#i’m always thinking about almost priest sam

[pxrplebxtterfly]

Yes Father (1/2)

gifs belong to me

18+

Pairing: Sam Winchester’s alias Father Frehley x fem reader

Warnings: SMUT, (d)ubcon, priest kink?, innocence ruined kink?, mentions of God and religion, mentions of death and murder, handjob, fingering. (Sorry if I didn’t identify the warnings correctly. I tend to just write without thinking of what things are called.)

Summary: Two junior priests visit your church and you’re tasked with giving them a tour of the chapel. You take a liking to one and meet him later that night at the church.

Word count: 3.3k

Notes: This fic was written in a FIRST PERSON POV!!! This is the first part of a two-part fic about Sam’s alias Father Frehley. This first part takes place during season 1, episode 14: Nightmare. Anyways, thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoy!

❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀

I’ve always been a believer. Always. I go to mass every Sunday and always help out where I’m needed.  

I have a myriad of jobs to do at the Church. Sometimes I hand out book bags for the kids to look through, or other weekends, the coffee and doughnuts for the parents, just devoting my time to the Church.

One Sunday, I’m handing out said coffee and doughnuts after the final service of the day, when two new priests walk into the lobby of the church. They’re dressed in black suits with white roman collars, marking their priesthood. 

They’re listening to Father Padrick; one of the priests at my church, and asking him questions. They follow him in through the doors and make their way closer to my little table.

They’re handsome. Probably the most handsome men I’ve ever seen in my life. I almost choke on my breath when I see them. One in particular is a mountain of a man; broad shoulders, chestnut hair, and misty hazel eyes. He looks pensive as Father Padrick speaks to him.

Approaching me, Father Padrick says, “Hi dearie, this is Father Simmons and Father Frehley”

The blonde one nods first, and then the brown haired one. His eyes stay on mine for a moment too long. 

“Gentlemen,” Father Padrick continues, “This is y/n. She goes to the university in town and volunteers here every Sunday.”

“Nice to meet you” I say timidly and stick out my hand to shake theirs. Father Frehley quickly grabs a hold of mine and squeezes it gently. His bear paw of a hand envelopes mine and the dry warmth sends a shiver down my spine.

“It’s always good to see fellow young people helping out the church” Father Frehley says to me, kind eyes making me smile.

“Fellow?” I ask him. He doesn’t necessarily look old at all, it’s mostly just his frame that makes me think so. 

He smiles and says, “Yes, I’m only twenty-three, still new to the parish”

Father Simmons must have seen my enchantment with Father Frehley and interrupts my thoughts saying, “I’m also new, and young, just for the record.” He chuckles awkwardly and I nod my head in slow agreement.

“Anyways, would you please take these two on a tour around the church?” Father Padrick asks.

“Of course, follow me” I say softly.

I walk in front of the men, leading them towards the large wooden doors that lead into the chapel. 

“So, have both of you come to join the clergy here?” I ask, dipping both my fingers in the small dish of holy water as I enter.

“Uhm no, we’re actually junior priests over at St. Augustine’s, however we were close with Father O’Malley and are in town for the weekend for his funeral” Father Frehley says mournfully.

When I hear him mention Father O’Malley I quickly turn around to watch them both make the sign of the cross. 

Father O’Malley was another priest at my church, who was murdered in a sadistic and bizarre way a week ago outside his home.

“Oh gosh, I didn’t even think to connect the dots. I’m so sorry for your loss. I didn’t know him as well as I know Father Padrick, he mostly did services during the weekdays” I say and hang my head in sorrow.

“It’s okay, we just wanted to come take a look at where he devoted his time and talk to others that knew him” Father Simmons adds.

I nod, “I wish I could tell you all about him, but unfortunately I don’t know what to say, he was a very secluded man”

Father Frehley smiles warmly, understanding what I mean and continues, “Did Father O’Malley pick up any strange habits or behaviors recently?” 

“Not that I can think of. I’m sorry, was something wrong before his death?” I ask, wondering why such a strange question was asked at random.

“Well that’s what we’re trying to figure out” He responds. 

I hum and fidget with the hem of my cardigan as we make eye contact. Father Frehley licks his lips subconsciously and they glisten just like his eyes.

A rumble of heat echoes from my private parts and I look down at my shoes, struggling to figure out what that sensation was.

“Everything okay?” Father Frehley asks.

I shoot my head up and realize he’s closer to me now, leaning in with concern. “Oh yeah,” I laugh, “just feeling a little sick or something”

I don’t know why my heart has started to beat fast, or why my mouth is suddenly dry. Was I afraid of him? Did he excite me?

“Well, we’ll let you get home, but if you remember anything about Father O’Malley and his death, or you even just feel strange, call us, okay?” Father Frehley says.

I bite my lip as our fingers touch when he hands me a small card with his number on it. 

❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀

I’m pacing back and forth in the living room of my small apartment, trying to calm the panic inside of me. My stomach is churning and my body racked with anxiety as images of Father O’Malley through my mind. The uncomfortable adrenaline from thinking about the death of a person I knew, was eating away at me.

I’m cursing at my own brain and decide to walk to the next block and pray at the church. 

I grab the keys to the church and head out.

I approach the doors of the building and stick the key in. I fidget with the key but realize that the doors are already unlocked. I open the door quietly, assuming it’s Father Padrick completing future sermon plans. 

As soon as I’m inside I realize the doors to the chapel are open and see the flickering of prayer candles lighting up the room. Dark shadows bounce off the walls and it’s eerily silent. 

I continue further into the chapel and see someone sitting on the steps of the altar. Moonlight shines through the ceiling of glass and windows of stained glass, to illuminate the brooding figure.

I squint and quickly recognize exactly who it is.

“Father Frehley?” I ask, and walk towards him. 

His head shoots up in surprise.

“How’d you get in here?” I continue.

His face beams as he recognizes it’s me. He sighs as I approach him. “Promise you won’t tell Father Padrick?”

“That depends on how you got in,” I say teasingly.

He scoffs with a grin, claps his hands together and says, “I picked the lock”

My eyes widen and a smile spreads across my face as I laugh about his entrance strategy. This giant of a priest, broke into a church and didn’t even seem to be repenting.

“You could have just asked me for a spare key” I grin.

“Oh yeah? And what are you doing here?” he asks.

I blush at his interest, “I just came here for a moment away from life’s anxieties” 

“Sounds like we both could use a break” 

I look down at him inquisitively. His eyes are sparkling up at me. I watch him stand up and take a step towards me.

My stomach flutters and that strange rush returns to my privates. I let in a sharp breath, shocked at the sensation.

“What do you mean?” I ask eyebrows furrowed in worry.

“I’ve just been stressed lately, and could use a stress reliever. You’d be surprised at how interesting and hectic my life is. All that chaos can really do a number on you, you know? Stress takes on all sorts of physical forms in your body” he elaborates. 

“Like what?” I ask and tilt my head, curious to see if he continues.

“Well, for instance, pain,” he pauses, looks at me and bites his lip. I can tell there’s thoughts and ideas brewing in his head. “I’m actually experiencing some pretty bad pain right now” he sighs.

“Where? What happened?” I immediately scan his body, looking for any signs of pain.

“Earlier today I was on a date, and my date had a job that she didn’t finish… Which has left me with a tremendous amount of tension and soreness” he says, and places his hand on his crotch.

My eyes go big yet again at the sight of a large bulge in his pants.

“A date? I thought priests weren’t allowed to date” I step back.

“I mean a date as friends silly,” he explains. 

“Oh, I see” I nod and feel stupid for jumping to conclusions. 

He squeezes the rod in his pants and closes his eyes for a second, as if he’s trying to imagine something.  

“Is that where it hurts?” 

“Yeah, it’s really sore and hurts real bad”

“Is there anything I can do to help Father?” 

He lets out a shaky breath when I say his title. His hand begins to rub over the bulge, back and forth. “There is something,” he says, “you could give me a special massage”

“Of course Father, anything to help” I say and reach for the bulge. He grabs my wrist before I’m able to place my hand on him.

“Hold on a sec, let me get comfortable” he whispers.

I nod, agreeingly; the perfect massage requires the perfect position. He leads me by the wrist to a pew in the first row and sits me down right next to him. 

As soon as we’re sat, I reach over and place my hand on his large bulge and rub my hand back and forth just like he was.

“I’ve never given anyone a special massage before, so will you tell me if I’m doing it right?” I ask, looking into his darkening eyes.

“Of course baby, let me pull my pants down so you can get a better grip” he says.

The pet name ‘baby’ sends another odd wave to my privates.

Father Frehley pulls his pants down and something large springs up.

“This is my cock baby, it hurts really bad. The only thing that’ll make me feel better is if you touch it” he begs into my ear.

I nod and he places his huge hand over mine, and brings it to what he calls his cock. 

“Yeah just like that” he praises, wrapping my hand around him. “Now move your hand up and down and don’t stop until I tell you to.”

I follow his instructions and begin to move my hand up and down. He’s moaning and huffing while he looks into my eyes, watching me work.

“Fuck honey, you’re making my dick feel so good” he seethes.

Before I can even think, he reaches for my face and kisses me. I know that kissing is wrong but I don’t pull back because I don’t want him to be mad at me for disobeying him, and because it makes my privates flutter again.

I continue to pump at his dick and his hips begin to thrust into my hand harder and faster, so I apply more pressure and quicken my pace. My hand and arm are sore but he hasn’t told me to stop so I continue. I just want to take his pain away.

As we kiss, his hands pull slightly at parts of my hair and push at parts of my face. One of his hands finds my neck and wraps around it gently. Warmth spreads through every vein in me.

His kisses become sloppy and his tongue is exploring my mouth. I traverse his mouth with my own tongue as well and the heat between us increases. His tongue circles mine, leaving me breathless. His moans become louder the faster I pump my hand. His cock is throbbing, and his hips are stuttering into my fist. 

With a sudden “Fuck” from his lips, I feel something warm splatter on my hand while I jerk at his dick. His whole body tenses and then relaxes with the release of the fluid. He wraps his hand around mine and slows my pumps, eventually making them come to a stop.

“Fuck baby, you’re amazing, look at what you did to me” he smiles intoxicatingly as his lips pull away from mine. 

“Did that- did that make you feel better?” I ask shyly. 

“So much better, you have no idea” he shakes his head and laughs.

His laugh and the weird warmth and sensations in my privates causes my hips to roll forward uncontrollably. 

“Sorry,” I apologize for the spasm.

“Oh don’t be sorry, is everything okay?” he asks, his face scrunched with worry.

“Well, I don’t know, I think so, but I feel funny,” I confess.

“Where?” he asks, and doesn’t break eye contact with me.

The funny feeling only increases, “Somewhere embarrassing?”

“Embarrassing? What do you mean?” he asks.

“Well, I’m not supposed to talk about it. It’s impolite and crude” 

“Oh, I see what you mean…” he smiles and nods, understandingly. “Does it feel all fluttery and hot?”

My face grows bright red, and I whisper, “How do you know that?”

He laughs softly and says, “I wasn’t always a priest”

I don’t really understand what he means but I bunch my hands into fists as I catch him biting his lip, and his eyes scanning down my body.

“It’s only growing worse isn’t it?” he asks.

I suck in a deep breath and nod.

“Do you want me to help you with it? I can make you feel all better” he breathes out so tenderly. 

He’s so close to me, for the first time I can really smell his cologne and hear his breathing.

“H-how? A special massage?” 

He nods; traces a finger up and down my arm as he asks, “Will you let me touch you?”

“You mean, down there, where it feels funny?” 

He nods again and looks like he’s about to devour me. I’m shocked at his request. Nobody has ever wanted to help me feel better by touching me. 

“And if I let you, it’ll make me feel better?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. If you let me, I can make you feel really good” his fingers ghosting my waist.

“Are you sure?” I whimper. The heat from his body and touch fuel the sensation in my privates.

“Mhm” he says and kisses me softly. 

Something in me ignites as he pulls me against him and slips his tongue in my mouth. His hands run up my back and hold the sides of my face as he plunges his tongue into my mouth. His kisses slow and he lets out a low moan as he pulls away.

“Sit on my lap” he commands.

I don’t question this for a second and immediately sit on his lap, my back pushing against his torso. He places his hands on my stomach and begins to run them up and down my torso. Father Frehley is right, this does feel good.

With caution, he moves his hands up to my breasts and I moan. I didn’t think that a touch on my chest could stir such a feeling in me.

“Let me help you baby” he coos against my neck. He begins to kiss, and suck, and lick at my neck, making me dizzy. His hands have somehow undone my bra and taken my sweater off. He's massaging my breasts, running his fingers over my nipples, tweaking them occasionally. I can’t help but whimper and moan from his touch. My hips begin to buck, like they have a mind of their own.

“God look at how needy you are” he groans into my neck.

His hands finally find my privates and he rubs his hand over my mound. My hips continue to move, grinding against his hand.

“How can someone so beautiful never have been touched?” he mumbles.

Continuing his kisses on my neck, he pulls my skirt up and rips my tights. I squeal from his impressive action and watch as his large fingers pull my panties to the side and touch my hole. 

“Fuck, you’re so fucking wet” he melts into my ear.

His fingers gather the slick that drips out of me and brings it up to the most sensitive part of my privates. 

I moan as he circles that spot slowly and he says “This is your clit. When I touch this, it makes you feel better doesn’t it?”

“Yes Father” I mumble, already addicted to whatever this feeling was.

Father Frehley groans at my obedience and applies more pressure. He’s skillfully rubbing at my clit and I feel a strange tightness increase in me. It’s like a balloon of pleasure slowly blowing up inside of me. 

As soon as it feels like it’s going to pop, he pulls his fingers off of me. My hips stutter in the air, aching at the loss. I whine at the stop of the sensation.

“Shhhhh, I know honey, you’re doing so well for me. But now I’m going to put my finger inside of you” he whispers.

He does exactly what he says. I feel one of his thick and long fingers slide into my hole. I immediately clench around it and moan from both pleasure and discomfort. 

“God you’re so fucking tight” he whines. I don’t even recognize he’s taken the lord’s name in vain.

He lets me take a second to adjust to his finger inside of me, but then begins to slowly drag it out and back in. Each time he plunges his finger back in, I moan. He begins to pick up the pace and also starts to move his finger while it’s inside of me, hitting a sweet spot against my walls. I feel a tear roll down my cheek as his finger curls and continuously brushes that sensitive spot. 

“Look at your tight, virgin cunt, trying to push my finger out,” he hisses.

His finger feels so good, prodding that perfect spot in me again and again and again and again. 

With time he adds another finger to me and picks up his pace. The palm of his hand rubs against what he calls my clit, and it feels so, so wonderful. His fingers are flicking back and forth in me, vibrating against that tart spot, making my eyes water.

“Fuck, you’re such a good girl, taking what I give to you. Want you to make a mess all over my hand baby” he moans.

His words kick my hips into action and I begin to grind up against his hand even more. 

With one hand pinching my nipple and the other slamming into me, the balloon of pleasure that had been building, bursts. A wave of fluttering and blinding sensations hits me and I’m thrown into a different universe. I think I see God and hear angels singing.

As the tide of this sensation goes out, I’m once again back in the church on Father Frehley's lap. His fingers have slowed and so have his kisses on my neck. 

“Look at the pretty mess you made” he whispers and slowly drags his long fingers out of me. I moan at feeling and at the sight of his glistening hand. 

He cups my mound gently and kisses me on the shoulder. He brings his fingers up to my mouth and says “Taste yourself sweetheart”

I obey and open my mouth to let his fingers slide in. I suck and taste the nectar I’ve made. With a pop, he takes his fingers out of my mouth and says “Good girl”

I lay in his lap just catching my breath, looking up through the glass ceiling at the stars, trying to rationalize what I just experienced. Almost as if he can read my mind he wraps his arms around me comfortingly, and kisses my shoulder gently. 

“You did so well baby” he whispers.

[dyed-red]

Bribing Votes Ficlet Fills

@soulmates-for-real voted for priest!sam hair in this pivotal poll and prompted:

This is a J2 non AU prompt. They had a showdown, their only big fight during filming, way back in S1. Apparently, they exchanged heated words, there was a bit of shoving and Jared stormed off to his trailer. Jensen cooled down a bit and went in search of him and found him in the trailer shedding tears. They had a talk and hugged it out. I'm quoting from what I remember from Jensen's answer in a con panel.

It could be romantic or platonic, anything is fine

Completing with a non-platonic fill :) Remember folks: you’ve got about 8hours* to vote, get in my inbox, and get a mini ficlet fill

*fair warning i’ll be asleep for a lot of those 8 so any subsequent prompters may have to wait till tomorrow for their fills

--

Jared wouldn’t know discretion if it smacked him in the face.

That’s what Jensen’s thinking, anyway, when Jared keeps cracking jokes between takes, ones that skirt way too close to the truth of what went down on the weekend, complete with knowing smirks just for Jensen. It was funny the first time, but the shoot’s been running long, it’s an outside one and the temperate is dropping because that’s what Canada is like, and he wants to focus up and get this scene done before his balls freeze off, or more likely shrivel inside him and die a slow and icy death.

It was funny the first time, but the fourth has Jensen shooting him glares, and Jared doesn’t know how to back down from a challenge either, or else he thinks it’s funny, or what, but either way he waits until the cameras are on Jensen and he’s delivering a line and then sneaks in a quick motion with his thumb jerked to the side in front of his mouth and his tongue pressing on his cheek from the inside of his mouth, blowjob joke designed to make him crack.

And it does.

“Can I talk to you?” he snaps and doesn’t wait for an answer before marching off to the side, the ‘okay take 5′ and ‘guys?’ of the head P.A. and Kim, their director, both trailing, with other staff already moving into to reset the scene. Jensen ignores that and the rest, heat in his ribs and stomach, fingers sore from the cold and from keeping from clenching.

“Jensen? Jen - Ackles - c’mon, wait up, what - ?”

It’s as good a place as any, as close to privacy as exists on a film set and no one in direct earshot and he spins on his heel, looks up -- up, because the guy’s a freaking giant and Jensen’s never getting over how stupid tall he is -- and snaps with a,

“What the hell are you even doing here man?”

The problem with Jared is he’s a goddamn puppy dog, so he gets this look on his face all genuinely hurt like he got smacked on the nose with a newspaper and it just pisses him off further.

“They don’t need you back on set until I’m done this section so what are you even -- are you just out here to fuck with me?”

“Fuck with you?” Jared’s nostrils flare, reeling back now, and he takes the offense. It’s a relief, really, free license for Jensen’s chest to get hot and shoulders to set wide with all the fight he’s had raring to go for the last half hour or more. “I’m just joking around, man, the same as we always - “

“Not the same as we always you, you asshole. What the fuck is your problem?”

“We joked about this shit all the time before -- what, you can suck my dick but can’t take a joke about it?” 

Jensen rears back and his arm twitches and Jared’s whole body gets tense and Jensen doesn’t, wouldn’t, but he’s not above shoving the guy and -

“Are you fucking serious?”

“Are you?” Jared shoves him back, three times as hard. And maybe he’s channeling Dean still because his body’s primed for a fight and he almost wants to punch him. He’s not that stupid, not about to fuck up his co-lead’s face but blood is pounding in his ears and he gets into Jared’s space, close enough to hiss,

“You know what you are, Jared?”

Jared pushes him back. “What am I? Come on - what am I?”

Thinks Jensen’s about to go for the easy blow, the one that sinks him all the same but what comes out -- loud, louder than he intended, and a lot more anger in it -- is, “You are goddamn unprofessional, is what.”

--

“We got it!”

Jensen’s shoulders sag. If there’s one thing fighting is good for, it’s focus. He can take all that bullshit and get it into a scene and it works, worked in this case, and they’re only marginally more behind schedule than they were before.

Jared disappearing off to his trailer might have something to do with it.

It pisses Jensen off, the fact that thinking about that sent a fucked up pang of guilt through his stomach. Jared was the one out of line and if he’s gonna be a baby about it -

“Hey Cilla, can you go and grab Jared, we’ll be ready for him in ten. They might need to do some retouches so grab Ashley from makeup on your way back.”

“Don’t worry about Jared,” Jensen hears himself saying to Kim, resigned to it even as it’s coming out his mouth. “I got it.”

He gets a Look over it, since their little display didn’t exactly go unnoticed. As far as he can tell, no one heard what Jared insinuated because Jared’s not actually unprofessional enough to fuck up like that, but they sure as hell caught Jensen’s shout, and Jared’s snarled ‘go fuck yourself’ before disappearing off to his trailer.

But Kim’s a professional guy, good head on his shoulders and even better head for the industry and he gives Jensen a level look then nods, says thanks, and turns his attention elsewhere. Discrete guy too. Unlike Jared.

Jensen’s rubbing his forehead all the way back to the guy’s trailer, not even sure where he’s gonna start. Damage control, maybe. Or if Jared’s gonna be a dick about it then cold, if he’s gotta be, and -

He knocks twice, knuckle rap on the door, and lets himself in without waiting for an answer. It’s halfway out Jared’s mouth when he steps inside, a half-shout “gimme a minu - ...” toward the door.

Shit.

Jensen freezes. Jared freezes.

Jared’s crying.

“Fuck, sorry, one sec, I - “ he’s on his feet, wiping at his face and spinning on his heel all in one motion and Jensen closes the door behind him, embarrassed on Jared’s behalf. Embarrassed for himself, too. Jesus.

Jensen’s politely looking at the mini-fridge with the stupid endearing Texas fridge magnet Jared’s mom sent him. Jared breathes for a sec, then there’s a strangled sort of laugh. 

“Ashley’s gonna kick my ass.”

It startles a laugh of out Jensen too. Ashley from makeup is definitely not going to be too stoked about whatever Jared’s crying has done to mess up his face for the rest of the scene. “Or mine.”

A pause, a sigh. “Not your fault.”

Jensen tentatively looks over. It’s not, not really. Jared was being a dick. The question he’s struggling with is -

“You know why that wasn’t cool?”

“You know I wasn’t -- it’s not like I was trying to be homophobic.”

Jensen’s face screws up. Is that what Jared thinks he thinks?

“What’d’you even - no, man, with the - “ He makes a vague hand motion. “It’s like you want people to talk.”

Jared’s eyebrows climb. “Talk? What, you think people are gonna know we fooled around because I made a joke about sucking dick?”

“Obviously not but - “

“We’ve been making jokes like that since day 1! Hell, you keep telling people I’m too hot to play your brother on TV - “

“Once, Jared. I said that once. And immediately felt like an idiot.”

Jared looks, for whatever stupid reason, hurt by that. Jensen shifts restlessly on his feet, sighs, not sure what the hell to say to fix this.

“Look, man. People are - waiting for us. Counting on us. We need to figure this shit out.”

“You think I don’t know that? Why do you think I was trying to keep up the mood on set earlier when you started acting all pissed off? You snapped at like, three PAs - “

“Because you kept joking about fucking and then smirking at me - “

Jared bites the inside of his cheek, Jensen can see it, and shakes his head.

“Seriously,” Jensen forges ahead, “this shit is dangerous. You know that, right? I know you do. Would it kill you to have some discretion.”

Jared looks mad and also like he’s gonna cry again, which is just - bad - but he sniffs and shakes his head and there’s a half-second there where he looks like Sam, not like Jared, and then he blinks and it’s gone and his voice comes out like his own, not like his character’s, when he says,

“This is me being discrete.”

Jensen’s gonna kill him. Both of them, maybe. Death by Canadian ball-freezing.

“If I stopped joking about it now, wouldn’t that look weirder? You think I wanna act like I have something to hide? I’m not good with -- I’m an open book, Jensen. I know how to be discrete, I do, but this is how I do it. I hide in plain sight. No guy in his right mind would suck his friend’s dick on Saturday then show up at work and joke about sucking it in front of 50 people, right?”

His eyebrows climb. It sets something -- off edge, on edge. His shoulders relax but his stomach clenches, anger sliding into nervousness instead. Fuck.

“You...” He trails off, not sure how to say it. Jensen doesn’t know, is the thing, what this means. They’re just fooling around. They were drunk, and it was stupid, and Jared is stupid hot, and his friend, and an easy flirt, and an even easier lay. Except not really, he couldn’t be, he’s been in the industry long enough and done enough projects with enough press that he’s not some idiot who’d let slip something that he shouldn’t, or who wouldn’t be careful about which costars he slipped into bed with.

“You’re right.” Jared sniffs, wipes his face another time with one of those big mitts he calls hands, calmer now. “We gotta get our shit together. Joking or not joking or doing or not doing -- whatever. None of that matters, not like - it’s fucking cold outside and there’s a few dozen people waiting for us and we’re...”

“Yeah,” Jensen says. He drags his hand up the back of his neck, darts a look at Jared then back at the floor. “Acting like we’re in some dick swinging contest.”

“Not the kind of dick swinging I wanna... sorry, too soon.”

Jensen snorts. “You’re an idiot.”

“Think that’s Sam’s line.”

It gets a real laugh of Jared and that’s something, at least.

“Let’s talk about this later. Proper talk. About -- I dunno, priorities, or whatever. Discretion. Expectations.”

“Maybe how to tell when you’re funny mad and actually mad?”

“Yeah, that too.”

They smile.

“That’s assuming Ashley doesn’t kill us.”

“Oh yeah. Come on, big man. She’s gonna need to fix you right.”

“Yeah.”

Jared follows him out, and Jensen pats him on the back, lets his hand linger on his shoulder as they walk together toward makeup. And they don’t hug it out now, but they do later, hours later, when the work is done for the day and things are easier.

[cee-grice]

Find the Word

got tagged by @toribookworm22, thank you!!

softly tagging @eccaiia, @moonshinemagpie, @jasmineinthenight, @sam-glade, @cabbojage, @mrbexwrites, @tate-lin with the words daylight, cheer, sunset, dress

my words were depth, found, cry, and oops

DEPTH DEEP (sorry, had to take some creative liberty with this one rip)

Quil had perched onto one of the sills of the large arched windows, eyes wandering over the glimmering city below. When he'd been a student, he'd spent hours in the night like this, just looking out his dorm's window. He'd get lost in the grandness of it all, in the life, all moving together like one. He'd imagine the faraway sounds of the busy streets, he'd follow their mazes, and he'd wish he could freeze the moment in time. When there was no him, no yesterday or tomorrow, no individual existence. Only the endless city, so far away. So abstract, and so lovable for it. The sun would always rise, however, and the moment would break. During that brief pause, between existence and nothingness, a deep melancholy would sink into his bones. He'd look out into the city welcoming the morning, and he'd almost cry. That, too, would pass, and he would never think about it again.

FOUND

At Ankil, the moment they got a room at an inn, Quil locked himself in the bathroom for a good quarter of an hour, throwing up. In the meantime, Endra found himself stewing in a sudden want to claw his own skin off. When Quil went out, swaying dangerously, Endra could do nothing besides help him hold the water glass as he drank. Amongst all that, Quil still managed to assure him he was fine, ‘magia overuse, it happens, gotten through much worse’. Endra didn’t ask if he ever got tired of the word ‘fine’, or was it more like a reflex at this point. It made him wonder what, if anything, would make him respond differently.

CRY

"I don't know what her deal is with that, but that's not the point," Endra stressed. "You're a mage, Quil. She won't let this—" He gestured between them. "—go on." Quil paused. "Do you think she may be a threat?" "I don't think, I know. She's—" Endra cut himself off. He shook his head. "You can't meet her. You can't." He hoped the desperation choking him would get through to Quil and he'd understand. He had to understand. "What are you so afraid of?" Quil asked, quiet. "You know that I'm capable enough to handle myself." Endra wanted to cry.

OOPS

“He’s right,” Selina said, glancing to the side, her hands curling and uncurling. “I’m already on thin ice from cutting Verah off. If I’m caught accompanying a fraud, an exile into a temple, they’d skin me alive. I’d prefer to figure out what the hell they’re up to before that.” Miriam hummed, swaying her head from side to side. A brilliant smile graced her lips. “Only me, then! I’m neither a priest nor a citizen, how am I supposed to know the rules?” “She’s got a point,” Florin agreed, still shooting Quil odd looks. Selina stared at her. “And what would you say if you’re caught?” “Oops?” “‘’Oops’!?”

[mlobsters]

supernatural s10e3 soul survivor (w. brad buckner, eugenie ross-leming)

(i feel like eugenie and brad episodes have been on the better side of things generally? that's why i tag the writers in the post so i can theoretically go back and get a ~feel~ for how i felt in an organized fashion esp since i can't remember episodes names/numbers for shit)

priest blessing?? whatever the blood to de-demon dean also inexplicably has an accent

dean, i'm begging you, please bring your voice back up a smidge. also i really thought the demon arc was longer! probably because fic is fleshing out all that potential they left hanging

oh, jackles directed this one. he shoulda given himself notes that he's... coming across very forced in this little chat in the chair. :S

oh, sam. padalecki's been coming through on the worn down and emotional

DEAN Sam, I know you think you’re gonna try and fix me, but … did it ever occur to you that maybe I don’t want to be fixed? Just let me go live my life. I won’t bother you. What do you care? SAM What do I care? DEAN You think I’m just gonna sit here like Crowley? Getting all weepy while you shoot me up? Well, screw that. I don’t want this! SAM Yeah, I pretty much figured that out

dean's turn with the soulless(ish) desire to stay as such

speaking of forced, this weird romantic-ish tension they're trying to do with hannah and castiel is weird

margiekugel's got a neon sign and everything, fancy

wiki

Margiekugel is a beer from Wisconsin created for the show that is named after Production Designer Jerry Wanek's mom (see Leinenkugel).

okay so i thought the whole deal for the dude's wife/crowley wanting dean to do it was strange, well. okay, sam. but we know scruples go out the window when dean needs saving

cracked me up. lurking in the bushes yelling out a correction. also, jared, i can see your gum, dude -_-

i'm kinda seething along with sam because like yeah dean's trying and probably succeeding at getting under sam's skin but he's also saying stuff that isn't true and you know what a fucking uptight ass i am about things like that :p

DEAN Let me ask you this, Sammy: If this doesn’t work, we both know what you got to do to me, right? You got the stomach for that, Sam?!

or we could shaun of the dead the situation

LOL i was wondering if there was a throne. also, i paused twice because i thought the background hell-wailing in the show was one of my kids upstairs crying for me 🥴 almost a third time but i stopped myself

CROWLEY I was thinking of better days. DEMON Yes—your sabbatical. CROWLEY My what? DEMON Uh, we were worried, of course. Your misadventure with the older Winchester was quite the topic of speculation. Uh, if you’ll forgive my boldness… I could now be your wingman.

i'm just. having a hard time believing crowley was really that starry eyed over demon!dean? he's a permanent flirt but also very practical and not exactly sentimental. oh, is he still doing the human blood thing? i haven't really wrapped that into my little character model in my head for him :p

forced to have a semi-scenic stop and chat

this is so strange. he's not interested, she's making good points but then gets all grabby and close like she's gonna go in for a kiss or something

DEAN You notice I tried to get as far away from you as possible? Away from your whining, your complaining. I chose the King of Hell over you! Maybe I was just … tired of babysitting you. Or always having to yank your lame ass out of the fire since … forever. Or maybe … Maybe it was the fact that my mother would still be alive if it wasn’t for you. That your very existence sucked the life out of my life!

very effective at pushing every sore spot and insecurity. sadly didn't get much feeling out of me other than stress on sam's behalf. i fear they've broken some of my emotional attachment to the show somehow

DEAN You never had a brother! Just an excuse for not manning up. But guess what: I quit. SAM No. No, you don’t. You don’t get to quit. We don’t get to quit in this family! This family is all we have ever had!

only way to quit is to die. but even then it's probably not gonna work

self immolating demon, ok. that seems very specifically not demon like, in the slightest???

CASTIEL Just … I’ve been around humans for long enough to see how easily distractions occur. HANNAH “Distractions.” CASTIEL Emotions, feelings … They’re dangerous temptations.

and they're going to try to help save dean because... nothing to do with emotions or feelings on castiel's part? what. just because you're not interested, don't go blaming it on having ~distracting emotions~

is it time for hannah to die? is she gonna... reup castiel's grace?

sink

how old is that pie??? ew.

it's the mushy familiar music again, but this time... strings? so we've had piano twice (that i noticed), some horn-ish thing and now like.. cello?

i do appreciate that we have more pictures, with bobby and the boys as grownups together too. and it's sweet that they can just use s1 happy behind the scenes type pictures and make it sam and dean

oh, crowley can steal some grace so we don't have to have a moral crisis

mhmm

(mushy music came back briefly during the chat through the door before dean broke it down)

so i did know about the hammer via fic. jackles seemed to be having fun being on his little merry violent hunt. made think (the little i know) of his character in the boys

ok

CASTIEL Well… I see his point. You know, only humans can feel real joy, but … also such profound pain. This is easier.

(mushy music AGAIN [piano variation] at the end of dean and cas's conversation)

DEAN What did Sam say? Does he want a divorce?

very normal joke (??) to make about your brother, especially when you basically had a handfasting ceremony in a church along with the other 10 years of things like that. but we're the josie grossies for shipping it. uh huh

CASTIEL I’m sure Sam knows that whatever you said or what you did, it wasn’t really you. It certainly wasn’t all you. DEAN I tried to kill him, Cas. CASTIEL Dean. You two have been through so much. Look, you’re brothers. It’d take a lot more than trying to kill Sam with a hammer to make him want to walk away. DEAN You realize how screwed up our lives are that that even makes sense?

that "you're brothers" feels tacked on to make it seem less weird

DEAN I’m glad you’re here, man. CASTIEL Hey, maybe you should um … take some time before you get back to work. Allow yourself to heal. It’s, uh … I don’t know. The timing might be right. Heaven and Hell—they seem reasonably back in order. It’s quiet out there.

does that means it's time to trigger another apocalypse? surely need at least 3 running subplots as well. i have no idea actually, i avoid too plot specific stuff of the later seasons in fic these days so i'm not sure what's on deck

they could have milked demon!dean for more in a lot more fun ways (which i surely would have complained about, "don't tempt sam with demon blood 😭") for longer, remain surprised how quick they wrapped it up. they dragged out lying about stabbing jewel staite for HOW MANY EPISODES???? lol

[pingnova]

WIP title ask game

@marypsue as if talking about myself is ever a problem outside of therapy

The spn-killjoys crossover sparked from both of them involving apocalypses. I was interested in how they both have different takes on it, and how the sci-fi aspects of Killjoys could make up for the fantasy aspects of spn. They also both deal heavily with resisting fascism (religious doomsday and capitalist technological). I have also always wanted to write a story that involved the real science of digitally preserving human conciousness and saw that as a good mirror for possession. So I put the spn characters and story into the Killjoys-verse! And you know promptly never finished it lol.

Midnight Rider grew up in the rough and tumble life of the zones. He knew how to trick, steal, fix, and charm anything. Restless by definition, he never settled in one place long, hitting the red line through the zones, scouting out his next firefight.

He had vague memories of a childhood in Battery City, more shapes and impressions than anything concrete. There was never any color, just starched white, inky black, and neutral gray. He knew he’d had a mom at some point, but he’d never known her, too doped up on BLI’s mind-numbing medication to form any meaningful connections. Despite this, he felt a duty to this dead, mysterious woman. She was almost a mythical being, built up into a tragic, selfless figure by his dad’s stories. It was her death that brought him to the zones, and her life was his mission to avenge.

The spn-LOTR au... lotr is one of very few fandoms I am actually actively curative for, vs purely transformative. It's already so rich lol. I was going to take the Fellowship storyline and plop the spn characters in again - so a fusion. (I really fucking love fusions bc I can make the most clever callbacks and parallels to either media.) I have a lot of NOTES on what I want to do and no actual writing. Bc I was still researching exactly how I wanted to manipulate the lotr lore to get the winchesters in there, lol. 100% started because I wanted Castiel to be a cousin of Galadriel. It all went from there. Inspired by this armor. Dean and Sam would share Frodo's role, and it would be a prophecy from their bloodline the Dunedain. Dean is a ranger partially because of this quote straight from the books.

Lonely men are we, Rangers of the wild, hunters - but hunters ever of the servants of the Enemy, for they are found in many places, not in Mordor only.

And I had a flash of inspiration for the destiel. It's all I've written lol.

[ The elves of Lothlorien are leaving Middle-earth. Dean is angry about it. ]

“You’re just leaving us here? It’s the damn apocalypse!”

“Dean, this was long foretold.”

“So the plan was to always abandon us to burn? Isn’t Lucifer your guy? Fight him yourself!”

Castiel meets Dean’s eyes, shining with such righteous wrath to produce unshed tears. He thumbs them away, cradling the man’s flushed cheek in a palm.

“We are the first children of the valar, made of their song and stars. Middle-earth has never been our home. It is domain that was gifted to men, the second and most precious children of the valar. Our time has passed and we must go home. But you, Dean. You and Sam, those of the Dunedain and all men, your season has begun.”

A glittering tear did fall from Dean’s eye this time. He stank of grief and betrayal. “So you’re leaving too?”

Cas pulled their foreheads together and breathed in the dirt-leather-sweat scent of Dean with closed eyes. The scent of his man.

“I’m already home,” he said. “I would choose a mortal life for you, Dean. Not even the valar may separate me from you.”

A nervous sort of uncontrollable grin split Dean’s lips. He was overwhelmed by the admission, but relieved beyond compare.

“I’m glad, Cas. I don’t know if I could do it without you.”

Old timey vamp and priest was me going "hey that opposites attract trope is pretty great" and then thinking of van helsing interrupted by that romance. I have a fixation on Christian lore and have already extensively thought about how vampires (and most monsters) fit into it, because that's me as a person. So Cas would be a priest and dean a vampire. Enemies to uncomfortable allies to lovers. And discussion of the loneliness of immortality. You know how it is.

Zombie!Dean was another like that, with me going "what if dean came back wrong in Lazarus Rising?" Before anyone was resurrected in spn multiple villains made it a point to bring into question whether the right person was summoned or whether they were now evil by virtue of it. Or just "off." That quickly was dropped and never a question again tho lol. Lazarus Rising is on repeat in my head so imagined all is the same but Dean's body is really dead, or in some kind of non-living stasis - so he's essentially a zombie. And Cas gets reamed for bringing him back wrong, which should be impossible. Its later revealed someone set Cas up for that and he couldn't have done anything about it. I wanted to use it as a parallel to deans lack of self worth and his mental health - he's made dead man walking comments more than once. OK bitch, literally dead man walking now. And i love narratives about coping with your own monstrousness. Dean has a very black and white view of monsters at that point of time so being one would be a lot of angst. Just a good old angst fest for me.

Criminal Minds is my favorite spn crossover for fic. I just want more so I was trying to come up with my own to satisfy that. The winchesters get caught by local police during a hunt, and they're transferred to the FBI, thus the BAU. They were on America's most wanted list at least once in canon so it definitely fits. There is an episode I jokingly refer to as "supernatural guantonamo" where the boys are arrested by secret service and tortured in a government black site for supposedly trying to assassinate the president of the United States of America. (Late seasons is just. So bizarre. I kind of love it.) So I figured they'd get transfered there in my fic and then the BAU would be called in on the investigation. They'd find that the winchsters don't really fit anything they think and blah blah blah. Lots of tense interaction. Dean and sam eventually die (in canon they die to escape, like that's where we're at with death as a concept in spn) and there's philosophical jabber about it from the fbi profiler perspective. Meanwhile sam and dean are resurrected and off to do their thing with the govt none the wiser. I really love procedural shows trying to logic with the reality TV levels of nonsense in the spn plot and also the reality of monsters. I think both genres can learn from each other so I have characters play that out. It's also just a good ass time lol. Who doesn't like to pick dean and sam's totally convoluted personal problems apart? want to study them like bugs.

[kahaluada]

Daryl + OFC

Tags: fluffly, angst, friends to lovers, childhood friends

Warnings: Daryl childhood (none)

Summary: Sam is trying her best to be good and making friends, but kids at this new city just don't give her a break. Maybe the boy who is always alone can help her. After all, Daryl Dixon seems to know some stuff.

Context

This is a little piece of my long fic A Bond to Survive. It is my 1st work in English and I hope you like it. Daryl is 39 in my fic because in TWD wiki says that at the beginning of the apocalypse (2010) he is in his late 30's almost 40.

This P.O.V is from a kid so I choose to be simple it this passage.

* If you have any grammar feedback I'd love it. I tried to express his accent in some words, hope it shows.

The frog alliance

Young Harris | North Georgia

1980

Sam felt her cheeks burning while tears fell without her permission. She hated the feeling in her chest, a burning sensation of humiliation while the voices of Ava, Asher and the other kids screamed in her ears. 

Kids in school were mean. She sniffed while sneaking behind school to go where she wanted. She stopped, listening the janitor looking for other nautghty kids and hid herself behind a tree, trying to fix her hair.  

She looked at her dirty uniform and her throat tightened with the smell of peaches. Her hands tried to clean it again with no sucess.  

She should have known better. When she realized what Asher did she lost it and tried to punch him, only for his sister Ava held her while they put peach juice on her. 

They've been trying to make her angry for a while now, since she started in the church's choir and discovered her dad was the sheriff. They almost failed because her parents expected her to be good, forgiven and nice to people. 

Also, the priest was clear: any kid who we're going bad in school could not stay in the choir. So, Asher put gum in her hair and Sam started crying, humiliated and angry. She loved her hair, people always complimented her hair and now -for sure- she needed to cut it. 

Sam never had a little mean bone in her seven-year-old body, but what leakes in evil was overflowing in a sense of justice. She knew they did it to make her bad in front of the priest. Why would they do it on friday, the day church was in school to teach?

She sobbed, hiding behind the three seeing the gum in a big chunk of hair. She was so done being good and trying to be nice with the kids in that school.

Sam was tired of them and that school and that city. Asher was so mean to her and when she talked back Ava came to intimidate her. 

So now, she was looking at that dirty pond beyond the school fence for a while, a ideia coming to her mind .

“I’m no peach princess. I don’t like peaches. And I don’t like them” She murmured to herself, feeling sad with the inability to make friends. “Stupid twins” 

She was there for months now and no one wanted to be her friend. It was like they decided without even giving her a chance and she knew how nice she was. 

The girl looked at the fence, trying to figure out how to go beyond it to complete her plan. She was just really upset and she knew how Ava Jones hated frogs. The girl talked about frogs like the little animals were the devil. 

Sam took the frog's side because Ava Jones was so mean to her with no reason and she was sure the frogs never did anything to the girl either. 

The smell of peaches was making her sick and she wanted to go home and at the same time, she didn't. Her dad would be all “sheriff” making kids even more suspicious of her and even the teacher would be annoyed at her because of it. 

Her mom made a scene for less than gum in her hair, calling her father to talk to the principal. It was horrible because her mother would think her scenes helped her when it was the complete opposite.

She sat under the tree, looking to the fence when she saw Daryl Dixon climbing it to go back inside.  Sam sighed, her eyes widened when the boy made it simple to go in and out of school. 

She remembered him from church, but he never talked to her and was always alone in the corner. The boy was dirty, his blond hair covering his eyes and he had scratches in his face and arms. His loose pants and gigantic shirt made him almost a savage to her eyes and so fascinating.

Sam frowned, wishing he would at least acknowledge her presence, but he didn’t. She learned that kids from 3rd grade barely talked to 2nd graders but the girl was in no place to follow the rules. She needed help.

She tried to talk to him, but he just ignored her. His reaction at least was ok, because the others used to mock her, or lead her to think they´re interested in what she says to make fun of her. 

Sam blinked, gathering courage. She had a mission, a war to win against the stupid Jones twins and that boy would help her. She got up when he passed by her and ran in his direction. 

“Hey! Daryl Dixon!” He heard her because he walked faster. “Wait for meee” Her legs were not long enough to catch him, but she had to make him stop and listen to her. “Just listen! I have a preo…A puporsit…Propo…Perpusiton…” He looked over his shoulder and rolled his eyes. “ I need to talk to you” 

“No” He answered a little angry and she ran faster. 

“If you don’t stop I’ll tell the principal about your sling!” 

It worked, he stopped and she swallowed when he turned to her, face red as a tomato and lips pressed. Dixon looked at her, weirded out, and she remembered she was covered in peach juice and dirty, with gum in her long hair. 

“What the hell? Ya gonna gossip bout’me? I have nothin with that car window!” He commented way too annoyed. 

Sam didn’t know about any car window. But now she suspected he was in trouble.  

“I need…” She catches her breath, hands on knees “I need your help with the frogs”. He blinked, crossed his arms and looked at her like she could shoot him “I’ll not tell the principal anything but I… I…Need help to destroy The Shine Twins!” 

The boy looked around and back to her. He scratched his neck and raised an eyebrow. 

“Please. You’re my only hope to destroy those ghosts. They need to learn a lesson! It is only a prepoursi…Preposi…Business!” 

She stared at him, hands on her hips, determined in her mission. Sam blinked and raised her chin like she saw her father doing so many times when talking to people on the streets. 

Her pink bracelet was shining with the sunlight and  she saw the boy looking down at her striped purple socks. It reminded her of a Chesshire cat and she loved it.  

She corrected her posture, blinking a lot while trying to hold her pose. Sam wasn’t a sheriff but she knew she could do it. He needed to understand her. He looked at her for so long she felt like they were in a staring contest.

“Why ya’talkin like that?” 

Sam felt her cheeks and chest burning with shame. After all these minutes that was his answer? She frowned, she knew she talked too much, but this wasn’t going to stop her. 

“Where is your uniform?” She asked back and he locked his jaw, making fists. 

“Did they make ya stay here to tease me? Fuckin stuck-up people”

“What?No! I don’t have time to tease you.” She rolled her eyes and tried to fix her hair when he looked at it “I have a mission against the Shine Twins! You know? Ava and Asher Jones! I call them that because they're as scary as the twins in that movie.”

The boy shook his head, saying anything besides that and started to move. Sam ran in front of him and opened her arms. She would make him understand. 

“Get outta my way” 

“No! Are you on Jones' side?” He rolled his eyes “Are you or not?”

“Noah’s younger siblings?”

“Aham!” She nodded slowly, her cheeks burning with determination. 

“Nah, dun like them” She smiled, wild, her dark eyes filled with tears of joy. Finally someone who agrees with her! An ally!

“We should make an alliance against evil. I just need you to teach me how to climb that fence and I’ll go catch the frogs.” He raised his eyebrows, clearly not believing in her. “And you can ask me a favor in return. This is how alliances work. I saw in the Cuckoo’s nest movie.” 

When she mentioned the movie he pressed his lips, but Sam didn’t know if he was holding a laugh or disapproving her. 

“Frogs? Do ya know any types? Some have poison, bad for ya skin.” 

Sam blinked, afraid of what he said. Was he lying? She looked at him, suspicious. His blue eyes were looking her up and down, reminding her of the stray cat she was hiding in her backyard.

He was so tense, like the cat the first time she approached it. She named the cat Bernard, because of The rescues, one of her favorite movies. 

“Can you help me with that, please?” She looked at him with hope and saw his cheeks going red. He took the sling out of his pocket. 

“How many?”  She realized, too fast, what he meant. Her eyes got bigger and she went to his wrist, almost crying. 

“No please, I don't want to hurt the poor little frogs! I don’t even let Bernard kill them. Bernard is my cat, but mom doesn't know. I keep him a secret and…” 

He looked at her hand like it was fire and pushed his wrist in an aggressive way. The way he looked at her made her swallow and shut up. 

“Sorry.” They looked at each other in silence and Sam squeezed her bracelet. “But it is true, I have a cat. I can have a cat, they’re good friends. You know?”

Still silence. Sam felt her cheeks burning now. What if she had only Bernard, a cat, as a friend? She opened her mouth and closed it. 

“Why are ya covered in peach?”  He finally said something, making her twist her lips.  

“Ava Jones” she murmured ashamed “Sorry… I… Just...” 

“Stop cryin like a baby. Let’s go before I change my mind.” 

“Really?” She went to him and he took a step away from her “Sorry” 

“This fuckin school is ridiculous.” They began to walk to the fence

“You shouldn’t curse.” 

“Ya shouldn’t watch movies like that” 

“Hey!” she smiled, looking at him with some sort of admiration. Maybe she made a friend, finally. “I love Jack Nicholson” 

“He have crazy eyes” 

“I love it” Now he laughed, the tension in his shoulder and face disappeared and she loved to see it “ Actually, my granny loves him and I love him too.” 

She put a hand on her hair and remembered the gum. She groaned, furious with it.

“They did it?”

“Yeah” She confirmed with a pouty

“Put some ice on it.”

“Why?”

“The gum will be hard as rock and ya can take without cuttin yer hair."

Sam blinked, impressed, and nodded. 

“Thank you Daryl Dixon. You are really smart.”  When she said it he stopped and looked at her with his face all shades of red. “What? I’m not teasing you. I’m serious!” 

“Whatever” he murmured rolling his eyes “You own me two now” 

She crossed hands behind her back and smiled at him while walking, correcting her posture. When he helped her to sneak out of school she wondered why he was always running away from class. 

Sam chooses the biggest frog in the pond. She named him Mr. Jack Hero to Daryl amusement. When they came back to school she was too happy with her alliance and the big frog. 

She put the frog in Ava’s bag and after the annoying girl discovered it, Sam ran and stayed quiet, only enjoying the chaos.

Her alliance with Daryl Dixon seems a good.

[sarah-dipitous]

Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 296

A Most Holy Man/The Woman Who Fell to Earth

“A Most Holy Man”

Plot Description: in search of a key component for creating a rift, Sam and Dean head west and become entangled in a web of characters pursuing a Maltese relic

Would I Survive the First Five Minutes??: can’t tell if that nun died, but I wouldn’t be a nun, soooooo

Oh good we have another red headed woman ❤️ ooooo, Dean’s mad or at least annoyed that she’s hitting on Sam and not him

Don’t you think Cas could have told them what a most holy man meant BEFORE leaving?? Sure, a saint is a good guess, but this wouldn’t be our first mission for nothing if they’re wrong or can’t get it

Oh sure. No big deal, just steal the skull of St Peter from a notorious mob boss in exchange for the blood of St Ignatius…

You know who could have been so useful right about now? Bela, morally charcoal loml

I’m now suspicious of everyone they meet in this hotel. But mostly the guy they literally ran into on the elevator

But maybe he’s TOO suspicious and I should be looking at the woman who was trading the spn book

You’re not wrong, Dean, but while being held not QUITE hostage by a mob boss who knows that legally speaking you’re already dead so no one would care if you died now is not the time to point out that the relics he had stolen for him already had a home

Can’t believe (by which I mean I really can believe) they got suckered into being mob lackeys

Aw year! Elevator guy is back!! Man, I gotta be way more basic in who I suspect

Elevator guy is a priest just trying to buy the skull back for his congregation? I’m not entirely buying the story but we’re like half way through the episode so I might as well for now

…istg, if they end up getting this priest’s blood and that’s enough? What if HE is “a most holy man”? Because I really think we might be heading that way after the priest’s speech about always trying to do good despite the failings of the world

They are still very much gonna try to steal that skull back, and I’m glad Sam convinced Dean to do it for this Maltese priest rather than the mob boss or the greedy relic dealer

This IS quite the web of characters. We’ve circled back to the redhead and she’s practically auctioning it between the two bad guys

Lmao “I’m creating a distraction” he says because lying is a sin

Are all the bad guys gonna shoot each other and Sam will emerge victorious with the skull? This is quite the ridiculous episode

Oh no. Oh ok. The bullet that shot the priest just grazed him

I knewwwww they’d get the priest’s blood because he’s “a most holy man”

Oh Sammy…you can’t stop all the bad in the world, you just have to do what you can

“The Woman Who Fell to Earth”

Plot Description: a mysterious woman, unable to remember her own name, falls from the Sheffield night sky

This forest is gorgeous and it’s so close to some really great hills, I almost don’t care about the sci-fi stuff happening

I say that and then a blue pod shows up and…that is interesting

Not saying I’m not interested in the people who the Doctor will be surrounding herself with for the next three seasons or however long each of them last, but I just kind of want to meet Thirteen now. It’s been a WHILE since the beginning of the episode

There she is!!

The cgi would have never been this good in the old days

This dude who just wants off the train and to go to work and forget all of this is so relatable

Poor Ryan. Can’t stop anyone from talking about how he can’t ride a bike

Ah fuck another pod thing has landed somewhere else

So this other alien looks like a swirling ball of dark spaghetti and blue electricity

Wait but this one had a different (yet somewhat related??) alien

AND Thirteen and her crew have dna bombs implanted in them by the first alien?

It’s frustrating starting all over with a whole new set of characters, especially when they all know each other and have an established rapport. Like, it was one thing to get Amy and a little bit of Rory right off the bat when Ten became Eleven, but we established something between Eleven and Amy first. I don’t want this to feel as off putting as it is. But I know at least three of the four new characters are going to be featured with Thirteen

Thirteen should have been allowed to keep the goggles she wore when creating her new sonic screwdriver. Think it would have gone well with the overalls and long coat

Oh nooooo, the guy who just wanted to get on with his life after the traumatic encounter with the Doctor and another alien is being hunted by a THIRD alien?? (The second we encountered not including the Doctor) HE’s the randomly designated prey? He just wanted to go to work…

OSHA would have so much to say about what’s going on at this construction site. So would whatever the UK version is

She’s mad she’s shorter now and i can’t blame her

I like Ryan’s mom. We haven’t had a really good companion mom since Jackie. Martha’s mom wasn’t horribly but Ryan’s mom seems so much cooler

FUCK. NO. I was just saying how cool she is…and they kill her off?!?! (I missed the part where she was actually his grandma? In my defense, I had the volume low because Megumi was sleeping)

I like Jodie’s accent

No but honestly the long coat with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows is such a look. I love it

Of course she zapped them right along with her, even if by accident

[black-dhalias]

Imagine Scenarios Ideas

These imagines are scenarios that Id like to write for, but I’m not sure there’s a demand. These ideas are of my own creation, so I would prefer it if they weren’t taken without asking.

{Can Request}

Ahkmenrah X GN!Reader • You were Ahkmenrah’s promised bride, and accidentally die before the wedding (hint hint : not really an accident). But through a ritual, a priest is able to keep your soul from passing and return it to your body. However, the price is that you will always reincarnate. You are forced to marry Kamunrah after Ahkmenrah dies, and after finding out Ahkmenrah was murdered by the same priest who saved you. You take your own life. However, after centuries of reincarnation—you reunite with Ahkmenrah at the musuem. Despite your doubt, he is able to convince you that it is him.

Sam Uley X Demigod!Reader • Sam had figured he wasn’t going to get an imprint pretty soon after half his pack had imprinted. He nearly expected you to never exist at all, or exist in another world entirely. What he didn’t know is that you were at Camp Half Blood you’re whole life—a daughter of Hephaestus, a fire bender and hero extraordinaire. But that life appealed less to you now, so you moved back home with your mom. To Forks, Washington. You found out about the Cullens pretty quick, almost as fast as they figured you out. So imagine the wolves surprise when you show up at the Newborn training session. Sam imprints and protectively asks Edward why you’re there? “How many of you have fought in a war before?” No answer. You spark flames on your fingers and smile a little, “Brilliant.”

Lord Milori X F!Reader • Milori had figured he was pretty much useless to Pixie Hollow after his wing broke. Useless to the winter fairies, to his season and home. What goes around comes around—because he meets another fairy with a broken wing, but he learns what they went through. The struggle that came with being flightless—how they learned to function and serve. You were a fast flying fairy, that couldn’t fly. However, your ability to manipulate the winds didn’t change and is incredibly useful for creating wintery winds. Life moves on, and slowly, Milori begins to too. That’s when you show him flight can be attained, you just have to make a friend first.

Young!Charles Xavier X GN!Reader • You are Charles long term partner, his most trusted confident in the whole world. You support his dreams, and he supports your adventures. The interesting thing about the two of you is how opposite you are—while his mutation is primarily mental, your mutation is purely physical. You can take any amount of hits and take no damage, but as you absorb that momentum—you’re able to reroute it to your attacker. You think it’s some sort of force shield, and you’re able to manipulate it to do damage too. It makes you useful in situations, where they’re trying to break in or out of somewhere. However, after you’ve put together the first class— while all hanging out, the others make a comment about it. How opposite you are from each other.

Aemond Targaryen X Velaryon!Mixed!Reader • You are ax in your parents agreement, the only trueborn to come from their marriage. A 2nd born girl set to inherit no more than a name and a husband. When Cregan Stark approaches as a suitor, you are pushed into a whirlwind of jealousy and resentment… “To the sibling of the bastards, and daughter of the whore—may the North be as cold as she is.”

Castiel X Shadowhunter!F!Reader • You were Castiel’s mortal lover for a period of time before Dean and Sam. He had a different vessel at that point. However, when you were prepared to run away from the shadow hunter life. You fell in love with him, but as a Lightwood, nothing is simple when it comes to love. So he is forced to leave you wondering. You grew bitter and trained harder, it drained you of life faster than anything else. You became good. You and Alec trained together, and you worked with Clary—you ended up becoming her parabatai. You got caught though, because others slipped up. At the same time, Castiel needs some extra support on a case with Sam and Dean—and so begins the road to a reunion.

[calaofnoldor]

What’s Mine

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 7,595

Summary: The secret you and Sam are hiding from Dean is threatened by your inability to keep your hands off each other.

Warnings: 18+ no actual smut but plenty of implied smut, pre-smut, and smut adjacency lol, secret dating, enemies to lovers, jealousy and possessiveness (exhibited by both sam and reader), slight obsession with sam’s big ass hands (i blame this largely on @walkerboy290​‘s glorious hand porn gif sets), and language

A/N: inspired by and written for @thinkinghardhardlythinking​ bc she’s been bugging me to write smut and using her birthday as a bargaining chip, so i hope you’re happy sai. happy (belated) birthday babe! i suppose in my subconscious need to truly honor you, this became the longest one shot i’ve ever written... that and this is now also a little birthday gesture for the brilliant and beautiful @sams-sass​​ (damn your close birthdays!) even though she never asked for smut (if you hate it, i’ll write you something else!) happy birthday to you too, darling!

also written for @superbadassnatural​‘s 333 badass followers celebration with the prompt “___ and I are together.” “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa.” and @writethelifeyouwant​‘s 300 follower fic challenge with the prompt “All the pretty girls like Samuel” (both prompts are bolded in the fic) i’m sorry i’m so late! congratulations to both of you and thanks for letting me enter your challenges!

[basically i have a lot of people to blame for this disaster 😂]

Square Filled: Secret Dating for @spnfluffbingo​ and Enemies to Lovers for @girl-next-door-writes​ Make Me Feel Bingo

MASTERLIST

The waffles on your plate are surprisingly good for a sketchy, 50’s-themed diner, but unfortunately your attention is elsewhere. In fact, the two distinctly masculine voices behind you have been obnoxiously impairing your ability to savor the buttery, syrup-doused carbs since their owners sat down in the adjoining booth. It’s the topic of their discussion that disturbs you, and nips at your conscience until you realize you can no longer take off without imparting a few words to your oblivious colleagues.

Turning your head subtly to the side, you try to catch a glimpse of the men you’re about to confront in your peripheral vision. From what you can see, they’re both rather burly, a little rough around the edges, and from what you’ve heard, recklessly cocksure. You know the type all too well. Being a lone hunter of the fairer sex for most of your life means you’ve long since learned that the best way to combat their kind is with a steadfast façade of thick skin and unwavering confidence.

So you sigh and put on your best smile before turning around, crossing your forearms along the top of the booth seat, “Listen fellas, I hate to interrupt, but I really wouldn’t bother with the bamboo dagger and Shinto priest if I were you.”

“And who the hell are you?” the one with shorter hair demands. He’s a bit stockier than his companion and has a face that looks like it was designed by Abercrombie and Fitch - well that explains the arrogance.

“I’m the person who’s about to save your asses evidently,” you respond with a smug grin, trying not to let their absurdly good looks deter your act.

Abercrombie’s partner, the Fabio wannabe, releases a quiet scoff, “And how are you gonna do that?” he questions dubiously.

“By letting you in on a little secret…” Throwing him a tight smile, you lean forward and lower your voice, “That ōkami you’re after? It’s not an ōkami, it’s a ghoul.” Sitting back, you await the outrage.

“What?! But that’s not possible, I checked the lore. And it’s obviously got a type.” Fabio’s glossy chestnut locks fall across his delicate features as he shakes his head in disbelief, and you almost snort out loud. How did this amateur expect to hunt with hair like that?

You look him over, taking in the broad shoulders and muscled arms, as well as the obvious height advantage he’s got over Abercrombie even whilst they’re both seated. To be honest, you’re surprised he’s referencing lore at all. Guys his size always assume they can either outman or outgun whatever obstacles cross their path, and they almost never take women like you seriously, despite your ample years of acquired knowledge and invaluable experience. It’s this experience that surmises a bit of antagonism here is inevitable, so you might as well get a head start.

“Yeah well maybe you should check again, big guy,” you glance down at his hands, your first mistake as their sheer size render you speechless and subsequently agitated at yourself for the momentary lapse of visceral lust, but the show must go on, “Make sure those giant, lumbering hands of yours don’t fumble over anything important or you might miss the connection to Isabelle Harding. You see it’s not ‘a type’; it’s revenge.”

“Wh- Bu- I looked through the files. I wouldn’t have missed that,” Fabio insists.

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you type ‘Isabelle Harding’ and ‘1987 school bombing’ into your search bar and see what comes up?” you gesture towards the laptop on their table with a raised brow. Minutes later, both men are dumbfounded by the revelation on the screen, staring between it and you with their mouths agape.  

You chuckle silently at their faces, “Don’t worry, there’s no need to thank me. Although you rookies might wanna go home and let the more experienced hunter finish up here.” As you’re about to bid them farewell, you dip back in to add, “Oh and a word of free advice, maybe don’t discuss supernatural monsters quite so loudly in public spaces next time. It might invite unwanted attention.”

With that, you turn around and slap some cash down next to your unfinished waffles, before grabbing your jacket and strutting out the door.

Sam is left in utter confusion. The sudden animosity you had spouted his way seems completely baseless and unwarranted. Had he somehow offended you? Sam generally considers himself a highly respectful and fairly easy-going guy, not quite as hot-blooded as his brother, and thus not as likely to provoke such antipathy from a complete stranger. To make matters worse, he certainly can’t deny that something about you had registered within his subconscious as inexplicably attractive, despite the way you’d embarrassed him. In his flustered and slightly aroused state, it had been all he could do to remain awestruck in his seat and stare blatantly at your ass as you walked away.

The next time Sam sees you is only twelve hours later and no less humiliating. You’re mid-swing in the killing blow against what you had accurately predicted to be a ghoul as he and Dean tumble in. Despite the low lighting, Sam is once again stupefied by your raging beauty, augmented by the incredible skill you’re displaying in a much more physical sense this time around. Before he can drag his eyes away, there’s a collective shout of “watch out!” and suddenly you’re right in front of him. In a blur of events, you somehow manage to push Sam out of the way and successfully decapitate the unexpected second ghoul that had been sneaking up behind him, with only a slice across the arm to show for it.

“Didn’t I tell you two to go home?” You’re panting from the exertion and Sam’s gaze lands on the neckline of your shirt, skewed from the fight and revealing a good amount of cleavage. He quickly averts his eyes. What is happening? Sam can’t remember the last time anyone had evoked such a staggering reaction from him. He feels as if he’s a mere spectator in his own body.

Across from him, you press your hand against the wound and curse when it comes back covered in blood. At your groan of pain, Sam finally finds his voice again, “Shit. I’m so sorry! I don’t know how I missed that other one. I- that normally doesn’t happen.”

“Yeah, I bet that’s what you say to all the girls, huh?” you reply offhand, still a bit out of breath.

It’s easy for Sam to dismiss your mocking given that he feels terribly guilty for being the cause of your injury. From where he’s standing, the cut looks deep. “Here, at least let me stitch it up for you. It’s too awkward a position for you to do it yourself,” he offers, holding out his ginormous hands to you like he’s waving a white flag.

“I think you’ve done enough damage for one day, haven’t you, big guy? At this point, I’d rather Abercrombie over there be the one behind the needle.”

“Who- what?” are the first words Dean speaks since the action has died down.

You turn to face the shorter guy, “Oh don’t look so surprised. You might as well be the model for a slightly older Ken doll. Are you up for it or not?”

Dean’s mouth hangs open as he tries to determine whether he should feel flattered or insulted.

“Uh- actually, I’m better at stitches than my brother,” Sam butts in.

“With those jumbo, fumbling hands? Yeah, sure you are, big guy,” you decline skeptically.

“It’s Sam,” he states through a clenched jaw.

“OK, Sam. Since I just saved your life, you mind making yourself useful and burning those bodies while your bro puts my arm back together? You know, as a ‘thank you’ perhaps?”

Sam is stunned for the third time that day. No one has ever belittled him (whilst gratuitously attacking his size) insofar without any apparent reason. It seems as though his very existence upsets you and the arbitrariness of your contempt has caused an anger to stir beneath him, but beyond that lies bewilderment and irritation. How had he managed to accomplish two such massive mistakes in front of you in the span of so short a time? Perturbed and bitter, Sam silently sets to work on the bodies.

Meanwhile, you’ve come to a surprising realization as Dean begins to cut the fabric of your flannel away from your damaged arm, the name ‘Sam’ and the words ‘my brother’ resounding in your head, “Wait a second- there’s no way… you’re not… the Winchesters, are you? Sam and… Dean?”

“The one and only, sweetheart.” He sends you a dazzling smile that is as perfect as you’d expect, but within his eyes is an underlying poignancy that you recognize as clear as day: an indication of a traumatic past and a lifetime spent plastering on tough veneers. You notice as well how gentle his touch is and how his stitches are practiced and prudent. Perhaps you had judged him too hastily.

Through an incredulous chuckle, you retort, “Well I can’t say I didn’t expect more from you, but at least this’ll get me a free round of drinks at the hunters’ pub tonight.”

Dean laughs with you before sobering at the thought of how his baby brother must be feeling, “Hey listen, take it easy on Sammy, alright? I don’t know what’s gotten into him today but he’s not usually like this. He’s actually the smart one, believe it or not.”

Scoffing, you can’t help but smile back at Dean and soon find an easy rhythm with the older Winchester, despite your awkward introduction.

From several yards away, however, Sam looks wistfully back to see you smiling lightheartedly at something Dean’s said, the two of you huddled in close proximity as his brother’s hands drift across your bare skin. Something akin to envy bubbles within his chest although he’s aware it makes no sense, so with a frown, Sam does his best to shake it off and get back to work.

But it’s not easy to forget you. And just as Sam is beginning to think he’s rid that awful day from his memory, you pop back into his life three months down the line.

“Well, if it isn’t the overgrown hunter extraordinaire Sammy Winchester.” The sarcasm that oozes from your otherwise beguiling voice has him gritting his teeth in no time.

“It’s Sam.”

“So you here to mess up my hunt again, Sam?”

Although he wishes he could have been the bigger man instead of surrendering to the resentment you roused within him, after a couple repeated hatchet burying attempts fall through, Sam just can’t resist the little game you’ve started.

Over the next few months, you and Dean form a fortuitously close bond and the older Winchester develops a habit of calling you up when faced with a troublesome hunt, and vice versa. Despite Sam’s fabricated displeasure, a show he puts on mostly for Dean (since any other emotion would seem illogical given the way you treat him), Sam is peculiarly and begrudgingly excited to see you every time. But the match never ends. In fact, Sam lets it intensify each time you work together, always astounded by how you manage to get him so worked up.

“I’m telling you, it’s a rugaru!”

“Right, because the last time we listened to you, things worked out so well,” you remark sardonically.

“The lore says-“

“Ooh, quoting the lore again now are we, Mr. Know It All?”

At this point, Sam is about as huffy and puffy as the big bad wolf and if he were a cartoon character, there’d surely be steam erupting from his ears. “Look, Y/N, this isn’t about who knows more or who’s right; this is about saving those people’s lives!”

“You think I don’t know that? Was I not the one who saved your life the first time we met?”

“OK, alright, just shut up you two!” Dean finally shouts above you, “Would it kill you to just get along for two seconds?”

“No,” Sam admits.

“Probably,” you say at the same time, causing Sam to shoot you his overly perfected bitch face.

SIX MONTHS LATER

“What the fuck?!” Dean’s booming voice echoes throughout the bunker and moments later you and Sam come flying into the kitchen to answer his call, guns at the ready.

“What? What is it?” you ask while Sam scans the room.

A whimper is the only the way to describe the sound of Dean’s reply, as he points toward an unseen object on the floor. Edging toward him, you lower your gun in the direction of his finger until you discover the source of Dean’s distress.

With a sigh, you look toward Sam who is also exhaling in relief at the sight of the entity in question. The two of you share a moment of wordless conversation before simultaneously dropping your guns with a conclusive nod.

“Why does this feel like déjà vu?” Dean’s tone is still timid and appalled, and you nearly laugh at the idea of a grown-ass man looking so aghast because of a used condom.

“Because it kinda is…” you supply unhelpfully, earning yourself a small glare from the man beside you.

“Dean,” Sam begins with a deep breath, “There’s something we have to tell you… Y/N and I are together.”

The snort that escapes Dean is full-bodied and borderline psychotic, “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa!”

You wait till his snickering subsides, “No, it- it’s true.” Your voice is hesitant yet hopeful, “We’re not joking. We’ve kinda become… a thing.”

“A thing?”

“Yeah, well you know, I don’t wanna have to put a label on it or-“

“Y/N’s my girlfriend,” Sam declares with conviction as he reaches out to curl his long fingers around your waist and lasso you towards him.

“-Buuuut, that is the one I’d use if anyone asks,” you quickly affirm with a stiff pat to your boyfriend’s abdomen, wincing at the unversed attempt of PDA and missing the dimpled grin that crosses Sam’s amused features.

“Well, I don’t buy it. I don’t believe either of you.” Dean’s sturgeon face comes on strong as he shakes his head and points a challenging finger at you, “Kiss him, right now,” he dares with perked brows.

The eye roll you respond with is so dramatic your entire head moves with it. But then, without a moment of pause, you turn your body into Sam’s, reach up to grab the back of his neck and pull him down for a searing kiss. Now this is something you’re well-versed in. The reunion of your lips starts off relatively slow, but it doesn’t take long to escalate into something more fiery that involves tongue, the eager push and pull movements of your bodies, and Sam’s enormous hands cradling your head.

After a moment of shock, Dean objects, “Alright, alright, I get it! That’s enough of that!”

Unwilling to recede just yet, you linger in the kiss for a little longer, delaying your separation by nibbling down on Sam’s lower lip and tugging gently, only releasing it as you pull away torturously slow. When the two of you finally open your languid eyes, it’s to stare into each other’s dilated pupils and ponder the moment for an indiscernible minute.

“What th- I said, I get it! Now could please stop ogling each other before my lunch comes back out the wrong way?!”

But the way Sam’s smiling at you is addictive and you can’t bring yourself to look away until he forces a break by leaning in to plant a tender kiss upon your forehead before tucking you into his side as he faces his brother again.

Dean’s face is covered by his hand, “I’m gonna need a minute. I just-“ His features leap through a range of expressions as he tries to find the right words, “When the hell did this start anyway? I thought you two couldn’t stand each other?”

“Yeahhh, that was mostly an act. Although we bought it at first too,” you explain with a shrug.

“We weren’t pretending the whole time. It just kind of happened and we didn’t really know how else to act around each other by then,” Sam adds.

“Right, basically it turns out there’s a fine line between love and hate... and that line is hardcore yearning.” Your words bring a chuckle to Sam’s lips but his brother still looks out of sorts.

Shaking his head with closed eyes, Dean sighs, “Alright, can someone just explain to me exactly how this happened, because I’m still not computing here. But spare me the details and try to keep it PG-13,” he emphasizes with adamant hand gestures.

“How do you know it’s not PG-13?” you inquire with a held-back laugh.

“Ha. With the way you two were playing tonsil hockey just now, I can tell you’ve been around the bend way more than I wanna know. My little brother doesn’t kiss like that on the first date.”

It’s impossible to hold back a giggle at the memory of your ‘first date’ and the way Sam had kissed you, “OK well, that would be hard, considering the story involves a lot of sex... You wanna give it a go, big guy?” you pass the ball over to Sam with a quirked brow and lowered voice, to which he responds with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, a little warning glance that you’re well aware means ‘save it for the bedroom’ but you simply smirk up at him.  

‘Big guy’ used to be a term you called Sam in contempt, but when the feelings between you evolved and a sexual relationship developed, it became an innuendo, such that calling him ‘big guy’ in front of Dean or in public almost always results in glorious sex. In fact, sometimes you believe the nickname has held a slightly obscene connotation for you since the beginning.

Afterall, your carnal longing for him has been present from day one, although at the time you had believed it to be purely physical. Sure, you had dreams about having him in various positions in your bed, but you figured those were merely betrayals of your subconscious mind. That was until one day, a heated argument in a rare moment alone had ended up in a violent make out session, after which the two of you had just barely gotten the last of your clothes back on before Dean walked in. One look at your worked up and frenetic states alongside the disordered condition of your surroundings, and he immediately assumed you’d been fighting again (which wasn’t terribly far from the truth), chortling as he asked if you would have killed each other had he returned a bit later.

With a clearing of his throat, Sam begins to recount the tale, “Uh, well it started in that motel in South Carolina, while you were out getting food…”

“Look, all I’m saying is there is no way he’s using the hospital as a dump site! It’s just not feasible!”

With complete disregard for the peace and quiet of the other residents within this thin-walled motel, you and Sam once again find yourselves in a shouting match.

“Oh right, I forgot! You’re Sam Winchester! How could you POSSIBLY be wrong?! Mister ‘look at me, my IQ and LSAT score match my fucking height! Oh and I also happen to have the physique of an Adonis without even owning a gym membership!’” you roar bitterly, gesticulating with your hands to help better communicate your pent-up indignation.

“Right and you’re Y/N Y/L/N, so how could YOU possibly be wrong? Miss ‘look at me, I never went to college but I’m a genius AND I can kick ass! Oh and I also happen to look effortlessly stunning through it all!’” Sam suddenly seems bigger than ever as he towers over you, that panty-soaking deep voice emanating from his diaphragm and infusing itself throughout the entire room until all you can see, hear, and breathe is Sam.

The fury takes over and you don’t notice your feet taking you closer to him, “Oh yeah because you don’t make EVERYTHING you do look so unnecessarily hot and make me wanna rip your clothes off all the damn time!”

“Fuck! And you don’t always drive me crazy when we have these stupid arguments and your chest starts heaving and you look so insanely delectable I just wanna pick you up and fuck you against the closest surface!” By now, the distance between you is essentially nonexistent and your brain is no longer run by reason.

“So why don’t you then?” are your famous last words, prompting Sam to grab you wildly by the back of a thigh, lifting slightly and driving you to climb up him like a spider monkey fleeing from a grounded predator, while his other hand pushes your hair aside to gain better access to your face. Your mouths clash in a fierce battle and before you know it, Sam’s huge hands are cupping your ass as your legs wrap around his waist and you rut into him, hands flying from his shoulders to his hair. Those divine chestnut locks that you’ve always dreamed of running your fingers through. They’re somehow even softer than you imagined and the revelation, in conjunction with the way Sam’s tongue is becoming increasingly aggressive causes a fresh surge of libidinous energy to rocket through you. As a result, you give his silky strands an irresistible tug and drink in the moan he makes, the sinful sound reverberating straight down to your core as you clench around nothing.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Sam groans as he grudgingly forces himself to pull back as much as he can, “Are you sure? Is this what you want? Cause I can’t- Y/N I won’t be able to stop myself if we keep going.” His eyes squeeze shut as if the notion of stopping or the act of keeping his lips away from yours is causing him genuine pain, and the entire gesture moves you.

“Fuck, you really are the opposite of everything I thought you would be,” you make a quick mental note to apologize later for your initially presumptuous behavior although you can’t find it within yourself to feel any remorse right now, “Yes, please Sam, fuck me. I want you so bad… I think I have since we met and I saw those gorgeous hands of yours,” you confess, biting your lip lightly.

Sam breathes out a low incredulous laugh, “What, these?” he asks, removing one of the aforementioned hands away from your butt to bring it into your line of vision.

“Yes, fuck they’re so big and beautiful and strong and-“

“Alright, I don’t need to know about your weird hand fetish!” Dean hollers abruptly, rubbing his fingers across his eyes as if he could somehow erase the image of you and his brother together out of his retinas. “OK, but that was like… four months ago. You mean you’ve been sneaking around behind my back this whole time?”

“Well at first we didn’t want to tell you because we weren’t even sure what it was ourselves,” you divulge.

“Yeah, we didn’t want to try to explain something that we didn’t understand yet,” Sam supplements, hoping his brother will understand the motive behind your secrecy.

You nod along, “But then… it got a little harder to hide.”

The apprehension behind Dean’s emerald eyes is unmistakable as he reluctantly inquires, “That’s why this felt like déjà vu?”

It’s with a grimace that you reply, hesitantly, “Remember the time you found those panties in the backseat of the Impala?”

Dean’s eyes grow comically wide and Sam ducks his head in preparation of what’s to come.

“Yeah, there’s a story behind that…”

The click of her heels against the porcelain-tiled foyer irritates you as the three of you stride through her front door. You’re posing as detectives sent to question this overdressed young woman about her late husband, but the moment she lays her eyes on Sam, you reckon she’s forgotten her beloved’s damn name.

“Oh my… lord and savior. Well aren’t you a tall drink of water?” she beholds breathlessly with a seductive bite of her painted ruby lips.

You cough loudly and Dean sniggers, thinking you’re annoyed about Sam getting such commendation and attention during a serious case.

“I know this might be the grief talking, but I would climb you like a tree,” she purrs, sauntering up to Sam with an exaggerated sway of her hips. With her half-lidded doe eyes adorned with dark, fluttery lashes and low, sultry voice, you have to admit she’s quite attractive.

Grinding your teeth as your nails dig into your palms, you glower at the woman unreservedly. She, however, takes no notice, running her hands along Sam’s forearms before gripping at his bicep to lead him toward her living room. “Please, come have a seat, detective. You can ask me whatever you want.” The wink she appends is somehow the final nail in the coffin.

It’s with zero hesitation that you feign the reception of a notification on your phone before declaring, “Oh would you look at that, the uh… Sheriff needs us back at the station, Sam. He says it’s urgent.” You try to keep your tone even, thankful that you all maintained your real first names for these aliases, “Dean, you’re good to conduct this interview on your own, right?” Without waiting for an answer, you trample over to snatch Sam’s other arm and ignoring the horny widow’s gaping mouth, proceed to haul him away.

Dean sends you a strange look but relents, “Uh, yeah I guess, OK.”

As soon as the door closes behind you, your hand shifts down to lace your fingers with Sam’s, marching him towards the Impala with a staunch and mighty purpose. Even Sam’s elongated legs stumble to keep up.

“So uh… when did you give the Sheriff your number?” There’s an edge in his voice that normally disappears when it’s just the two of you.

“Wha- I didn’t. Sam, I just made all that up,” you tell him as you reach the car and open its back door. Pushing Sam inside, you climb in swiftly after him, wasting no time as you straddle his thighs and begin to undress him, only pausing when he looks up at you in adorable, puppy-like confusion.

“Wait, what? Then what are we doing?”

That’s when it finally dawns on you, “Hold on a sec, were you… jealous?” You can’t help but smile, finding it amusing that he’s stewing in his own envy after what you just witnessed.

“No, I just- He was kinda all over you this morning.”

“You mean like the way Mrs. My-Husband-Just-Died-But-I-Wanna-Climb-You-Like-a-Tree was in there?”

“Oh, that’s what this is about?” Sam perks up, the hint of a smug grin ghosting across his lips.

“She was practically holding your hand!”

“That’s what bothered you the most?” He dips his head to catch your eyes and those variegated irises burn into you with an intense, questioning gaze, alight with mischievous curiosity.

“They’re my hands to hold,” you contend with a pout, subconsciously clenching your thighs around his as you seize one of his large hands with two of your much smaller ones, “Just like you’re my tree to climb.”

Sam’s head falls back in bright laughter, “I thought you said they were ‘oversized’ and ‘ungainly’?” he teases, quoting your previous slights.

“You know I only said that cause Dean was there.”

“I’m pretty sure you called them ‘fumbly’ and ‘lumbering’ the first time we met.”

Staring at his fingers as you play with them, you shiver at the memory of how they feel all over you. “That was cause I used to think all hunters with a Y chromosome were cocky, misogynistic assholes who needed to be knocked down a peg or two.”

“But I proved you wrong, right?”

“Fuck yes you did. So, so wrong. And now you’re mine, and I don’t like seeing other people touch what’s mine,” you growl before returning to your earlier task of removing his clothes, pouncing on him when your fingers finally land on bare skin. You kiss him fiercely, swallowing his surprised grunts with glee, and as his hands start travelling from your hips up to your back, holding you tight against him, your lips move down to his pulse point, sucking, licking, and nibbling, “Mine.”

“Fucking Jesus Christ on a cracker! You goddamn rabbits!” Dean squawks in protest as he begins to pace the floor, “Have you no decency?! And in my poor Baby! While I was busy doing all the work, saving lives!”

You roll your eyes at his melodramatics and can feel the tension in Sam’s abdominal muscles as he attempts to restrain his laughter. As if Dean had never taken a break during a case for a stress-relieving quickie before, or hadn’t been at least somewhat grateful to be left alone with a beautiful woman.

His next comment confirms your point, “Although, if I remember correctly that lady was a fox.” After a brief pondering pause and an introspectively appreciative smirk, Dean’s whining resumes, “But seriously! I can’t believe you two! Here I was feeling bad for forcing you to work and live together, hoping you’d eventually learn to get along when this whole time you were shacking up like animals and casually defiling my Baby just because what? Some girl touched Sam’s hand?!”

Feeling emboldened by the catharsis of this long-overdue airing of your dirty laundry, you decide to add to Dean’s exasperation, “Yeah and in the spirit of honesty, that might’ve happened more than once.” Sam tries to hold back his snort as he gives your hip a playful cautionary squeeze while Dean’s feet come to a full stop as he turns to give you a death glare. “Hey, it’s not my fault all the pretty girls like Samuel! And I’m pretty sure we wiped her down after.”

“I don’t even-“ Dean purses his lips and quirks his head with a dynamic expression of unbearable vexation, “You better be getting me pie every day of the week for what you did.“ He takes a deep breath before circling back, “Wait, OK so you’re telling me that a used condom ended up in our kitchen because- what? You two couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough to find a bed? You know what, forget I asked. I don’t wanna know. Did you at least sanitize the place after?? No, of course you didn’t, you left a fucking condom on the floor… I think I’m gonna throw up.”

But you hardly hear Dean’s rambling because you and Sam are far too wrapped up in each other, smiling as you recall the events of that morning.

Your eyes slowly drift open to find the most exalting sight in all the world: Sam Winchester’s sleeping face, blissful and serene. Lifting a hand to gingerly cup his cheek, the corners of your mouth curl up when he leans into your touch. It’s moments like this that make you wish you could wake up next to him every morning.

Only after you’ve traced his every feature and planted a soft kiss where his dimple would be if he were awake and smiling, do you carefully peel yourself from his side, slipping out of his hold as you quietly climb out of bed. Sam rolls over a bit and you freeze with bated breath, watching as his big arm extends out in your direction as if trying to reach for you in his sleep, before stilling again.

Mornings like this are rare and you want him to soak up all the restful sleep he can. Once you’re sure you haven’t woken him, you scan the room for something to cover your naked figure, until your eyes land on the flannel he’d worn the night before. Picking it up, you bring it to your nose and inhale deeply to revel in the residual scent of Sam. Another glimpse at his peaceful, sleeping form has you smiling fondly. God, you are such a goner for that man. It’s becoming hard to reserve your soft looks toward him for private moments alone.

You can barely remember how it happened, but over time, you’d come to learn that Sam is nothing like you originally imagined him to be. He’s kind-hearted and open-minded, the type of soul that can find hope and beauty in even the darkest of places, a far cry from the shallow macho man silhouette you’d expected him to fill. In fact, Sam routinely defies the expectations others have enforced upon him, proving his worth time and time again as he’s persisted through some of what must be the toughest challenges to ever face a single human. Yet through it all, his spirit remains intact, never once yielding to cynicism or resentment or apathy or even the building of walls as you and Dean have resorted to. He is truly the bravest man you know and infinitely more competent than your first fluke of a hunt with him had mistakenly suggested, both in the field and in bed.

Shaking the thoughts from your head, you wrap yourself in plaid and head out the door. Dean never questions your use of Sam’s shirts because ever since Sam firmly insisted on giving you his flannel after your second encounter with them resulted in Dean cutting your own top apart, you’ve grown into a habit of borrowing Sam’s clothes. You always claim they’re more comfortable than your own and Sam’s feigned annoyance over you ‘stealing’ his belongings tides Dean right over.

Half an hour passes before Sam approaches the bunker kitchen to find you with your back towards the entrance, busy prepping breakfast in nothing but his plaid. He pauses in the doorway to stare at you for a minute, licking his lips with an irrepressible smile. For some, this may seem like a stereotypical morning after, but for a couple of hunters, it feels like a dream come true.

After finally returning to the bunker last night following the completion of a series of successful hunts, you’ve got no solid obligations and very little on your to-do lists today, although Sam’s got more than a few ideas about how to pass the time, and a couple more come to mind when you stretch up on your toes to reach for something, causing the hem of his shirt to glide up until its corner reveals just slightest hint of your incredible ass. Sam can’t suppress his little grunt of approval, which catches your attention and makes you turn your head, peering back at him over your shoulder.

You smirk at the blessed view of him standing there in nothing but the pair of thin grey sweatpants you’d bought him a month ago when you discovered the viral online phenomenon, “Hey, big guy. You just gonna stand there and gawk or do you wanna make yourself useful and grab another plate from the top shelf?”

Chuckling at your false animosity, Sam stalks toward you, “Good morning to you too.” One of his vast hands falls upon your hip as he presses the maximum possible length of his body into your back side, while his other hand reaches up over your head to snatch the plate you’d asked for.

“Good morning indeed,” you concur with a silent gasp when you feel the generous bulge in his pants.

“Oh that’s not morning, baby girl,” Sam husks into your ear, “That’s all you.” His powerful arms slink around you and his lips find their way down the side of your neck, lingering in that tender spot just behind your ear whilst you tilt your head and close your eyes, contentedly surrendering yourself to the moment. “I ever tell you how good you look in my shirts?”

Wiggling your butt back to tease him a bit, you’re pleased with the hiss it elicits. “No, but you made it very clear how bad I look in Dean’s,” you counter playfully.

The man behind you scoffs, “I didn’t say you looked bad; you could never look bad. I just… don’t like seeing you wear his clothes.”

“Oh, I know,” you turn around in his arms, “I just don’t understand how Dean doesn’t know yet. I mean, I think you’ve been very obvious.”

“And you haven’t?”

“I’m not the one who leaves hickeys in very visible places all over your body!”

Sam’s eyes glaze over in lust, an idea clearly forming in his head as he glances down at you. “Dean’s a hot-blooded guy; he needs to know you’re off-limits,” he alleges before attacking your throat with his mouth.

“So why don’t we just tell him?”

Without pausing his efforts, Sam reminds you, “Because you said you thought it was kinda hot, all the sneaking around. Mmpf, and because you said you wanted to see how long it would take him to figure it out.”

You nod while running your fingers through his silken strands and leaning back to give him more purchase, “That’s true. But in my defence, we always have this conversation when we’re doing stuff like this and I can’t think straight when your hands and mouth are on me.”

“Kinda like how I can’t think straight when you’re wearing nothing but my shirt?” His kisses travel down from your neck to your collarbone and shoulder as he slides his loosely buttoned flannel off to one side, “Fuck, you’ve got me so hard.”

Without warning, Sam seizes your waist and hoists you into the air as if gravity were an absolute joke, before plopping you down on the edge of the steel counter, his thumbs digging lightly into your ribcage.

“Sam! This is where we eat!” you protest with a laugh.

“Exactly. Which is why I’m gonna devour you here.” He dives back into your neck, continuing his work on a little pink mark that’s already beginning to form.

“Oh fuck… Wait, what if Dean walks in?” It’s through a great struggle that you manage to push him back an inch.

“He’s got a date with the Impala. He’ll be in the garage all day, trust me.” Sam’s gaze sweeps over your body suggestively, “Now are you gonna let me taste what’s mine?”

With an equally lewd survey of his extensive frame, you reply, “As long as you let me impale myself on what’s mine later.”

His eyes darken and the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only person he’s ever wanted ignites a confidence within you, so in a rather swift motion, you grasp him by the shaft through his sweatpants – the delicious groan he emits at your touch is enough to turn your pussy into a slip and slide – and pull him back towards you until the clothed length of him is resting against your folds and your noses brush, while his hands settle naturally on your thighs.

Shivering, your breath stutters and for an instant you can do nothing but bask in the closeness of him. Sam seems to enjoy it too because he closes his eyes as he rests his forehead against yours with an elated sigh. For the second time today, you marvel at his beauty, whispering a string of gasping kisses along his lower eye socket and exquisite cheekbone, simply dying to breathe him in. All of him is so immaculate and sublime. Each time the two of you reconvene, you want to savor every fucking inch of him, but there are a lot of inches, so the task often overwhelms you. Still, you must try. Locking your ankles behind him, you use your legs to pull him even further into you and the friction makes you lose your mind.

“Fuck, baby girl, you keep that up I’ll be making a mess in my pants,” Sam grunts with his lips upon your cheek.

Your breathless laughter fills the air, thinking of the stain you've undoubtedly already left on his charming grey sweatpants. Nimble as he is, Sam takes advantage of your open mouth and plunges his tongue inside. After so much preamble, the kiss is heavy and full of need. When the pressure of his lips pushes your head back, your hands fly to his wrists for the sake of your balance.

From there, they journey upward across his vascular forearms to his bulging triceps, fondling his massive shoulders before sliding along his traps and up the gorgeous length of his perfect neck, until you finally reach the treasure trove of his impeccable locks. You tangle your fingers into the lush mane and yank, gently but zealously, making Sam growl into your mouth. His voice is the hottest thing you’ve ever heard and the sounds he makes always drive you insane.

Never breaking the kiss, Sam’s colossal moose paws roam up to your back as he slowly lays you down on the counter, his member somehow still notched at your entrance and the new angle rousing a quiet moan from you. When he ultimately pulls away, you pitch forward to chase after his lips, but Sam only grants you a devilish grin and a quick peck to the corner of your mouth before moving down to your jaw and neck. While one palm kneads at your breast through his shirt, the other begins pushing and pulling at fabric to uncover more of your skin for his wandering lips.

“Sam! Augh!” you cry out as your head falls back.

“I got you, baby. I’m all yours. Gonna make you feel so good.” As if to attest his words, he rolls his hips into yours and a needy whimper escapes you. With your fingers still twisted in his hair, Sam leaves no part of you untouched as his mouth travels down your body. But upon reaching your navel, he pauses, those vivid, color-changing eyes peeping up at you to check for any signs of discomfort or objection. Finding none, his thick tongue pokes out to lick a deliriously winding path from your belly button to your exposed clit. Then, pushing down tenderly on the insides of your knees to open you up to him, Sam directs you one last look that is both hungry and reverent, “I still can’t believe this is mine.”

Dean had stopped you halfway through your recollection, but it appears that was still too much for him, “What did I do to deserve this?! I feel like I need to go bathe in holy water for a week.”

You and Sam both open your mouths to respond but Dean cuts you off vehemently, “Ba-da-da-da!” His vocalized outcry is complete with animated gestures featuring an accusing index finger. “OK, before you two tell me another traumatizing story, that’s enough of the who, what, when, where, and how… I just need to know why. I mean, is this- are you- …?”

Sensing the protective wheels turning in his head, you decide to put Dean out his misery, “I’m not just with Sam because he’s an incredible lay if that’s what you’re wondering. We can skip the fatherly ‘what are your intentions’ talk. Yes, Dean, I am in love with your little brother… although ‘little’ is not exactly the word I’d use to describe him.”

“Sammy, could you please control your woman?”

“My woman?” Sam sounds mostly amused but you’re almost certain you can hear a hint of pride in his voice.

“Yeah, I admit I’m surprised I didn’t see it until now. You two are kinda oddly perfect for each other, you know, in a weird, kinky way.”

“To be honest, we’re pretty surprised too. I mean, he doesn’t look it but this guy is kind of territorial,” you quip whilst cocking a thumb in Sam’s direction.

“I don’t need to- Wait a minute, so all those bruises you told me were from hunts?” Dean’s eyebrows soar towards his hairline.

Chewing on your lip, you confirm his hypothesis with a miniscule nod.

“Yeah well that time you saw my back,” Sam chimes in vengefully, casting you a handsome grin full of mischief as he reveals, “that wasn’t a werewolf, that was Y/N.”

With eyes as round as dinner plates, Dean frantically shuts you both down, “OK, that’s it. Torture Dean time is over. I don’t wanna hear any more about your depraved sex lives! Look, I guess I’m happy for you guys, although mostly cause I don’t have to play referee anymore, but I’m gonna need you to follow some ground rules around here. Like rule number one! No sex in public places!” he starts counting with his fingers, “Always put a sock on it when you’re busy! And most importantly, no sex in Baby!”

Your laughter follows Dean as he wearily saunters out of the kitchen, an exhausted expression on his face. Turning to your newly outed boyfriend, you petition excitedly, “Does this mean we can have shower sex now?”

“Not while I’m around!” comes Dean’s snappy answer.

In contrast, Sam gives you the same look he did on that dreamy morning, “Oh trust me baby girl, I’m gonna get you wet somehow.”

“Still within hearing distance! I think I liked it better when you guys were at each other’s throats.”

As you’re giggling, Sam leans down to whisper in your ear, “For the record, I’m in love with you too.” And just like that, you’re tempted to re-enact your previous kitchen escapades.

TEAM IDJITS: @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @carryonmywaywardbucky​ @swiftlymoniquesblog​ @moosewinchester​ @sams-sass​ @thinkinghardhardlythinking​ @jotink78​ @winifrede​ @writingforthelonelysoul​ @turtletaylor98​ @lyarr24​ @deanwanddamons​ @peridottea91​ @tvdspngirl314​

TEAM MOOSE: @paulaern​

if you’d like to be added (or removed) please let me know!

[unwrittenlibrary]

when my time comes around (lay me gently in the cold, dark earth)

summary -> bucky wasn’t perfect, but he was a good man.

words -> 1.4k

warnings -> MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, dealing with said death, religious themes, google translate russian (roughly translates to love of my life) spoiler he doesn’t come back to life

notes -> sometimes… when you’re stressed, you write angst. after this piece it will most likely be awhile as i focus on much longer pieces i desperately want to finish. title from work song by hozier….love of my life…. hozier if ur out there im free everyday for u

— ➶ —

It’s like cold has washed over you permanently. Which, well, which is a sick sense of irony when you think too hard about it.

He was here one minute and gone the next. Bucky was here, laughing by your side and pulling you close to press kisses against your cheeks one day and the next you were falling to your knees with Sam’s arms trying to hold you up.

How could he just leave? Just die?

It’s like ghosts are phasing through you over and over and over again. Flashes of cold mixed with burns that leave your skin tingling.

How could Bucky leave you?

“Promise me.” You whisper into the night. Bucky’s hand is intertwined with yours. So tight you think you may lose circulation but you don’t care. “You and me. Forever.”

“I promise.” Bucky’s knuckle grazes your cheekbone. You lean into his touch. “Nothing is keeping me from coming home to you, my love.”

Did a promise count as kept if he came home in a casket?

His funeral is on a Friday in the middle of fall. Leaves are brown, orange, red and scattered across the grass you walk across. They crunch under each step, you grimace every-time. Sam’s hand is intertwined with yours, Sarah and her boys trailing behind you two.

You don’t listen to what anyone says. All you can think of is Bucky not being the one by your side.

“Bucky’s fiancée is going to say a few words.” You think it’s odd that you’ve gotten a priest. Bucky had been through so much, what person comes out the other side believing in a just God who put them through hell? “Please.” He steps aside, your train of thought cut short.

“What do you think happens when you die?” Bucky asks so quietly you almost don’t hear him. “Do you… Do you believe on heaven?”

You turn to look at him with furrowed brows. “Do you?”

“I don’t know.” He won’t look at you. Bucky’s eyes are stuck to your ceiling fan as his fingers tap anxiously against his stomach. “Even if I did, I don’t think I’d be there.”

It’s a small crowd. You supposes that’s not surprising. Those who knew Bucky before Hydra were dead, Steve was gone. T’Challa is here though. Shuri too. Grim looks on their faces as they come to stand beside Sam while you step forward to make your speech.

You open your mouth, but no words come out. The speech you’ve written is held so tightly in between your fingers that it rips. You flinch at the sound a jarring reminder that Bucky had always been the one to unravel your tightly wound fists when the stress became too much. That he would no longer be able to do so.

Who would now?

Your eyes trail over the casket, an American flag draped over it, and you laugh. A hysterical fit of laughter that has people looking around uncomfortably.

“How does a man live through one of the worst wars the world has even seen just to…” You trail off. Tears are burning in your eyes and you can’t care enough to force them back. “Bucky Barnes was a good man. He wanted to right his wrongs in the world.”

You crumple the pre-written speech up entirely. “He wasn’t perfect. He… He never made his side of the bed. He always left his shoes lying around for me to trip on. Then laughed about it,” you smile grimly at the memory.

“Bucky!” You groan as you cradle your knee close to your chest. You can feel the throbbing pain of what no doubt will be a gigantic bruise across you knee cap.

He looks over his shoulder from the couch to stare at where you’ve fallen in the entry hallway. You glare as amusement dances in his eyes. “Yes, любовь всей моей жизни?”

“Don’t try and sweet talk me.” You can’t stop the smile as you climb to your feet. “It won’t work. How many times have I told you to put your shoes away? I didn’t build the shoe rack for nothing.”

Bucky laughs brightly. He walks over to you with a big smile that you know will kill your anger within minutes. “Brat.” Your murmur as his arms wrap around you.

You glance down at your feet. “He didn’t believe in separating colors so our laundry always had color bleeds.” You swallow thickly. “He broke promises. He… He was supposed to come home. He promised to come home.” Your voice is choked up and tears stream down your cheeks.

“But he was good.” You force out. “He once asked me if I believed in heaven or hell and I… I still don’t know the answer,” you glance at the priest, who just looks at you with pity, “but I do know Bucky was good to his core and whatever there is after death, he’s in a good place. I hope you all find comfort in that.”

As you step back into Sam’s space, soldiers step forward. It had been Sam’s idea to give him a veteran’s honor funeral.

You can’t say thank you when they hand over the folded flag because your legs give out underneath you. It’s like the flag being placed in your hands made it all official.

You crash to the ground, the leaves screech underneath your knees and the wet grass soaks through your black clothing but nothing matters. Not when Bucky was being lowered six feet into the ground and you were still waiting for it all to be a joke.

“Breathe.” Sam says softly as he kneels down beside you. It’s impossible though, all that comes out are choked breaths and sniffles as you clutch the flag close to your chest. “You’re okay. Breathe.” He tries again, rubbing a hand up and down your back.

“Marry me.” Bucky blurts. It’s three in the morning and you should both be asleep, but it was hard when each episode ended on a cliff hanger. You laugh, and Bucky shakes his head with a smile. “I’m serious, marry me.”

Your heart nearly stops. “W…What?”

“I was going to,” Bucky rummages through his nightstand drawer as he speaks, “do this later. At dinner or the park, but this… This feels right - ah hah! - So, marry me?”

He turns to you with a ring in hand. Your mouth falls open in shock while he grins smugly.

“любовь всей моей жизни.” Bucky murmurs when you don’t respond right away. There are small ticks of nervousness, the way he vibranium fingers clench and unclench or the small smile that overtakes his smug grin. “Marry me?”

Like you would ever say no.

You visit all the time. Your therapist says however you want to grieve is okay. Nobody can judge you, but you can sense visiting him everyday doesn’t help you move on. Could you ever really move on though? Bucky was a piece of you, a part that you would never get back.

“I miss you everyday.” You whisper. “Not a day goes by that I don’t wake up and for a brief second look for you then realize…” You fiddle with the ring still on your left hand. “I’m doing better though. I… I’m working again. Sam and I go out to dinner once a week. I’m trying. I know you would’ve wanted me to try, so that’s what I’m doing.”

“I love you.” You say softly. “любовь всей моей жизни.”

You stand hastily wiping the tears off of your cheek, the metal now glaringly absent from your hand.

All that’s left of Bucky Barnes is a headstone surrounded by flowers, a flag and a diamond ring.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Here Lies James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Sergeant 107th

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎WWII

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Prisoner of War

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Beloved son, brother, friend and partner.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Not perfect, but good.

— ➶ —

notes -> this is bad i’m just bleh. i forgot how rough school and work was because i was lucky enough to not have to work last semester. have a safe week 💗

[there-must-be-a-lock]

For Us Sinners

Soulless Sam x Reader

Word Count: ~4130

Warnings: This is 100% pure smutty religion-themed filth. Sam is dressed as a priest. There’s sex in a confessional, severe perversion of the Hail Mary prayer, and a lot of blasphemy happening. Like. A lot. Orgasm denial. Squirting. Non-explicit mentions of Winchester threesomes, gun play, and knife play. 

A/N: For @stusbunker​‘s “Jam Basket” fic exchange! This is for the lovely @rockhoochie​. I managed to squeeze a decent amount of her jams in here. Sarah, my dear, I hope this makes you even a little bit as happy as your friendship makes me. 

Thanks to @cracksinthewalls​ @fangirlxwritesx67​ and @fookinghelljensensthighs​ for lore, encouragement, and inspiration! 

You’re frowning at the trunk arsenal, wondering if it’s possible to sharpen a machete too much, when movement catches your eye. Sam rounds the corner of the old warehouse, and you grab a knife and a whetstone just to have something to focus on that’s not him and his stupid smirky face or the way his shoulders look in that suit. 

The whole priest thing is a really good look on him. 

“Dean’s not back yet?” he asks, without preamble, sitting on the edge of the trunk next to you. You focus very intently on your knife. 

“Nice to see you too, Sam,” you snark, to cover the way you’re blushing. “Why yes, I did have a super fun afternoon of doing fucking nothing! Waiting around for you two is exactly how I wanted to spend the last three hours, thanks for asking.” 

He laughs. “Weren’t you just telling me that I should stop pretending to be normal polite Sam?” 

“Whatever,” you mutter. 

“Lemme see that,” he says abruptly, and plucks the knife from your grip before you can protest. He takes one look at it and laughs at you, twirling the blade in his fingers. “Working out some frustration, huh?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“What’s really going on? You’re only like this when you’re hungry or horny.” 

“Bullshit,” you snap, but he’s totally fucking right. He’s way too perceptive these days. 

You’ve been refusing to play poker with him ever since this whole soulless deal came to light. He’s like a walking polygraph test… a very attractive, muscled polygraph who’s really good in the sack. 

He’s analyzing your expression with his head cocked. “The knife thing?” 

“I don’t know what you’re — that’s not—”

He holds the tip of the blade to your throat, and you stop stammering immediately. You close your eyes and swallow hard. 

“That’s not new, though,” he says thoughtfully. 

When you open your eyes, ready to protest, he’s tucking the knife back in its sheath and twisting to set it in the trunk. 

“How’d you know about that?” you ask reluctantly. 

He just smirks, that godawful not-Sam not-smile, with his dimples popping and his eyes glittering. 

“One of these days you’re going to realize that I’ll never judge you,” he says, low and sly. “C’mon. Tell me.” He puts on a prim, sanctimonious face, pointing at the collar, and says, “Confess your sins and all will be forgiven.” 

He ruins the pious effect by licking his lips and aggressively eye-fucking you. 

You try to laugh, but it comes out all squeaky. You’ve never been good at poker, and if Sam’s smirk is anything to go by, he can see exactly what’s written all over your face. 

“Shut up,” you say preemptively. “Asshole.” 

“This is totally doing it for you, isn’t it?” Sam asks. 

“Shut up.” 

His smile is gleeful. “Oh my god, it is!” 

“That’s not — I’m not—” 

You grit your teeth and stand up abruptly, and it’s not like you can go anywhere but you need to move; it’s impossible to think straight when he’s right there and he smells so good. 

He gets up so quickly you barely have time to blink before he’s in your space. He backs you against the warm metal of the door, caging you in with one big hand planted on either side of your head, and you have to tilt your chin up to meet his wickedly sparkling eyes. 

“Don’t lie to me,” he says, soft and heated, lips curling up in a familiar dangerous smile. “Lying is a sin.” 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you huff, but you can’t stop staring at his mouth. 

“Besides, I can always tell. Admit it.” 

“You are so fucking—”

Without warning, he’s tugging at your zipper, yanking the button open, and shoving a hand roughly down the front of your jeans as he murmurs, “You are so fucking into this.” 

Before you can protest (not that you’d really want to) he’s got two fingers sliding into you, curling sweet and easy where you’re ridiculously, undeniably, outrageously into this. 

“Maybe a little bit,” you sigh. 

He’s just smiling, watching you squirm, playing with you like a cat might play with a mouse, and as much as you’d like to be angry about it, he knows exactly how to use those clever fingers. Then — 

“Dean’s back,” he says calmly, and before you can even process that, he’s sucking his fingers clean and walking around the car to greet his brother. 

You have about three seconds to button your pants, thank your lucky stars that you were on this side of the car, and generally get your shit together before it’s back to business. 

“It’s a goddamn garden statue,” Dean is saying. “Some crazy old bat donated it to the church and then just up and left town. First person disappeared the next day.” 

“So we wait til dark, take it down, break the curse.” Sam shrugs. “Easy enough.” 

“Like a chant ‘n’ smash,” you offer. Both the boys give you blank looks, and you try to pretend like your brain isn’t totally scrambled. “You know. Like a salt and burn. A good old-fashioned chant and smash… no? Okay, whatever.” 

Sam is barely containing his laughter. Asshole. 

“I could use a nap before we do that, I’m wiped,” Dean grumbles, taking off his clerical collar as he slides into the driver’s seat. Sam keeps his on. 

As you’re all getting buckled, he says, “Why don’t you just let us handle this one, Dean? You should take the night off.” 

“If you guys want some privacy to bone, you can just say so,” Dean grouches. “But get another motel room, don’t bring Baby into it.” 

“Yeah, we know. We will,” Sam reassures him. 

Dean does not seem reassured. He looks at Sam suspiciously. “So, what, you’re just being nice?”  

“Oh, absolutely not,” Sam says bluntly. “You look like shit and I don’t want you hunting with me when you’re this sleep-deprived.” 

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay, that I buy. Man, this whole soul-free honesty shit is gonna take some getting used to.” 

“You and me both,” you sigh, and Sam gives you a wink in the rearview mirror. 

 * * *

“That is the creepiest-looking angel I’ve ever seen,” Sam comments, striking a match. “And l’m including Zachariah in that. Okay, here we go.” 

He lights up the little bowl of herbs he’s concocted and says a few things in Latin, and then the smoke coming up from the bowl turns eerie green and seems to sink into the worn concrete. 

“Is that it?” you ask dubiously. “How do we smash it?” 

“That’s the fun part,” Sam says. He attaches a silencer and loads his gun, quick and practiced, and when you’re both out of shrapnel range he aims almost lazily while you try not to stare at his fingers. Bad enough that he’s still wearing the priest getup. Watching him shatter an angel with a few perfect shots shouldn’t be a turn-on, but…  

“Shouldn’t” is one of those words that lost most of its meaning when you and Sam started fucking. In the last two weeks, he’s managed to discover kinks you’ve never even admitted to yourself. 

Speaking of — 

“C’mon,” he says, and when the gun is deposited safely back in the arsenal, he grabs your hand without waiting for an answer, leading you around to a side door. The door isn’t even locked. Sam’s smile is gleeful in the moonlight. 

“What are we doing?” you ask, as he leads you inside. 

It’s almost completely dark, just a faint glow from the emergency exit signs to light the sanctum, until Sam takes out his matches and lights a few of the tall pillar candles that are arranged in nooks around the altar. The golden glow flickers and dances on the walls. 

Sam grabs you by the wrist, and you halfheartedly attempt to tug your hand away. He’s got that glint in his eye that can only mean trouble. 

“We really shouldn’t be here,” you hiss, as he pulls you over to the confessional. 

“What are they gonna do, condemn my soul to hell?” he says flatly, and you stifle a giggle. “We established a while ago that my immortal soul is fucked.” 

“Mine isn’t,” you mutter. 

He looks at you with another of those smirks and says, “That’s why you’re the one who needs to confess.” 

“Oh, you gotta be kidding me,” you sigh, but instead of answering, he crowds in close, pressing you up against the smooth dark wood of the confessional, and kisses you, all teeth and tongue and liquefying heat, until your lips feel bruised and your entire body is tingling. 

“Confess,” he whispers, and with one last grin, he points you toward one curtain and slips behind the other. 

If you’ve learned anything about Sam over the years, soul or no, it’s that there’s no point arguing when he’s made up his mind about something. 

Sam seems to have made up his mind. 

You pull the curtain closed behind you and sit on the little bench, and you have to breathe through some long-buried memories before the words come to your lips. 

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” you whisper.  “It has been… a long time since my last confession.” 

The flickering candlelight cuts through small gaps around the curtain, casting dancing shadows through the cramped space. Your cheeks are burning. 

“Sam?” you ask tentatively. “This feels stupid.” 

He lets out a low, cocky chuckle, and his voice is all sorts of promising when he replies, “Trust me, I’ll make it worth your while. Play along for me.” 

Fine. 

“Where do I start?” you mumble. “I drink, frequently. I have been dishonest. I gamble, and I do not dress modestly, and — I don’t know. What else?” 

“Do you have impure thoughts?” You can hear the smile in Sam’s voice. 

“Yes.”

“About what?” 

You swallow hard, closing your eyes, thinking about the way he looks right now. No preacher has ever looked so good in that black suit. “About… about you.” 

“Go on.” 

“About the way you feel inside me. About the way you fuck me.” 

“What did you think about last time you touched yourself?” 

Your breath hitches. “I thought… I imagined that you —” 

“Lying is a sin.” 

Fuck. 

That’s the thing about Sam; he won’t let you get away with politeness, or with half-truths, or with telling him what most guys would want to hear. 

Fuck him and his creepy polygraph spidey senses. 

“I imagined that it was Dean,” you whisper, cheeks burning. 

“And how did that go, in your fantasy?” There’s no trace of surprise or hesitation in his voice. 

“I was — he bent me over the hood of the car.” 

“That’s not the first time you’ve thought about him, is it?” 

“Sam, I don’t — this is weird,” you say, squirming slightly. 

“Why?” he says, and you keep waiting for the jealousy or the disgust to color his words, but all you can hear is curiosity. “Do you think about him while I’m fucking you?” 

You let out a long, measured exhale. “Yes.” 

“Have you thought about him walking in? Listening to us?”

“Yes. Sam, I don’t—” 

“Were you thinking about him a couple days ago, in the middle of the night? When you couldn’t seem to keep quiet?”

You shudder, pressing your thighs together. “Yes.” 

“Tell me.” When you hesitate, he continues, “I wondered… felt the way you were squeezing around my cock every time it got too loud. You wanted him to hear.” 

“I wanted him to — to imagine. I hoped he was awake, and that he was turned on, and—” 

“You wanted him to join in,” Sam supplies, when you falter. His voice sounds husky, now. “You were imagining both of us, huh? What else?” 

“Sitting in your lap, in the backseat, while he watches in the rearview,” you mumble, and now that you’ve started talking, it’s hard to stop: “I think about getting on my knees for both of you. Letting him have my mouth while you fuck me, or… one of you holding me down.” 

“Have you imagined us handcuffing you? Taking turns with you?” he asks calmly. 

“Well now I’m imagining it,” you huff, and your nervous giggle breaks the tension for a moment. 

“I know you’re holding out on me,” Sam purrs, when the silence starts to stretch. “Leave my brother out of it, if you’re getting all hung up on that. What else?” 

“I don’t know,” you mumble. 

“Trust me. God isn’t judging you and neither am I. Tell me what you want me to do to you.” 

You can’t bring yourself to spit it out, even like this. “That’s it.” 

“Don’t lie to me.” His voice is silk and steel now. “Why don’t I take a guess?” 

“Fine.”  

“Knives,” he says bluntly, and your inhale is too sharp to be innocent. “You like the way a knife looks in my hands, the way it’d be dangerous if I didn’t know what I was doing.” 

“Yes.” 

“You want to know what it’d be like: cold metal on your skin. A knife at your throat, or... a gun to your temple.” 

You’re shaking. 

“How’d you know?” you whisper. 

“I pay attention,” he says simply, voice ragged, and then there’s a long pause before he asks, “Is that the end of your confession?” 

You’d almost forgotten where you are. You’re grateful the screen is still between you and Sam. 

“Yes,” you say, and because old habits die hard, you add, “I am sorry for these and all the sins of my past lives.” 

“As for penance…” You can hear the teasing note in it, and some of your self-consciousness dissipates. “You can begin by taking off your clothes.” 

“Here?” you laugh. “Sam…” 

“Here. Now.” 

You let out a tiny, nervous whine of protest, but you’re too turned on to care, not when you’ve already crossed so many lines tonight. 

Then you strip, taking off your clothes with shaking hands and setting them in a neat-ish pile in one corner of the tiny booth. It’s chilly, and you wrap your arms around yourself, feeling goosebumps run down your bare skin. 

“Okay,” you say softly. 

“Now... you can say ten Hail Marys,” Sam says, with that smirk in his voice again. 

“I — really?” you ask. 

Just as you’re thinking that’s all?, Sam is ducking through the curtain of the confessional, crowding you in and pushing on your shoulder until you sit back down on the narrow bench. Even in the barely-there flickers of light you can see the wicked smile on his face as he drops to his knees in front of you.  

“And you may not come until you’re finished,” he orders coolly. 

Then he’s hooking his arms under your knees, grabbing you by the hips and pulling you forward so that he can get that filthy smirking mouth on you. He licks a hot slick stripe up your center, swirling his tongue over your throbbing clit, and —

“Holy fucking shit,” you gasp, letting your head fall back against the wood with an echoing thunk, because whatever Sam’s doing with his lips is sending sweet fluttering waves of heat through your belly. “Oh my God, Sam, that’s—” 

“If you keep taking the Lord’s name in vain,” he growls, nipping at your inner thigh, “I’ll double it.” 

“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee,” you start, and it’s been a while; Sam’s not the only reason you have to pause. “Fuck. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the — the fruit of your womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now—” Your voice breaks as you whimper, and you finish in one long rushed breath: “— and at the hour of our death, amen.”

“There you go,” Sam says, practically moaning the words against slick skin. You’re already having trouble thinking straight. 

You start all over again, trying to rush through it as quickly as possible, but you stutter as Sam fucks you shallowly with his tongue.  

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Sam says, curling two long fingers into you.

Except it’s bad. In the short time you’ve been doing this, Sam has learned your sweet spots like nobody’s ever learned them before, and he’s not touching them now. This is barely a tease, compared to what you know he can do to you. It’s bad, and it’s going to get so much worse. 

You start to stammer through the third prayer. You’re so wet — from the thrill of the setting, as much as what he’s doing with his tongue — you can hear the slick thrust of his fingers inside you, dirty and distracting. 

When you pause for breath between “Mary” and “mother of God,” Sam hums low against your cunt, and you know he enjoys this, you know he gets off on it, but he lets out these noises that never fail to make you feel feverish, and now is no exception. It doesn’t feel chilly any more. By “amen,” you’re burning up. 

“Three down,” Sam murmurs. 

On the fourth “grace,” he closes his lips around your clit and sucks gently, and you make a high, squeaky, mortifyingly desperate sound. Your voice keeps breaking as you stumble through the next lines, until you end on a long, relieved groan. 

“Good girl,” he croons. “Six more.” 

“I can’t,” you hiss. 

“You can. And you will.” 

On “full,” Sam twists his knuckles, and you gasp, arching your back, squirming. He fucks you in the same rhythm as your words, dragging friction across your g-spot with every syllable, and when you try to speed up, rushing through it, you can’t even get to “sinners” without breaking off in a moan. He stops completely as you pant for breath, and as you mumble through the last lines, painfully slow, you’re rolling your hips, trying to fuck yourself on his fingers, desperate for more. 

“That’s five,” Sam says. “I’ll give you a second to catch your breath.” 

With his free hand, he grabs one of your wrists, guiding your hand to the back of his head. His eyes flick up to you, watching hungrily, until you slide your fingers through the silky strands and tug lightly. 

You sigh. “You’re gonna kill me.” 

“Hope not,” he says, smirking against the crease of your thigh. “I’m into some weird shit, but I like ‘em warm and breathing.” 

“Ha fucking ha, Sam, that’s — fuck,” you choke, as he fits his mouth to your clit again, and this time he sucks lightly in time with the slow thrusts of his fingers.  You forget what you’re saying, somewhere around “God,” and stumble to the end in bits and incoherent pieces. 

“Six.” You realize you’ve got a death grip on his hair, all your muscles tensed-up and rigid with electricity that’s got nowhere else to go, but when you ease up, he pumps his fingers in deep and growls, “Harder.” 

He adds a third finger, and it’s so fucking good, so fucking much, filling you with fizzing pressure, and it takes most of your willpower to stop yourself from going under. 

You grit out, “HailMaryfullofgrace.” Lightning lances up your belly, and you squirm— “TheLordiswiththee.” — twist your fingers in Sam’s hair— “Blessedartthouamongwomen.” — muscles quaking, cunt clenching around perfectly curled fingers— “Blessedisthe. Fuck. Fruitofthywomb. Fuck — Jesus!” — tension surging and swelling  — “Holy Mary, mother of God, prayforussinnersnow, fuck, Sam!” — you’re almost there, almost, and he stops, refusing to give you what you want as you gasp out, “And —at the— the hour of our death, amen.” 

“Seven,” he says harshly, and you can feel him breathing hard, damp hot air teasing your slick swollen skin, and his mouth is so close to where you want it. He gives you a second and then: “Keep going.” 

You babble out a few words at a time, and your voice is ragged and broken, but it must sound close enough to what he wants; he’s winding you up again, fingers crooking expertly against that sweet spot. The heel of his other hand digs into your lower belly, right over that point of white heat, and it’s so intense, suddenly, that everything goes sparkly and distant.  

“Pray for us,” you groan, and he sucks, fast and hard. “Pray for us — us sinners —” 

There’s this pressure, right there, right where his fingers are stoking a fire, and it’s blazing, and —

“Sam, I can’t. I can’t, I’m gonna—” 

He’s not holding back, and you can’t either. You buck helplessly against the incredible suction of his mouth, holding him with both hands fisted in his hair as you bow up and cry out. All that pressure peaks, crashing down in wave after wave of relief, pulling you under like a rip tide as you come dripping-wet and messy. 

It blinds you, for a moment. You’re out of your body for who knows how long, lit-up and paralyzed by the high-voltage shock of it. 

When you come back to yourself, Sam is scooping you up and swapping places with you in one smooth movement, manhandling you so that you’re straddling him; he’s got his pants open just enough, can’t seem to wait any longer, and the breathless urgency is so unusual for him that your head spins. 

You’re still clenching through the lingering quakes of your orgasm, trembling, boneless like a rag doll, and it’s not you sinking down on his cock so much as him pulling you, filling you up inch by inch as you squeeze and quiver around the thick length of him. 

When he’s as deep as he can be, his arms wrapped around you and practically crushing you to his chest, you both pause and take a ragged gulp of air. 

“What even was that?” you slur, bracing yourself with a hand against the wall and trying to adjust. He lets out a rough groan through gritted teeth. 

“That is what I’ll be seeing every time I look at a confessional now,” he pants, starting to rock up into you. “Never gonna be able to walk into a church without getting hard.” 

He wraps an arm around your ribs, and the heat of his splayed hand on your shoulder feels like it spans half your back. Your naked skin seems even more obscene as it brushes the stiff cloth of his suit, and you can feel your own wetness soaking the fabric in places. You shiver, roll your hips, and you can feel the way he reacts, shuddering under you. 

“Seems like I’m not the only one who likes this a little too much,” you say, breathless. 

“Who said anything about too much? No such thing.” He barks out a laugh, bucking up in a way that makes you moan. “I’ve been to heaven, and trust me when I say, this right here—” He twists his hips viciously to emphasize the word. “— this is so much better.”

“God, this is so —” you whimper. He fists a hand in your hair and bites your neck, and you jerk helplessly against him. 

“God doesn’t care,” he growls. “God wasn’t listening to you just now.” 

“That’s not —” You’re pretty sure he’s missing the point, but with the way your cunt is throbbing at every perfect thrust, you can’t remember what that point is; you can’t remember anything. 

“God’s not going to answer those prayers,” he says hoarsely. “I’m the one who’s going to handcuff you and bend you over the hood of the car and fuck you until your legs give out.” 

“Holy shit, Sam.” Your brain is shorting out. 

“I’m going to make sure Dean sees you when you’re all strung-out and begging for it,” he promises. He jerks up with a vicious twist of his hips, and you grind down to meet him, every inch of your skin singing. “I’m going to hold a gun to your head while you ride me. I’m going to give you anything you want.” 

“Please.” Your moan sounds more like a sob, and you can’t see straight anymore; it’s all going distant, until the only thing that feels real is the aching, pulsing heat of him inside you. 

Sam claws at your back, dragging his open mouth up the side of your neck until he can snarl against your ear: “God doesn’t answer prayers, but I do.” 

He surges up to meet you one last time. Your vision flashes bright white as you come, one exquisite pulse after another rolling through you, and it feels like a purer sort of ecstasy than any religious experience you’ve had in a church.

This is worth a little hellfire. 

.

.

.

There is now a follow-up drabble here!

[holylulusworld]

Two Barbarians (3)

Title: Two Barbarians (3)

Square Filled for @spnabobingo​​​​​ (Round 6): Overprotective alpha

Ship: Alpha(Prince)!Dean Winchester x Omega(Princess)!Reader

Characters: Sam Winchester, John Winchester, Grandmother Millie

Rating: Mature

Summary: Dean is determined to make you see you’re his omega.

Warnings: angst, a/b/o, a/b/o dynamics, scenting, true mates, comforting, fluff, overprotective alpha, light oral (fem rec), mentions of oral (male rec), implied smut, mentions of knotting, implied claiming, cuddling & snuggling, possessive alpha, coming in pants (untouched)

Word Count: 2,2k

Divider by @firefly-graphics​​​​​​

<< Part 2

One week before the wedding, …

“Dean, it feels odd,” you whimper, feeling his tongue lap at your exposed sex. He moans against you, smirking when your hands snap toward his head to tug at his hair. “My Prince, are you sure we are allowed to do this before our wedding night?”

“My love, you are so sweet down there,” he purrs. “You taste like heaven, sweetheart. Now let me touch you again. I want to make you feel so good. Don’t you like it?”

“I like it a lot,” you bite your lower lip. “It feels so good when you touch my petals,” heat creeps into your cheeks when Dean’s tongue flick your sensitive nub. “But I don’t want anyone else to touch me like that.”

“No one will dare to touch my omega,” Dean’s head snaps upward and you can see possessiveness in his emerald orbs. “Only I can touch you down there or anywhere, my little skunk.”

“Please, don’t stop,” whining you look down your body. “Dean, can I touch you too tonight? I want to touch your manhood, please.”

“Sweetheart,” he purrs, slowly crawling up your body. You can feel his arousal press against your slicked sex, and you know, he wants you as much as you yearn to give yourself to him. “Only one week left. You can touch me as much as you want to in not a week.”

“One of the ladies said I should take your knot in my mouth,” you blur out. “Do you want me to?” innocently glancing at Dean you move your hand to his swelling length. “This feels so hard, my prince. I could help you and use my tongue and lips.”

“My love,” a throaty purr leaves your lips when Dean burrows his face in your neck to inhale your scent. “Please don’t make me weak. If you don’t stop, I claim and knot you tonight and no one is going to stop me.”

“Why didn’t you claim me during my heat?” you whisper. “Why giving me herbs to suppress it? I wanted you to make me yours.”

“Rowena offered her help, and I took the chance to get to know you better before I knot, claim and make love to you,” Dean nuzzles your cheek, moaning when you grasp for him, roughly pressing the alpha to your heated body, hips rocking against Dean’s crotch.

“My prince, uh—your pants are wet,” you giggle. “Is this normal, Dean? I mean, are you hurt or sick?”

“I just came in my pants,” he sighs deeply. His cheeks shades of pink he looks down at you. “I couldn’t stop my manhood from wanting you.”

“OH! Did you knot your pants?” he laughs, shaking his head at your question. “What? Don’t you knot an omega all the time?”

“Most of the time we only use our manhood, my little skunk,” Dean pecks your lips, nibbling at your lower lip. “Alphas knot their omega during heats, our ruts, or when we mate for the first time.”

“Not for fun?”

“Naughty little skunk,” pressing his lips to your mating gland he moans. “You taste so good, Y/N. One more week and I’ll show you my knot.”

“Is it big? Lady Lisa said an alpha must have a big knot to satisfy his omega,” you shyly glance at Dean, chewing on your lower lip.

“I got the biggest knot you’ll ever see,” nodding you smile up at your alpha. “I’m gonna fill you with my pups and show everyone I stole my arch-nemesis daughter’s heart.”

“Slow, sweetheart,” Dean holds your hand, carefully helps you move down the stairs. “We don’t want you to stumble and fall again. My little skunk is a clumsy omega.”

“I’m not clumsy,” you protest. “I was in a hurry, scared and heartbroken.” You sniffle, looking around the throne room. “Is she really gone? I don’t want to see her again.”

“No one is going to hurt you,” he whispers in your ear. “Everyone knows you are my chosen omega. You believe me, right.”

“You didn’t threaten to put me in the dungeon lately,” Dean smirks when you squeeze his hand a little tighter. “And you didn’t yell at me.”

“I tried to tame my temper for you, sweetheart. I can’t promise to always be patient, but I’ll try my best. Promised.”

“Will you,” leaning closer to Dean to whisper the words you press his hand to your heart, “do this thing with your tongue again too? I like it a lot, my prince.”

“Son, we need to talk about a few things before the wedding,” John whispers, jabbing his thumb over his left shoulder. “Your grandmother is about to change everything again. Please, help your king out.”

“I can’t leave my omega all alone,” Dean wraps his arm tightly around your shoulders. “She could get hurt again! I need to stay by her side all the time.”

“Dean, you didn’t leave your bride’s side for over a month. She can barely breathe without you worrying,” laughing at your pained expression John looks you all over. “She looks healthy and happy. Let your grandmother tell her about the new musicians and food. We can talk about the hunt to honor your wedding.”

“I can’t—” Dean snarls at his father, immediately shoving you behind his back. “No one is getting close to my omega. Stay away from Y/N.”

“Something wrong?” Sam cocks his head to glance at you behind his brother’s back. “Why are you hiding Y/N behind your back? Is she sick or scared?”

“Hands off my omega, Sammy,” Dean threatens, finger poking his brother’s chest. “You looked at her too often for my liking. She’s my omega, my chosen bride.”

“Dean, I was just worried about her. Did you forget you threatened to put her in the dungeon?” furrowing his brows Sam looks at his brother. “What? Got nothing to say?”

“Back then she was just the enemy’s daughter,” Dean growls when Sam dares to get closer to you. “Now she’s my bride and omega. Don’t get any closer.”

“Sam,” John holds his youngest son back. “Dean’s scent just got stronger. I think he’s close to his rut and it’s not a good idea to get too close to his omega right now. Give him a bit of time.”

“She’s mine,” before you can protest Dean scoops you into his arms to run away with you. “I dare you to even look at her!”

Three days before the wedding,…

“Son, this is not—” watching Dean cover your body with his larger frame John sighs deeply. Your alpha placed almost all of his clothes on the bed, wrapped you into a warm blanket before he caged you with his body. “Don’t suffocate your omega.”

“I need to keep her save,” Dean grumbles. He looks you all over again, checks every part of you before he lies on the bed, waiting for you to curl in his side. “I don’t want you to get closer. This is my omega and our nest.”

“He’s so protective,” you purr, nuzzling your alpha’s neck, rubbing his scent onto your skin. “My king, you should leave us alone. I’ll try to calm him down, but I’m afraid it’s no use.”

“I got a sword and a dagger,” threatening his father Dean whips his head toward John. “She’s mine and I must keep close to me.”

“Dean, you got it bad for her,” laughing John slowly steps backward. “I just wanted to tell you everything is prepared for your wedding. You only need to attend the wedding.”

“We will,” one strong arm slings around your waistline and you squeak when Dean burrows his face in your neck to positively lick your mating gland.

“Dean, my prince,” you push against how shoulder feeling his erection press against your thigh. “ALPHA!”

“Soon you are mine,” he hums to himself, licking your untouched mating gland. “I won’t let anyone get close to you ever again. My omega, my princess.”

“Maybe I should hide in the dungeon for the time being,” sighing deeply you rest your head against Dean’s shoulder. “I will sleep now, alpha. I promise to not run away.”

“If you hide in the dungeon, I’ll follow you,” Dean states, kissing your neck. “Sleep, I’ll watch over you and make sure no one touches what’s mine.”

“Goodnight, Dean,” pressing your lips to his chin you smile. “I feel safe with you, alpha. But you need sleep to my prince. Promise to sleep a bit.”

“Promised,” Dean lies but you are too tired to argue tonight. “Maybe in the morning after you woke.”

Wedding Day, ...

Dean circles his father and brother like prey snarls now and then before he starts to pace around the altar. “What if anything happens to her while I’m not with her? I will kill anyone touching her!”

“Son, that is enough!” John’s voice echoes through the church. “Your chosen bride is safe with the maids. Three knights guard the room and will accompany her to the church. Nothing is going to happen to her.”

“Brother, look—” Dean stops in his tracks when the doors to the church opens and everyone gets up from their seats to watch you walk down the aisle.

Grandmother Millie, John’s mother, leads you down the aisle, smiling wildly when Dean purrs low in his throat the moment you take his offered hand.

“You look beautiful, my little skunk,” you giggle when Dean whispers the words in your ear before he pecks your cheek.

“It’s your grandmother’s dress,” smiling at your groom you let him hold your hand tightly. Dean breaks all rules. He doesn’t follow the protocol for a royal wedding. He simply holds your hand, not wanting to let go of you.

“Only your beauty makes it look like a dream,” Dean roams your body with his eyes, smiling at you. You are wearing Millie’s wedding gown. It’s a ruby, long, form-fitting gown with a wide neckline, long sleeves, and gold embroidery.

You wish you could listen to the priest’s words, but all you can do is to look into Dean’s eyes. There is adoration and love in those mysterious orbs, and you wonder if he looked a girl like that before.

While your heart beats faster the longer you look at Dean, you forget about the wedding and that people are watching you and the prince.

“My prince, you must take your vows now,” the priest tuts, and Grandmother Millie chuckles. “We are all waiting for you.”

Listening to Dean’s vows you whimper silently. Instead of facing the priest, he looks at you all the time.

“—for better or worse, in sickness and in health, to death us depart,” he ends, looking at you, expectantly. “Your turn,” Dean whispers and you try to remember the words. “I’m here with you my love.”

Dean couldn’t leave the feast fast enough. He almost ran toward the chamber the maids prepared for your wedding night.

“Dean, slow down!”

“I finally got permission to touch you,” he purrs, smirking when you start to squirm in his hold. “Lemme bring you to our chamber and make you my omega. That’s all I want, my little skunk.”

“No more dungeon?”

“No more dungeon, sweetheart. Only our chamber and later, a warm and safe nest,” he kisses you softly, moaning when you wrap your arms around his neck. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, my barbarian. Now make me yours...”

“How does it feel?” Dean licks over the mark he left on your neck. “Does it hurt? Do you need anything?”

“It feels odd,” you feel the heat creep into your cheeks again when Dean shifts his hips and his knot twitches deep inside of you. “I read the books but didn’t think it will stay inside almost all night.”

“Did I hurt you? You felt pleasure…right?” worriedly kissing your hair Dean sighs when you do not answer his questions.

“Twice—” whispering the words you look over your shoulder to face your alpha. “At least I think it was twice. It could’ve been more.”

“That’s good,” puffing his chest Dean gives you a dirty grin. “My knot will fade soon, and we can sleep a bit. I don’t want you to be tired in the morning.”

“I liked it, my prince. Can we do this more often?” a deep growl leaves Dean’s throat and you squeak when he buries his face in your neck to bite you playfully. “Your knot, it’s big.”

“We will do it every night if you want us to,” he smirks when you squirm in his hold. “Or more often.”

“Every night,” Dean wraps his arms tightly around your body to keep you warm.

The winter is close and he feels it in his bones, it will be a dark and cold time. But with you by his side, he’ll never be cold again.

“Everyone waits for us to confirm we are expecting my heir, Y/N. I must knot and make love to you every night.”

“You are a liar,” you tut. “I know you only want to lie with me again. I see the hunger in your eyes, alpha.”

“Well, my love,” he nips at your neck, “I’m a barbarian after all. And now that you are in my arms and wear my mark. You are a barbarian too…”

“I love being yours, Dean. I love you, my barbarian…”

“I love you too, my little skunk.”

THE END...

Tags in reblog.

[starlightstevie]

fic recs / may 2021

Happy summer! I know I missed last month’s fic recs so hopefully I’ll make up for it with these brilliant fics. Hope you guys enjoy!

warm water by @xbuchananbarnes​ Thor x reader: Thor comes home to find his love.

*passionate & burning by @peachyteabuck Thor x reader: You’re busy with working from home, but Thor has other plans for the day.

but i just wanna hear your voice by @blackberrybucky Thor x reader: Thor comes back after they defeat Thanos and tries to make things right with you.

*all there’s left to do is run by spacelabrathor Dothraki!Thor x reader: Horse warlord Thor finds you a captive in a raid of a desert village and gives you a choice. Freedom by a quick death or taking his hand and going with him, to be his. You choose life, and with it, a husband who is wild and fierce and more than you could have ever imagined.

*summoned by @darklydeliciousdesires​ Old God!Thor x villager!reader: The buffet of offerings, all of which shall placate, appease and satiate every whim and desire of the gods is laid out and ready, you amongst them.

ships in the night by @sugardaddytonystark Pirate King!Thor x Dora Milaje mermaid!reader: When Thor, the infamous Pirate King, lays down anchor in Wakanda, the last thing you expect is for him to ask for aid from your own king. You volunteer your assistance, leaving the home you’ve always known to set sail with King Odinson and his crew.

*cut offs by @milaonthemoon Frank x reader: You get kidnapped and Frank has to get you out.

tired by @castawaybarnes​ Frank x reader: Keeping yourself awake waiting for Frank was getting easier once you got used to the bitterness of black coffee.

*ash painted lips by @sebbytrash Frank x reader: Frank is your lifeline, protecting you like only he can do but you harbour not-so-secret feelings for him that threaten to shake the foundation of this steady, necessary partnership.

scales of justice weigh the consequence by @inspiresimagine​ Frank x reader: the world is black and white until you find your soulmate. you’re a single mom in NYC accustomed to life as-is, but apparently, the universe has other plans. namely? frank castle.

*generosity by @pumpkin-stars Frank x reader: AKA: The five (or more) things Frank usually does when he fucks you, and the one time he does something different.

poltergeists for sidekicks by @bubble-tea-bunny​ Frank x reader: Frank’s lost count of the days he’s come home to you already fast asleep.

*frank + overstimulation by @honeychicana

*frank + rough sex by @sweeterthanthis​

*frank + breath play by sweeterthanthis

*frank + doggy style by @honeydulcewrites​

*frank + gun play by honeydulcewrites

*frank + gun play (2) by honeydulcewrites

*frank + gun play (3) by honeydulcewrites

*frank + overstimulation by honeydulcewrites

*frank coming home to you by honeydulcewrites

*untitled frank smut by @luciilferss​

*playing with frank’s hair by inspiresimagine

frank + praise by inspiresimagine

*frank putting you in a headlock while fucking you by @punani​

*nobody else but me by @allaboardthereadingrailroad​ Shane Walsh x reader: Shane knows exactly what you need.

the comet by @mcubabydotcom​ Steve x reader: You and Steve witness a once-in-a-lifetime celestial event.

*the punishment by ozarkthedog Nomad!Steve x reader: You disobeyed Steve and now you must make it up to him.

*headinthequinjet by xbuchananbarnes Steve x reader: Steve’s having a hard time breathing.

*shotgunning with chris by ozarkthedog

*cockwarming with chris by @buckyssimp​

*a teal crushed velvet ride by @ozarkthedog​ Chris x reader: You love Chris’s Teal Velvet Pants. He notices and decides to indulge you.

*don’t look away by ozarkthedog Chris x reader: Chris fucks you against a mirror.

*keep the heat by ozarkthedog Andy Barber x reader: Andy fucks you in the coat.

*i don’t work jobs (i am a job) by @peachyteabuck Andy x reader: Andy needs to teach you that “staying at home” doesn’t preclude a little thing called “work.”

*worst behaviour by buckyssimp Professor!Bucky x reader: Bucky notices you staring at him during class. 

*lipstick stain by @xbuchananbarnes​ Bucky x reader: Bucky could recognize that laugh anywhere.

bucky takes care of you by @buckyblues

*you better act like this dick belongs to you by buckyblues

*lazy day with bucky by buckyblues

*pegging bucky by buckyblues

*bucky tit fucking you by buckyblues

something new by @mxsamwilson​ Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes: Fellas is it gay to receive an intimate haircut from your boy? (ft Bucky being hopelessly in love with Sam but too much of an idiot to tell him).

*the magic word by @whateveriwant Bucky x reader: Bucky agrees to try something you’ve always wanted to do with him, but only under the condition that a certain word be employed if need be.

warm by @revengingbarnes​ Bucky x reader: “The fire alarm in our building went off and you rushed out without a coat. Wanna share my blanket?”

patterns by @xbuchananbarnes Bucky x reader: Bucky plays with your hair.

pretending to not feel alone by blackberrybucky Bucky x reader: Bucky, hopeless romantic, meets you, committed cynic. What could go wrong?

*bucky’s first time in 70 years by @luciilferss

*fluorescent adolescent by @ohbuckie​ College!Bucky x reader: Bucky fucks you on his bedroom floor.

*it’s a cruel summer by blackberrybucky Bucky x reader: You and Bucky are friends with benefits, but what happens when you realize you want more?

*sex on legs by @navybrat817​ Bucky x reader: Bucky looks good in anything.

ride with me by @jurassicbarnes Detective!Bucky x Biker!reader: When his best friend forces him to third wheel on a road trip, Bucky doesn’t expect for it to become so eventful, let alone find something, or rather someone worth staying for.

*going live by @ritesofreverie​ Camboy!Bucky x reader: Your new neighbour looks familiar, where had you seen him before?

*stranded by @honeysucklesteve Dad’s best friend!Bucky x reader: When your car breaks down on the side of the road and your dad can’t come rescue you, he sends the next best thing.

if i could fly, i’d be coming right back home to you by blackberrybucky Sam x reader: Exile over, Sam comes home to you.

baby, i still see ya by blackberrybucky Sam x reader: Sam comes home, the future calling to him. He sees you again, and gets a little caught up in the past

*if you ever want to be in love by blackberrybucky Sam x reader: How your relationship with Sam falls apart and comes back together.

taller than me by @kaitsukibakugo Katsuki Bakugo x Izuku Midoriya: Katsuki has found love with someone who years ago he never would have expected. Now Deku is his husband and he’s noticed something else he never thought possible: Deku is taller than him.

*would you like to stay forever? by kaitsukibakugo Pro Hero!Kirishima Eijiro x reader: Sparring with Pro Hero Kirishima Eijiro in his private gym at his home doesn't seem like a bad idea if you don't count the fact that you really, really like him.

how your bnha fave acts when they realize they’re in love by @inthorantine

*bnha love island headcannons by @doinmybesthere​

*first time bj headcannons by @shoutogepi

*the best pussy eater of mha by @dearestdynamight​

passing the night stars by @hoe-doroki Hitoshi Shinsou x reader: The party was neon and you needed darkness.

*let’s talk about deku’s hands by @rat-suki​

*waking up deku by spacelabrathor

*deku comes home after a late shift by doinmybesthere

*slow stroke king izuku by @sems-diarie​​

*champagne problems by @some-kindofgnome​ Katsuki Bakugou x reader: You were slipping between Bakugou’s fingers faster than ever now. Instead of letting it happen he clung to you even tighter. Instead of letting you go, instead of accepting that he’d driven this relationship into the fucking ground, he’d promised himself that he could still save it.

*presented by @tteokdoroki​ Dragon King!Katsuki x reader: On the twenty-first birthday of Katsuki Bakugou, an offering is made in his honour as he becomes chief of the dragons. Clans usually offer up sacrifices of berries or nuts, salts and fresh catches. But for those of Dargon’s blood, their offering is a mate... And that mate is you.

*domina by rat-suki Katsuki x reader: He’s just so hot when you get under his skin. You can’t possibly stop now.

*baby, i’m a haunted house by @ketslketslketsl​ Yakuza!Katsuki x reader: It’s been a long six months since you last saw him.

i’m a liability, get you wild, make you leave (i’m a little much for everyone) by @willowser Katsuki x reader: There’s no reason for Katsuki to be here. It’s all he can think, bitter, as he stares at the paint peeling from the door, exposing the wood grain underneath its thin coat. Old and distant, this house; too far from the city to make the trek worth it, for your job to make sense; too ancient to be lived in by the number 12 hero in Japan. If he closes his eyes, he can hear Lake Biwa from his position on your porch and the soft sway of the water almost calms down the storm that’s been building in him since he boarded the train, since he nearly snapped his phone in half.

*we are the foxes (and we run) by @spacelabrathor shoyo hinata x reader: After everything, the end of the world and the chaos and destruction that reigned after society fell, it takes a lot to surprise you. And yet, when you come to the edge of the pit, a gasp wrenches from you like someone gripped it in their fist and yanked. Laid out on the bed of leaves at the bottom of the pit is...something. Someone. Or, Hinata falls into reader’s pit trap after the end of the world. This is the story of how she pulls him out, drags him to her bunker, and they grow together. 

*dark priest!Obiwan Kenobi by @mandosmimi​

you’re the former babysitter of zemo’s son by @helahades​

*mando doesn’t realize how big his dick is by @cptnbvcks​​

[imkylotrash]

Going Through The Motions

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Request: She's Tony's adopted daughter and it's after endgame. She used to date Steve but they separated during CW cause she chose Tony's side and were on again off again after the snap and when he leaves for the past bucky and her help each other cope and eventually they fall in love, get married and have a family of their own. Basically a life that Steve wanted with her. B x R mainly. Anonymous

Tagging: @bitchwhytho​ @music-of-melody​ @shadowhuntyi​ 

There’s not much of a choice when Steve refuses to sign the Sokovia accords. As much as you love him, you can’t fight against your dad. You owe him everything, you could never go against him like this. It changes the dynamic in your relationship. Instead of love, you offer each other comfort in the blip. He finds you when you hear about Tony being stuck on the spaceship with no way to come back. He holds you as you fall apart but your grief is a stinging reminder of what he lost when he decided Bucky and freedom meant more than you. 

It’s the time travel that becomes the final period in your story. Steve has the chance to go back and be with his best girl and you can’t blame him. You’ve always known that Peggy was his true love. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper hugging him tightly. You don’t have room in your heart to grieve the loss of a man you haven’t loved like that in a long time. Losing your father is all you can focus on right now. And you truly don’t blame him for wanting a normal life. So, you kiss his cheek goodbye and pray that you’ll get to find your happy ending too. 

Bucky feels differently. He’s hurt and upset by Steve’s choice. Bucky just regained control of himself and now Steve wants to leave? The Steve who spent the last decade fighting for Bucky and the brotherhood between the two men? He doesn’t understand it but he can’t say that to Steve. So, he tells you. 

“He was the only one who believed in me,” Bucky whispers resembling a lost puppy and that’s when you decide that you’ll believe in him from now on. You don’t mean to fall for him but you inevitable do. It creates a certain bond going through what you did. He lost Steve and you lost your father. The first few weeks you take turns holding each other as you both fall apart. 

But with time you both heal helping each other to stand on the days where you don’t want to leave the bed. You don’t remember how it happens when you have your first kiss but you remember just how right is feels to be with Bucky. It never felt like that with Steve. 

“I love you,” he tells you one day as you’re standing in the kitchen of your apartment. You stop dancing almost dropping the spoon you’ve been using to scoop up ice cream as you danced around in one of his shirts. 

“I love you too,” you reply wrapping your arms around his neck. He lets a hand rest on the lower part of your back so he can pull you closer. He’s cut his hair since the last time he was here and while you miss his long hair, you have to admit he looks pretty good like this too. 

“I’m sorry it took me so long to say,” he whispers placing three quick kisses on your lips but it does nothing but leave you unsatisfied. You lean up kissing him and biting his lip just how he likes it. 

“The things you do to me, woman.” You wrap your legs around his waist and he’s quick to grab your legs as support. He carries you to the bedroom forgetting all about the ice cream on the counter. 

“You should move in,” you state in the middle of the night. You haven’t been able to sleep instead tossing and turning and mulling over this. It seems ridiculous that he doesn’t live here when he spends all his time here anyway. He’s yet to spend a single night alone in that apartment of his. 

“Okay.” A year passes before the conversation of marriage comes into play. You’re hesitant to say it’s what you want when Bucky brings it up. He knows it’s not nearly as common today to consider marriage as a natural part of the relationship but he grew up in a different time where marriage meant something else entirely.  

You hesitate because you struggle to see the need to be bound to a person by a piece of paper. You don’t need to stand before a priest and tell Bucky that you love him for you to consider it true love. But when he drops one knee with a ring, the only answer is yes. It’s a quiet ceremony with just a few of your closest friends. Morgan is the flower girl and she does beautifully. 

“He would’ve been so proud of you,” Pepper says as you’re standing out in the foyer waiting for your cue. 

“Thank you.” Every time you think about him missing this day you get a lump in your throat. He was supposed to walk you down the aisle and give you away but he gave his life so the rest of you could live. In the end, Sam steps up and walks you down the aisle. 

“You look beautiful,” he says kissing your cheek. After everything, Sam’s been the only one to stay in touch. Everyone else had their own lives to get back to and you didn’t blame them. All you wanted was to start living too. 

“Ready?” You spot the tear on his cheek before Bucky has a chance to wipe it away. Saying I do fills you with excitement for what the future holds and you know your dad is looking down at you happy for you. 

“Ready for the rest of our lives?” Bucky whispers in your ear as you’re surrounded by friends and family celebrating the love you and Bucky have. You kiss him softly. 

“Absolutely.”

[babemendesbarnes]

A two way deal | one shot

Paring: Bucky x DemonFem!Reader

Word count: 3.3k

Summary: Bucky is tired. He hasn’t gotten a single good night of sleep in decades, and he’s done with the nightmares. Hearing about a certain woman who makes deals that could get him what he needed sounds like a miracle. Only when Bucky does find her, it’s no miracle, and she’s no saint.

Warnings: 18+ only, SMUT, talk of religious subjects (devil, hell...)

A/N: This is inspired by the character Maze in the show Lucifer, I absolutely love her arc. This is initially a one shot, but I liked it so much I might write another part. Also my first smut. Tell me what you think!

The club lights flashed red and you downed your vodka shot, body getting warmer by the second. Excitement ran through your veins as the familiar feeling clouded your thoughts.

Something was different though.

Everything was so much stronger this time. The feeling so powerful you were forced to close your eyes, the fake human color being replaced by their true shade of black. 

You could feel his memories, almost taste how they haunted him.

The second he sat on the table across from you, everything slowed down. The music beat got sexier, tempting, as the air got thicker. His piercing blue eyes examined you from head to toe, searching for threats in your tight leather pants and black corset. 

You could see the disappointment in the brunette woman sitting with her legs on top of yours as she realized you would be busy. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, you whispered that you would find her later, gently patting her legs for her to leave.

Bucky didn’t stop staring at you for even a second.

"Didn’t take you for a club kind of man, Mr. Barnes."

If the super-soldier was surprised you knew who he was, he didn’t show it, his eyes still fixed on yours as you took him in.

He wasn’t dressed properly for the club, his dark jeans, black shirt, and leather jacket standing out from all the expensive suits you saw all night. And yet, the man looked better than anything you had ever laid your eyes on. 

The contrast of his apparent demeanor to the things you saw in his head was admirable. The former Soldat knew how to show just what he wanted to, his face not giving in the demons dancing on his mind.

His hands tucked in his pockets, you ponder if he’s still afraid of his own body.

Wakanda might have given him a new vibranium arm, yet you wonder if he still sees blood whenever he looks at it. 

"I heard you make deals."

Bucky seemed reluctant to speak at first, although his voice was still steady.

He didn’t want to be here, but to be honest, none of your clients ever did, so you were pretty used to this. The only reason they come to you is that they’re always just way too desperate, just like he is.

"You heard right, Mr. Barnes." you crossed your legs slowly as you called for the waiter to bring you a martini. "And a whiskey for the gentleman, please."

"I’m not drinking." you waved the waiter off, ignoring completely what Bucky had just said.

Surprising you was difficult. You’ve lived long enough to see just about everything, and well, you were created in the pits of hell, so there were not that many things that could amaze you. And yet, there was so much about the man in front of you that just picked your curiosity.

The brave Sergeant Bucky Barnes, the only Howling Commando that gave his life for his country. The infamous Winter Soldier, tortured and manipulated, stripped of his humanity. And now? A fucked up super-soldier with no family, no friends, and a man out of his time.

That’s something not even a demon sees every day.

The drinks were set on the table and you pushed his whiskey to him, watching him through your lashes, a smile planted on your lips as he took a big gulp. The tip of your red bottoms slightly brushing against his leg.

"Tell me, Mr. Barnes, " your body fell slightly forward, your tongue wetted your red-painted lips as his gaze followed every move. "what is it that you desire?" 

Bucky felt lightheaded.

The sound of your voice dripped with something he couldn’t recognize, and yet, so desperately craved. He suddenly couldn’t form words.

"I need..." Bucky felt nervous, "I can’t..." his mind going against his commands and his eyes focused on the contour of your lips, how soft your skin would be upon his touch. So lost in thought he forgot he should probably finish his sentence. 

You saw right through him though.

"You want them gone. Don’t you?" the world seemed to fade around your form. Your head tilted to the side as you so sweetly said the exact words he needed to hear. "You want the demons to go away."

Bucky never thought he could feel this again, to feel... understanding. And it only took a demon to do so. 

Rounding the big red seat and dragging your body closer to Bucky, your lips brushed against his ear. 

"You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?" His body stiffening as your nails traced his flesh arm. 

"I have." his words were a little bit harsher this time. Your eyes locked and your hand touched his chest, the sound of his heart beating faster, almost as loud as the music.

"Let me take care of you, James." your voice just above a whisper, his fate settled as he silently consented.

You got up and signaled for him to follow. 

Bucky didn’t have to be told twice, his body aching to be close to yours again.

This was not something he should feel. The priest of the small Brooklyn church he went to every Sunday morning used to lecture about how the Devil and his demons could lurk you in, bringing you to their sins just to drag you to hell. 

But it was Bucky who came looking for the wicked, all you did was welcome his desires with open arms.

You two walked into an elevator, and you instantly felt his stare on you.

The last bit of sanity in the 106 years old man screamed at him, begging him to run. Demons were not givers, whatever they gave, came with a cost, and for someone like him, owning a favor was not a possible option.

"What’s the price?" His hands began to sweat, your answer being able to end the last ounce of hope Bucky had.

The metal doors reopened, revealing a breathtaking penthouse. "Don’t worry about it, I have no interest on bring the Soldat back, Mr. Barnes."

That was all it took for him to finally exhale the breath he didn't even notice he was holding. 

Maybe stricking a deal with a demon could end well. Okay, probably not, but still. How the fuck did he even end up here anyway? 

Well, too late to back out now.

Bucky looked around, the Los Angeles skyline visible through the giant glass walls, a bar filled with alcohol he had never even seen before, and a large grey couch next to a bookcase filled with books from probably before he was even born.

You grabbed two glasses and poured a black licor on them. Opening a glass door, Bucky followed you as your arms leaned against the balcony’s railing, giving him his drink as you watched the city.

"What is this?" he reflected your stance. The usually loud noises of the big city down below now quiet, you're breathing the only sound he could hear.

"Something special." His suspicious gaze made you laugh, the sound alone being able to wash Bucky’s distress away. "Don't worry, tastes like wine."

You two stayed like that for a couple of minutes, the soft Autumn breeze hitting your hair, the soft strands dancing in the air, hitting Bucky’s face a couple of times. 

"Can I look?" your voice broke over the silence and Bucky didn’t need to ask what you were talking about. 

"Haven’t you already?" you chuckled and a smirk played on your lips. "A little bit. Just the things I already knew. But for this... I have to see everything."

You knew what Hydra had done to the man. Although, by the few things you noticed about Bucky, you were pretty sure the torture inflicted upon him was not the biggest issue here.

"I would say going inside my mind is like walking through hell, but I’m guessing that’s not a problem for you."

Leading him to sit on the couch, Bucky noticed how you seemed to avoid answering the comment. 

Everything about you confused Bucky so much, and every damn word you said just filled him with more questions.

"Sit." 

You sat next to him, the tips of your fingers slowly touching the side of his head. If he noticed you wondered around his mind earlier without touching him, he didn’t complain about you doing it differently this time.

Bucky’s heart skipped a beat as images started to flood his head.

Both your chest’s rising and falling fast, his anxiety at watching his memories traveling to you.

A small Brooklyn apartment. George, Winifred, Rebecca. Dark alleys. Steve. World War II. 107th. Europe. Hydra. Captain America. Howling Commandos. Fall. Hydra. Pain. Erase. Cryo. Isaiah. President. Cryo. Stark. Gun. Cryo. Erase. Red Room. Blood. Cryo. Fury. Bucky?. Steve?. Erase. Lake. Steve. Zemo. King. Winter Soldier. Siberia. Stark. Sam. Wakanda. White Wolf. Thanos. Shield. Walker. Karli. Sam. Captain America.

Bucky’s hands are shaking against the couch. 

As you open your eyes, you see his tear-stained cheeks, and only when his long fingers gently wipe your face, you realize yours were too.

It never felt this personal, to look into someone’s head. You just took what you needed and that was it. Not this time thought. An urge to give the man any possible comfort made you get up in a rush and almost fly to get a refill.

Bucky starts to calm down and when his eyes follow you, he finally sees a black shining piano in the corner of the room that weirdly seemed to call out to him.

"You play?" your voice took him out of his thoughts. He left the couch and took a few steps towards you, who was now leaning on the instrument.

"My ma taught me before the war." you smiled softly and told him to go ahead. "Oh, no. I probably don’t even know how to anymore." he all of a sudden felt shy under your gaze.

You walked slowly to him, taking his vibranium hand in such a natural way, Bucky wondered how you had never done that before. 

Taking him to the piano, you both sat down, sharing the small seat.

"This is not something you forget," leading his hand to the keyboard, you placed your fingers on top of his, pushing the keys down, and shortly, a soft jazz melody echoed in the room as your skilled hands moved in sync. "there are some things no one can take from you, James, not even time."

As both your hands kept making music, your eyes locked and Bucky forgot all about the definitions he heard all his life about the divine and the profane. 

Your smile felt like heaven, only your lips were sin.

His hand moved to the back of your neck, his eyes asking for permission you happily granted, your lips meeting as you pulled him to you.

The kiss was eager, your lips moving fast as you didn’t waste a second to open your mouth and welcome Bucky’s tongue. 

You climbed his lap, your hands running through his short locks as he kissed along your neck.

Lust almost felt like a drug. You were sure you were addicted. 

Between gasps and shivers, you fell to your knees and heard him take a shaky breath. Placing your hands on his face, you pulled Bucky down to look you in the eyes.

"When was the last time someone made you feel good, James?" Bucky gasped as your delicate fingers slowly undid his belt, your voice sweet like honey. "Answer me, baby."

"I... I can’t even remember it." 

You chuckled lightly, pushing his jeans down, your nails trailing along his strong thighs, wet kisses following the path of the fading red lines. "Let me make you feel good, James."

Your light touches and lust dripping voice made Bucky feel like he could come undone by this alone, his hands holding tightly onto the piano bench.

Your tongue traced the trimmed hairs on his abdomen, your own personal path to paradise, disappearing into his black boxers.  You pulled at his shirt, ripping and throwing it somewhere in the room.

"What do you want, James? Tell me." you pulled his boxers down, Bucky quietly moaned as his cock sprung free.

Your mouth salivated at the sight of Bucky’s hard cock, his impressive length making your walls clench around nothing, panties ruined at the thought of him inside you.

"Your mouth. Please, Y/N, I need your mouth." The desperation in James's voice only made you want to pleasure him even more, eager to hear his sweet sounds.

Your hands pumped him before your tongue traced the vein running along the side of his cock. You licked him top to bottom a few times, his pleas finally attended as you swirled your tongue over his tip, relaxing your jaw and taking him in your mouth. Each time going further down his length, you hollowed your cheeks, a raspy moan he let out going straight to your core.

"Fuck, doll." Bucky wrapped his hands on your hair, pushing you further down his dick, saliva dripping down his balls. "You look so fucking good with your mouth wrapped around my cock."

His sudden vocality only spurred you, moaning when his tip reached the back of your throat.

"That’s it doll. Come on, take everything." 

Bucky’s head fell back as you choked on him, his grip moving your head to take him faster, a familiar feeling of pleasure he missed so much clouding all his senses.

"Shit... I’m not gonna last long, doll." you took your lips off of him just for a second. 

With puffy, red, and wet lips, you glanced at him with lazy eyes, the sight alone bringing him closer to falling apart. "Come for me, Bucky."

Your lips wrapped around his dick again, and with two more hard thrusts, Bucky came with a groan. You swallowed every drop he gave you.

"Holy fuck." he swore as his breathing calmed down and you gave him a mischievous smile.

"Not exactly holy, Sargeant." you both chuckled and it didn’t go unnoticed by you the twist on his face at the use of his old title.

Bucky kicked off his jeans and picked you up, your legs wrapping around his waist. Your back hit a wall as he kissed your neck, biting and sucking on the soft skin. 

You moaned when he found a sensitive spot between your neck and collarbone, his mouth leaving red marks behind. You jumped out of his embrace and led him to your bed, throwing him into the mattress.

His stare never left your body. At every piece of clothing you removed, the blue in his eyes seemed to disappear even more, his pupils so blown out it reminded you of your own.

"You have been bad, Sargeant." 

You crawled into the bed, taking your time on getting on top of him. The feeling of your hot, wet core against his skin made Bucky’s cock impossibly harder. Your hand pulled at his hair, forcing him to look at you, a raspy moan escaping Bucky’s lips. "You like being bad, James?"

"No." his answer made you chuckle.

"No?" your lips kissed his jawline, licking every piece of skin you found, your teeth biting his earlobe. "But look at you, Sargeant, falling apart on my hands."

Your hands rested against his chest as you bent forward, guiding his cock into your core.

"Fuck." you both moaned as his tip slowly entered you.

Bucky’s hands had a tight bruising hold on your hips, he slowly helped you sink down his length.  You didn’t wait before moving your hips back and forth, loving the pain of being stretched out by him.

"Shit, you feel so good around me, doll."

Bucky pulled you to him, his mouth catching one of your breasts, biting and kissing your nipple, his hand caressing the other as you bounced on his cock.

You tugged harder on his brown locks as he started to thrust up, fucking you harder. You nearly screamed his name when he found that special place inside you, hitting it with every thrust of his hips. 

"You’re so fucking tight." Bucky let out a groan as your pussy squeezed the shit out of him.

Everything was way too much. You felt dizzy as you met his hard, frenetic thrusts. His cold vibranium fingers found your clit, drawing fast circles, bringing you even closer to the edge. 

"Bucky! Fuck, I’m gonna..."

You pushed his body down, your hands grabbing his throat and giving it just a little bit of pressure, his eyes rolling back, and his deep moans getting louder.

Your veins turned to fire, your whole body shaking as you felt the waves of euphoria taking over. You threw your head back, tears falling as the strong orgasm hit you, your eyes turning into their natural black as you stared at the ceiling.

"Come here, doll." he tried pulling you to him, but you just pushed him further down. 

Bucky pushed himself up, pulling you by your neck, his hands forcing you to look at him. Your breath hitched as his hands held your cheeks with a tenderness you had never known, his lips meeting yours in a soft, gentle kiss. Your mind was spinning at the sudden change.

Your breath caught in your throat as Bucky´s beautiful blue eyes stared at your empty ones like they held the keys to Eden. 

"You’re not scared of me?" the confused, bitter tone on your voice made Bucky’s heart break in two, cause he recognized that. He heard it in his own voice every damn day. 

"Are you, of me?" a tear fell down your cheek, his thump gently brushing it away. You knew every part of him, so the quiet 'no' you whispered made Bucky’s smile grow. "There you go, sweetheart."

For some reason, after that, everything seemed to change. Bucky turned you both around, your back hitting the mattress as he slowly pulled out, just to fill you up completely again.

His thrusts became harder and faster as he chased his own orgasm, driving you into your second one, but somehow, it felt more caring, personal.

Your nails scratched his back, leaving red angry lines behind, a reminder you would leave on him of this night. 

Your legs hugged Bucky’s form, urging him to hit deeper inside of you, if that was even possible. His vibranium digits finding your clit again.

"One more, doll." his hands brushed the hairs out of your face, his eyes filled with unfamiliar adoration. "Come for me." 

He kissed you gently as you felt his dick ripping you apart, ruining you just the way you liked.

You came again, milking his cock and triggering his own orgasm. 

"Fuck, Y/N!" Bucky came hard, chanting your name as his cum shot deep inside you.

After you both felt like you could breathe again, Bucky slowly slipped out and fell next to you on the bed.

His eyes had already started to close, his chest falling and rising evenly as he searched for your body, pulling you close to him.

You both fell asleep and for the first time in decades, Bucky’s demons didn’t haunt him in his dreams.

The sun was rising and you had been awake for a long time, your mind racing as the events of just a few hours ago played in your head.

Demons weren’t born. They were forged in hell. 

You were made with one purpose only, to serve Lucifer and torture the souls that lost themselves into perdition. The lack of your own soul was never a problem as you spent your days in the pits of hell. But now? Joining Lucifer on Earth showed you just how much you couldn’t have.

Bucky reminded you of what you couldn’t have.

As the man woke up, he felt an unusual sense of cold enveloping him, and that’s when he noticed your body was no longer pressed against his.

Opening his eyes, he noticed a small note resting on top of the pillow you had laid in, all night long, as he held you in his arms.

I’m not one to break a deal, your nightmares were gone for this night just like they always will be from now on. 

Don’t worry about your part of the deal, you’ve paid me already.

And before you get any ideas, I’m not a name on your make amends list, you can’t help me, Mr. Barnes. Do not come looking for me again.

Sweet dreams, James.

[tomakeitbeautifultolive]

Something I've been wondering about: If Jon comes back as a fire wight like Beric Dondarrion and unCat, will he be able to get it up? Blood won't really be flowing in his body anymore, so would his dick be powered by fire magic or something like that?

I, too, have spent a great deal of time pondering Jon Snow’s dick, Anon. 😏 Jokes aside, I will admit right off the bat that most of what I have to offer is total speculation, but over-thinking the most minor details of ASOIAF happens to be my favorite pastime, so let’s go!

Like pretty much everyone who read the quote, I was totally thrown off by the “fire wight” revelation. Here’s the quote for reference:

“..poor Beric Dondarrion, who was set up as the foreshadowing of all this, every time he’s a little less Beric. His memories are fading, he’s got all these scars, he’s becoming more and more physically hideous, because he’s not a living human being anymore. His heart isn’t beating, his blood isn’t flowing in his veins, he’s a wight, but a wight animated by fire instead of by ice.”

So, an important distinction to make here is that this quote is about Beric Dondarrion specifically, not Jon Snow.

The condition of Jon Snow’s corpse might matter

George can be very clever with how he words things. Note that he goes into Beric’s deaths, describing multiple resurrections and how he’s falling apart before stating that his heart is no longer beating. It could be that a fresh “fire wight” might still possess bodily functions—at least at first. Catelyn, too, was a very sorry looking corpse by the time she was reanimated, therefore not a great comparison, either. Especially since it’s Beric rather than Thoros who, with very little life force to lend, resurrects her.

If nothing else, Jon will be “fresh”, and his location at the Wall means the low temperatures will help preserve his body even if the resurrection takes some time. 

And speaking of the Wall… there happens to be a special lady there who could help Jon, and whose powers happen to be amplified by the magic of the Wall...

Melisandre is profoundly more powerful than Thoros of Myr

Thoros may be a red priest, but otherwise he seems to be a pretty normal human man. We get a clue about when he converted from Jaime:

“Jaime had once heard Thoros tell the king that he became a red priest because the robes hid the winestains so well.”

Relatively recently, one might guess, as most children aren’t yet drunks. Further, he was never very dedicated to his faith, even questioning it at times.

Melisandre, on the other hand...

“Melisandre had practiced her art for years beyond count, and she had paid the price. There was no one, even in her order, who had her skill at seeing the secrets half-revealed and half-concealed within the sacred flames.”

While we don’t know much about her, this confirms that she spent countless years studying her craft, and no one in her order can match her skill. And no one believes in their faith more than Melisandre. Like in the television series, it’s a safe bet that she’s actually much older than the natural human lifespan, particularly if she managed to lose count of how many years she’s studied magic.

If Melisandre is the one to resurrect Jon Snow, she might not use a ‘last kiss’ method at all, or, if she does, it could be more powerful than anything Thoros is capable of.

Unlike Beric, Jon Snow is probably the prophesied prince

Speaking of Melisandre’s ability to glimpse secrets in the flames… there’s someone she sure seems to see a lot of:

“I pray for a glimpse of Azor Ahai, and R'hllor shows me only Snow.”

“Skulls. A thousand skulls, and the bastard boy again. Jon Snow.”

“The flames crackled softly, and in their crackling she heard the whispered name Jon Snow. His long face floated before her, limned in tongues of red and orange.”

I know. There is some contention about who the Prince that was Promised is. Regardless of whether you agree that it’s Jon Snow, you’ve got to admit that Melisandre is seeing him in the flames for a reason. And if he’s not the prophesied prince, then perhaps his blood has something to do with it. It’s likely that, for some reason, the combination of Targaryen and Stark blood matters. At least, Rhaegar Targaryen seemed pretty convinced...

Whatever Jon Snow’s business is in Westeros… it’s unfinished. And part of that unfinished business might just involve becoming a father.

The emphasis put on Jon fathering a child is notable

Let’s go back to Jon’s first chapter ever. It opens with Jon at Robert’s feast, the author uses Jon’s eyes to describe the setting and multiple characters. And then enters Benjen Stark. This is when we really get to know Jon. When you read this passage, really consider the author’s intent here:

"You don't know what you're asking, Jon. The Night's Watch is a sworn brotherhood. We have no families. None of us will ever father sons. Our wife is duty. Our mistress is honor."

"A bastard can have honor too," Jon said. "I am ready to swear your oath."

"You are a boy of fourteen," Benjen said. "Not a man, not yet. Until you have known a woman, you cannot understand what you would be giving up."

"I don't care about that!" Jon said hotly.

"You might, if you knew what it meant," Benjen said. "If you knew what the oath would cost you, you might be less eager to pay the price, son."

Jon felt anger rise inside him. "I'm not your son!"

Benjen Stark stood up. "More's the pity." He put a hand on Jon's shoulder. "Come back to me after you've fathered a few bastards of your own, and we'll see how you feel."

Jon trembled. "I will never father a bastard," he said carefully. "Never!" He spat it out like venom.

Suddenly he realized that the table had fallen silent, and they were all looking at him. He felt the tears begin to well behind his eyes.

This is how George R.R. Martin chooses to introduce us to Jon Snow. And gods, that always hits me right in the gut. It’s absolutely supposed to. Jon’s trembling, venomous anger is palpable. You feel the deep hurt and resentment in his words, right down to his core. Jon says he doesn’t care—but the bite in his words and the tears welling in his eyes tell us otherwise.

Jon Snow easily embraces his vow of celibacy. At first. And then comes Ygritte. And after getting his first taste of love and later flirting with the idea of becoming a lord when it’s offered to him by Stannis, Jon Snow begins to imagine what it might be like to have a wife...

“I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall.”

And look what happens the moment he does dare to dream of it...

“I could name him Robb. Val would want to keep her sister's son, but we could foster him at Winterfell, and Gilly's boy as well. Sam would never need to tell his lie. We'd find a place for Gilly too, and Sam could come visit her once a year or so. Mance's son and Craster's would grow up brothers, as I once did with Robb.

He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me. It was a hunger inside him, sharp as a dragonglass blade.”

And the feeling transitions into an almost tangible hunger felt by his wolf, Ghost.

Speaking of Ghost…

Grab your tinfoil! ‘Cause Jon’s life might’ve already been ‘paid for’ ...By Daenerys

First… in case you didn’t know, Daenerys is probably a skinchanger:

“The slightest pressure with her legs, the lightest touch on the reins, and the filly responded. As she turned to ride back, a firepit loomed ahead, directly in her path. A daring she had never known filled Daenerys then, and she gave the filly her head.”

Basically, it goes like this:

As Daenerys wanders the Dothraki Sea in search of food after being whisked away by Drogon, she hears a wolf’s howl.

“Will (Ghost) howl for me when I'm dead, as Bran's wolf howled when he fell?”

Feeling lonely yet no less hungry, she eats some strange green berries. Her stomach begins to cramp.

“My flesh will feed the wolves and carrion crows, she thought sadly, and worms will burrow through my womb.”

Unfortunately, Daenerys then experiences some horrible diarrhea. Poor girl! I don’t bring it up to be crass, but because this purge bears striking resemblance to an earthly drug called Ayahuasca—a substance that, aside from emptying your bowels, is often used as a means to ‘open your third eye’ (Just as Bran does in the crypts, and he can finally reach Jon and Ghost…)

Dany falls asleep and begins experiencing trippy dreams about her brother—perhaps even achieving contact with the other side? Then...

“When she woke, gasping, her thighs were slick with blood.”

Assuming it’s nothing more than her period, Dany begins to wonder the last time she bled—hinting that it might’ve been a little while.

“The sight of so much red frightened her. Moon blood, it's only my moon blood, but she did not remember ever having such a heavy flow.”

Maybe a bit of a stretch, I know. But… this wretched and graphic scene of Dany’s loose bowels really made me wonder what in seven hells George was thinking. I was so embarrassed for Dany that I HAD to figure out why he’d do this to her.

And my best guess is that she’s using these latent skinchanging abilities to tap into this strange connection with the “blue rose” over at the Wall of Westeros and the silent wolf who finally howled for help upon his death… And so, Dany’s miscarriage may be the death that will pay for Jon’s life.

I might’ve found some more evidence to back this claim up, this is very new ‘evidence’, so bear with me:

“Fire”, in the world of ASOIAF, often translates to “life”. As is seen here in Sam’s speech following Aemon’s death (thanks, bridge4!):

“He was the blood of the dragon, but now his fire has gone out.”

Further, according to the wiki:

“When a follower of the Lord of Light dies, priests fill their mouths with fire and breathe flame into the deceased”

In the House of the Undying, Dany receives a series of chilling prophecies, one of which happens to be about fires:

“Three fires you must light, one for life, one for death and one to love”

I know, I know. Drogo’s pyre, the Khals, etc etc. But George might be playing with double meanings here… So, if we think of fires as conceptions, this could maybe mean:

One in exchange FOR the Dragon’s lives (Life)

One in exchange FOR Jon’s resurrection (Death)

One conceived (likely with Jon) and carried to term (TO love)

Food for thought! Especially considering that, like Jon, Dany possesses the blood of Old Valyria, and these sacrifices are probably all the more powerful as a result. But even if I’m dead wrong about that prophecy, well, fire still broadly means life, which bodes well for our brooding ‘bastard’, who might just end up as a “fire wight”.

Hopefully something in this drivel has given any Jon fans reading this a little bit of faith that, despite the slight setback of death, Jon will still be able to exercise his, uh, virility when he finally meets Dany. 😅 Thanks for the ask!!