#also I love when fics nail their banter and inner monologues

[rizlowwritessortof]

Fic Tag Game

I was tagged by @eyes-of-a-disney-princess - LOVE your writing, girl, and I’m so glad you finally jumped into the fan-fic abyss!! Can’t wait to read your new ones - you tease! :D

Rules: List the first lines of your last 5-10 stories.  See if there are any patterns, then tag some of your favorite authors.

I have done this before, but it’s been a while. So here goes... (under the cut)

Take a Chance

For fuck’s sake, Dean, you’ve done this a thousand times. You can charm a woman without even breaking a sweat. Why are you so damn nervous?

Because, dumbass, it’s Y/N. This time it’s not some random bar chick that I’ll probably never lay eyes on again. And I don’t want to mess things up. I don’t want to do something that’ll make everything all awkward.

I just want… I just want to be with her. Whatever that means. And I don’t even know how to say that without making things all fucking weird.

Just tell her the truth. Well, the surface truth. Say you’re bored. Take a chance.

She doesn’t need to know you hate being in a separate room from her, that you miss being around her. That you feel not all there when she’s not around, like a piece is missing. That you’re dying to touch her. Like really touch her.

Make You Mine

You climb out of the back seat, tugging your skirt down self-consciously. Dean is staring at your legs, his jaw clenched, and even Sam swallows hard, then turns away.

“Does it look that bad?” you ask, worried for a moment that maybe you’re not dressed appropriately to be an FBI agent.

Sam clears his throat, and Dean growls out, “You look fine.”

You straighten your jacket, lift your chin, and get into the head space you need, a little condescending, a little no-nonsense, like you’re used to getting what you ask for. Dean gives you one more glance and, looking like he’d like to eat someone, leads the way into the police station.

You and Sam trail Dean to the front desk, standing a step behind and flashing your badges dutifully when the officer on duty asks if he can help you. “What can we do for the FBI?” he asks, just a touch of snark behind his words, and you can almost feel Dean’s thunderous frown. He’s been on edge for days, and this day seems to be a bad one. His temper has been unpredictable, his level of patience almost zero, and you cringe a little internally at what his reaction might be.

The Photo Booth

God, this fuckin’ job sucks.

I mean, I know sometimes we have to do things we don’t like to get the information we need. But we’ve been working at this broken-down piece-of-shit carnival for a week now. I’m so goddamn sick of pickin’ up people’s trash and cleaning up after sick kids.

Sam’s being a pain in the ass, too. I mean, I’m dealing with Dad’s death. As much as you can deal with something like that. He’s all up in my grill about my feelings, and all I wanna do is kill something. This damn clown/monster/whatever the hell it is. I just wanna kill something that deserves it.

Ooooh, or something more fun. There she is again. That little piece of heaven that’s been hanging around here for the last couple of days. She’s been pretty damn friendly, too. Had her coming on my fingers in the haunted house last night, she’s just sweet. But I’d like to really get into her, if you know what I mean. God, she’s wearing those little short shorts again, and she’s got a set on her that makes my mouth water. Wonder if she’s feeling friendly tonight, too…

Slow Ride

Holy. Shit.

Seriously, how much is a girl supposed to take? You share rooms with these guys, watch them walk around half-dressed, banter back and forth with them. You take Dean’s suggestive, flirty comments and respond in kind, telling yourself it’s all part of your friendship.

And then he does this.

Of all things, a mechanical bull. You thought those things died out with Urban Cowboy. But now, as you stand watching with your jaw clenched, and your nails digging into your palms, and your thighs clamped together, Dean is riding the fuck out of Larry, the centerpiece of the bar you went into for the sole reason of grabbing some burgers.

You can’t tear your eyes from him as his body sways, looking like he’s part of that saddle. The muscles of his thighs are tight, holding firm, his torso lean and lithe as he moves with it, sinuous and sexy as hell. One arm waves above his head, giving him the balance he needs, the other bicep bunched and bulging beneath the plaid shirt, unbuttoned at the front to allow your eyes to cruise over where his t-shirt clings to his pecs, his ribs, his belly.

The Contest

You sit in the booth, Dean’s arm draped over your shoulder as you lean into his chest, your legs up on the seat, beer in hand. Sam slides back into the seat across from you, answering your smile with one of his own.

It’s a good night, things have evened out for a bit, and you’re all feeling relaxed, almost contented. Sam’s new ‘friend’ had just left, saying she had to work the next day. You’re enjoying hanging with the boys, drinking a few beers. You watch the college kids, early twenties at the most, playing the same games you all used to play, trying to hook up, make some kind of connection.

You let out a happy sigh, looking up at Dean as he watches them, too, a kind of distant smile on his face.

“What?” you ask, and he looks down at you, his smile turning a little sheepish.

“I was just remembering the night… well, the night you opened my eyes.” You blush a little, ducking your head in a vain attempt to hide the amusement curving your lips, and he raises an eyebrow at you, letting loose with a stunning grin. You bump him in the belly with your elbow, and Sam stares at you with a curious gleam in his eye.

“Okay, now I want to hear this story.”

Lose Yourself

Dean is staring up at you, his lips kiss-swollen, his expression dazed and lust-drunk. He’s naked, sprawled on the bed, and you let your eyes travel over him as you consider your options.

The fact that he trusts you enough to let you do this has you on the edge already, and you revel in the delicious torture. His arms are stretched above his head, silken scarves wrapped around each wrist and secured to the headboard, and his fingers are clenched around his bonds, his forearms and biceps flexed. All you’ve done so far is strip down to your lacy black lingerie and kiss him, touching nothing else, yet you are both breathing hard, pulses pounding. His cock is hard and throbbing, leaking pre-cum over his abs, making your mouth water.

But that will have to wait.

You run a finger over his bottom lip, suppressing a shiver as his tongue darts out to touch the tip. “Doing okay, Dean?” you ask softly, looking directly into his eyes and waiting patiently for his answer.

“Fuck, yeah,” he says, the low rumble of his voice making you wince a little at the almost-painful pulse it causes between your thighs.

Patterns: I guess I kind of like the inner monologue as well, I like to hear those thoughts that nobody allows themselves to speak out loud. Especially Dean’s thoughts :) I also like the relationship aspect, the characters knowing each other long term, the complications and realizations that there could be more there than hunting partners and friends. Not that I don’t love a good one time fling, either!! :D 

I’m sure you guys have done this before, so if you don’t want to, no sweat - but I’ll tag @mrs-squirrel-chester  @littlegreenplasticsoldier  @saenalife  @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog