cheek lightly, and her voice took on that patient but no-nonsense tone. “Bucky. Wake up.”

Another grumble, and this time, he shifted slightly, furrowing his brows even deeper. His lips parted as he let out a hoarse, barely coherent, “Wha’?”

She huffed. “You need to get up and go to bed. Come on, I’ll help.”

He cracked one eye open, bleary and unfocused, before immediately shutting it again. “M’fine.”

She let out a sharp laugh. “Oh, sure. You look fine,” she deadpanned. “Come on, darling. Work with me here.”

Bucky groaned, clearly not interested in cooperating, but when she tugged at his arm, he didn’t resist. Slowly, sluggishly, he let her pull him upright, and his body swayed slightly as he fought to keep his balance.

She gritted her teeth, wrapping an arm around his waist to steady him. “Jesus, you’re burning up.”

He let out something between a grunt and a sigh, leaning into her more than he probably realized. “Jus’ lemme… stay here,” he muttered, his voice scratchy, heavy with sleep.

Y/N rolled her eyes, adjusting her grip. “Yeah, no chance, love. We’re moving.”

And with that, she began the slow, grueling process of getting a fevered, half-conscious Bucky Barnes to the damn bedroom.

After the titanic effort of getting him into the room -half-dragging, half-guiding his deadweight frame down the hall- she finally managed to shove him onto the bed with one last push. He landed with a tired grunt, barely making the effort to adjust himself before his body sank into the mattress.

She wasted no time pulling the blankets over him, making sure he was tucked in

She didn’t question him. Instead, she exhaled softly and said the only thing that mattered.

“You should have told me, Bucky.”

His brows pinched slightly, and his lips parted like he was going to argue, but before he could get a word out, she pressed an ibuprofen pill into his palm and handed him the glass of water.

“Only water for now,” she said, firmly but gently.

He hesitated for a second, then averted his gaze, clearly catching the meaning behind her words. She didn’t have to spell it out. He swallowed the pill with a slow sip of water, then rested the glass on his chest, staring up at the ceiling. A beat of silence passed before he muttered, “You should go.”

She arched a brow. “Oh?”

“You’ll get sick,” he rasped, his voice was barely above a mumble. “No point in both of us feeling like shit.”

She let out a small, knowing huff. Typical. Even half-dead, he was still trying to push her away, still convinced he was protecting her from something.

“Oh, we can be miserable together,” she said smiling, as she smoothed the blankets over him. “It’s kind of romantic.”

Bucky barely opened his mouth to argue before a violent sneeze tore through his body, making his whole body jolt. He groaned, sniffling, then cursed under his breath when he felt the dampness sticking in his beard.

She handed him a box of tissues and then smoothed a hand over his burning forehead, brushing damp hair away from his face. “I’m gonna make you some soup,” she said softly.

“Jus’ leave it in a tupper or somethin’ and go,” he muttered with exhaustion.

She exhaled through her nose, leveling him with a look. “You know, the more you try to play the lone wolf, the more I want to stick around. So, you won’t convince me.”

She felt his chest rise with a deep inhale, like he was about to protest, but he didn’t. Whether it was the fever, the exhaustion, or maybe the smallest part of him that liked having her here, he just let out a rough, wordless hum instead.

Satisfied, she gave his arm a gentle squeeze and stood. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”

----

As she chopped the vegetables, she let out a low chuckle, shaking her head at the ridiculous thought that had crept into her mind.

All those soapy romance novels and cheesy TV dramas always had that moment, the fevered guy, burning up and vulnerable, somehow managing to get miraculously horny while the female lead doted on him. It always led to a heated, unhinged sex scene, full of fever-induced desperation and raw passion.

She snorted, slicing through a carrot. Yeah, right.

Her gaze flickered toward the bedroom, and her thoughts drifted to the bear of a man she had as a boyfriend. Bucky, miserable and feverish, half-buried under blankets, sweaty and grumbling like the world had personally wronged him.

Meanwhile, he was in the bedroom, barely clinging to consciousness. He hated being stuck in bed, hated the way his limbs felt like lead, the way his head swam every time he moved.

But maybe -maybe- if the ibuprofen kicked in soon, he could get up, stand on his own two damn feet, and make it to the main area. He wasn’t about to let her see him as some bedridden pussy. He’d take that damn soup at the table like a normal person, even if it killed him.

And that was the origin of the predicament he was facing now.

The moment the scent of the soup hit his nose -warm, rich, comforting- something in him refused to stay in bed. His body ached, his fever still burned, but the thought of being stuck under those damn blankets while she took care of everything? No fucking way. Because if he let it happen, if he let himself indulge in such fussing, eventually she…

So, he forced himself upright.

The first step was shaky, but he gritted his teeth and kept moving, dragging himself toward the main area like a man on a mission. His vision swam slightly, and his balance was off, but he ignored it.

Until he couldn’t.

The dizziness hit hard and fast, and his stomach lurched as his knees buckled. Instinctively, he threw out his left arm, pressing his palm against the nearest wall to catch himself-

And fuck.

White-hot pain traveled through his shoulder, down to the metal joints of his arm, making his grip faltered. His breath hitched, his muscles locked up, and before he could stabilize himself, his weight slipped out from under him.

The next thing he knew, he was on the damn floor. The loud thud echoed through the cabin, sharp and jarring against the crackle of the fire.

From the kitchen, she startled, nearly dropping the spoon she was holding. “Bucky?” she called, alarmed.

No answer.

Just a sharp inhale, followed by a muttered curse.

He was on the floor, with one knee bent awkwardly beneath him, and his right hand gripping his bad arm, his face was tight with pain. His breathing was uneven, and for a moment, he just sat there, blinking sluggishly, like his body was still trying to process what the hell had just happened.

She dropped to her knees beside him, her hands already reaching out to him. “Jesus, Buck,” she breathed, scanning him quickly. “What the hell were you thinking?”

He clenched his jaw, shifting slightly as he tried -and failed- to push himself upright. “Was tryin’ to get to the table,” he muttered. “Didn’t wanna be-”

She cut him off with a sharp look. “Don’t even finish that sentence.”

His lips pressed into a stubborn line, but he didn’t argue. Mostly because he was too damn exhausted to fight her on it.

She sighed, brushing a hand over his damp forehead before gripping his good arm. “Come on, big guy,” she murmured. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

It took effort -more than she’d admit- but eventually, she got him standing, letting him lean into her body as she guided him down the hall. He was heavy with fever, and his movements sluggish, and by the time she finally got him onto the bed, he all but collapsed into it, as his muscles gave out completely.

His tired eyes flickered open just a little, hazy and unfocused. His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but all that came out was a rough exhale.

She folded her arms, fixing him with a look that left zero room for argument.

“Listen here, James,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “You are going to remain in that bed and will only leave it to go to the bathroom. You got it?”

Bucky scowled. “But it’s-”

“No.” She cut him off before he could even try. “You’re going to stay right there, I’m going to bring you the soup, and I’m going to feed you. And you’re going to eat all of it without protest. Do you understand?”

His tired brain lagged for a second. Then his brows furrowed, and his fever-flushed face twisted in disbelief. “Feed- what?”

“Yes, feed,” she said, matter-of-factly. “You’re going to open your mouth and let me feed you that soup like a little bird.”

His jaw dropped slightly, and indignation flashed across his exhausted features. “Dammit, woman, I-”

“Do you want me to call Dr. Roberts?” she asked sweetly, tilting her head. “Hm?”

Bucky froze.

She could see the war happening inside his fevered brain. On one hand, his pride was taking a massive hit. On the other, the last thing he wanted was for the town doctor to come poking around, fussing over him worse than she was, to surely stab in his rear with an injection.

With a long, suffering sigh, he dropped his head back against the pillow.

“Fine,” he grumbled.

She sighed slowly. “Baby, I know that because of reasons you have a hard time letting yourself be seen vulnerable, but I thought we had passed the stage where you hide that from me. Why is it so bad to let yourself take a break and let me take care of you?”

She reached for one of his hands and squeezed it softly. He averted his gaze, and tensed his jaw, clearly wrestling with something. He was tired of hiding things, things he knew he should have told her but still didn’t know how to address.

She was right.

He was dragging ghosts from the past into their relationship, letting old wounds dictate how much of himself he allowed her to see. And it wasn’t fair to her. So, he forced himself to open up.

“I was engaged once,” he said, still not looking at her.

She blinked, taken aback by the sudden confession. Well, she hadn’t expected that.

Bucky kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling, and his fingers twitched slightly in her grasp, but he didn’t pull away.

“For about a year,” he continued, and his voice was hoarse, whether from the fever or the weight of the memory, she wasn’t sure. “Back when I got out. Thought… I thought I was doin’ the right thing. Settling down. Moving on.” He let out a humorless chuckle. “Didn’t exactly work out.”

She stayed quiet, letting him talk at his own pace.

“She stuck around through the first couple of surgeries,” he said, finally glancing at her, but only briefly. “But the pain, the therapy, the… the way I was back then…" He shook his head. "She didn’t sign up for that.”

“She left?” she asked softly, gently squeezing his hand.

Bucky swallowed, and his eyes went dark with something old, something raw. “Didn’t even say it to my face. Just a note on the counter when I got home from PT one day.” His fingers curled slightly around hers. “Said she couldn’t watch me waste away. That I wasn’t the man she fell for. That… that was hard for her.”

She felt something twist uglily in her chest.

“And… ever since then,” he went on, voice quieter now, “bein’ sick, bein’ hurt, feelin’ weak, it all just… reminds me of that. Of how easy it was for someone who supposedly wanted to spend the rest of her life with me to walk away when I wasn’t at my best.” His breath was shallow like he’d just finished a fight. But he didn’t let go of her hand.

She exhaled slowly and deliberately, trying to rein in the sharp flare of anger on his behalf. “Bucky,” she murmured, shaking her head. “You know I’m not her.”

His gaze finally met hers, and she could see wariness there, the part of him that wanted to believe her but was still bracing for something else.

She reached up, brushing a few damp strands of hair away from his forehead.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” she said. “Not your strength, not your worth, nothing.” She leaned in, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I’m here because I love you. Not just the good days. All of you.”

Bucky closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling a breath he must’ve been holding onto for years. When he finally opened his eyes again and met hers, some of the resistance had faded. “I- I know. Objectively, I know. But my mind doesn’t seem to care about that, and… I just shut down.” His throat worked around the words, and his jaw tightened before continuing. “And it’s not just-” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I keep thinking… If I’m not strong, if I’m not useful, people leave. And maybe that’s fair.” His fingers curled into his free palm, and his knuckles paled. “After everything I’ve done -after all the good men who never made it home- why should I get to be taken care of?” His voice went quiet, rough. “They deserved to come back. Not me.”

“Never say that, Bucky.” Her fingers clenched around his hand. “You carry so much weight on your shoulders, and you are such a kindhearted man. We haven’t talked about… certain aspects of your past, but I know you. I know that even if it pains and haunts you, you did what you had to. Not because you wanted to, but because there was no other choice. And I refuse to believe that anything you did was out of anything but survival.”

Bucky swallowed hard with an unreadable expression, but his fingers tightened around hers this time, like he was afraid to let go. “I’ll try to remember that,” he finally said, finding her gaze with a tired smile.

She pressed a soft kiss to his knuckles. “Will you let me feed you like a little bird, then?”

He huffed, drifting his gaze to the side. “…If you wanna.”

“Oh, I want to,” she murmured, with a teasing lilt in her voice. “I want to feed you, maybe help you shower, tuck you into bed…”

He let out a dry chuckle. “What’s next? Powder my ass? Stick a pacifier into my mouth?”

She smirked. “Well, smart mouth, I happen to have two pacifiers you seem to enjoy a lot.” With that, she guided his hand to her chest, letting him cup her breast from underneath it.

Despite the exhaustion weighing his body down, his eyes darkened with interest. “Fuck, if I could move, I’d show you not to tease like that, sweetheart.”

She smiled, giving his hand a little squeeze where it rested, making him press his fingers harder against her flesh. “Too bad you can’t,” she teased, to gently pull away, standing up with a stretch.

Bucky let out a grumble but didn’t argue, only watching as she disappeared into the kitchen. He could hear the clatter of dishes, the faint bubbling of the soup as she stirred it. The warmth of the cabin, the scent of vegetables and broth, and the sound of her moving around the kitchen settled something nice inside him, soothing him.

When she returned, she was carrying a steaming bowl of soup, and a spoon in her other hand. He was still propped up against the pillows, looking a little more awake but no less exhausted. His fever-flushed face softened when he saw her.

She sat down beside him, shifting closer until her thigh pressed lightly against his. Without a word, she dipped the spoon into the soup, blowing on it before bringing it to his lips. He opened his mouth without hesitation, letting her feed him.

“There we go,” she murmured, pleased. “See? Not so bad.”

He hummed in response, swallowing slowly. The warmth of the broth must have felt good because some of the tension in his shoulders eased a little. She scooped another spoonful, repeating the same slow, careful process, and he let her. The action of feeding him, tucking the blankets closer around him between bites, brushing his hair back when it stuck to his damp forehead, it was intimate in a way that went beyond anything physical, and he had to admit he liked it. A lot.

By the time the bowl was nearly empty, his eyelids were starting to droop. The fever was still there, but the soup, the warmth, and maybe even the comfort of letting someone care for him were doing their job.

She set the bowl aside and brushed her fingers lightly over his cheek. “Get some rest, Buck,” she whispered.

His hand found hers on top of the blankets, giving it the smallest squeeze. “Would you stay, darlin’?”

She smiled gently at him. "Alright, just... let me change into something more comfortable, hm?" She didn’t wait for a response, already making her way to his closet. Pulling out one of his old flannels, she quickly slipped out of her clothes and into the worn fabric, relishing his lingering scent on the soft material.

By the time she climbed into bed, he had already shifted toward her instinctively. The moment she settled, he let his head rest against her chest, half-draping himself over her like she was his personal pillow. She knew this position well, when he was overwhelmed, when the weight of his mind pressed too hard, this was how he found peace. But tonight, it felt different. Less about fighting distress and more about simply wanting closeness.

She adjusted against the mattress, lacing her arms around him as her fingers traced slow, soothing circles along his broad back. His long, damp hair clung to his scalp, and she combed through it gently, and pressed a light kiss to the top of his head. “Comfortable now?” she murmured.

He hummed in response, nuzzling just a little closer. “Mhm.” A beat passed before he mumbled, “You always smell nice.” His voice was thick with exhaustion.

Her hand kept caressing his head, threading her fingers through the strands of hair in slow, gentle strokes. He let out a long exhale, loosening his grip on her waist as the sleep started claiming him.

“Sleep, handsome,” she whispered. “I’ve got you.”

And this time, he didn’t fight it.

Permanent taglist: @civilbucky

Dividers by: @/strangergraphics

[navybrat817]

You're a Firework

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: You're all set to watch fireworks with the gang and Bucky can't keep his hands to himself. Word Count: Over 2k Warnings: Explicit sexual content, vaginal fingering, semi-public sexy times, pet names, inner monologue, established relationship, humor, feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: I KNOW it's Steve's birthday, but my muse demanded Stud and Smartie. ❤️ I'm so sorry, lovelies. Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

“You know,” Natasha began as she handed you a drink. “You and Bucky could've had your wedding today. No one would have objected.”

“With Steve's birthday right around the corner? And take away from Sam’s amazing barbeque? No way,” you smiled, stepping out of the way as Clint walked by with sparklers in each hand. You refused to take attention away from either of them. “I’m glad we’re all hanging out though.”

Today was a good day. Not only was the weather as close to perfect as it could get, not too warm or too cold, it was a chance to get together and mingle since everyone had a few days off. Between the sunshine, food, and games, the gang had a lot of fun. You imagined your wedding reception would be fun, too.

Maybe the two of you could even have sparklers to celebrate, if only to entertain Clint.

“Bucky called you his wife earlier,” the redhead commented.

“He did?” You smiled, your heart swelling.

“He did. When you beat Sam at horseshoes, he looked right at Steve and said, ‘that’s my wife' with a huge smile on his face.”

Yeah, I am. Almost.

You nearly swooned, giving your fiancé a glance as he set his chair by the fire pit. “And that’s my husband.”

Natasha lightheartedly rolled her eyes and nudged you. “Better go and join him then. The fireworks are going to start soon,” she said, heading to her seat beside Clint. The town was shooting off fireworks in the nearby park, but you all decided it was better to hang back. The yard was a great spot to view them and no one had to worry about the crowd.

“Be right there,” you said, shivering as a light breeze rolled in. Sam had the fire going, but you hadn't realized how chilly it was now that it was dark. Grabbing your blanket from your bag nearby, you also realized as you walked over to the gang that there wasn't a place for you to sit. Bucky looked your way with a gentle smile and patted his thigh before you could ask if there was an extra chair available inside. You caught a glimpse of heat in his eyes as you made your way closer.

You loved that look.

“Is that my seat?” You asked.

“This could be your seat.” Bucky pointed at his face as you bit your lip. If everyone wasn’t around, you’d consider it. “But this one might be more comfortable to watch the fireworks,” he added, patting his massive thigh again.

His face. His thigh. Both were incredible places to sit.

“Yeah, comfortable. That’s the word,” you teased, shrieking as he dragged you onto his lap once you were within reach. You were lucky you didn't spill your drink. “Easy, tiger.”

He growled and nuzzled your neck once you situated yourself and placed your drink the cup holder. “This tiger will also keep you warm,” he promised.

“Aww. You two are just the cutest,” Sam said, swigging his beer with a chuckle when Bucky huffed.

“Yeah, we are. And in case you forgot, my girl kicked your ass earlier. Beauty, brains, and brawn,” he boasted. You didn’t have to look back to see the smug smile on his face. “Proud of you.”

I will not get giddy or aroused from that praise.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ll get you next time,” Sam scoffed, looking over at you with a smile to let you know it was in good fun. He was a good guy, like Steve. You hoped they each found someone who made them feel the way Bucky made you feel.

“Or she’ll kick your ass again,” Bucky said without skipping a beat.

Oh, boys. So endearing. So competitive.

“Enough of that. Sam, I’m pretty sure I got lucky and I’d love a rematch. Stud, you just concentrate on keeping me warm,” you teased, draping the blanket over both of you. His embrace was always warm. “Surprised we don't have s’mores.”

“Those are for after the fireworks,” Steve said from the other side of you.

You smiled over at him before tilting your head back to gaze at Bucky. You weren't sure if the guys did it on purpose, but they each wore the same tight fitting T-shirt in patriotic colors. They all looked handsome, but your man looked look sex on legs. The love of your life would always turn your head.

“Not for us,” Bucky said, placing a kiss on your shoulder as his hand rested possessively on your hip. “We’re going to bed.”

You giggled and snuggled back against him when the rest of the gang protested. “But what if I want a s'more?”

“I’ll personally make you one and feed it to you in bed,” he half growled.

“You’re really not going to stay up with us?” Steve asked, a knowing look on his face.

“Oh, I’m sure something will get up,” Natasha deadpanned, making everyone laugh. She wasn't wrong.

“On your birthday, we’ll stay up as late as you want. Tonight, we’re watching the fireworks and going to bed,” Bucky grumbled, brushing a finger over your engagement ring. “Unless you really want to stay out here.”

You giggled again. Bucky had to share your attention with everyone all day and was still sharing it now. He was more than ready to have you all to himself. You understood the feeling.

“I’m fine with going inside after the fireworks. We’ll check on the cats and then go to bed,” you assured him.

With everyone drinking, you all decided it was better to crash in the same place instead of going home. Neither of you wanted to leave Alpine or Soot at your place though in case any neighbors decided to shoot fireworks off the roof, so you brought them over. They had a space set up under the guest bed with some white noise to help block out some of the sound. Anything to help put them at ease.

Bucky tilted your chin a bit more to place a soft kiss on your lips, the tension crackling like the fireworks had already started. “Thank you, Smartie.”

“You’re welcome, Stud.”

As if on cue, the show began.

You looked up at the sky in awe as the first firework rushed into the air. An explosion followed by a vivid display of light, they were like rainbows in the night brightening the darkness with color. They were beauty and wonder, a form of art that faded almost as quickly as it was created. Watching with loved ones made it all the more special.

You tilted your head and smiled when you caught Bucky staring back at you. “Why aren't you looking at the sky?”

“Why aren't you?” He teased, bumping his nose against yours. “Besides, I don't need to watch the sky when I have the most beautiful view right here.”

Your cheeks warmed. So did your heart. “You flatter me so,” you whispered, looking back at the sky again.

Bangs, crackles, and thunderous sounds continued to fill the air with the gorgeous display. You couldn’t keep the smile off your face. You almost regretted not having your phone beside you so you could take some pictures.

Though you likely would’ve dropped it when you felt Bucky’s hand move from your hip to under your skirt.

“Stud?” You gasped, quickly looking around as his hand trailed up your thigh. No one was looking your way. They were too occupied with the fireworks.

“Just keep looking at the sky, Smartie,” he said against your ear, your legs opening more as his hand found its prize. “And I'll keep touching you.”

Oh, fuck.

You shivered in his grasp despite the blanket and his body providing more than enough heat. His touch was possessive yet tender and you could feel your body turn to jelly as he rubbed you through your panties. You tried to concentrate on the colors above you, the material damp from his expert touch. And you couldn't stop your heart from pounding in your ears, adding the explosive noises around you.

More fireworks went off, but you blocked out the “oohs” of your friends as he pushed the wet fabric aside. “Bucky,” you whimpered, biting your tongue when he traced a finger along your slick pussy.

“I’ve wanted to touch you all day,” he whispered against your neck, teasing your folds. Your hole clenched before the fingertip even touched it. “I can't believe you’re mine. Keep asking myself how I got so lucky.”

I’m the lucky one.

His finger breached you, making you gasp and grip his arm. His palm pressed against your clit and you couldn’t help but push your hips down, seeking out more friction. You wanted to take care of him, too. Maybe when the two of you went to bed…

Another finger slipped in, curling and thrusting quickly. If you were at home, he’d take more time in taking you apart. He wouldn't stop until you soaked the sheets and even then he might keep going. And he'd make sure you were a quivering mess, mewling and begging for mercy or reprieve.

“Have I told you today how much I love you, babydoll?” He asked, static pleasure coursing through your body as you climbed higher.

Orgasms were a lot like fireworks. Some tumbled slowly in the sky, like a slow fire that coursed through your veins. Others exploded, so large and powerful that you couldn’t keep the sounds of awe in. Then there were small bursts, the ones that got the job done and still felt good.

You wondered what kind of orgasm Bucky would give you tonight.

“I love you, too,” you whispered, colors dancing behind your eyes as you shut them.

You wanted to shout how much you loved Bucky Barnes. You wanted your love for him to burst through the sky like a shooting star. But you didn’t need to put on a show for him to know you were his. He knew you belonged to him.

But you’d still have to try and keep quiet as you clenched around his fingers.

“Please,” you whispered, ready to fall over the edge as his palm rubbed your clit again.

Your head turned and his mouth slanted against yours to swallow down your moan. “Open your eyes,” he whispered, his fingers curling once more as you listened to his command and watched the colors light up his blue eyes. “And come for me.”

Your walls pulsed as the finale began, your cry drowned out by the rapid booms. Your wetness coated his fingers, every nerve cell vibrating as brilliant hues illuminated the sky. The hues swirled in your dizzying head, too. You were flying. Sinking. Floating.

You were a firework.

“Beautiful,” Bucky whispered, guiding you back to him.

Your body stayed lax against his, wishing he didn't have to take his fingers out. “You’re beautiful,” you exhaled, watching him subtly bring his hand to his mouth to taste your release. “Menace,” you added.

This man. I really just let him finger bang me with everyone sitting around.

“Yeah, I am,” he smiled, placing another kiss on your lips as Steve and Sam got up. Natasha and Clint were already up, too, to get more drinks.

If anyone knew what happened, they didn't draw any attention to it.

“Those were even better than last year,” Sam said.

“They were. And now we can have s'mores,” the blonde smiled, stopping to look at his best friend. “I thought you two were going to bed.”

“In a minute,” Bucky said, shifting his hips under yours to let you feel how hard he was. Getting you off turned him on. “Think I need to relax a bit more.”

Yeah, so no one sees you walking around with a raging hard-on.

You wiggled your hips, smiling when your fiancé quietly groaned. “Yeah. Relax,” you sighed, feeling him squeeze your thigh in a warning.

Well, he wanted your attention before and now he had it.

And I’ll make him see fireworks before the night is over, too.

Stud and Smartie need to talk to my muse and make sure Steve has a good birthday. 🥰 Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[wendichester]

Hii! I love your writing! 🩷

Would I be able to request dean x fem!reader? Maybe reader is one of Sam’s friends from college and Dean instantly fall for her. Slow burn-ish but turns out she’s a hunter too and sticks with the boys? You can decide what brings them together and if you want to write smut or not :b

Thank you! <3

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ unfinished business,

summary. being sam's best friend is nothing but perks

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 870

notes. smutty!!! mdni! + absolutely love this concept of being sam's bestie and dean falling for reader!!! thanks for requesting hun, hope you like it 🩷

Dean’s not the kind of guy who believes in fate.

But the first time he sees you, he feels something pull.

It’s stupid, really. He’s been in Palo Alto less than ten minutes, freshly showered after the long drive, expecting a quick beer before dragging Sam back into the life. He wasn’t expecting you—perched on the arm of Sam’s couch, laughing at something dumb his brother just said.

Your laugh hooks into his ribs.

You glance up, and Dean knows in an instant—he’s screwed.

Because you’re looking at him like you already know him, like you can see right through the cocky grin he forces onto his face, like maybe—just maybe—you’re interested.

“Dean,” Sam says, standing to clap him on the back. “This is Y/N.”

“Yeah?” Dean keeps his gaze locked onto yours, offers a slow, lopsided smirk. “Should I be worried about the company you keep?”

Your lips twitch. “Oh, definitely.”

The words shouldn’t hit him like they do, shouldn’t make his pulse tick up, shouldn’t make him wonder what exactly you mean.

But they do.

And damn, does he want to find out.

It takes months.

Months of stolen glances, teasing remarks, conversations that last too long and end too soon. Of catching you staring, of looking away when you catch him.

Sam’s clueless, of course. Always has his head buried in a book, always assumes the tension in the room is just Dean being Dean.

But Dean knows.

Knows that something’s happening here, slow and inevitable, like a fire catching under his skin.

And then, one night, it all snaps.

It’s a hunt.

You’re not supposed to be here. You’re supposed to be back at school, safe and oblivious to the life Sam left behind.

But here you are—bloodied, exhausted, standing over a pile of dead vamps with a silver knife in your hand.

Dean can’t fucking breathe.

“What the hell, Y/N?” His voice is sharp, rough with adrenaline. “What are you—”

“Saving your ass,” you shoot back, wiping the blade clean against your jeans.

Dean’s head spins. He can’t decide what’s worse—the fact that you’ve been lying this whole time, or the fact that seeing you like this—alive, fierce, completely in your element—makes his stomach clench in a way that has nothing to do with fear.

“You’re a hunter.”

You exhale, running a hand through your hair. “Surprise.”

Dean stares at you, still catching up, still trying to piece it all together.

“You could’ve told me,” he says, quieter now.

You give him a look. “Like you would’ve believed me?”

Damn it. You’ve got a point.

Dean drags a hand down his face, takes a slow breath. “So what now?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

And there it is—that challenge, that pull that’s been between you since day one. Dean steps forward, close enough to catch the scent of your shampoo under the blood and sweat.

Close enough to finally do what he’s wanted to do for months.

He cups your face, rough hands gentle, searching your eyes. Giving you a chance to push him away.

You don’t.

You never would.

And then he’s kissing you.

It’s not slow, not soft—it’s months of tension, of longing, of wanting finally breaking loose. Your fingers fist in his jacket, pulling him closer, and Dean groans against your lips, deep and wrecked.

“Tell me to stop,” he mutters, breath hot against your mouth.

You shake your head. “Not a chance.”

That’s all it takes.

Dean lifts you, pressing you against the wall of the abandoned barn, slotting his hips between your thighs. He’s hard, aching, and when you grind against him, a broken sound escapes his throat.

“Fuck, sweetheart...”

Your nails rake down his back, your mouth tracing the sharp edge of his jaw, and Dean’s losing it.

His hands slip under your shirt, dragging over warm skin, pulling it over your head. Your bra follows, and then his mouth is on you—hot, wet, desperate. He kisses down your throat, over your collarbone, down to where your nipples pebble under his touch.

You gasp, arching into him, and Dean grins against your skin.

“You always this needy?”

“Shut up and focus, Winchester.”

Dean groans. “Yes, ma’am.”

He unbuttons your jeans, yanks them down, finds you already soaked. His fingers slip through your heat, teasing, testing.

“Jesus, babygirl. All this for me?”

You whimper, hips bucking into his touch, and Dean doesn’t waste any more time. He frees himself from his jeans, lines up, and sinks in.

You both shudder, breathless, still for a moment before Dean starts moving.

Slow at first, deep and measured, then rougher, faster.

Your moans echo through the barn, your body tight around him, perfect, made for this. For him.

Dean can’t think, can’t breathe—just chase the feeling, chase you.

And when you come—clenching, gasping, pulling him over the edge—Dean knows.

He’s gone.

And he’s never coming back.

Later, as you lay tangled together in the backseat of the Impala, Dean traces lazy circles on your bare hip.

“You know this means you’re stuck with us now, right?”

You smirk, resting your chin on his chest. “Think Sammy will approve?”

Dean grins, pulling you up for another kiss.

“Sammy's gonna love it.”

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[sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth]

Text

(Dean Winchester x female reader)

Summary You’re back in the bunker, and Dean’s in a bar in Missouri. Thank God for modern technology. CWs Sexting. Dean being a good boyfriend. Phone sex. Sneaking around. 18+. 1.3k words.

Dean Winchester masterlist ⏐ SPN masterlist

Dean drags his phone out of his back pocket and opens the message from you without even thinking twice about it. His phone is set to downloading pictures automatically, which he later on thinks he might have to change, because the picture that greets him is of your tits and your hand between your legs.

He immediately locks the screen and pushes his hand with the phone in it under the table, taking a careful look around if anyone saw. Sam’s deep in conversation with Jody, Donna and Doug, so Dean grabs his beer with his free hand, takes a sip, tries to act very casual.

His phone vibrates in his hand, and although he knows he shouldn’t, knows that the conversation could turn back to him any second, that anyone could walk past him and look at his screen, he opens the message.

Thinking of you…

Dean needs to clear his throat, takes another sip. Another message.

Wish you were here to do that thing with the thing.

Well, right about now, Dean wishes he was too. He scrolls up a little, takes a quick peak at the picture you sent. Nipples hard, chest flushed. Goddamn, you look just about good enough to eat.

Still. He’s in the middle of a bar, game on in the back, about half of Missouri traipsing around him, his brother and closest friends (and Doug) right next to him. The only reason you stayed behind is because you got banged up pretty good on the last case, and since this looked like a simple salt and burn, Dean put you on bedrest.

He’s really regretting that right about now. If you were here and in this kind of mood, he’d be dragging you back to the motel like a caveman. But you’re not, so he starts typing.

At the bar with the guys. Call you later? Love you, get some re

Another photo comes in. It’s a close-up, your middle and ring finger pressed into your mouth, tongue curling up, lips pink and wet. Dean deletes what he wrote, writes something new.

Hot

Thinking of me?

He looks at the sent words. They don’t look very sexy, but maybe it’s just cause it’s weird to see them typed out. He would say them to you usually, of course. Well, not those exact words, but—

Need your beautiful cock inside me.

O-kay. You’re way better at this than him. That beautiful cock you’re texting about heard the wake-up call, is figuratively rubbing sleep from its eyes. Again, surrounded by most of Missouri. Well, he can’t half-ass this now.

Wish I could be inside you, baby girl. Feel how wet you are.

Yeah, that’s better, Dean thinks. He’s almost proud of himself, takes another sip of beer.

“What do you think, Dean?” he hears and his head shoots up. It’s Jody, turned all the way towards him, and he has no idea what she’s talking about. He clears his throat again.

“Uh, uhm,” he says, eloquently. Well, the best lies contain half the truth, so he motions to his phone. “Sorry, wasn’t listening, just checking in with the homebase.”

“Aw,” Donna says, laying her head to the side. “Give her our best. How is she?” Dean looks at his screen.

Want you here with me, fucking me so hard and deep I can feel you in my throat.

“Good, all good,” Dean stutters, reassuring smile forced onto his lips. “Real good.” He feels his phone vibrate again, but he doesn’t dare look down. And then Doug has a great idea.

“Hey, why don’t we send a nice picture?” he pipes up. Everyone else at the table thinks it’s a great idea too.

“Sure,” Dean says, quickly switches to the camera. He turns, stretches his arm out. Everyone leans in, smiling. Snap. Done. Merriment around the table and Dean can turn back to your messages, pretend he’s sending the picture.

Want to take all of you, baby, feel you open me up.

He quickly starts typing.

Wish I could taste you right now. Taste your delicious pussy. Eat you until you’re screaming my name.

Well, how about that, he is good at this, which of course, he isn’t surprised at, not really.

Oh God, Dean, I need you

Dean reads the text proudly. He loosens up his elbows, puts both hands on the phone. Game mode. You’re gonna get what you’re asking for, cause Dean is a giver through and through.

Use your fingers, imagine they’re mine. Think you can take three?

Dean grins. If they’re yours, you probably can, with how sweet and dainty they are. Immediately he’s rewarded with the mental image of three of his fingers pressed into you, making you full while you’re moaning his name over and over. Oh, he needs to be careful. He is getting himself to a place of no return quickly. So he decides to concentrate on what he’s writing.

Wanna make you come until you can’t move and then fuck you

Make you come one more time on my cock

Then let you lick what’s left off of me

Jesus, he doesn’t know where that came from, but it’s out there now, and the image of it… it’s making things difficult. Your pretty eyes blinking up at him, heavy lids and swollen lips, while you clean him up with your tongue.

I’ll let you sleep for a bit and then we go again

Over and over

All night baby

Dean suddenly notices you’re not answering anymore. Which means you’re either dead or otherwise busy. He’s still staring down at his screen when he sees Sam get up out of his periphery.

“Another one?” Sam asks, pointing at Dean’s nearly empty beer. Dean nods, and then his phone vibrates and doesn’t stop vibrating. He looks down. You’re calling him.

He stands up, no regard for his situation, mumbles some excuse and moves towards the bathrooms. He picks up at the same time. He nearly trips over his own feet when he hears your voice on the other end.

“Dean…” you moan, and he knows that tone so well. The one that tells him you’re… “I’m about to come.”

“Hold on, hold on, hold on,” Dean says, hurrying now. He finds the men’s room, pushes in. It’s empty as far as he can see, so he goes to the cubicle in the back, pushes in and locks the door. He presses his fist against the cool material to steady himself.

“Tell me, baby,” he says, now fully concentrated on you.

“I wanna, mmh, wanna hear your voice.”

“I’m right here, okay?” he says, a smile going over his lips. “I hear you, hear how good you sound.”

He hears small gasps from your end, and he closes his eyes, leans his forehead against his fist. Imagines you in your shared bed, covers pushed to the side, your naked body writhing while you make yourself come to his words and voice.

“Fuck, you’re so gorgeous,” he mumbles. “Wish I could feel you, could see you move, make you feel good. God, I would fucking take you and—“

“Yes,” you say, voice cracking. “Dean, I’m gonna—”

“Let me hear you, beautiful,” Dean says.

The rest is a long moan, breathy and intense and perfect. Dean’s eyelids flutter like a young maid’s at your sounds. He listens to your breathing calm down, content little sighs leaving you. He wonders if you can hear his breathing as well.

“Fuck, I miss you,” he says and it comes from so deep inside him it shocks him a little.

“I miss you, baby,” you reply, still a little breathless. “I love you so much.”

The smile spreading on Dean’s face is broad. “I love you too.”

“Where are you right now?” you ask.

“Restroom,” Dean replies. He hears a small chuckle come from you that he knows is gonna get him in trouble.

“And how’s your… situation?” you ask, voice an act of innocence. Dean looks down at himself. His situation is pretty obvious.

“’bout as hard as a rock,” he replies casually, making you chuckle again.

“Well,” you reply. “Maybe we can do something about that?”

[buckyalpine]

Actor Bucky and actress reader

He cums accidentally while trying to hold it together during a sex scene.

Imagine a gorgeous but shy beefy Bucky nervous as hell filming an intimate scene with his co star because hes harbouring the most massive crush on her.

He in nothing but a tiny cup covering his most private parts, his perky sculpted ass barely covered by the thin sheet laid on top you both.

“You okay?” He whispers, always checking in on you, his large mass covering you entirely. You give him a shy smile, nodding, the feel of your hands moving to drape around his shoulder making him blush.

“Alright! Get ready to sell it Barnes” Tony calls out, hushing everyone before he starts rolling, signalling a thumbs up to sam to start filming “and action!!”

Bucky braces himself on his forearms keeping his body off yours, moving forward instead of actually thrusting. The lewd sounds you start to make make his hips involuntarily buck forward more than necessary and he nearly stutters.

“Oh God! Please, slow down” you cry softly, portraying your role as a shy house wife perfectly, nervous to consummate her marriage.

Bucky doesn’t think he can take your delicate pleading, his cock straining, desperate for some relief. He can feel it leaking the more you moan, his knuckles turning white gripping onto the sheets.

“So good to me” Bucky whispers back, swallowing thickly as his mind starts to wander over how you’d sound it he was actually stretching you out. Would you moan about how he was too big? Would you beg for him to keep going till he dripped right out of your sweet cunt? Would you want to lick and taste how wet he got for you, moaning over how fat and thick his dick was, worried over how you’d fit all of him inside you? His massive size carried all over, the blush on his face spreading to his neck when his erection nearly brushes against your covered core.

You blink up at him, staring into his baby blue eyes feeling his hardness press against you as it grows, nearly wetting the sheets. Your eyes are locked together and Bucky’s sure he’s not going to control himself, not when you’re looking at him like that. Not when you’re biting your lip, he could’ve sworn he felt your hips buck up, your thighs spreading slightly.

You let out a whimper, his warm breath fanning over your face and he can smell how fucking wet you are. He’s humping the air, just centimetres from where he really wants to be, fuck he wasn’t going to hold it, his balls felt tight, his cock was going to fucking burst-

“Kiss me My love” you say your final line before pulling him down for a heated kiss, letting it get more hot and heavy that the script intended. As soon as he tastes your tongue on his, he moans into your mouth, eyes rolling back, his back muscles flexed and tensed as he soaks the with his cum. He doesn’t pull away, tearing the sheets with his grip as he cums hard, his cock throbbing, till he can feel the front all warm and damp, whimpering till he’s all empty.

“AND CUT! FANTASTIC” Tony cheers, over the moon with how it turned out, “that was great and nice touch ripping the sheets Barnes, made it look real. Everyone take 5 and we’ll shoot that diner scene”

Everyone starts to pack up to get ready for the next shoot and Bucky swears he hears you let out a little giggle as you pull away, smiling at his flustered state.

“You okay, Buck?” You coo while he bites back a whine, his softening cock now sensitive and aching. Your assistant runs over to slip you into a robe, dragging you off to hair and makeup while he holds the sheet to the lower half of his body.

He grabs the robe Steve hands to him, smirking at his best friend with his head cocked to the side.

“You sure that was acting, Buck?” Steve snorts, nodding to the wet patch on the sheet while Bucky groans, grabbing it and stuffing it away before running off to his room.

“Shut up”

[cobaltperun]

Jerks With Hearts of Gold - Property Damage

SMUT! Bottom Tara Carpenter x Top Female Read

Summary: Tara's reckless habit bites you in the ass before you can finish.

Warning: Smut, so minors do not interact, top Reader, bottom Tara, oral sex, vaginal sex, multiple orgasm, fingering, strap-on.

Masterlist / Side story of this request

Word count: 3k

It started as a cute, albeit a bit reckless habit, one you somehow managed to silently encourage. It was cute and you had too much faith in your rented apartment's furniture. In your defense, Tara looked adorable and rather happy every time she got the chance to throw herself at your bed, with or without you on it. And you had a sneaking suspicion that your silent, but nonetheless positive reactions to her actions only fueled her happiness.

You came back one night from a date, surprised that you actually managed to get an entire night just for you and Tara without having to do elaborate plans to keep your relationship a secret from Sam and Tara's friends. Well, you figured they were also your friends now. Either way, Sam allowed you and Tara to hang out, fooled by the essay Tara and you had to write for your class.

Okay, fooled wasn't the right word here. The essay did exist, and the deadline was approaching, but you didn't even touch it tonight. And Tara made some excuse that the essay was long, and it would be more practical for her to spend the night. And Sam, being completely oblivious to all the things you and Tara have been doing over the past months, agreed to that.

She actually got fooled by this pretend-we-hate-each-other bullshit, so you felt no regrets. Granted, Tara was convincing, groaning and complaining about it even as you pretended to drag her outside her apartment, all for Sam to see and hear it, just so Sam would believe it. She even kept the act up as you went down the stairs and went across the street, just in case Sam was watching from the window. All of that vanished the moment you were out of sight and your date began, taking you to the cinema, then to your favorite bakery, and finally, to your apartment.

Tara went straight into your bedroom and threw herself at your bed, doing the infamous Tara Bomb she's been doing even before you got together. She would just drop down on the poor bed again and again, and it stood strong for months.

You both should have known everything had its limits, especially if enough force was consistently applied to it.

When you came into the bedroom, seeing as you weren't a lunatic with a ridiculous habit of assaulting your own bed and thus felt no need to rush in, you saw Tara looking a bit concerned.

"Everything okay?" you asked, sitting down behind her and wrapping your arm around her waist.

Tara seemed relieved all of a sudden. "Oh, no, nothing. Just feel a bit guilty over constantly jumping on your bed," bullshit, Tara would never. "It would be a lot more worth it if I landed on you," okay, maybe not bullshit.

"You really want to ride me, don't you?" you teased as she turned around and straddled your lap, kissing you slowly. The taste of her lips was addictive and in an instant you forgot about your bed and Tara’s desire to one day drop a Tara Bomb on top of you.

"Mhm," she agreed and nipped your ear. Her hands immediately digging into your hair, messing it up as she pushed her body against you. "It's been too long," she complained, seriously this time, as you caressed her thighs and then slipped your hands higher, toying with the hem of her shirt.

"It's been a week," you teased her, though you were already pulling her shirt up to take it off.

"Too long," she breathed out, leaning back just enough to let you take her shirt and bra off, while she did the same to you. Her nipples were already hard, tempting and making your mouth water. "Baby, I'm so, oh-" you couldn't resist, not that you even tried, you leaned down and sucked her nipple into your warm mouth while kneading the other breast. "I'm so wet and ready for you," she began grinding slowly, just enough to tease herself. You pulled her up, making her straddle your thigh instead of your lap. Immediately Tara rolled her hips, grinding on your thigh as you nibbled on her nipple and then sucked on it. She was moaning softly, hugging you, her wetness soaking her panties and seeping through to her jeans. “Need more,” she gasped, sensitive, needy, almost desperate.

"Yeah, go on then," you patted her ass and she got up, guiding your hands from her breast and ass to the belt of her jeans. She looked down into your eyes as you took her belt off and pulled her against you. You eyes filled with intense desire as you kissed her right above the waist band of her jeans.

Tara took a deep breath, pushing her jeans and panties down, urging you to strip her naked as you went lower with every inch of skin she revealed until you kissed her right above her pussy. She could see the satisfied grin on your face as you slipped a finger through her folds, making her lean on you as your touch still caught her by surprise and she felt desperate. You kept teasing her for a bit, rubbing her clit as she grasped onto your shoulders, and then you pushed your fingers inside her soaking wet pussy, groaning at how warm it was, and yet smirking as Tara’s knees buckled a bit and she leaned almost all of her weight on you. You glanced up, meeting her eyes as she moaned, rolling her hips and riding your fingers.

You pulled them out, smirking as she glared at you, but the glare vanished as you brought the wet fingers to your lips. "Definitely wet," you licked your finger clean and pulled away, leaning back on the bed and taking what remained of your own clothes off. Tara could tease you as well, she climbed onto the bed, her back turned to you as she knelt there, on her hands and knees.

"You want me like this?" she asked, spreading her legs and enticing you to just take her already. You were going to drive her crazy with all the teasing, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. She craved that teasing, craved this back and forth or pleasure and slight pauses, prolonging each night that ended like this.

You moved until you were behind her, taking in the view, and Tara blushed. The way you were looking at her, like she was the most beautiful sight you will ever see, just turned her on more. "You're going to drive me insane," you whispered, her pussy clenching at the tone of your voice, eagerly expecting your fingers, tongue, or strap.

"That's my line. Fuck, just touch me already!" she pleaded, desperately wanting to feel your touch.

Finally, you placed your hand on her lower back and began sliding it down, slowly moving from her back, over her ass, leaving her trembling and hungry for more. "Maybe you should tell me how wet you are," your slowly rubbed her pussy, spreading her wet pussy lips and asking her to tell you something you could already feel yourself.

"Mhm, bet you could put it in me right away, that's how wet I am for you," she gave you what you wanted, turned on by this. By showing you how much you turned her on, how much she wanted you. And the fact that you wanted her just as badly only increased the pleasure and happiness she felt.

"I'd rather get a taste first," you leaned down and licked her from behind and she barely kept her arms from buckling underneath her as she gasped, fireworks going off in her head as your warm, wet tongue licked through her folds. Your thumb found her clit and Tara felt heat coursing through her entire body. Each touch of your tongue and fingers, the steady hand on her inner thigh, it made her even wetter, made it even easier for your finger to occasionally penetrate her.

"Y/N," she gasped, all she could feel was you, your touch, and it felt so good.

"You taste so good," you hummed, your voce sending vibrations through her clit and making her drop her head down onto your pillow, and Tara could only mumble 'please' as you continued eating her out. "So needy and wet for me."

"I've told you al-" just as she spoke up you pushed your tongue inside her pussy, making her cry out in pleasure. "fuck I'm gonna cum already!" you've gotten way too good at fucking her, way too good at knowing exactly what to do to have her shake from the pleasure.  Way too good at making her body addicted to your touch. Fuck, she was dripping wet and she was sure your chin was soaked as well. You sucked on her clit while fingering her with two of your fingers and she came with a loud, broken cry of your name.

You watched her, her body shaking as she buried her face in the pillow, her knees barely keeping her ass up as you went and put the harness and a strap on on, and you slowly caressed her thighs and ass. Tara moaned, she's always loved these light touches between orgasms, just light displays of love as your hands stopped at her hips, an unspoken promise shared between you of what was to come.

"Fuck, give me more!" she demanded, in usual Tara fashion, wanting more immediately after cumming the first time. "Fuck that damn strap into my pussy," she groaned into the pillow, needy and bossy at the same time.

"So bossy," you teased her as your hands moved from her hips, up her sides as the tip of your strap rubbed against the opening of her pussy.

"Fuck yeah I'm bossy," she turned around, her eyes filled with lust. "You've spoiled me," she confessed as you pulled the strap away made her whine again. "Just take me already! I need you," she whined.

"Turn around," you ordered, lust and desire consuming her, and Tara immediately did as she was told, and even spread her legs wide. And something in you might have cracked when she reached down and spread her pussy for you. And if you even had the slightest intention to tease her it all went out the window as she reached down with her other hand and tugged at the belts of the strap harness. She was often like this during sex, somehow being bossy and quick to listen at the same time.

"Yeah? You want me like this? Soaking wet just for you?" she knew she was getting exactly what she wanted as you leaned over her and pushed the strap inside her wet pussy, and it slid right into her. "Finally!" Tara cried out, legs instantly wrapping around you, her fingers digging into your shoulder and back as you began thrusting into her.

You set just the pace Tara loved, not too gentle, but not rough either, steadily thrusting into her as she met each of your thrusts with the same intensity, lost in the pleasure and the heat of your naked bodies pressed together.

"Just like that, fuck my pussy, Y/N, fuck me, pound your strap into me," she was surprisingly tame tonight, as you found the perfect angle and she arched her back, her nails digging deeper into your skin as you her wetness coated the strap and dripped onto the sheets. She reached up, tilting your head up so she could kiss you, and you opened your mouth, letting her slip her tongue inside it, letting her control the kiss as you fucked her.

You couldn't think of anything that could quite compare to this, to making love to the love of your life, to seeing her drop all her defense mechanisms and just let go. She trusted you completely, with her pleasure, and her safety as she gave you all of her. “Harder, faster, don’t hold back,” she gasped and you sped up, thrusting harder into her.

"Y/N," she whined, clutching you tighter, wanting you deeper, closer. "Y/N," she kept moaning your name, increasingly more desperate as you slipped your hand between the two of you and found her clit.

"I know, Baby," you kissed her neck softly, gently sucking on the side of it.

"I need you so much, need to be yours, need to be taken by you," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly and giving you yet another sign she was close. "I'm close," she whispered, tossing her head back and baring her neck to you as you dragged your upper lip down from her chin and then lightly bit the spot where her neck and shoulder met, leaving a barely noticeable mark that the clothes and light make-up would cover.

"Cum for me, Tara," you rubbed her clit a bit harder, feeling her legs lock around your hips. "Good girl," you knew that would push her over the edge even faster. "Taking me so well."

"Oh, fuck!" nothing short of completely stopping would have stopped Tara's orgasm now. And you were so damn close as well, just a bit more. A few more thrusts and you'd cum together with Tara and you buried your face in her neck, breathing in her intoxicating scent as she moaned in your ear.

"Y/N!" she cried out, cumming hard around your strap, squirting slightly, and you immediately pulled out, halting your own orgasm for a moment, and the look on Tara's face promised you that she would get you over the edge, as soon as she recovered just a bit.

"I've got you," you hugged her and kissed her neck as she continued breathing heavily, shaking slightly in your arms from the intensity of the orgasm as she slowly got her breathing under control like every time you pushed her to two orgasms.

And then it happened. You put your arm on the wrong spot on the bed, and it just collapsed, tilting forward underneath you as the wooden frame cracked and broke, leaving both you and Tara surprised.

"Are you okay?" you immediately asked Tara and she nodded, her eyes wide and the look on her face actually a hilarious mixture of shock, shame and holding back her laugh. "What the fuck?" you asked, looking around you and at the broken bed underneath you and Tara.

"Might be my fault," Tara admitted sheepishly and you blinked a few times, suddenly realizing exactly what she was talking about. The Tara Bombs.

"Good thing it didn't break while I was still inside you," you laughed and that settled it for Tara as well, as she hugged you, pulling you back down on the broken bed, her laughter mixing with your own. And just as you stopped laughing the bottom of the bed fell as well and you were sent into another burst of uncontrollable laughter.

When you finally calmed down you pulled her closer, intending to lift her up and go to the living room. And while doing so her still rather sensitive pussy rubbed against the strap you were still wearing and she whined.

"Sorry," you kissed and held her close, knowing she got really sensitive when she came twice. That was why you immediately pulled out instead of chasing the orgasm that only a few thrusts away.

"It's more than okay," not that Tara minded, as long as you didn't touch her pussy for a few minutes after the second orgasm. "Doubt you'll be able to carry me, though," she laughed lightly, and that would have been true even if you didn't just spend so much energy making love to the girl in your arms.

"Just means you'll have to walk," you joined in and helped her off the broken bed. "Guess we're sleeping on the couch," you said and took the strap off to clean it after you recover.

Tara took your hand and pulled you with her to the living room, still naked and with nothing but a bedsheet, blanket and a pillow in your arms. The two of you made the temporary bed since there was no way you'd be going to Tara's apartment at this hour and Tara snuggled up to you.

"You didn't finish," she pointed out and you shrugged, you were close, but the bed breaking underneath you kind of ruined that plan.

"I can live with that," you assured her, but she had another idea on her mind as she kissed you and then went down, blazing the path from your lips to your pussy with her lips and soft kisses. "Tara," you moaned softly. She didn't need to do this, but damn, you were close, and you'd definitely appreciate it.

"Just relax for me," Tara said, her lips wrapping around your clit as she gently sucked and fuck, you really were close.

"Relaxing," you shut your eyes closed and just gave into the feeling as she put just as much passion into getting you to cum as you did when you were making her feel good. And between her efforts and your body just responding to her you quickly reached your orgasm, moaning her name as Tara once more kissed the same path, only in reverse.

"I love you," she said, snuggling into you once more, and you just took a moment to process everything, to take in the rare moment of vulnerability from Tara shown by those three words.

"I love you too," you kissed her and hugged her tightly, drawing small circles on her bare back, just the way she liked it. "I really don't want to get up though," you groaned after a couple of minutes.

"You'll let me shower alone?" Tara teased as she got up and went to your bathroom, and well, when she puts it like that.

"Hell no, you'll use up all the warm water!" you exclaimed, jumping in right after her and pulling her back against you.

"Sure, keep telling yourself that's your reason," she rolled her eyes, and you just kissed her shoulder before turning the water on.

[queenie-the-court-jester]

break up with your boyfriend

Yandere trans!fem cheerleader x fem reader

It was so shittily made but I need to pump out more fics or else my blog will die. Thank you all for 1k followers though! I'll rewrite this in the future maybe

Tw: mentions of blackmailing, nsfw, slight breeding kink, batshit crazy girlfriend,not proofread, another oc mentioned!?🌺

💄Eva saccharine has been your girlfriend since she first started transitioning. You helped her style her hair, do her nails, pick her clothes, find good makeup, anything she needed to feel like the real her. So when freshman year rolled in, it came as no surprise to you she fit right in with the clique.

💐Ofcourse you had your fears she'd choose them over you but that wasn't the case, because she'd make you eat lunch with them and sit on her lap, not so subtly humping your ass while talking all about cheer practice

🛍️boys wanted to date her, girls wanted to be her. She just wanted you, to just be the two baddest bitches on the block. It didn't matter if you were just like her or the complete opposite, she gushed over you. Praising you for being her good girl, her sweet little princess, her obedient pocket pussy-

💄but at this current moment? She was busy bullying your insides, forcing her fat cock into your slippery hole as she held you steady by your waist. Biting and groaning everytime she'd feel you squeeze that certain spot on her dick

"fu-uuckkk.. baby cakes, 'yer squeezin' me so goood.. ah.. hah.. you wouldn't mind if I pumped a few babes into your tight cunny right? Wanna be my baby mama?"

💐that made you squeeze tighter, holding onto the bedsheets for dear life. She had you face down, ass up and damn near breaking your back with how hard she was going. Hearing the normally composed and playful eva turn into a drooling pussy-drunk mess had you feeling butterflies, just going plap play plap-

🛍️let's just say, by the end of it, you couldn't walk for days afterwards. But no amount of hickies and perfume would be able to scare away a rather persistent guy. He was on the football team, star quarterback, rich asshole. sam white. Eva hated his guts, he thinks he can just waltz in and steal her bitch? Not on her watch.

💄this little feud had been going on for a while, and more times than you could count you've been caught in the crossfire. Though it was kinda funny, seeing them screeching insults at eachother and bickering. Eva would sassily flick her blonde hair and grab you by the collar of your neck, Dragging you away while Sam hooted and hollered at your retreating form

💐you never questioned her morbid fascination with anything horror or paranormal related. She was just obsessed with regular girl things. wanting you to help her summon a demon once, but you aren't that stupid, making blood pacts with them could result in very unsavory ending's and you quite cherished your soul and body

🛍️Eva has more than one account on different social medias, pretending to be multiple different people and Stalking your posts. She'd slide into your dms and flirt, seeing if you'd really cheat on her. She's so happy when you instantly block the account, guess you'll survive not being sent to her basement for another week

💄she has the audacity to grab a frilly pink pen and make you wear clothes that purposely shows off what she wrote. In bright bold lettering, Eva's little cum dump ♡ . Maybe she'll let you bring a jacket, only if you beg her really hard with those big doe eyes she loves. She put a collar and leash on you too

💐don't try breaking up with her, she takes 'they go low, I go lower" to another level. Threatening to post pictures of you in rather compromising positions. When did she record all of this? Who knows. She won't refrain from spreading nasty rumors of you that just force you to come sobbing into her arms, if you try and get comfort from somebody else she won't hesitate to eliminate them. Don't you see? She's the final girl, and you're her love Interest

"I told you not to run pretty baby.. now look what you've done. I gotta fix your mess up~.."

moral of the story: be a loyal loving girlfriend and she'll spoil you rotten with her daddy's black card ♥️

[hevvxx2]

Papasito Joaquín! inspired from Karol G new music video 🥵

YOOOOO OMGGG THE WAY HE WOULD LOOK AT YOUUU AS YOU DANCE WITH HIM! IM LITERALLY SCREAMING WITHOUT THE S 😭😭😭 AS SOON AS I SAW THIS I HAD TO GET DOWN AND START WRITING, Anyways I hope I wrote this kinda how it was envisioned and to your liking!

Title: Papasito Joaquin!

Characters: Joaquin Torres x Reader

Warnings: FLIRTY! AND SUGGESTIVE!

Pink words: Translation

The bass hit low, thick and slow, pulsing through the packed Avengers rooftop party. Colored lights flashed, weaving over slick skin, glitter, and half-empty glasses. Somewhere between the third reggaetón track and the sticky heat of the crowd, she found him—leaned against a sofa with Bucky, Sam, Steve and Tony chirping in his ear.

Joaquin.

Papasito in every sense of the word—sun-warm skin, cocky little smirk, and those arms that could toss her over his shoulder like nada.

She didn’t say a word. A spanish track hit—and she started to dance. Slow, teasing. Each sway of her hips said: Pay attention, Torres. Eyes locked, she rolled her body to the rhythm, dragging her fingers up her thighs, twirling once as the beat dropped. Every man on that sofa went quiet.

Joaquín sat up.

“Should I look away? I definitely should…” Sam muttered.

Tony raised a brow. “That’s… definitely not for us.”

Bucky just whistled.

Steve almost spit out his beer as he was drinking it and just looked away.

She turned her back to Joaquín and backed it up—a challenge, a dare, an invitation.

He was on his feet in seconds, eyes dark, pulse racing. He didn’t ask. Just walked over like he owned the floor, hands landing right on her love handles with a grip that made her gasp.

“¿Así te gusta, nena?” he growled low in her ear, and holy hell, her knees almost gave out.

(Do you like it like this, baby?)

And then—they were dancing.

Chest to chest, hips swaying in sync, bodies brushing with every roll and grind. His hands slid to her waist, fingers resting right on her love handles like he already knew she liked it. He pulled her close, so close she could feel every inch of him through the thin fabric between them.

He leaned in, lips grazing the shell of her ear.

“¿Tú querías esto, verdad?” he murmured.

(“This is what you wanted, right?”)

She nodded, breathless.

Then—he dropped to one knee behind her.

Right there, in the middle of the dance floor.

With the song climbing in heat, he pressed closer, his palms guiding her hips with reverence and filth. Her ass was practically in his face as he moved her, slow, grinding her into every beat. His grip was firm, fingers digging into her waist like he never wanted to let go. His head dipped just enough for his breath to kiss her lower back, and she felt his lips skim along the line of her spine.

The world blurred.

It was just them now—him kneeling behind her like a sinner at the altar, and her, his goddess in motion.

She arched back, hand reaching behind to tangle in his curls. He looked up at her, cheeks flushed, lips parted, hungry.

“Papasito..” she panted, barely audible over the music. “You keep touching me like that and we’re gonna cause a scandal.”

He smirked, biting his lip. “Then let ‘em watch, mami.”

And when he stood, spinning her into his arms like they’d done this dance a thousand times, her body melted into his.

Because if this was the kind of fire they sparked just dancing…

The afterparty?

Was gonna be straight-up inferno.

Like my work? Here's my Masterlist!

[take-it-on-the-run]

And I Love Her

Sam Winchester x Reader

The reader and Dean are being tortured by Gordon Walker because of her relationship with Sam, and all they can do is hope he'll get there in time.

Word Count: 1.5k

Tags: Torture, graphic depictions of being cut into, descriptions of gore and severe bodily harm, Sam Winchester is out of character depending on who you ask

Characters: Sam Winchester, Reader, Dean Winchester, Gordon Walker

@ghostlyaccurate requested: "Hii! Can I request a Dean and/or Sam Winchester (sepperate) x fem! Reader set in season two, with an established relationship, where it's like when Gordon kidnaps Dean, but instead of just Dean he also kidnaps reader. (I can imagine if it's a Dean x reader Gordon uses reader to get Dean to not try anything, and if it's a Sam x reader Sam just going even more ballistic than he originally does in the show). Thank you!!"

Read it on AO3!

A/N: Beatles title. My first Sam fic! Honestly, it was really hard writing this one for some reason, and after five revisions I'm still not completely in love with it. Regardless, I hope you enjoy, and heed the warnings! Do not read if this will make you uncomfortable!

Sam Winchester Masterlist | Supernatural Masterlist | Main Page Masterlist

Gordon stared blankly at the wall in front of him while you tugged at the ropes on your wrists. A bandana was tied tightly around your mouth that tasted like dirt and your own blood. Dean was tied up to the left of you in a similar state, and both of you were staring down Gordon like it would kill him.

Traps lined every entrance from the doors to every small crack in the wall. Sam was powerful, but you doubted he could break through solid brick. Grenades, tripwire, even a shotgun trap that looked like something straight out of a movie; Gordon wanted Sam dead at all costs.

You knew your boyfriend would come to you and Dean’s rescue, but damn was this cutting it close. Gordon had already tried his best with Dean, but when it was your turn, he took his sweet-ass time.

He punched you, kicked you, even spit on you. Now, you tried your best to not scream as he dragged a knife against the soft flesh between your neck and shoulder.

You failed.

Biting down on the bandana, a muffled scream ripped through your lungs. You tried focusing on Dean, but he wouldn’t meet your eyes which were spilling over with more tears than you thought were in your body.

You could feel your blood dripping down your back and your chest, slithering its way to the floor as Gordon wiped his blade with the rag in his back pocket. He wrenched your head to the side, forcing the fresh wound close and for more tears to streak down your face.

He repeated his process on you a few times.

Your arms.

Your hands.

Your legs.

Every time somehow hurt more than the last, the hunter pulling open your skin and snapping it back together like a rubber band. Your vision was spotty, but you held steadfast to the thought that your boyfriend would be here any minute to save the day like he always did.

Gordon took a step back, wiping sweat and blood from his face and arms. He looked down at you with a glare that you’ve held plenty of times for the less-than-human creatures in the world. You guessed that, in his eyes, you, Sam, and Dean, were held in a similar regard.

Snaps.

Taunts.

Cracks.

Screams.

All because you fell in love with someone born under a bad sign.

You didn’t regret meeting Sam. Kissing him, falling for him, even the idea of just having him in your life was enough for your mind to justify the situation you were in. It wasn’t his fault you were having your life drained out of you minute by minute, and you hoped he would be smart enough to know that.

“Sam’s going to be here any minute, you know. Gotta convince himself he’s the hero of this story, and I’m the big,” Gordon turned to you, knife in hand, “bad, evil dragon. But I’m not the one with demon blood, am I, Y/N?” He placed the edge of the blade against the bottom of your chin. You could feel the cold steel heavy against your skin, and any sudden move would surely spill even more of your blood.

Dean glared at Gordon, his face shades of purple and blue, which mirrored the pain you felt along your entire body. Gordon dug the knife into the bottom of your chin, piercing your skin ever so slightly, but not enough to fatally wound you. Your mind was trying hard to hold onto the cracks of reality that remained in your vision; the smell of the dingy house you were in, the feeling of the carpet making contact with your boots, anything that wouldn’t send your consciousness reeling over was enough of an anchor for you to hang onto.

Gordon walked away from the two of you, returning to his position of peering out one of the boarded-up windows in wait for Sam. You glanced at Dean, which granted you a glance back from him. His eyes were dry, but they held enough behind them to let you know what he was thinking. Sam was going to burst into this booby-trapped hellhole, and Dean could do nothing but blame himself.

It’s all your fault, really, a thought that smashed through what you knew was the truth said.

This isn’t any of our faults, you told it back, wanting to tell Dean the same. Sam wasn’t to blame for the two of you being taken, and neither of you was at fault for being used as bait; it all landed in the hands of the rogue hunter who deemed himself holier-than-thou.

Though you couldn’t see yourself, you knew you were starting to resemble a bloody pulp more than a human being. Dean could barely look your way for longer than a second, and deep cuts that surged whether you moved or not continued to scrape away at your consciousness.

Gordon disappeared, and as you tried to turn your head to follow him, you felt a burning pain across your chest. Highlighted by a spurt of blood splattering over your thighs, you wanted to vomit. The top of your head started to feel like it was being lifted off from the rest of your skull, and the black spots in your vision connected at the edges of your eyes.

You grunted, head going slack and opening wounds on the back of your neck. Either spit, blood, or bile dripped out of your mouth, but at that moment you didn’t care- the black at the corners of your eyes bled together, and all you could do was limply hope Sam would find you.

You blinked, slowly, noticing light creeping in from the boarded-up windows. The second thing you noticed was the searing pain in your body, coupled with grunting and what you could guess was a well-landed punch.

“Y/N!” Someone called out to you, but you could barely lift your head to meet their voice. The bandana in your mouth was pulled away and hands cupped your face, warming your skin that was ice cold after losing so much blood.

The hands left your face and moved to the ropes at your wrists, cutting them off quickly and placing your arms in your lap. You forced your eyes up high enough to see it was your hero, Sam, standing before you with tears starting to fill his eyes. If your face would’ve let your smile, you would’ve, but every movement flashed the memory of Gordon cutting into you.

Gordon.

“Where’s-” You managed to sputter out through a sore jaw and a severely dry mouth.

“Dead,” Sam answered coldly. For the first time, you noticed his knuckles were a hue of bright purple, complimented with blood splattering up his arm. Sam moved your arms around his neck and picked you up as gently as he could.

“Dean’s already in the car patching himself up. I’m going to try and lay you down in the back seat so we can get to the closest hospital. I left Gordon in the room by the first door, so keep your head to my chest if you don’t want to see him, okay?” He asked softly. The tears that were in his eyes had faded slightly, but you could see the emotions he’d no doubt try to hide later on. Regret, blame, guilt - the more he looked at you, the more you could sense that your battered state was tearing away at his consciousness. You wanted to reach out, hold his face, and tell him you’d be okay, you’d survived worse, that it wasn’t his fault, but your thoughts were halted by Sam stepping past Gordon’s body.

If you could call it a body, that is.

His nose was sunken into his face enough that his eyes were slightly popping out of their sockets. His mouth had more gums than teeth, which were scattered around the room. He was lying against a dresser, and his limbs were spread out in the wrong directions. You thought you saw a bone, but before you could look closer, Sam turned and shut the door behind you.

Sam laid you across the back seats of the Impala, trying his best to be gentle with the abhorrent number of cuts across your body. You couldn’t guess how the hospital wasn’t going to ask questions, but you hoped the brothers would figure that out. Your head laid in Sam’s lap, and he looked out the window as Dean buried Gordon.

“Sam,” you slowly moved one of your arms to his face, bringing his attention to you, “thank you. You saved us both. You had to do what you had to do.”

Sam smiled but still didn’t say a word as he dipped down and planted a gentle kiss on your forehead.

You wanted to be able to tell him everything your racing mind was coming up with but were beaten by the overwhelming need to not move. Dean climbed into the front seat, beating the gas pedal to the floor and hitting the highway as Sam ran his fingers comfortingly through your hair.

[gallavichsreddie1128]

Being Obsessed with Castiel

“Ooo Dean, who's your handsome friend?” “I’m an angel of the lord.” “Religious, I like it.”

No, he was an actual angel of the lord

Dean looked amused at any conversation between the two.

“Cas, you’re so oblivious.” 

Y/N would give any excuse to touch him no matter how ridiculous it sounded: “Oh you got a little blood right here.” She rubbed his chest.

“That won’t help.” He mumbled, noticing that there wasn’t any blood.

Sam cringed when Y/N tried to flirt with Cas, knowing that he didn’t catch on. 

“What are you doing, later?” “I will be where I am needed.” 

“I need you in my bed.” 

Y/N would be reading a book when Cas randomly appeared in her room: “Why are you here so late?” 

“You said you needed me here.” She smirked and patted the bed. 

Cas was confused but got on the bed anyway and laid next to her. 

She smirked and ran her fingers on his chest: “Finally I got you right where I want you.” 

“Why do you need me here-oh.” He realized as she was leaning in.

They kissed but that was all that night.

Days later, she had not seen Cas and wondered if kissing him was too far. 

“Has anyone seen Cas?” She asked the others who smirked at her.

“Miss your boyfriend?” Dean smirked.

Cas appeared right behind Dean

“Cas get out of my ass.”

“I wasn’t in your-” but he sees Y/N.

“You can appear in my ass.” She winks at him

He walks over to her, “You. I need to show you something.”

She smirks, “Anything for you.”

He takes her away from the others, into her room. 

Before she could get a word in, he backed her against the door and kissed her, hard. 

She kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

They continued to kiss until she pulled away to breathe. 

“Where-” “I learned that from the pizza man.” She smirked at his words. 

“What else did you learn from the pizza man?” She asked seductively. 

Cas looked over at the bed, “Are you sure you’re ready for that?”

She nearly moaned out the answer, “I was ready when I met you.” 

He dragged her over to her bed and let’s just say, Dean and Sam hated that night.

[losers-clvb]

hunters' reunion sam winchester x female!reader

content: smut (fingering, dirty talk, public sex, nonconsensual voyeurism), dom!sam, established relationship

word count: 737

note: this is actually a part of an answer for an ask, but it got a bit out of hand, so i decided why not turn it into a little blurb! enjoy!

Sam and Dean aren't usually the type to go to these types of things, but the moment you heard Jody mention a “hunters’ reunion”, you're begging them to go. You missed the community of your old life, though you would never admit it out loud.

Upon arrival, it was clear that every hunter within driving distance had chosen to attend. You dragged Sam through the crowds, laughing and chatting it up. The other hunters are impressed that the Winchesters have made an appearance, some even more impressed that a girl like yourself could get the infamous Sam Winchester to do just about anything with a bat of your lashes.

Night comes and the few still lingering guests, including some you know personally, are gathered around a bonfire. The array of mismatched chairs are small in quantity, so you make no complaints when Sam drags you onto his lap. You snuggle into him, grateful for the warmth he provides in the chilly night air.

Jody and Dean are going on about some haunting they had to deal with a few weeks back. It's slow going, telling the story, because the two kept interrupting each other.

"No, no, Dean, it was not four ghosts! It was six!" Jody butts in when Dean is setting the scene. He raises an eyebrow at her.

"Learn how to count, old lady. It was four." Dean counters, dragging out the last word for dramatic effect.

"Who are you calling old? I heard your back crack earlier when you stood up!" That sends Dean back into a different argument, and so it continues.

You laugh along and try to listen, but then you feel a poking up against your ass.

"You feel that?" Sam's lips ghost against the shell of your ear. It was inconspicuous enough to not draw attention. "That's what you do to me, baby."

You can't even do so much as move your head to reply. It'd be too obvious that you two were talking, leading to Jody's and Dean's arguing to turn to you. Instead, you just leaned further into his chest.

"Wish we were alone," Sam continues, "I'd fuck you up against that tree so hard the squirrels would have my name memorized."

It shouldn't have been as hot as it was. The whimper that leaves your throat is embarrassing. Thankfully, Jody had burst from her chair at the same moment, ranting on about how she "saved Dean's wimp ass.” Dean doesn't agree and follows her to standing.

"Are you wet right now?" Sam dares a kiss on your ear. He frowns at your nonresponse. "Answer me or I'll check myself." He growls.

You try to bite back your moan, unsuccessfully. A few neighboring hunters look your way and you make a show of stretching your arms, attempting to replicate the moan.

Apparently they're more gullible than they should be for trained killers because they smile and turn back to "The Jody and Dean Show" with their new host Charlie, who had pushed in between the two in an attempt to calm them from their childlike shouting over who's killed the most vamps.

You forget you had a question to answer until Sam's hand snakes under your dress. He cups your cloth-covered sex and hums out approvingly at the damp feel.

"Soaked." He whispers to you. you swallow and pray he's finished with this game of his, ignoring the excitement that bubbles into you at the new situation.

"You be a good quiet girl and I'll let you come." Sam dips his hand into your underwear. He swipes two fingers through your folds before slipping them into you. you clench your jaw to keep from whining.

Your eyelids flutter shut a few times while he pumps his fingers into you. All you can think is thank God for the blanket draped over you two, and thank God for the Winchester men's long fingers.

"That's it, baby, come on my hand." Sam keeps his eyes straight ahead, giving the illusion that he was simply watching the new argument between Charlie and Dean about which actress was hottest.

You squeeze your eyes shut and let out a shaky breath with your release. The group around you is none the wiser to your activities as Sam carefully readjusts your underwear to a comfortable position. He kisses your forehead with a smile and takes a sip of his beer while you reorient yourself.

sam winchester taglist : @hobiespick @xoswiftieprincess

everything taglist : @littlesoulshine @sacr1ficialang3l @blossomingorchids @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @mostlymarvelgirl @missus-ackles @tinas111 @ambiguous-avery

[kaisacobra]

Speak No Evil - Sam Carpenter

Part 1 of Dark Knight series

Summary: You think Tara's sister hates you, or, at least, she is embarrassingly aware of your little crush on her. You couldn't be further from the truth, but Sam wouldn't let you know the length she'd go to protect you.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Stalker!Sam, violence, blood, character death (not main) mentions of sex, cursing, mostly following canon.

w.c: 5.6 k

“Ugh, I just want to get home and throw myself on the couch.”

“Real.”

You and Tara climbed the stairs to her apartment side by side, dragging your feet more than anything else due to the exhaustion of the grueling day in college. You almost sighed with relief when you arrived in front of the familiar door, seeing your best friend take the key out of her pocket and open the lock with her shoulder already against the wall.

She entered the house already throwing her own bag aside, without even noticing the object sliding across the wooden floor. Being a visitor, you couldn't afford the same carelessness, opting to leave your bag on one of the small sofas. Your shoulders thanked you when they were spared the weight of the textbooks after long minutes on the subway and walking.

“You're home early, Sam.”

Automatically, your heart started racing when you heard Tara's simple words and you turned around at lightning speed to see Samantha Carpenter emerging from the kitchen, wearing nothing more than a gray tank top and black pants, comfortable to wear at home but dangerous for your eyes.

“They robbed that electronics store next to the bar.” She shrugged at her own explanation, but you were more focused on the way her biceps seemed to bulge when she crossed her arms. “The boss chose to close it for safety reasons, plus no one would want to drink with a police car parked right outside the door.”

“H-Hi, Sam!” You raised your hand to greet her, but your brain froze as you decided between a gesture, and you ended up with a strange three-fingered salute.

Your cheeks felt like they were on fire as you instantly regretted your action, especially after Sam barely reacted to your presence, with nothing more than a nod to indicate that she had heard you. She had barely finished greeting you when she turned to Tara again. “Since I'm here, I can cook something for dinner instead of getting takeout.”

“Great!” Tara agreed beside you. “Just don't do too much. Y/n and I are going to make popcorn and watch a movie right now, I won't be that hungry later.”

“And I'm not staying for dinner!” You hastened to say, not wanting to give Sam any more trouble, especially when she seemed to stare into the depths of your soul with those piercing dark eyes. “I-I still have a lot to study, I have to get back early.”

Still remaining a woman of few words, Sam merely nodded and began to retreat to the kitchen again, before stopping to point at Tara. “Just don't make it too loud. Last time I had to listen to a lot of complaints from the lady upstairs.”

“You got it.” Tara replied with a joking salute and the older sister just rolled her eyes before finally leaving the two of you alone. It wasn't long before you became the butt of Tara's jokes, as she mimicked your voice in an annoyingly high-pitched tone. “H-Hi, S-S-Sam...”

“Fuck you.” You punched the girl weakly in the shoulder as you walked over to the couch, throwing yourself against the cushions with your arms crossed. Tara paid no attention to the micro-aggression, laughing even louder as she sat down next to you, crossing her legs on the furniture.

A sigh escaped your throat as Tara turned on the television and flipped through the catalog of some streaming network, probably looking for another horror movie. “I think your sister hates me.”

“Nah, that's just how she is.” The shorter girl threw a gesture of indifference. “But she surely knows about this big ass crush you have on her.”

You felt your face catch fire again at the accusation. “I don’t- .”

“Yes, you do. It's obvious and it's disgusting.”

“Yeah?” You decided to join in Tara's teasing game, knowing that this was just one of your usual friendly banter. “Like the crush you have on that blonde from the basketball team?”

“Look, i’ll have you know that-”

You interrupt Tara with a shush escaping from between your lips, parted in a smile. Your phone had just beeped with a notification and you quickly pulled it out of your pocket to see Mindy's text on your lock screen.

Unfortunately, the content of the message instantly broke the fun mood. “Shit.” You cursed through your teeth, feeling the corners of your lips drop.

You could feel Tara stirring on the sofa, dragging herself to your side as she tried to read what was on your screen. “What?”

A sigh. “Mindy's asking me about what happened at ARCS.”

“Oh.”

Analysis and Reflection on Contemporary Society, also called ARCS, was an elective that you and Tara were taking and it basically consisted of having a debate on a topic proposed by the teacher every class. You had joined because the proposal was interesting, but most of the students were only there because Professor Ross graded you through attendance and not through exams.

Which was a good indicator of the type of person who was attending those classes.

The moment of silence was broken by your best friend's hesitant voice. “Do you... want to talk about what happened?” 

Tara, bless her heart, wasn't the best person to offer emotional support and you knew that very well, both because of the long year you'd been friends for and because of the complete awkwardness she found herself in. Even so, you knew she wouldn't rest until you took some of the weight off your back.

“I don't want to pay too much attention to this.” You huffed, shoving your phone back into your pocket as if it were the reason for your anger. “E.J. Abrams called me a bitch to the whole class, who cares? Everyone knows I was getting his ass in that debate.”

Seeing that you were more annoyed than hurt, Tara jumped at the chance to curse the boy, feeling much more comfortable now that the topic seemed to be centered on hatred. “That little shit. He thinks he can do whatever he wants because he's blond and strong and some dumb girls suck his toes.”

“I think it's more the fact that he's a medal-winning swimmer on the Olympic team and he's in one of the most exclusive fraternities on campus.”

“Well, fuck that ridiculous fraternity and fuck his medals too.” Tara continued, seeming to enjoy the way the F-word came out of her mouth. “I can't believe Professor Ross didn't even give him a warning.”

“I can.” You retorted without much joy, knowing damn well that the man would never intervene in any discussion between students because it was all part of the “debate experience”. Which, in fact, seemed more like an excuse so that he wouldn't have to get directly involved in any conflict.

With the movie completely forgotten in the background, you and Tara continued to curse every last generation of E.J., transferring all your indignation into words that the boy would probably never hear.

Meanwhile, someone else was listening to the entire conversation through the thin walls of the apartment, making a mental note to do more research on E.J. Abrams another time.

__

Sam was glad she had decided to wear a stronger jacket. New York nights were gradually getting colder as winter approached.

If she turned around, she would probably see students rushing around as they crossed campus, trying to get to their dorms before the curfew. Without even looking at her watch, Sam knew that they had approximately 5 minutes before 10:30 pm. She liked to arrive at 10.

But she didn't turn around, choosing to keep her back against the bars of the fire exit one floor above yours. She still couldn't believe that she had a perfect, hidden view of your entire room through your window, but Sam would never complain about that gift.

It was a safety issue, yes, but you were never going to be in danger when she was right there, in that fire exit, every night. No other person would harm you as long as she was there.

“Are you still hiding behind false pretenses?”

Sam would recognize that dry, slurred voice anywhere. She barely had to turn her head to see her father, or the image of him, sitting right in front of her with that familiar mischievous smile. He looked as he always did, not that a hallucination could have such a vast closet. White blouse stained with blood, messy black hair and eyes that Sam sometimes recognized in the mirror.

“There's nothing false about what I'm doing.” Sam muttered in response, even though she knew she shouldn't. 

“There’s no need to be embarrassed.” Billy continued, his smile getting wider with the attention he was receiving. “I know more than anyone that everyone needs a good obsession. Obsession makes perfect, doesn't it?”

This time, Samantha chose to leave him without an answer. Obsession. That word sounded so ugly to her ears, completely wrong too. She wasn't obsessed with you, she was just... protecting you.

At first, that hadn't exactly been Sam's intention, of course. When Tara talked about a new friendship, her protective big sister instincts instantly went on alert. No one could blame her after everything they'd been through in Woodsboro and more recently in her own apartment.

But she also couldn't deprive Tara of having a normal life and interacting with other people. Not everyone was a psycho waiting for an opportunity to stick a knife in the Carpenters. Still, Sam wanted to make sure that you weren't going to be another disappointment in her sister's life.

That's how she found herself on that fire escape for the first time, making sure that you really lived in the dorms, that you hadn't lied about your identity, that you didn't have a secret agenda or sneak out at night to play God and take some lives.

But you were... normal. Sam would even say that you were more normal than she and Tara would ever be. Everything about you was genuine and you carried with you a kindness that made Sam stop thinking of you as a suspect to someone she put on her mental protection list.

And it was by studying your normality, immersing herself in your pure and well-intentioned actions that Sam realized she was no longer watching you because she lacked trust in your person, but rather because she wanted that for herself. Those moments watching you from afar, seeing you live your life, brought an inner peace to Sam that she couldn't even explain.

It had been months since she had started this routine, so Sam knew very well that in a few minutes your roommate would open the window to use her pink-flavored vape, since you hated the smell being trapped in the room. The open window would allow Sam to eavesdrop on 20 minutes of conversation between you and your friend, which Sam thought was perfect for finding out at least a little about what was going on in your life.

Just as planned, the blonde opened the window and leaned both elbows on the sill, letting the flavored smoke escape through her lips as she took another drag of the pink device. Sam didn't like your roommate, Sammy - yes, she had also found the coincidence of names a bit ironic -  because she thought the girl was... too clingy with you.

But as far as Sam knew, it wasn't a crime to be a clingy friend. It was just annoying. Annoying wasn't enough reason for Sam to do anything about it.

“... Well, frat guys are shit.” Sammy spoke over another puff of smoke, probably finishing answering something. “They must have a total of two neurons combined.”

“I knoooww...” You whined, rubbing a hand across your face in frustration. Sam could see you lying on your bed with your phone in your hand, certain that you must’ve been scrolling on your social media, as you always did at that time. “But the people in class laughed at me at the time and, I don't know, I don't want to be made a laughing stock.”

Sam felt an angry pulse in her neck. It was outrageous that you were afraid of being ridiculed in your class because some idiot thought it was funny to interrupt your debate to call you a bitch. She could almost picture the scene if she closed her eyes, and just the thought of seeing your lost and embarrassed expression made her blood boil.

“Did they put any videos online? If you want, I can delete it.”

The proposal was genuine. While Sam was still doing her own research on your life (for safety's sake, of course), she had found your roommate's data as well. Sammy was a computer science major and, from the internship she had landed with a great salary, she must have been very good at what she did.

“I'll take a look.” You answered in a low voice, your eyes frantically running over the phone screen, looking for something that Sam would never be able to see from that distance.

Billy chose that moment to come back to torment his daughter, his evil smile almost shining in the moonlight. “It's so good that there are so many people who care about our girl, isn't it?”

“Shut up.” Sam grunted through her teeth. He could even be a figment of her mind, but Sam was never going to let Billy ever refer to you as his possession.

In response, he just laughed, his dead head falling back as he amused himself at the girl's growing annoyance. If Billy had a material body, Sam would already have provided a fresh wave of red on his stained shirt.

“FUCK!”

Sam turned her head towards the window like a bolt of lightning as soon as she heard your cry of outrage. Sammy had also done the same, removing the vape from her lips as she turned around with wide eyes. “What?! What?!”

“Look at this shit!” You squawked, waving your phone in the blonde's direction. From a distance, the most Sam could see was the layout of the app. It looked like twitter, but she couldn't be sure.

Not that that was going to be a problem. Carpenter quickly took her phone out of her pocket, opening it to the app that used to have a bird as its icon. Fortunately, the account she wanted to use was already open and she had no trouble finding what she was looking for.

Yes, Sam had also created one or two fake social media accounts when she was investigating you, just to be safe. She had gotten the data from a Gordon Wu, who was majoring in engineering at your university and had apparently never created an account for himself. Sam thought he wouldn't mind if she borrowed it.

It was easy to create a profile with no photos and start following other students at the university to keep up to date with everything that was going on, as well as other random accounts such as soccer memes and Pokémon just to keep her little disguise authentic. Fortunately, the app's algorithm seemed to understand that what Sam really wanted to know was what was going on at Blackmore.

So it wasn't long before she saw E.J Abrams' verified account on her timeline, with a tweet that had over 2k likes:

@themanEJ: That bitch in ARCS just got mad cause she wants this d again

Sam's eye twitched.

“I can't believe he posted that!” You complained even louder, a mixture of anger and dread in your voice. “I've never slept with him! Never! And I never want to!”

The comments were horrible. Men encouraging E.J., calling you crazy and giving reason to his lies, women saying they wouldn't miss the same opportunity or adding fuel to the gossip, asking for the name of the mysterious bitch.

“I'll see if I can delete it, okay?” Sammy patted your shoulder before going to her own side of the room, opening her computer while trying to somehow take down that tweet. Meanwhile, Sam's hands clenched into a fist in the pockets of her jacket.

“You know what to do, Sam.” That familiar voice whispered in her ear, like a snake tempting her to bite the apple. “Are you really going to let that fucker hurt our girl?”

“She's not your girl.”

“But she's yours, isn't she?” Billy retorted without wasting any time, his dark eyes sparkling at the mere idea of having fun in his favorite way. “Don't you remember how good it felt to finish off Bailey? How amazing you felt sticking that knife, my knife, in his eye after he played with your family?”

Sam remembered the excitement, the adrenaline coursing through her veins as she took revenge for everything he and his family had done, the smile that automatically opened on her face after he had stopped moving. She remembered how satisfying it had been to slit Richie's throat as if he were a fish, watching him beg for air as the blood dripped to the floor.

E.J... he hadn't killed anyone, but... he deserved it, didn't he? He shouldn't have messed with you. Someone had to teach him a lesson.

“You know you want this, Sam. Don't fight your instincts.”

She felt the weight of Billy's knife in her pocket, serving as a nudge, as if it were another way for the universe to tell her that she was right, that she should do it. 

For the first time in months, Sam looked behind her at the fire escape, now no longer focused on your window, but on the entrance to the house of a famous fraternity that wasn't that far from your dorm.

__

It was incredibly easy to get into the house. Really. The front door was open.

Sam didn't even have to make an effort to get to the boy's room, as her footsteps were completely drowned out by the loud trap music that was blasting from the speakers. She caught a glimpse of four guys playing ping-pong in the kitchen and another two playing video games in the living room.

None noticed her presence and she didn't make a point of being seen either, especially while she was dodging protein bar wrappers and plastic cups that were lying on the floor. She climbed the stairs two steps at a time, wanting to do what she needed to do right away to get out of that nightmare of a place.

She took her phone out of her pocket as soon as she reached the top floor, looking at one of the photos E.J. had posted on his Instagram that showed a bit of his bedroom from the back. The walls were dark blue with some of his medals hanging on them, along with photos of him receiving them. Sam hoped that the boys' rooms weren't all the same.

Fortunately, the first door she walked through was exactly where she needed to be. E.J.'s room wasn't much better than she had imagined. Pants and boxers (which she hoped were clean) were scattered all over the floor and the room smelled of an uncomfortable mixture of aftershave and an extremely woody perfume, to the point of making Sam's nose sting in response.

And there it was, the blue wall full of medals and photos of the boy, like a mural entirely dedicated to his narcissism. Sam was tempted to destroy some of those pictures, punch them right in the middle of that static smile of the boy-next-door that she knew very well was completely fake. There was nothing good about E.J. The world would be a better place without him.

Sam sat on the completely messed up bed, with one sheet turned over and two pillows completely crumpled. E.J. seemed to be the kind of guy who had someone to do the cleaning for him at home, of course he wouldn't be able to do something as simple as making his own bed. He probably thought it wasn't his job.

Speaking of the devil, it didn't take long for E.J. to walk into his own room and be surprised by the sight of the brunette in his bed. He was tall and strong, as an athlete should be, of course. Some people would say he almost looked like Captain America, if you completely ignored the part about having moral values.

Not that that would intimidate Sam. If anything, it would only make the result all the more satisfying.

“Heeey, babe.” Abrams cracked a mischievous smile, analyzing Sam as if she were a piece of meat. “I don't remember having anything scheduled today. Did the guys fix you up for me?”

She had to press her black gloved hands against her thighs to stop herself from immediately jumping on the boy's neck. Act, Sam. Billy's voice and her own were mixing in her head, trying to keep her in line. Sam cracked the best smile she could manage. 

“I just had to have a chance with the hottest guy in Blackmore.” She winked, trying to swallow the disgust she felt at those words. Sam got out of bed slowly, her movements being followed by E.J. like a hungry predator. “Better lock the door, huh? We don't want any interruptions.”

“You're right, beautiful.” The boy quickly agreed, turning the lock behind him at the same time as Sam reached him, pulling him closer by the collar of his shirt. “You've got attitude, kitten. I like that.”

“I bet.” Sam smiled again, knocking him onto the bed just as he made a move to try and grab her waist. She tugged at the hem of his shirt, trying her best to maintain a seductive voice. “Why don't you take it off for me, E.J.?”

“Right away.” He nodded, making a show of opening the only three buttons on his polo shirt before pulling the green fabric off over his head, as if Sam was interested in seeing that pile of muscles that would soon spasm until they stiffened.

Sam took a single step closer to the bed, watching the boy crawl through the messy covers until he rested his back on the headboard, spreading his legs as if to invite Sam in. She just tilted her head to the side, her arms crossed. “E.J… What does it stand for?”

“W-What?” The athlete muttered, his eyes widening for a brief moment before he tried to pull himself together in his fake suave persona. “You don't need to know that, kitten. Come here and I'll give you something else to think about.”

“Can I guess, then?” Sam continued, finally climbing onto the bed, her knees sinking into the soft mattress right next to Abrams' thick thighs, pinning him in place. He only nodded, biting his lip as he appreciated the sight above him. “I'd say it's... Edward Jacob Abrams. But you tell everyone you're Edward James, so you don't have to admit that your mother named you after the two hot guys from Twilight. You don't think that's a very manly name, do you?”

E.J.'s expression went from surprise, to panic, to pure hatred. His set jaw quickly clenched and he made a point of getting up to confront Sam. “Listen here, you bitch - OOF.”

Whatever he was going to complain about was interrupted by a swift punch right in his Adam's apple, causing the boy's hands to go up to his throat as he searched for air. His white face quickly turned red and a few tears escaped from his eyes as he struggled to breathe.

Sam smiled at the scene. “You're really like calling women by that word, huh? It's about time someone shut your filthy mouth.”

With a lot of effort and his eyes twitching, E.J. managed to spit out a few words. “Y-You're c-crazy!” He coughed, the veins in his throat widening with the effort, his skin almost turning a purplish hue.

“Maybe.” Carpenter murmured, calmly taking the knife out of her pocket, admiring how the metal of the blade glistened against the moon rays coming through the window. “But you need to learn a thing or two about swallowing your words.”

In one swift movement, Sam used the handle of the knife to strike E.J.'s fingers with a resounding crack, making him grunt in pain and pull his hands away from the front of his neck, which had been Samantha's target all along. He raised his hands, trying to reach the woman to strangle her, but Sam had been faster.

With a single blow, now with the blade, E.J.'s throat had been slit open, spurting wine-red blood from his neck down his bare torso like a waterfall. He opened his eyes wide, his vocal cords gurgling in an attempt to speak, or to call for help, but nothing came out.

He struggled with one last effort to escape, but Sam also had strength in her lower limbs and trapped E.J.'s thighs between her own, forcing him to stay in place while he lost more and more blood and oxygen.

In a way, it was as if Sam was stealing his soul. Her eyes glowed maniacally as the brightness of the boy's eyes dimmed, his muscles growing weaker and his limbs abandoned him, giving up any chance of salvation.

Sam leaned forward, not minding the way her gloves got stained with the blood that now covered the entire bed. She moved closer to E.J.'s ear and whispered, “Who's the bitch now?”

Taking advantage of the boy's almost deoxygenated state, Sam opened his mouth without resistance, aligning her knife with E.J.'s tongue. Through the reflex of the blade, she swore she’d seen Billy’s eyes staring back at hers.

The sharp object descended on the tip of the athlete’s tongue, cutting the muscle with fluidity and letting the small piece fall back into EJ’s trachea, making it even more difficult for the boy to breathe, who at that point was a few seconds from fainting. His mouth was filled with blood, escaping from his lips and mixing with the red that drenched his neck.

E.J was finally unresponsive, breathing non-existent as well as his pulse. The boy’s blue eyes were completely lifeless, staring at Sam in an empty expression. She thought she’d feel a little bad. He was young and had not done much more than stupid mistakes of a 20-something asshole.

But she didn’t feel bad. Because that stupid mistake had been made against you, so he deserved it.

"You didn’t have to do this thing in the end, you know?" Billy commented in a faux bored voice, walking through EJ’s room with his hands behind his back, admiring the walls. "You’re more of a dramatic killer than I am."

"Shut up." Sam muttered back, feeling the tiredness begin to take over. She looked at the digital clock by E.J’s bed, which marked 00:04. Maybe she could be in bed by 1 am, which would give her six hours of sleep before she needed to get up for work. It was more than Sam usually slept, but she had the feeling her sleep would be hard as a stone that night.

Sam stood up from bed carefully, murmuring swears as she saw that the blood had stained her gloves and pants. She had expected to throw the gloves off but, man, she liked these pants.

"Who would’ve guessed that the impulse you needed to become like me was to mess with your heart and not your head."

"I’m not like you." Sam denied, turning to the image of her father in the corner of the room, his damn smirk seemed bigger than ever. She did not try to deny the rest of the sentence, however, because she knew it was true.

Her heart was her greatest weakness. And you seemed to be taking up a lot of space in it.

Billy laughed, approaching his daughter with slow, calculated steps. "You can deny as much as you like, Samantha. You have my blood in your veins and other’s blood on your hands. You cannot escape your family line."

"But, of course, you only did what you did because you needed to defend the honor of the poor and helpless Y/n." he continued, mockery escaping from his non-living lips, feeding on the growing anger in Sam’s chest. "Her knight in shining armour. No, scratch that. There’s nothing shining about you, Sam. You’re her Dark Knight"

She looked into the eyes of her father, seeing her clenched jaw being reflected in the pupil surrounded by an onyx iris. As much as she hated the way he talked about you, Sam couldn’t say that she hated the idea of being your knight, however twisted it was.

"I’ll up the dose of my medication."

"Ha! It’s gonna take more than a few pills to get rid of me, Samantha." Billy shook his head, a humorous smile still on his face. He bypassed his daughter, analyzing the crime scene as an art expert analyzes a painting. "Now let’s clean that up, shall we? No Loomis leaves behind evidence."

__

"If anyone asks me about E.J today, I’ll kill myself."

"Woah! Okay, how about we avoid suicide here?" Mindy replied from your side, gently pushing her shoulder with yours as you walked around the campus. 

"Yeah, if someone has to die here, it’s got to be the people who come and try to fuck with you." Tara added, walking on your other side with the headphones hanging from her neck. "I’ll do it!"

"How about we don’t kill anyone?" Chad joined the conversation, a little further behind you while still struggling to put on his football jacket. Anika, next to Mindy, rolled his eyes with the boy’s words.

"Stop being boring, dude."

The familiarity of the conversation with your friends relieved some of your anxiety, but not completely. E.J’s tweet had gotten more than 3k likes throughout the night and most of them came from people from your college. As stupid as he was, people liked to be siding with a pretty face.

As you approached the communal area of students, more you felt a weight falling on your shoulders. It was almost as if your body was anticipating the looks, whispers and fingers pointed in your direction, as if you were a circus attraction - "The girl rejected by E.J Abrams"

But that never came, not even when you approached the tables occupied by several students. They all seemed more concerned to look at their own phones, apparently immersed in some gossip by the increasing volume of whispers in unison.

"What happened?" You turned to your friends with furrowed eyebrows, watching Mindy mumble a brief I don’t know while pulling the phone out of her pocket. Around you, people seemed scared, as if something terrible had happened. 

You unconsciously thought it might be something else related to the ghostface attacks and the hell your friends had experienced in the past. You had heard the stories, had sympathized with the trauma experienced by them, although you secretly wished that the same fate would never fall on you.

Maybe that was the universe signaling you had no escape.

"Oh My God!" Mindy exclaimed as she opened her phone. Anika, beside her, took a hand to her mouth in complete horror and shock. You, Chad and Tara rushed to surround her, trying to read the news that had left the entire student body in a state of dread.

Athlete and fraternity member is found dead this morning. Suspicion of foul play falls on his roommates.

Gasps were slipping out of your throat as you kept reading the news. E.J Abrams was dead. His throat and tongue had been cut and the boy had bled to death in his own bed. The police had found some traces of hair from the other residents of the fraternity on his nails and they were the main suspects, with the current theory that it had been a prank that ended very badly.

You had a ringing in your ear. You’d woken up this morning wishing EJ would die, but now that he was really dead you felt... What? Relief? Revenge? Disgust? Fear?

A silence fell on your friends, but you could understand the thought that was being shared even without words. None of you felt bad for EJ, but the idea of your cursing suddenly being materialized seemed eerily real.

"Well, I hope they don’t cancel classes." Tara shrugged, being the first to give up pretending to care about the situation. "I didn’t walk all this way for nothing."

She pulled you by the arm, taking you out of your inner thoughts for a moment as you went towards the ARCS room, both knowing that one of the chairs would be empty but with the sketch of a body that was once there.

E.J was dead, but instead of relief, you felt in your guts that something was wrong.

[sakurocha]

sam x maid!reader !

in which sam discovers a welcome surprise on his doorstep: you, his new, cute maid!~ read pt. 2 here!

today was your first day serving as a maid for jodi, your sweet neighbor!

you softly knocked on the front door of her house, smoothing out the skirt of your uniform, when it suddenly swung open

a tall, blonde-haired boy who looked nothing like your client stood in the doorway, his jaw plummeting to the floor

until the door suddenly slammed back in your face, leaving you stunned and wondering if you came to the wrong house

but shortly after, the door opened once again, a familiar face welcoming you

“hi sweetheart, sorry about my son here,” jodi said, ushering you in. “sam, please apologize.”

he stammered an apology, glancing down at your outfit with a rosy tint across his cheeks before dashing into his room

he definitely thought you were some sort of escort, sent as a cruel joke by his friends

and he was definitely flustered by the thought, especially with the hardening length in his pants :(

he has to… take care of himself in the safety of his bedroom hehe~

you arrived to clean the house every monday after that

which was inconveniently the exact day and time that sam had his shifts over at joja mart

he couldn't get through his shifts fast enough, the monotony of sweeping allowing his mind to drift to naughty daydreams of what he would do to you if he caught you in an uncompromising position while you were in the midst of cleaning...

and his dreams nearly come true when he returns from work one evening, only to find you bent over his bed, reaching over to smooth out the sheets

his eyes were glued to the way the skimpy skirt of your uniform rode up your legs, nearly revealing what he had fantasized about...

although he rarely made his bed, now he swore to never, if the display in front of him was how it would be remedied

"oh! samson, welcome home!" you'd say while hastily straightening up, much to sam's dismay, dragging him back to reality by the ankles. "i hope i'm not intruding at all, i just needed to finish up your room..."

after several weeks of your presence in his home, he's managed to feel more comfortable talking to you

he reassures you that it's alright, sneaking glances of you hard at work while he pretends to fiddle with his guitar

he realizes he needs to change out the strings, so he makes his way over to his shelf

only to find you on your tippy-toes, stretching to dust a particularly high shelf, bracing yourself with one arm as you reach upwards

"do you... need help with that, miss?" he asked quietly

he couldn't help it, you seemed like you were struggling with how high up the shelf was! :(

startled by his voice, you backed up into sam's body, your ass accidentally brushing right against his dick

and god, he fought hard to suppress a moan from escaping his lips at that slight contact

because even though it was just a teensy little tap, it felt good

and he had been dreaming for ages about what your plush body would feel like pressed up against his

but the flustered yet blissful gleam in your eyes as you looked back at him over your shoulder let him know that you were just as willing to indulge in something so naughty as he was!~

thank you so much for reading! requests are always open~

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 4 - Hands Drawn Out

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Sam Winchester/Reader (platonic), tooth-rotting fluff, mutual pining, light angst, light smut, Dean's got the Mark of Cain, uh oh.

Summary/Warnings: Dean struggles to fight the betterlust, and you try and talk to him. Usual Warnings.

Author's Note: My prayers were not answered. 6 chapters.

Chapter Title from Love of Mine by Imagine Dragons (don't judge it's a great song)

Word Count: 6.4k

Read on A03!

Chapter 3 - Chapter 5

Dean broke his promise to Sam. He’d really tried not to—to use the laptop for TV, and TV only—but then he’d let his thoughts wander for half a second. Just one, long second, as he’d been replacing Baby’s tires for the third time that day. One moment where his motions were mechanical and mindless and dictated mostly by muscle memory—he’d never tried to, but Dean was pretty sure he could replace a tire in his sleep—and there was a lull in the Dr. Sexy episode, and the betterlust start to crawl into his hands and mouth, demanding more. More more more, this isn’t enough and he needed more.

The betterlust had asked for more, and Dean’s perverted, lovesick, traitorous brain had provided. Drowning Dean in thoughts of Her. Pretty and kind and caring, hands that would glide down his chest and over his scars without disgust, lips that would be pliable and soft under his, eyes that would be filled with the bright joy she seemed to only ever offer Dean, moans and whimpers in that musical voice, saying his name and staying with him through pain and maybe not running when he told Her he-

Dean eyes snapped open as he dragged himself out of the daydream, bile filling his throat. He didn’t know if it was from his own disgust, or from how the betterlust was suddenly howling and setting his skin on fire, but he knew he couldn’t keep this up. He can’t permit himself to think about Her, not for a second, not if he wanted to get this under control.

It’s why he bit his tongue and ignored the strain in his pants. He’s a grown ass man, he can control a boner. He can force all his thoughts to be tools and oil and maintenance, and not think about how adorably clueless She could be when he tries to explain this stuff to her. How Her eyes would grow wide, and she’d make a little pouting frown, but listen all the same. Asks questions Dean knows she never understands the answers to, but still asks because she’s awesome and likes Dean’s car and maybe if he asked Her to go for a drive with him she’d say yes, and Dean could put his hand on her thigh, pull over in a quiet spot, and kiss Her. Kiss her until she was squirming and she’d climb on top of him and bounce on his cock-

Fuck.

Not the car. He could focus on food. Food is great, and the betterlust usually seemed to cool it when Dean ate. He had a burger and beer and pie—all of which usually soothed the betterlust in his throat and spread warmth over his stomach—so Dean could just eat. He could take long bites and savor it—because the betterlust wanted to inhale the food and Dean’s stronger than that—and only think about how this is damn good pie. Cherry pie. Smells like Her, not that Dean’s smelled her, but sometimes she just walks past him and it’s not his fault he’s breathing. It’s a little his fault that he always imagines tangling a hand in Her hair, and tugging it back to expose her neck, and kissing and devouring Her skin and lips and pussy, burying himself somewhere she won’t smell like cherries, but might taste better than pie when she cums on his tongue and he-

Fuck.

TV. All Dean had left is TV. Not Dr. Sexy, that’s inviting thoughts he can’t be having right now, but a movie. The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, because Dean has that memorized so it would be easy to get through. He could watch it and think about how he’d make a great cowboy, no matter what Sam says. She’d said he’d be a good cowboy. She’d said he had the smile, and Dean hadn’t known what the hell that meant, but she’d said it with an open expression and tone like what she meant should be obvious, so Dean had accepted it. He had a cowboy smile, and She thought he’d make a good cowboy, so Dean could maybe use that cowboy smile on Her to tell her Hey, Sweetheart, if you ever need a hero I’d be happy to be yours. I got a lasso and a gun and I’ll defend you then tie you up and ride you-

That was awful. Dean wasn’t a hero—he’d tried to defend Her from himself and failed a million times in a million ways—and She’d never fall for something that cheesy. And she didn’t even want Dean like that. Want Dean to touch Her or have her in such a vulnerable position, tied up carefully under him with a lust-blown expression, whining his name and trusting him to take care of her and grinding onto his cock as he fucked Her-

That was it. He was rock hard, and losing his damn mind, and he had to take care of it once or he might actually fucking die. The betterlust was crowding his brain, and breathing suddenly felt impossible, and the answer was so easy. Just jerk off, once, and everything would be better.

So now he needs to break the promise to Sam, because Dean can’t keep thinking of Her or his whole body would say fuck it against his will and he’d run into the bunker and find Her. It was late, She’d be getting out of the shower, and Dean could wait outside Her room until she returned, and fall to his knees, and beg like a fucking animal for Her pity. For Her to put him down like some sort of dog, to offer him a cure that he had not right to ask for, to let Dean rip the towel off Her sexy body and let him nip and suck at Her breasts, and shove his fingers deep into Her wet pussy, then stuff her mouth with his cock and let her fix this-

This isn’t Her problem to fix. It’s entirely Dean’s. He’s done this to himself, after all, and—after months of putting Her and Sam through hell, months of blood and violence and anger—he deserves this cruel punishment. He won’t think of Her, either. He’ll have to chase relief an image on the screen, and not allow himself to think of Her.

He lasts a minute. The chick in the video is hot, but she doesn’t have a scar on the back of her neck, and Dean notices immediately. He’s imagined touching that scar, Her scar, so many times, wrapping his hand around it and running his thumb over the line, offering Her pure bliss with his mouth latched to Her’s and his tongue down her throat, and turning that scar into something She loved. Make it more than a reminder of a case gone wrong, make it about how She’d saved Dean’s life, and now he belonged to Her. He’d fuck up into Her until her eyes rolled back in Her head, and she’d be so warm and tight and wet around him, and her fingers would trail over his abdomen before he hit a deep spot inside her and it became all nails sunken into his skin. He’d use his hold on Her neck to keep her eyes on his as she came, and she’d smile at him when they were done-

Something snapped in Dean’s gut, his hips bucking up, and his release spreading over his hand. He’d failed again. His brain had wandered as he’d fucked his hand to the thought of Her, and he’d squeezed his own cock like a vice as he’d pretend it was Her pussy, and he was a fucking asshole.

He needs more pie. And beer. Maybe whiskey, actually. Whiskey will help him forget.

Dean waits until it’s almost midnight, when She’ll be asleep and they’ll both be safe. He sneaks out of the garage, into the kitchen, and flips on the lights without an issue. Now all that’s left to do is get the pie and whiskey. The whiskey’s already out on the counter, which is weird but not that weird—they’re all hunters, after all—and Sam must have just gotten more pie because everything smells like cherries. Cherries and shea butter. Everything smells like Her. Why does everything smell like Her-

“Dean?”

He whips around, freezing as She blinks at him in the doorway, her hair wet from her shower and her body still lined with white cream that hadn’t already in sunken into her skin. She’s so pretty, and looks so worried, and Dean wants to paint Her skin white like that, mark Her and kiss that small, pouting frown off Her face, give her a reason to take a second shower

“Are you okay? You,” Her voice is a whisper, and she takes a small step forward that makes blood pound in his ears. “You don’t look good-“

He doesn’t feel good. He can feel sweat on his brow, the grind of his teeth, the strain of his hands, in fists at his side. But She can’t worry about him, so he just has to lie, get Her to smile, and sprint back to the garage before he does something really stupid.

“‘m fine, Sweetheart.”

She looks him over, Her voice slightly unsteady with doubt. “But you’re really red-“

“So?” Dean’s voice is harsher than he wants it to be, but maybe then she’ll leave and he won’t have to suffer through walking away. “People get red.”

“I know, but I’m, I just, it’s okay if you’re not good-“

He won’t survive this if She doesn’t stop being so nice to him, looking so openly and softly concerned. “Well, I am.” He grunts, forcing a small, jerked shrug. “Just been a long day. Overexerted a little bit.”

“Overexerted-“

“Changing Baby’s tires.” Dean mutters, and something flashes in Her eyes. Something that makes her gaze dart down to his hands, makes Her swallow, and vanishes as she shakes her head.

“She isn’t due for a tire change.” She says, looking back to Dean with a tense expression. “You did that two weeks ago.”

Son of a Bitch, the betterlust loves that. That She knows when he’d last done a tire change, that she’s watching him with such attention, that she’s taken another step towards him and Dean could reach out and touch her if he tried-

He can’t try. He can’t even stay here. He needs to go, just go, just run and tell Sam to tell Her that he’d just really needed to piss or something. Like they were damn teenagers who’d broken up before prom-

“You can tell me.” She says, and Dean’s rooted in place once more from simply the sound of Her voice. “If something’s going on. If you need help.”

She could help. But Dean cannot, under any circumstances, let her.

“Like I said.” He mutters, forcing down the ache of the betterlust in his body for Her, ignoring the almost feral drive to close the space between them and kiss Her everywhere. “Long day. ‘m fine.”

“Dean, I-“

“Said I’m fine-“

“Dean, please-“

Dean snaps Her name, his voice rising to almost a shout. “I’m fucking fine, so drop it.”

His heart turns to lead at Her face. She didn’t flinch or wince, she’s not angry, or afraid, or nervous. She’s just sad. She looks so sad and dejected, like Dean had just told Her she was horrible and rotten, like a cloud had passed over Her body and absorbed all the light from her body.

She isn’t horrible or rotten, She’s amazing. Dean’s horrible and rotten, he’s the cloud, he’s the reason she’s staring at the corner of the counter and there barely seems to be life on her features.

The betterlust feels like poison. It’s white-hot and toxic in his blood, churning in his stomach and stabbing at his eyes. He can’t stand this. He can’t stand this pain and sickness, he can’t stand the silence as she just stands there, he can’t stand how she won’t even look at him but she also won’t leave. Why won’t She just leave, leave Dean to rot and wither away as the betterlust goes foul and kills him right here, in the kitchen, the moment she walks away-

“I,” Dean runs a hand over his face, closing his eyes until he can at least speak words that he’d chosen. “I’m fine, Sweetheart, just-“

“Been a long day.” She mumbles, still staring at the counter. “Okay.”

She doesn’t believe him. And she still looks so fucking sad, and the betterlust is starting to spread something feverish and heavy over Dean’s muscles and organs, and goddamnit he can’t do this. He can’t move or breathe or think until She’s not sad anymore, the whole point of agreeing to this was so She wouldn’t be sad, because Dean could never stand to see Her sad and worried and now that’s all she was, because of him. She was sad because of Dean, and he was going to die if she didn’t look at him-

“I,” She swallows, taking a small step back that makes the betterlust choke in Dean’s lungs. “I’m just gonna go to bed, then. I’ll see you…” She trails off, and now she looks devastated.

“Night,” he mutters, because he’s going to die, and She shouldn’t have to see that. “Sleep well.”

She makes a small sound of acknowledgment, turns to go, and Dean’s skin is going to fly off his body. She can’t walk away, She can’t keep being sad, and he can’t be selfish but She can’t walk away-

Her name falls out of Dean’s mouth in a shout, and when She turns to look at him, she’s looking at him. Really looking at him, with parted lips and nervous eyes, and all of Dean’s willpower becomes about staying tense and rigid and a healthy distance away from Her body.

Which means he can’t control his words.

“Sit with me.”

She stares at him for a second, something passing over Her face Dean can’t understand. “What?”

“In the garage.” He grunts. “I’m going back, just got hungry. You can sit with me.”

“It’s late-“ “You tired?”

She looks over him, Her voice still way too small. “No.”

Dean shrugs, and manages to very causally grab his beer like, if She says no, he’s not going to collapse. “Then come on, Sweetheart.” He winks, and doesn’t groan when Her eyes do that adorable widening thing. “I got Sam’s laptop, we can watch whatever you want long as I get veto power.”

It’s the longest moment of Dean’s life, when She doesn’t answer immediately. When she just keeps staring at him, slightly gaping, hugging her own body and not moving but not looking away and what if he’d fucked up too bad for Her to say yes, what if they’re not even friends anymore, what if Dean had just lost one of the only good things in his life because he didn’t have any self-control and she’d finally realized how he was poison and angry and evil-

"Okay.” She nods, smiles at Dean, and the betterlust morphs in only a second.

Where his lungs had been filled will lead there suddenly clear, the air fresher down his throat and every breath long and easy. Where his blood had felt like ice and sewage, it was warm and smooth through this body. His head feels light, and the world is blurred like he’s drunk, and everything smells like cherries and tastes like sweet pie crust. His heart is fluttering, but it feels damn good, and it’s almost as if it had expanded. Like Dean’s very life was bigger, no longer caving in and no long hollow.

It’s not going to be enough. Her arm brushes his as they walk down the hall, Dean’s every nerve lights up, and minutes later the feeling still hasn’t faded. Now there’s something buzzing under his skin, and it’s not going to stop being wired and electric until She touches him again.

But Dean’s not strong enough to leave Her now.

So he might just be fucked.

——————

You’ve been here all day. Your knees resting on Baby’s wheel as you lean slightly out the open door, keeping Dean company as he worked. He’d put you there—almost guiding you into the seat before flinching back like you’d burned him—handed you his toolbox, and explained what each individual tool did. You’d watched and listened with your best attention—it seemed to make him stand a little taller every time he’d ask a leading question and you’d gotten the answer right—but the boyish smile on his face and ease all over his body was distracting and you hadn’t really processed a word he’d said. But you make do. You’d placed the box in the passenger’s seat, and when Dean asked for something you’d hazard a guess that was usually correct, still getting a chuckle and grin from Dean when you messed up.

And that was the whole reason you were here. To make Dean happy. To be as close to him as he’d allow you to without crossing any sort of invisible line, to talk to him and laugh with him and pretend you couldn’t feel an axe over your head or weight on your shoulders that always told you he’s comfortable here, with you, because you’re his friend and nothing more.

Dean is at ease here because he doesn’t have to flash a special, well-chosen smile that tells you wouldn’t we be fun. He doesn’t have to scan you up and down with a teasing gaze that says you look good, but you’d look better under me, because he’s seen you all over and isn’t interested in your body when he’s seen the blood and guts and bone fall out of it, or stitched up the gashes to leave long scars. Dean doesn’t need to think about what he’s saying because you already know how he thinks, and chose a persona because you’ve seen all of them and you only really like him. He doesn’t need to pull a stunt for you to look at him, because he already has your undivided attention. He always does.

He’s comfortable and laughing because you’re like Sam. Not quite Sam—Dean doesn’t love you—but still someone he talks to easily. Someone he trusts to have his back, or hang over him as he slides under Baby, leaving him vulnerable, but not vulnerable to you. Someone who’s his partner, in every way but the one you dream of.

A way he doesn’t dream of. A way that he wouldn’t dream of, not with you, because he’s seen all of you and you’ve seen all of him and he’d never thought of more. He knows you too well, and it’s cursed you for him to never have any of that sexy, intriguing mystery that makes him smirk and use his deepest drawl and most heated promises. You’re just a cool chick who can annoy him and try to make him watch Pirates of the Caribbean, and he can wave you off and trade sparring easy jokes. Not more, because Dean likes you and your company, but doesn’t love you. And it’s the most painful ache to know that, and you keep staying anyway because almost all of him—save for that last piece, locked away and forbidden from only you—is better than none of him.

“I think you’d like it,” you say, trying not to stare at the slight bulge in Dean’s pants, perfectly in your line of sight. “I’ll bet on it.”

Dean slides out from under Baby, stretching out his hand for you to pass another tool. “There’s no way I’m taking that bet. Spanner.”

You nod, frowning at the box as you try to remember what a spanner is. “You don’t even know what we’re betting-“

“Doesn’t matter, the bet’s a trick.” When you glance back, Dean’s winking at you, and his drawl ignites something molten in your gut. “I’ve got your number, Sweetheart, and I’m not falling for it.”

“I don’t, um,” you gape at him, covered in grease and wearing a shirt that you can see his muscles through, stilling grinning at you like nothing’s ever been wrong in the world. “It’s not a trick-“

“I agree to it, I gotta watch the movie.” He makes a face of mock disgust. “And now I’ve lost no matter what.”

“But you’d like it! It’s got sword-fights, and um, boats. And tentacles! You love tentacles-“

Dean laughs, and it’s deep from his chest and joyful and consuming your every thought. “If tentacles is your leadin’ pitch, you really don’t got shit-“

“Please?” You pout, leaning a little out of the car to hold his gaze, and something flashes in Dean’s eyes that you hope means he’s considering it. “I really do think you’d have fun. It’s not a good movie, but it’s fun. We deserve fun.”

He’s scanning over your face like there’s something inside it he needs to grab. You can see his fingers curling under the car, and a slight tick of his jaw, and you don’t know why. You usually understand why Dean does things, but you don’t understand this, understand why he’s looking at you like a predator, but also like you’re hunting him.

“Spanners got the curve.”

You blink at him. “What-“

“Spanner wrench. Got a curve like,” Dean moves his hands into view, tracing a line through the air. “That.”

“I, yeah. Sorry.” You shake your head in a small, thought-clearing motion, and turn back to the toolbox. 

“’S okay.” His words are quiet, and you have to pause to hear him. “Last one. Then we’ll watch the stupid movie.”

It takes a second for the words to sink in, and once they do, you can’t stop smiling. You hadn’t crossed an invisible line, he wasn’t mad, and you weren’t about to get kicked out of the garage for him to actually focus. If he was still trying to avoid you—you never figured out why he was in the first place, but it didn’t really seem to matter anymore—he would’ve taken the opportunity and kicked you out. But he hadn’t. And now you get to stay with Dean a little longer, and he’s chosen to keep you there, and watch a movie.

You suggest the Dean Cave, as he pushes himself up to his feet and wipes his hands, and he agrees at first. Then you try to stand up and leave the garage, and his eyes widen.

“Where are you, uh,” Dean clears his throat, his words still falling out a little panicked. “Where are you going?”

“To get food? While you shower?”

“I don’t gotta shower. We can watch in here,” he jabs his thumb over his shoulder, to the still-open Impala doors. “Already got Sam’s computer and some beer.”

That look is back on his face as he looks between you and the Impala, and you can’t figure out if you should be worried by it. It’s mostly just worrying because you don’t know what it means, and you know almost all of Dean’s expressions. But you don’t really know anything about what’s going on. Dean’s covered in grease, but he doesn’t want to shower. He wants to sit in the car, on the fresh upholstery that he bitches about you and Sam drinking colored soda on. His whole body is strained, his legs planted wide like somethings going to try and move him, and he’s holding the wrench like it’s a weapon. It’s an expression you’ve seen on countless hunts, during countless fights that end in blood, but it doesn’t feel dangerous. No instinct—hunter or just natural self-preservation—is telling you run, and he doesn’t that glint in his eyes that accompanied the bloodlust.

There is something, but you don’t know what. It’s a little blown out and deep inside his pupils, almost hungry. But that doesn’t make sense, because you’d offered to get him food and he said no. Which is incredibly odd, adding to an infinite pile of what’s going on with Dean, really.

If you weren’t selfish, maybe you’d push him. Demand a really, straightforward answer to why he’d been avoiding you in the first place, why Sam was so adamant you stay away from him, why they’ve both been so suspicious when Dean really seems to be fine. He’s a little off, take long breathes at odd times and flexing his hands like they’re not fully under his control. He’s either not really meeting your eyes are staring at you like he thinks you’re going to vanish, won’t touch you for longer than a half-second, and he seems to be so easily content until he’s suddenly tense and wired. Until the room fills with heavy electricity as he does those long breaths, and he wins whatever war he’s waging with himself.

He’s not fighting down the bloodlust. You’ve watched Dean fight down the bloodlust for months, and it’s similar to this—something shining in his eyes that’s made of self-disgust, a solider-like defense stance, carrying himself as if he’s about to cave in—but it’s not the same. Dean didn’t really talk to anyone during the bloodlust, and when he did he’ used short words and a low voice, his tone furious and filled with loathing for even being able to speak. Whenever you and Sam would walk away, leaving him to wallow and brood, you’d glance back and see his body relax because he didn’t have to fight the Mark when there was nobody around. He never did anything boring or simple, because he was always staring at his hands like they might be suddenly stained in blood.

But he’s agreeing to watch the movie, and when you step back towards the car door, his whole body relaxes. You set the movie up—propping Sam’s laptop on the dashboard and settling into the passenger’s seat—and you can the rigid line of his shoulders and clench of his jaw as he grabs the beers, a tension that seems to evaporate as he slides behind the wheel.

And he won’t shut the fuck up. It starts with little comments and jokes about the movie—he keeps scooting closer to your side without ever actually touching you, and that alone makes it impossible to focus—but then it starts to stray.

“Think I’d be a good pirate?” He asks you, frowning at the laptop screen, and you tilt your head.

“I dunno, what qualities make someone a good pirate?”

He pauses, fidgeting with his empty bottle as he thinks. “Swashbuckling?”

You snort, and Dean’s lips twitch.

“Can you swashbuckler, Dean?”

“No,” he looks back to the movie with a shrug. “But I think I’d pick it up. Doesn’t seem that hard, just swinging around a big metal stick.”

Dean would pick it up. You don’t have any doubt that someone would hand Dean a sword, say swashbuckle, and he’d get it before the day was done. Because he’s amazing, and good at everything, and such an annoying asshole who can’t stop being a confusing combination of adorably endearing and impossibly hot. It’s a clear image in your head, Dean with a sword. There’s a boyish grin on his face, and he’s swinging it around like it’s a toy, and then someone challenges him to a duel. There’s a light of excitement in his eyes when he accepts it—he’d grin at you and say I just got challenged to a real duel, how fucking sweet is that—and then he focus and destroy his opponent in seconds. With careful, shockingly graceful moves, his muscles flexing and his eyes gleaming, and it would be so hot. He’d get all sweaty and focused and smug and God-

He says your name, and you gape at him slightly. “Huh?”

“Lost you for a second, Sweetheart,” he says, scanning over you with a frown, reaching out to touch you then coiling back like you’re covered in mud and grime. “Wanna tell me where you went?”

Dean is not allowed to know where you went. But you don’t want him to stop talking to you, or start sulking, or do anything that isn’t this—his attention all on you, his body close enough you can feel the heat of it, even if he’s not touching you, the movie suddenly nothing but background noise—so you hum, smile, and shuffle in your seat to fully face him.

“Do you think I’d make a good pirate?”

“Nah, your heart wouldn’t be in it.”

You pout at him. “Yes, it would-“

“You don’t like sleeping in the motels.” He says with pointed words, smirking at you. “Gets you on edge, having to share space. You’d hate bein’ in on a ship. No privacy.”

You flush, forcing your heart to slow down and your brain not to get stuck on how Dean’s noticed things about you, because you’re his best friend. Of course he knows things about you. Sam probably knows that too. “I wouldn’t need to share space if I was the captain.“

Dean huffs a laugh. “You could be captain, but that’s just cause you’re bossy.”

“Shut up, I am not bossy-“

“You’re real bossy, Sweetheart. It’s how you keep me and Sam in line. Now,” he wiggles his brows at you. “Imagine a whole ship of me’s and Sam’s.”

You wrinkle your nose. “I’d jump overboard.”

He laughs, full and loud and pushing a grin onto your face, and it goes on like this for hours. The movie turns off, the beers run out, and you’re still talking to Dean. It’s not deep conversation, but it doesn’t need to be. It’s meaningful because Dean is talking to you. He’s himself, and he’s talking to you, and that’s more important than anything. It’s all you’d really wanted, and you have it, so it’s perfect.

“Fuck, marry, kill.” You leaning your head back on the seat, your legs crossed under you. “Crowley, Lucifer, Dick.”

He snorts. “I’m not gonna answer that.”

“Why not-“

“Because I’m not a teenage girl-“

“I’ll tell you mine.” You turn your face, grinning at him. “Please?”

You don’t expect him to cave that fast, but he scowls, and mutters, “Does it have to be those three-“

“Yes.”

“Fucking why-“

“Because. Answer the question, Dean, unless you’re too much of a weak little bitch-“

“Shut up.” Dean rolls his eyes, giving you an amused glare as he answers. “Kill Dick, cause I know how and I’m not lookin’ to get eaten, fuck,” he makes a sour face, but his body doesn’t tense as he continues. “Lucifer. Marry Crowley.”

You grin, and nod in mock understanding. “I get it, because you’ve already married Crowley.“

He scoffs, but you can see the smile tug at his lips. “I told you and Sam to stop making those stupid jokes-“

“Did you? Or are you just touchy about your divorce?”

“Shut up,” Dean says your name, waving you off with a hand. “You still owe me your answer-“

“Marry Lucifer, because I think he could use the win, fuck Dick, kill Crowley.“

Dean’s face twists like he’s smelled something rotten. “Fuck Dick-“

“His name is Dick.” You hum, your smile growing teasing and wide. “I mean. C’mon.”

“Still, it’s Dick, he’s not even a person.”

You give him a flat look. “None of them are people, Dean, that’s the point.”

“You know what I mean, least Crowley’s been a human, why don’t you fuck Crowley-“

“Do you want me to fuck Crowley?”

“Of course not,” he mutters, running a hand over his face. “I just ain’t able to picture you and Dick together-“

“But you can picture me and Crowley?”

Dean glares at you, and there a slight tension in his eyes that sets off churning guilt in your stomach. You don’t know why he’s so adamant about this, but he seems to really, really care that you don’t fuck Dick. Maybe it’s because you could probably survive a Crowley encounter—you have before—but the leviathans famously don’t really play games or toy with their food. Literally.

“I’m not over the hellhound incident.” You move your hand to the back of your neck, your tone slightly apologetic. “So Dick’s the default fuck.”

“Ah. Fine.” Dean grunts, and everything in him seems to relax as his grin growing cocky. “But I think you’re just jealous of Crowley gettin to marry me-“

You flush, shoving his chest. “I am not-“

You cut yourself off, because Dean’s suddenly frozen. Rigid and wide-eyed, staring at you with darkened eyes.

“Dean,” you frown, and his nostrils flare. “Are you-“

“Hey, dude, I was looking at the spell again and-“ Sam pushes the door of the garage open, freezing as he takes in the sight of you and Dean in the car, Dean looking at you like a wild animal, and you looking at Sam narrowed eyes and a frown.

“Why were you looking at the spell?”

“No reason,” Sam says, his voice too passive as he glances between you and Dean. “Can I, uh, can I talk to Dean?”

You both look at Dean, who seems to pull himself out of the odd daze to glare at Sam and snap, “We’re talkin’ right now, Sammy, what’s up-“ “Alone!” Sam blurts, glancing at you again. “We should talk alone. It’s…” He trails off, giving you a half-hearted grimace. “Brother stuff.”

“Brother stuff,” your voice is dry as you repeat Sam’s lame excuse, and the tall dickhead just nods nervously.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

It wouldn’t be hard to fight Sam. Insist on staying here, on them looping you into whatever the hell is going on, and get him to cave. But it doesn’t feel worth it right now. Dean’s not mad at you, he doesn’t hate you, and you are a little hungry, so maybe you can let Sam do whatever brother stuff is an excuse for, then just outright ask Dean later. You think he’ll tell you now—you’re talking again, and he’s smiling again, and he’d been at ease for most of the afternoon so it’s not that he doesn’t trust you—you’ll just need to coax it out of him.

You sigh, still glaring at Sam, but start to roll out of your seat to leave them alone.

Your feet don’t even make it to the ground before Dean grabs your arms, tugging you backwards. You turn to frown at him, but he’s glaring at Sam with an almost violence.

“Whatever you gotta say, say it.” He snaps, using the rough, firm tone he uses during hunts or interrogations. A voice he almost never uses on Sam. “Or go.”

Sam pales, shooting you a desperate look, and all you can do is pull your lips into a line and look back to Dean. His grip on you is tight but not bruising, and he doesn’t seem to be interested in letting go any time soon.

“Dean,” Sam says, words slow and measured. “I can be quick, but you need to hear this-“

“I don’t need anything.” Dean doesn’t look at you, but his thumb starts to move in small circles, and you’re not sure he knows he’s doing it. “We’re good, Sam.”

Sam shakes his head. “You’re the one who told me-“

“I know what I fucking told you.” Dean snaps. “And I’m tellin’ you now, we’re good. Go.”

Sam opens and closes his mouth, giving a strange look where his brow his furrowed but his eyes are soft, and raises his hands in surrender. “Dean just,” he sighs. “I have the, um, thing. If you want it.”

You frown. “Want what-“

“Nothin’,” Dean release his hold on you, and glances down at his hand like it’s covered in something he can’t see. “I’m good, Sweetheart.” He looks back up at Sam. “I’ve got it, Sammy, don’t worry about me.”

Sam’s jaw twitches, but he nods, and leaves.

And Dean doesn’t move. His knee is suddenly pressed to yours, and he’s not looking at you but he won’t stop taking those long, heavy breathes.

“So.” He turns back to face you, the deep gleam in his eyes returned. “You killing Crowley?”

You nod slowly, scanning over Dean’s face as you force yourself to speak words that aren’t Dean, what the fuck is going on. But you’re caught in his attention and his body so close to yours, and how he’s still here. You’re still here.

The conversation continues, and stretches through the day with ease. But you don’t forget the look on Sam’s face, and you can’t escape the gleam in Dean’s eyes. You don’t really want to escape it, because it’s almost everything you’ve ever wanted from him. It’s not everything, but closer. It Dean not letting you go, and not looking anywhere but you, and smiling at you until you’re a little dizzy. You’re dizzy, and Dean’s just smiling at you.

But you’re still worried. You’re always worried about him, and this is so weird. Sam’s words are weird, Dean’s actions are weird, and you’re starting to think you’re going insane because the weird thing is that it’s not that weird. Dean’s been this close to you before, he’s talked to you this long, he’s made all these jokes and comments—or at least similar ones—and it hadn’t been weird. What’s off is how they feel charged. How he’s touching you the casual way he usually does, helping your through doors with a hand on your back or bumping your shoulder when you laugh, but his hand lingers longer than usual—it always does linger, now that you think about it, but not like this—and he always jerks back like you’ve burned him.

It’s weird that he’s just being Dean, fully Dean, but he doesn’t seem to want to be. He’s trying to swallow something, and he won’t say what, and you’re still worried.

And you’re selfish, so you’re not pushing. You’re basking in this, and feeling worry gnaw at your lungs and gut, and drowning it out with Dean.

You’ll fix it later. If you get Sam alone—which seems unlikely right now, given how you say that you’re hungry and Dean’s suddenly starving, trialing after you to the kitchen—you’ll threaten him until he tells you what the hell is going on, and what he had, and what Dean got, and why nobody’s willing to tell you.

But you’ll do it later.

Right now you’ll just stay with Dean.

End Note: I thought way too hard about the fuck, marry, kill answers. That was like, eight minutes of my life.

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